The Earth That Knows My Name

The lights do not merely glow.
They guard.
Small sentinels, whispering in glass tongues,
their glow is not warmth but warning—
a soft shimmer over the edge of a deeper dark.

Beneath them, the earth remembers.
It hums with an old pulse,
a pulse that notices every footstep,
every secret thought you bring to its soil.

It is comforting, yes—
but like a hand that leads you into a labyrinth.
It tells you,
you are alive,
you are here,
but you do not yet know what watches back.

The reeds move like thin veils.
The path is never the same twice.
And every night you return,
the ground rearranges its truths.

The Ground Remembers

The ground breathes here, and it remembers my name. It doesn’t just remember — it recognizes. There’s something familiar in its pulse, as if the earth itself exhales when I step closer. It welcomes me, and I feel that welcome in the quiet warmth beneath my feet, in the way the air shifts and listens.

But there are other energies too — playful, cautious, curious. They hover just beyond the light’s reach, playing a kind of cosmic peekaboo, half shy, half bold. They don’t intrude; they observe. I can feel their attention, a soft hum at the edges of awareness.

I open slowly to all of it. The anointing around me is gentle but firm, a circle of protection I can’t see yet fully trust. Within that safety, I allow myself to listen — not just for comfort, but for truth. I welcome positivity, yes, but I also stay receptive to what I need to hear, even when it unsettles. There are lessons here, in both the seen and the unseen.

The earth teaches differently than books or people. It teaches through presence — through sound, scent, vibration, and stillness. It speaks in the small language of crickets, in the way the wind parts the tall grass, in how the lights burn steady against the dark.

Tonight, I feel like both student and witness — fully immersed in the quiet education of nature and the universe. Everything here hums with meaning. All I have to do is stay long enough to understand.

With Grace & Ink,

Mai