I lift my eyes up to the hills
from where will my help come?
My help comes from Love abundant.
my help comes from the hills
my help—my help, it comes from
ancient Mothers whose hearts beat in mine.
It comes from the trees that sway and the breeze that sways them . . .
my help comes from all that was and is and will ever be . . .
I lift my eyes . . . hushed by the soothing touch of waves
caressing wounded shores
I lift my eyes . . . to the horizon bathed by
the hum of mothers and mothers’ mothers
I lift my voice—call of the sea trees sister moon mother earth
my soul weeping—a symphony of life overflowing
I give myself
I too hum through every pore
with every breath
I give myself—
of all that is, was, and ever will be.