The Place of the Bat

The twisting southern winds sent the sea turbulently crashing upon the sand bank – hollow waves of energy brought spinning from the depths.  The ocean writhes independently, unhindered by the developers chopping away the Atlantic Forest just beyond the sand.  Even with trash floating in its shallows, the ocean will be controlled by no human.  One day, the sea will rise and take it all back again.  The buildings rampantly being hammered into existence meters from the sand, blocking out the sun that gives life to the vegetation above the sand bank.  We can trust, one day, that the ocean will be the great leveler.

Last week I walked on Praia Brava, the once majestic beach cut and bloodied with the greed laced superfluity of the humans, sinking their teeth into the last bit of precious Mata Atlântica.  The Atlantic forest at the northern end of the beach not more than three years ago was a nature reserve.  The reserve has since been bought and sold, ancient forest hacked away, and now soon to be the home of someones extravagance.  Still, the northern end of the beach is pulsing with life.  The wind circling in from the south east, causing the branches and trees to sway in a rhythmic dance, the pulses fusing to one beat.  As I walked along the sand, I could feel the land breathing.  I could feel the life of the land as a unified force.  In the rolling verdant hillside, I could see a massive dragon, its head made up from the sub-tropical flora, with cliffs and stones protruding in expression.  A dragon, its body cut off and cast away, all in the name of “progression.”  

Yet, in the corner of Canto Do Morcego, ancient life breaths and yawns, all knowing of the truth.  The truth deep within her roots.  Canto Do Morcego – the Place of the Bat.  

Connecting with this eternal wisdom is the only way out.  This is our chance to escape the madness, the race to nowhere, the journey to the end.  The grinding of the belt saw can be replaced by the sounds of the birds in the forest.  

Sink our feet into the sand.

Listen to the nuances of each passing breeze in the leaves.

Dive into the sea and let the water enter your every pore.  

Disconnected from the trance, rejecting the manufacturing of more trash.  Letting time slip through your fingers… All to go where?  To the top?  Time escaping in its nature; this is your only chance.   Chasing this distant carrot that dances and disappears and returns larger, enticing your hunger for more.  The more becomes hers and his, but not yours.  When will it ever strike a chord that the secret is right here in from of our eyes, if we can just focus, we can see the message the ancient humans left us, enos and millennia ago.   A message lost in the desert sands.  A message in the urgent waves crashing to shore.  The mountains watching, waiting for us to return.  

Day by day, inch by inch, we can choose to make our return to find synchrony with the planet.  Eventually the return will come to us…

It is our choice if we return while alive or wait for death.  The time is now.