In these post summer solstice days, the oak tree whispers reminding me of when I was a young girl on the brink of adulthood. During the summer months, I almost always went for a walk after dinner.  On these walks, long after I had exited the neighborhood, sunset turned into twilight, and by the time I made it to the cornfields, star fire pricked the horizon and lightning bugs dotted and flashed among trees and across fields as cicada bellies vibrated and buzzed, and crickets stroked their violin wings.

After an hour or so, I was sweat-soaked, and the humidity curled my hair.  But it didn’t matter. On the walk back, whiffs of wind scented with pine, cut grass, and strawberries made the air feel and smell heavenly.  Gusts from behind reached through my arms wrapping my torso in coolness, giving me the sensation of being carried home.

Recently, my meditation under the shade of an oak tree brought back memories of those evening walks, and with a smile, I was reminded of the Greek myths I so loved reading back then.  All those years, decades ago now, I was like the ancient Greek maidens encountering natural forces.  Gods of the underworld, earth, sky, river, and sea were greeting me, filling me with exuberance for life.

I see now the truth of those stories, how the storytellers could capture the imaginations of so many people for millennia. Something inhabits trees, embodies gusts of wind.  Something powerfully, purposefully, lustfully tears through cracks in the earth and thunders down from the sky.  Magical forces drive clouds and swirl the water right before our very eyes.

Something grand, seductive, and full of desire dwells in the fields, forests, and waters.  That something seeks us wholly.  Impregnates us the way Zeus did Danae, Leda, and Alcmene. Takes hold of us and carries us away like Hades did Persephone.

Most of us haven’t given birth to demigods and queens. But I am confident that many of us have developed ideas and businesses, created roads, bridges, and buildings, written poetry and stories, nurtured relationships, children, gardens, and homes.  We’ve baked pies, cookies, cakes, and casseroles. And how many times did intimate contact with the natural world inspire these creations?

Summer evenings, walking, lying down in the grass, leaning against trees, lingering as the light of day fades to darkness—my whole life, I’ve known that these are times charged with magic, splendor, and wonder. 

Whether you sense God, gods, goddesses, spirits of creation, or the burgeoning human imagination communing with the overflowing abundance of life, you must allow yourself to be swayed.  Your soul survives on nothing less.

But beware.  The old myths are cautionary tales.

Mortals seduced by nature’s sensual spirit face punishment, alienation, exile.  No one believes the mortal capable of communing with the forces of nature.  Caught red-handed, unable to hide the shame, the child, barely able to handle the glory of consummation with real powers of the world, mortals suffer.

But the truth cannot be denied. The forces of the universe want us.

And who would we be if we had never ridden a cresting wave, buried ourselves in the sand, raised our arms and let the wind carry us?

And what wastelands do we endure when we always keep doors, windows, curtains, and blinds closed?  What happens to us when we lock away our wildness? 

I know that I have swallowed my yearnings many times. I’ve cuffed my wrists and ankles. Like the disbelieving fathers and husbands of mythical women, I’ve been afraid.  By controlling what I swore to protect, I’ve trapped my own wild heart. Paid the heavy price of misery. 

But even after all these years, the oak tree still whispers the story of the young woman on the brink of adulthood who followed her wild heart and found herself loved, supported, cherished by the world that bore her.

-Radiance Writer

 July 11, 2025

Photo by Rajesh Rajput on Unsplash