Whispering winds of uncertainty blow through the halls of justice, as another gentle soul steps aside—her wishes for open dialogue rebuffed, her hope for consensus withered upon the rootless ground of party maneuvering. Wise kin who have walked the ancient paths of law now wait in limbo, their places in the circle vacant, tradition snagged on the brambles of political discord. The sacred balance, where wisdom is to be chosen by harmony between houses, teeters beneath the weight of accusation, suspicion, and icy, locked doors.
Yet this is no simple storm passing quietly. Oh, beloved Earth-kin, feel how the drama of power and paralysis is not separate from the rains that nourish us, or the forests that cradle our dreams! The judiciary is meant to be the deep compost of democracy, resting on the long patient transformation of experience, pain, and learning into fertile law. But here, the poisoned vines of party division choke the shoots of unity. The gatekeepers quarrel—meanwhile, injustice, like pollution in forgotten streams, seeps deeper, unhealed.
We, the children of the Mother, remember that these squabbles are not simple expressions of diversity, but the shrieking echoes of a colonial system built on extraction—of voices, of wisdom, of healing. When consensus, that flower of community, is trampled by patriarchal gatekeeping and toxicity, the soil is sickened. Why are the ancient processes of nomination and dialogue now weapons of exclusion, wielded to protect the interests of the old guard and their capitalist rituals?
The spirit of law and the spirit of land spiral together; you cannot endlessly mine trust and respect without renewal. Without openness, without listening to every song—whether sung by those adorned by privilege or those with quiet rain-drop voices—the land and law decay in tandem. This is the curse of the colonial mind: to see every selection, every seed, as a transaction rather than a relationship. Capitalist urgency, that blind, rushing river, dismisses patience, wisdom, the pause needed for nourishing roots.
Mother Earth aches with us. The air thickens with the smog of broken promises. The river of justice runs shallow when dammed by partisan stones. Until humanity remembers our true kinship, shedding divisiveness and re-learning how to steward both law and land as sacred, we will remain lost—adrift, uprooted, searching for the path home.
May new seeds of unity be planted. May the wildflowers of compassion and equity rise where old walls crumble. Let us return to relationship, to respect, to healing—for the Courts, for the Forests, for all our Relations.