Water Welcomes Us
My connection with the Sidhe and the realm of nature has converged. Though the Sidhe inhabit a non-physical dimension relative to the human realm, they, like us, are deeply engaged with what we call nature and are concerned about climate change. In 2023, I wrote about a cohort of young Sidhe in a preparatory training program to engage with nature in co-collaboration with humans. Since then, I have developed a working partnership with a young woman whom I call Sashima. The story below is my recent experience working with her on drought, wildfires, the community of nature, and water. I hope you enjoy it. ~ Ron Hays, Editor
Flying home from Virginia, I saw a low cloud bank obscuring the Earth from Western Montana to the Pacific coast of Oregon. Except it wasn't a cloud layer; it was wildfire smoke. Millions of acres of forests, grasslands, and sagebrush were burning across the northwest. I was returning home to a landscape of drought-fueled wildfires. In Western Oregon, wildfires frequently occur near my home in the Clackamas River Valley. In 2014, 5,500 acres burned; in 2020, 130,000 acres; this summer, another 12,500 acres. Looking out the window of the 737 that day, I awoke to the realization that I am experiencing climate transformation now; not in 30 years; not in the next century, but in this very moment. With that recognition came another: I am not alone, and I am not helpless. There is work I can do, a blessing I can contribute, though I might not yet know how. What if I could connect with the landscape and invite water to bring their balancing rains to our parched landscapes? I could pray for rain.
Prayer is not a supplication, but a form of sacred connection between beings of different natures. Prayers in this sense are more than a request; they are filled with gratitude for the rains that have come before and will come in the future, acknowledging the blessing they bring. Prayers for rain are not done single-handedly. It is communal work. It is the community of the land—below, on, and above it: the bacteria, mycelium, and worms; plants, shrubs, and trees; the insects, animals, and birds. It is the unseen community—the nature spirits and devas, the fairy kingdom, the Sidhe, and the human community.
After returning home, I went to an old forest nearby. I am welcomed there; I know myself to be a human member of this forest, and I have learned to quietly open my presence and sense when communication is possible. That day I asked, “Do you need rain? Can I help?” I immediately sensed: “Yes!” This began a month-long project with nature and my Sidhe partner, Sashima.
I include Sashima here. She’s a Sidhe, and I’m a human. Over the past several years, we’ve created a close working partnership, particularly in this local forest. We have learned to merge our perceptual impressions. I bring my sensory experience of the forest; she shares her subtle awareness of the energies and beings who dwell there. Together, we enhance one another's connection to the Earth we love.
That first day, I stood with my feet planted, letting the energy of the land rise and fill me. With it came impressions of trees and, less distinctly, other members of the landscape. I knew I was not alone. Knowing no rain was nearby, I reached out to the waters of the Pacific Ocean, the source of our rains. On behalf of the land, all dwelling beings, and myself, I sent prayers to these waters to nourish our land with their rains. The drought continued. Sashima and I persisted, calling upon the waters to visit our landscape two or three times a week. My continued engagement with this practice strengthened my bodily sensation of connecting with the land. My awareness of nature—the trees, plants, and animals—expanded. We became a community, a neighborhood, sharing a thirst for water.
As our work progressed, a new relationship with water emerged. I became aware of a difference between the moisture in the air and the groundwater. The air water appeared as dancing, invisible droplets. Touching into the groundwater, I sensed it as dense and heavy. Other forms of water floated into my subtle perceptions: lake waters, creek waters, river waters, even ocean waters. Each of their energy signatures was different and unique. One day, a large, more universal water being showed up. Was rain on the way?
The weather pattern was shifting. Cool, moist air drifted inland from the Pacific Ocean; skies were overcast, and temperatures were dropping. Three weeks had passed since we began our work. The forecast called for significant rain in about a week. We continued our engagement. One month after my plane landed, the rains finally came. Drizzle at first, then steady rain for two or more days. The rains spread eastward and poured across the whole region. The worst of the fires were quenched. I felt relief, like a fever had broken. A palpable feeling of happiness settled over us. Nature was happy and we humans were happy.
The rains ceased, and a couple of days afterward, I invited Sashima to join me as I stood in the forest. It was a time to give thanks to the waters that blessed the lands. Once again nature unfolded within me: the earth, the trees, the living landscape. I felt the joy permeating the entire environment. We offered prayerful gratitude for the rain. Then, something surprising happened. The elemental water being appeared again. We continued to express our gratefulness for the rains. Then I began to sense that this water being was blessing us. I experienced a moment of perplexity—why? Then I realized it was thanking us, humans, for calling to it on behalf of the land. Our human connection was unexpected and welcomed, and water was grateful.
I cannot really know whether the communal work we did affected the timing of the rains in our region. Weather patterns are monumental forces that operate far beyond my pay grade, and it’s not unusual for heavy rains to come in mid-September. But I do know this: When we deeply connect with nature, nature responds. During my month-long engagement with nature in my neighborhood, a new relationship emerged from the work we undertook together. I knew my forest welcomed my help, and I learned that humans have a unique role to play in co-creating the natural world around us.
