The earth rumbles. Her bedrock muscles strain against her restraints of plates and soil. She hears the beat of the drum. The low vibration radiates to the hot molten core of her, making her hum gently. She strains again, making the creaks and groans of an old crone unmoved for too long.

Tentative hands brush the drum-head again. Harder this time. A young woman holds the drum between her knees, and stares at it transfixed. As she strikes it again she feels the Earth stretching beneath her. Stretching toward her. She shivers, frightened by the power she feels pulsating from the drum.

A rhythm begins to whisper in her head, steadily growing until its roaring between her ears. Unknowingly her hands begin to strike out the beat on the drum. Her clear blue eyes roll back into her head and close. Her body begins to sway. Slowly, at first, then increasing to frantic pace as she picks up tempo. Her hands fly in a blur of movement over the drum-head. She falls into a trance.

As the girl goes into her trance, Earth opens her eyes. Green fire smolders in them. She stretches and shakes against her confines, feeling the tattooed beat of the drum in a rhythm as old as time. It is now. She has been awakened by a ritual long forgotten. Her bubbling core flares and pulsates to the beat. Her awareness is heightened.

As she shakes off the last remnants of her slumber she begins to to feel pain. At first there is only physical pain. Roadways, pollution, waste, death, decay, and destruction assault her senses and threaten to overwhelm her. Eons of abuse and torture explode through her and for a moment every living creature can hear her scream of agony.

The physical pain passes quickly, leaving her weak and shaking. But in it’s place is something darker. Suddenly there is pain unlike any other. A deep soul rendering pain that makes her core dim and her worldly shoulders with great wracking sobs. In an instant she can see all of the chaos caused by her children, her humans. She sees eras of civilizations rise and fall. She witnesses billions on men women and children slaughtered because of religion, politics, race, greed, envy, lust, anger, poverty, hate, ignorance, and a litiney of other menial reasons. She experiences the senseless genocides of thousands, both human and non. She feels each war, every destruction, death, corruption, and sickness blazing through her at once. During her hibernation humanity had mutated from one of her beloved creations to a virus. Humanity had worn her ragged, taking from her everything and giving nothing back. She was left feeling raped, violated, and betrayed by those she had loved and nurtured.

As the waves of pain subside her eyes begin to swirl, changing from a rich tropical green, to burning fiery amber. Her anger makes her tremble and the fire in her core leaps and expands, threatening to explode from her surface in torrents of liquid brimstone.

Through her blazing haze of anger she again hears the baritone vibrations of the drum. The sound and feel of the frantic beat washes over her, soothing her fury. Her eyes slowly fade back to a jungle green and she sighs in relief as the tension begins to leave her. White hot energy begins to tendril its way through her, filling in gaps and cracks. She shudders in pleasure as her pain ebbs away. The drum beats more furiously and she closes her eyes in ecstasy. The energy has progressed into searing bolts of lightning, smashing their way through her, exploding inside of her, leaving her full. She is healing. Years of wear and age strip from her like layers of rotted old clothes. She feels refreshed and invigorated. Suddenly the drum stops. She stretches her lithe body in a feline roll. Her muscles and bones no longer creak and groan in protest. She is young. She is beautiful. She is healed.

The young woman’s hands stop abruptly and her eyes snap open. Shades of deep jade slowly fade back to blue. Sweat runs down her face, back, and chest, stinging her eyes and matting her hair. She gingerly sets the drum down and stands. Though her face remains unlined her eyes have aged greatly. They gleam like fathomless cerulean pools. Ocean-eyes. They are pools that have seen generations.

A breeze breaks the stillness winding its way through the trees. As the leaves rustle a sultry feminine voice calls out softly, “Earth-healer.”

The young woman nods her head accepting her path without question. “Earth-healer,” she repeats in a low sage-like voice. She bends down to retrieve the drum and stops to caress an unopened daisy. Suddenly it blossoms spilling pristine white and butter yellow across her hand. She lightly strokes the satiny pedals and the daisy seems to sigh contentedly into her hand. Smiling serenely she picks up her drum and walks away.