Thursday, April 29, 2021

the song of the earth


 

the song of the Earth

 

     When I was growing up the word ‘pollution’ was something people actually heard. It didn’t put your mind asleep. You had to twist it around your head.  It forced meaning upon you. It’s totally different today. We’re shut down to words like pollution and cancer. Everyone in my family has died from cancer. These are big words meaning big things; entire eco-systems, our bodies’ immune system. 

     Entire regional ecosystems are in danger. It’s not just any longer about how many hectares or acres a tiger needs in order to be a tiger.  It’s not just about the curves in a river a salmon needs in order to be salmon.  (The curves somehow producing more viable offspring within their bellies.)  Finally, in our lifetime, we’re seeing some dams taken down. We wait for the salmon to wiggle waggle up the river again.

     Today, we know that major dams, the largest constructions in the world, can cause seismic activity. We’re talking earthquakes. But the earth’s health is not even just about this sort of thing anymore either. It’s about how we’ve become threatened by our own existence. 

     Every day we hear about new extinctions.

     How do you talk about this enormous loss that all of us are facing?  Those that have little ones. Those that like to think about futures.  Like to think about the summer sun or kitchen gardens feeding families in Kenya.  The movement of people and animals. Rhythms.  Maybe the drumming of the caribou influencing our music.  We don’t really know how any of the subtle or even the strong rhythms transform or change the flow of the blood in our veins. What we do know, we know so well that we’re starting not to hear it. We know that mountains in Switzerland have to be covered to protect them from melting.  We know that bugs that have natural enemies are free to destroy because the cold that would suppress them no longer does. 

     We know that our opposable thumb is unopposable. 

     How do you talk about this and relate this to the loss of someone you love without making it seem like you’ve made too much of a leap and that people aren’t important?  When people rank priorities of life, we’re always at the top of the list. Do people have to be the most important? Of course they are to you. Those that love you; those that give you meaning, and gravity and ground. But what about all those other beings and bodies living on this planet that sustain all that you love? What do you know about that?  How close are you to it?  Is your ear to the ground? 

     Enki, in ancient Sumeria, the place that gave us writing, meant wisdom. Enki literally meant your ear to the ground. Can you hear the smooth turns a salmon makes up a winding river?  While in the belly, salmon eggs learn how to follow the river and to mind their way back to the open ocean.

     Every day another extinction.  Aldo Leopold said an intelligent tinkerer saves all the pieces.  We’re losing the pieces.  Rhythms are changing.  Some of the sounds that make up the song are disappearing.  Some of the movement in the river is stopped by dams and diverted waters. We should celebrate our differences. But we have to distinguish between difference and loss.  We know that the Earth has tremendous capabilities of renewal. Some people call wetland habitats the earth’s lungs.  If given a chance wetlands not only transform toxic wastes but thrive again and become open invitations to ducks flying overhead to rest during their migration.  Every being is a significant part of this world. Every living being, every body of water, every parcel of land. How do we learn how to hear what we’ve put into the background?  We need to start listening again.

Saturday, April 17, 2021

for ruth and all our mothers

 


For Ruth, and for all our mothers, when am I not dying:

When our cat shakes with purr and pops her head out of her curl and her pads look like a hyacinth breaking ground.

 

When we fall in love with another heirloom bean.

 

Whenever we use the intimacy of a nickname.

 

When skeins of rivulets join the larger stream.

 

When we smell the ocean in the river and our mind is tickled by the notion of how the salmon makes its journey.

 

When we listen.

 

When we light up when you walk into the room.

 

When the day begins to feel like a journey and you exhale into a deeper world.

 

When we are listened to.

 

When we are seen.

 

When we move under the hush of the tree’s canopy.

 

When a squirrel eats the bones of the bread turning it like a wheel.

 

When you shake the snow off the forsythia and it bounces up yellow with spring.

 

When answers feel right.

 

When we see a wren try to sing with a worm in its mouth.

 

When we feel the silver we’re wearing.

 

When we have the release of the out loud.

 

When we let the sun melt into our skin.

 

When we stop, because there is something about the light.

 

When we know like Ryokan, that we must go there today – tomorrow the plum blossoms will scatter.



please note ~ ~ ~ 

in this time of the pandemics - violence toward people of color, gun violence, ongoing assaults on our ecosystems, ongoing disregard for indigenous rights and lands, and COVID, in this time, i know there are many who see the good and work toward it within their communities, knitting missions with purpose, peace and recognition of each other. i'm humbled by the work you do. 

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Tuesday, April 13, 2021

trouble free


 Nobody should charge for trouble.  My posts will be coming soon. I just wanted to reach out and tell you, if you are there, that I hope all your days are trouble free.


To be continued. Once I get it started.



Sunday, April 4, 2021

inspired by actual events - freda's wild blues coming soon


 I look forward to community, to kvetching, to building a family of eco-minded creatives and naturalists, cooks and everyone that loves the earth, the waters and lands and wants to do good for this beautiful blue planet.  


In the meantime, let's connect  @thewildblues on Twitter