Hurricane

It didn't behave

like anything you had

ever imagined. The wind

tore at the trees, the rain

fell for days slant and hard.

The back of the hand

to everything. I watched 

the trees bow and their leaves fall

and crawl back into the earth.

As though, that was that.

This was one hurricane

I lived through, the other one

was of a different sort, and

lasted longer. Then 

I felt my own leaves giving up and 

falling. The back of the hand to 

everything. But listen now to what happened

to the actual trees;

toward the end of that summer they

pushed new leaves from their stubbed limbs.

It was the wrong season, yes,

but they couldn't stop. They 

looked like telephone poles and didn't

care. And after the leaves came

blossoms. For some things

there are no wrong seasons.

which is what I dream of for me.

Today there is a nor'easter bearing down on where I live in New York. The wind will blow and the few leaves that still cling to our trees and bushes I imagine will be slapped down by the back hand of a winter storm.  To stay safe, the region's residents will take shelter for the next 24 hours, staying out of harm's way. 

 I remember once when I was 15 by father backhanded me, bloodying my nose, and I wonder how this and other assaults, perceived and otherwise, cause me to hunker down still, withdrawing so as to keep safe.   Each of us has cause to blame human kind for being wrong and inflicting so much pain upon one another and this world.  We have reason to despair. We also have choice to invite in love and life's crazy and erratic possibilities. Alas we cannot stay out of harm's way, but we put ourselves in beauty's way.

As leaves uncurl in thanks to the sun's gift of light, we too can shift.  There are no wrong seasons for life, love, joy, and peace.  Just when you thought the world before you was painted with one heart killing color, a splash comes or a drop, the canvass of your conceptions now ruined. 

Why do our minds seek unilateral thinking?  I am sure it is for some evolved survival reasons this judging we do when we call one thing good and another bad. Our subconscious minds evolved so we can react quickly to threats without. This survival orientation though paints over the interdependent reality where beauty brushes up against the cruelest act.  We imagine ourselves too busy avoiding tigers, angry fathers, and murderous tribes to see the whole - no separation between this one snow storm and leaves that die, and new ones to surprise and surpass us all.

*******

Questions to journal by:

Where have you felt slapped down in life?

Has healing come to you?  How?

What have you learned from the storms in your life? 

Is it possible to see beauty in tragedy?

Foolishness? No, It's Not

Sometimes I spend all day trying to count the leaves on a single tree. To do this I have to climb branch by branch and write down the numbers in a little book. So I suppose, from their point of view, it's reasonable that my friends say: what foolishness! She's got her head in the clouds again.

But it's not.  Of course I have to give up, but by then I'm half crazy with the wonder of it - the abundance of the leaves, the quietness of the branches, the hopelessness of my effort.  And I am in that delicious an important place, roaring with laughter, full of earth-praise.

As I lay slumbering in bed, I peek out of the covers to see how the sun attempts to come through the countless leaves of the trees.  But perhaps you like me project - the sun is shining whether there are leaves to block the light just as you are shining whether you come out from the covers at a decent hour.

There are countless ways to be useless, beautiful useless.

How about counting the ants?

Hugging every tree in the yard or park?

Reciting poetry to a tortoise?

Saving the parrots or some other endangered species?

May you do something foolish today as a prayer for praise - for yourself and the many others, which are really just you come out of your skin into exoskelton, bark, shell, and feather.

How have you been a fool full of earth praise today?

More Evidence - Part 1

1.

The grosbeak sings with a completely cherishable roughness..

With what words can I convince you of the casualness with which the white swans fly..

Do you give a thought now and again to the essential sparrow, the necessary toad?

Just as truly as the earth is ours, we belong to it. The tissue of our minds is made of it, and the soles of our feet, as fully as the tiger’s claw, the branch of the whitebark pine, the voices of the bird, the dog-tooth violet and the tooth of the dog….

This morning I took a hike with our ectourist group in Guyana up to some caves with bats. Along the way we walked through a forest teaming with thousands of species biting, singing, crawling, hooting, growing, and photosynthesizing.  I love the tropical forest and after days and days in one, I begin to know I belong, as do all beings.  However, I am guessing that for you, like me, there are certain special places in your life that more clearly and strongly say, “You belong.”  For me it is swimming in natural body of water.

After this hike I mentioned I jumped off a bank of a forest river into clear cool water.  With fish swimming all around me, I circled round to see a Pygmy Kingfisher perched on a branch and below him, my species washing their clothes.   Clothes, fur, feathers  no matter how roughly or finely we are clad, we are the skin of the earth emerging from the mixing of mud with water. 

Belonging is the first step, and a hard one to be sure. I believe there is more struggles before us all - knowing we are necessary, and also not.

Where do you gain your greatest sense of belonging?

Four Sonnets - Part 3

3.

The authors of history are among us still.

And believe me they believe what they believe

As sincerely as the millions who are simply looking for a life, a purpose.

Who are the good people? We are all good people

Except when we are not.  Meanwhile the forests are felled..

Who despises us and for what reason? Whom do we

Despise and for what reason?....

“What’s on your mind” we say to each other.

As though it’s some kind of weight.

.

I’m in a forest that we speak of in the day as being in danger of felling. As night falls it is too close to nightmares to bring into conscious thought.  If we do, our enemies might stalk us in the dark and keep our dreams of a beloved community from forming.  It’s hard to say who the enemy is – the oil companies that will come in to drill, and build roads and communities around them?  The government in Georgetown, Guyana that sold the mining rights out from underneath the Amerinians?  Or we consumers with our electricity eating gadgets and cars? 

This despising is a weight – I see it in the conservationists around me and I feel it in my heart.  If I could have the yellow breast of the macaw, perhaps I would be too delighted with myself and my kind to look at anything or anyone but in awe.

Whom do you despise and why?

I Own a House

I own a house, a small but comfortable.  In it is a bed, a desk, a kitchen, a closet, a telephone.  And so forth you know how it is: things collect.

…there is the mockingbird; over and over he rises from this thorn-tree and dances-he actually dances, in the air. And there are days I wish I owned nothing, like the grass.

Okay, time for true confessions. I own a house too, well mostly.  When we signed the papers to purchase the house, my heart  felt an ache, a heavy burden.  I did not want to own things.  Yet also I heard the mind saying with its middle-class ways, “Be prudent, be safe, be careful – buying a home will give you a place to live, will guard your finances, and offer security in the future.”

It’s now been nearly 4 years, and things continue to collect in our home.

Things also collect in terms of gear for my wildlife and conservation work. I leave for Guyana in 2 days and I have so looked forward to only taking 25 pounds of luggage, the suggested limit for the small planes and boats upon which we will travel.  With all the cameras and binoculars I am coming closer to 50 pounds.

I wonder, do I really need all this stuff to watch birds dance in the forests of South America?  Then the mind comes in and says, “Take the gear so as to keep the birds safe, and offer security that they and their kind will be there for the future.”

It’s a dance to be sure, this owning, not owning.

How do you dance to this melody?

In Your Hands

The dog, the donkey, surely they know they are alive.

Who would argue otherwise?...

What about the sunflowers?...

Listen, all you have to do is start and there'll be no stopping....

And, speaking of stones, what about the little ones you can

hold in your hands their heartbeats so secret

so hidden it make take years

before, finally you hear them?

In the recent interview with Mary Oliver, she was asked what she had done with her one wild and precious life. She responded, "I used up a lot of pencils...... What I have done is learn to love and learn to be loved. That didn't come easy. And I learned to consider my life an amazing gift. Those are the things."

The subtext of what I believe she has done with her life,  as this poem suggests, is to listen so that she could see, hear, feel, and know love. 

If we listen hard enough I believe that not only will we find beauty everywhere, but also love.  I don't know which comes first or which might be causal, I only know that as I listen in the night, the barred owl asks, "Who loves for you?"

May I answer, "I do."  May we answer, "We do."  Loving is after all in our hands.

How do you listen to love?  

Trees

Heaven knows how many

trees I climbed when my body

was still in the climbing way,

how many afternoons, especially

windy ones, I sat

perched on a limb that

rose and fell with every invisible

blow....

every leafy height

a happiness that came without even trying.....

Now I walk under them-

the household of such tall, kind sisters.

Yesterday, thanks to a reader here, I read a recent interview of Mary Oliver. She spoke of her troubled childhood when she has suffered abuse.  I can see her seeking to escape this, and climbing a tree so that she counteracted the violence done to her by beholding beauty within and without from the lofts of trees.  She sought to transcend the world below.

In the interview she spoke of the happiness and healing she had found in her older age. Though no longer a tree climber, I believe, or so project my own life journey on to hers, that she feels truly like she belongs on this world, walking with all beings as her siblings.

May we this day not feel like we need to climb over any body or being, but call them family, kindly.

Who are your siblings?

The Poet Dreams of the Mountain

Sometimes I grow weary of the days, with all their fits and starts.

I want to climb some old gray mountain, slowly, taking

the rest of my lifetime to do it....

I want to look back at everything, forgiving it all,

and peaceful, knowing the last thing there is to know.

All that urgency! Not what the earth is about!...

In ten thousand years, maybe, a piece of the mountain will fall.

As so often happens when reading Mary's poem, the coincidence of her words with my life events startles me.  For instance, just this morning I was reviewing my itinerary for my trip to Guyana next week, and there in the middle of it is an overnight hike that gains 6,000 feet in elevation and ends at Jordan falls. 

Then not even 5 minutes later I read this poem about a slow, long climb up a mountain.

That image of me, walking up a winding path of a mountain path with nothing to do but to look, think, remember, and place one foot in front of the other brings me solace this Monday morning. 

How did Mary know that we ache for the sense of eternal wholeness that a long slow hike or a long slow life can bring?

Do you have this ache too?  How do you respond to it?

Wind in the Pines

Is it true that the wind

streaming especially in fall

through the pines

is saying nothing, nothing at all,

or is it just that I don't yet know the language?

The trees are our interpreters. They tell us what the world is saying.  From which direction does the wind come, how strong is it, how variable is it, and how long does it last? From this we know if  a storm approaching, a front coming through, or the breeze rising from the changing heat or from the water.

Once I was in Nashville when there had been storm warnings all day.  Towards the end of the storm I turned off the TV and radio, figuring any tornado possibilities were gone.  Suddenly it got very dark and I looked out at the trees, some of which were bending to the point of snapping in two. The tornado passed by just a few blocks away, though I couldn't tell except for the trees..

Another time I was in Northern California and couldn't figure out what a door had shut in the house and why my clothes were swaying in the closet.  I looked out at the trees, and in seeing their rocking, I knew an earthquake had struck.

So I look often to the trees, for they speak in birds, in flowers and seeds, in wind, and in beauty. Such a lovely language.

What different languages are there in your life?

The Trees

Do you think of them as decoration?

Think again....

May I invite you to revise your thoughts about them?

Oh, Lord, how we are all for invention and advancement!

But I think it would do us good if we would think about

these brothers and sisters, quietly and deeply.

the trees, the trees, jut holding on

to the old, holy ways.

Today a couple of friends are coming over to home to help remove a fallen tree from our neighbor's backyard. This past Sunday, in our wooded back lot, a rotting snag fell over, luckily only hitting one wire fence.  The neighbor, whom we had not met before came knocking on our door asking me if we could clean up the mess.

The question comes up, who is responsible for the damage?  Do my spouse and I "own" the tree and it is up to us to repair damage and remove the broken log on their property?  Someone wrote us and said that if the tree had been alive and healthy, then it would be the resposibility of the neighbor to remove the downed tree, and not us.

Alas, it comes down to thinking of trees in terms of ownership, responsibility, and financial damage. 

So we walked our property line looking for any suspect trees that might cause damage, and discovered a plethora of downed trees on and near our property. While walking I noticed not just dead trees, but the skulls of several deer. What happened to them this winter?  Did coyotes take them down, the cold, or the lack of food?  What happened to the trees who will know no more green shoots, flowers, or the letting go of old leaves?

May I during the sound of chain saws today really listen to my siblings in the woods and wonder what their lives are and will be.

Who are your brothers and sisters?

.

Meeting Wolf

There are no words

inside his mouth,

inside his golden eyes.

So we stand, silent,

both of us tense

under the speechless but faithful trees.

And this is what I think:

I have given him

intrusion.

He has given me

a glimpse into a better but now broken world.

Not his doing, but ours.

I can hear my spouse speaking in my mind now, for over the last few days we have spoken about "needs based ethics."  This ethical process doesn't have principles, or categories of people., therefore there isn't blame or praise.  For example,  "animals have the same rights as human animals,"  Ethical principles are one framework for guiding our behavior, but in reality our modular brains, our emotional limbic system, and our other subconscious motivations for behavior influence our actions more than any cognitive framework. 

You might ask then that with such wild brains as ours and without judgment of what is moral, how do we heal the world and stop the harming and breaking?

In Needs Based Ethics (NBE) what we do is integrate our mind's conscious and subconscious functions by keeping our hearts open to the needs of all beings.  It is an ethic of com-passion in that we bring our feelings to the situation of ourselves and others so that we can empathize with others' needs. These needs aren't desires or strategies, but are universal and fundamental to the species in question.

So as in my reflection yesterday, we humans are not more "right" or "wrong" than the wolf, squirrel, or owl.  We do things to fulfill life and the basic needs of protection, security, connection, and creativity.  It's just that the strategy that we pick to meet these life fulfilling needs have tragic consequences. 

My tenets of the day:

We break relationships, bodies, and the earth.

We must meet the wolf our self-interests and mourn our choices.

We are not an intrusion upon the earth, but one of many beautiful beings.

We are worthy and so are others.

May my actions so reflect these understandings.

What are your tenets today?

About Angels and About Trees - February 11, 2011

Where do angels
        fly in the firmament,
and how many can dance
        on the head of a pin?

Well, I don't care
        about that pin dance,
what I know is that
        they rest, sometimes,
in the tops of the trees

  and you can see them,
        or almost see them,
or, anyway, think: what a
        wonderful idea.

I have lost as you and
        others have possibly lost a
beloved one,
        and wonder, where are they now?

The trees, anyway, are
        miraculous, full of
angels (ideas);even
        empty they are a
good place to look, to put
        the heart at rest--all those
leaves breathing the air, so


peaceful and diligent, and certainly
        ready to be
the resting place of
        strange, winged creatures
that we, in this world, have loved

I have never lived on the ocean, but when I visit the eternal vista holds me in blissful transcendence.  So too have come to me the vistas of western mountains where you can see forever.  It was with some trepidation then when we moved to central Florida – no body of water, no mountains, no suns or moons rising on the horizon – just trees filling the view wherever you turn.

Florida has taught me to look up. Now I stare up into the branches as I might onto the ocean or from a mountain.  I strain to see who lives there, for surely there are some passing spring warblers daring me to behold their beauty.  Even if I don’t see any movement, I can hear the earth’s pulse through the miracle of the trees, and it echoes in my heart to last me through the day.

Today I am up in the level of the trees at a hotel at the University of Georgia, Athens. The trees are sprinkled with snow – natural angel dust to drug the soul with joy.

What do you see in a tree?

At the River Clarion

1.

I don't know who God is exactly.

But I'll tell you this.

I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a

water splashed stone

and all afternoon I listened to the voices

of the river talking....

And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me

what they were saying.

Said the river I am part of holiness.

And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered

the moss beneath the water.

I'd been to the river before, a few times.

Don't blame the river that nothing happened quickly.

You don't hear such voices in an hour or a day.

You don't hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.

And it's difficult to hear anything anyway, through

all the traffic, the ambition.

2.

If God exists he isn't just butter and good luck. 
He's also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke… 

If God exists he isn't just churches and mathematics. 
He's the forest, He's the desert. 
He's the ice caps, that are dying. 

He's the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts. 
He's van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell. 
He's the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons. 
He's every one of us, potentially. 
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet. 
And if this is true, isn't it something very important?

Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and

each of you too, or at least

of his intention and his hope....

3.

Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.

Let us live it, gesture by gesture.

When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?

And should we not thank the knife also?

We do not live in a simple world.

4.

There was someone I loved who grew old and ill

One by one I watched the fires go out.

There was nothing I could do

except to remember

that we receive

then we give back...

5.

I pray for the desperate earth.

I pray for the desperate world.

I do the little each person can do, it isn't much.

Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves....

6.

And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them,

for heaven's sakes-

the lucky ones: they have such deep natures,

they are so happily obedient.

While I sit here in a house filled with books,

ideas, doubts, hesitations.

7.

And still, pressed deep into  my mind, the river

keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its

long journey, its pale, infallible voice

singing.

A quick review on the internet shows this to be one of Mary's more popular later poems.  For me, I enjoy it so very much because it speaks of an answer to old age, death, loss, and suffering.  What can we do but to remember that we receive, and that our response is to give back? For God is in my arthritic knees, my mother's dementia, my sister's cancer, and in the extinction of the parrots and the people.  I'm going to have to listen very, very hard to hear the singing in such times as these.

Is your house full of ideas? Doubts?  Hesitations? Prayer? Singing?