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March 24, 2019 · 11:54 pm

Loving Gaia Part 2

The New York times has a climate section.  In it they report about what’s happening – it’s a mix of science and politics.  They also offer articles about ways individuals can be more aware, and live with less of a footprint; topics range from using less plastic to maximizing energy savings.   I don’t see much written, though, about how people are dealing with climate change in their emotional lives and what their personal relationship to the planet is. 

A friend we’ll call Kara (to protect the innocent) recently related a story to me about the pastor of her church.  On a volunteer cleanup day she noticed the church pastor toting around a big can of Roundup with a spray nozzle attached to it.  She asked him what he was using it for.  He cheerfully replied that he sprays along the stonewall in the front of the church to kill the weeds.  Situated on a hillside near to the ocean, the church’s stonewall hosts runoff that makes its way into waterways which in turn empty into the ocean.   

Kara asked if he wasn’t concerned about the water table and the ocean?  His friendly response was “well, the harbor is really dirty anyway, so what’s the difference, right?” 

After pausing to gather up her best diplomatic self, Kara finally came back with “Uh, well.. the young people have been growing oysters in harbor in an effort to restore the ecosystem in there, and that could kill them faster than the kids can grow them…” She forced a toothy grin,  “something to consider.” She then went on to point out that “the initiative came from the most disgusting harbor in the world- New York, where kids have been farming Oysters to restore their harbor for years and they have seen a marked improvement.” 

Her story finished this way: “He bobbed his head and said ‘Oh, that’s interesting’… in a somewhat agreeable and ‘I’ll consider that’ kind of way. He disappeared with his Round Up.” 

For me this story brought up the question:  what is my unique and individual relationship with the planet?  What are my feelings?  And what is the pastor’s relationship to it? Does he feel the planet is invincible and will carry on just fine whether he sprays RoundUp or not? Or does he not care? I feel sure he does care but hasn’t thought about his responsibility to the soil he lives on.

For me, the sight of the setting sun lighting up treetops lifts my spirits. I garden to be close to the soil, and in relationship with plants. Being in my vegetable garden gives me a feeling of deep well being that nothing else matches. The earthy sweet, sensual smell of vegetables ripening in the sun, tomato leaves fluttering in a breeze, basil reaching into the sun, bursting with peppery vitality.

My boyfriend feels happiest on his bike in the woods. He relates to the landscape’s challenges, memorizes the terrain, and feels satisfied and alive pedaling over challenging mountain biking trails.

For most of us, it’s at least one thing and for many of us, if we stop and think about it, there are a lot of things that join our hearts to the planet. Maybe we take those things for granted; after all, we feel entitled to our planet and it’s always been there for us.

The snowdrops emerged in our yard today. Delicate little white bells that announce spring’s arrival here in the northeast – our first flowers of the season, and they don’t stay for long. I could not resist laying down in the grass and getting to their level to look at them.

An ephemeral gift from the great mother of us all.

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March 15, 2019 · 3:54 pm

Tucker

When the kids were small we learned our son had allergies to pretty much everything – except, miraculously, to dogs.  

So we decided to adopt a dog from a shelter, and began searching.  We found it harder to find what we were looking for – a puppy – than we imagined we would but eventually we zeroed in on a litter of roley poley looking spotted dogs sheltered in upstate new york.  The family piled into the car and we drove there to see them.  The kids, of course, were expecting to return with a new family member and truth be told, so were we. 

We arrived and met the woman we’d spoken with via email.  After greetings and a exchanging remarks on a few process details, we went into the kennel.  The puppies were sweet and the kids were enchanted.  Meanwhile, I noticed another dog – leggier than the puppies, huddled in a corner a few feet away.  His fur was black, entirely black, and he was somewhere between puppy-hood and young-adulthood.  I went over to look at him.  Seeing me, he scrambled out the trap door that lead outside to where he could relieve himself.  

I asked Jen, our host, about the dog.  “That’s Jackie.  He’s not up for adoption.”  

“Why?” I asked.  

“He’s anti-social.  He has worms, and we’ve been taking him home with us to see if we can rehab him but I think we’ll probably put him down.”  

My heart sank.  

“Can we meet him?”  

She hesitated.  “I guess there’s no harm.”  She opened up his kennel and we walked out to his outdoor area, the kids trailing.  Jackie was curled up in a corner, eyeing us warily.   

“This is what I mean.  He’s always like this.”   

Jackie was thin, and his coat was rough looking.  “How old is he?” I asked.   

“Three months,” said Jen.   

I felt terrible for him.  I walked toward him slowly, making friendly noises, but he ran to another corner, putting distance between us.   “I think we should take him,” I said, not really thinking about what I was saying.  

My husband looked at me, not surprised, sighed, and said “she’ll decide who comes home with us,” meaning it would be my choice despite being one of four people.  He smiled.  

“It’s okay with me.  He looks like he needs love.”  The kids were disappointed.  They liked the spotted roley poley puppies.  They were friendly and playful.  This dog was decidedly not either of those things.  

Jen seemed unsure about our offer.  After some exchange on how we’d care for him, she agreed to let us take Jackie home.  We loaded him into the crate we’d brought and promised to treat his worms.  The kids made the best of it during the drive home, agreeing that this dog needed a home and the others would surely be adopted.  We talked about names.  And we settled on Tucker.  

Years later, Tucker was our rock.  He’d grown into a beautiful black shephard.  When my husband and I split, Tucker came with me, and my new little house felt a lot more like home.  Everyone loved Tucker.  He was mellow, friendly, and greeted everyone with a wag.  

And then one day when he was out in the yard he bolted into the street, probably chasing a squirrel or rabbit.  And he was hit.   

Tucker didn’t live.  We carried him to the vet and they tried to save him but couldn’t.  We all cried for days.  We talked about planting him under a rose bush but ultimately I didn’t.  I knew we would move to another house one day and I kept his ashes.  Four years later I still have them.  I still think about the nights my children were with their father after we split, Tucker curled up with me for company.  He was the best friend I took a little for granted.  Until he was gone.  And I’ve never been the same.   

We all carry him around in our hearts, especially me.   

We live on a farm, now, with a couple of other rescues.  I’m sure he would have liked this farm, so I am planning to bury him here in my garden with a rose bush over him.   

I want him to rest somewhere beautiful and to go back to the goddess, who gifted him to us, worms and all.    

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March 12, 2019 · 5:40 pm

Sacred Connection

Sitting in the grass, sitting bones against the earth, is a birthright few of us spend much time exercising. The energy that flows up into us from the earth is so different from the experience of sitting in a chair; taking the time to sit intentionally, allowing source energy to enliven your spine, support your legs, bottom, and root chakra (the energy center that resides at the base of the spine), is self-prescribed therapy. Resting directly on the Earth reminds us of our connection to everything, and allows us to root and be present to our body in a way that is intensely grounded, momentary, and personal.

The feeling of the soil, soft and malleable, accommodating,
invites us to sit for a while as indigenous humans do, with our bottoms pointing behind us to support our backs, vertebrae stacked, root chakra at the base, breathing in the smell of grass, flowers, or other flora nearby, and the soil, warmed by the sun. Or lie down and look up, clouds floating by in a panoply of shapes. The trees arcing up to touch the sky, birds criss-crossing above.

With the earth beneath and around you, you might feel that you come from this earth, are part of this earth, one with the wind, the birds, all growing, crawling things. Or you might just feel a little better, more grounded. I’d bet, though, that you won’t just do it once.

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March 1, 2019 · 2:58 pm

Bringing Heaven down to Earth

Consciousness, spirituality and awareness are important topics – and hot ones – that rightly inspire earnest attention for many of us. We all want to be the best version of ourselves that we can.

And I think the uniqueness each of us can bring to the journey of self actualization is such a rich thing to ponder on.

Whatever path you embrace – a traditional path of Christianity, Buddhism, Judaism, Islam, an “alternative” path of Earth-based consciousness, a philosophical approach like Taoism or anything else – I think the trick is marrying your beliefs with your day to day existence, your relationships, your way of being in the world – and making your spiritual practice be the way you live. Which is hard.

I feel like every practice puts forward a set of ideals and ideas that we feel driven to embody. And we struggle with not being perfect or measuring up. I catch myself showering too long when I know that conserving water is a value I hold close, for instance. I get irritated with my rescue dog hound for her incessant barking when I love her and value empathy and care toward the planet and its residents over most everything else. And I don’t always choose products at the grocery store that sport the least packaging or most earth-friendly production methods/sources. Worst of all, I have a long commute to work.

Right along with that, I am not caring for myself the way that I want to and should. I don’t meditate as much as I’d like to. I don’t exercise as much as I’d like to. And like so many of us I’m critical of myself.

But I think being on a spiritual path has more to do with accepting what you find in yourself and incorporating that into the ideal you are striving toward. Noting what’s hard, allowing that to be a part of the process, and seeing that you ARE the thing you embrace, you ARE the experience of striving toward your own actualization.

Otherwise your mind would not have alighted on a resolve to walk the path you are on.

If you think you are imperfect consider: the pursuit of the ideal is the point, not the attainment of it.

And if you think you are perfect, that’s another thing altogether.

The Hindu tradition has a thing called Dharma – it means many things but in my days of studying religion I understood it as accepting and being the best you can on the path you find yourself on. Be your best you with the circumstances and work you find yourself in.

It’s a little like being Charlie Brown. Of all the Charlie Browns, your the Charlie Browniest.

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February 15, 2019 · 10:43 pm

Roots and Branches

I sit in front of a west-facing window when I work from home, under the branches of a great old Ash tree.  It reaches over and past the window, protectively shading the house and reaching up high into the sky.  I imagine it’s cooler up there in the topmost branches, and that the tree knows I’m down here.

These trees are becoming rare in the states because of an invasive beetle called the emerald ash borer.  Cute little guys, they are a shiny turquoise and plum color with a kind of kaleidoscope finish like they were dipped in a jar of glaze. And they like to eat ash leaves.  Unfortunately for the Ash, the larvae of the borers eat the inside bark of the tree, making it hard for the trees to transport water up the trunk, which is how trees absorb water and nutrients.   The larvae spell disaster for the trees, and over time the Ash trees die of thirst.

We are fighting for ours; we hired a company to treat the trees in an effort to fight off the beetles.  It’s expensive but when I look at the tree that can’t be saved – the oldest, largest, most graceful of them, which was too far gone to be treated by the tree specialists when we bought the house –  my resolve hardens. 

These trees aren’t particularly huggable.  Some trees are, practically inviting you to wrap your arms around them and lay your face against them, but the Ash trees have a stand-offish air, seem aloof and distant and seem to want their space.  Still, they are my favorites, probably because they are struggling.

The biggest of them, with a trunk that is more than seven feet in circumference, has more than a third of its majestic branches defoliated.  It is hard to watch it decline; it exudes a kind of pride, even now, that is undeniable.  People come to the house and notice it – beginning to remark on its beauty, taking it in, looking more carefully – and then they stop speaking.  It’s like that.  A sudden realization you’ve said something offensive, or sad, without meaning to.

The trees around us have a kind of slow, deliberate presence and awareness, existing in a symbiotic relationship to us and around us, reaching up to meet the sky, joining the earth with the heavens. 

I would like to work from home more often. 

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Loving Gaia

On a starry, moonless night, there’s silence, except for some wind in the tree tops.  The bare limbs of the deciduous trees – usually imposing shadows lit by the brilliant cornflower-midnight blue night sky – are almost invisible.

This moon looks like other dark moons but today’s New York times featured an announcement that 2018 was the 4th warmest year on record – the 4 warmest being within the last 4 years.  I’m not a statistician but I’m pretty sure that is not normal.  The planet is warming up.  We could even say it has a fever.

As if to underscore the point, I saw a bird today that I’ve never seen before.  The feathers of it’s head had a pretty red sheen- a kind of sparrow or finch.  Not a cardinal.  And not a bird I’ve ever seen here. A newcomer to my feeder.  Perhaps she found her way here because of changing weather patterns?  Or perhaps I’ve just never noticed her before.  But that seems unlikely.

And while trees and bulbs know better than to blossom early,  I see kids walking around in summer clothes when Massachusetts temps reach 55 degrees Fahrenheit in February.  It’s a little surreal.

Okay, they are teenagers.  Not that surreal. But, still.

The dark moon favors sleeping, letting go, decluttering.  Making way for something new to grow.

Like a sense of deepening connection to the planet.   A personal relationship, even.

Every thing we create and the energy we consume comes from the planet and the elements.  And it returns to … the planet and the elements:  the water, the air, consumed by fire, or buried in the earth.

This dark moon seems to be suggesting that we cultivate more awareness and commitment to the planet.  That we let go of our need to consume every cool/adorable thing we see and maybe use less energy.  Our choices about these things are choices in our relationship to the one and only planet that sustains and nurtures us.

When I bring bags to the grocery and minimize packaging I imagine I’m blowing a kiss to the Earth.  And maybe not adding to the giant plastic pile floating in the middle of the ocean.  It gives me a little thrill.  Really.

If we break (up with) this planet I don’t think we are going to find a better one to live on.

And I am not sure she would give us a second chance.

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February 7, 2019 · 12:39 am
January 20, 2019 · 3:17 pm

Mary has left us – we will miss you

The Uses of Sorrow

(In my sleep I dreamed this poem)

Someone I loved once gave me a box full of darkness.

It took me years to understand that this, too, was a gift.

Mary Oliver

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January 20, 2019 · 3:12 pm

Winter Charms

Winter months are long – days are short, the air freezes your ears and bites your skin till it’s pink and chafed.  Still, it’s beautiful to see a field of snow beyond the glass, or rooftops blanketed in white.  I would miss the site if it didn’t repeat itself year after year, returning like a family member for a mandatory holiday.

And winter invites us to slow down and turn our attention in.  To our interior thoughts, our interior spaces; we are all encouraged to indulge our inner introvert and embrace cozy — this is something the Scandinavians are expert at.   I happen to be Norwegian, so I am a subject matter expert in this area.  🙂

Listening to freezing rain pelt the window from the a couch, blanket wrapped around you, is a giant perk of being human in this day and age, if you are fortunate and resourceful enough to have a warm and cozy home.  It would be a shame to pass up the opportunity of indulging in winter’s delights.

Among them, hot drinks, giant sweaters, snowboarding, knitting, hearty soups, adorable winter hats and … books.

Here, books fill a 10 foot tall bookshelf arranged in a neat row and then bearing stacks layered horizontally along the top of the row to reach the shelf that hangs above.  There are also cabinets filled with books – some behind glass, some behind wooden doors.  Topics vary – Rumi, Shakespeare, Engineering, Emergency Medicine, spell craft, the classics – Hesiod and Theogony, the Iliad, et al., modern witchcraft, Islamic poetry and philosophy, Early Gnostic Christianity, Flaubert, Jungian psychology, history, gardening books, astrology, Arthur Conant Doyle, the Dalai Lama …  and it goes on…

Standing in front of them brings me feelings of comfort, happiness and security.  So many hours of pleasure there in those books just waiting.  All I have to do is select one and settle on a nearby couch, wrap up like a burrito in a throw blanket, crack it open, and settle in.

The weeks between Yule and Imbolg, when the first seeds will stir, is a kind of gestation time, a tide perfectly suited to looking inward to take stock of where you are.  What you can be grateful for, what challenges and adventures you wish to engage when the snow finally melts.

Because it will.  The days are lengthening.  So savor winter – enjoy it in whatever way it speaks to you – while it lasts.

 

 

 

 

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June 25, 2018 · 10:01 pm

My friend’s daughter, too.

Every time I hear about rape, sexual assault, violence, or harassment, I notice that I don’t have a visceral reaction.  I should, I think.  The language around it is, probably necessarily, non-descript and somewhat abstract.

“She is a rape victim.”  It’s a powerful sentence, all too commonly used.  So commonly, in fact, that I’d assert we are a little desensitized to it.  Rape is a gut wrenching, heart-breaking, debasing thing to experience.  It’s a brutal thing to do to someone.  Taking away a person’s choice, violating their body, asserting control in a way that is dehumanizing.

It’s not the same as showing someone porn when they enter a room for their annual review.  That’s obnoxious, offensive harassment intended to capitalize on a power-over situation.   It may be humiliating to a woman who imagines she’s brought such idiocy on herself, but it’s not rape.  I would know.  It happened to me.   It’s rotten, it’s had the effect of hardening me to men’s advances and making me dismissive of ridiculous stunts like that.  But it bespeaks what people expect to get away with.  It demonstrates the perceived pecking order.  Even where women are in positions of power we’ve earned it by going the extra mile 10 times over, and done so despite the expectation that we should pitch in to help even when it’s not in our job description.  I don’t think the same unconscious bias exists for men.

Here’s something else that’s happened recently:  I received a call from a very close friend — she was distraught — why?  Her daughter was raped.  A beautiful young woman, 20 years old.  Tall, blonde, slender, always smiling.  She comes from a loving, close family.  She works a job and goes to school part time.  She takes care of her younger siblings, trusts her friends, and now, she’s trying to sort out how she can put this behind her.

Well, she won’t put it behind her.  I would know.  I was raped, too.

I did the same thing she is doing.  I kept quiet for a long time.  When I managed to admit what had happened I wanted to not talk about it.   Talking about it brought it closer, made gaining distance from it impossible.  Objects in the mirror are closer than they appear.

There are so many horrific stories that my story and my friend’s story are sort of mild by comparison to infants being raped or war crimes that make rape into something altogether more ghastly.  Still, I think for any rapist the point is to make themselves into something they aren’t:  a person in control.

While all of this plays out in the papers, the courts, in art, and in grassroots events, please consider that we victims of rape are everywhere around you.  At the office, at school, at the grocery store, maybe in your family or circle of friends.  And there really are things that we can do.  Keep health clinics that offer free health care, like planned parenthood, open.  https://www.plannedparenthood.org/  Support organizations like RAINN.  https://www.rainn.org/  And be kind to people on the premise that they are dealing with something you don’t know about.

For my friend’s daughter – we’ll call her Amy – she has the support of a family that can be present for her and love her.  But she’ll have to sort out how to carry this around with her as she goes through life.  We all do.

 

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June 24, 2018 · 12:28 pm

Midsummer Magic

The year’s longest day.  Birds singing, strawberries ripening, Rhubarb ready – lettuce starting to bolt.  It’s the first wave of summer goodness and the trip the sun takes from here is down.  We have entered the realm of the holly king.  Seems impossible – we just got to summer.  But there you are – the only constant is change.

The magic if midsummer is about realization in the moment and enjoying what’s good, what’s present and available.  This is the time to count blessings and thank whatever divine source you connect to for the talents and skills you’ve acquired, the comforts you’ve garnered, the relationships you enjoy, your job or means of support.

And for change, for transformation, it could be anything from making a delicious crisp that nurtures your heart and taste buds to sitting out to watch the sun rise with a cup of coffee and listening to the birds sing to making a resolution filled with self love and trust.

This year I worked on healing wounds – neglect-wounds.  I grew from a child to a young woman without the support and love of a mother present to care for me.  Not when I was 2, not when I was 20, not when I had my kids, and not now.   She just had more important things to do.  Friends to see.  Whatever else she prioritized.  She might have been too young to be an attentive mother.  She might have been too damaged or fragile or maybe just too selfish.  It doesn’t matter why.  The magic is in seeing it, accepting it, and making lemonade with your lemons.   I also made a crisp and sat out at sunrise.  🙂

This midsummer I thanked myself for being a better mom for my kids than I had.  I thanked myself for the self-reliance I developed taking care of myself.   And I promise to be a better parent to myself than my mother was.  Lemonade.

The magic of midsummer is ease.  Enough ease to pause and take stock.  Enough light to see a little farther, a little longer.  And rhubarb, strawberries, lettuce, grass, trees, birds, sweet, warm air.

Every single act is sacred.  Every single thought is sacred.  Every single feeling is sacred. Each, created, sends ripples out into the world, in turn moving energy, perception, action, thoughts, feelings.

May our actions, thoughts, and feelings heal, comfort, support, and create awareness this summer solstice.  May we all have what we need.  May we all be happy.  May we all be well.

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