from
the sea (5) - Old birds ludes by
freda karpf
Mrs. Scattergood’s
story was like the curl of the wave; actually just before the wave curls. She
was in that space between the rise of the wave and the level ocean. Baubo
imagined how the wave would push Mrs. Scattergood into shore, and return her
into the deep place of gathering where salt licks your skin and you are one
with everything.
~
If Baubo had a theme song, it was “Where
the mishegas happens.” She must have
known Mrs. Scattergood needed a little of the push and shove that the great god
Angst could bring into her life. Angst
was like rip starting your motor. A
little panic, a little different, something to figure out and then wonder what
was next. All of it exciting. Why shouldn’t a person’s blood pressure go up a
little?
~
This could also be a story about a golem.
Each time we die to our old selves, what brings us back to life? How much like
clay is our resilience? First clay, then being. First thoughts, then writing. The golem's alphabet.
~
As a fish takes what oxygen from the sea
it needs, Baubo’s breath felt safe as a cove.
~
There will be a sense that you are a part
of everything, the world, seamless. Joy
is like the air around you. You feel
most alive. But there’s days on end when
that just ain’t so.
~
Her teeth, right now, are cutting this
thought like a blade of grass in a cat’s mouth. The green juices are resting on
her tongue.
~
Nothing to it, but you gotta hand it to
Baubo that providence was a subject you wouldn’t expect her to know about.
~
Baubo learned about the “Woman-of-the-River,
Georgie White Clark and wondered if there was a Woman-of-the-Wetlands too. Georgie’s the first woman to run the rapids
on the Colorado River in the Grand Canyon.
Imagine what fun that was back then. She created what became today’s
modern pontoons. She figured it all out. She tied three Army rafts together and
splashed through the wilds. What beauty she got to see, what wild beauty rose
in her and all she took along for the ride. Woman-of-the-River, meet Mrs.
Scattergood, she likes to think she carries the sea in her.
~
Disparaging sparrows are not the trademark
of the wise old woman or steward of the land. But Baubo couldn’t help
herself. She would mindlessly call out
“Cheap bastards” whenever she heard the little connivers. Some people connect
through the heart and some the hearty har har. Today, that was Baubo’s way of
love with the boids. Every day someone cuts their finger slicing food in the
kitchen. This is just Baubo’s kitchen talk.
She knows that sparrows are holy and generous. There’s nothing cheap
about them except their common sounds. Even that is generous when you think how
often they’re cheeping. If you haven’t
noticed you’re just not paying attention.
~
Baubo sometimes wanted to jostle Mrs.
Scattergood and ask her, “Is your hip out of joint because the music hasn’t got
you dancing?” She knows everyone has their times and grief can’t be measured in
liquid or days. She’d counter her own impatience with, ‘She’s got a right to
sing the blues.’ But she would come back again to her now of it, speaking to
nobody in particular, she’d go, ‘Come on, birds are all over the place. Love is
a feather floating through the air. Look, that bird just flew through the blue
beauty of the sky.’ Sometimes just being
who you are is couched between conversations you have with yourself.
~
The old birds are flying. Look for them in
your sky view. Rachel, Aldo Leopold, Wangari Maathai, Kim McDodge, Pete McLain;
David Brower, John Muir, Jacques Cousteau. Who are your old birds?
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