Some of the voices in the song of the earth

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.

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the wild blue - healing from grief - on Kindle now

The wild blue                                    by freda karpf     http://amzn.to/15QB7rO

 

 The difficult terrain that is grief and the road back that is resilience - this is what the wild blues is about.  Healing from the loss of a loved one’s dying, or from the loss of your home, or a job you identified with or reeling from the loss of a landscape that was changed by a storm or from being forced to relocate – the central idea behind all of these big changes one can experience is loss. … there is a common road many of us will go down before we feel like we’re back in the swing of things again. The trick I’d like to share in the wild blue is really simple, life never left us; nature has always been a part of us, all of us really, and our losses are intricately bound up with all the life on this planet.

The dream of Hiroshige

[This poem is based upon a wood block print by the great"poet of rain" Hiroshige - 1797-1858]

Foxes waiting under a moonlit tree to become human
have only parcels of land and the domed shadows of trees.

Do you know this as despair?

We all learned that the West was the frontier.

As the sprawl goes, the waters go and as the waters go
so goes the rest.

My mother never knew shamans.

Her friends played cards and Mah Jong
while I talked enough about Jacque Cousteau
they thought he was my friend.

I wish I knew him and the prairie dogs,
and the thunder herds of buffalo.

Will the young know enough to turn things around?

Which ever way it spins, we’ll be passing it down.

If all goes right, the foxes’ paws will sink into the soil
until the dampness wakes them from the woodblock dream;
when they will move out of the shadows into their night.

I wouldn’t wait to be human.

Knowing without knowing, they still have their freedom.


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The AT and the Sea

I’m writing a book for some time now. It’s about the intersection of grief, resilience and coastal environmental concerns. During the last year while working very slowly or just absorbing information for the chapter I’ve been on, it seemed I needed to know why I was doing this, to even justify my writing and find a good rationale for all of it. It was not new for me to need to explain my place in time and space to myself. But what came along, and here’s the short version, was a great gift. I had been watching a documentary on the Appalachian Trail. I really had rented it for my partner.

But as I was watching it I was so taken by many themes. The whole idea of the Trail or as some call it, the AT, is amazing. A nearly total volunteer effort, it started out as an idea and was embodied by those that wanted to create one of the world’s longest, continuous footpaths. It is a journey to go from one end to other, whether you travel Georgia to Maine or go from the north to the south. Whether you only hike a small part of the trail you are in an amazing place that crosses so many states and holds throughout a sense of pilgrimage, solitude as well as communion and community. I was taken by the people that work the trail so that others can use it. How some do their quiet work on the trail and most hikers, whether through hikers or day hikers will most likely never know their name. But these volunteers work the trail and feel a sense of kinship with it and all that pass through it. They feel a sense of connection to the whole trail even if they’re just clearing a small patch near their home that’s not too far from the trail. They feel this connection even if they don’t ever hike much of the trail other than their special place.

I’ll probably be writing this book for quite a while yet. Some things take time. This documentary came along and suddenly, for whatever reason that I needed to understand why I’m writing my book, or why I write at all, I found what was for me, a deep and full body understanding as well as a metaphor that provided a key to my own work. I’m writing my small piece of the trail. This is something I’m a part of – my creative work and my hopes for it in the world– the trail and this writing and even sharing here is about being on the trail.

I understand that in my writing I’m a part of something that also goes through many states and mountains; and is essentially without a border. How can you put a border on love and spirit? As my book takes on a life of its own I also hope that it is becoming a record of how our lives are interconnected with nature; not just the living requirements of air and water and food but our emotional needs and experiences, including our grief and resilience both personal and environmental. These experiences in our lives intersect with all around us. Our personal grief, our concern for the world we live in, are all connected. There is no hierarchy of soul, just soul connections. There is nothing more direct in our lives than our relationship with nature, even if we do not recognize that. We are a part of nature. It is not complicated. It is right there.

We gain when others share their stopping points and how different ideas and metaphors have moved them through barriers or even places where they were steeping in other riches and strengths. We also gain when we learn about what acted as a green light, or even, a green fuse for us. There is plenty good in steeping; and it also feels good to move again. I came to understand that the AT allows me to feel a part of a wide and delicious group of artists, in all mediums, that want their work to express their love for the world. This is such an amazing beautiful planet and it is such a good thing to know that the joys I find in writing and dwelling in my writing are connected to wanting to be a part of the people on the trail, all who love this place, and want to make a difference.

Peace, as in Peace Pilgrim, is back in town

Any movement for peace seems to be an open door to a future I’d like to enter. There are people throughout our lives and before that have made a cause their cause and entered an arena that was larger than them. This is what happened to Mildred Norman Ryder. She transformed into Peace Pilgrim, a woman representing the ideas of peace and taking her talks on peace from place to place, back and forth across North America, on foot, to remind those she met that a better way to live is possible.
It might seem off topic but I just learned that today is the birthday of the man that created Dr. Seuss. Theodor Geisel, better known as Dr. Seuss created one of the most well-loved stories and set of characters through his creative works. We know Dr. Seuss and not so much Theodor Geisel. It’s funny in a way, that someone that brought such sweet humor to us was named “Theodor.” This comes from the root words which in essence means ‘beloved of god’.

Humor is a way to the heart. But humor like all good things, can only exist because peace is present. It is the road toward all good things. It is a road that Mildred took and somewhere along the road she became Peace Pilgrim transforming not only her life but the lives of many she met. Peace is always about transformation and it always begins with one person. It is a movement from one to many. It is always a good idea. I know how fortunate I am. War has always been at a distance for me. Yet I want peace in this world because I am in this world and of it; because it matters most and because the politics and the machinery of war touches all of us as people, degrades the environment wherever it takes place and leaves us vulnerable to more destruction.

As far as I can tell there are no serious negative repercussions from peace. In fact, democracy seems to flourish, as do the ecosystems and children when peace includes them. You may not have heard of Mildred. And Peace Pilgrim may also be new to you and your family. She cannot sit in your living room or church and talk to you about her dream any longer but “her talk against hate” can be a part of your lives through Peace Pilgrim by Merry Brennan. And I think it should be every bit as much as the cat in the hat. And I’ll celebrate every day that peace is born and welcome it at my door.
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Dreamers dare

Dare I dream that Conversations with Nic is finally out loud and available to read? I do. It is – http://amzn.to/14jUNUs. There’s more to come. Including the book version of The Wild blue. When the voice that is quiet is given sound, the world changes. My world just changed and this time I’m owning it and taking all the responsibility. If you want to see what I’m talking about, please do and remember, in my neck of the woods, there’s the mudflats and wetlands, there’s the wild blues and the daily neurotic. So wear your marsh boots and bring along a snack and something hot to drink in a thermos. You’re about to go off the web and on a journey.
It’s spring and the host of proven winners have blossomed. The question that came to me was: dare I dream? The question came because of something good. It could be that the winds have an ally in our voices. It could be that there’s no place to turn except in or out. And that this go round it was time to turn the voice that held my dreams out. I don’t know because instructions didn’t come with this part of my life and I’m playing it be ear.

The question about dreaming is a good one. Last night I dreamt that someone or some bird, probably a heron, caught a fish. I can’t recall if it was a human or bird or even some other kind of animal. I suppose I could have a variation on that dream again. The question about if I dare to dream or not comes from a place within that’s not used to being out. It’s kind of like a fish out of water.
You may not be used to dancing your dance, singing your song or embracing your spirit and moving on. There are many around you that might yell or quietly insinuate that you should stop. But the thing is, there’s one life spinning in you that can’t. It’s weaving your dream into every fabric of your being. There’s always something spinning in you and if you don’t let it out it will knot up and you’ll have a heck of a time unraveling that ball of yarn. The weaver wants the work to be seen. It’s time to dress up, step out and move beyond the dream into the living you want and deserve to be doing. This is the time for the validation of the out loud. That’s come round just in time when everyone that needed a voice or visual connection to the outside world could find it if they had access to the World Wide Web. The web of communications that has become the life of the conversations we’re all having a heck of time keeping up with. The web has spun you into being. Live the dream and dare to be what you wanted to become.

When the voice that is quiet is given sound, the world changes. Thanks for sharing this dream with me.

What makes you smile

Back to the beginning is sometimes hitting against the wall to gain strength and accuracy but also to remember the movement. Remembering the feeling is more than halfway there to hitting the ball right.  The physical ability sure.  The strength, accuracy, the feeling from the deep roots of your heels up through your arms. But the real journey of a good connection is from the feeling of the ground running through your legs and arms and into your imagination. That’s where you can really lay into the ball and move it wherever you want. It’s also true whether it takes place on the court, against the wall, or behind your closed eyelids; or whether it’s a soft hit, seriously strong and powered or the surprising fluency from timing. 

When the fear comes or the darkness, it is like a cloud of sand that moves like a wave between the horizon and the plain. If only it were like a water spout, magical and from a distance, astonishing. Crowded by thoughts, by weights not entered on the periodic table core iron is pulled from your blood sending you into a sea darker than any ocean shadow. 

You forget who you are and why. You forgot what makes you smile. How this weight can come between you and what is joyful, that is the puzzle.  There is no set itinerary for the road back. Compasses are not helpful.  Yes it is possible to survive this time and enter your home or go to work. But the going and the coming are empty. In the rush rush world nobody notices. You try to engage. You pump the clutch; pull the gear into position and nothing. You look around for hills to gain momentum and trick the engine. 

Sometimes the carrot is a feather. A gift blessed by ceremony and connection; by meaning drawn from the shared experience of people holding the dream of our world in their songs and visions. You had to pick up the feather. Even as you accept such a gift, the feather always was on the wings of your soul. The light was always the night’s partner. The day is yours to remember who you are and what makes you smile.