no borders on love and spirit

from the sea (5) – coming home by freda karpf

coming home

     What we are seeking is also seeking us. In the world of the ancients, there were synchronicities and certainties.  Every road has a journey and every journey has a road. Yet at times neither our road nor our journeys are known.  James Hillman wrote that “During deep mourning, Baubo appears.”  Baubo might not know this herself.  It can be grief not caused by loss that will bring her but grief caused by wanting to serve a better purpose and not knowing the way. Grief from unused potential. Or grief and concern about our natural areas and not knowing what words change the minds of those who can make a difference in saving them.  How do you put value on beauty or natural habitats that require the integrity of their ecosystems to thrive?  Is this the same question that artists have had to answer about their value? Downtown areas have taken up the cause of artists because it increases the value of their downtowns; and brings people out for the evening and supports local businesses.  How do we make our natural areas, both large and small, into our downtowns? 

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    The sedge lands captured Baubo’s heart song.  Their small archipelago acted like a seine, and the little fish, dismissed as bait, were her porters to the shore. 

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    The need to explain her place in space and time was not new for Baubo. The understanding that came along for her, the way spring flowers move toward their summer glory, was a gift.  The idea of the Appalachian Trail, the AT, blossomed in her understanding. The world has known many trails, trade routes and pilgrimages.  She knew this trail started out as an idea that was embraced by many before it became a reality. Those who wanted to help create and be a part of one of the world’s longest, continuous footpath volunteered. Thousands of people created the AT. Whether you travel Georgia to Maine or go from the north to the south. Whether you hike a small part of the trail or are a thru-hiker, you are on a path that crosses fourteen states and holds throughout a sense of pilgrimage and communion. Baubo was taken by the generosity of the people who worked the trail so others could use it. Whether thru- hikers or day hikers, most, will likely never know the names of the volunteers.  But everyone who’s been on the trail recognizes this relationship between the seen and the unseen.  Many feel a sense of kinship with all that is part of the AT and all those who pass through it.  Volunteers feel a sense of connection to the whole trail even if they’re just clearing a small section near their home.

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     Some things take time.  You bring time and understanding with you wherever you arrive. The Sedge Islands are not a part of the AT but the spiritual lineage is there, the volunteers are there. Jim McClain recognizing the osprey needed a hand up, is there. 

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     If Baubo comes to you, you are one of the ones who built a trail; that carried on the work that Aldo Leopold and others started; that Grandmother Rachel started; the work of keeping the birds in flight, the trails in sky and the lands open to supporting their lives. 

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     Baubo saw the line that lead from her work in the world, her small piece of the trail that led to Rachel and then to Rachel’s birds. We are all a part of this line, in our work, in our hopes, even in sharing the recognition of the trail and how it relates to where you stand in the world. Or fly, for that matter. 

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     Just as we know a place by living there, or know where the road will turn without a marker, we are familiar with the land around us, with the views we have. The essence of our place is within us. We don’t have to do anything special to access this information.  There is no border of knowing and not knowing. We know our homes.  How can you put a border on love and spirit? 

Except from riding the waves:  a tale about being home in the world by freda karpf

A special note about riding the waves

I've been posting a little bit of my book, riding the waves, whenever I get a chance. It's posted in sequence and free to read or buy through Amazon. I am putting it all out there, except for the very first bit and maybe some small bits here and there.

These are complex times we live in.  My writing has always been an attempt to reach the heart of those that love this world and care for the earth. I think I'm getting more direct in my messages about that love and caring. The next project, I have a working name but will keep it secret, is going to be yet even more spot on about this beautiful place.   While we're all working the kinks out about the recent presidential election, I'd just like to share this quote I first saw at Lucille's in the Pinelands:  "Life isn't about waiting for the storm to pass; it's about learning to dance in the rain." 

The world is incredibly beautiful.  Let your mind roam over what you find sweet, enticing and beautiful here. It could be a person's smile too. That's also nature. So are shadows and dry river beds, sliced red onions and the moment just after you saw an eagle glide.  I'm hoping we all become better stewards of the land. Whether that means supporting your favorite environmental organizations or working to clean up the rivers near your home; or being careful about what you put into the water systems and not just relying upon the city or town to sanitize your water; whether it means working toward intelligent and compassionate policies; or standing with the great people gathering at Standing Rock #NoDAPL, I hope everyone takes part in taking care of the earth. It seems obvious that it's our home and our lives depend upon it. But more than that, I want to take care of what is beautiful here and allow the wild lands, as much as we can keep and hope to gain more, remain wild. To not allow practices that harm or threaten those that can't speak for themselves to flourish. We need to take care of what has been our only home.  This is a beautiful place with so many amazing forms of life that interconnect. Everything seems related.  Feeling the connection to your part of the world is a good start if you don't know what else to do right off.

In the meantime, I'm going to try to step up the posts to get to the end of my riding the waves book so that you can read it here or on Kindle.  I hope all your days are trouble free and your world is good to you  and yours.

Many blessings.
freda


https://www.amazon.com/riding-waves-about-being-world-ebook/dp/B01D3VL9AC?ie=UTF8&ref_=pe_2427780_160035660

the last bit of old birds

 Pete McLain. The man made a difference. Ask people who know osprey, the fish hawks. Ask people who know Island Beach State Park, that long piece of land nobody would ever suspect is in New Jersey.  The old bird himself passed, leaving wings behind and osprey nests ready for their snowbird selves to return to. You’re always home here.  That’s what he told them. You’re always home here.  Look around, there really are more old birds around than not. You’re always home here too.

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     The old birds are flying through the new ones. Honor their passing and passing on what is light, life and beauty from the skies to the land.  All old birds connect the land to the skies and the trees and the water. They pass on their flying and their flights.  But they have been here to share what’s good and what can move forward. We should honor their passing and their message. They leave us a different world but the journey continues. Paths may be different but the journey is the same. Our skies are reflected in the water just as the herons and our thoughts.  All lives are connected. Take care of your part of the trail. Take care of the places where the nests are tucked away from the ‘hurry up and keep it moving’; where the eggs absorb the lessons that linger in the air like a feather floating down to your hand. Hold these places close. 

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     Gold finches find seeds at the tops of everything.  Is it the wind or a bird landing that moves the tops of the tall grasses? The movement only stops with the night. 

providence was a subject you wouldn’t expect her to know

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. 

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     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? 

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     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.

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     As a fish takes what oxygen from the sea it needs, Baubo’s breath felt safe as a cove. 

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     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.

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     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.

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     Nothing to it, but you gotta hand it to Baubo that providence was a subject you wouldn’t expect her to know about.

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     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.

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     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.   

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     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.

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     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?  

Except from riding the waves:  a tale about being home in the world by freda karpf