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my photos (3) my poetry (10) quotes (18)

Wednesday, September 4, 2013

Rilke's wisdom for today

"we must hold to what is difficult"

and 

"try to love the questions themselves"





here's a question:
Where is the line between witness and participant? Is there a line? Boundaries, for me right now, are so blurred. I'm feeling either crazy or enlightened, and I don't know if I believe in enlightenment in the "ascension to a higher plane" sense. 

Well, I wanted cathartic and here I am. 
the whole wave of the world is crashing into me and I am saturated in unfallen tears for bearing witness to the immensity of beauty and pain, and beauty in pain, and pain in beauty of life. Of living. Of hardship in its reality. 

phew.

And then all I can think is
"damnit Alex, you are just way too serious all the time."
can I change?
can I hold a bridge with my life between levity and weighted reality?
can I walk between them freely, and without guilt?
can I do so in an age with so much chaos and suffering and pain?
is that my duty?
or shall I think of it as something less grave than a duty?
an honor? a joy?
 a joy to know the extremes of life and look across the chasm between with reverence? 
even that seems serious... 

phew...

Thursday, August 22, 2013

bone poem

How long must I hold these words
before they become a poem--
before they creep out effortless to say
what in the idle settled bones of earth
is already known?

Tuesday, August 20, 2013

[magnetic]

stand by
he said
but let the morning's eyes bloom

so full as they could
and almost still
beneath tree night moon
dropped every shell, like tears
after a wild stream
howling

to bear witness

"In so many ways, I wish I had not seen what I saw. Oil out to sea from horizon to horizon; people sick; marshes burned; hope collapsing. It will be years before we know the truth of this BP blowout in the Gulf of Mexico. I am now accountable. How to change my life and become more deliberate in all my actions, large and small? May my eyes stay open to the beauty of this world and act. This is my daily mantra."

"A friend said to me the other day, 'You are married to sorrow.' And I said, 'No, I just choose not to look away.' There is joy in facing the truth of our lives whether it is through beauty or terror. Perhaps it is about presence, choosing to be present with where we find ourselves at any given moment. I simply try to bear witness to what I see through the language of story."

"To bear witness is not a passive act. It can lead us to acts of consciousness and consequence."



--all from Terry Tempest Williams, in and around The Gulf Between Us

Saturday, August 17, 2013

images

"Don't you cherish me to sleep
Never keep your eyelids clipped
Hold me for the pops and clicks
I was only for the father's crib

Hair, old, long along
Your neck onto your shoulder blades
Always keep that message taped
Cross your breasts you won't erase
I was only for your very space

Hip, under nothing
Propped up by your other one, face 'way from the sun
Just have to keep a dialogue
Teach our bodies: haunt the cause
I was only trying to spell a loss

Joy, it's all founded
Pincher with the skin inside
You pinned me with your black sphere eyes
You know that all the rope's untied
I was only for to die beside

So itʼs storming on the lake
Little waves our bodies break

There's a fire going out,
But there's really nothing to the south

Swollen orange and light let through
Your one piece swimmer stuck to you

Sold, I'm Ever
Open ears and open eyes
Wake up to your starboard bride
Who goes in and then stays inside
Oh the demons come, they can subside"

(Bon Iver)

and at once I knew

I was not magnificent.

Friday, August 16, 2013

resurface

“There are only two reasons for ever doing anything; one is love, and the other is fear.” 

Thursday, August 15, 2013

surface [above, beneath]

once again
this aching desire to feel
alive to feel
the whole shattering force
of the wave of the world
crashing into me
surrounding me and soaking
me through like a new tall stone on the shores
on the towering cliffs above, engulfed
surrounded
windswept sea-swept
lifted from this low.
lifted and submerged in the grasp
in the sweet arms
in the sweet suffocating breath
in the salt. oh the sea.

[why didn't I dive
in? and will I not
again?]

my lungs burn from drowning
in a scream
I swallow
salt and choke
I know will come back churning
burning to be released.
Will be released--
from my eyes or mouth or from my
incoherent erratic
violence.

[I am so tired of being silenced]

Oh aching lungs
lips
hips
heart and the tips of my fingers desperate
to find the words
the motion
the truth behind this urge.

once again.
[spinning
spinning
pink shape
circle slips off my reaching
reaching outstretched hand
and flies into the sea.]

the landscape where i dwell

"How shall I live? I want to feel both the beauty and the pain of the age we are living in. I want to survive my life without becoming numb. I want to speak and comprehend words of wounding without having these words become the landscape where I dwell..."

-Terry Tempest Williams.

Monday, August 12, 2013

on love

When love beckons you, follow him,
Though his ways are hard and steep.
And when his wings enfold you, yield to him,
Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you.
And when he speaks to you,...

believe in him.
Though his voice may shatter your dreams
as the north wind lays waste the garden.

For even as love crowns you so shall he crucify you.
Even as he is for your growth so is he for your pruning.
Even as he ascends to your height and caresses your
tenderest branches that quiver in the sun,
So shall he descend to your roots and shake them
in their clinging to the earth.
Like sheaves of corn he gathers you unto himself.
He threshes you to make you naked.
He sifts you to free you from your husks.
He grinds you to whiteness.
He kneads you until you are pliant;
And then he assigns you to his sacred fire, that you may
become sacred bread for God's sacred feast.

All these things shall love do unto you that you may
know the secrets of your heart, and in that
knowledge become a fragment of Life's heart.

But if in your fear you would seek only love's peace
and love's pleasure

Then it is better for you that you cover your
nakedness and pass out of love's threshing-floor,

Into the seasonless world where you shall laugh, but
not all of your laughter, and weep, but not all of
your tears.

~Khalil Gibran

Sunday, August 11, 2013

straddling worlds


between what I am doing and what I could ("should") be doing

I am sick of being asked what I am doing right now. Living at home. Working spottily. Taking a course. Teaching myself how to hula hoop. Growing a garden. Enjoying life. Writing, reading. Thinking about how I can make the most difference. Acting in small (seeming) ways that I believe can make a difference. And all of those are fine things to be doing, and mostly acceptable to people, but only on a temporary time period. I am expected to be trying to be doing something else--namely getting a "real job" and moving out. And maybe I do want that, but maybe I don't.

I don't want to do those things just because it is what I am supposed to do in this culture, that's for damn sure, because this culture has no reason behind what it does except that it will help the "economy." And then there are all the reasons we are conditioned to believe, like the pride of supporting yourself individually, being "independent," being "successful." But all that is just more and more becoming white noise to me. I have my own ideas of what those words mean or not, and while I may not get in depth about that right now, I believe they are more substantial, meaningful, and real.

I want to do the things I do because they bring me alive, or because they help someone, or because they are beautiful, meaningful, important things to do.

What am I doing right now?

I am trying to be alive in the most full and authentic way possible. I am trying to stay true to my values and visions. I am trying to create positive change in the world. I am trying to learn in love, be open, be true. I am focusing on my body, mind, and spirit. I am creating daily practices of movement, prayer, and learning, thinking, and action.

I am living at home. I am spending time with my cats who are lonely and domesticated and stuck in this house unable to fulfill their wild nature. I am spending time with my dad while my mom is away helping her brother who is dying from a disease created by a toxic culture and environment. I am spending time with this place, which I love, which is being stripped and desecrated. I am spending time with myself, alone, trying to release and reveal the love and life that is bursting from my heart, in a way that is meaningful and effective and true and beautiful. I am trying to live into my anger and allow it to fuel my work (and my words). In my work I am trying to stop these desecrations and diseases that pervade this country, this culture, and the human world by grieving them, feeling them fully, raising awareness about them, and acting against them, or toward something better.

I am trying to heal from a sick society. I am trying to find ways to live in greater harmony with myself and human others, and animal others, and other beings, and the earth. I am trying to resist the feeling that I need to do something that I don't want to do in order to make money instead of doing what I actually want to do which is make change. I am trying to contend with my privilege of even even having the choice to not get a full-time job or of even being able to contemplate this, and of even being able to contemplate half of what I contemplate.

I am trying to contend with all the contradictions, injustices, and criminalities of western culture, American politics, and mainstream media/society bullshit in general.

I am trying to create a new story for our time based on older stories of land-based living, and newer stories of global community, to create real community, true economy, and a grounded balanced spirituality. I am trying to reignite curiosity, passion, bursting flowering expression of self and soul and earth.

I am trying. I am feeling connected, and not separate. I am feeling more alive than not, and that is certainly something.

I don't want to stay in my current circumstance for much longer, but I whatever I step into next, I want it to be on these terms.

Saturday, July 27, 2013

Mount Si wildfire.

Fire on the mountain. Smoky river valley. Wildfire reminds me to accept.

(Some things.)

I would rather lose trees this way than by the mindless expansion of sprawl. Why didn't everyone get all up in arms when they clear-cut the ridge for homes? Suburbanization is a wildfire, but worse. At least the fire knows to leave fertility in its wake.

Trust me, my heart breaks for the mountain too, but my heart has been breaking every day for years for all the things being burned that aren't in our backyards, or right in front of our eyes; the things that are hidden but are the direct fuel for the monstrosity of industrial civilization--people, animals, trees, places enslaved, mined, and burned for the convenience of our daily lives.

I am guilty if anyone is.
I too have been basking in ease of summer.

And well, this season, this year, feels like the first really summer of my life (of my mind) since childhood--finally feeling joyful and alive. Finally happy.
I deserve it.
But so do the people working in the sweatshops to make my fashion, the minerals manipulated into the tools of my passions.

I am finding peace
and the world burns.

How does this work?

Wildfire reminds me to accept.

(All things).

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Intimacy

I spend my days
barefoot
walking spinning
weeding.
It's intimate
to pull up roots that lay
so lightly just beneath
the surface of mulch
O Horizon.
Oh horizon I watch
the mountains in the distance
dreaming of you
for almost two weeks
I am good.
And not just good--humble
noble--am I?
I walk outside
barefooted night
barefooted sky
baring my skin my soul
to the stars on high
to the trees whose roots lie
so solid beneath
the surface. And yet
for four days I crouch
crawl sit and think
I am good
for pulling up the roots of another thing
and calling it a weed--
diligent in digging
each piece and snatching up every heart-
shaped leaf of morning glory
[bindweed]
Morning Glory.
I am good.

I am good.
Revitalizing, renewing this place
but it's the destroying that follows
me into my dreams as obsession--
beetles
displaced, spiders
scattering.
I can hardly escape it
under the stars.
A possession.
An intimacy.
What am I?
Am I good?

The hearts follow me
into the forest and my eyes are frantic
for the row of green hearts
up, up, up,
like an embroidered pattern
on 90's preteen jeans
--something I want to erase. But these,
they follow me into the woods
and I only see things
to pluck and pull,
and tame

What is wild?
What am I?
Am I good?

The hearts follow me.
Be noble
Be noble
Be noble
each successive one tells me as it winds up
the precious trees I try to protect,
try to
control this wild virus.
It won't stop. Winding. Spinning.
Up. up. up.

And then I spin
and I spin and dance with other people
to the tune of explosions, and the black smoke
from the marina, rising, dances too.
What is good?
Watching those flames engulf and rise and spread and
die enlivens me, and I dance
and I spin and I fall.
And I fall and fall
from grace
for you, from you, with you,
with him.

What am I
but happy to see him in the morning's glory?
We start (and end) our day with embrace
and I don't know why
but my heart flutters
up, up, up
when I see his smile.

The clouds cover the mountains.
A storm brews around them
and I wonder
[where you are, what this is]
at the intimacy of standing
side-by-side silent
awkward as we learn
how to stand in place nobly,
humbly,
tall and strong, in self
in place,
together.

Our roots intertwine
and who am I
to pluck them from their place
these hearts
growing together
up, up, up
binding, spinning, winding
up
until...

my head spins
drunk//tilting
horizon cloud-
cover my eyes
blindness engulfing

I sit at the bar brain spinning
and the heart vines winding
climb the stool beneath
entangle my legs
my belly my
heart with hearts.
I stumble
spinning.

~~~

Just now
I remember that book.
It said to pluck the weeds
before they dig in deep.
I try
to extract, try
to control, but just one clip
and it will grow
again.

~~~

For almost two weeks I am good.
[What is good?]
For four days
I clear-cut a whole forest
of weeds. And now
they trail behind me in my dreams
leaving seeds; taking root in my
bare feet and string along
strewing hearts, stringing hearts
as I go on.

What is good? What am I? Why?

He drives me home,
not my own, but home
of one who held me on
before.
I wonder and the green hearts
bind in my stomach
in my chest, my arms,
in his green car as my head spins.
are lifted up to him
and pull him in.
He pulls me in
embrace. I collapse
safe.
It feels good. So good. What is good?

I don't care.
I rest, chest on chest
head on shoulder. Hand to neck.
Heart to heart.

I try to let go
but my tendrils have hold
and he is holding me
up
up
up
for now.

And then
I breath
I breath, and carefully
unfurl my arms uncurl my fingers
so carefully so not to drop
any leaves.
And I smile say goodbye
and--oh [my heart]
I leave [leaves].

~~~

Some call it bind weed
but I still prefer morning glory
and it will come back surely.
Do I pluck it
or let it grow?

~~~

I spend my days barefooted
walking
spinning
weeding.
It is intimate.

Tuesday, June 18, 2013

hard lessons in fidelity, membership, and social change.

I came back here because I believed this place needed me. And perhaps I still believe that it does in some sense, whatever that means... "need."

I came back here because, while I feel more comfortable in the culture of Olympia, I thought my energy would be best used in a place where so much social/environmental change and justice work wasn't already going on or being engaged with. I wanted to bring that somewhere else, somewhere I could introduce it and where it could make a bigger change. I wanted to bring it home. Home. Where is that? Well I thought it was here. And it is here, in many ways. I feel at home here, with my loving parents, in my cozy room, in this place I have spent so much of my life, under the faithful mountain Si, in this valley, nestled against the Cascades; in various places around town, in the woods, by the river near my house, and in the memories these places hold. It is home. It has been home. It has held me sweetly. It has loved me well. I owe much to this place. I owe it my love, surely.

I came back here to share my love with it. At one point, when I was trying to writing my final evaluation and academic statement for Evergreen, I compared my college experience to a vision quest, or a series of them--characterized by separation, initiation, and return. The separation is a leaving, the initiation is a learning, and the return is carrying your learning home with you and sharing it with your tribe. My separation was hard. My initiation even more difficult. And my return, I am realizing, is perhaps the most trying of all. One of my final projects at Evergreen was based around this valley and the possibilities for it (Transition Town work, potentially a food co-op, and physical interventions that would influence the social, economic, political, environmental context). I thought I was returning with new truth and vision that I could share. I thought it would be received, that my tribe or community would accept it, embrace it, and move forward with it. I wasn't completely wrong. I brought many learnings back that have been embraced and have taken hold here, to some extent, especially in my immediate family, where we started growing some of our food, building soil, and eating better/more responsibly in general. In the wider community I started a buying club (which eventually broke down) and built community around food (which will hopefully persist in some manifestations), and I helped forward the local transition initiative (if only in a small way). I guess that these changes just haven't happened to the extent that I had hoped. And also, I am now seeing that through my time here (almost a year now, since I have moved home) I have both deepened my relationship to this place and love for it, and I have also slowly come to terms with a growing distance from it.

Recently (today maybe) I realized that the distance I was feeling was creating a scenario for my vision and engagement that was suddenly not as healthy or beneficial as I have long believed it must be. Because I am no longer embedded in the community (if there can be said to be one here) and culture of this place, I am--in some sense--an outsider...a foreigner. And I am bringing my own cultural assumptions and beliefs to this place that already has its own cultural assumptions and beliefs (though I realize that they are widely diverse and not set in stone due to globalization and a general fracturing of community/culture). I guess what struck me was the similarity between the mindset I was having about this place, and a colonialist mindset. It is the mindset I admonish in foreign-aid/relief organizations, missions, unenlightened social services, and colonial empires--the mindset that I have something to bring to these people that will assuredly improve their lives (recently heard the term "philanthropic colonialism," which feels about right); the mindset that I can "help" or "empower" someone else or a community, rather than getting out of the way and letting them empower themselves.

Maybe I do believe that (that I have something to offer), but what right does that give me to insert myself into this place and try to change it? Perhaps I am being too hard on myself. I do believe I have some right to have a say in the fate of this place. I love this place. This place has been my home. I want to give back to this place. I care about the people of this place (even though they anger me and discourage me to no end). Yes. It does come down to that: I care. I love.

So what do I do?

I think my experience in Peru, and my reflections of that trip, remind me that I can love a place and want to change/fix/help it, but I need to step back and see what that would actually look like or mean. And furthermore that I need to be honest about whether what I see as the best thing for this place, is actually what the people of this place desire for themselves and believe is best for themselves. If I ask the question: what would actually help this place? I don't really know. I think I do, but what does that mean? And if I impose something without truly understanding the values of a people and their place, then whatever I impose will likely not be sustained anyway, and may actually cause an unnecessary and harmful dependency.
In Pisco, for example, I can say I believe that having foreigners building individual houses with no windows, one-by-one, out of reinforced concrete masonry, in the sand, in an active earthquake zone, for families that are living in shacks (or worse) is probably actually not helpful in the long-term. It breaks my heart to say that. I saw the conditions: People living on mattresses in the dirt, with astera walls, or maybe cardboard, or maybe newspaper. It seems obvious that a concrete floor would be better, right? But not when the next earthquake comes; and not when it creates dissent and jealousy because one family was gifted the materials and labor for a house and another wasn't; and not when the materials are imported and expensive and unaffordable to most people; and not when the individuals and families and local people are once more deprived of the tools/knowledge/skills to take care of themselves, and their reliance on foreign aid/product/labor increases, and their self-sufficiency decreases. It is hard. I love PSF, and I love how much energy and enthusiasm and love volunteers would pour into these projects, but I don't necessarily believe that all they/we are doing is truly of benefit, because it wasn't truly sustainable (sustainable in the sense of "the ability to be sustained over time"). And then, after all of that reasoning and logic, getting those houses built is still what the people of Pisco seemed to want for themselves, and who am I to deny them that? I could argue that they only want it because the globalized industrial economy and media tells them it is what they want because it will supposedly bring them a better quality of life, but that opinion would still be an imposition. It is so difficult to know what to do. This is why I came back to the states. I didn't want my "privileged" perspective to be imposed on the landscape. So instead I thought I could help change the status quo here, in America, so people/countries who happen to want to adopt the American lifestyle might have something thoughtful and effective to adopt.

Since then I have been reminded again and again that in this time, and especially in this country, there are so many different, divergent, overlapping, intersecting, opposing cultures and subcultures and countercultures. But it is the dominant culture that the other countries are really experiencing/being fed/seeing, though subculture/counterculture seems to be the actual culture, and the new scale of community in reality (is this true?). Everyone craves membership, and our society has adapted to a lack place-based living (where culture and community would be predominantly shaped by place and physical/otherwise relationships to it and the other people/beings in it) by developing these subcultures of belief, activity, interest, or whatever else. So I am, perhaps, being stubborn or idealistic or both when I pretty much demand a return to place-based community (at least, for myself), because if I think about cities, there is no singular culture in a city. There is the dominant culture that is fairly pervasive, but the subcultures or countercultures make up the city too, and they challenge the dominant culture (to some degree), and even change it, over time. The people in the subcultures didn't (necessarily) up and leave the city to establish their own culture, they just did it by rallying around a common belief, cause, lifestyle, etc. And they are still largely embedded in the dominant culture--are influenced by it and influence it. So, anyway, I am not saying I don't want to challenge the status quo. I do. But I think I am realizing that I might be more influential if I am not alone in what I believe when I try to do so, but am close to others who will inspire me in my beliefs and work with me to push boundaries (within our own mini-culture, and in conversation with the larger culture we are, perhaps inevitably, a part of).

For the co-op project I keep asking: what is this community ready for? What do the people who live here want? I really tried to stay faithful to that. One answer that seems feasible at this point is that the community of North Bend/Sno-Valley isn't ready for the co-op. That it is not what people want right now. If it was what people wanted, wouldn't they being rallying around it and making it happen? Isn't that what a co-op is, at its root? Though Melissa had a good point today when I told her that: often things do need to endure past a difficult beginning/period, and need to be pushed hard to actually get rolling. I agree wholeheartedly, which is why I am not giving up on the idea or the project, but am conceding that perhaps it just needs to incubate for a bit, until the conditions are right for it to grow. (I planted a seed. And maybe it is just that I won't be the one to see it through to its fruiting this time--does that make me unfaithful? *Sigh* I think I can actually say "No.").

My logical conclusion is this: that I can leave North Bend and not feel bad about it.
But my heart persists in saying otherwise, because it keeps breaking every time I drive past that fucking Bartell's drugstore without blowing it up (oop, I mean... what?), every time I go into Wood River after they have destroyed Miner's Ridge (not that I have totally accepted/conceded that it will happen), and every time I think of the wildness of those waterfalls at the Devil's Cauldron and the fact that Wayerhaeuser is gonna develop right over them without a hint of remorse (ugg). And it's painful to know that the people of this city either don't know enough or don't care enough to do much of anything about it, and that they won't even have an "activist living on 'their' street" anymore to at least remind them of what they don't know or care enough about.

So after all of this musing and processing, I am still left confounded at what to do. But at least I am clearer about what I  want, and perhaps, what I need to do to maintain some semblance of sanity, and even happiness and sense of purpose and effectiveness.

So here it is, my best idea of what I am looking for right now: I want to find a place where I can root down and be nourished; where I can bring life and receive love and give love and be filled with life. I want to find a place where my vision is embraced. But I also want my vision to be challenging, and challenged. I want to push a place, but not force it; blend with it and change it through the colors and textures I bring by weaving into it, not by imposing myself on it like a stain. Not be "the activist living on our street." Not be discluded or rejected from it, for speaking out or being in tension with some part of it.

I am also thinking that maybe if I am part of a more progressive community I can more realistically bring legitimately radical beliefs (like the idea of civilization being inherently unsustainable and destructive) and have such thoughts be heard without being outcast, and push that boundary a bit. Here in North Bend there is such a huge gap between the realities I am living and those that the people around me are living, and I could relieve myself of a lot of pressure by living in a place with people who at least are closer to me on the spectrum of beliefs so I can be a member and still push boundaries.

Hmm, now what I just said made me wonder why pushing boundaries is such a focus. I remember Derrick Jenson saying that breaking through boundaries is one of the defining characteristics of our culture's perception/perpetuation of masculinity, and thus we live in a rape culture (a culture where everything, every boundary, must be violated). I wonder if my drive for change in this way is influenced by my socialization to that idea, or if it is purely just a passionate reaction to my understanding of what is going on in the world. I have a sense that socialization does have a role there, at least in my initial reactions to things, but I can't quite get my head around that right now.

Monday, June 10, 2013

conscience and

"What can your conscience live with? What can your soul live with?"

I can tell you that my conscience cannot live with the destruction being inflicted on this planet in the name of growth, profit, greed, ignorance, corporation, industry, convenience, civilization, or any other empty justification for ripping the lifeblood out of this planet, this being, our home, the earth. I can tell you that my soul is scarred with the same clear-cuts that the forests bear because I am of the forests, I am the forests. Chunks of my heart have been scraped out of my chest as the surface of the earth is scraped to death. It regrows, but it is tired, and my mind is tired, and my eyes are tired, and I am tired of trying to make change and being ignored, belittled, and laughed at for giving a shit. I am tired of hearing the constant engines of sanitation of landscapes deafening me of the peace and cohesion of wildness. I am tired of looking at the eyesores we create, of feeling the disjointed sprawl of urbanization disorient my feeling of belonging, of imagining every day the beings that are murdered and the species that are driven extinct. I am tired. My soul is tired of being beaten down, locked up, demonized and even criminalized for caring enough to fight for what I believe, for what I love, for what my soul knows is right. I am tired. But my conscience can't live with such atrocity. So I will fight.

Wednesday, June 5, 2013

with and between

enchantment and groundedness
flow and fidelity
commitment and change
imagination and physical reality
pride and humility
soul and spirit and body
solitude and community
who i am and who i could be

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

boom

(from journal)

No.
    No I don't want industrial civilization
     the price is too high.
No. I don't want this. Why has this been happening my whole life?
         My heart is broken.
        How do I keep a broken heart open?
How do I be a witness to devastation
     and hold hope in my heart?
How do I move with grace when there is so much to do and say--so much hidden from view?
  And I don't have the words.
And we are saturated by images.

BOOM!
explosion. Boston.
BOOM!
explosion. Syria.
BOOM!
explosion
every
day
            Afganistan
            Pakistan
            Palestine
            Texas

               [Japan]

I just remembered this dream I had, senior year of high school. I was an atomic bomb and I blew up the high school.
            I was a bomb.
            I was a bomb.
I kept having those dreams.
              I was an arsonist.
                            terrorist.
              I was a bomb.
              I was so angry.
                I am so angry. I am so sad.
    My heart is so broken.
I am not broken.

                        Do I have more empathy for other animals than I do humans? I have so much anger at humanity for harming other life with selfish motives. Entitlement. Consumption.
    What is terrorism?
                    Obama says it is a deliberate attack on innocent civilians. Our president is a terrorist. So was our last one, and many (all?) before that. We are all a part of it anyway.
                   Can animals be civilians? In any case, I think Mr. President's definition is too small.
Terrorism: behavior that knowingly causes terror in the hearts, minds, or souls of any being.
           Deforestation. War. "Inevitable" industrial disasters like the plant explosions and the oils spills.
       These are terrorism.
         I am terrified.
I am living in this time. 13 oil spills in 30 days.
2 explosions (just in the US) in 2 days.
Animals, plants, landforms, atmosphere, being desecrated, destroyed, harmed every day. Out of greed.
       If we are truly creative, intelligent, empathetic creatures, how do we accept this as the status quo? How have we not envisioned and created an alternative? What are we not further on the way to that reality? Why is that not our number-one focus?

Why did I read 300 racist, sexist, mean-spirited comments and posts online today? How is it that this is how people are spending their time?
All this destruction is happening upon our hearts.

I feel sorrowful.
   I feel grief.

----------------

I feel anger.

I feel
like exploding
sometimes
like some people
do.

I know my anger is a gift,
and my sorrow.

sun and rain

(from journal)

I stood in the sun and watched the deep grey clouds approach
the wind rushed through that stand of trees but not this one
I love the currents of motion that we can only see by hearing and can only hear by how it moves
another.
The sound of waves washing through the branches
And then the misty rains come with crisp air
filling me with the sacred connection of life, breath, air, water,
earth fills every crack of skin on my hands.
A rush of wave through my body as the sun slips
behind the deep grey--the color of comfortable sadness.
It holds me.
Straddling light and dark. Juxtaposition.
This is where the beauty of this world lies.
This is where I find the deepest love
and truth
and love.


I held in my hand, today,
a baby snake,
the size of a large worm.
I found him coiled up sweetly under a bed of pine needles.
I thought, at first, it was a millipede or some bug, or even a worm.
But as I picked it up it uncoiled and coiled again
and slithered across my hand. A snake.
He looked at my thumb as though he was looking in my eyes, with curious fear
or hope.
I didn't hold him long--this tiny beautiful
black-grey and yellow-orange snake.
I never knew a snake so small could exist.
His perfection, beauty, loneliness and contentment
almost brought me to tears.

And then the rain.
I love this dear world.

Monday, April 15, 2013

both

(from journal)

I don't want to be ignorant. I want to fill the world with truth.
I don't want to be cynical. I want to fill the world with love.

Sunday, April 7, 2013

Finding Beauty in a Broken World [Each Day]

(from journal)

The past few days I am practically brought to tears by nearly every living creature I encounter--a miniature dragon insect on Cam's ceiling; a buzzing fly who I release into the outdoors; my cat in my arms like a baby (and there is sadness there, as he is confined from wildness); the beautiful blond child at the PDC workdays; the tiny bird with hummingbird wings at the window feeder the Stellar's jay at the top of the tree at the corner of Cam's window, swaying in the strong winds and rains of the long, hard afternoon (a grounding, a guardian); a baby squirrel at the window, eating the seeds fallen on the ground; the bees in the movie tonight who I now feel such reverence for; the crows circling, diving, riding the winds; the frogs chirping in the pond out back this night, as I walk around the house. The thought of the creatures pulls at my heart--just the thought of my shared existence with them at this time in life, in time--just the thought of my communion with them as inhabitants of this world. Do they hold me in any such reverence? Do they hold me?

Flashes:
wanting...longing to be a small, soft animal that someone holds and loves so sweetly; that is not so impacted by gravity; that does not feel so much weight from the world.
a picture of a child sleeping against a wild mountain ox of some sort, resting together in the harmony of an alpine world; relaxing into their shared existence and the privilege of each other's company.

This softness and pure love and co-compassion contrasted with something like industrialized animal farming is enough to break my heart many times over each day. The violence and force inflicted upon beings with heart and soul practically destroys me. I feel the pain of it inside me. I feel it. I feel the clear-cutting of life on my heart. Barren patches where joy, vitality, and complexity have been stripped.

I want them back.

Each loss is another gash and I am spilling blood and love all over every day.

I am not hopeless, nor defeated. I am not destroyed.
I am alive. Preparing. Ready.
I am built for this time, for this world.
I can find the beauty and piece it back together into something new.

I feel the collapse in my chest. I feel the pain. I feel the harshness and the suppression. I live it. It is part of my world. I will stand in it and in another. I will marry them until beauty overcomes. Beauty is always present. I don't know if I believe that. The possibility for beauty... finding beauty... no... yes...
healing.
Well, it exists in the pain. Isn't that my duty as an artist (well, a writer)? To find that beauty? Find the beauty in the broken world. In these creatures whom persist in the world even as it crumbles, or whom hold together the world my species is attempting to erode? I have such reverence and love. It fills me to the brim and I burst. The pain and love become one, and they fill me, and I burst with the anguish of loving something more than can ever be expressed.

"Finding beauty in a broken world is creating beauty in the world we find." --Terry Tempest Williams

Yes, but I don't even need to create it. It is there, in the eyes, wings, and wonder of all creatures, all beings. I only must bear reverence and love for them and all the burdens that follow with such love. And yes, I will try to create beauty from the filth of hatred, and try to understand how hatred can breed such awfulness when it is so clearly driven by desire, and love. I will try to direct my own desire, my own love into creation and not deterioration.

Yes:
I love a broken world
a whole broken world
a whole world broken
a world whole in its brokenness
but perhaps I can only see that because as a person with a poetic heart, that is what I want to see. But I think I can also feel it. As I explore this pain, I at least feel a fullness which is a golden thread of hope that connects me to a deep [and distant?] faith. And in that...

"Finding beauty in a broken world becomes more than the art of assemblage. It is the work of daring contemplation that inspires action." --TTW

Wednesday, February 27, 2013

rooted stars

(from journal)

There I was, about to write about being grounded, rooted--rooted in the earth--and I just happen to land on the page in my journal where I had pasted-in pictures of space shuttles going far away from here, to somewhere unknown; somewhere nothing like home.

Home.
Home. World. Earth.
Earth.
Rooted.
"Rise up rooted, like trees."
In a place.

Two bald eagles, I saw that day. They reminded me.
Commitment. Fidelity.
To a place. A planet. An other.
There, in ritual, sitting on different branches toward the same setting sun.
An ancient peace. (Will I ever know?)
And then their enormous nest--perched in its place, despite the road. Oh eagles.
Their heart's roots beat and their love seeps into the air
into the ground
into the sound of silent setting sun (setting earth).
They will wait. They know
Place.
They know
Wait.
They know.




I've been thinking about the movement of the planets, and then it hits me that the sun doesn't move. (Setting Earth). It floats fixed and sticks to its place glowing and growing in space. I'd never thought of the sun that way: rooted with no roots. Just floating where it is. And all the stars that way too.


And me...

I want to be among the stars, with my feet on the ground.
to know vast enchantment and simplicity;
to live humbly in the stardust and nobly in the dirt.

Friday, February 8, 2013

two worlds

“Be humble for you are made of earth. Be noble for you are made of stars.”