The Wisdom of the Hopi Leaders

(found on the wall in the office where i now work)

There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are being torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above the water.

At this time in history, we are to take nothing personally. Least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do, our spiritual growth and journey comes to a halt.

The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration.

We are the Ones We’ve been Waiting For!

ecological self expression (Seeds2 inspired)

She spoke loudly to me. Simple messages in her multitude of expressions. Banana Slug taught me about responsiveness. The rocks crumbling into the sea spoke of impermanence. ‘This too shall pass.’ Frogs echoed in time, mini-scale creatures creating a deafening sound. Calling the rain, in praise of pure water for survival. Something larger than individual species or landscapes at stake.

She knows i can feel it, in dreams she tells me i have a message for the world. My mind listens to the voice of doubt, that i’m too young, that no one will listen. But this time her voice rose above the uncertainty. It’s time to put the excuses aside, let my love for the earth sing loudly, to share what it feels like to be loved back by the earth. To feel held by her arms extending in tree branches. To know that the deeper my sorrow, the brighter the joy shines out of the other side of my tears. To feel deeply the pain of the world and consequentially, the deep love of earth, of my larger body, my ecological self.

Earth love is self love, when the earth loves you back, it’s oneness. She is me, i am her.

spring morning soapbox

A spring morning, withering bottle brush flowers no longer the bright red spectacle of urbanized flora. I wait for the tram among the fumes of commuter traffic. Power tools draw my attention to the new convenience store opening on the corner. Despite my ambivilence about the role of convenience in our culture I hold a small candle of hope that this shop may help foster some semblance of community in this motorized neighborhood. The only other grocery store is a medium sized mall with two supermarkets and lots of cheap crappy boutiques full of stuff made in china. In my disdain I try to recall my connection, my connectedness. Interbeing. To remember the part of myself that is the factory worker in china, the joyous bottle brush flower calling in spring, the disaffected shut-in on my street afraid to answer the door. The joy and the pain is all there, a solid continuum, among vast false dichotomies. The yin and the yang. I need not turn my face away from the impact of the fashionable opulence, it would only deny me access to the reponses that may lead to insight for dismantling economic racism or to laughter offering healing. Gather my strength and courage to face up, to share the responsibility for each shade of gray and of green. Even the black history and the vibrant new growth emerging after a bush fire. Being the green among the charred landscape I can acknowledge my complicity in the shadow of scarcity, to boldly stand in sufficiency and abundance despite all the mass media telling me otherwise. To remember that I have choice and I can choose to stand in the face of the absurdly suicidal culture and hold optimism, dare to have faith in humanity to come thru this great unravelling and to come out the other side. I have no idea what it will look like, how many humans survive if any but I know in my heart that life will go on and i’ll do everything in my power to get there.