Sara Wright

THE EARTH AS GRANDMOTHER by Sara Wright

I have become increasingly uncomfortable with the phrase ‘the earth is our mother’ used by so many westerners.

Indigenous peoples have been in an intimate relationship with the earth since the beginning of time so for them calling the earth “Mother” makes perfect sense (they know how to treat her with respect).

In my way of thinking westerners who appropriate the Native perspective, co -opting the sentiment to make it their own feels inauthentic and inappropriate.

The most glaring difference between the two perspectives is that Indigenous peoples consider all living beings their relatives, treating them with deep respect, honoring their individual and collective gifts and by NEVER taking more than they need, be it medicines, trees, animals, or plants for food.

Winter Solstice: Celebration of the Powers of Fire by Sara Wright

I have a problem with the belief that Winter Solstice is primarily about celebrating ‘the coming of the light.’ This one – sided thinking negates the cross-cultural reality that this is a festival during which candles are lit to light up the night and roaring fires blaze inside and out bringing warmth to all. Winter Solstice is above all else a Festival of Fire.

Fire is an ambiguous element (as all the elements are) carrying both a positive and negative charge. On one level fire brings warmth and light on cold winter nights. On the other hand, fire also incinerates, destroying everything it touches. Approaching a Festival that celebrates the Element of Fire should be done with consciousness and caution.

Lilliputian Gardening by Sara Wright

This November morning a slate gray sky sprinkled raindrops on the dogs as I stood outdoors with them at dawn. A single Blue jay peered at us from a bare maple branch with obvious interest. Hairy was absent as were the chickadees. It is warm enough today for insects to be out and about, becoming delectable protein rich food for most birds in Fern Hollow, my home. Just two days ago I had a visit from a ruby crowned kinglet when he flew in the door!

Returning to the house, ‘Mary’s Garden’ cast a warm emerald glow lighting up the kitchen, now shrouded in winter gray. My terrarium, now one year old is moving into late fall, and yet many of her plants are still growing, albeit more slowly. The tiny hemlock seedling is bristling with new needles. A few ferns still unfurl; others have disappeared. The creeping partridgeberry has kept her crimson seeds for a whole year.

THE OTHER SIDE OF THANKSGIVING by Sara Wright

THE GRANDMOTHER THREAD

November is the month when the veil is thin and permeable and it is possible to engage with the ancestors …I recently received information that for me November’s moon belongs to the grandmothers, and the liminal space in between and not to the hunter/killers. How is it that what seems so obvious was wrapped in the shroud of my unknowing?

On all hallows I crossed a threshold when the hunters moon transmuted from male to female. trusting my senses, I called up the archetypal grandmothers while grieving my lost connection to my own grandmother. I honored these elders as a powerful force of nature… and left it at that.

For the Children by Sara Wright

“What you make from a tree should be just as miraculous as what you cut down”.

Richard Powers

November is the month of endings and beginnings – I am keenly aware of all trees as they prepare for winter sleep, and this is the season during which I begin to celebrate evergreens. Most deciduous trees are a tangle of sleepy gray branches, but the conifers are still breathing life. Herein lies the Deep Forest Green Religion of Hope. Many trees, both thin barked deciduous trees and conifers are still photosynthesizing.

I love gazing into the woods beyond my brook lush with balsam, fir and hemlock knowing that the animals and birds that are left will soon be nestled in thick undercover finding nourishment and protection from winter winds and snow.

The Advocate by Sara Wright

Recently I had a serious accident and ended up in a nursing home after the surgery. My experience in this house of horrors was terrifying. Without any family support I was left to a health system that is hopelessly broken.

Drugged on my arrival it was a few days before I realized that the 17 drugs were making me sicker than I already was. I take only one regular medication and it wasn’t until I refused all but my one medication for PTSD/anxiety that my head began to clear. I was left alone under bright lights for my entire stay, and it remains to be seen whether I have suffered permanent eye damage as a result because I am so photophobic. The noise was unbearable making it impossible to sleep. No one bathed me or cleaned the filthy room. Ringing for help brought no one to my aid most of the time. It is important to state that there were exceptions, a couple of dedicated aides and three nurses, but no one was reliable on a daily basis. Because I was unable to eat the fatty unpalatable food, I lost pounds every few days. I was slowly starving. I remember thinking that I was going to die in this place, and it was this dawning realization that brought be back to the edge of life.

Shifting Landscapes by Sara Wright

(Written on Oct. 27)

Adjusting to earth changes is as much of a personal challenge as is my aging process… The earth and I are both struggling to survive the age of the Anthropocene. Hard times.

It’s late October and the next turning of the wheel will soon be upon us. The Days of the Dead. Honoring the Ancestors, those who came before… I think of the Sandhill cranes flying south in loose family aggregations and believe some of my ancestors must be these birds… I missed seeing them this year due to an accident, but say earth prayers for their safety on the wing… I remember my Grandmother.

Witches in the Weeds by Sara Wright

There she is in flight,

a shooting star on fire.

There she spirals eyeless

her blue wind births chaos.

There she moans bitterly

churning up dark waters.

There she plows fiercely

heaving up mountains.

Her Datura pods explode,

broadcasting black seeds ..

Fire, Air, Earth and Water –

Old women stir the cauldron.

Shapeshifting into birds

they stalk fish in every marsh.

Black crowned night herons?

Owls with second sight?

Ah, these are the women with wings…

soaring through the night.

Listen to the reeds applauding.

Brown Cattails are humming.

Bitterns sing love songs to

Witches in the Weeds!

The Scarlet Runner Outside My Window by Sara Wright

I have grown scarlet runner beans ever since I can remember. I have heirloom seeds that I collect every fall to dry and store for the winter. During the last few years as the weather began to shift planting became tricky. The deer were also decimating my plants before they could produce seeds pods so eventually after sharing seeds with others, I gave up growing my own…

Last winter I had an opportunity to look at lichens, molds, and stones under a powerful microscope at the Mineral and Gem Museum (MGM) and since I had one old seed from many years past, I took it in along with some slime molds because I wanted to see the colors. To my utter shock when I opened the damp packet the seed had produced a big fat white root.

THE SKELETON TREE by Sara Wright

Moderator’s note: Our long time writer Sara Wright fell recently and broke her hip. I am writing this with her permission. Here is how she describes herself on our contributor’s page: Sara Wright is a naturalist, ethologist (a person who studies animals in their natural habitats) (former) Jungian Pattern Analyst, and a writer. She publishes her work regularly in a number of different venues and is presently living in Maine.

Sara is always reminding us to listen deeply to the earth, the animals, the plants and all of nature. Her revelations are always poignant, instructional and helps, encourages, pleads with to the re-member that we are the natural world and we must cherish our “roots.”

To Sara, heal quickly and continue to write for us.

Here is what she wrote about her accident.