Environmental Spirituality – Page 6

The Flood by Sara Wright

It is just four days from the Turning. The season of abundance is supposed to be upon us as the goddess turns the wheel towards the dark of the year. We have already lost a half an hour of light. The leaves of fruit trees are yellow, many drifting like butterflies to the ground, prematurely. The ground is sodden, like walking on sponge. Cicadas coax down the sun on the few days we have seen it since the beginning of June. A few crickets have joined the chorus. In the fields the goldenrod is painting a golden haze over emerald and lime. The quality of that green belies the changing season. No wheat- colored grasses. Flowers bloom on with a determination that reveals nature’s intention to survive. Torrential rains pour down silver sheets from the sky obliterating the possibility of peering out to see the hummingbirds dip and soar, sip bee balm nectar. Fog is a constant companion on my pre-dawn walks – the only time I can listen to birds when the air quality is clean. That three – mile walk is my sanity and sometimes my only exercise. By 8 AM some mornings the air is already reaching the poisoning stage. Most days the windows stay shut. ‘Moderate’ is wishful thinking. If a morning sun burns through the clouds the invisible killer starts burning my eyes if I step out the door to sit on the porch. Inside, the humidity is so high that I am chilled; never below 75.

Floods and Flexibility: Another Rainy Day Reflection by Sara Wright

As soon as I awakened, I set off for my predawn walk in light rain, a habit that I am re -forming after having lived in NM that one summer when the days were too hot, too windy, the air too polluted for me to stand being outdoors except in the predawn hours. It was even too damn hot to sleep at night…even my beloved wild lizards hid out during the fierce heat of the day.

I am adjusting to living in the tropics by becoming more and more flexible. I make no plans. I stay home when I need to, allowing the day to guide me. I will not walk in polluted air even at 4:30 AM. Fortunately, I love my simple cabin that is mercifully empty of ‘stuff’. I have evolved into a minimalist. Except for plants, dogs, and Lily b my bird, my closest friends and relatives not much has change here since I built this house except that I have less!

Legacy of Carol P. Christ: TWO TORTOISES IN THE WEB OF LIFE

This was originally posted on March 14, 2014

The Gods made only one creature like them—man. Greek TV documentary

The sight of a reptile or an amphibian usually provokes, at the very least, a feeling of repulsion in most people. Natural History of Lesbos

In the past days and weeks thetwo tortoises with whom I share my garden have woken up from a long winter’s sleep. Henry, testudo marginata, has been up for a while now. More than a month ago when I was cutting back and weeding in the area of the garden where he had been sleeping, Henry roused himself to sit in the sun near me for a few hours each day before creeping back under a shrub. At first I thought I had disturbed him, but when he came back out day after day while I worked, I began to wonder if he was coming out to say hello.

Changes, part 2 by Sara Wright

part 1 was posted yesterday

Returning home, I peered around my house; most of my wildflowers are seeding up – only a few columbine, celandine, wild bleeding heart and a riot of Canada anemones are shining their white faces upturned to the sky. What used to be my cultivated garden has gone wild, and I have let my vegetable garden go. As more and more trees shade the house, (A blessing during these hot dry summers) I feel a tremendous sense of contentment. I am doing research on wild plants for some folks, spending time in the woods when I can. Being surrounded by so much diversity offers me hope that even now some wild places will survive – at least for now.

Because one of my beloved dogs is in heart failure, Lucy’s health is my first priority, so we walk as early as possible to avoid Lucy’s coughing and shortness of breath. Later, I walk by myself, grateful that I have this little patch of land to cover a few miles without having to leave the property. It helps that I rise so early. When I can, I head for the forests I love, but the woods and my writing life have had to take a backseat to Lucy’s illness. Since my dogs have helped me survive my life – like nature has, they will always come first.

Changes, part 1 by Sara Wright

A Reflection

Two days ago, I climbed a nearby mountain on a quest to check on some wildflowers that have been disappearing. I noted the leaves in the hardwood forest were crackling under my feet and the two small brooks were dry. When I reached my destination, I felt discouraged. Not again. A whole series of trees had been cut to open a view that made no sense. Across the horizon some trees, but no mountains or water ‘views’ although I was standing on a mountain ledge (and just how many mountain views do we need here in the mountains anyway)? After perusing the area with keen attention, I was convinced. The wildflower I was seeking had been burned to a crisp under a solstice sun after the protective trees were cut, and I had to accept that this jewel was gone for good. Worst of all this travesty occurred in what was supposed to be a protected “recreational community forest.” (translation: human centered – nature is just being used).

Understory by Sara Wright

“If this isn’t the manifestation of the Great Goddess Greening the Earth I don’t know what is.” – Sara

Time stretches, folds back on herself as I gaze out the window squared by the four directions. A slanted sun glows golden green in early twilight. How comforting to see the trees rotting on the ground and new green wrapped all around me like a cape. The hemlock branches are almost black against the sun that sets early in the gorge. The phoebes are still – a few leaves flutter – lemon lime emerald – we haven’t names for all the impossible hues of green. I am suspended. All thought disappears into shadowy sheltering hemlock and pine against a darkening sky – the day is fading into twilight…. To be steeped in green is to be blessed by the trees who will get to live out their lives as Nature intended because of the people who cared enough to save these forests – a gift for all who see…. Beyond the window a steep gorge has sprung to life – jewelweed and oxalis bubbling out of stone. Crystalline water flows down the hillside…It is clear to me why springs were experienced as holy places. The crisscrossing of downed trees fallen under wind and winter weather is nourishing the next generation of seedlings. Fallen birches send anti- bacterial mycorrhizal mycelial fungal threads to protect other trees and plants from disease. We know almost nothing except that the skin of this precious earth holds the seeds of new life. No wonder I can sleep…\

Visions of the Goddess and Woodland Earth Stars by Sara Wright

Bird migration has peaked. I am hearing less mating songs as the birds who are staying nest around the house, although in the deep forests the warblers’ poignant songs are still tearing my heart out. The two phoebes who nest above my door are busy preparing home. Just yesterday I found the most beautiful goddess image, one that I have not seen before, a Lebanese goddess figure dated 16-1400 BCE that seemed to embody the birthing and nurturing aspect of the goddess, women and birds…

Now I turn to wildflowers. I have finished transplanting more wild violets, lily of the valley and some pulmonaria and my rain barrels are already dry. The drought has begun. Because I no longer garden during the summer months, I am especially attached to all the wildflowers that cover the ground around my house popping up day after day. I want to be everywhere at once!

The Gift of Breathable Air – Fire and Air – Before the Turning by Sara Wright

In the last two hours the air has finally cleared – clouds, light drizzle (the blessing of even a few drops of rain) and sweetly scented air allows my nose to pick up the intoxicating fragrance of the lemon lilies on my porch – For the last 40 hours we have been breathing dead air – or death air as I call it. Headaches for me, and sneezing coughing dogs force me to keep the windows closed, the porch door shut, and unless it is necessary, we stay inside.

All of us are so sensitive to atmospheric changes…

This time the pollution comes from Canadian wildfires – nine million acres of forests are still burning. When I emailed a friend about the air in Montreal she quipped how the air had cleared and the US had exaggerated the problem (not one word about the fate of the trees – this well-known feminist woman considers herself an environmentalist). I wondered just how accurate her assessment was because here in Maine the air was not breathable, and the blue skies were only softened by haze. I didn’t need the clean air index to tell me that we were all breathing poison. Just the thought of more burning forests ANYWHERE chills me leaving me in a state of profound despair.

Who Gets to Define What it Means to be Pro-Life? by Janet Maika’i Rudolph

The sky and sun on June 7th in the afternoon on Long Island.

Today I am coughing and choking here on Long Island because of our unhealthy air quality. The smoke from the wildfires of Canada have reached us. We, here in NY, are not alone in dealing with air so polluted that breathing is at risk. I think of the CA wildfires, the SpaceX rocket that exploded in April, the Ohio train derailment in Feb. No place is safe.

While coughing and thinking about this, two bits of news came into my consciousness, The first was the Supreme Court ruling narrowing the scope of the Clean Water Act.

My first thought was, do they and their children not have to live in this world too? Do they think they can buy a clean environment for themselves and their families and the rest of us be damned?

The next report I heard was from a prominent conservative commentator who explained how “prolife” he is and went on to describe his “deep concern” for life.

Mary’s Garden by Sara Wright

Opening the doors to mist ‘Mary’s Garden’ each morning is entering a magic realm. My nose sniffs the scent of fertile woodlands even as I gazed out at an impossibly deep white shroud for months, and presently peer out at pale green earth, bees, and budding trees.

All the original contents of Mary’s Garden, mosses, lichens, liverworts, hemlock seedlings, stones and pieces of bark are buried or supported by the richest detritus and soil that I gathered with such care from a protected forest of thousands of acres just before the snow set in last November. There is a small pond in the center of the four-sided container, edged with emerald moss. Two of my animal fetish friends, a Zuni bear and frog live among the greenery. All throughout the winter this lively miniature woodland created a living link to ‘my’ beloved forest, a place I longed to be part of but could not traverse during winter months. Mary’s garden has been a source of endless enchantment and comfort during the coldest winter days.