earth based spirituality – Feminism and Religion

The Littlest Balsam by Sara Wright

Five years ago
I dug a seedling
in protest
ki’s deep green
needles
slender trunk
and roots
yielded
to sweet
spring earth
with prayers.

I believed.

One winter night
I will celebrate
your life
the lives of
thousands
with a
candlelit
spiral
of tiny white lights.

Tonight
white flames
adorn you
old longings
and heartbreak
we share the same
root
stilled by
simple beauty
a single
reflection
of Love.

The Return of Little Deer by Sara Wright

“From out of the mountain he comes
Like the Spirit of Light he comes…”
Cherokee Myth

Having just spent almost three hours on Zoom with an interviewer from NPR during which we spoke about the normalcy of interspecies communication for some like me, Little Deer appeared at my window, lifted his head and stared right through me.

I haven’t had a young buck roaming around the house for a while but this kind of conversation between humans who believe we are all part of one fabric brings in the animals.

I recognized him Immediately.

The Cherokee myth states that a mysterious deer materializes from out of the mountain on behalf of the animals in times of trouble. They call him the Justic Maker.

As Justice Maker, he protects creatures from harm and redresses grave imbalances between humans and the rest of Nature .

I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised at his return.

The Echo Makers 25 by Sara Wright

When I first heard the ‘trumpeting’ and ‘brrring’ it was less than an hour before dawn, but one aggregation was already on the wing headed west, away from the fields. Because their direction led away from the fields, I feared we would not see the Sandhills at all. It was All Saints Day, a time to give thanks to those creatures and people who have helped us along the way. (Sandhills have been been a beacon of Light in my own life). A bloody red sky turned deep rose as the sun shattered the charcoal outline of distant mountains, turning them carmen red. The wind was fierce as I walked up and down the sides of the open agricultural fields listening intently. Gunshots rang out and I wondered where these might be coming from. In Maine it is illegal to shoot migrating cranes. The sunrise was spectacular. Clouds spun themselves out of ruby, slate, and violet hues. Indescribable.

Although snow buntings, red winged blackbirds and two harriers were scrying the skies around the fields after dawn I only had eyes for sandhill sightings!

Witch Hazel, a Tree that Belongs to Women! part 2 by Sara Wright

Part 1 was posted last Tuesday. You can read it here.

Like all flowering plants, witch hazel must be pollinated to produce fruit and seeds, and for this, it relies on insects. These include late-flying gnats and flies as well as forest-dwelling owlet moths, all drawn to the scented flowers and sweet nectar. On warm days like the few we have had this week while surrounded by an annoying cloud, I hoped these flying gnats were also busy pollinating lemony witch hazel ribbons.

The owlet moth is a nocturnal pollinator. These moths remain active after most other pollinators have died or are missing in action. Biologist and naturalist Bernd Heinrich first documented the relationship between witch hazel and owlet moths in 1987 in an article published in Scientific American.

Witch Hazel, a Tree that Belongs to Women! part 1 by Sara Wright

Yesterday, I was on my way home at dusk when the clouds parted and the mountains were drenched in deep gold. Still waters mirrored earth, land, sky.

I soaked in the last of the fall color that is still striking in a few protected places, gathering in images of still waters to remind me that nature is home.

Why do I need this visual reminder?

Yesterday I read an article that queries the issue of human cruelty triggering the usual overwhelm. Every day it’s something. I force myself to stay present to what’s happening on a peripheral level. To do this, I need to keep myself grounded in the rest of nature to help me deal with what’s happening to this planet and her people. I am struggling hard to maintain some sort of balance despite the pain and chaos.

I have no answers to what is happening cross culturally on a global level unless we begin to re-establish a heart- level connection with humans and the rest of nature. The warnings I receive have become more dire making it impossible for me to block them out.

When I can surrender to nature’s beauty, I can also locate myself as a speck in the life of a five -billion year old planet even if it’s just for a few seconds at a time. My love for my dog, the birds at my feeder, free roaming bears, the kindness of neighbors and friends, also help me to feel that I am being given a gift.

Fire and Ice by Beth Bartlett

As I paddled the lake this morning, I found myself thinking this is what the end of the world looks like. The sun was rising red through smoke from Canadian wildfires and a smoky haze engulfed the lake to the point I could barely see the not-too-distant opposite shore. I was paddling by the state forest, where the March ice storm had stripped the tall pines of their upper branches, bent the birches, and uprooted and sent out to sea the largest of the trees. The camping spot at the spring was inaccessible so covered was it by downed trees and branches. All was bent, broken, and dying and the forest itself appeared to be weeping. Adding to the surreal aspect of this moment was the plethora of motorboats pulling skiers and jet skis bouncing along on what would otherwise be a quiet, calm lake – oblivious to or simply not caring that they were frivolously burning the very fossil fuels that had fueled this environmental crisis and catastrophe. It was as if I were watching an Octavia Butler dystopia play out with the rich and privileged burning up the last of the fossil fuels with disregard for the earth and disdain for earth’s advocates.

I began going to this lake in northern Michigan when I was two. Every year my mother would comment on how blue the sky was, how clear the air – such a contrast to northeast Ohio where we lived with its rubber factories, making the sky a hazy gray, even on the sunniest of days. We would marvel at the depth of the blue. This visit I never once saw a blue sky, nor even across the lake. I have hundreds of photos of the beautiful vista from the hill upon which our cabin sits, simply because of the stunning blues, but this year I took not a one.

Autumn Equinox 25: The Cutting Away and the Gathering In by Sara Wright

There is something very special about ‘the cutting away and gathering in’ … my very wild gardens are flattened, my wildflower field has just been mowed, trees are turning, and I am possessed by joy.

It’s at this time of year that the sky opens into a field of dreams. I walk down through the pines to watch the stars appear at dusk – the open field widens my vision. The Great Bear circumnavigates the sky and as other constellations crystalize, I can imagine that it’s possible to re- imagine, to re- weave the threads around the cross-cultural web that is broken. Ordinary perception fails.

I am also reminded that everything changes, and that the seasonal round is the foundation of life.

In this same field during daylight hours birds feast on thousands of scattered seeds that have been baked in summer heat.

I’m amazed by an illumination.

At both equinoxes near and far meet.

Emergence – Miracle Birth by Sara Wright

When my ‘good neighbor’ sent me the photo yesterday morning I could see the outlines of the butterfly, so my little dog Coal and I walked up to see for ourselves. It was hot – very hot though only around 9:30 AM. The capsule was already twisted and turning though not even the lightest breeze was in evidence. The outlines of the monarch were clearly etched through the now blackened but still translucent chrysalis.

Standing under the porch overhang that the caterpillar had chosen for transforming, a miracle was in progress. Before our eyes the capsule split as the butterfly emerged head-first, feelers extended and waving from the bottom of a rapidly shrinking chrysalis that had so recently been lime green tipped in gold. The wings were still quite small, but the butterfly was already pumping fluid into them readying for first flight. As the wings expanded before our eyes I cried out like a child exclaiming in my joy and excitement – “oh a miracle, a miracle”, and of course it was, the birthing of new life.

I went to the lake this morning . . . by Beth Bartlett

I went to the lake this morning, seeking the peace, sustenance, and perspective it so often provides. I had been particularly distressed and distraught the day before after watching the documentary on Christian Nationalism, “Bad Faith.” It was chilling to say the least. Among other things, the film demonstrates the longevity of Christian Nationalism in this country, dating back at least to the Ku Klux Klan, founded in 1865. However, the central theme of the documentary is the staggering influence of conservative political operative Paul Weyrich, who orchestrated the merger of conservative Evangelical Christians with the Republican Party in the 1980s. He founded the Moral Majority with Jerry Falwell, the Heritage Foundation which authored Project 2025, the American Legislative Exchange Council, and the Council for National Policy – all of which seek to undermine democracy in order to bring about what these organizations and their followers call a “Christian nation,” by force if necessary. But as former Republican strategist Steve Schmidt states in the film, there is nothing “Christian” about this movement. It is pure nationalism, a striving for power requiring the dismantling of the institutions of democratic government as we know them. These extremist Republican strategists found a powerful base of voters by tapping into Evangelical Christians and manipulating the messages they received to fill them with fear, and found just the puppet they needed in the charismatic and amoral figure of Donald Trump. As we’ve seen in recent years, they have been quite successful in the destruction of government. After filling the Supreme Court with their chosen nominees during Trump’s first term, getting Christian Nationalist Mike Johnson installed as Speaker of the House, and getting Trump elected a second time despite the January 6^th insurrection, or perhaps because of it, they are now successfully dismantling or otherwise destroying the Departments of Education, Health and Human Services, Energy, Defense, Agriculture, Justice and more along with the Environmental Protection Agency, the Food and Drug Administration, the Social Security Administration, the Federal Regulatory Agency. . . the list goes on. It’s all part of the plan to fulfill the “Seven Mountain Mandate” of dominionism[i], which seeks to impose its beliefs in seven spheres of influence: religion, family, education, government, media, arts and entertainment, and business. As one of the Christian Nationalists interviewed in the film proudly said, “It’s the Christian Taliban.”

Reflection on the Fourth of July by Sara Wright

Early Summer Days 2025

Hermit thrush’s trill and the bittern’s kerplunk are only two of the birds that mark this dawning with squawks or song. Red eyed vireo sings from the highest pine. My little Lucy (Lucia means Light in Italian, one of my mother tongues) and I bring in the day listening to bird symphonies as the sun star rises over the trees splashing verdant leaf tips in gold. First the ferns and then sparks of light sweep through the forest lighting patches of brook waters, lemony splotches appear here and there on deep humus, the rich soil that is conversing with the roots below the forest floor. Listen and you will hear that hum.

The phoebe family is fledging, and I feel privileged to be part of their story. Especially because they lost their first nest to a giant squirrel. Flicking their tails just like their parents the fledglings land on the little cherry growing just beyond my window before diving towards ground covers for tasty insect morsels.

The Mark of the Bear is upon us.