Sara Wright – Page 13 – Feminism and Religion

The Computer Man by Sara Wright

When he left, I couldn’t believe it was over. All my anxiety and fear, all my apologies for being so ‘stupid’ about computers, all the negative experiences with tech people had been turned upside down.

Thirty years of internalized shame sloughed off skin after skin. I was finally free of patronizing tech abuse for the first time in my life. And Stan had just picked up a new client! If I had any problem in the future all I had to do was to contact him. Oh, such relief! That his prices were so reasonable was another welcome aspect of this first exchange.

Free Write at the Turning of the Wheel by Sara Wright

Pink plastic barbies in a pink plastic world they said it was great it was garbage insulting every feminist I know – as for ecofeminism – well it must be dead am i dead too? – how could an earth lover survive in a plastic world with plastic pink barbies I barely made two hours? -oh yes a few colors they had to didn’t they? And the hourglass figures dominated the dolls that tip over because they are so tall even without high heels – an insane movie full of patriarchal lies and this is our culture – constructed out of lies – i left in confusion – people i trusted said a “must see” – turns out one, a professor that recommended it hadn’t seen it – had been seduced by reviews – who doesn’t believe the new york times besides me ?– thick humidity greeted me at the door after the pink charade – oh something alive captures me from a ten inch tree – two rosy apples ignite a soul dead corpse – yet another torrential downpour blurred my

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.

Breaking the Silence by Sara Wright

I believe that The Fourth of July is the most despicable cultural celebration Americans engage in. This year I met the weekend head on. On July 1^st I publicly posted the following words knowing that locally, at least, there would be fallout:

Before the colonizers took over this land from Indigenous Peoples no one considered being “independent” because the People knew there was no such thing… Like it or not we all belong to the earth and are dependent upon this planet for our survival.

What we really celebrate on the 4^th of July is the Colonizers’ takeover of what was once a pristine continent ripe with lush forests, plants, wildlife, and peaceful people who had relationships with all their non-human relatives. These Native people also understood they belonged to the powers of each place they called ‘home’.

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!

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).

Firefly Night by Sara Wright

Warm nights
stir
sweet
moist air
waft
through
open windows
golden lights
begin to
blink

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!