Category Archives: Uncategorized

How global trade agreements yank us out of right relationship with the land.

Lately I’ve been waking up more to what these global trade agreements are about (most immanent is the TPP which was negotiated *in secret* by our president and other heads of state– and which HAS YET to be approved by our congress– which we must oppose with everything we’ve got– for the good of our land, our nation, and our own people’s livelihood– unless I’m really missing something here). When I found this essay by Wendell Berry, a light bulb went on for me. These agreements yank us even further out of our right relationship with the land and with our own prosperity. The people of the involved nations rightly feel deceived by their heads of state (and we by our president):

And so we have before us the spectacle of unprecedented ‘prosperity’ and ‘economic growth’ in a land of degraded farms, forests, ecosystems, and watersheds, of polluted air, failing families, and perishing communities. This moral and economic absurdity exists for the sake of the allegedly ‘free’ market, the single principle of which is this: Commodities will be produced wherever they can be produced at the lowest cost, and consumed wherever they will bring the highest price. To make too cheap and sell too high has always been the program of industrial capitalism. The idea of the ‘global free market’ is merely capitalism’s so far successful attempt to enlarge the geographic scope of its greed and, moreover, to give to its greed the status of a ‘right’ within its presumptive territory. The global ‘free market’ is free to the corporations precisely because it dissolves the boundaries of the old national colonialisms and replaces them with a new colonialism without restraints or boundaries. It is pretty much as if the rabbits have been forbidden to have have holes, thereby ‘freeing’ the hounds.

— Wendell Berry, “The Idea of a Local Economy,”  from  the book by Kellert and Farnham, The Good in Nature and Humanity

Casting the net of light.

Let your hearts open now,” the Grandmothers said. “We understand that to see the suffering in so many places,” they said, shaking their heads, “is painful. And to see the hardened hearts of those you call ‘the haves’…” they laughed ruefully. “Those people are most pitiable of all. In their hearts they have nothing and though they clutch at everything, they end up grasping at emptiness.

“So,” they said “take the challenge and let your hearts open. Feel what you feel.
Let compassion well up in you and then serve wherever you can. Serve with your hands, your voice, and with your listening. But most of all, serve with a loving heart. Such service will bring you joy.

“Cast the Net of Light,” the Grandmothers said. “Hold it and let yourself be held by it. Pray for all the creatures affected by these catastrophes and hold them in the Net. That is your job. The holding, holding, holding of the light.

page 80, Casting the Net, Sharon McErlane

Celebrating and Sending Love by John O’Donohue

Celebrating And Sending Love by John O’Donohue:

A person should always offer a prayer of graciousness for the love that has awakened in them. When you feel love for your beloved and his or her love for you, now and again you should offer the warmth of your love as a blessing for those who are damaged and unloved. Send that love out into the world to people who are desperate; to those who are starving; to those who are trapped in prison; in hospitals and all the brutal terrains of bleak and tormented lives. When you send that love out from the bountifulness of your own love, it reaches other people. This love is the deepest power of prayer.

~ John O’Donohue © All rights reserved, from Anam Cara, Chapter 1, The Wounded Gift

Wisdom indeed.

No Attachment to Dust

Zengetsu, a Chinese master of the T’ang dynasty, wrote the following advice for his pupils:
Living in the world yet not forming attachments to the dust of the world is the way of a true Zen student.
When witnessing the good action of another encourage yourself to follow his example. Hearing of the mistaken action of another, advise yourself not to emulate it.
Even though alone in a dark room, be as if you were facing a noble guest. Express your feelings, but become no more expressive than your true nature.
Poverty is your teasure. Never exchange it for an easy life.
A person may appear a fool and yet not be one. He may only be guarding his wisdom carefully.
Virtues are the fruit of self-discipline and do not drop from heaven of themselves as does rain or snow.
Modesty is the foundation of all virtues. Let your neighbors discover you before you make yourself known to them.
A noble heart never forces itself forward. Its words are as rare gems, seldom displayed and of great value.
To a sincere student, every day is a fortunate day. Time passes but he never lags behind. Neither glory nor shame can move him.
Censure yourself, never another. Do not discuss right and wrong.
Some things, though right, were considered wrong for generations. Since the value of righteousness may be recognized after centuries, there is no need to crave an immediate appreciation.
Live with cause and leave results to the great law of the universe. Pass each day in peaceful contemplation.
— Zen Koans

Nikki Firefly

Nature calls my heart.

How monotonous our speaking becomes when we speak only to ourselves! And how insulting to the other beings – to foraging black bears and twisted old cypresses – that no longer sense us talking to them, but only about them, as though they were not present in our world…Small wonder that rivers and forests no longer compel our focus or our fierce devotion. For we walk about such entities only behind their backs, as though they were not participant in our lives. Yet if we no longer call out to the moon slipping between the clouds, or whisper to the spider setting the silken struts of her web, well, then the numerous powers of this world will no longer address us – and if they still try, we will not likely hear them.


― David Abram, Becoming Animal: An Earthly Cosmology

One portrait and faculties of soul.

For many years I had only one photograph of my paternal grandfather, whom I had never met. From this one photo, I had to discern who he was. In time, two more photos appeared. I think of how it is now with daily portraits rolling by on Facebook. I appreciate the faculties I have had to employ feeling for my grandfather’s soul that I wouldn’t have had to use had I had the hundreds of photos that we have these days.
(John Paul McDowell– March 15, 1884, Glasgow, Scotland)

–pam

“Sometimes a wild god…”

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine.

When the wild god arrives at the door,
You will probably fear him.
He reminds you of something dark
That you might have dreamt,
Or the secret you do not wish to be shared.

He will not ring the doorbell;
Instead he scrapes with his fingers
Leaving blood on the paintwork,
Though primroses grow
In circles round his feet.

You do not want to let him in.
You are very busy.
It is late, or early, and besides…
You cannot look at him straight
Because he makes you want to cry.

The dog barks.
The wild god smiles,
Holds out his hand.
The dog licks his wounds
And leads him inside.

The wild god stands in your kitchen.
Ivy is taking over your sideboard;
Mistletoe has moved into the lampshades
And wrens have begun to sing
An old song in the mouth of your kettle.

‘I haven’t much,’ you say
And give him the worst of your food.
He sits at the table, bleeding.
He coughs up foxes.
There are otters in his eyes.

When your wife calls down,
You close the door and
Tell her it’s fine.
You will not let her see
The strange guest at your table.

The wild god asks for whiskey
And you pour a glass for him,
Then a glass for yourself.
Three snakes are beginning to nest
In your voicebox. You cough.

Oh, limitless space.
Oh, eternal mystery.
Oh, endless cycles of death and birth.
Oh, miracle of life.
Oh, the wondrous dance of it all.

You cough again,
Expectorate the snakes and
Water down the whiskey,
Wondering how you got so old
And where your passion went.

The wild god reaches into a bag
Made of moles and nightingale-skin.
He pulls out a two-reeded pipe,
Raises an eyebrow
And all the birds begin to sing.

The fox leaps into your eyes.
Otters rush from the darkness.
The snakes pour through your body.
Your dog howls and upstairs
Your wife both exults and weeps at once.

The wild god dances with your dog.
You dance with the sparrows.
A white stag pulls up a stool
And bellows hymns to enchantments.
A pelican leaps from chair to chair.

In the distance, warriors pour from their tombs.
Ancient gold grows like grass in the fields.
Everyone dreams the words to long-forgotten songs.
The hills echo and the grey stones ring
With laughter and madness and pain.

In the middle of the dance,
The house takes off from the ground.
Clouds climb through the windows;
Lightning pounds its fists on the table.
The moon leans in through the window.

The wild god points to your side.
You are bleeding heavily.
You have been bleeding for a long time,
Possibly since you were born.
There is a bear in the wound.

‘Why did you leave me to die?’
Asks the wild god and you say:
‘I was busy surviving.
The shops were all closed;
I didn’t know how. I’m sorry.’

Listen to them:

The fox in your neck and
The snakes in your arms and
The wren and the sparrow and the deer…
The great un-nameable beasts
In your liver and your kidneys and your heart…

There is a symphony of howling.
A cacophony of dissent.
The wild god nods his head and
You wake on the floor holding a knife,
A bottle and a handful of black fur.

Your dog is asleep on the table.
Your wife is stirring, far above.
Your cheeks are wet with tears;
Your mouth aches from laughter or shouting.
A black bear is sitting by the fire.

Sometimes a wild god comes to the table.
He is awkward and does not know the ways
Of porcelain, of fork and mustard and silver.
His voice makes vinegar from wine
And brings the dead to life.

Words: Tom Hirons at Coyopa – Tom’s book, Sometimes a Wild God, which contains this and many other FINE examples of his wordsmithing is available via this link —> http://shop.hedgespoken.org/products/sometimes-a-wild-god Please support artists & their work!

Acknowledging Worlds of Collective Perspective.

Raven on Eagle's pole this morning at sunrise-- 2.17.16, Anchorage, Ak
Raven on Eagle’s pole this morning at sunrise– 2.17.16, Anchorage, Ak

This morning after my nature meditation, I was thinking about how each individual  lives in a different world, and that there are also different worlds of collective perspective (worlds that groups of individuals “agree to” amongst themselves). When we take a vacation to another place/culture, we can feel so refreshed and awakened by a different collective perspective.

When we allow and encourage different collective perspectives to clash, the result is conflict. Last night I was watching cable tv for a bit, and the invocation to “be there” for the presidential election primary “town halls” came on.  This invocation was presented visually and aurally like the build-up for a boxing match.

Just as the media draws in viewers for sports, it draws them in for political discourse– in a way that mimics competitive sports. This approach, which continues into the “town halls,”  helps to create a sense of perpetual conflict. Instead of listening to and considering another’s perspective, we attack, defend, compete, and obfuscate.

When Hillary Clinton responded to a question about being paid highly for giving speeches to Goldman-Sachs, her response was something like, well, that’s just what they pay. In that world, it’s just the way things are.  It has its own validity no matter what you might think of it.

This election gives us a chance to check out different collective perspectives. To the extent that we can free ourselves from reaction– which is not easy in this climate– we can learn something.

The first step is to understand, as best we can, a world that is different from ours. It is a valid world for those who inhabit it. There is a kind of inner peace in acknowledging that. From there, as voters, we have a role in deciding what we ourselves align with for what we feel is the  “greater good.” We can also take it a step farther, and do service to encourage others to learn about the issues and to vote. (Voting is something that seems simple, but it is fraught with complexity.  Some choose to go even farther and work to dissolve the obstacles that have been created to keep people from voting– my perspective is obvious here!).

The over-arching goal, in my mind, is the most harmonious alignment amongst ourselves “to the seventh generation” and with Mother Nature. It is, however,  not so easy to achieve this in a climate of perpetual conflict.