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Ghosts

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I haven’t seen stars like this, in a night sky like this, in nearly 30 years.

Caught by necessity in cities with man-made light, man-made noise, man-made man demanding man-made things from this soft cocoon of stars and sky that is night, I can barely remember what it looks and feels like to see and feel such… space. Even when traveling back and forth across the globe, skimming at the top of the sky where the stars should be brighter if I could look and see, we passengers of this era are reminded to close our window-blinds so that fellow travelers may sleep as we fly into the evanescent line where day and night meet.

I wonder how many of these stars are now ghosts and their light just now being caught in my eye, as in this photo.

When I was a little girl camping with my father in a national park near us, there would be the familiar sweep of the Milky Way across the sky when we looked up. It was magic. We’d just stand there in the meadow and look up, silent together, looking at the sky with the cool air of 8000 feet nipping at my nose. Our family dog seemed to be frightened of the dark when my dad would put on a spooky voice and say: “The deer are watching us..,” for she’d wrap herself between his legs and I’d draw close to his big frame, smiling at his prank but happy for the feel of his arm around me anyway.

It was literally heaven, this sweep of starlight and the dark wrapping night and his navy blue jacketed arm around me.

And he being the one who taught me that this beautiful natural world is both sacred and we in its possession, rather than the other way around.

Is it still there, this sky, I wonder?

He is no longer.

He left for this starry place two years ago, eager to be out of his earth-binding body. The last time I saw him, he was conversing in a clear voice with an unseen presence about a dog he so loved; it was clearly life review but I was not privy to see the unseen presence with whom he conversed. When I touched him lightly to remind him I loved him, I received the famous paternal look I knew so well, that told me I was interrupting, as he turned back to the sky and his task of eternity at hand.

One day a long time ago, I and a photographer friend were covering the plowing under of the Northern Plains north of Roundup, Montana. One day it was native grasses as far as you could see. Literally the next morning, after the huge yellow D-9 scrapers turned over the soil—in order to plant crops that would not grow in that habitat but no matter as it was a ploy by corporations for Federal subsidies not an actual farmer doing the destroying—antelope, sage grouse and hares previously hidden in their brown, grassy habitat, wandered over the stark, dark soil. The animals seemed stunned, looking at the new landscape devoid of their home, their habitat, their food, their grasses.

Ghosts. The sky of stars, the presence of those we love and now miss. Wildlife wandering in search of a shred of grass left behind.

Even Nature itself feels a ghost of itself, tho I know this is not possible. Nature has her ways of shaking off and moving on, letting nothing impede her change and process.

Like the antelope—or my father leaving this earth—I feel a ghost to myself as I reach for something new in a life now changed. Habitat has changed and lights wipe out the midnight blue of sky and stars, and noise of the streets and highway overwhelm my senses.  I pace the night away in my little house, feeling like a ghost to the times that were lived here, a house brimming with memory and habitat full of nurturing, but is no more.

We are neither in possession of the stars in the sky nor the sacred that gives meaning to our time on earth.

We can only try to follow the light that reaches us now.

 

 

 

 

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Wild ReSolve.

After years of thought and hope, a lot of circles and circling, and a lot of despair over the changes to our habitat I see taking place ever day — you know the habitat we depend on for life? That one — I finally used my breath to blow the seeds of hope and intent into the wind. I’m starting to create the project I call Wild ReSolve.

It is at the moment living on Patreon (link).

Over the course of the next weeks the project will become a virtual space in the “world wide web” where we can connect. It will feature solutions journalism, updates of all the stories I’ve covered or assigned thru my career as an environmental writer and journalist, but also offer things I’ve always wanted to include: multi-media projects, mini-docs, a podcast of interviews with those who have inspired or informed or warned us for decades about the damage we are doing to the only Home we have here on Earth. And most importantly it will be a cultural center for micro-communities and individuals to gather to find information and ideas that are solutions, solutions, solutions to the habitat destruction and climate changes our human lifestyle fuels. It will be a cultural sphere of hope for our wild and beautiful Earthly habitat.

Why “Wild” and why “ReSolve” you can find at the link above.

Here is my heart: I so love this Eden we live in and share as life itself. We are a part of this natural world; it is our only home as I’ve written previously. I am saddened to the point of despair as I see wildlife lose habitat, or fertile lands dry up with drought, soil destruction, and for marine animals to strangle in plastic or for skies to fill with smoke from out-of control-wildfires driven by increasing temperatures due to our fossil fuel use. I even feel concern as I notice the micro-biome of the soil in my little garden bake in temperatures and heat-intense sun previously unexperienced, all due to climate warming too fast for adaptation.

We humans, every one of us, are driving the change and we are driving too fast.

I want to yell “Do Something!” as I have throughout my long career in writing about environment, but at this point in my age, and in having recently survived yet another year of unexpected illness (this time I’m privileged—lucky? fortunate? yes to all 3—to have survived this novel virus Nature has thrown at us), I feel it is me I am yelling at, not just into the silent void.

So, lets talk about and cheer on rewilding projects. Let’s learn how to foster them in our own communities.

Let’s learn how to connect regional habitats so our fellow wild-living animals have a change to adapt or move to places they can survive in this speeding climate change.

Let’s learn what communities in parts of Africa are doing to use the overflowing ever-present availability of plastic trash to create fuels for lights or cooking. Let’s learn to do it in our own backyard because our communities too too are covered in plastic single-use rubbish.

Let’s also learn how to support those who save, nurture and release orphan elephants to protected areas, work with local villages to foster mutual care for them, and how to support those who die in the service of of protecting the few mountain gorilla left in the national parks of shrinking forests of central Africa.

Let’s learn how indigenous and first nations might have better ideas to steward the land back to health, and how we too can give it a try in our own backyard.

And let’s learn why we need to quit talking about our habitat as if it’s an abstract economic asset. Rather we need to use language that connects us, living-thing to living thing, rather than measuring the value of a place merely by its use or monetary value.

Let’s become inspired rather than overwhelmed. Let’s connect and feel resolve that we can create sweeping change by doing so.

If we all “do something” we will soon find we have assembled a core power of healing action for the only Home, our Earth habitat, sustaining us and life itself. And maybe we will successfully create a culture of care rather than of destruction. With little actions do we express our ever growing love for life itself, in all its amazing beauty.

I hope you love this wild earth, our Eden, too, and will help me to seed a new project!

 

Infinite Time

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In so many ways, loss shows us what is precious, while love teaches us who we are.

Elisabeth Kübler-Ross & David Kessler, Life Lessons

 

If I were to count the clouds in my photograph above, there would be one for every loss and love I’ve let go of since I wrote my last post on Earth: Sacred/Possession.

Two, no three, cats if I count the stray who briefly brought such joy to my home tho I didn’t know she had come here to pass away in a warm bed on a January night. My beloved remaining dog of my littermate set, at the ancient age of 16 even tho her brother had left us at the good age of 13. I was humbled by her love and her lessons to me. Two parents, divorced over 40 years but passed away within a few months of each other, as if they were still in a race to be first to the best of the finish line. Another dear friend, who healed my broken heart with such care, decided at age 94 he’d had enough and was gone in a poof of letting go in a matter of just a few days. A hope for a new life abroad, two daughters not only through undergraduate education but now nearly finished second masters in vocal performance, the loss of my being an anchor in their lives and now a visitor. A family cabin where I learned to love Nature and wildness and built alters of flowers and rocks to give thanks for the beauty, tho I was only 6 or 7 or 8. It just seemed natural to do that in the setting sun of what seemed huge mountain, but as I drove there daily to care for a mother who barely recognized me through her illness, it was just a small field, while she herself was “losing her mind” as she oft marveled. Yes she was, till she had returned to childhood and then left altogether. The list goes on. And on.

Sooo much leaving.

All this to badly explain such a gap in my writing about Earth whether sacred or possession.

But I realize in doing so finally that what we’ve lost, too, of our Earth habitat in 6 years is truly stunning.

Whether through hurricanes with new measures they are so large, or tornadoes that are  beyond what was previously know, heat that sears us and reaches 135 degrees with alarming regularity, vast clearings of Amazonian forest, or ice caps that seemed they could never disappear, or a lethal virus that is invisible in our air, unseen but Lordy, what an illness —and too often death — it brings to us, these are all signs we’re losing our “temperate” home. And quickly it feels.

We’ve lost our sense of safety.

We’ve lost our sense of belonging perhaps.

And I don’t think it’s just me that is in a state of grief for these things we’ve lost or know we are losing as we hope not to see or feel what our survival instinct alerts us to. For in the loss of a “temperate” nature, we also lose our dreams. Some of us lose our dreams of a cabin on a creek. Our children are losing their dreams of a hospitable quality of life as they experienced the weather. For all of us we are losing a future as we envisioned it.

I’ve been learning a lot about grief these years obviously. It cascades and overwhelms or it pokes at odd times followed by a deep breath and a look at a blue sky. It darkens days and lights up nights with the starbursts of tossing and not often enough the tears to wash it away. Because there is no away. There is only the awareness of what feels lost. And time feels infinite in these moments of realizing what is precious but is no more. For we are bound still in love with it.

Sooo in love.

Tonight there were cries outside. A young hawk has been gracing this urban racetrack where I live, stopping briefly in my trees the past few sunsets. These were cries of working to live. A fledger flying and figuring out the hows of life. A few hours later I was brought out into the night by chrrrs — very small owls, perhaps three of them — in the same trees, calling to each other. I had no idea where their mother was but obviously near by and they seeming to reassure each other of nearness in the adventure of this night with their cries.

Crying is not always a bad thing, I’m reminded. It is a sound of being alive.

Nature so wants to live.

The news notes regarding increases in wildlife seeming to live better when we humans took to our hiding places inside these past few months made clear to me what possession really means:

Our temperate world is to be shared and we are too often oblivious of the life getting out of our way. It has no place, we feel, in “our landscape”. Yet what other habitat is there for all the “others” we identify as not being our relations in stardust and life force?

With all the losses I see and feel, experience and intuit, I’m learning very slowly, it truly is only love that remains.

With the grief comes the love, like rain on a hot day, or stars poking out at night.

With losses comes the recognition of what we find precious.

May we see how precious this earth is, and in our grief may we find ways to love it into better sustaining all the lives and places and time(s) we love.

 

*Please see www.edmontaigne-author.com for information on my new book on learning to communicate from my dogs: “Training Two: Learning the Language of Love …”. There’s a blog there too. It’s also available on Amazon: Training Two: Learning the Language of Love from Two Dogs Who Share One Brain

 

Understanding climate:

“It’s either the whole or it’s nothing…”

 

http://www.ted.com/talks/gavin_schmidt_the_emergent_patterns_of_climate_change?utm_source=newsletter_daily&utm_campaign=daily&utm_medium=email&utm_content=image__2014-05-01

 

Gavin Schmidt said this at the Ted conferences in early May. I feel it is the easiest way to sum up  what is in front of us:

 

It’s either the whole or it’s nothing…

 

Either we embrace that our Earth must be cared for as a whole rather than a whole lot of separate island nations, or we humans all sink together into a kind of desperate living only Hollywood can adequately portray. And with a lot of pain and suffering for so much we love along the way, animal, plant and human alike, in this miraculous, Eden-like habitat we call home.

 

This wholeness can be really positive if embraced as a reason to care now — for each other, for the animal and plant life that is the miracle of our world, for the shreds of wilderness left intact that we protect, and for the areas of Nature now rehabilitating with or without our notice — with as much determination as we can find within ourselves.

 

Yes, let’s respond to the whole as a whole; we have the technology, and the heart and art to do so.

 

Is there any among you who can put a webcam of melting ice and stranded polar bear and cubs on the Megatron in Times Square where we city dwellers can stand, rapt with concern, and root for their survival? That might occupy attention to our wholeness. How about another webcam 24/7 on the screen at the airports, documenting not just the latest extreme weather event we watch in awe anyway, opening our hearts and wallets for those people displaced, but also one which provides a glimpse of mammals seeking water during the newest drought or fire, wherever it may be? Live, as it happens…

 

Too tough to watch, I hear many protesting. Yes, but it is real-time reality TV that simply underscores our connection to each other, our care piqued as we are a species that does have a good heart when seeing pain, and we do respond to help.

 

If we can see and experience the whole, with our eyes and hearts engaged, we can create a culture of care for the whole.

 

Really, we can.

 

 

 

 

Or why we face a future with a changed climate and degraded habitat with seeming aplomb … until it’s a crisis.

 

 The Fates, of course, refer to the Greek incarnations to which all — humanity and gods — had to submit. They defined destiny, spinning the line of life, allotting its length, maintaining an unturnable outcome. Fates — or Fate, seeing the ladies in the singular today —are the epitome of destiny, but also a principle of divine natural order, thought to be unchangeable by man… oh, maybe until now perhaps, when we have the tools and the will to tinker on a global scale.

 

We submit to an unalterable power of Fate**, which is why humans are often lauded or accused, depending on circumstance, of fatalism: What happens has to happen. It is a necessity, given the story thus far, the narrative we’ve woven as a global community. There’s nothing to do to change it.

 

But is it a necessity?

 

Enter Feelings, those nice and nasty players shrieking into our brains as first-responders long before logic and reason weigh in. Our survival mechanism perfected, Feelings are insta-fast responses to our world, engaging without our knowing but, explains writer Chris Mooney, determining our behavior and subsequently our convictions about our behavior, in such a way that we can see what we want to see, believe what we want to believe, and against all fact or unchemically-altered observation. “The theory of motivated reasoning builds on a key insight of modern neuroscience,” Mooney writes in Mother Jones. “Reasoning is actually suffused with emotion. … We push threatening information away; we pull friendly information close.” Doing so proves our viewpoint correct: That was a lion about to eat us – or at least it was a lion and we felt afraid so we ran (flight). That is a maniac with a finger on a button of destruction, but presenting himself as a world leader, so we feel we should take him to be able to negotiate a diplomatic solution or take him to battle (fight). That is a huge storm, category 4 or 5 again, and it was a danger to life and limb and city but, now over, I feel my experience of it had nothing to do with my actions previous to today, nor the culture I’ve had a hand in creating (flight or, perhaps, freeze response).

 

“Fatalism is the narrative thesis that some action or event was bound to happen because it ‘fits’ so well with the agent’s character…” the late UT-Austin professor Robert C Solomon wrote in Philosophy East and West (Vol. 53, No. 4, Oct, 2003).

 

“Fate and fatalism… is the story of who we are and of what happens to us and how what happens fits into the larger scheme of things. It is the dramatic story, not the scientific one, even if many or most of the details are the same. … Thus fate and fatalism  focus ‘locally’ on what is most significant about us, our births, our sweetest romances, our best successes, our worst failures, our calamities, our deaths.”

 

 

Our feelings justify our fatalism all too often, creating conviction against all the facts that we can, in fact, call upon our character to meet the challenges of slowing climate change.

 

Climate Access, in offering tools to communicate about climate change in a way that gets us out of fatalism, suggests these tools for a start:

“Understand that hope is a precondition to effective action…

 

“Building and sustaining hope is an interior practice . . .

 

“Be clear on what we can hope for… It is not the climate of yesteryear.”

 

Hope is a feeling that serves every one of us.

 

It is empowering and lifting rather than leading us into the web of the Fates or bathing us in the Feelings that any one of us is just too minor a character in this narrative to make a difference.

 

It is my living hope that we will soon meet the challenge of our own character — individually, collectively, and as players in a great narrative — and thus learn to live in a way that doesn’t further degrade our habitat as we love it, or leave to the Fates our only home.

 

May you day today be filled with hope—

Elizabeth Darby

 

Side note:

**’God’s will’ and ‘Acts of God’ (the ones your house insurance may or may not cover) seem to be different than a Fate, in that they are not ‘necessary’ or dependent on ‘character,’ but rather ‘authored’.  God’s will or Acts of God are based on the idea of being in ‘good hands’ — maybe not always what you or I want, but ‘good hands’ all the same — and thus a relief compared to the anonymity of the Fates.  Since the “Acts of God” clause covers most of what Nature throws at us, I’m always amazed that there is any debate whether Nature is thought to be part of God and vice-versa, but that’s an earlier blog…

 

Awakenings

Tell me what awakens you…

Tell me what feels sacred to you.

 

Is it possible that these two might somehow be related? Does one awaken to the sacred, or does the sacred awaken within us a feeling?

 

A few days ago on a TED conversation, (it’s closed but you can read through it here), someone asked if ‘sacred’ was the most dangerous word?

 

Indeed, I’ve encountered (still) a bit of disbelief when I describe a blog on Earth, home, habitat, exploring Earth being sacred to others. One challenged me immediately to define sacred, as if I’d raised an old spectre; given the home nation of the person is vehemently anti-religious both out of manners and frustration, I understood it was a bees nest of reaction going on inside him. Another response more recently was, “Is it safe to write about that?” That one caught me by surprise; it took me a moment to reflect that yes, perhaps, one’s exploration of sacred might ought be kept to oneself . . .  except that would delete thousands of years of meaning-making by our species. If we didn’t explore the sacred, and the sacred in Nature, outwardly, where would art, music, dance, poetry be? These expressions of feeling and experiencing the sacred, including in the natural world, are much of the beautiful expression in every culture and in every age.

 

Yet, the Ted thread certainly got testy very quickly.

 

What is it that awakens volcanos and tempests of feeling in exploring even just the ‘term’ sacred?

And that is what brings me to wondering what awakens you and what of it, if anything, feels sacred? Whether it’s awakened to the day or awakened to feeling, it’s something we go through many times each day.  Awaken, as in rouse from sleep, experience new feelings or new awareness…

One school of thought is that God — choose your name for whatever you are comfortable calling the life force within you, the light which animates you and which visibly disappears when you die and the light leaves your physical body, as I’ve witnessed in human and animal alike — awakens each of us each day. I’ve heard this spiritual experience described especially in families where a child or loved one has a short time to live and is roused from sleep lovingly with “This is the Day the Lord has made…” by caregivers.  Certainly when Nature awakens me, I am aware of something greater calling me up and out, whether noisy jays (earlier written about here) or the ravens in the forest. I am awakened with curiosity and inspiration. In South Africa, I was awakened by the distinctly foreign sounds of monkeys chattering near by. In Wyoming, camping on the prairie, I was awakened by an early morning stampede of running paws on dirt — a local coyote pack with pups roaring by, yipping and barking with joy. I am always awakened to a feeling of wonder at Creation in these times; wonder at Creation awakens a feeling of sacred in me.

 

More locally, I am awakened to awareness by my cat. Foul breath draws near, several head bonks forehead to forehead, and when that doesn’t work because I am lost to heavy, unfeeling slumber, a deft poke with specially-sharpened central claw pulls the quilt, sheet, and then a stab into the back or face (ouch) awakens me.  I always assume that’s God’s humor in action, for if I awaken, I’m still here on Earth and there is work I need to get done apparently; the cat might wish to be thought of as God awakening  me (indeed he made it in other cultures) but such an awakening to feeling isn’t always what I had in mind as ‘sacred’ per se.

 

But then I’m reminded by this that awakening to sacred isn’t always comfy. There are the awakenings to bears or raccoons ransacking my pack with a thin tent wall between us, or the shriek of the chase between predator and prey, whether in wilds, African bush, or city alleys, that make the first words out of my mouth a prayer:  ‘Oh dear God, what was that?’ Awakening to awareness, life and death, what could be more sacred or inspiring?

 

It’s a thin line between awakening and feeling wonder, of comfort and inspiration, of Nature as source of knowledge of the Gods (sacred) and experiencing that which we live among but do not fully understand.

 

So what awakens you… to your day or your world or to Creation?

What awakens you to the feel of sacred?

What awakens you to the thin line between the two?

Tell me a story of you, and your awakenings.

 

Are the Earth and the sacred so far apart?

 

 

 

 

 

 

Missing

Why is daily news and consideration of our natural habitat missing from our ever-expanding daily news diet?

Why questions, I am reminded, are dangerous, especially in journalism. First of all they elicit argument, as asking why presumes the observation is true, or the question a judgment rather than an observation. Why did you run over the cat in the street elicits “Who said I did?” and Why is there a dead cat in the street? is too often solved with “I dunno…” because the possible answers are too many to narrow down in the few seconds devoted to the answer. Environmental news coverage has suffered from the same malady.

In a Gallup survey compilation (it’s unclear what year it was compiled) on paying attention to news stories a week after the event, while 97% of Americans were paying very/somewhat close attention to stories like 9/11, Hurricane Katrina, or Princess Diana’s death, only 41% were paying very/somewhat close attention to “biotechnology and modifications to food”. More importantly, other than the occasional weather event (Katrina) or the Asian tsunami of 2005, or a brief discussion of the XL pipeline or biotech, there were no other news stories on biodiversity loss, the environment, climate change or water/food issues even making the 200+story list by Gallup!

Why questions are also the last answered in journalism, after who, what, when, and where, and thus don’t normally make it into ‘normal’ fast headline news anyway.

According to Slate last year, fewer than half of people who arrive at a story at their website continue reading past the first scroll and 10% don’t scroll at all – which means never make it past the first 4 paragraphs.  And if there’s a photo at the top (to draw you in) it’s likely you are getting only the first two lines before hopping off elsewhere.  We’ve become a nation of skimmers.  And visually hooked skimmers at that. (Thanks Farhad! Great article!)

Four paragraphs doesn’t leave much room for discussion of interrelated issues and consequences, such as those covering the environment, the biosphere, our habitat, or even the connections between climate and extraordinary weather events as this winter’s weather (drought in the southern hemisphere; heavy snows and gales in the northern) might give us pause to wonder about.  To me that means we need Why questions at the top, lots of photos, cute or otherwise, and the news of our habitat place in front of us everywhere.

I’ll put a cute picture here in the hope you’ll keep reading…

© Lee Karney/USFWS

© Lee Karney/USFWS

 

Actually two lines or four paragraphs doesn’t really give room for most kinds of news reporting other than what Neiman is now calling ‘solutions’ reporting, which includes not only why but how can we fix/solve/ resolve/become engaged in the story or its outcome.

This ‘solutions reporting’ kind of journalism is something we tried 2 decades ago at our award-winning environmental magazine Buzzworm. Not wanting to leave readers sad or discouraged at the end of our (ahem) 2500 – 5000 word articles replete with beautiful photography to entice our readers into our written coverage, we included what any reader, even you, could do to make a difference in the issue. It became a popular and engaging form of environmental journalism.

By the end of our run, most major daily newspapers had an ‘environment beat’ as well as a weekly section devoted to coverage of the issues.  Phil Shabecoff, in his article on the environmental beat for the Neiman Foundation backs up my experiential impression (Thanks, Phil, great article). Data gathered by the Pew Trust’s Excellence in Journalism and reported in the Columbia Journalism Review noted environmental stories were less than 1% of the entire mainstream news coverage.

Granted, major dailies do cover bits of our environment on their websites, yet much of these issues are still covered only in niche readerships – one must find it and click on it, rather than have it thrust into in plain view on a headlines page.  Nonetheless, bother to click on today’s Environment page at The New York Times, and the first 6 headlines should give you pause if not a chill or two: To wit: 2013 one of the warmest years on record( no, really!); bee deaths appear to be from a virus that rapidly mutates to tobacco and soy as well (gasp, a world without cigarettes or tofu or beef feed); a new leak at a Japanese nuclear reactor; and our 30-year-old war against the killing of rhinos seems to be lost.  That’s all above the scroll, too.

Of course, I applaud these news outlets that do provide coverage; I just wish it were part of the daily diet of headline importance at the main page, especially in America.  Apparently the Pew study, too, noted that the average reader is still not being served a daily offering of news on the health of our life-sustaining habitat news. I put it this way, as most ask me “why” when I mention I have devoted my professional writing-life to covering the environment. The ‘life-sustaining habitat’ part sometimes gets their attention while the ‘environment’ does not.

And I marvel at how much is not said on the daily local evening news, where weather events are often covered as breaking news. I’m told some local weathercasters would like to include the connections of weather to environment, climate change, air and water quality, but that it seems to just not go with the rapid one-line flow of crime, business corruption, traffic and sports, and as such are told to stick to weather, as it is the main reason people even bother to tune in to local broadcast news anymore.

And this is the point: as long as issues of our habitat are not placed in front of us on a daily basis, we reside in silent ignorance of the consequences for our only home and life-sustaining Earth, until the day dawns that we jump from crisis to crisis, wondering how we got here.

I’ll put another picture here, in the hope that you’ll scroll down to read the last of this missive. . . .

 

© Gary Stoltz/USFWS

© Gary Stoltz/USFWS

 

Is an extreme weather-event news? Yes. Should we ask ‘Why’ there seem to be so many of them these last few years? Yes, if we want to have a hope of responding intelligently in the years to come, whether locally or globally.

Is the loss and change of our habitat’s biodiversity globally news that we might connect to our local habitats with good reporting? Yes, as such loss portends effects everyone’s well-being. Not only should we ask why, but doing so an opportunity to inform on the consequences able to be anticipated and thus met. Biodiversity loss is ultimately a loss of quality of life story as any habitat crisis story is (such as the polluted W, Virginia water crisis story last week), but it is also an economic story, a business story, a crime story and a social equity story. And it’s something we can take action on, locally as well as internationally. Many of our large predators and vast tracks of wilderness would be long gone if those somewhere else in the world had not been informed and raised their voices in care and concern.

Why questions can beget understanding; sometimes it takes more than 4 paragraphs or the first couple of lines if I’ve put a photo at the top to draw you in. Considering the care of our only habitat  — the only one we have and which sustains our life — is perhaps the most important story.

Why?

For it is our life-support system.  If it’s in our daily view, it’s thus able to be among our heart-felt considerations of what is important to us and to our children today and tomorrow. Then we have time to ask why questions and to take good, life-sustaining actions.

 

We don’t know what our own habitat is…

Sir David Attenborough

BBC 16 Dec 2013

 

This off-the-cuff observation, in the midst of a simple radio conversation on BBC today, startled me.

Is it possible that we, in walking through the moments of our lives, do not recognize or ‘know’ our own habitat? This ecosphere of life-giving oxygen, those mountains, that river of water, this bit of nourishment from some plot of dirt?  

Is it possible we suffer from habitat illiteracy – can you read the sky and the wind for on-coming weather, recognize a source of usable water, or observe the movement of wildlife to note puzzling changes?

Being a 3rd generation native of this area of the Rockies, where the prairie meets mountains, and raised by a woman born in the late 1800s whose survival and well-being depended on reading the land and weather, I too taught my children to read the beautiful, huge blue sky here. We pay attention to see, to smell, to feel when snow is in the air and whether it’s a northern ice (and thus cold) scent or a heavy damp one (and thus a deep, heavy snow requiring extra food in the pantry) on the way. I soothed my children with knowledge of when a cloud portended hail rather than tornado weather and which way it was blowing in order that they feel safe at Home in our world and empowered to be a part of it. We see how the prairie Blue Jays have come to inhabit our backyard rather than the foothills variety and that summer’s doves now stay too long (and thus get caught by heavier snows than they are meant for) — puzzling changes in territory and timing we can only presume come from changes in climate and habitat needs.

Reading the weather, the sky, our habitat are essential tools. For we need them to feel at home here on Earth and with earth’s vital resources that support our very life.

We are not unique; so many I know bring their own weather/habitat knowledge with them when they make a new home in a new territory as well. And thus learning and natural evolution take place; yes, it really can be 10-below for a week here and yes, power can go out.

But Sir David speaks of a more profound change:

We don’t know what our own habitat is  . . .

Have a majority of us, like the comic Jetsons of the 1960s, become used to punching a button and food is shoved into our mouths? (Let’s not forget that poor family had to wear helmets for life-giving oxygen; let us hope that is not our future here on Earth.)

Sir David went on to mention the moors and forests of the U.K., every inch of which, of course, are transformed by man’s hand over centuries save, he noted whimsically, a few tops of peaks in Scotland.

Here in the U.S. and elsewhere in the world many of us are lucky enough to see wilderness, where we can see an ‘original’ habitat of man, whether temperate rainforest in British Columbia or parts of the Amazon and here in the Rockies —except that in many cases, the wilderness managed to be preserved is the edge of our habitat, a remnant of land from which man could not carve out a 4-season living, like at the tops of our Eagle’s Nest Wilderness of 13,000 and 14,000 feet, and thus left it to remain wilderness.

We do not know what our own habitat is…

Sir David did mention that we might look upon glass and steel, buildings and tarmack, as our habitat — and if so, he said, that is very distressing. Indeed we are told that a majority of the world’s population now lives in cities. And of course, that is a mixed blessing: with more urban living, more land is able to return to wild, as noted in a previous post (Re*Wilding);  yet with more people, especially our children, living in a city-bound alienation from our Earth, we become dangerous and sad. We suffer both a habitat illiteracy, and a sense of alienation from our natural cradle that gives us water, air, food, life.

The remedy? Take a moment outside. Reconnect to your habitat: notice the sky and read the wind; gaze at your water source and feel grateful it’s even there; consider what the wildlife (surely there is some near you even if a humble pigeon or squirrel) had for their breakfast. And then look to the horizon . . . and think about home. The Earth. Your habitat.

What is your habitat, really? It’s still there, beyond the glass and steel.

And your life-force, maybe even your soul within you, knows you, me, we all need it more than we might want to admit.

 

Ubuntu

A talk from the heart by Boyd Varty, who has learned in his life that we are connected andmade better by our connection with each other — ubuntu — but that is also true of our connection with our Earth, our habitat, and the other animals with whom we share this beautiful planet.

A long, long time ago, I too walked a river near Londolozi in South Africa, and too saw the shadows and faced my deepest fears. I too learned of what it meant to be reliant on others to open the world, touch my heart, carry my spirit to safety, and to experience the humility of our deepest connections of heart, of spirit, of life and how these interconnections are made stronger by extending to the living creatures around us… but these are stories for another time. For now, listen with open heart to Boyd Varty and allow yourself to be immersed in his heart and story. It’s not just about meeting and knowing a great person, it is also about learning to know that together in spirit we are stronger.

Dwelling (on) Place

“Dwell in the magnitude of the Universe . . .”*

Galaxy Messier 94  Image credit: NASA/JPL-Caltech

Galaxy Messier 94
Image courtesy of NASA/JPL-Caltech

To dwell comes from Old English dwellan

— as in to wander, to linger, to tarry —

… thus to take time in

and to inhabit as a home.

Coastal_strand_with_old_growth_forest_on_oswald_west_state_park_in_oregon

Photo courtesy: Patte David, U.S. Fish and Wildlife Service

Whether we dwell in the infinitude of Nature, of Creation, and linger there,

— or dwell on such magnitude that it is, and thus wander in the improbable, unabashed abundance of Nature —

in doing so, we are then able to inhabit the possibility that that which we call Sacred might be around us, enveloping us, within us, and also is our home.

It is then that we might know Nature, and ourselves in it, to be one In matter, in substance,

and in energy that we experience

as life.

"Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org"

Photo courtesy PDPhoto.org

 

*“For those who have always dwelt on limited thoughts,

a good practice is to dwell in the magnitude of the Universe.”

 Ernest Holmes

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