Disease is an equalizer—it does not discriminate. Now Mother Earth has a captive audience, the world over. WOW!
Disperse across the earth and feel her pulse.
Now we may finally choose Mother Earth over the economy… not just for three weeks, but entirely and for the good of humanity!
Now we may open ourselves to the actual possibility of EARTH REGENERATION. Now we may all SHIFT—all of the earth’s children, today and forever.
This global pause is an opportunity to reflect, repent, and ask forgiveness from our one true creator: Mother Earth! The form from which all life springs. Her ecosystem is so delicately dependent on a multitude of species, on clean, non-toxic reservoirs and waters, and on the trees that give all life breath! Make no mistake, Mother Earth is asking for our attention with this pandemic.
Now we may take the right type of non-action, a permission slip which has never before been granted. We have less air and ground traffic. We have disease everywhere but the Arctic. We have the collapse of distant goods. We are called to sit, face to face, with our loved ones in our homes. We are called to sit, face to face, with our habitat: a living breathing thing. Make no mistake.
How compelling that the safe place to be now is in the open-air, mountains, or sea! Make no mistake.
Now we may open ourselves fully to the concept of habitat over habit. We may REGENERATE, my people. We may SHIFT now, in this moment, today and forever.
Now we may think of the children. Now we may listen to them. Now we may protect them from things they do not even know are coming, by acting intelligently, responsibly, and humanely. By cutting our ties with non-renewable resources and maddening consumption. (See: toilet paper!)
Now is the time for scientists, not politicians, for empaths, not conquerors, for mothers, not tyrants, for native wisdom, not industry.
This is a window of opportunity that Mother Earth giving us. Brilliant, really, as if Mother Earth has a mind all her own…an intelligence beyond our knowing.
Now we may reset this maddening pace of life and habit of consumption.
What is more important than our elders, our earth, and our children? What?
Everything is connected, we can see that now. So let us connect with our micro-tribes: our neighbors, roommates, and families, and figure this thing out. Let us back up our lifestyle-changes with policy-changes, locally, state and nation-wide, and globally.
“You are but a drop of rain
clinging to the edge of the sumac leaf
by the grace of that same surface tension
that tethers you to your work and gives you traction.”
– Nina Gaby
Make no mistake, she’s warning us: lighten, lighten, lighten the impact.
We can’t buy our way out of this one, so let’s stop trying.
Where energy goes, attention flows: shut down Costco and support local economy. It won’t collapse in times like this!
Support local farmers, if you are fortunate enough to have them in your region.
Support your local soap-maker.
Wipe your ass with cloth. It’s really very simple.
Think about things like light pollution, and how it impacts species. Think about the interconnectedness of all things. Research what type of non-action or change-of-action would be beneficial in your unique ecosystem, whether you’re an urbanite or a ruralite. There’s hope for everyone, everywhere.
Let us choose Mother Earth over Father Economy.
This is the global SHIFT we’ve long been needing to restore our habitat. It can be done. Environmentalists and scientists know the action and that must be taken. If the Coronavirus response can be coordinated between nations, couldn’t saving the earth be, too?
Shut. It. Down.
Rebuild with wisdom from our native and aboriginal elders, who understood interdependence and acted accordingly. Rebuild with our leaders in environmental science.
Let us choose habitat over our habits, today and for good. Now we may act wisely for the greater good of humanity, in the name of Mother Earth.
Nearly 150 countries worldwide participated in demonstrations during the first day of the annual Global Climate Strike week (Sept. 20-27th). The following are photos of the youth-led demonstration at Eugene Oregon’s Wayne Morse Free Speech Plaza outside the Lane County courthouse on Friday, September, 20th.
Thank you for viewing my short photo essay. It would be an understatement to say I have respect for the organizers of these demonstrations worldwide. I echo their sentiments. I feel/fear for our future, too. I feel for our today. If you know better, do better. If you don’t know better, snuggle down in your bed and read National Geographic regularly. Tune into NPR during breakfast. Google the climate crisis. Talk to an educated person: a scientist, a concerned youth, a farmer about the weather. Kids are pointing out the facts and we as leaders (in the home, in our communities) need to be considerate, consistent, and demonstrate our own common sense in concrete ways to help them. We can set clear examples of how to be gentle on this earth. We can grow out of our habits, on micro (personal) and macro (governmental) levels.
For sustained local involvement in Climate Strikes in Lane County, Oregon, hook up with:
Hello friends, thank you for stopping by to view my latest creative project: a pictorial about the 2nd Annual Women’s March. When I first heard about the march taking place on Saturday, January 21st in Eugene, Oregon I was honestly concerned. I mean, I knew I was going to be there, but would everyone else who participated last year show up too? Was this really a movement or a just one-off deal, spurred by the widespread anger regarding our just-then-official president-elect? On the Indivisible Eugene Facebook page, only 33 people had registered for the 2018 march. A handful more were “interested” but wasn’t Facebook where life, like, happened now? I mean, if only 33 people said they were going, what was this march going to look like? Indivisible Eugene was one of the main organizers of the event, so where was all the hype?
Nevertheless I registered and I vowed to go. I texted all my local gal-pals and they seemed stoked about it too. Many of them were planning on going already…Facebook confirmation or not.
The day of the event I had a massive head cold but, motivated by the march, which was such a powerful experience for me last year, I put on my hiking boots, grabbed my camera, and met my gal-pals at Laughing Planet Cafe a few blocks from the march.
Waiting for my friends, and hoping they would forgive me for arriving sick and contagious (we will see), I spotted my first other march-goer…who just happened to be male. “Not just a women’s march, but a men’s march too,” I’d stated a few days early on my Facebook page. I worried that the language “Women’s March” dis-included some men, men who didn’t realize what this march is: effectively an anti-Trump, pro-women, Peace Protest. Nothing to be afraid of.
Arriving at the Women’s March it was clear that wayyyy more than 33 people felt passionate about women’s issues, freedom of speech, the DREAM Act, and other current political, economic and social issues. The crowds extended from the Whole Food’s parking lot to the complete other side of the courthouse, and even up our main street bisecting town–a major thorough-way. The place was humming with a sobering yet optimistic energy. “This is why I come to these things,” I thought, as my headcold drifted to the background and I became engrossed in the scene unfolding before me. The first thing I noticed, right away, was the number of children and men compared with last year.
That’s what I told him in my latest attempt to avoid the possibility of heartache, like ever. It’s like, if I cut my own arm off it won’t hurt as bad. I will still be in control.
Everything is water and matter, water and matter. Work is matter, rest is water. He is matter, I am water. I am made of matter and water and my brains and my bones depend on its balance.
I run on land. I run away. But I am a water creature, a river rat, and a beach babe so I will make mistakes on land. My horoscope read water upon water upon water so watch out and before I even read part that I cried in the kitchen — more than usual, my tears hot in the soapy vat of dishwater. It was strange and not-common. I knew I was in the wrong because I couldn’t pinpoint, exactly, what was wrong. So I wished – slash – willed it away.
I went to the beach the following day. I thought of what I’d said, “all I know are new beginnings.” I’ll admit, I’ve known a lot of them…but I am water…and I am river…and I am a wave. Water is in a constant state of movement, whether it is flowing, seemingly stagnant, or percolating through the earth, through the matter. I am part of a whole as water. I need not run, because everywhere I go is with him. And everywhere I go is with you. Every new beginning is still part of the whole. Yin. Yang. Beginning. End. I come to understand this.
I didn’t grow up to be who I was supposed to be. I wasn’t supposed to have oily hair or a messy bun. But I’ve settled for it. I wasn’t supposed to have unemployment, compromised driving privileges, trust issues, or a dying cat – that’s some other woman.
I didn’t grow up to be tame-haired and golden. I didn’t grow up to be worshiped by a man, doted on, a traffic-stopper, a perfect-in-every-way kind of girl. I’ve never been that.
Not only have I been to therapy, but I’ve walked away from it (that’s worse, it means I haven’t been helped yet). But this story is full of half-truths. You know, maybe I did grow up to be who I was supposed to be (how could I not? I was in control the entire time) (even that’s a half-truth).
I was supposed to be a role-model, for one. All nice girls wish to be role models, that’s how you know you’re good. But I couldn’t even pull that off (half-truth). You know you’re fucking up when a child asks you, “Are you a kid too!?” Eye.
Things have gotten better since then. I feel in control (half-truth). I accept the messy bun. I let the teenage neighbor kids see my climbing-out-of-the-car-with-two-paper-bags-of-groceries-clumsiness. I wish sometimes the girl could look at me with that want-to-be-like-her-when-I-grow-up-awe. You know the awe. But I don’t think I am that woman. I’ve accidentally watered the flowers in a see-through gown, waving at the neighbors. I’ve fallen in a hole chasing after the dog. I am someone else, slightly off-set of that woman. The alternate. The sister story. The girl with the hair falling in her eyes, needing to be washed. The girl with the floor needing to be swept, scrubbed. The woman in the gray dented station-wagon. The woman with the budding, not blooming, flower garden. The woman with $4.50 in fines at the library. The woman who just signed up for the Adult Reading Program (because she hopes to win a tote-bag). The woman who used to work in retail and now works in manual labor. The woman with a college degree, who makes $11 an hour. The woman who would rather paint and write more than anything. The woman with a few pretty dresses that she never wears. The woman who has many friends over the age of fifty. The woman who is apprehensive of parties, but loves them once she gets there. The woman who thinks she knows herself so well (but has a lot to learn). The woman who writes personal stories on her porch in the sunshine. The woman who wishes for tan legs, but won’t pay for them, or sit still long enough for them. The woman who wishes for the luxury of travel, an open road, snacks, a band to follow, cold beer…a bunch of things that aren’t really her, but maybe…The woman who has a defrosted chicken for the crockpot. The woman whose man will be home soon. The woman with her dog barking and her cat purring. The woman with the messy bun, fresh face, bare feet, tall grass, summer sun. The woman, the actual woman, I was meant to become.
Too easily offended
I’d rather not listen
to some people
most of the time
My anger is my
downfall and rage
follows, like falling
boulders, from behind
I’m antsy in my heart,
which the doctors have
confirmed–they say my
heart doesn’t pitter-patter
Some days are fine,
some nights are worse
some are best for not
speaking at all
but I faux smile
cause that’s what
people want of me–
it’s what we want
of each other
Silence is t h r e a t e n i n g
d u m b i n g
only meditative if you’re
…drinking hot tea before or
…wearing lycra and a yellow scarf,
with elephants on it
No but that’s not really true now
What I mean is:
that was just my anger talking and
ah I see what I shant speak today
So I lie on the bed
or I cry
because I can’t feel my head
like a hot air balloon it has risen
and escaped me
no longer attached by way of
my spine to my feet
no longer accepting responsibility
for foul thoughts and behaviors
Truths I’ve built up with strong
hard-to-destruct things like
addiction and the inability to
see l o v e clearly
the tendency to judge this l o v e
of its worth
inspect it for faults and errors
beg with my body but sometimes
do not give it up when he has
come home for me,
when he is ready
When he is ready I sometimes
see the hands of another man
a man that some of us women all
know so well
the very hands of a man who first
showed us hell
turned an ordinary meadow
into a red burning thing
where all routes leading out only
lead to more traps and catastrophes
the hands of a man can either help or threaten me
the hands of a man can trigger me
in the best and the worst of ways
I’d say don’t come for me on a day like today
I’d say don’t come for me
I’d say my devil man hands
as many of them don’t
too many wrists, unroped
so many women coping daily
in millions of different little ways
on and on
Inside my mind I am
ringing my hands I am
pulling my hair I am
opening my mouth
my eyes are bulging
out my pretty little head
I am coming apart at
and though I can’t
seem to get a grip
I am still.
And all I am actually doing
is leaning on the stove top
and staring at a boiling pot with
hot salted water and chicken
One would assume
I am daydreaming
thinking of nothing
deaf n’ dumb
But I am a poet
and I am still scared
in millions of different little ways
I am still scared in the way that
too many grains of weightless sand
could crush my every last bone
like the way a toddler could drown
in a half bucket of water
I am still scared in the way that
teenager held her breath and her
friend pushed on her chest and she
died but it was all suppose to be a joke
My anger has turned to sadness
My rage into despair
most of the time
are too difficult