Bloodroot - a story for 2020 in image and word

 

I

the way it pierces through

 

melting dusty pink to peapod green

leaf emerges embracing its bud

shielding from early spring chill

 

delicate grace

petals splaying open, quiet and soft

yin opening to yellow, soaking up the sun

 

leaves of snapping turtle skin

undulating matte splendor

feigning toughness, but succumbing to sunburn

 

how long the winter

cradled by Pachamama

awaiting the perfect moment

 

II

our winter has been long,

not since October

 

our winter has been persisting

deepening since

 

since social media — learn to fix a broken pencil, and watch a murder —

    network internet — connect with anyone, and lose connection —

        neoliberal economics — strive for efficiency, and lose your soul —

            nuclear destruction — win the battle, lose the war —

                internal combustion engine

— go faster, risk everything, everyone —

 

           colonialism — explore, and ruin what you find —

           imagined superiority — disillusion, disconnection —

 

domination —a fool’s errand.

 

                       

 

III

skin as thin as peach

flower ephemeral as a first crush

 

passing in the silence of night

giving way to the next

yet staying with you forever

 

forest duff grit

—perseverance—

generations linked together

built upon each    

—other—

 

pushing up through the mulch pile

no regard for what stands in the way

driving

            step by step

out of cool, dark repose

 

not through garbage, but through fertilizer,

            fuel

 

IV

brought to our knees

all our weaknesses laid bare

 

injustice to the earth

each other

—brother and sister all

plant, animal, fungus, bacteria, mineral, wind, water,

            and spirit

 

bleeding from our roots

we cry out in communal agony

 

“don’t let us return to normal!”

 

Let us begin again,

as in spring.

 

Towards the sun,

towards a new day.

A better, more just, more beautiful,

more loving way.       

 

V

we rise

 

Protect the Sacred

Protect the Sacred

Stand up for your beliefs,

Stand for the downtrodden, the forgotten

Stand for those without a voice, those we cannot hear

Stand for the animals and plants, for the soil and water, rocks and air

Stand strong and purposeful

Root your feet and do not give way, with the elegance and courage of the bison

Soar in the skies with your dreams

Fly above the small-minded

Fly above fear and violence, with your hopes and dreams to guide you

Alight where you can see across the wide wonderful Earth

Where you can see the love that flows through it all

Soar so high that justice and your mind are clear, where your heart is pure

Where you are one with the great spirit

Fly through the air with the power and keen eye of the eagle

Flow like water through life

Never to be defeated

Possibly held up, but never destroyed

Flow with your goal in mind and never forget

Nourish life with your very essence

Course over that which is filthy and cleanse it with your clarity

Strengthen the weak like ripples, and break down hate like a tidal wave

Be as water is, both creator and destroyer

Give birth to life, and help those that have passed to begin again

Bloom as a flower does

Let your petals unfurl towards the sun

Grow as tall as you can

Open yourself to the world with brilliance and clarity of purpose

Bring bright beauty, grace, and joy wherever you go

Be as the flowers are, and remember that life is ephemeral

One day, let yourself fall away, sweet and peacefully

Knowing that you are leaving this place richer than how you found it for your being

Protect the sacred in all that you do 

In all that you are

For you are it as well

And it, you

My Baby

What if I never had a baby.

If I never had a baby, I would never be pregnant

Never feel that joining of me and another.

Never feel that kick from the inside.

I might never fall that deeply in love at first sight, or even before.

If I never had a baby, she would never have her first steps.

She would never make a twisted face when she first tastes a lemon.

She would never howl in the darkness of midnight

or fall bare-bottomed in the summer grass.

If I never had a baby, she would never buy a computer.

She wouldn’t work at her first job and save up to buy her first car.

My baby would never fly in a plane and travel to other countries.

She would never cut down a tree to build her home or buy oil to heat it.

She would never leave the lights on or step on an ant.

If I never had a baby, she would never be an annual birth statistic

or add to our population.

She would never consume resources or have a footprint.

She would never have to struggle and suffer in a future of climate change.

My baby would never endanger the wilderness and take the lives of others.

If I never have a baby, I would be a little sad, but try to be a little more proud.

If I never had a baby, it would benefit all living things,

even if I know she would be beautiful.

A Blessing

A  really is a joy to spend hours with a good novel, but I often find my-self reading non-fiction. I love non-fiction and especially something related to science, the environment or art....of course! (I am quite predictable I suppose.) 

One of my favorite authors of all time is Edward Abbey, an author that writes in both genres eloquently, boldly and amusingly. He speaks truths without apology, describes human natures poignantly, and is able to describe the grand beauty of nature with his words. An advocate for the environment and freedom, he describes the power and importance of nature with the raw grit and honesty that most people shy away from.

At the moment I am reading The Fool's Progress, which is a semi-autobiographical novel by Abbey. This is the first time I have read Abbey in a few years, and it is good to be back with him. Reading his words again inspired me to share a few lines from this environmental artist, in his own right. 

The following is a quote which illustrates Abbey's perspective on life beautifully. A blessing to you all from Abbey (and me):

May your trails be crooked, 

winding, lonesome, dangerous, 

leading to the most amazing view. 

May your mountains 

rise into and above 

the clouds.

May your rivers flow without end, 

meandering through pastoral valleys tinkling with bells, 

past temples and castles and poets' towers 

into a dark primeval forest where tigers belch and monkeys howl, 

through miasmal and mysterious swamps 

and down into a desert of red rock, blue mesas, domes and pinnacles 

and grottos of endless stone, 

and down again into a deep vast ancient unknown chasm 

where bars of sunlight blaze on profiled cliffs, 

where deer walk across the white sand beaches, 

where storms come and go as lightning clangs upon the high crags, 

where something strange 

and more beautiful and more full of wonder than your deepest dreams waits for you — beyond that next turning of the canyon walls.

-Desert Solitaire, Edward Abbey