The White Lions of Timbavati

The white lions of Timbavati

are wandering through my dreams:

star lions, sent to earth on long ago moonbeams.

Hunted to near extinction by humankind,

who know not that our fates are intertwined

with the white lions of Timbavati. 

Humanity, so blind.

These beautiful creatures commune with the aware.

They carry their message of life with us to share,

as they wander, white and luminous, 

through my dreams.

They came to earth for us and now, 

because of us, they leave.

 Their fate is linked to ours;

how unimaginably I grieve

 for those star lions, sent to earth, in trust, 

on long ago moonbeams.

I have been reading about the white lions, some of whom were rescued by Linda Tucker of the Global White Lion Trust and who live in their homelands of Timbavati, in the middle of a clutch of canned "hunting" compounds. Shamanic wisdom declares the fate of humankind is linked to that of the white lions. It is said if they disappear from the earth so will humankind. 

There are hundreds held captive in canned hunting compounds in Africa, to be shot by "hunters" in a closed area with no escape for the sum of $35,000 and a piece of their souls. There are thirteen living in the wilds of their natural habitat, protected by the Global White Lion Trust. Linda has devoted her life to protecting the white lions.

It isn't looking good, folks, for the lions or for us. But we live in hope that the global consciousness will awaken before the 11th hour. Actually it feels more like ten minutes to midnight at the moment.

Not So Far To Fall

David Mack

He said make-up was one thing, 

worn to a party,

but he didn't see the point, 

first thing in the morning

at breakfast.

He couldn't see that 

that pink mask I hid behind

covered my feelings of 

unworthiness, unlovableness,

not-enough-ness.

It was those feelings

that made me leave,

in fear he would leave me first.

Soon after, I stopped

with the make-up.

I worked on coming home to myself,

knowing being all right within

was the most important thing.

That anyone to whom I wasn't good enough

-or enough-enough -

was not the right one for me.

A big black wolf

was the one to show me 

what unconditional love

truly was.

And no masks are possible,

when you love the wild.

At seventy,

when one might soften

the mask of aging with artifice,

I no longer care.

I face the world, 

clear and honest,

bad hair, wrinkles, and all.

From masks to authenticity

is not so far

to fall.

for Susan's prompt at Midweek Motiff: Masks

Through My Window

Through my window,

I can see my new outlook on the world:

a wall of green cedar that hides,

a short block away, the sea:

which I smelled this morning

when I slid the sliding door open: 

salty, pungent. I breathed it in,

as I heard the foghorn blow,

sounding like a feral cow,

lost on a lonely shore.

On the deck, beyond the glass,

sweet peas reach towards the sun, 

small flowers blooming, newly-planted,

which means: I am home.

Hummers buzz-storm the feeders,

a dozen at a time,

whirr of wings, darting small brown Rufus bodies,

alive with a hunger

it is my privilege to feed.

One lone bee has been sipping as well,

bereft of honey and a hive,

he makes do. We all make do.

It all spells out that wondrous gift: a Life.

Through my window I watched spring arrive,

then fulsome summer.

Soon I will watch fall segue to winter storms,

and rain will be the entire story, rain lashing, 

wild waves crashing, foghorn mooing,

months when everything that goes outside

must be swathed in rubber.

Through my window,

with delight, I watch 

the ever-glorious seasons pass.

for dVerse:  Looking Out, Looking In

Imagining Backwards

Vikki from Topaz

I imagine a changing earth

had governments and populations

begun to address climate change

in 1970, in 1980,

or had we always lived sustainably,

with concern for future generations.

I imagine no holes in the ozone,

no HAARP, no fracking,

no nuclear reactors, no radioactive waste,

no addiction to oil,  to bigger and bigger cars,

to the Myth of More.

I imagine sustainable forestry,

preservation of and reverence for 

the trees we need to breathe.

I imagine no pesticides, no hormones, no chemicals

in domestic food sources.

I imagine a world friendly to bees.

Humane treatment of animals, 

both domestic and wild.

Humane treatment of people, 

no Other, just Us.

No wars, just social justice, 

respect and care for all.

I imagine a world of small, local businesses,

no corporations allowed to swallow up

our resources and dictate methods and price.

Give me a government who works for the people,

not the corporate bottom line.

I imagine a world of wind and water 

and solar energy -

clean, sufficient, abundant, affordable.

Much cheaper to switch to clean energy

than clean up after climate catastrophe.

I imagine no melting polar icecaps.

I imagine a living ocean.

I imagine a planet

that survives.

We have already changed the world.

We know what we need to do 

to change it back.

Tell your congressmen: he works for you.

We are many; government is few.

For Brendan's Imagining a Changing Earth at Real Toads. I don't have to imagine. I have watched it happening, with enormous angst at the slowness with which governments respond to the increasing threat. Power means more to them than the survival of the planet. This is criminal abuse of power, in my opinion.

The other day on facebook I saw a video of two horses, walking across a burned landscape - with burned hooves - fleeing the forest fires in the Interior. That charred, blackened landscape, dead and smoldering, the horses, heads down, having lived through such terror, plodding across it because they must, replays, over and over, in my mind. The earth has already changed. We know what must be done to change it back. There is  corporate and governmental unwillingness to do what it is imperative to do, and a very small window of time remaining. This is when the people must rise. Our survival is at stake.

INGWAVUMA ~ the Lion King

INGWAVUMA~The Lion King

photo from the Global White Lion Protection Trust website

The White Lions of Timbavati

are wandering through my dreams.

Enlightenment bearers,

beings as old as time's moonbeams,

born under an ancient star that fell to earth,

they carry a message for humankind:

Choose eternal darkness or rebirth.

The shaman says:

"At the end of the world, a white lion

will roar for the last time.

The sun will disappear forever from the sky.

If white lions vanish from the land,

we all will cease to be,"

too late, by then, to begin to wonder why.

Ingwavuma, 

Sun God, captive,

backed against the rock,

trapped, he turned and stared his hunters down.

He offered humankind a choice:

the Light, or stay forever in the dark,

our fate determined by the bullets' arc.

He walked towards them proudly, unafraid.

They chose, for they had paid.

They raised their guns.

He walked to meet his fate, his eyes old fire,

and, as he fell, his last roar dimmed the sun.

Ingwavuma died aligned with his heart star,

in the Leo constellation from which he came,

marking the proud death of a Lion King -

(they tell me Ingwavuma was his name.)

The human psyche will forever

bear the scar.

Their shots rang out.

Ingwavuma, spirit undefeated, fell.

The hunters chose our fate.

There is little more to tell.

This story is told in The Mystery of the White Lions, Children of the Sun God, by Linda Tucker, who is in love with the white lions. She formed the Global White Lion Protection Trust, and protects the lions she has been able to rescue in a wild sanctuary in their ancestral home of Timbavati, in an effort to keep them from being hunted to extinction. There they roam free, hunt and raise their cubs wild, but in protected territory. 

The only other known white lions are kept in captivity, some in a compound in the USA, the others in a compound in Africa for Great White Hunters to shoot, in an enclosure where there is no escape, for a fee of $25,000, and a piece of their souls.

The courageous Ingwavuma, whom Linda knew and loved, was not himself a white lion but was believed to carry the gene, so he would have sired white lion cubs. He was cornered in a "hunting" enclosure. When he saw there was no escape, he did not cower. He met his fate bravely and, thereby, those hunters perhaps cursed mankind to eternal darkness. Certainly their hearts were dark.

Shaman Credo Mutwa told Linda that, long ago, a star fell to earth, after which all animals in the area where it fell bore white offspring, the few remaining white lions descending from that time. The shaman says the white lions, who have blue eyes, guard a secret that can save humankind: to turn towards enlightenment, or remain forever in darkness. He says when the last white lion is gone, the sun will disappear. It is, perhaps, the most fascinating and stirring book I have ever read.

photo from the Global White Lion Protection Trust site

The exact time and date that Ingwavuma was murdered is the only time the setting sun was aligned with Regulus, the heart star in the Leo constellation, symbolizing the birth or death of a Lion King and, consequently, the birth or death of life on earth.

I posted the story of Linda Tucker and the white lions here, should you care to read more. I recommend the book highly. I am now reading her second book, Saving the White Lions, which tells the story of her life's mission to save the white lions, the weight of this on her shoulders, and the heartbreaking losses along the way. 

I am sharing this poem, written in 2014,  with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United. Do join us for some fine poetry with your Sunday morning coffee.

Zoom Zoom

I feel an unearthly chill, wtf?
I crank one eyeball, checkin' it out, and
-Whoa!-
Someone put me in a flouncy DRESS
while i was out cold.
I wore my last dress in 1966.
It was a very bad year.
The music choice is gruesome.
They obviously didnt find
my list of requests,
which includes "Everything Reminds Me of My Dog".
Waste of time, playing hymns for me.

Words, words, words,
she was this, she was that.
Hey, i'm still here.
Interestingly, i can also swoop around the room,
peer over peoples' shoulders,
observe uncle pete the predator
leaning too close to this year's pre-pubescents.
Cool! I freaked him out,
blowing an icy breath
on his smarmy intentions.

This part is about Done,
and i see some interesting moving lights
up near the ceiling.
Let's check out the Great Beyond.
I'll let you know
what i find out.
Watch for weird coincidences,
cackles,
wolf howls at midnight,
and icy fingers on your extremities
at random moments.
That'll be me.


For Fireblossom Friday at Real Toads, where the prompt is to speak from a place of being dead.

Wildfires Burn Across the Land

Vikki from Topaz

Slowly,

they move across the land,

hooves burned

by the wildfires.

They are the last two of their herd,

crossing a post-apocalyptic landscape.

They suffer,

because humankind

has not lived well

upon the land.

They suffer, 

because of us.

188 wildfires burn,

more each newscast,

gobbling forests, homesteads,

towns.

Towns evacuated, 

Thousands fleeing.

Populations on the move.

Wildlife with no home.

Wildfires roaring their anger

at a planet

that is burning, flooding, storming

its distress.

We suffer, and we understand.

The animals suffer,

and they have no voice but ours,
to speak for them,

no future, for them, for us,

unless humanity wakes up.

And we have remained asleep 

40 years too long.

Horse bones

Vikki From Topaz

For Sumana's Midweek Motif prompt: Movement

My heart is breaking for animals, domestic and wild, caught in the wildfires. Humans suffer, and we understand. We have resources, cars in which to flee, we have a voice, we can get help. The animals only know suffering, terror, pain, a fiery death. Because of us. Most of these wildfires were started by human carelessness. Unbelievably, the woman who took these photos and the video linked below was behind a car where a woman TOSSED A CIGARETTE BUTT out of the window. Right in the middle of the wildfires. There is truly no excuse for this kind of  stupidity. Vikki was in Ashcroft, rescuing horses.

The cost of cleaning up after climate change incidents will be so much greater than switching to clean energy would be. But political will seems oddly lacking. Holding onto power seems to be more important than survival of the planet. Capitalism is accustomed to one way of doing business and appears utterly unwilling to even think about changing. Our proverbial goose is cooked unless serious change happens immediately. A huge iceberg in Antarctica just broke off. We are watching history, folks. I pray it isn't our last chapter. But if it is, Mother Earth will live on, and wild creatures will thrive once again. Faint comfort for all those suffering now across the globe. If civilization survives, future generations will look back at us and consider us insane and/or woefully ignorant.

Here is a link to a short video about the horses in the above photo. It wouldn't upload for me. LINK