Showing posts with label heroes. Show all posts
Showing posts with label heroes. Show all posts

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Hope for the Animals

[Cant you just tell when a girl knows she's pretty:)?]

I have been feeling just a tad depleted of late and, in those times, I tend to draw inward and rest and try to replenish the old spirit a bit. I have been having a rich time of it today. I've been  watching k.d.lang Live in London, with her band and the BBC Orchestra behind her, as she absolutely nails one number after another.

She did a killer job of Jane Siberry's The Valley, Jane being one of Canada's under-appreciated artists, as k.d.lang explained. Then she followed it with  Leonard Cohen's Hallelujah. Wowzers!

Faiza called, full of "Habibi"'s and "Sweetheart"'s, to tell me that, though she remains very tired from weeks of not sleeping, in order to care for Bill through all of his night-time wakings, he has begun to move around just a little, from his chair to his commode, without assistance. This is very good news. Faiza thinks that maybe by next week, he will be able to manage in the bedroom and she can return to sleeping in a bed at night.

"I thank God for everything. Remember, He knows everything we need and if we ask, and we have good hearts and try our best, He will give it."

It is snowing here tonight, so we arranged for me to come over the first day the roads are clear. I told her I was very happy to hear the news about Bill.

I am reading, right now, Jane Goodall's Reason For Hope: A Spiritual Journey. Of course I am loving the story of her love affair with the natural world and animals and insects, which began when she was a small child. And her time in Africa, place of my dreams.

I feel a small tie to her, in a convoluted way.  When I was a single mom, living in Kelowna and longing for the ocean and the west coast of Vancouver Island, I read a newspaper article about a single mom named Alexandra Morton, who was living her dream, living with and studying the whales in the Broughton Archipelago, off north-eastern Vancouver Island.

At the time, I cut the article out, and told myself, "If she can do it, I can do it too." A few years later, I made the move to Tofino. One night I was sitting waiting for some friends alongside their huge old Norwegian clipper ship, the Duen, down at the 4th Street dock at sunset.

A tall woman with long hair came up to me and said "Hi, I'm Alexandra Morton." My response was "Wow!" and after we exchanged some info about where my friends were, that she was supposed to hook up with, I told her about how she had long been my hero, that I so admired the work she was doing with the whales.

Our friends came, along with the film crew from National Geographic, who were to go out with my friends the following day on the Duen to film  some action footage of whales. We all wandered over to the Weigh West pub, where I turned out to be the local color at the table. I was making everyone laugh, telling them about the five-foot-tall old salt who hung out in town in his captain's hat, with his long frizzy hair, whose laugh was so loud and could be heard over such vast distances, that apparently someone had filed a nuisance report on him and he had been ordered, in court, not to laugh out loud in the village  after 11 p.m. (True story!)

In a quieter moment, I told Alexandra how, years before, I had seen the article about her and told myself that if she could do it, and live her dream, I could too, and that she had been my inspiration for coming to Tofino.

She looked at me, and smiled, and told me, "Well, when I was younger, my inspiration was Jane Goodall, and I told myself that if Jane could make a living out of being with the animals she loves, I could do it too. And I have just come from being with Jane Goodall, and telling her how she was my inspiration. So here we are, and it has come full circle."

Cool, hey? I love it when life does stuff like that!

Anyway Alexandra has devoted years up-Island trying to save the wild salmon from the illnesses caused by fish farms the Department of Fisheries allowed to set up right in the migratory path of the young fry. The young fish have to pass through the effluent from the fish farm; they get coated in lice, and are too young to withstand it. The effect on the fishing industry is obvious, but it also impacts the killer whales, who depend on salmon for food.

Alexandra has worked tirelessly to alert and  inform the  Department of Fisheries, but changes are slow in coming and time is running out for the salmon. At this moment, she is  contemplating a change. She has been approached about running for public office, and is trying to decide whether she will be of more value continuing her work for the salmon, or trying to effect some change from within the system. Whatever she does, this woman has my vote and my trust, for certain. She has devoted thirty-plus years to her study of the whales, the survival of wild salmon and the well-being of the Broughton Archipelago.

There is a quote from Reason For Hope which resonated with me. If Jane still has hope, then I must, too. She tells of a story she was told as a little girl, about the birds having a competition to see who could fly the highest. The eagle was sure he would win, flying higher and higher, passing all the other birds, until even he could fly no higher. And at that very moment, a little jenny wren, who had hidden herself in the feathers on his back, flew up, and won the competition. Jane said that she, too, has ridden on the back of an eagle, whose every feather is a person who has helped or supported her in her work. She thanks all of these people. Then she says:

"So many feathers on the eagle. For my eagle, of course, is the symbol of the great spiritual power that I believe carries us all. That supports us when our commitment and determination are put to the test. From which, if we will, we can gain strength and new energy even when we are at our most exhausted. If we have faith, and if we ask."

Aha! That is the step I have missed, in this time of fatigue, depletion and discouragement. To remember that faith, and to ask.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

A NEAR-LIFE EXPERIENCE

Me, and My Life :)
photo from the internet
Sometimes it feels like I'm having a near-life experience:)
My life has had so many challenges that, at some point, it all became hilarious. I am hard pressed to list any one obstacle. First I'd have to decide "which week?" A sense of humor has greased my wheels. All the women in my family cackle. So much so that my great-grandson learned to cackle as an infant. From his carseat in the back seat, he would punctuate our conversation with "blah-blah-blah", followed by a wicked cackle, cracking us right up.
Rather than "oh, no, this is WAY too hard!" I learned to say, like Ram Dass, "What an INteresting Curriculum About Challenge!"
Life has always expected a lot from me. If you resist the lesson, it comes back to you. And it keeps coming back until you get it right. I am a slow learner. I have repeated the lessons, been "kept back", finally grudgingly admitted to the next grade.
I overcame my childhood by loving my children. I mothered them as I had wanted to be mothered and, while I managed to make mistakes that I still hear about, I gave it everything I had.
A sense of wonder has accompanied me all the way along. When my store on the ocean in Sechelt was lost by fire, we were left with no livelihood, owning only the clothing on our backs. We moved into my mother's attic, my fourth child was born, and we went on welfare.
"How can you be so unaffected?" my mother asked. "You've just lost everything you had."
"But we're all still alive," I replied. "And everything I love most is free." My children, the world, the blue sky, trees, sunshine, literature and music, hope and possibility: all abounded. Out of this generous smorgasbord of raw materials, we started our new life.
The blue sky has gotten me through it all. I have been a skywatcher forever and never met a sky I didnt love.
A sense of peace rides in my breast pocket. My lifelong quest for a peaceful life bore fruit. I stripped away everything that wasnt peaceful and voila! Aside from some very vocal dogs, I have an utterly peaceful life. A Peace rock sits by my front gate, warning: Abandon chaos, all who enter here:)
My current challenge is chronic health problems and financial struggle. I finally made a home in my little trailer out Beaver Creek, and the land under it went up for sale. At first I was in a panic. I owe the bank for it, it cant be moved, what will happen? Then I decided to simply release the struggle, and let the river carry me to where I am supposed to be. At other times in my life, I have had to do big trusting, and the universe took care of me. I have to believe it will again. On the other side of this uncertainty can be....something great! I hear the message now in Change: it is time to move on, for the further development of my soul. I have become too placid here.
A quote from Wendell Berry shines the way:
It may be that when we
no longer know what to do,
we have come to our real work,
and when we no longer know
which way to go,
we have begun our real journey.
I have to remember "There is a landscape larger than the one we see." When you look through a small window, the vista may be bleak. But if you go outside and gaze at the whole sky, there is usually a break on the horizon. Often there are rainbows. I once sold whale tour tickets to a boatload of people when the sky was black and lowering. "See that patch of blue over there?" I pointed. "In an hour, it could cover the whole sky." And, amazingly, in an hour it did!
Medicine man J.C.Lucas of the Nuu chah nulth nation, once said to me, "Your greatest pain is your strongest medicine." All my life, I've been drawn to stories of people transcending difficult circumstances with grace. My heroes include Mandela, Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Bobby Kennedy and John Lennon. (I try to ignore the fact that all but one were assassinated.) The author of The Diving Bell and the Butterfly is my hero. Jean-Dominique Bauby was at the top of his game at 42, editor of Elle magazine in Paris, when he was felled by a stroke. When he returned to consciousness, he could move only one muscle in his body, his left eyelid. With that eyelid, he and his aides devised a means of communicating on an alphabet board. They recited the letters repeatedly and when they hit the right letter, he blinked. In this fashion, letter by letter, he dictated an entire book! He explained the diving bell in the title was this body he was now entombed in, the butterfly was his spirit.
If he can do that, how can I complain about anything??!! Complain about writer's block? I dont think so!
These stories act as beacons that keep me pointed in the direction of hope. They show me the impossible is not impossible - it just may take a little longer.
Some days the advanced curriculum about challenge feels a little wearying, in this, my sixth decade. Shouldnt I have passed to the next class already?
But then I reflect on where the next class might be located, and decide I'll happily settle for repeat lessons if it keeps my feet on this beautiful planet, with more time to walk around, head tilted back and grinning at the sky.