Only the Best

Hummingbirds on my porch

"Time and that which sings and contemplates in you is still dwelling within the bounds of that first moment which scattered the stars." Gibran

In the trajectory of our 
being on this earth,
from birth to death,
we zoom through time,
as bright
and swift as shooting stars,
traveling, headlong, 
at the speed of light,
as swiftly gone.

I have trekked some 24,000 days,
have squandered years and tears 
of that largesse.
But some shine golden
in my memory.
In trying to forget the rest,
I keep only the best.

for Sumana's prompt at Mid-Week Motif : Time

Coyotes at Last Mountain Lake

video by Jon Merk, 

my intrepid wilderness-loving son

I heard the coyotes howling

as evening fell

at Last Mountain Lake,

and I thought of you,

my old wolf-pal,

and how you would tip 

your nose up to the moon

and howl mournfully

for all the wild places you loved

that we had lost.

Then you'd come to me, and rest 

your forehead against my knee,

wearily, for comfort.

We loved and lost so much together,

old pal of mine.

But, always, we had each other.

And now I am alone.

My nose tilted up

towards the moon,

an inner howl

expressed in secret tears.

Still missing our wild beaches.

And you.

TRUTH AND RECONCILIATION

photo by Sean Kilpatrick, Canadian Press

This past week was a big one in Canada, as the results of the Truth and Reconciliation Commission were revealed and discussed, testimony from survivors of the residential school system, and the endemic poverty and struggle First Nations people have suffered at the hands of the dominant society. I have heard many say "We did not know". I think it likely that, on some level, we did know, but did not want to clearly understand the obvious disparity between our lives and the lives of First Nations people. 

I remember arriving in Alert Bay as a young married woman of nineteen, in 1966. My husband was hired by the  Department of Transport, and we were provided  very nice housing up on top of the hill. We drove, sometimes, to the other end of the very small island we lived on, through the reserve. I was astonished by the substandard housing, children's faces looking out through broken glass, shacks that did not have running water or electricity, or heat.  It was like a Third World country, right here in Beautiful B.C.

A couple of years later, I remember tucking my privileged son into his comfy crib at night, pulling his soft blankets up over him, and thinking of the children, a few miles away, going to sleep in their cold cabins. I felt guilty, felt the injustice, and did not know what to do. That winter, a small child fell into a tub of boiling water that had been heated on the wood stove for washing laundry, and succumbed to his burns. Sickening. And why, in 1968, did they not have electricity, heating and plumbing, like the rest of the Canadians?

We are so in awe of the civil rights movement in the USA, and the anti-apartheid movement in South Africa, applauded Gandhi's overthrow of the imperial oppressors, while apartheid existed here in our own country, unacknowledged. I have heard racist statements all my life but, by and large, I suspect a great majority of white society saw a lop-sided system and didn't know what to do about it, since  it is a governmental-imposed, two-tiered system. We heard about the desperate situations in small reserves in the north, heard about the government moving entire communities arbitrarily, and thought, as individuals, there was little one person could do. I think it takes widespread grassroots movements to effect change, to say "I have had enough and I will be Idle No More". I love that group's rallying cry.

Many years later, I worked in a treatment centre for First Nations families dealing with recovery from addictions. The centre itself was where a residential school once stood. Some of those who came, hurting and broken, had attended that school, and during their time there tried to heal from some of the pain inflicted on them on that site. It was powerful. I loved the staff and clients at that place. I found them to be a beautiful people, who had suffered much, but who loved to laugh. And to win their trust and acceptance was a great honor. It was a privilege to work and live among such true-hearted people. 

Even after all they had endured at the hands of the dominant society, they were still willing - are still willing today, as we have seen this week - to extend their hands in friendship, though our reparations come so belatedly. They are a very generous people.

The truth hurts, and reconciliation will be meager, compared to the abuses the First Nations have suffered. But at least - and at last -  the truth is being spoken. And heard. Cultural genocide is not too strong a word for what was done to them. Generational trauma has harmed families down the line until today. The effects are still being felt.

Canada has a long way to go to bring First Nations to a level of parity with the rest of us. Skepticism exists that anything will change. Personally, my faith is in the First Nations community itself, that they will rise, as many bands are doing across Canada, embracing the beauty and strength of their culture, teaching it to their children,  finding their own strength. I am hearing these days of First Nations leading the way in development of clean energy projects, and opposing projects with a negative impact on the environment. There is a Planet Indigenous Movement spreading across the globe, as people at the grassroots level recognize change will only happen from the bottom up, since the systems at the top are unwilling to change.

This gives me hope.

March on Ottawa 

photo by Ben Powless, Northern Journal

A SOUPCON OF WONDER

"Dall's porpoise Alaska 2009  by User: Nancy Heise - User-made. Licensed under Public Domain via Wikimedia Commons.

"No good fish goes anywhere

without a porpoise."

Lewis Carroll

A porpoise smiles

because she has a 
surprising secret.

Did you know that 50 million years ago,

hoofed land-based mammals first

stepped into the sea,

and by 15 million years ago
they had become

dolphins and porpoises?
Who knew?

The world is a magical place, kids.

One never runs out of

miracles and wonder.

Posted for  Kerry's prompt at Real Toads: Flash 55 Plus - to write something inspired by a BrainyQuote. 

You, the Seeker, My Lamp, the Moon

naturedocumentaries.org

Little hummer, 
iridescent rainbow in constant flight,
you whirred into the room at dusk, 
thinking my lamp was the moon.
I swiftly clicked off the light, 
to guide you to the window 
where you beat frantically for a moment,
till you crouched in its corner,terrified of the giant
whose hands were slowly lowering 
to cup you gently.

You stilled, as I carried 
your feathered lightness outside
and, when I opened my palms to set you free, 
lay for a moment on your back,
surrendered to your fate.
Suddenly recognizing you had survived,
could once more see the sky, 
in that same instant,
you were halfway 'cross the meadow.

Just so, do our hearts encounter 
their similar terrors,
bring them down to size,
recognize the open door of freedom,
and, each in turn, take flight.

for Patti Wolf's  prompt at dVerse: Microworld Poetry

Run, River, Run

For thousands of years, 
they lived in harmony with the earth,
taking only what they needed, 
ensuring most was left,
so future generations might live.
Unto the seventh generation is  tribal law:
in the making of all decisions, consideration is given
to the effect on descendants 
seven generations in the future.

They have watched with horror
the post-contact extinction, destruction, 
devastation, decimation, of wildlife and habitat,
thinking the white man mad for money,
even at the cost of his own
 - and all creatures' - survival.

Now, at the brink of planetary systemic collapse,
it is the indigenous people who will show us the way
to live in harmony with the land and all creatures,
maybe even ourselves.


for Susan's prompt at Mid Week Motif: Sustainability. I wrote two horribly depressing poems before discovering, this morning, an item in the local news about a former First Nations Chief, Judith Sayers, of the Hupacasath First Nations, who led her tribe to oppose a natural gas system being developed in Port Alberni, due to concerns about emissions. She looked around for an alternative renewable,  clean-energy source of power, and a run-of-river hydro project is now up and running.

"Run-of-river is a relatively simple technology. You divert a part of creek that has a big elevation change into a pipe. You run that pipe downhill to a powerhouse where you spin a turbine with the force of the water and generate electricity." explains Green Energy Futures. The project depends on a good snowmelt, and rainfall. The valley is feeling the effects of global warming, with less snow-melt and rainfall in recent years. But it is heartening to see intelligent people turning to renewable and clean energy sources, since governments and corporations show little interest in doing so, despite the benefits to all that would occur.

Imagine the employment created by development of clean energy across the nation, across the planet? And the benefits to Mother Earth and humankind if this was wide-scale? Some of us have been saying this for 35 years. (They thought us lunatics back then.) That is when we should have been beginning. But better late than never. And First Nations is leading the way, at least in the Alberni Valley. Yay!

At the Foot of Taos Mountain

Taos Mountain

airbnb.com

Your feet  walk the desert floor
but your eyes scan the heavens,
searching for your beloved,
who has been lost,
as if you might catch a glimpse of him,
riding a sunset-crimson cloud,
or peeping his Pan-like face
up over the mountain,
ever the sunshine that lit 
your morning world.

As your heart hangs, suspended,
between this world and the one beyond,
may a soft breeze 
waft down from Taos Mountain,
and wrap you in the comfort
of the love you shared,
his heart, your heart,
and your heart forever his.
May the soft cloak of evening
dull the edges of your pain,
so you may find some beauty
in what remains.

May the red cardinal 
sing sweetly through your dreams,
a message from the other side
to assuage your longing,
and may a wildflower bloom
beside the garden wall,
watered by your tears,
a reminder
that love never dies.

For my friend, Annell, who this week is walking through the one year anniversary of the death of her beloved son, Jim. May he rest in peace, and may she have the strength to bear the unbearable loss, and keep on walking.