Bridging the Gap

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The bridges are all falling down,
so we must build them up again:

the bridge between your world, your experience,
your perception, your ideology, your reality,
and mine;

and especially the disconnect
between human beings
and the natural world.

The teachings of the First People
are the bridge from
settler/dominant consciousness
to the healing and restoration
of the Earth Mother.

Let's leave behind
our unthinking, destructive ways,
and respect Mother Earth
as a thinking, feeling, conscious being,
alive in every atom of energy,
in every blade of grass.

Our only bridge into a better tomorrow
is the understanding that
we are one with everything,
and closing the gap
between earth and spirit -
between self and other -
between you and me.


for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif at Poets United: Bridge

I just finished reading The Archipelago of Hope, Wisdom and Resilience on the Edge of Climate Change, by Gleg Raygorodetsky, who travelled to places feeling the effects of climate change, speaking with First Nations elders. Two of the closing chapters are written about his visit to Clayoquot Sound, where I live. I recommend it highly. Last night I attended a workshop by a young Tla-o-qui-aht woman, Gizele Martin, who taught that in the language of her people "the only word for wilderness is home."

Singing the Song of Wild Salmon

We are singing the song of wild salmon,

singing the song of the People,

who once knew fish so plentiful

they could have walked on their backs

across the river.

Today they are singing

a song of sorrow

for the salmon are diseased and dying;

all that feeds on them

-         - whale, bear, wolf -

are hungering.

We walk on the roadway, singing:

singing for wild salmon.

Eagles circle overhead,

their cries sharp and piercing.

They add their voices to those
singing the song of 

wild salmon.

The young warrior beats his drum

and sings a powerful, ancient song,

the song of his people
for all of Time :

that everything is One.

He is singing for the food

that feeds us all,

singing the song of 
wild salmon.

Yesterday the Tla-o-qui-aht people called for a rally at Anchor Park to say they want fish farms out of their territory. Pollution and sea lice from the fish farms are infecting the wild salmon, which are now diseased and dying. If the salmon disappear, this whole ecosystem will be impacted.  

First Nations have been opposing fish farms for many years on the Coast, as they watch wild salmon stocks decline, orcas and bears and wolves all hungering. Governments move too slowly, and in a crisis there is no more time to delay. We walked to the fish plant chanting: Fish  farms out of Clayoquot Sound! Young warriors sounded the drums and sang for the wild salmon, that has kept their people alive for thousands of years. 

They spoke yesterday of how, since colonization, they have watched the ecosystems they protected and cared for for millenia being destroyed. Now, they are our greatest hope for protection of all that is left and endangered - these are unceded territorial lands of the Nuu-chah-nulth people. This is their homeland. We are only visitors here. 

Blooming

Photography by Carlo Pautasso

I offered you all that I am,

blooming with all of my brightness;

I unfurled my innermost petals

only for you.

You withheld yourself from me

in icy self-contained aloofness,

resisting the gift.

Not one drop of life-giving love

were you willing to give.

When I picked myself up,

I knew well :

you were the one

who lost out.

And I kept on

blooming.

This is what popped out when I saw the photo prompt at The Sunday Muse. 

Falling In Love With the Sky

Vision Quest Tarot
Created by Gayan Sylvie Winter, Jo Dose
Fair Use Principles

I walked with a heavy load

on my head

for many years.

This taught me balance.

The wrongs perpetrated 

upon me

by the dark-hearted

taught me to walk

in a kinder way,

and to keep my conscience

clear.

Spirit guides accompanied me

on my journey.

They guided me well,

into verdant forests

inhabited by the Old Ones.

They led me 

along the shore,

where whales sang to me

their ancient songs;

their mystical and mournful cries

took lodging

forever

in my heart.

A feather fluttered to earth

in front of me:

an eagle feather,

to say I

was worthy.

I picked it up, and,

in that moment, 

fell in love

with the blue sky

and this whole,

beautiful, suffering,

benighted, struggling, conflicted,

glorious world.

At Real Toads, Ella  Wilson is making a guest appearance, prompting us to choose a Tarot card that speaks to us and write whatever comes. I chose from the feather deck, as feathers have been signposts on my journey. I am thrilled to see Ella again. She was  my first non-family follower, before I found Poets United, and we both plunged in. Hi, Ellie! I am also sharing this with the Poetry Pantry at Poets United.

Mea Culpa

Mystical,
ancient,
beautiful,
now washing up dead
by the dozens
on west coast beaches

starving,
ailing in warming, polluted seas,
impacted by boat traffic

bellies full of plastic
instead of food

mea culpa
mea culpa
mea maxima culpa


for Susan's  prompt at Midweek Motif: Plastic Bags

This past week saw "an unusual mortality event" as seventy grey whales washed up dead on west coast beaches in the U.S. and seven more along Canadian west coast beaches. There is a new baby orca near Tofino, and we hope he will live, but researchers are worried as he and his mother seem to be ailing. For certain, there is not enough food, the seas are too warm, and sonic interferance from boat traffic  impacts their existence. Meanwhile, it is "business as usual" for humans:

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BABY LEO

He poked his head up over the stall
every morning,
big, perky ears,
eyes bright, full of love,
ready for another day
of playing with his ball
in the big field.

He was a late in life baby,
born too small.
But he had such life in him
that he grew.
Hand-fed by his human mother
when his birth mother
refused him her teat,
he became half-human, half-foal,
and my sister became all Mother.

He was only fifteen months old
when he was stricken with colic.
He tried so hard to stay.
The last day he collapsed inside the door
of the animal hospital.
His  bowel had ruptured.
Poor baby.
He had suffered so much.

Some losses we never get over.
My sister can barely say his name.

He was the sweetest foal,
an unexpected gift,
arriving like a comet,
and blazing across our sky -
 a star burning out
that was just too bright
to stay.

For Baby Leo, R.I.P.

This baby was buried, with the ball he loved so much, on my sister’s farm. He was the most adorable little being. He fought hard to live the first time, and even harder the second. But the fight lasted too long.

For The Sunday Muse

Tree Reverie

Image from Wepna Loneagle

At Grandmothers Circle the Earth

No copyright infringement intended.

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I remember when we were many, as far as the eye could see, covering the land from sea to sea. In those days, the wild creatures were plentiful, and the few humans were our friends. We lived together in harmony and mutual respect.  Now, most mountain slopes are bare, marked with clearcuts. And still they come for we few Old Ones remaining. We tremble; the earth shudders with their mighty equipment. I cling with my roots, dig them deeply, feeling in the underground network of our joined hands the screams of the fallen, that the humans don't hear. I ache with the thump of their bodies hitting the ground. As they die, they go silent. Roots slain, I will hear them never again.

I weep as my sisters fall, long roots pointing at the sky,  as if the wisdom teeth of the planet are being pulled, along with the wise old ways human beings have forgotten. The wild creatures flee, homeless, with nowhere to go,  starving and afraid. The planet warms; wildfires come for those of us remaining. Our garden has turned into the apocalypse in just one hundred years. For greed, for oil, for money. The last of my kind watches in horror and disbelief. Because  humans don't understand, our fate will soon be theirs.

216 words. For Telling Tales with Magaly at Poets United on Sunday: writing from the perspective of trees. Sunday in Tofino, we are holding a tree event, to state the obvious: we need to protect the old growth we have left. We are fighting  losing battle, it seems.