the hawk didn’t move even as we rounded the bend in the trail. it stayed in the tree – watching – its clear vision taking in all that was below it, the lay of the land, so to speak. not swayed by anything other than what was true, it quietly watched, consciously aware.
it is what is striking about these times in our world. the amount of conscious avoidance – the ignoring of what is happening – the lack of question or research even in the face of the obvious – acting with eyes wide shut.
it is reprehensible that so many people deliberately ignore all of which is destroying this country, closing their eyes, not taking any responsibility for their inaction and for their complicity, their lack of seeking to learn the facts, their willful blindness.
it takes my breath away to know that people i know and love are consciously avoiding the truth and, thus, supporting the immense chaos that is now this country…even though every – suspicious or otherwise – single thing that has happened or is happening would confirm the existence of that very chaos.
we went around the bend and stopped. we looked back at the hawk and i took a few photographs, wishing i had a stronger telephoto lens.
and then the hawk – which had remained relatively motionless as we approached and stood underneath the tree in which it was perched – took off.
flying over the meadow and marsh below it, it was clear to us that it had set its sights on something, its focus zeroed in as it flew.
the hawk landed on a branch across the marsh from us. still laser-focused on its prey and the ground below, it had the tenacity that comes from clarity of vision.
with wisdom and power, this hawk had an instinctual plan based on being aware.
how is it that there are a plethora of people in this country who fail to function even at the level of a bird?
instead of taking a shopping bag with us when we shopped, she did the opposite. it seemed to work – we’d find the things we were looking for when we did not have the shopping bag.
instead of taking an umbrella for the impending rain, she’d take an umbrella to quell the rain. that also worked much of the time.
it was sort of like the opposite of preparedness. manifesting what she wished for, staving off the rain, inviting the bargains – all seemingly achieved by opposite actions. even though my sweet momma was a staunch girl scout supporter and volunteer – with the motto “be prepared” – she also exercised her own juju as she went about life.
though i laugh when i think about it – and have told d about these itsy-bitsy quirks of my mom (unlike me – with no quirks at all – teehee) – i tend to take the polar opposite action. i put the umbrella in my backpack. i take the fold-up shopping bag. i put snacks in my purse. i tuck duct tape and tools, extra oil and blankets into our old vehicles. and i bring the phone charger when we leave home for any destination, event or activity over an hour away.
so when we saw the weather report that issued wind warnings – which we and our new electric mast can now certainly attest to – we brought in the windchimes. they are really beautiful and their soulful, resonant sound is of reassurance to us from the backyard, so we did not want them harmed by the coming winds. we often take off the clapper if the weather is too gusty, but this time d brought the whole kit-n-kaboodle inside. we both felt better seeing them safely on the rug in the sunroom. just a small action, but a nod to being prepared for what was on its way, to protecting their value to us.
it’s hard – extremely hard – not to take these little lessons we have all learned along the way and apply them to the present-day in our country. it feels like utter chaos, with no real preparation, no real plan, nothing but self-serving agenda reeling around and running the show. it is utterly exhausting.
we are in the very tiny lull in the middle of the blizzard that started last evening. radar shows that we are in this small white blob in the middle of a gigantic blue blizzard field. soon the snow and the winds will start howling again; it is to go on for several more hours. the gusty sleet pummeled the windows last night as i worried about trees and power lines and electric poles and new electric masts. we take a deep breath, getting ready for the rest.
it temporarily took my mind off of war and mass deportation, healthcare and social safety net programs and exponentially rising costs, extremism and voter disenfranchisement, a justice system and leadership sycophants hiding blatant sex-trafficking, abject cruelty and an absolute lack of regard for fellow humans complete with disdain for any social differentiation.
i don’t know what that all says about preparedness. it certainly raises some outraged emotions. i do feel like “they” have been preparing for years – stoking up hatred and bigotry to the gills – conniving and in cahoots with the richest – and clearly most cavalier – people in the world – with the dedication and commitment to take over everything. they have prepared. and they have not prepared. they have plans and they shoot from the hip. they are the wind blasts and they are surprised by the pushback and the guards against the battering wind.
the wind last night kept me awake. because i know what can happen. and i want to protect us from all that harm.
why is it that so many in this country’s leadership seem to care so little about how battered this country is becoming? where are the checks and balances on this administration? how is complicity so rampant? how is it that there are so many citizens who seem to care less about being in the middle of this storm – the unbelievable corruption, the outrageous grift, the isolation, taunting the rest of the world, the clear attempt of authoritarian takeover? is there no natural tendency within them to protect the country – our cherished country – from all that harm?
what is the value of this country, its democracy, its people, and its laws to all of us?
i glance over at the treasured pipes on the rug. knowing that soon we’ll hang them back in the tree and the chimes will once again float in the air, i’m grateful we took precautions to keep them from being destroyed.
we talked about what this stunning vine would look like in a time-lapse video of itself – curling around this stem of underbrush, coiling in and out. it would be fascinating to see.
we watched a PBS special of a vine – reaching, reaching – for the sky. it was nothing less than intense. it would seem that vines are definitely in the every-being-for-itself gang, striving to get sun and squashing – choking – all in its way. which, in these times, sounds devastatingly familiar.
i see this vine off the side of the dirt trail we are on – tightly wrapped around underbrush – and think about how stuck it is, there on that stalk. i wonder – as I look at it – if it is even possible to unwrap itself, to loose its deathgrip on its victim, to shed its imperative to conquer as it climbs. or if it is lost in this dedication, this seeming mandate; if it is too immersed in its scheme of obliteration.
once a vine is a vine is there a point of no return, that dedication to climbing the ladder, so to speak, with no thought of that which it is crushing?
a little research shows that vines climb and block sunlight – starving the host plants. they add weight to delicate branches and foster rot. they are smothering. many are rabidly destructive, aggressive invasive species, hard to mitigate, impervious to control or checks and balances. hmmm. again, sounding familiar.
as i studied this creeping grape-vine-knot in the woods, i was struck by its beauty, taken in by its curves and the graceful way it had wound itself. it did not occur to me – as i studied it and photographed it – of the harm it may be causing. a little time dedicated to research, to asking questions, to garnering factual information and the vine-knot took on different meaning and made me wary of any championing i might give it.
“vines can deform trees by interfering with branch growth.” “active, localized efforts to manage and eradicate wild grapevines exist in wisconsin, primarily to prevent them from choking out trees and native vegetation.”
“without constitutional checks and balances, the presidency risks shifting toward authoritarianism, where the executive branch can ignore court orders, dismantle regulatory independence, and weaponize the department of justice against political opponents. this breakdown of oversight allows for unconstitutional executive orders, consoldation of power, and the potential erosion of democratic norms.”
“symbolizes wisdom, intuition, and the ability to see beyond deception or hidden truths.” (google)
it was on our way back on an out-and-back trail. we had already had the good fortune of hiking in the sun, our shadows falling on reedy marshes and fallowed underbrush of the forest, deer crossing our path.
the trail was muddy. i was watching where i was stepping.
and there it was.
a solitary feather.
a search told us it was an owl feather.
though there are resemblances to hawk feathers, i’m not minding the idea of going with owl – particularly since the symbolism is timely.
so, let’s go with that. (of course, i do welcome any birder’s opinions on this.)
we left it there, on the trail.
but we carried with us the good news of its symbolism, the wisdom, intuition and ability to discern truth. heaven knows we all sure need that right now.
in these times of unbelievable chaos, unbridled deception and grift, rank, depraved cruelty, a country being unconscionably deceived by its appallingly incompetent leaders, we are certain to need to stand in earnest wisdom with clear-eyed views of what is real versus what is propagandized or outright lying. we need to move with grace through all these challenges, protected against vast negative energy, step by step toward transformation and renewal in our country.
maybe we should all carry a virtual owl feather in our back pockets as we walk through these days.
“still, what i want in my life is to be willing to be dazzled – to cast aside the weight of facts and maybe even to float a little above this difficult world.” (mary oliver)
we check on the world right before sleep these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.
we check on the world when we wake these days. we feel like it is a citizen’s duty to know what is happening in our own country, what is happening because of our own country, to be aware of the chaos, to be somewhat versed in the goings-on, to try – without success – to understand where it’s all headed and to – somehow – grok why. it’s all nearly impossible. and it is overwhelming.
and we know that there is less and less probability of it all making sense. for this must be intended-chaos and the world is ever more difficult because of it.
we sat at the bistro table in our sunroom with a glass of wine. dusk had fallen, the happy lights were on, dogga was on the rug at our feet.
we talked about the unsteadiness of these days.
and we talked about our own steadiness. we talked about the sweet phase.
we talked about sitting on the rocks in the middle of the stream way up in the mountains on a cool, quiet afternoon.
we talked about the change in our own chase of success – what that word even now means to us.
in spite of the world outside our sitting room – even with all that in mind – we could feel a sense of amazement.
we listed little things – the happy lights, the chiminea in the corner, the muddy hike, the score of finding an eight dollar glass candlestick lamp, the celebration of homemade pizza.
we listed bigger things – things more personal, more close-in, adulting things, things of quiet but profound accomplishment.
we acknowledged that – despite the broken road meander of our lives – even in the weight of all the cruel, mind-bogglingly destructive actions of this planet – we can see the dazzle around us.
and that’s the thing. the dazzle.
we need to recognize its presence. we need to keep seeking it. we need to keep reaching for it. we need to wrap our freaking arms around it – for dear life.
“i don’t want to end up simply having visited this world.” (mary oliver)
the outside world got really quiet. the snow fell most of the afternoon and into early evening. we decided to go nowhere, immersed in the horrific news of the day. it was saturday, the last day of february.
i suppose we could have gone out – there were errands to be done. i suppose we could have gone somewhere to entertain ourselves or be entertained. i suppose we could have tipped a glass at some bistro or bar, shared a meal together, people-watched.
but this morning had brought us the overnight news of a new war conflict and – as we tried to process this new insanity – while others posted patriotic country songs clearly in favor of this pedo-files-distraction/this follow-the-corrupt-money-trail/this what-the-hell-is-this-anyway – we just weren’t up to leaving our home.
i suppose that (at least some) of mother nature will go on after we humans have utterly destroyed this planet, after we have made it impossible to live with each other, after every safety has been discarded and the world has become literally toxic in every single way.
i suppose that it may still snow. there may still be quiet days, when there is a hush outside. there may still be sun. there may still be stars. all that is likely. it will be our loss.
this morning – as i write this – the sun is in my eyes. it is bathing the quilt in light and i can’t look out the window – it is full of bright.
i can hear the birds outside. they are at the birdfeeder, on barney, feasting on birdseed and sunflower seeds. they are at the birdbath, cleaned and filled with water. everything else is still quiet, as it is early.
i’m thinking it doesn’t hurt to stoke up on these things – these sights, these sounds. it doesn’t hurt to hold them close or store them away.
because right now the future seems utterly uncertain.
it may have been the moon, save for the blue sky behind it, slight bits visible as the cloud cover momentarily parted. it may have been the moon had it been dark, had those tiny bits not been visible, had the glimmers of yellow not diffused through clouds. it may have been the moon, particularly if we had no other information at all, no other clues, nothing else to locate us. in that way we may have confused the moon with the sun.
but this celestial body had other dimensions, other hints pointing to its identity.
the sun was not posing at the moon. it was us – we were simply unclear – and we were reading this particular sun as very similar to the moon as we have seen it in the day sky. its ability to masquerade as the moon is particularly present on winter days, on days of overcast, days where the sun’s disc has a moody feel, on photographs not stamped with the time of day.
it would be far more difficult for the moon to pose as the sun.
a long time ago my daughter and i went to a country music jamboree on the other side of the state. my girl was maybe in early high school years. in the morning – before the sun rose – we drove across the state to go hear some of our favorite country artists – many of whom hadn’t yet made it big-time, but who were poised to headline charts everywhere. on the way we somehow decided that we would speak – the whole time at the jamboree – with southern accents, pretending to be from nashville.
and so we did. everywhere we went that day, everyone we spoke to, every word we spoke to each other, every lyric we sang was smoothly finessed with a slow southern drawl. we were mighty convincing. on the way home we laughed at our masquerades as southern girls up from the south to go to the jamboree in wisconsin. great fun and with no harm done. to be fair – it was a country music concert and we were merely attendees.
but, now, we are seeing – time and time again – people in positions of great power – the greatest power – with zero to pathetically few qualifications – masquerading in job titles in which they are making enormous decisions affecting the entire united states populace. it is a total, unparalleled farce of the system, dangerous beyond comprehension.
the saddest part is that there are plenty of people playing along with this charade. there are plenty of people who are cheering for it, supporting it, touting it on biased and lying media channels. there are plenty of people not questioning, not pushing back, not at all tuned into any sense of morality.
it should not be easy for the leaders of this country – with laws based on the constitution and its amendments – to pretend to be capable, to take uncaring power and run with it, to discard conscience, to masquerade as leaders, to lead with impunity.
it should not be easy for anyone to pretend to be the moon or – for that matter – the sun. we have more information than that, more clues. we have ways to locate posers.
“anne frank became a symbol of hope – a light in the dark – by maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness despite enduring extreme fear, confinement and the horrors of the holocaust.” (AI)
it is certainly difficult to imagine anne frank maintaining her optimism and belief in human goodness. such darkness that she experienced in her short life is unparalleled.
the woods – away from any candlelit trail – were dark. but it was a starlit night and so the shadowy figures of trees and underbrush were more clearly trees and underbrush, rather than the dark figures of scary stuff we might have imagined. in this one spot, artificial light from lightposts lit the pines, illuminating the bow of the branches up close. beyond those lit boughs, a darker woods.
this was a night – as i wrote about – much-needed. a reminder of beauty, of presence, of quiet. it gave us both hope – and gratitude for the rejuvenation of being outside. for in these times – right now – in this country – there is so much about which to be horrified.
“darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that.” (martin luther king, jr.)
there is no way for us all to beat back the dark except to beat back the dark. for light to prevail, we must shine light on all that is dark…with no exceptions. as we learn more and more of the plan of this administration’s agenda – the absolute corruption sans impunity – it becomes harder to not shrink back, to recoil from such dark. but we cannot pass this dark on to the next generations, we can’t bequeath them with this kind of depravity. and so there is no choice but to shine light.
“do the best you can until you know better. then when you know better, do better.” (maya angelou)
and for those who have cheered on this atrocious kakistocracy, it is my hope that you will soon see it for what it is, that you will step away – gasping, that you will take light into your own hands and shine that light with us and all the others who are shining, that you will unearth moral conscience.
“hope is being able to see that there is light despite all of the darkness.” (desmond tutu)
and i have to believe that light begets light, hope begets hope – and through all humanity has endured – there will be enough light – held by enough good people – to shine into the corners of all the most ghastly of shadows, to shake down this dark, to exponentially multiply light by light and hope by hope, to reveal renewed sense and love, to expose goodness at its best and to reclaim it.
i suppose there will be a day when i look out the front door – to the west and the setting sun – and not see these branches. i suppose wind or ice or age – or even a city crew – might take them down. in the meanwhile, though, they are a statement of the familiar and their graceful shape gives me comfort.
we have been more insular lately. there are many reasons for this, some too close-in to list. the world has felt inordinately harsh – the world IS inordinately harsh – and so, in the name of balance, there has been time simply spent here, at home.
and at the end of a day, when we realize that we had not gone anywhere in that day, i am sometimes surprised.
but engagement is not just getting-out-of-the-house. there are – i suspect – particularly evidenced by the vast numbers of people who still support the cruel, unhealthy, marginalizing agenda of this administration – plenty of people who get out of the house but who never actually engage in the reality of what is happening, never seek the truth, never question their proclivity to pompom this depravity, never utter that they might have been wrong.
they go to the mall or the department store and shop, they go to some supersized – or tiny – evangelical church that proclaims their modified version of jesus, they go out to dinner and feast, they are at soccer games and gymnasiums and gated community parks. they follow the social media of extremism and sanctify voices and leaders without compassion, without empathy, without conscience.
no, engagement – participation – involvement – in this world requires asking questions and participating in discussions, learning, parsing out complex ideas, critical thinking, curiosity, connection, the recognition of one’s impact in the world.
engagement does not suggest utter complicit passivity nor does it suggest giving over of one’s morality; it does not suggest sycophancy nor adulation of horrific ideology. it doesn’t suggest – or not suggest – any of that.
we each get to choose our own engagement.
personally, i will stick to seeking the ideals of kindness, compassion, humanitarianism, equality, truth. i will stick to looking to the constitution and its amendments of this country as the guiding discipline of its laws.
and, even if i’m not engaged with the mall or the church or out-and-about dining or shopping or playing a day here or a day there, i will continue to hold to the kind of engagement that does not ignore reality.
and that kind of engagement requires some counter-balance these days.
which takes me to these ever-familiar front-yard branches drawing grace in the sky.
“it’s everything behind you that brings you to what’s ahead.” (visa commercial during the olympics)
in depicting the miscellany of experiences that makes up a life, we all would need large pieces of poster board placed side by side by side by side to create some sort of visual timeline, something that might represent life-to-this-point.
we would all have great paragraphs of explanation, large narratives filled with words that describe each event – each dit – on the timeline. we would have many adjectives, many sources, references to places and things, achievements and failures. we might have colors or foggy haze highlighting or distilling sections of our lifeline. we might have sections that make us look like hermits or sections that make us look downright rowdy. we might place large question marks over periods of time or, maybe, exclamation marks over moments of enlightenment.
there is one thing i know, though.
even though we are each – seemingly – the expert at our own life, there are few ways to explain it all. we attempt to connect the dots – deciphering some connections with reasonable reckoning, some connections serendipitous – but some things – the going-on from one time to another – are just, well, kind of unfigureoutable.
olympians, like artists, crawl and are catapulted by both tiny baby steps and big leaps into what’s ahead – the stuff of every nook and cranny lived part of the ingredients that place you at the starting line of next – the gate, the block, the apron of the stage, the blank paper, the record button, the empty canvas.
if you had asked me at 18 if i would ever live in the midwest, i would have firmly told you – in no uncertain terms – no. but there are things at 18 i didn’t know, things i didn’t know would happen to me, things i didn’t know i would choose, people i didn’t know i would meet, places I didn’t know i would go – all the obvious didn’t-knows. … every action, thought or event produces a corresponding result or consequence… uh-huh, yep.
but here’s another thing i also know.
when you gather all that it took to get to this point – the very point you are at right at this very moment – you should actually be a bit astounded at it all. for no matter all the specific details of your life – everything on your poster boards per se, you are still here now. there is still time – even this very minute – to do more, to say more, to make more, to move more. there is the ahead and every step takes us there. we have choices to make about what’s ahead. there are unparalleled surprises and calamities – both – in store for each of us. our poster boards aren’t done. keep the markers and crayons and thesaurus out.
we – here in the united states – live in a country with a rich – though rather brief – history. in the poster-board display of this country it would seem that we are currently lingering under a very big question mark.
i guess i wonder what in our lives would make any of us choose a dark route forward. what would make us choose cruel and abusive over kind and empathetic, with the light of hope for all? what – on this good earth in this finite life – would make us step into next, relishing adjectives of depravity and extremism?
“the road is long, with many a winding turn, that leads us to who knows where, who knows where…” (he ain’t heavy, he’s my brother – bobby scott/bob russell)
what do we want on the mutual poster boards of our country?
reverse threading 