Friday, October 13, 2017

Animal Spirits

After an oil spill,
the mist above the inlet
is filled with the spirits
of all of the animals
who have died
in the spill.

Orca-, eagle-, heron-spirits,
hover over the ocean.
They rest in trees
along the shore.

They carry a message
for the people of the earth:
Wake up.
Wake up to
Mother Earth's cries.
Heal her wounds.

After the wildfires,
the smoldering, parched earth
releases the spirits
of all the animals
who were burned
in the flames.

They remain near
the black, dead land,
near the horses' bones,
near the burning hooves,
near the deer, and rabbits,
and wolves,
near the lives
they loved and lost.

They carry a message
for the people of the earth:
Wake up.
Wake up to
Mother Earth's cries.
Heal her wounds.

After flood waters recede,
and all of the bodies
of drowned creatures
are bagged and carried away,
the spirits of that place
sit vigil near the watery graves,
praying we humans
will awaken to our mandate:
to replenish and heal
Mother Earth.

They carry a message
for the people of the earth:
Wake up.
Wake up to Mother Earth's cries,
her distress.
Awaken to all
you can be,
all you can do,
to heal the Earth Mother,
the only home 
of all creatures.

The idea for this poem came from reading Into Great Silence : A Memoir of Discovery and Loss among Vanishing Orcas by Eva Saulitis. Eva spent twenty years among the orcas of Prince William Sound, both before and after the oil spill. The animals she grew to know like her family are now vanishing due to the after-effects of the oil spill, the intrusion of human development into their wild habitat,  and the warming seas of climate change.

Thursday, October 12, 2017

When a Thousand Women Gather......

When a thousand women gather,
you can feel the power,
the joy, the deep, sweet Knowing,
looking into each other's eyes:
I see you.
You are beautiful.
Together, we are strong.

When a thousand women gather,
saying Enough! War is not the way to peace.
Enough! You will not have
our sons and daughters;
Enough! Life, earth, air, water
are more important and necessary
than money,
then Change begins.

All over the world,
women are planting trees,
because we need to breathe.
In response to the clearcut mountains
that filled the wallets
of the multinationals,
a billion seedlings are
going into the ground,
to green the barren deserts
and heal the earth, the air,
and our breaking hearts.

All over the world,
women are rising up,
doing what they can
for the earth and each other.
Yes, we can!

And now we join hands
across oceans, across sky,
across all man-made boundaries,
to birth a new way of being
with Mother Earth,
that is a very Old way of being,
understood by all aboriginal peoples.

When a thousand women gather,
the Divine Feminine is unleashed,
in all her power*.

On October 19 at 11 a.m. Pacific time, (2 p.m. EST, and 7 p.m. UK) the Call to Dream Ceremony will be held, online, in an effort to empower women to feel strong and hopeful in the face of climate change. It is sponsored by the Tree Sisters, whose goal is to plant a billion trees worldwide, in an effort to heal Mother Earth. The first goal was a million trees, and the response has been so strong, it is now a billion.

Time to rise in sisterhood. The male model of leadership has failed. Capitalism, based on the Myth of More, is destroying the earth and is untenable for all but the wealthy. Time to listen to the earth, to work with Her. Time to dream a better dream.

The launch is the beginning of a seven week  journey of collective discovery. Clare Dubois is putting out the call to all women to 1) plant trees worldwide and 2) unite in an attempt to birth a shift in  consciousness to a nature-based consciousness, to counter the aggressive momentum that is now going on in the world. I'm in. You can hear Clare talk about this here.

*In Tibetan myth, when a thousand women gather, the sacred feminine is birthed through their collective energy.

Wednesday, October 11, 2017

Once In Autumn

“Choose the least important day in your life. 
It will be important enough.” 

Once in autumn.....
Nekiah hand-stitched every leaf,
with unerring eye,
making Tree Spirit costumes
for you and your friend,
Isaac Blue Sky.

We didn't know, 
back then,
just how precious
were those fleeting days
of grace,
how quickly life
was flying by,
too fast the pace.

First, you grew.
Too soon,
before I was ready,
before you were, too,
you were out of the nest
and away;
for your heartbreaks
my heart, too, would pay,
you, so young and heedless 
and rash,
my hair slowly turning
the color of 
silvery ash.

Too soon,
Nekiah was gone.
It was cancer.
Isaac Blue Sky's life 
was forever

Those innocent faces 
up there,
those round trusting eyes
that enraptured,
those smiles that had 
not yet known pain........
remind me that once,
once in autumn,
we all lived precious days
that will not,
              will not ever
                            come again.

for Sumana's prompt at Midweek Motif: Autumn. I re-worked an old poem from 2010, for this prompt, as autumn always reminds me of those fleeting, precious days. Ouch. A pang in my heart.

Tuesday, October 10, 2017

Boat Trip Through Clayoquot Sound

Yesterday, my friend Chris invited me along on a trip to 
her floathouse, a short boat-ride from Tofino.
This is the harbour, before we set out.

Lone Cone, wearing a cloud like a toque.
The small native village of Opitsaht
can be seen along the shore.

We were briefly in the pathway of a floatplane,
trying to take off. Oops!

The Tofino shoreline as we sped away.

A cute off the grid cabin

Beauty, beauty, beauty.....

Lone Cone from another perspective

A heron on the mudflats

The trees look so alive, and fully themselves,
when they are safe from human interference.

Many choose to live off the grid

The Camel

An oyster  farm


Such a peaceful little home this is.

Chris's greenhouse.

Heading home past the hazy mountains.
A wonderful day!


Mother Earth
by Caitlin Taylor 2008

Hope is the belief
that light can dispel darkness,
love can overcome hate,
there are more good people
than evil in the world.
It is understanding
that social justice is
both possible and necessary,
(and long over-due),
that most people are kind,
and want to live in peace.
Hope is hands held out
to help each other
in times of crisis,
proving this is possible, also,
in ordinary times.

Hope is turning off the news,
the angry, divisive rhetoric,
the deranged killings,
and going out into the village
to smile at people, pat the dogs,
raise our eyes to the skies,
the mountains and the sea,
and giving thanks.

Hope is cherishing each golden day
in belief they will continue,
just in case they don't.

Mostly, hope wears the faces
of the children of tomorrow,
of the planet and all of its creatures,
who are asking for
their own time in the sun.

At Toads, Sanaa asked for some hope this morning. This is what popped out.

Sunday, October 8, 2017


 source: Wolf Howling

Along a forest trail,
we met,
wolf and old woman.

Our eyes locked.
He took a step back,

"Don't worry," I said.
"I love you.
I won't hurt you."

I backed slowly,
turned away,
retreated from
his habitat.

At a bend in the trail,
I looked back.
He was still watching me.
His eyes were sad,
for all the embattled wolves
and humans
of the world,
for the friendship
there could be,
among the species,
not possible
until humankind

I walked a forest trail this morning, and these lines popped into my head. A friend once met a young cougar on the trail. It meowed at her. True story.


Photo by Karoline Cullen - Orca Network

She is grieving.
The loss of her child
is something no mother
should have to bear.

The water is dark and surging.
It takes strength to push through
the waves,
to believe in a horizon unseen.

She gives a keening whine,
then blows, then dives,
her fluke arching
black against the sky.

Slowly, she makes
her lonely way
back to her pod,
her calf no longer
beside her.

I am reading a wonderful book about a young woman who spent twenty years watching the whales in Prince William Sound, both before and after the oil spill. The pods she followed are now vanishing. So much grief in this world. The book is Into Great Silence by Eva Saulitis.