attention is the beginning of devotion

Attention is the beginning of devotion.
–      Mary Oliver from Upstream

Photo by Drew Wall, Maui, HI

Dear Friend,

We share with you here some beautiful writing from the 6-week virtual autumn gathering of the nature-inspired writing program, Remembering Our Place in the Sacred Circle of Life. Participants came together from Massachusetts, Michigan, Texas, Colorado, California, and Hawaii.

During our weeks of sharing together each person was encouraged to spend 5-minutes or more outside every day to inspire their writing and deepen their relationship with the natural world. Over time, they noticed things that had been in plain sight, but nearly invisible until they slowed down to observe, listen, sense, and engage.  

Poet Mary Oliver’s words, “Attention is the beginning of devotion,” guided us throughout our exploration. What if the simple act of giving attention to something, or someone, increased our devotion, love, and compassion? What if our attention helped the Earth, each other, and our own deep feelings of grief?

We found that once we gave our attention to the natural world, our writing reflected our burgeoning devotion. We hope these writings inspire you to deepen your own relationship with nature.​

From my heart to yours, 
Christina Burress
Board Member, OMEC

---

Mahalo Honu
by Leah Naomi
 
Paddle, paddle, paddle
Ugh, this wave passes 
Oh! hello sweet sea turtle
Your shell so buoyant you easily float, 
like me on my surfboard
Just chilling here at the surface

Ok, I’ll try again
Paddle, paddle, paddle
Ugh, this wave passes
Oh! you’re still floating here 
Your little round head poking up for air, 
while we make eye contact
Not a word you say “Go For It!”

Ok, I’ll try again
Paddle, paddle, paddle
Yes, yes, yes this wave!
Oh! this feeling, so stoked!
Flying on the surface of the ocean, 
propelled by wind energy 
And I say “Mahalo Honu”

---

Prayer of Gratitude 
by Julia Gantman

Praise to the grass 
for its soft blanket of blades 
that cushion my feet as 
I walk
barefoot to the mailbox. 
Praise to the sky for being
infinite
every time 
I look up to 
embrace it with my eyes. 
Praise to the air which 
surrounds me like an 
invisible shield, 
protecting me from 
suffocating
on my own thoughts. 
Praise to the fire in my belly which 
helps me digest and 
burn bright in my fierceness. 
Praise to my water bottle that 
quenches my thirst. 
And praise to my friends who gave me these gifts. ​

---

Right Now
by Karolina Syrovatkova

I could get lost, right now, in the playfulness of the mountain stream,
In the interplay of light and water,
In the warmth of father Sun imbuing my every cell.

I could get lost, right now,
In my thoughts and the kaleidoscope of emotions they bring to the surface.
They, too, imbue every cell of my light-filled body.

I could get lost, right now, in the emptiness of this white page,
a ramble of my longing soul out of which the words of inspiration flow.

In every second, my heart can beat to the drumming of the universe.
In every second, my spirit can soar to new heights 
    like an eagle following the currents of the wind. 
In every second, I have an opportunity to explore,
   acknowledge and relax into the fullness of my life, 
in all its terror and Beauty. ​

---

Sacred Primordial Forest 
by Diane Masullo 

Luring with transcendent connection. 
Ancient spires of lore and spruce; 
Powerful, sinister, seductive. 
Drawing us inward, revealing hidden identities 
In cunning disguises. 
Peaking from the forest floor, 
Scattered fairy rings, ghost like umbrellas on thin stalks, 
Speckled domes. The food of Gods and Royalty. 
Suddenly, a weighted consciousness, an understanding.
 A collective breath, as one. ​

---

Ghost Forest
by Laura A. Long

Gray-black bones of coastal pines
stab a Carolina-blue sky along a coast
where once the Algonkian trod,
generations before the English.

Tall and stark, these specters stand
witness to once abundant reciprocity
of pine, woodpecker, red fox, and bear--
before the ocean’s rise salted the land.

Most remain single, truncated posts,
ghostly shadows of past glory.
Others raise bare arms to heaven
in last desperate, ragged protest.

The ocean has no agenda here;
she goes where she must, takes all in her wake.
But can you hear from below this sodden soil
the eerie sound of wailing?

About this poem

---

Olympic Mountain EarthWisdom Circle celebrates its 10th Anniversary this year on December 7th. We hope you’ll join us for a Live Online Anniversary Event. More details here: Facebook Event

---