Dear Friend,
The cool nights and dewy mornings of autumn have arrived here in the rainforest on the Oregon Coast in the Northern hemisphere of the United States. Now is when salmon are making their way upriver to spawn, black bear is calorie loading for winter, and elk bugle and battle to attract a mate from the herd. Almost everywhere I look I find examples of life’s ancient rhythm of survival. It is also the time when deciduous trees turn toward dormancy and surrender their leaves to join the unmatched choreography that announces the transition of seasons. The awe-inspiring display of color and movement calls to me. I’m especially attracted to a towering bigleaf maple who lives on the river’s edge; I sense she is a wise teacher. She hangs over the water, dripping with wisdom and epiphytes like moss, lichen, and ferns. She has already done so much this year: her blossoms provided pollen and nectar for bees, deer and elk browsed her new growth, and squirrels, chipmunk, and many birds feasted on her seeds. Her lush canopy of thick limbs and wide leaves provided shade and coolness from summer’s warm days for crawdad, kingfisher, and fisherperson. She can do all this because of the energy produced through photosynthesis. With the help from sun, soil, air, and water, she takes care of herself and in turn supports others. Lately, I’ve been visiting her to bear witness to Nature’s Grace. A soft moss-covered boulder is the perfect seat to observe and learn about what it means to prepare for the dark days of winter. Each dropping leaf finds its own path based on its starting point, weight, the movement of surrounding air, and probably a myriad of other nuances. This equation affects the crinkled palm-shaped leaves’ flight and final resting place. Some drift toward the wild rose bushes and blackberry bramble, others float slowly down to the understory formed by an ancient volcanic flow, while many land on the rushing river like perfect boats carrying messages to others shores. Each leaf then provides cover and nutrients for so many insects and plant beings during winter so that they have the best chance to thrive. How wonderful it is to contemplate the wide influence this one tree has for this landscape. She teaches me the importance of honoring the cycle of life, that some things are better surrendered than hung onto, and that our simple and generous offerings can benefit others even without our knowing it. From my heart to yours, Christina Burress Board Member, OMEC Dear Friend,
I have always loved mountains. Growing up at the gateway to the White Mountains in New Hampshire (USA), my brother and I explored the many wooded acres surrounding our family home. The woods were not frequented by hikers and the closest neighbors were a few miles away. We had the forest very much to ourselves. On that wooded mountain we found old stone walls and abandoned foundations, remnants of mountain homesteads now long gone. Sometimes only a chimney remained standing, old stone laid perhaps one or even two hundred years ago, an odd sight amidst the younger trees. Maybe it was these ancient and dilapidated structures, taken by the forest, that inspired us to create our own forest homes: forts in all corners, made as kids do, with tree limbs and rocks, and kept clean with a good dust broom. There was something thrilling in discovering these special places, a grassy patch under a tree, the edge of the pond where the beaver played, or under sweeping branches of the grand hemlock. We returned to them again and again. We made fairy houses from pinecones and bark. We carried snacks of cornbread and left small signs of our having been there, like tiny toy cars and buried rocks and feathers. We visited our small homes away from home in all seasons. In the winter, the snow laid the branches heavy and low so we could crawl underneath them, blanketed and hidden from the world by snowflakes. In the spring, rain pummeled the delicate new leaves, filling the air with their fresh scent and dewy brightness. In the fall, the air became dry and crisp, and the leaves turned bright autumn rust and burgundy. When the sun grew strong it made the forest smell of pine and tree sap. I have been blessed to call many places home. If you are a traveler yourself, perhaps you understand. Still, it is the joy in returning and being with a place through all its seasons that for me brings the spirit alive, and the sight of mountains is a sign that I am home. What is it in a place that calls you home? From my heart to yours, Sayre Herrick OMEC Board of Directors Dear Friend,
To know a snapping turtle is to know the ancient Earth. The common snapping turtle evolved 66 million years ago and lived alongside the dinosaurs on the land which is now North America. Most humans have neither the inclination nor the opportunity to know a snapping turtle well. I have had the pleasure of knowing several who required long-term care. I’d like to share a story with you about a snapping turtle named Shelley. Shelley is a 30-pound, two-foot-long, common snapping turtle who has lived most of her life in a pond behind a home occupied by three generations of caring humans. The family and their neighbors diligently watch their road to make sure no turtles are ever smushed by cars. The pond is a safe place for turtles to live. One day, though, Shelley came out of the pond walking with a limp due to a large growth on the bottom of her foot. The family knew to call a wildlife rehabilitation number and that is how I met Shelley. I am a volunteer wildlife rehabilitator licensed by my state to care for injured wildlife. I specialize in turtles. When the family reached out, I asked them to try to contain her for transport to me. Following my instructions, they went out with a big storage tub, but when they approached her, back into the pond went Shelley, including every other time they tried that summer. The following summer, when the growth had doubled in size and was limiting Shelley’s mobility even more, they were finally able to get her into the tub. While they were on the phone with me reporting their success, Shelley knocked the tub over and escaped into the pond again. The following morning, I answered another phone call from the family. They had her! She must have realized they were trying to help, because they found her waiting outside their back door. She allowed them to lift her into the tote and firmly close the lid over her. Another wildlife volunteer drove her to me. Shelley stayed in care for a year and was with me except for the month she spent at the Janet L. Swanson Wildlife Hospital at Cornell University (New York, USA), part of their veterinary medicine program. She had four surgeries on her foot to remove the growth and treat abscesses which were deep underneath. During her stay, she escaped her “hospital” tub so often that she earned her nickname Houdini. Thanks to Shamanic Reiki training, I can offer healing energy to all the animals in my care. I have channeled Reiki to a variety of animals, from chipmunks to frogs to pigeons. Turtles, however, are my favorite to work with, because they seem aware of the energy flow. Shelley was receptive, so I would rest my hands on her shell for a bit, then direct it towards her swollen foot, watching her for any sign she might snap. Sometimes a rumbling sound would emanate from her, which I could feel vibrating under my hands. You might be surprised to learn that the vibration is a snapping turtle’s song. I believe Shamanic Reiki contributes, if not to their healing, at least to my patients’ well-being, by reducing the stress of being in captivity while they are being cared for. In Shelley’s case, convincing her to remain in captivity was the challenge! Shelley’s human family has known her for much longer than I have, nearly three decades, and cared so deeply about her that they helped her get well. Last month, Shelley went home to her pond and is again being watched over. There are many ways to cultivate a sacred relationship with the Earth. From Shelley’s family, I learned that one way is to know a turtle. From my heart to yours. For the Earth. Debbie Philp OMEC HEARTH Circle guide Embedded within every being of Nature, humans included, is an evolutionary programming or a deep instinctual knowing that reveals who or what Mother Nature intended each being to be. Many indigenous cultures call this programming the “Original Instructions.”
Here are some examples of the Original Instructions at play in Nature: Salmon instinctively finds its way to the ocean and after many years at sea, will return to the same river to spawn. Turtle returns again and again to the beach of birth to lay their eggs despite having traveled thousands of miles away from that beach. Plants in the sun share nutrients with plants in the shade, even with those of a different species. Humpback whales follow a yearly migration from Alaska to Maui so their calves will be born in warmer waters. Mycelial networks transmit information underneath a forest that creates a swarm intelligence that supports the entire ecosystem. The Original Instructions underlie the fundamental teleology of Nature, an instinctual drive in every being toward an ultimate purpose or toward an end. Everything in Nature seeks to grow beyond its current circumstances and reach its potential. In humans, the Original Instructions are no different. Just as a dandelion is fated to be a dandelion, and a shark a shark, humans are also gifted by the Earth with exactly what we need to be our authentic selves. As beings born of Earth, we arrive with fated dynamics, encoded as our Original Instructions that determine our family, features, sexuality, hardships, gifts, etc., and exist within us for an evolutionary purpose that serves all of Nature. James Lovelock’s Gaia Theory posits that the Earth behaves as a single organism and every being on Earth–from microbes to chimpanzees–plays its part in supporting that one organism. In other words, as every being follows its Original Instructions, it automatically fulfills its sacred purpose as a precious contributing factor to the health and maintenance of the one organism. But humans, unlike every other being in Nature, are often disconnected from their Original Instructions. Because of humans’ pervasive separation from the natural world, many have lost touch with their Instructions, and have forgotten their place in the larger connective and interdependent ecosystem that is their true home. As healers, mystics, ecologists, and stewards of the Earth, shepherding humanity’s reconnection with Nature is our sacred work. The Original Instructions are never far away from us to creatively engage with our lives. The Original Instructions are immediately accessed through the felt senses within the body, by creatively engaging with our individual desires and aversions–this is what everything in Nature is doing all the time. Nature is wildly interested in that which will bring it more life and wildly disinterested in that which won’t. So, no matter our current circumstances, or despite how far away we may have veered from our Instructions, if we tune into, legitimize, and act on the thoughts, desires, intentions, and life-dynamics that feel growthful, creative and evolutionary for us, and we do whatever we can to avoid those that don’t, we start to become more “like” Nature, and we attune to what Mother Earth intended for each of us in the first place. From my heart to yours, Jonathan Hammond Dear Friend,
To venture outside of your comfort, when it comes to the outdoors, can be called many things: adventure, quest, journey, or simply, a walk. Depending on the person, it can look very different. Some quench the desire for breaking new ground by climbing Mt. Everest. Some find it in their own backyards. There is no right or wrong when it comes to getting to know the natural world. The important thing is that we do, respectfully, in our own way, find our connection. The living world is as complex and deep as our own psyche. It is natural that we may find there, an understanding of ourselves that goes deeper and wider than any intellectual pursuit. Through contact with the wild world, we find meaning through metaphor; we feel the touch of cool rock on our feet, the brush of grass against our hand, see the play of light on leaves, and take in the scents, which together create an orchestral memory. When I come across nature places I knew long ago, memories often emerge like hidden gems. The trees may be taller, and some are altogether gone. Many things may change, yet always there are remnants of what was before. Without disruption, whether from human development or from natural causes, the quality and memory of a place can be preserved for decades and longer in the trees, waterways, topography, and species of plants and animals. We, like the plants, animals, and rocks around us, are not anomalous in our existence. We are connected to the beginning of it all, linked by blood to a greater number of ancestral souls than we can logically comprehend. In our bones we contain the delicate and vulnerable blueprint, DNA, the memory, preserved through time, of us and those who came before us. I prepared my own type of quest in the wild recently. In early June, in the middle of an atmospheric river and severe downpour, I camped in the woods on the Kitsap Peninsula, WA State. This is the story of what happened, both true and beyond truth in the same way that a chrysalis in transition contains both caterpillar and butterfly, and still somehow, neither. It was the rain that whispered to me that night, through the howling wind. In its gentle way, it seeped into every crack and crevice and loosened the hard soils. It washed away the crust of grief and bitterness, grit, and pebble. A soft loam began to bloom from what had been ash. Through the wind and rain and sharp claps of thunder, we saw with our dreaming eyes, the spirits of the land were dancing. Their whooping and laughter could be heard echoing across the meadows. So, we danced with them and in our dancing and delight, we painted the edges of the leaves gold and draped the land with a feast of gems and silver. Slowly the skies began to lighten. For the Earth, Sayre Herrick OMEC Board of Directors Hello Friend,
Spring here in the Catskills of New York (USA), is an amazing time to be outside. I always find it strange when I think about the fact that half of the Earth’s human family, below the equator, is deep into their autumn with winter approaching. This spring, so much has happened to bear witness to. April started with a total solar eclipse here in the northern hemisphere. What a humbling experience to watch two massive and mysterious planetary bodies dance with each other in a display of the power of form, light, shadow, and darkness. The beginning of May gave us another magical event. As the sun approaches solar maximum in its 11-year cycle, the Northern Lights have become visible as brilliant blue, green, and purple sheets of energy shimmering across the sky in a radiant cascade. May also gave many of us the chance to watch the Eta Aquarids, a meteor shower that is easy to observe with the naked eye. It occurs as Earth passes through the debris trail from Halley’s comet and appears as sharp staccato light streaks racing across the sky. Here on the ground, there has also been much to observe. Daffodils, lilacs, and dandelions are blooming, while the slopes of the Catskill and Shawangunk mountains are changing from bare grey and brown to vibrant shades of green. Frigid streams are full of spring runoff and the air is alive with song from birds returning from the south. All these various natural phenomena certainly have their own scientific explanations. If you consult an astronomer, biologist, or geologist, you can hear about all the mechanics behind the happenings of this slice of the universe. Although I appreciate the facts of these events, I think there is something else to consider. When I look at my own human body with my nurse’s eyes, I see and understand the systems and components that make up my human form, but is that all there is? Each of us has a vast interiority of thoughts, emotions, energies, feelings, understandings (and misunderstandings), and perspectives. It is from the place of our interiority that we interact with all that happens around us. Would this then not be true of everything in a living Universe? When you next venture out amongst the many beings and phenomena of the more than human world, consider this. Everything that you encounter also has its own interiority from which it acts and perceives. There is an ordinary magic at work here, but it is deep as well. When you look out at the sensual display of nature from all that you are, remember that it is looking back at you the same way. From my heart to yours, Christopher T. Franza OMEC/Board of Directors Kithship is intimacy with the landscape in which one dwells and is entangled. –Rooted by Lyanda Lynn Haupt Dear friend, We share with you here some writing and visual art from the 6-week virtual spring gathering of the nature-inspired writing program, Remembering Our Place in the Sacred Circle of Life. Participants came together from California, Connecticut, Oregon, and New York. Discovery was the theme that surfaced this time. Writers shared how time spent in the natural world in intentional observation, even and especially, in a familiar place, resulted in new discoveries and a deeper connection to their environment. The Earth is pulsing with life, and we are too. Stepping outside on a regular basis, resting in quiet awareness, and opening our senses to kith and more-than-human kin, is a good practice to support well-being, creativity, and a sense of belonging. From my heart to yours, Christina Burress Board Member, OMEC Morning Watch by Regan Stacey The fleet of feathers leave wakes, streaks of white waves against the black surface rippled with wind. The sun rises over the hill, giving light to color and form, warmth to the edges of night, a welcome contrast, the waking of dawn. The gift of a sleepless night lies in the emergence of light and life. What once was dark and indistinguishable is now layered with sight and sound. To participate, to witness, and to know, before the bugle, before the bell, there were the birds, and that first sliver of light that announced the day. On morning watch, a stillness claims the surface as the clouds come in and all is quiet again. A Gentle Sea Laps, Bound by Mind on all Sides by Matt Higgins He quips into startled sincerity I am a birdfeeder I cast and I strew and I wait A flicker taps and cracks Papery shells flutter and flip Sweetmeats revealed to the diligent critic A bushtit’s legs are thin and straight But their nest’s a soft, sagging mass Stuck to sticks, aloft in space But he is a bullcow Limp grass between his broad, flat teeth He hopes a bird will land And pluck ticks from his broad, flat back And he is a limpet Obstinate and cold Sprayed with saline syrup Slapped with sheets of sugar kelp But he is a city crow, present and available And he knows if every quiet breath Of every quiet spring morning Were heard all at once Meter/sound-cacophony Cracked dam-dampens illusion Spreading silence. Dear Tree by Sally Grauer Dear Tree, with your roots so deep, winding, stretching, absorbing, nourishing, communicating. Dear Tree, with your arm like branches reaching for the sky, transitioning from leaves, green to orange to red to yellow, to pods, to bare, to buds, how does it feel to be up so high, seeing the land from above? How does it feel to have the tickle of animals and insects climbing up your trunk, nestling in your branches? Oh, our dear giving tree, you protect us from predators and reach out in support to hold nests for the young. How does it feel to have the wind blow through your branches and leaves, to endure the heat, drought, snow and ice? How giving you are to all of us. You give us beauty, you give us protection from the wind, and shade to protect us from the heat. How empty this world would be without your presence. Worm Layer by Katy Joyce Spring is the time for weeds and new plants and trying to identify little flowers that pop up to say hello. When I pull a weed, I am immediately met with many worm friends and always say hello. I think the layers go: plants, flowers, trees, and volunteers; worms; granite. There is a layer just under the plants made entirely of worms. I see the happiness in the soil and the healthiness to sustain the worms. Dear Friend, Have you heard of Millie the Mushroom? She’s the mushroom who longs to see the sky beyond her dungeon of mycelium magic below the earth. She’s also the one who learns the lessons of time and waits for the right moment to pop. Or perhaps you’ve heard of Lizard. Yes, Lizard, whose life abruptly ended after Eagle swooped him from his favorite wall where he basked in the sun. It was Lizard who was given a funeral in his honor to remind him and all of us that we matter. Or maybe, just maybe, you heard news of Wind, who at first wrestled with her unabashed fierceness. That is, until later, she realized how crucial she was. That in all her big ways, it was Wind who spread the seeds of ancestors from faraway lands like Burma to the United States. Clearly, you never had the chance to know their stories—until now. For they are tales my students created during our Stories from the Earth workshop in late January into February. These tales of Mushroom, Lizard, and Wind, weave a love story from nature, while also inviting each person to discover their own story, their own nature that longs to share itself. Beyond these chronicles, how often do we pass a lizard, a mushroom, or feel the wind at our back, and ask ourselves, what’s their story? How often do we invite ourselves to discover our own story—our own place of belonging inside the nature of things? A month ago, as I sat in the warm New Mexico (U.S.A) sun (yes, even in the winter), I observed the purple flowers crumpled inside the wet, green tea leaves in my cup. I pondered their journey. How far had these leaves and flowers come to sit here with me at my table, in my back yard? That same morning, a bee landed on my hand. I wondered what her story was, and that of the crows that had cawed all morning, waking me from my sleep. What was their tale? I wonder what would happen if all of us, for just one moment, stopped long enough to ask the smallest and biggest elements of nature to tell us their story. Perhaps, in listening, watching, and waiting just long enough, we will finally experience our place, our own story, as part of the whole, woven deeply into this miraculous web of life. That is my delicious wish for us all, including my workshop students who, every time, amaze me with their tales of wonder they bring forth. I hope you enjoy their stories included below! From my heart to yours. For the Earth. Michelle Adam Millie the Mushroom (excerpt) by Katalin Soni “I’m used to the dark. The soil is my home. The underground world is all that I know. But why am I so different?” Millie the Mushroom wonders. “Millie” the soft voice of Elder Oak resonates through her. “Chances are, one day you will see the upper world. Many before you have. One day, the conditions will be just right - and voila! Up you’ll pop! Millie the mushroom! My child, these things cannot be rushed. In fact, perhaps it’s best you just forget about all that for now. Millie the mycelium is already quite the miracle, you know…” Elder Oak’s gentle, nurturing voice fades into the space and fills Millie’s body. “Push and pull, stress and strain that’s what tires and dulls the brain. Always noting what you lack keeps one small and holds one back.” Millie drops into the hypnotic lullaby and feels a spaciousness expand within her. Bobbing like a buoy on a pristine, turquoise tropical bay, her hyphae are like seaweed, effortlessly swaying in the current. Her mind is quiet. She is an atmosphere of lightness. LIZARD (excerpt from “Lizard’s Funeral”) By Matt Glasser I reminded Lizard that he had played an important role in the lives of so many of his friends and family, just a few of whom we heard from today. And I think that he would not have been unhappy to know that his life would end as it did. Although he had a sense that his time was near, I am sure he was surprised when he was snatched off his wall, in the middle of a nap, by an eagle. I imagine that she kept part of his body for herself and fed the rest to her chicks. And that is as it should be. Too many lizards today are run over by cars or eat some poison that humans have left around. These deaths are frustrating and can feel purposeless. But Lizard became part of the cycle of life, and that is perhaps the best end that any of us can hope for. A Heart Shaped Message
In September of 2019 my husband and I drove south from our home in New Jersey to the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia on the east coast of the United States. We arrived in the Shenandoah Valley early in the day. Truth be told, my home is bordered by beautiful woods; however, because now I was less distracted by life, I was able to notice the extraordinary manifestations of nature. On this day, after we checked into the Inn, we went for a hike and happened upon a tree that offered a special gift from Nature. How lucky I felt to notice it! It appeared that the tree had been somehow injured and the callous it created sealed its wound into the shape of a heart! If a tree is wounded, it forms callous tissue around the edges of the wound and creates a protective boundary preventing infection and decay from spreading into the new tissue. The tree isolates the older injured tissue with the gradual growth of new healthy tissue. I cannot say that at the time I recognized the spectacular connectivity between how trees “seal” their wounds and how humans also “seal” their wounds through scarring, both physically and emotionally. The difference being that trees don’t judge their scars, like we humans do. Instead, we spend so much time, money, and emotional energy trying to cover up our scars and erase them. I felt a deep connection with this tree. It took my breath away. The tree had created a glorious, shockingly apropos heart from its wound. Yet, when I revisited the photo as I wrote this essay I suddenly wondered if a human had carved that heart around the knot. The thought saddened me. Carving into bark damages trees. Yet, the insights I had gained from my first perception of a heart forming a scar around the tree’s wound stayed with me. A picture had already formed in my mind - of the tree representing nature, and a person, representing humankind, together creating a symbol of love from a scar that has helped to heal a wound. This message now held a clarity that I had never been quite so aware of. Scars, all scars, are worthy of our tender and attentive love. Not something to be erased. Our scars and nature’s scars can be recognized as avenues to loving ourselves and opening more deeply to possibilities of healing - ourselves, nature, the earth, and our human world. From my heart to yours, Lis Traphagen OMEC/Board of Directors Sandra – From Chapter 9 Pine and Juniper Trees “…There is a very long tradition of a shaman finding a juniper tree that is willing to be a Prayer Tree for the people. And then days and days of ceremonies are performed to create a link between humans, the tree, and the divine. Multicolored ribbons are placed very loosely on the branches in order to not harm the tree. These ribbons hold the deep emotion from the people in the community who have prayers for themselves, each other, and for the planet. Outside my bedroom, I have a Prayer Tree that I worked with in ceremony to agree to accept prayers from me and those on whose behalf I put ribbons. This juniper tree is so ancient. I did not pick a young juniper tree with branches that look new and healthy. I picked a tree that has weathered so many storms and has initiation stories like me. We are very bonded, and I love placing prayers on the branches…” Llyn – From Chapter 10 White Birch Tree “…The unique papery bark of birch trees easily peels and can fall off in long strips. I have two large sleeves of white birch bark that the land gifted me in my home state of New Hampshire many years back. These are treasured possessions, as they connect me with trees I have loved since I was a child. My childhood memories are filled with white birch trees. The white birch that grows from the charnel grounds of a destroyed forest teaches us to gather from the ashes of our lives what will revive as well as help us grow. Just as papery birch bark can be written on, we can tap restorative wisdom by writing about or sharing experiences that have really weathered us. The power of story is ancient. Having our story witnessed by someone who cares is healing…” May the teachings in this book help you walk wakefully as you find your way back home. From my heart to yours. For the Earth. Llyn Cedar Roberts, MA OMEC Founder “..Sandra and Llyn are excellent guides who help us step into our true power and polish our souls, even when life seems too difficult to endure.” —Marci Shimoff, #1 NY Times bestselling author, Happy for No Reason and Chicken Soup for the Woman's Soul |
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