Washington Slagbaii National Park Archives -

Elemental Magic

By Simone Lipscomb | June 6, 2014

Being underwater is like home to me but being in the desert in Washington Slagbaai National Park is where I feel elemental energies of the planet the strongest.

The dirt roads of the park are filled with rocks, ruts, cactus bits, lizards and dust. The three hour drive through the park takes much patience to navigate the terrain. But to me the heat, dust and bumps that can make it uncomfortable only add to the uniqueness of this special place.

The island is shaped like the number ‘7’ and when visiting the north end of the island you begin in desert, connect with the Ocean on the east side of the island, north side and finally the west side while navigating through cactus and other desert vegetation. I could go on about the geology and natural history of it, but the reason I return every year is the way it affects me, the way it makes me feel, the strong sense of primal Earth energies that are still potent here.

My inner wildness feels drawn out as the sun’s heat draws moisture from my body. As my sweat mixes with salt spray blowing from the Ocean and across knife-sharp iron rock, my spirit is released to dance in strong winds–strong winds, strong spirit. There is no room for weakness here. Strength calls forth strength.

Shade only exists beneath thorny trees and near rock outcroppings made of ancient, fossilized coral so life is harsh, intense. Few humans exist here and efforts to establish dwellings have mostly failed. There are some places that should be left wild and untouched for the spirits of nature to roam and play and be untouched by humanity.

I too want to maintain wildness within me, never to be domesticated or tamed. Anyone who tries to tame my wild spirit soon understands the futility of the effort. I cherish it and love it and nurture it by connecting with places that sing to it through the dance of elemental magic.

Elders Enduring

By Simone Lipscomb | June 13, 2013

My last full day in Bonaire I rented a truck and drove through the north part of the island. As I was making my way toward Rincon, and then Washington Slagbaii National Park, I eased through Gotomeer. The narrow, one-lane road hugged the shore of a lake where flamingos waded along with other shore birds. It was beautiful with cactus lining the rocky landscape.

As I drove past a tiny island, I noticed the fence and shelter had been improved from last year. In fact, each year it seems to get more fortified and improved.

After passing it, I came upon an elder. His dark skin glistened in the heat and he motioned for me to stop. Yes, I was alone with few other humans around and yes, I had a backpack full of expensive Nikon photography equipment, part of which was laying on the seat beside me. But locals get rides from anyone who is willing to stop and give them a lift. I didn’t feel any fear as the man wasn’t carrying anything and was most likely in his 80’s. As a visitor to Bonaire, I have given rides to locals before and they are always very appreciative.

Before getting into the backseat of the four-door truck he asked if I was Dutch. “No,” I replied. “Do you speak Dutch?” he asked. “No, sir. I don’t speak Dutch.” “So…you don’t speak any Dutch?” he asked again. “No,” I answered.

He climbed in the backseat opposite me and shook my hand. His firm grasp was friendly and I knew it was right to stop and give him a lift into the small town, not far ahead.

He asked if I was American. I responded with a ‘yes.’ He told me he liked Americans and they always treated him well. Without any prompting he started telling his life story…or a bit of it.

Born on the island many years ago, he was subjected to forced Dutch schooling where the native children were not allowed to speak their own language and had to learn Dutch. He told me how difficult it was but it wasn’t so much the words he spoke as the way he spoke them that disclosed his lingering wound. I could feel his pain and struggle and sensed that he still carried distrust of the Dutch settlers who forced their rules onto local, native residents.

I knew of the Cherokee and other native tribes experiencing this sort of abuse in the United States but I had never met anyone who experienced it. Recently I watched a film called, Rabbit Proof Fence, about two Aboriginal girls who escaped from such a school in Australia. It was profoundly moving and gave me a better understanding of this kind of prejudice.

We soon arrived in Rincon. In holding John’s (not his real name) hand–as he thanked me and wished me a good day–I said a silent prayer and blessing for him and all native people who endured such prejudice and abuse. I also asked forgiveness for humanity’s capacity for cruelty.

We need to hear their stories and they need to see that we are listening, paying attention and understanding the mistakes that were made and most likely continue to be made somewhere on the planet.

The Wild, Wild Heart

By Simone Lipscomb | June 5, 2013

I rented a truck in Bonaire and drove up by myself into the national park. It was the first time in a very long while I had been there. Hot desert, cactus, rocks, dust ringed by turquoise and indigo ocean with large waves crashing against the shore–these are elemental energies at their strongest.

Structures built by humans are very few. What was built now stands in ruins, reclaimed by the sky and salt. Destined to always be reduced to the basic elements from which they arose.

The wild energy of the place invoked my inner wildness with prayers whispered in winds whipping through my hair. It bestowed a blessing with the warm fingers of solar energy touching my skin. Jagged rocks cut through any pretense, any boundaries erected to survive the insanity of humanity and I was cut open, my heart beat once more in instinctual rhythm, that cadence that is slow and grounded yet dancing with power and passion.

As I stood on a craggy cliff over looking the ocean I cried out to the sky, “Our world needs more instinctual energy, more awareness of elemental energy! We have forgotten the dance!” The cactus stood as guardians listening at attention, their reply the high-pitched whistle of wind through their needled arms. The wild parrots darting in and out of cactus answered me with their songs and calls. But the iguanas…they simply stared and waited…….the long silent stare that makes me a bit uncomfortable in my skin. It was as if they were asking, what are you going to do about this knowing that you know? Hmmmm?

The disconnect we collectively have from nature is destroying the planet. It is destroying us. If we dare to feel the beat of our wild, wild hearts we will never think it is okay to abuse the planet or any of its creatures….ever again. To heal the disconnect doesn’t require fighting and arguing, it simply requires each of us to reconnect with the part of us that belongs to the Earth. Then, from that bodily connection–that visceral connection–we will know what to do. The Earth will speak through us. She will rise up within us and heal Herself through us.