Nature Photography Archives

Light Along the Path

By Simone Lipscomb | June 18, 2013

Trying to define what I do for a new business card has been challenging. In my spiritual path I am constantly going deeper to discover more about myself and the path of service I have chosen…the path that has called me. But it doesn’t mean I know what the heck I’m doing. Not really.

Funny as it may sound it feels as if the past several years have been a game of Blindman’s Bluff. I ask for guidance, listen, clear out inner debris, listen more, have flashes of inspiration, get a little glimpse but continue walking with just glimmers of lights illuminating the way.

Determined to not only listen but to hear clearly, the steps taken are small. Sometimes its as if I’m treading water in a darkened ocean with starlight the only source of illumination. Support is there and I can float if I need to rest but there are times when I really want answers. Direction!

In my quest to find a name for my work I stumbled upon a website that made me light up with excitement and I found myself crying, “YES, YES, YES!” I shared links on Facebook and Twitter and emailed myself a copy of an article written by the author of a book and website. Finally I linked to the book because I knew it would be an awesome tool for the work in which I find myself immersed.

Spiritual Ecology….OH! The book I ordered before it was printed which just arrived last week! The book sitting on my bedside chest. When I discovered that this book was already in my home, awaiting my attention I laughed and knew that something big is clicking into place within me and others on the planet.

There has been a lot of hopelessness of late with endless lists of sins against the planet and even against those who protect it.But this treasure discovered today gives me hope. The light along my path just got brighter. I cherish these moments and for the reminder that support is present, the path is unfolding and all is not lost on our beautiful water planet.

NEEDED!!: More Time In Nature

By Simone Lipscomb | June 17, 2013

Last week began the transfer of my blog to self-hosting and my website to my blog so a marriage could take place between the two. It was time to merge my writing and Turtle Island Adventures and make one website that united it all.

Once the blog was transferred to my hosting company’s servers, I rebuilt the blog website and added in pages from my Turtle Island Adventures site. Over eight hours of merging information, updating, revising, changing the theme. It was a very mental day with my brain working overtime in an area that it really isn’t fond of lingering.

Then came the end of the day and I called my hosting company to ask about backing up my site. The nice guy said, sure but let’s look at your hosting. And then came a barrage of glitches with their hosting. He was trying to fix an issue another guy there had created and he couldn’t resolve it. We spent over…way over…an hour trying to resolve this so I could save money. We never got it worked out so I was left paying twice as much for hosting as I should be because of a mistake another guy at this particular hosting company made that couldn’t be resolved.

But never mind all that….the constant left-brain activity and 90 minutes on the phone dealing with files, codes, IP addresses…I felt fried. I had missed a photo shoot I wanted to do and felt like I needed to stick my head in a bucket of ice water. I was supposed to awaken at 4.30am, do my sea turtle nest patrol, clean up and drive to Atlanta for a gathering and an over-night visit with a friend. After a week out of the country and a four day trip to Michigan over the past two weeks I felt as if I was imploding.So I cleared everything off my weekend schedule except the sea turtle nest patrol and watched an old movie while eating popcorn.

The eastern glow of the rising sun was just warming the night sky as I stepped barefoot onto the beach. As soon as I took my flip-flops off and felt the sand my entire body breathed a sigh of relief. It was in that moment that I realized I had Nature Deficit. The walk was a blissful reminder that I simply cannot be healthy and balanced without a daily connection to nature.

This morning found me sitting in my hammock chair on my back porch watching dawn arrive. My two cat companions were intently listening to songbirds and I was watching clouds move above the massive branches of the live oak tree that lives in the courtyard.

Then another morning of polishing the new web/blog site but I’m grooving. Patience for tedious adjustments has been with me and I remember to glance out the large window and observe the oak trees, sky and squirrels scurrying around brown branches.

It’s my guess that we can all use more time in nature….and less time in front of computer screens.

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.

Still Room for Hope

By Simone Lipscomb | June 5, 2013

The morning began by a walk to the water before sunrise while the silver light of the waning moon still illuminated the sea. When the blue was still kissed with silver I stood, toes in sand, sinking into the soft substrate while warm, clear salt water kissed my feet.

In the quiet, when the birds were still considering their opportune moment to call up the sun, I breathed in the day.

As dead pieces of coral tumbled and tinkled in the rolling water, small bits of colored sea glass glittered amid the neutral tones of sand and coral rock. I began collecting them, gathering them into my empty tea cup.

I bent over in my sea glass meditation, in a sort of salutation to the morning, and in a moment of clarity gained understanding. I realized how broken litter–human garbage–was transformed into objects of beauty by the constant motion of waves working the sharp edges and shiny surfaces into something new and beautiful.

Many sins humans commit against our planet can still be righted. There is still time for us to collectively turn the tide and create something wonderful and healing. We can stop the assaults, poor decisions and mistreatment we have leveled upon the Earth and all of Her creatures, the land, water and air.

I smiled at the thought of a global awakening and realized the same metaphor applied to my life…to every individual’s life. The constant movement through changes and obstacles keeps refining us, inviting us to allow a deepening of awareness and an unfolding and strengthening of our talents and skills.

Each of us has the ability to become more beautiful, more effective in our walk on the planet. We can choose to remain broken or we can allow the process of transformation to change us into brighter expressions of our highest selves. There is indeed still room for hope.