Tag: nature
Reason to Stay

Reason to Stay

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A month ago I met my granddaughter. She was born during the plague and circumstances kept us physically apart for over 18 months. This was especially difficult because my daughter’s announcement of her pregnancy gave me a reason to be present in an increasingly chaotic world. A grandchild, like all children, needs every possible adult to be present and bring forth her or his gifts. This was reason to stay, not only stay but really engage with life in a deeper way.

I’ve wanted to write about our meeting, of connecting with my daughter, son-in-law and Max but a long string of events happened that kept me from sitting down with my thoughts…a new job, facial surgery, a flood that severely damaged nearby areas and trying to regain balance in everyday life with the plague roaring through our world again. Finally, two podcasts opened the door to the inner space and ideas that have been working within me so I could put words to the experience.

During those long months of not meeting her, I longed to whisper into her ear…I love you Max. It was on a ride to the local farmer’s market in Michigan that Max and I connected in that place where the mantle of elder hood was gently laid on my shoulders. We didn’t need to say anything. In the backseat we made eye contact and I signed…. I LOVE YOU. She was taught basic sign language and every time I signed…. I LOVE YOU….she did the sign for ‘more.’ In those precious moments, on the inner I asked her how she was….a bit confused, hard to not be able to communicate what I know…frustrating. Through my eyes I told her it was okay and she had awesome parents to help her…and I also reminded her to remember….remember…that place she had come from and to which she still accesses. 

It felt important to make that connection with this beautiful soul. My granddaughter. My daughter’s daughter. You are loved. You are loved. You are loved.

After documenting the Gulf Oil Spill for a year, I came out of that experience very bitter and emotionally shut down. A week spent with Joanna Macy in one of her workshops helped but I couldn’t accept pleasure into my life when so much horror happened and people so easily turned away once the well was capped. No matter how much I told the story, through words, videos and images, people had moved on to the next thing. Forgetting the lesson citizens of the planet could have learned had they chosen. So I began focusing my work on beauty. Perhaps that would capture the attention and lead people to care more.

Back when Em told me she was expecting a baby, I had lost interest in trying any more. I was disgusted with humanity and felt it didn’t matter what I did, it wasn’t making enough of a difference to make a dent in the ecological horrors happening. But there was a child coming into the world that needed me to re-engage with my passion for Nature. To step back into That which called me here when I was born. I couldn’t abandon her to the raging insanity of the world. I had to give my all…for her.

It’s hard to care, isn’t it? We see such suffering, such indifference, such insanity and wonder how it could have gotten this bad. It takes effort to remain engaged with what’s happening and stay open to beauty as the two seem to be opposites. But maybe we’re supposed to learn how to find beauty in a broken world…The tender touch of a nurse to a patient dying alone because of Covid. The person picking up trash along the road. The animal rescuer feeding a tiny, abandoned kitten. Perhaps our growing edge as a society is to see beauty within the ugly, to find points of light in the darkness. 

My granddaughter reminded me, even before she was born, that the gifts I have are needed, that my light is needed. Maxine calls me to be my best self, to forgive my mistakes, and to fully engage in the work that calls me.

The day after I learned my daughter was expecting, I saw an otter with two babies on my morning bike ride. I stopped on the boardwalk and listened as she called them and they answered. Otter. That was what I called her until she was birthed and given her human name. Otter, in traditional wisdom, is Woman’s medicine and represents playfulness, laughter, creativity. Maxine’s birth reminds me to embrace this Medicine. She, like all children, are our greatest teachers.
Wild Turkey on the Bridge

Wild Turkey on the Bridge

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It felt good to gather the gear and head to the creek. But today, I felt a call to a different section of water. Before I even stepped one foot into the water, a beautiful and huge wild turkey hen lit on the old bridge railing and peered downstream. I love it when magic happens from the start.

After she flew off over the water and disappeared into the trees, I walked down to the place where the Oconoluftee and Bradley Fork merge. Heavy cloud cover made the air beautiful, like only the Smoky Mountain air feels and smells. Rocks thickly carpeted with green moss, a light mist and overhanging tree limbs made wading especially pleasant. The fly rod was a prop today–an excuse to wade in the water with the trout and crayfish. I had a few good strikes but today was really about being with the creek and her creatures and learning from them.

I waded upstream to the trail gate with just a few bank walks. There’s just something mystical about quietly walking in a mountain stream. Sure, I look for likely trout hangouts; however, mostly it’s about getting quiet.

At one point, far up the fork, I was walking and somehow caught my fly (which was secured to the rod…ummm, not) with my foot. It came off the line and I knelt down and spent over 15 minutes looking for the tiny nymph fly—not one designed to float but one to sink and look like insect larvae going with the flow of the creek. I looked at my boot but it wasn’t there. I kept feeling it was on me but didn’t see it and so gazed into the very shallow water for a long time. Suddenly, I saw movement and as I kept my focus on the tiny pool, a baby trout—not even an inch long—swam among the small pebbles. He or she didn’t seem to mind my fingers feeling for the fly. It was so sweet to connect with this infant who had yet to become pouty and moody like the wild trout I have met thus far.

Like the one who jumped and flipped a tail at me as I cast a bit further upstream. Really…make fun of me? Just because I stepped on a fly and lost it? I laughed as I moved upstream, glancing up to see people with umbrellas walking in the campground. I had no idea it was raining. I was too into the baby and the fly that got away and the smarty trout that was trying to show me where to cast.

A few hours passed and I was getting hungry and a bit tired. Walking in rushing water over slippery rocks isn’t the same as walking on dry anything. Plus, as soon as I put my waders on I had to pee…never fails. It seemed a good time to end my morning in the cathedral of Nature when I reached the gate at the end of the campground. But that one sweet spot called so I went a bit further into that one magical place where I caught the big trout a couple weeks ago. Thought I’d visit her again…yeah, well, she didn’t care a bit that I was there. But it was still nice to visit and recall how she scared me when she hit the nymph fly. 

I walked back through the campground smelling wood fires, coffee, bacon…that never gets old just as moving through the pristine waters of the national park. 

I got back to the car and started removing gear. I checked my boots to make sure the fly wasn’t embedded in them. Nope. Oh, well. But after taking off the waders I checked that left leg and shazam! There was the little fly. It caught me well and survived wading through rushing water and kneeling down to play with the baby trout and a bit of bushwacking. I laughed out loud and probably caused a few campers to gaze up from their rainy-day reading.

Every time I fly fish I understand more about why I’m doing it…today it was about connecting with a baby trout, listening to bird song, gazing at mountain laurel gracefully arching over the creek, feeling soft, green, mossy rocks and finding the wild turkey on the bridge.
Trusting the Wind

Trusting the Wind

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Last night a song I heard 35 years ago played in the Apple Chill Mix round. It was one of those new age songs that became popular in the 80’s. I haven’t heard it in…well, probably 35 years. It was a foundational song in the leap on to a conscious and intentional spiritual path of healing. As I was listening it felt like a rip occurred within me.

It was like the fabric of who I am was once again ripped open, just like it was those many years ago, and I had all of this unhealed pain surface. Negative opinions about myself formed the basis of the flood of darkness that poured out of me. I reflected on those 35 years and where I thought I’d ‘be’ now. It really wasn’t such a lovely experience.

Where is my work making a difference? How is it supporting me financially? I want to bring beauty and joy and healing to this life experience and help others do that…how can I know if this is even happening?

Rather than go down that rabbit hole too deeply I went into meditation and it took a lot of focus to be able to calm my mind and let go of the negative messages bubbling up within me. An experience happened in the meditation where every animal and person that I have touched in a positive way showed up and ‘told me’ they were there to speak for me. It was quite overwhelming to see the many wild animals, dogs, cats, and people who showed up. I wept. Deeply.

I’ve tried to work a regular job and either I’ve not found the right one or my artistic, spiritual, creative side rebels and refuses to stay in a box. Everything within me goes into stress mode in a job where I’m not using my talents. When I was a state park naturalist it was amazing because I got to use my creativity and had a supervisor that trusted my environmental education expertise. But that was a long time ago.

Then there was the master’s in counseling and various jobs that followed and I have to be honest, I didn’t like that work…people rarely wanted to do the hard work of self-change and expected a magic wand along with their session time. Then I loved being a massage therapist and energy work practitioner…a lot! And I enjoyed teaching massage therapy and Reiki and Polarity Therapy. I felt like I was helping people feel better. And I still might do some energy work for folks once we can safely gather in close quarters.

But the most amazing work I’ve ever done happened from a promise I made to Great Spirit many, many years ago. I said if I ever had the financial means, I would dedicate myself and my life to helping the Earth heal. And 15 years ago I sold property I inherited and kept that promise. I documented the Gulf Oil Spill for a year, produced books and shared passionately about the relationship I have with Nature. I have shared with school children and church and civic groups about my journeys with humpback whales, dolphins, manatees and places like stone circles of England and the amazing western coast of Ireland. Nothing has brought me greater joy. But it hasn’t brought a sustainable income. And the world says I must be a failure if I cannot support myself through my work.

So last night I really felt the questions arise…What have the last 35 years meant? Have I made a difference?

It feels as if I’ve been on a 35 year long journey of clearing out the ineffective parts of my personality, honing the good parts, letting go of so much…shedding who I thought I was over and over again…allowing my life to unravel and unravel and unravel to a point of emptiness. And maybe that’s exactly what needed to happen. If we are empty then we can be filled.

Many, many years ago I stood on a beach and asked why I was doing the hard work of personal healing and the answer came through the purples and oranges of the sunset: The clearer and more open you are, the more able you are to take in beauty. So I continued on the way. And it’s true.

More than anything I want people to know that it’s worth the pain and struggle and effort when we can become clearer within our hearts and minds and thus more able to connect to the amazing Oneness found all around us. With beauty, with Nature.

Those moments where I have gone deeper with Nature…with humpback whales or dolphins, with the stars and moon, the ocean, the mountains…the experience of bliss and nearly unbelievable joy has made all of the hard work worth it. So I’ve written books and taken photographs and created videos and music in an effort to somehow translate this bliss and joy and remind other humans that it is possible.

I don’t know if my work reaches many people but I hope it reaches the ones that need it, long for hope and something to work toward in their healing journeys. A dear friend reminded me today that we never know how many folks we impact so I cast these pearls of experiences to the wind and allow that sacred breath to carry them wherever they are needed.
On Being a Bridge

On Being a Bridge

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Recently I wrote about the Doorway to Oneness and how I found myself connecting deeper with Nature through playing native flutes outdoors. I concluded the ingredients for me are natural beauty, intentional breathing, willingness to open and surrender to the place, laying down of my defenses and opening of my heart and mind. One of the necessities, I thought, was being isolated from people I don’t know…but that was challenged at a beautiful waterfall.

I seek out quiet places in Nature, away from boisterous crowds and especially tourists. Anyone that follows my social media posts knows I have been lamenting disrespectful tourists that descend on these ancient mountains. The theory that I need to be away from people I don’t know in order to surrender and drop into Oneness was disproven by an unusual experience.

I stopped by my favorite store in Cherokee, Medicine Man Crafts, to pick up some elderberry tincture and talk with the owner about native flutes. One of my intentions is to co-create music with Nature through native style flutes and I wanted a flute created by a tribal member, to offer a stronger link between the land, flute and ultimately the music offered as a gift to the Spirit of Place. The flute I was drawn to was made by Daniel Bigay. He’s a member of the Echota Cherokee tribe of Alabama. (I recently wrote a piece called Echoes, about playing flutes in the Smoky Mountains…Echota tribe–Echoes….this is getting officially weird).

After leaving the shop I drove to a local waterfall on Cherokee tribal lands and took the flute with me up the snowy trail. I wanted to dedicate it at the waterfall to help heal the planet’s waters, a sort of life mission for it.

As soon as I arrived on the bridge at the base of the falls and began playing, I felt someone coming up the path and stopped playing. I walked to the far side of the bridge to provide social distancing. He said, “Please keep playing.”

Even though I was a bit shy, I did. Playing a wooden flute in temperatures hovering just above freezing is good to begin with but warm breath moving through it soon causes sound issues as it condenses on the chilly wood. And my fingers were so cold I could barely continue. 

His ten or eleven year old daughter arrived and walked over to listen. It didn’t sound tremendously awesome because of the condensation, but I kept on for a while. 

Finally, I stopped playing and said hi to the girl then put my mittens over my fingers to warm them. Meanwhile the wife and a troop of very loud, rowdy teenage boys arrived and I gave up playing on the bridge. I walked to the far side of the area and played again, once my fingers had thawed, standing on large rocks, gazing into the creek, sending along wishes for clean water and peace.

Then I decided to walk down the trail, through the large group–my mask in place and some of them wore masks. But instead of walking down the trail as planned, I felt drawn to stop under a rock outcropping near the bridge. I began to play again. This is very unlike me. I want to be away from people. As the family walked back down the trail past me, the dad told them to be quiet and listen. The energy shift was dramatic. They quieted down, quit roughhousing and dropped into a completely different energetic space. I could feel their respect.

The sweet notes floated over the trail, echoed off the walls of the cliff and found a way into the hearts and minds of this rowdy group. I was shocked.

Rather than try to isolate myself when I play, I can open to Oneness amid rowdy humans and hold the intention of calm and love and that can actually change those around me in a positive way.

I’ve been playing as a way to build a bridge between Nature and myself, to open to Oneness. Now I feel called to play to connect Nature and me and other humans. This new flute is bringing powerful Medicine to my life already and it obviously wants to bring this same Medicine to other humans. 

This little A minor flute is a bridge and fits perfectly with my life intention. I went through a spiritual dedication ceremony many years ago and my spiritual intention for life was, and still is, to be a bridge between Nature and humans. It seems an important new ‘friend’ has come to support this mission.

I assigned this little flute a life mission of helping to heal Earth’s waters. It clearly shared its mission with me–to build a soul connection between humans and the natural world… with anyone who listens. May it be so.