Antlers
As I was walking down the mountain this morning I thought about the little herd of white-tailed does that live here. It’s always a joy to see them. Once I was standing under a tree watching a hooded warbler sing and heard a sharp and powerful snort and foot stamp. I turned in time to see a big doe bound off through the woods.
As I continued walking this morning my mind wandered to the bucks and their antlers and then to the elk that live nearby and their gigantic antlers. White-tailed bucks begin growing theirs in late March and continue to grow them until August. They have the fastest growing bone, some growing 200 inches in 120 days. And then…they fall off in January or February.
As I thought about that process, I felt a sort of kinship with those guys. Growing, growing, growing…then bam. Gone! Then start over…growing, growing, growing. It seemed all too familiar for the cycles of life humans grow through. Not so much the physical but the emotional and spiritual cycles. Relationships…double ugh. Talk about cycles.
It was a bit depressing thinking of the continuing, spiraling cycles of growth. Seriously. What’s the point if we keep repeating the same lessons and re-visiting the same old stuff? The same questions revolving in and out of our minds…blah, blah, blah.
I was walking along a gravel road where I live, surrounded by green…trees, wildflowers…and mountains. And as I paused to be present with all the bountiful beauty, I heard clear as a bell, The cycles in Nature are the point. Being present with the cycles is the entire point of it all. Not going anywhere in particular in life but being present with whatever is happening.
So…there’s no destination. Nowhere to be. Nothing to escape from or go to. Every morning awaken, arise, live, rest. Really?, I asked.
How are you present with yourself in every moment? With the regular, day-to-day existence. Without the need to escape or numb out or run…this is where you find the point of power and mastery.
Antlers…who knew they held such wisdom.
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writing and photographs copyright Simone Lipscomb
There are over 500 hiking trails within an hour of where I live…or so I’ve read. At first, the stay at home order challenged me as I was walking or mountain biking nearly every day at Deep Creek, part of the Great Smoky Mountains National Park. It was a very short drive and the waterfalls, creek, forest…a wonderland of beauty. I missed that.
But then, as I walked the quiet little mountain where I reside, I began to make friends with it and the wildlife and trees here. I know where the hooded warblers hang out. The northern parula has one little area he inhabits and loudly proclaims his territory. The wood thrush lives near me.
And now, since I’ve started flying the drone most every day, I have come to know the mountains and valleys here, in this little dot on the planet. There are two places I fly. One near my home in a meadow and the other is my driveway. The driveway is a straight-up and down flight. And sometimes I want to explore further yet every time I fly up, I see my friends. The mountain ridge across the valley…national park, Clingman’s Dome…those big friends. But the smaller ones here are showing me their secrets.
The park is open again but I haven’t visited. I don’t want to miss a morning walk here…are the hooded warblers still in their respective places? Is the northern parula still here? Oh, look! There are now three fire pink flowers shyly peeking out from the lush green foilage and only two days ago there was one. These are my friends. The mountains and valleys are my pals. There is a deepening sense of Oneness within my heart as I really open myself to this green dot on this blue planet.
I’ll return to ride and walk in the national park. But first, let me deepen my acquaintance with life here in the place I live.
It had been a rainy, cool day. Gray skies. Rain. Rain. Rain. The blueberry bushes in the garden must have grown three inches in one day. Each time I looked out the window, more green. It was the kind of day that lures me into an easy nap. Drop, drop, drop on the metal roof. Low light. A bit chilly so perfect sinking-into-the-puffy-recliner-reading weather.
I paused the video, ran upstairs and grabbed my case with drone, controller, licenses, permits, batteries and all the stuff necessary for safe flying. Just a quick up and down in the driveway would at least give me a bit of airtime.
And then…as the drone hovered directly overhead (I live at 2100 feet elevation) the sky began to do something amazing. It appeared that a spiral of clouds was coming out of the sun. And then wispy, thin fog tendrils began to creep over the mountain below the clouds. It takes hardly any time for fog to creep over mountain tops and more than once I have witnessed fog climb that particular nearby mountain and create a sea of white below the peak.
The light just before sunset, just before sunrise is always the sweetest. But that day it was the spiraling clouds, the creeping fog and the gray light that had me standing in my pajamas and fluffy slippers with my mouth hanging open and the words…oh…my…GOD! coming from a deep place of inner awe.
Flying a drone gives a new perspective, a new way to learn about the place in which I live. It helps me rise above everyday attitude as I gain altitude. I love it when Nature gifts me with a phenomena that renders me nearly speechless or a place that cannot be described in words.
It’s been ten years today.
After documenting the oil spill for a year on the Alabama Gulf Coast, I thought it would be the wake-up event that would shake the world. I was wrong. Completely wrong. As soon as the well was capped…which wasn’t soon–85 days, 16 hours and 25 minutes–that mile-deep gusher polluted the Gulf of Mexico.
Chemical dispersants were used that made the spill MUCH worse than letting the oil float to the surface for removal. I watched tide pools of fizzing oily water along the beach and witnessed the destruction first-hand.
My heart broke open. I felt grief beyond anything I had known. I felt anger. I felt shame at being human and part of the problem. And now, ten years later, I feel rather hopeless because there wasn’t an awakening…for some of us, sure. But overall…now regulations are fewer and more lax thanks to the current USA administration…worse than before the spill.
We have an even greater opportunity to awaken on a worldwide level with a tiny virus making a huge impact. My greatest fear is we will not take advantage of this opportunity to make major changes that will improve the health of all life on planet Earth…and that would be the saddest of all outcomes. With such a high death toll my prayer is that it will fuel a world-wide awakening to positive change so these deaths will not have been in vain.
I wasn’t going to write about the oil spill disaster today but how could I not? It was an awakening for me and I will never be the same. Which is a good thing because I won’t go back to sleep…ever.
P.S. I don’t know why I tasted oil in the air that night in Curacao but I suspect on some level I sensed what happened. We are One, connected to all life. Perhaps my cetacean self got the message loud and clear.
We’re in a time now where the system is damaged. We’ve known it hasn’t been working for quite a while. So during this time of pause we have the opportunity to choose what we will input once things are up and running again. And so the question comes, What kind of world do we want?
Do we want more time at home with family? Do we want to do more things that enrich our life? Do we want to feel more compassion, more connection, more Oneness? Everything is up for renewal, rebooting.
So in this time of pause, the gift we are given is the choice to make changes that will steer us into a new direction. It’s easier to go back to what we’ve known but will we have the courage to make life-enhancing choices? Every one of us is being given the opportunity to choose…What kind of world do you want?
