Imagine The Shift: "Going to Water" - On the 20th Anniversary of World Water Day

Friday, March 22, 2013

[Thank you to friend and sister Earth-lover, Dawn Kirk,
for permission to share her blog here at Earth Pilgrim.
You'll find a link to her blog at the end.]

(Going to the Water in Cherokee)

A recent summer while in the Smoky Mountains and Cherokee, NC, I learned of the Cherokee ritual of "going to water." 

Early each morning the Cherokee would wade out waist deep into the river where they would throw water over their head and ask that any thoughts or feelings that hindered them from being closer to God be taken away.  (Note: Their God was not a caucasian, white-haired elder fellow casting people into hell from his heavenly throne. Nor was "He" to my knowledge used legislatively to administer or sway political POV's and policies.)  They would also ask that thoughts or feelings hindering them from being closer to all their brothers and sisters on earth, and the animals of earth be also taken. (from Living Stories of the Cherokee by Freeman Owle.)

What does your 'going to water' involve?

Mine revolves around showering, flushing, brushing (my teeeth), perking and washing but not cleansing or forgiving in the Cherokee way.  Are your associations similar?  These aspects of going to the water have more to do with one's exterior than interior, don't they?

There are times when instead of going to the water the water comes to us as happened to Nashville and many TN communities during the flood of 2010.  This was followed by the tsunami in Japan, flooding in New England, along the Mississippi then Russia where 100 were killed in a flood and more recently in the Northeast with  Hurricane Sandy. 

Then there are times when the water doesn't come at all as has been evidenced more recently through drought resulting in loss of crops and livestock.  Even wildlife suffers in ways I was not aware.  Last summer while taking a baby raccoon to Walden's Puddle, the local wildlife rehab sanctuary, a woman arrived with a frail fawn in her arms.  She had found this lifeless animal immobile in the middle of the road.  The technician said this was an increasing problem with the drought. She quickly determined it was dehydrated and took it away to administer an IV. 

Ironically there is a relational beauty resulting from flooding and drought that allows for a cleansing of sorts.  People typically separated by differences reach out to help one another.  Those who value animals are keenly tuned in to the needs of wildlife and pets in flood and drought conditions.  These events in nature prompt a sudden removal of the things that hinder us from being closer to our human brothers and sisters. 

My other association with " going to the water" entails a spring in the country where I've previously filled containers for drinking water.  The last time I was there I found the owner of the property just above the spring had cut most of the trees above where the road plateaus to land that looks out for miles. 

My distress was so great I avoided going to the personal waters of my heart that were stirred by the scene of dozens of trees whose lives are now evidenced by stumps. 

I spring water to mix with sacred water from England's Glastonbury Well, a gift from my sister-friend Carol in NY.  With the drought at the time, I was uncertain the spring would be flowing.  To my relief, a steady stream poured from the pipe.  To my dismay not only were the trees cut, but a bag of trash had been tossed down the incline by the small parking area.  The contents of the bag were scattered about likely by a raccoon or squirrel.  By the bench at the spring lay a plastic Hooter's to-go bag alongside two cigarette butts.

This prompted the appearance of trash from inside the fountain that's me.  Yes, my inner-personal trash was energetically thrown out onto whoever had thrown trash into the woods.  I truly didn't think people still did that kind of thing.  Then I energetically 'trashed' the Hooter's patron and all those who create businesses that objectify women regardless of how "good" the food tastes. (Did the designer of the Hooter's logo, an owl, know the owl is symbolic of the Divine Feminine?  There's a story.)

I found relief in imagining the Hooter's patron having dinner by the spring rather than in the restaurant.  As for the bag of trash in the woods, I envisioned it being thrown out by a teenager trying to avoid trouble because he or she had forgotten to take it to the nearby county garbage site as a parent possibly asked.  Maybe Earth became the receptacle so these individuals could avoid being the receptacle of scolding.

Ironically I left the Spring happy.  Being there washed my negative thoughts away - until we drove home a different way.  The Cumberland Plateau like much of Tennessee is blessed with springs.  On this particular day, the abundant water sources visible as we drove reminded me of hydraulic fracturing called fracking, the questionable process used by gas companies to extract natural gas from earth. Tennessee seems open game for those with fracking interests.  As recently as this past week, a controversial plan was approved for the University of TN to lease nearly 9,000 acres of university owned land in the Cumberland Forrest. The land leased to an energy company would be fracked in order to research the effects of fracking.   

These are the days in which CEO's, politicians and those with overt power are literally 'going to water' for great monetary profit thanks to greed, negligence and power.  Simultaneously they and their hired hands, lobbyists, go to the airwaves to stir dissension and increase the division between the common people. They emphasize they're creating jobs and increasing our energy self-sufficiency while denying the potential short and long-term effects associated with the chemical cocktail used in the fracking process.  These chemicals may create toxicity in our waters leading to increased disease not to mention the harm done to the ecological system. 

Most people today I suspect have forgotten or not heard of "Erin Brockovich" the movie based on a real life situation in which a  corporation is negligent in acknowledging their toxic and deadly impact on a town's drinking water until a tenacious, tough woman, the movie's namesake, begins to research the company and the community members health issues resulting in their winning a large settlement from Pacific Gas & Electric. 

I found myself wondering what the Cherokee would have to say about fracking.  The Navaho and Hopi have battled companies for years regarding the mining practices contaminating the underground aquifer from which they get their water.

What is the path to right relationship with those who litter the spring in the country and roadsides as well as those who sell Nature with seeming disregard for health and long-term welfare of the planet and people?  Does the wisest path lie in the Cherokee story?  

This path suggests I always start with clearing the fountain within, forgiving those I judge and asking that they forgive me my judgment.  It involves "going" to the personal waters of my heart and staying with the things that stir me rather than ignoring or avoiding these things.  This means allowing my personal waters to flow and be felt whether in sorrow or joy. 


The worst thing I can do is allow the fountain in me to become clogged or "trashed" with judgment, resistance, fear, rigidity, pessimism, grudges, despair, a sense of threat or hatred.  This distances me from the personal waters of Me and from my fellow man. 

What if the waters of our world are healed as we honor the waters of our hearts, the tears of joy as well as sorrow wanting to flow and be felt?

The implications of  'going to the water' are stunning. Can you imagine the difference made if each of us practiced "going to the water" every morning. Imagine the resulting shift in our nations capital, our state capitals and our communities?   Imagine the changes that would occur in broader energy company policy if we first consciously tended the energy company each of us personally holds? We are the CEO's in charge of how our mind, heart and will's personal energy is spent?

I was about to write, "There are no easy answers."  Yet something tells me if we each practiced 'going to the water" as the traditional Cherokee did the answers would come, the shifts would flow and our world would see great change. 

What better time than this, the 20th Anniversary of World Water Day, to begin 'going to the water' each morning as you shower or bathe, to ask that all that comes between you and God as well as life on Earth be cleansed and washed away. 

I commit. Do you?  
-Dawn, The Good News Muse, 22 March 2013 dawn@imaginetheshift.com

Rising and Dancing....Dancing...

~Courage~  Mano Mannaz

    Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes, author of Women Who Run with the Wolves, calls us, The Scar Clan. With the greatest of thanks and respect to her and all she's done for women, I'm borrowing her phrase to honor those who are bringing their stories to gatherings tomorrow all over the world on Valentine's Day 2013 to be a part of One Billion Rising. An equally out-sized thank you to Eve Ensler for the inspiration of this day, now in its 15th and biggest year. You who gave us The Vagina Monologues and whose stories, like those of Dr. Estes, bring healing and empowerment to women of The Scar Clan, those survivors of violence who seek to emerge from their wounds and scars and join together to dance, to dance, to Dance!!

    We....for I am one of the Clan, a date-rape survivor when there was no term for that experience....will gather and dance for ourselves and those everywhere around us who also survived. I think of Malala Yousafzai whose audacity to seek an education for herself and other Pakastani girls made her a target for men to hunt her down and shoot her as she sat in her school bus. I think of those women I know personally (how I wish I knew fewer) who suffered their own ordeals as children and adults and whose bravery and insistence on healing and whole-ing makes me both cheer and weep at the same time.

     We will dance to honor those who did not survive their ordeals at the hands of their attackers. For Jyoti Singh Pandey  whose horrific attack in India shocked us awake, and whose father said of her, "My daughter didn't do anything wrong, she died while protecting herself. I am proud of her. Revealing her name will give courage to other women who have survived these attacks. They will find strength from my daughter."

   And we will Dance to raise power to break open people's hearts and minds, spurring us to action to move toward solutions and toward ending this ages-old scourge. And toward the day which is approaching when honoring one another and caring for one another and recognizing our shared humanity, our One Heart, will be everywhere the norm, will be how people conduct their daily lives. In no way is this unachievable. It begins with each one's commitment to be this change, to join this Dance regardless of whether or not you find a group to join tomorrow. We are all pilgrims together in this Earthly journey, and there is absolutely no reason not to shimmy into every day's dawn and to join hands with those who seek ours whether for solace or for toe-tapping celebration.

It is time to Begin...

Three-Dog Nights : January, 2013

Well, December 2012 slipped past bringing with it the end of the world...year.  My intention of capping off Earth Pilgrim's year with a thoughtful post proved to be so much wishful thinking. Not likely many readers of this blog, regular or occasional, took note, but I do feel a bit of a slacker anyway! Following its launch two years ago this month in a post titled, "Pushing Off from Shore", I find myself  reasonably pleased with what I've offered in words and photos along the way.

The second post of that January, "Standing at the Cave Door", featured reflections on the rugged winter underway in the Northeast in 2011 with shoveling out the bird feeders a frequent chore. But of course we all managed and spring and summer followed as the Wheel of the Year slowly carried us along.

By February of last year I was lamenting winter's tardy arrival and hoping for late season snows to cheer those of us who sincerely enjoy Mother Nature's winter offerings. One of my goals was to be able to make at least one snow angel. Such was not to be, and apart from the possible plus of lower heating bills, a real price paid was one of the worst flea and tick seasons I can remember! Angus-cat fortunately put up with the three flea baths I subjected him to.

2012 brought us other weather-weirdness, the most dramatic being Hurricane Sandy's devastating visit to the East Coast. My community which had endured terrible flooding a year earlier from back-to-back tropical storms, braced for Sandy's impact and felt hugely relieved to suffer mostly wind damage this time. The reality of climate change and its sobering impact is at last becoming a widely discussed topic. And that it merited pointed comment in President Obama's inaugural address this week makes me especially Hope-full.

This year has seen a marvelous turnaround when snow arrived early in December bringing us a perfectly beautiful white Christmas, very Currier & Ives. Nearly everyone I met spoke with the same enthusiasm of how much they were enjoying the snow. Driving challenges aside (that's just part of living here, most would tell you!), there's been a surge of snowman-making and great hope on my part for soon-to-be snow angels. Last week's thaw melted much of December's snow pack followed by this week's deep freeze of zero-degree nights. This brought to mind the old-time phrase of how many dogs to invite onto the bed to help keep you cozy on frigid winter nights. Three sounds like a lot to me, but one black cat has been quite welcome here.

A light snowfall is predicted for tonight just in time for the weekend's Full Moon. There is nothing quite as beautiful as snow glistening in a winter woods on a moon-bright night.

More seasonal-commentary to follow no doubt. Happy Winter, everyone!
And Happy 2013!!

In praise of Earth-Lovers & Way-showers: Rachel and Amy

As an eighth-grader in 1963 I was working on a research paper about water pollution when a teacher placed a copy of Rachel Carson’s Silent Spring in my hands. I wasn’t yet aware of just how much controversy it had already created since its publication the year before. Her powerfully and eloquently written book was shocking the public into a fuller awareness of the environmental dangers of DDT and also calling into question the too-often unregulated use of pesticides in general. Opposition to her message was fierce, but she would not be silenced.  

I could not put her book down. Like me, she loved the natural world passionately, especially the ocean and all wild creatures. And while she might be disheartened at the destruction people could cause to nature, she was certain of our ability to wake up to what was happening and seek ways to begin to repair the damage. She helped her readers… us…to see the larger story of environmental degradation caused by humans, and also helped us to recognize our place and part to play within this larger story. There were things we could and should do. Reading Silent Spring awakened in me a life long passion to be a part of that effort.

Her legacy is immense. One part was first the regulation of DDT and ultimately its banning altogether (though it’s again in limited use in Africa's malaria-prone areas). Another was the birth of the environmental movement and the start of Earth Day in 1970. As a college sophomore, I was an enthusiastic organizer for our campus’s events that April day.

More was to follow with the founding of the Environmental Protection Agency. Even if its record has been uneven, it still represents Carson’s hope that “as mankind…we prove our maturity and mastery not of nature, but of ourselves.” This quote is from William Souder’s enjoyable 2012 biography of Carson, On a Farther Shore, written in honor of the 50^th anniversary of Silent Spring’s publication and of her wonderful life.

That the Bald Eagle has made such a dramatic comeback after near annihilation from the effects of DDT, that there never has been a Spring silent of bird song, is due in large part to Rachel Carson’s dogged persistence and refusal to be silent. And without a doubt her life has instilled in me the unshakable conviction that one person can make a difference no matter how immense or daunting the task.

As I was finishing Souder’s biography, news reached me of the passing of another gentle, passionate Earth-lover, my Mystery School friend, Amy Ober Flanders. And like Rachel Carson who died far too soon, such is true of Amy’s going. They both were just 56.

Amy embodied a complete en-joy-ment of and intimate relationship with Gaia - Mother Earth - and all Her beings, sentient and insentient. She took heed of the words of Jean Houston, our mutual mentor, to "be fierce with your own reality". Amy fully inhabited her life, offering all of us this brightly lighted example for our own onward journeys.

It is my belief that Amy and Rachel are both “on a farther shore” to borrow Souder’s title. Someday I imagine that we’ll be catching up with them and giving our reports. While I am still here, I pledge to remain an unabashed Earth-lover as they both were.

And I have my voice. And I am not at all shy about raising it in both praise-song of this beautiful Earth and to help raise whatever clamor might be necessary in its preservation.

Thank you, Rachel, and thank you, Amy, for the blessings of your days shared here with us in this wondrous Earth-home.

Autumn Earth-Dancing 2012 - Part 2

God's World

~ Edna St. Vincent Millay ~

O World, I cannot hold thee close enough!

Thy winds, thy wide grey skies!

Thy mists, that roll and rise!

Thy woods this autumn day, that ache and sag

And all but cry with colour! That gaunt crag

To crush! To lift the lean of that black bluff!

World, World, I cannot get thee close enough!

Long have I known a glory in it all,

But never knew I this:

Here such a passion is

As stretcheth me apart, -- Lord, I do fear

Thou'st made the world too beautiful this year;

My soul is all but out of me, -- let fall

No burning leaf; prithee let no bird call.



October New Moon

~ For showing me how

to embrace the World ecstatically,

always (always) thank you, Edna ~



Autumn Earth-Dancing 2012 - Part 1



View from my window today!

 So the Great Wheel of the Year has slowly spun its way into Autumn. As I write on this mid-October day, it is nearly a month along. Last weekend the first hard frost drew down the curtain on 2012's growing season. On Facebook that morning my friend, Lynne, posted, "It's a wrap!" The night before I bid goodbye to my faithful cherry-tomato plant with thanks for the handfulls of yummy wee tomatoes it produced. Reluctant to let all the flowers go just yet, I did bring in the two pots of white begonias and am glad to be still enjoying their frilly blooms for just a while longer.

Rising steeply above the Susquehanna River, Round Top Hill is once again a way-station for migrating birds. I feel its wooded summit sends out a beacon to these small travelers offering a safe place for them to drop down and rest. Right now dimunitive warblers are passing through delighting me with swift-winged appearances as they dart from branch to branch. Summer regulars are mostly gone but sweet memories remain.  We were doubly blessed this nesting season by two pairs of wood thrushes whose flute-songs drifted through early summer's leafy greenness. Just before Equinox, one came to the bird bath at dusk and I treasured this special last visit.

Autumn engages our senses on so many levels, refusing to be ignored. Each Fall I grumble for a time as the hours of daylight are relentlessly whittled down, especially rising early as I do and now needing to turn on a light to find my way downstairs. But then what fine compensation to open the door to let the cat out for his first prowl and be greeted by gleaming Venus and the still bright stars! And at dawn in Fall's first weeks with the River's waters cooling, gauzy mist-wraiths rise in swirling drifts above the current. It makes for a magical start to the day.

And such fine, such splendid Autumn colors this year...to my mind, especially befitting this Year of the Dragon. There was some concern that July's extreme heat and dryness might mute the leaves this Fall, but oh! what a glorious show these past few weeks. I've been stopped in my tracks more than once by my tree neighbors brilliant hues and by countless others along roads I've traveled. (For the latter, it should be noted that I do take care to not become a driving hazard!) The view from my window this very afternoon is reasonably well-captured in the first photo....summer's flame still flickering brightly in the glowing leaves. For a time, the two seasons join their energies together in a riotous, multi-hued  shimmy.  And this year's dance is more vibrant and breath-takingly beautiful than nearly any other I can remember.

Invariably, sometime during Autumn's golden days, words of the poet Edna St. Vincent Millay cross my mind when I come upon yet another gorgeous tree. This deserves a post of its own and so I invite you to Part 2 of Autumn Earth-Dancing 2012.  (and a reminder to click on photos to view full-sized)

Susquehanna Currents :: 2011...2012

This is a small story within a very large one of last September’s devastating flood that impacted not just my community here in New York’s Southern Tier, but far beyond. Though I have thought often of writing about it, it’s taken me literally a full year to find a way to say something meaningful in the face of such an overwhelming experience.

I moved to the outskirts of Binghamton to the village of Endicott in April, 2008. By last year, 2011, I was starting to feel quite settled in and a part of the area, especially of my neighborhood here near Round Top Hill with its beautiful small park overlooking the Susquehanna River. In the first week of September when it was clear we were in the direct path of Tropical Storm Lee, the area braced for the flood that would follow. There’d been a harrowing one in 2006, what people called a 100-year flood. Having survived and come back from that one, the Southern Tier felt ready to handle this one too.

The rains began to fall in earnest in the late afternoon of September 7^th. That night when I turned off the light to try to sleep, I could scarcely believe how heavily it was falling: an onslaught, a deluge, a sound unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Around 3 am I was awoken by sirens and flickering lights. I could hear amplified voices announcing the neighborhood was under a mandatory evacuation. Police were going door to door with information about the emergency shelters.

I hurriedly threw some things into a bag and overfilled my cat’s food dish while he looked on totally bewildered. I told him I’d be back but didn’t know when, and drove off into the heavy rain, just one of the 30,000 evacuees in Broome County that dark night, heading for shelter and high ground against the swiftly rising waters of the Susquehanna River.  Making my way out of the neighborhood I at least knew that our street, high above the river on Round Top Hill, would not flood. Neighbors down nearer the flood wall could not be assured of this.

Lee’s 8.98 inches of rain came just eight days after Hurricane Irene’s devastating visit to New England on August 29^th and proved well beyond the watershed’s carrying capacity. When the Susquehanna peaked below our hill that afternoon it was 38 feet above flood stage. By then, with power and water miraculously still on on my street, I came home.    

Over the next several days I witnessed extraordinary events, both Nature’s and of my human community. After Lee sailed off into Canada, the skies cleared to warm and sunny weather. The moon was just a few days from being full. With the power grid down nearly everywhere, once night arrived the suburban landscape was nearly completely dark, lit only by moon light. Many roads were closed including busy State Route 17 just across the river, its incessant traffic-hum stilled. That first night I stood at my upstairs window looking out on this eerily beautiful scene, the sound of the river’s powerful current swooshing and clattering high through the trees along its wooded banks. I will never forget this surreal landscape bathed in the moon’s glow.

Right from the first night, people reached out to help each other in gestures large and small. It is well beyond the scope of this blog post to tell much, but what I did witness on the second day I hope will capture some meaningful part of it, another small story in the mammoth one of the flood and its aftermath.

Only a few blocks away from me, despite the flood walls, water rose into the first floors of many homes. Many streets were impassable. The morning after the river crested, a Saturday, I walked down through the neighborhood, camera in hand, trying to capture some of the not-to-be-believed sights. I came to a corner and saw several people standing at the edge of the water mid-way down the sloping street. (click on any photo to see as a larger size)  

When I joined them they told me that a small dog had been left behind when the elderly owner had been evacuated. Her home was now unreachable and the neighbor who’d pledged to care for the dog was quite distraught. Then came the sound of an engine and a small boat came into view with two men from the sheriff’s department. They were going to each flooded house checking for anyone who might need help.

Our little group had grown to about a dozen people and we called out to them about the dog. Among us was a couple with whom the woman was staying. They’d driven over hoping to reach the dog and said how she was “worried sick” about her pet.

The men maneuvered their boat to the porch, lifted a pet carrier from the bottom of the boat, and went inside. We all waited anxiously, eyes on the door. In just a few short minutes they emerged beaming and gave us thumbs up, the dog secured in the crate. Everyone cheered and hugged each other as the boat made its way towards us. More cheers when one of the men was able to step out and carry the crate to dry land. 

 

 

By then many of us were in tears, especially so when the young man opened the crate’s door and scooped up the shivering little dog, hugging it against his chest.

More hugs for the dog’s rescuer and more hugs all around. We were no longer strangers, but uniquely connected in this sweet moment of shared humanity and community.

It has been a long year of slow recovery and rebuilding for all the communities affected by the September 2011 flood. There's more needed and more to come for many people.  2012’s unusually dry and hot summer has felt at times as a surreal opposite to the days of Hurricane Irene and Tropical Storm Lee. The deeper story of climate change is lurking in the background, I know without a doubt. But that is a story that must wait.

Just yesterday as I was working on this post, I went out to do some errands and drove past the Take-a-Break Diner which had been closed and under repair all this time. On Sunday, exactly one year after the flood, they opened their doors once more. As I passed by yesterday, four cars were parked in front. The “Open” sign winked at me. And I made plans to stop in soon and celebrate Take-a-Break’s return.

Susquehanna River below Round Top Hill, September 10, 2012