POWER OF THE SEA

 Shot taken off Seal Rock reacreation area on the Oregon Coast south of Newport. Shot was featured on the group Oregon Coast Photography. Didn't list the photographer. It almost looks lie a painting. Must be high tide. 

IT'S NOT FAIR PART 2

 

I'm finding my cranky genes again. Or digging them up. 

The second case of the grumps isn’t confined to Oregonians, it’s the pervasive complaint that “I succeeded on my own, with no help from anybody, so it’s not fair for me to ask me, tax me whatever to support anyone else.” Oh puhleeze, give me a freakin’ break.

 Let’s start with your parents, who probably should have their asses kicked for bringing such a whiny excuse for a human being into the world in the first place. Two people got together and brought you into the world, Creator/ress alone, knows why. I guess you were cute enough to keep. And their parents and their parents, back to the first piece protoplasm that managed to copy itself. And “thought” it was such a good idea, it did it again, and again, until the universe was not only graced with daisies and blue whales, it. was. stuck. with. us.

 

The universe must have really smiled on your parents. They must have been able to afford everything from soup to nuts to insurance from the get go. They were probably filled with hopes and dreams and lucky for you, it worked out. I’ve lost count of the letters to the editor on the theme of people shouldn’t have kids if they can’t afford them.

As I said, you’re young, you’re full of hope, things work out for a lot of years and then things go wrong. They did for my family. Dad was disabled in his mid fifties and mom had to go to work. With a lot of luck, help from friends and family and a lot of hard work we managed to make it. But, a lot of things didn’t work out like they’d planned when they first started our family. And it’s not like you can return a kid once it’s born and things get tough.

 Maybe there’s a good reason we haven’t received any visitor’s from among the stars. Any intelligent space faring race would have planted a swarm of warningbeacons around our system all broadcasting some variation on “enter at your own risk. The natives on that little blue ball are armed and dangerous. They're armed to the teeth. They shoot first and ask questions later. If you do plan on visiting, please leave the relevant information on the monitor beacon so we can notify your next of kin, pod brother, clone" however they handle things out there.

 So show a little humility for cryin’ out loud. You didn’t come into the world on your own, you probably won’t go out on your own and in between just about anything you’ve managed to “create” is standing on so many shoulders that if it was a pyramid it would probably reach the sun.

 

And before I go any further, let’s talk about certain taxes and tax breaks. It’s a constant litany from the development lobbies. We’ve got this great idea for whatever, but we need a break on getting the property together. Tell you what, you buy it with a bond levy or something and sell it us at a good price.  We need a break on the property taxes. We need a break on building roads, sewer lines…..whatever. I think I see a pattern here. When you need help, it’s an investment. When somebody else needs help, it’s a hand out.

Ok the formatting on that next paragraph is wiggy but blogger has that center format etched in stone for a some reason. 

Oh my, things kind of got sidetracked. Anyway every great new idea that someone comes up with is built on generations of work done by countless generations. Agriculture has an eleven thousand year or so history. Pottery and baskets to store the harvest in, almost as old. Plows and other tools to work the land are almost as old. Weaving and spinning several thousand years at least. And I’d love to know what went through somebody’s mind that allowed them to make the connections for weaving, spinning, looms and spinning wheels.

Smelting and working metals? Probably three to four thousand years of history. And how did someone come up with the idea of mixing two metals together to create a metal stronger than either one. Knocking rocks together? Looks like a couple of million years at least. But, the fine stone work, maybe fifty thousand years. Metals good enough to build the machines that powered the industrial revolution come from the seventeen hundreds. The earliest calculators that led to computers came in the mid to late eighteen hundreds.

 

So, no matter what great new widget you claim that you came up with “all by yourself” show a little respect. Isaac Newton said something along the lines of “If I’ve seen further it’s because I’ve stood on the shoulders of giants.”  If someone manages to go further and better it’s because someone else has done ninety percent of the work.

Ane the latest"It's not fair." People don't want to work because ___________ fill in the blank and it still sounds whiney. Well gee, there's still a pandemic. Still have kids to take care of. Other fanily members to take care of. Perhaps some folks managed to survive the virus to be left with long term disabilities. Perhaps their bat shit crazy fellow, I'm entitled to get in your face becaue fellow citiezens scare the bejesus out of them. I'm mean considering how too many of our fellow citizens are acting would you want to go anywhere near some service jobs? And just perhaps more and more of our fellow citizens are getting tired of being treated like something you'd wipe off the bottom of your shoe. 

IT'S NOT FAIR PART ONE

 A friend's bog entry originally got this one going. Unfortunately that blog doesn't exist anymore after she moved on, I guess. I used to get pretty cranky back in the day but, back just before the bottom fell out of the economy i 2008  there was a lot to be cranky about in the Great State of Oregon.

 In my case it’s disgust over a couple of fairly widespread ideas that some folks hold that really bug the hell out of me. I may have done entries on this earlier, I know I’ve thought about it. If I’m repeating myself, sorry. And my description of the hullabaloo of the attempts to tweak Oregon's land use laws is not exhaustive by any means. It would probably take an entire book to do it justice.

Number one. Back in the mid seventies Oregon put in place some fairly strict land use regulations. The idea was to protect farm and forest land from uncontrolled development. We didn’t want to end up as LA north. It was basically a one size fits all set of rules, and the way they weren’t handled wasn’t always fair. But, hey as we’re told from the age of five on, life isn’t always fair.

Having said that, Oregon is not an easy state to build in. Except for Astoria, on the mouth of the Columbia and Bend, just east of the Cascades, all the large cities, and I mean ALL of them are in the Willamette Valley. And most of them are between Salem and Portland. One set of rules for valley area and another for the rest of the state probably would have been a good idea. Heck seventy five percent of the state doesn’t have to worry about sprawl because it’s too dry, too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter and too far from anywhere else for almost anyone to want to live there. It’s the other twenty five percent that’s causing the problems.

And I have to agree that some of the irritation could have been averted if a way had been found to handle “set asides.” After the owner buys a house or a business the local city or county decides that some kind of easement is needed. Forflood control, or greenway, or something, that in the opinion of the elected or appointed hired help, that is needed to protect a flood prone area, help wild life, etc. Basically the land owner is told, it’s still your land but you can only do certain things with it and we aren’t going to pay for the use of it. Some of these situations could have been handled with a little more tact and probably would have gone a long way to defusing some of the irritation.  

The problem, as it was sold to voters when the land use laws were amended three or four years ago, was that people who bought property (speculated really) before the laws were passed couldn’t do what they intended to do when they bought the land. So, measure 37 was put on the ballot to correct this. The wording the ballot measure was basically let me use the land the way the law said I could use it when I bought it or pay me for the “lost value” due to land use restrictions. Never mind that there are twice as many people living in Oregon now as there were in the fifties and sixties. Never mind that most of the new growth is in the Willamette Valley. (because it’s the only part of the state that’s anywhere near level or has any water to speak of) Never mind that other people have built houses, farms, and vineyards since the land use laws were passed, had certain expectations based on the law, and would see their land values impacted, too. Repeat after me, “once you open a can of worms…….” Many of them are also saying “it’s not fair” too.

And I have to admit that this has impacted people in my own family. My great grandfather moved his family to Oregon in the late 1800’s. He bought property in the Newburg area. When he died the farm was subdivided between three sons. My granddad lost his farm in the twenties. The last of three pieces was sold recently after cousin Ernie passed away several years ago. The remaining section was too small to subdivide under the rules and too large for any single remaining member of the family to buy the others out. Or at least that’s what I’ve been told. I suspect that if any one of them had wanted to farm the place something could have been worked out with the others. Heck, Ernie hadn’t farmed the place for years. He’d leased the land to somebody else to work.

Anyway, we were shown ads with tearful oldsters who only wanted to build an extra house or two so their kids could live near them. Or they’d planned to sell the property as a retirement nest egg.  Three guesses who paid for the ads. The timber companies, the real estate companies, and developers looking for new land to build on. After all large scale developers are in business to build things and the real estate people are in business to sell them. And the land use restrictions have been making it harder to make a buck. But, hey life isn’t always fair is it?

One of the first things that caused a lot of screaming from supporters of the measure was lack of portability. After all it was sold to the rest of us as “I want to do …….” Not I want to sell the land to somebody else to do, whatever. You’d have thought a bunch of long tailed cats had been turned loose in a crowded rocking chair factory from the caterwauling when that little detail came up.

Anyway after a couple of years of court challenges, 37 was upheld and the claims started pouring in. Incidentally, there were no provisions in the ballot measure for any kind of verification of loss of property value claimed or any funds set aside to pay these claims. And at least one claimant has admitted that they don’t really know if their land is worth what they’re asking but “hey I might as well try to get as much as I can.” And if you can get enough people bidding on a tract in certain parts of the state, the sky is pretty much the limit.

One out of state timber company that had bought out a small local company tried to put in a claim to develop nearly thirty thousand acres in the coast range. That was one of the claims that broke the camel’s back. It has been withdrawn, by the way. I know what the press release said, but I suspect that someone from the company came out and actually looked at the property involved. The company is headquartered back east and most of those thirty thousand acres probably looks pretty vertical to somebody not familiar with the state. Most of the coast range valleys are short, narrow, and ten or twenty miles of narrow, curve filled roads from anything that looks like a store, or much of anything else, now that I think about it. Lots of miles of roads with a drop off on one side, a mountain on the other and no, I repeat no, shoulders. (Now that I think about it Oregon doesn't do rolling hills. We do semi vertical. And those roads are as skinny as ever while the big ass SUV's and pickups make driving those roads even more interesting.)

Anyway, last session the state legislature finally rediscovered it’s balls, sort of, and put a measure on the November ballot to fix some of the flaws. It green lights the small scale claims that were used to sell measure 37 in the first place. It also sets up a case by case framework for larger claims. For those the  current owner will have to prove the land is worth what they’re asking for in lieu of the right to develop, take the availability of water and the impact on roads and schools into consideration, and if there is any justice force the developer to shoulder the cost of building the infrastructure needed for the new development.

Of course we’re being hit with the “it’s mine and I should be able to do what I want with it.” God, so many Oregonians sound like a bunch of spoiled brats. Hell, the land wouldn’t even be available if we hadn’t stolen it from the Native Americans in the first place.

After all, I’ve felt for a long time that “it’s not fair” that mom and I should have to subsidize the building of roads and sewer lines so a company whose business is to build mall space or houses and hope they can sell them and make a profit on it don't have to foot the bill themselves. Or, that unlike Washington, developers aren’t charged a surcharge on each lot to help build new schools for the new families coming in, and so on, and so on, until we reach infinity. But then, (all together now) “life isn’t always fair, is it?”

Geez, this got long and it's just number one, so I'll have to say……to be continued. (don't worry there's only two or three things that have really been bugging me every time I run across them) ;-) I mean besides the war, over population, the war, the Current Occupant, the war...............

ALL THE CLOLORS

A prayer from the Tewa Pueblo. I ran across it in Native American Healing Arts.

O our Mother the Earth,

O our Father the Sky,

Your children are we, and with tired backs

We bring you the gifts you love.

Then weave for us a garment of brightness;

May the warp be the white light of morning,

May the weft be the red light of evening,

May the fringes be the falling rain,

May the border be the standing rainbow.

Then weave for us a garment of brightness

That we may walk fittingly where grass is green,

O our Mother the Earth,

O our Father the Sky!

While I was copying this it struck me how beautiful this image is.  Imagine one of those fancy dance shawls for the Pow Wows with all the shades of sunrise and sunset, fringed with all the shades of the rain from soft showers to drowning downpours with a border of all the colors of the rainbow. While I'm at it I'd add beads to the fringes and borders. Beads that flash with all the colors of the stars and glow from within with silver of the moon and the gold of the sun. And then  do it at night with all the lights hitting the fringes and border. Flashing, sparking with all the colors of the Cosmos. 

STILL ASKING WHAT IF?

Charles Darwin. He had the concept of adaptation just didn't have the mechanics. Not his fault the mechanics were just being discovered and even the discoverer wasn't reall sure what was controlling the results

Once upon a time in  a.... well it wasn't a galaxy far, far away. It was another blog of mine and better than a decade ago. The public uproar over civil unions has died down. A little. But the battle for LGBQT rights isn't over. 

When a student can be expelled from a so called "Christian" school because she asked for rainbow frosting on her birthday cake and wearing a sweater with rainbow stripes the fight is far from over. The school claims that the girl's perceived sexuality wasn't all of the story but her parents are suing. 

 This is one of those “this has been bouncing around the old brain pan for awhile so here goes” entries. I guess this is my answer to the folks that claim that a genetic answer to at least some folks being gay doesn't make any sense. Actually it makes perfect sense to me. And I guess it's coming up right now because the Oregon legislature finally, finally, passed a law okaying civil unions and an anti discrimination measure this year. The signature gathering campaign to keep the laws from going into effect in 2008 and put them to a state wide vote came up short. Although I'm sure they'll keep trying. Goddess, don't these people have anything better to do with their time? At least time is on the side of the angels.

Even though I don’t use it, at least to earn a paycheck, I have a BS in Physical Anthropology. I tend to look at some things from a certain point of view. From a sort of why would this make sense as a good adaptation to help a species survive point of view.

It’s really too bad that we have such a hard time teaching evolution in this country because the misconceptions about Darwin’s theory are legion. Evolution doesn’t really work on individuals, it works on populations. My sisters carry the same genes I do. Even if I don’t have children, if my actions allow them to be more successful in raising their children, I’ve succeeded in passing my genes on to the next generation.

There is increasing evidence that our sexual behavior is part hardwired, part socialization. There seems to be a fairly steady percentage of folks attracted to same sex partnerships in most populations. At least that’s what I’ve read in the press over the past few years. So, why have these genes survived?

Things haven’t changed since our ancestors whacked two rocks together and discovered that a sharp rock or six could make up for a lack of fangs and claws. We still have to grow it, catch it, gather it, or make something to trade with somebody who has an extra basket of turnips to trade. Actually this could include making the basket or pot to put the turnips in.

At a time when extra hunters, farmers, craftsmen (and women), and eyesto keep track of the kids were a valuable resource, relatives who didn’t have kids but were willing to support their relatives’ children, could give your family group an adaptive advantage. Modern culture has more layers between the producers and consumers, but somebody still has to raise it, package it, move it and make things to trade for it.

But, our families are fragmented and that adaptive edge has been lost. Or has it. There are plenty of same sex couples willing to act as foster parents or adoptive parents when they get the chance. They’re still helping the family survive, it’s just a bigger family. And I honestly believe that we hurt ourselves when we try to shut out a part of our larger family for whatever reason.

Now that I think about it, insuring that teaching evolution remains controversial has its uses for the powers that be. If enough children learned to view what we do as a nation from an adaptive point of view, they’d begin to understand just how screwed up most of our business and political policies really are.

Many of the conservative faith groups and intelligent design folks talk the talk but they don’t walk the walk. If we are all the unique creation of some higher being (I lean towards the divine boot in the ass theory of creation myself) they sure don’t act like it. Oh, I forgot. For some folks, it’s their group that’s part of the divine creation. The rest of us are just one level above pond scum.

And a comment on the entry from a friend of mine.

and yet, we witness the Earth renewing herself. The wolves coming back. The eagles coming back. The coyotes coming back. And it vexes us. We try to figure out ways to thwart Mother Earth when she proves that she is stronger than we are. Kill the wolves. Take the eagles off the "endangered" list. Shoot coyotes for sport. So then Mother Earth sends a tsunami. Or a hurricane. I really don't think we want to piss her off... We will not win.

Yeah, the world has ways of getting the message across and a lot more time to work with. 

I WAS, I AM, I WILL BE

 

I was the sun, warm rays piercing the clouds to the sea.

I was the sea, mists rising to join the clouds.

I was the clouds riding the winds to rise above the coastal mountains.

I was the mountains, clouds cooling to drop their rain on my cliffs.

I was the cliffs, trees clinging to the crags and bluffs.

I was the trees, catching the rain dripping into the earth below.

I was the fallen rain, caught in the moss and fallen leaves.

I was the moss, catching the rain, letting it work into the soil

I was the soil, water full, drops working  down, into the foundations of the mountain.

I was the foundation, water seeping, pooling, feeding the deep springs.

I was the deep springs feeding the pools under the trees.

I was the pools, home to little streams bubbling over the rocks fallen from the cliffs.

I was the little streams, rushing to join the great river as it rushes to the salt marshes.

I was the salt marsh, feeding my water back into the sea.

I am the sea, sun warmed, giving up the mists to the sky.

Find a comfortable place to sit. Go back and forth. I was. I am. I will be. Feel it. Be it. 

Trying to get back into some of my guided imagry attempts. Like my writing I start off  and end up where I didn't imagine I would. 

Picture from the net. I believe it's the Himalayas. Many rivers in that part of the world are fed by glacieres. Glaciers that are receding.   The words (for better or worse) are mine.

MIST, FLOWERS AND SOUTHERLY WINDS

Well, I had trouble finding images of mist, flowers and southerly winds. At least pictures that I liked. So here's an Irish harp. Although this one looks more like a floor harp. Bit large for a bard traveling from village to village or farm to farm. 

We're so used to gwtting our news and entertainment 24/7. Not so very long ago the news depended on how fast a ship, a horse, an ox or two tired feet could travel. Bards were the links that kept communities together. Dispensers of "soul food" if you will. And in Ireland some of the few individuals who were free to travel outside of clan holdings. Bards were protected because to be honest no one could imagine living without them. 

The poet Taliesin names the four ancient elements of earth, air, fire and water; and then adds three more; mist, flowers and southerly wind. Mist is air and water, wind is air and fire. Flowers? They’re the most spectacular combination of earth, water and fire and air carries their scent, their soul if you will, into the world around them.

Tom Cowan takes the old philosophy class stand by of the falling tree in the forest a step further. He asks “if there is no one to smell the perfume, does a flower still have a scent?” Of course it does, he says, and that eventually the soul of the flower will reach out and enfold you. Even if it has to cross half the world to find you.

There is an old Irish poem about the winds;

Wind from the west, fish and bread,
Wind from the north, cold and flaying,
Wind from the east, snow on the hills,
Wind from the south, fruit on trees.

So the west wind brings basics for survival; fish and bread. The winds from the north and east can bring hardship; cold, a wind that cuts right through you and snow that makes travel even harder than it already is in a society that depended on muscle power to get anywhere. But the south wind? That brought leaves to trees, perfume from the blossoms and fruit to delight the eye and help that fish and bread go down a little easier.

Cowan goes on to say that “Mist, flowers, and southerly wind defy the distinctions and dualities of the elements by reminding us that the elements merge and flow into each other like Celtic braid work. Each of these three is a combination of elements with air being common to all. Is this because air like soul, is always both in and around us?”

We are mist, flowers and southerly wind. We are the oaks in the grove and the oaks are us. We are the rivers and the rivers are us. We are the clouds and the clouds are us. We are the headlands and breakers crashing below and they are us. We are sunlight, moonbeams and starshine. And they are us.

GOD OF THE SPARROW GOD OF THE WHALE

Istock image of a humpback breaching under an aurora.

I'll be honest my tap dancing on the line is getting further and futher into what I guess you would call paganism. I'm not sure what I call it. And occaisionally I run into something like this and I get this little tug back. From the Episcopalian Hymn Book number 307.

“God shall judge between the nations, and shall decide for many peoples; and they shall beat their swords into ploughshares, and spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation; neither shall they learn war anymore.” (Isaiah 2:4) God of the pruning hook indeed

Version of the hymn on YouTube. 

 1. God of the sparrow

God of the whale
God of the swirling stars
How does the creature say Awe
How does the creature say Praise

2. God of the earthquake
God of the storm
God of the trumpet blast
How does the creature cry Woe
How does the creature cry Save

3. God of the rainbow
God of the cross
God of the empty grave
How does the creature say Grace
How does the creature say Thanks

4. God of the hungry
God of the sick
God of the prodigal
How does the creature say Care
How does the creature say Life

5. God of the neighbour
God of the foe
God of the pruning hook
How does the creature say Love
How does the creature say Peace

6. God of the ages
God near at hand
God of the loving heart
How do your children say Joy
How do your children say Home

THE EARTH IS NOT AN INVENTORY LIST

Before I go on to mist, flowers and southerly winds. Earth Mother by Angela Babby.

 “To those who followed Columbus and Cortez, the New World truly seemed incredible because of the natural endowments. The land often announced itself with a heavy scent miles out into the ocean. Giovanni di Verazanno in 1524 smelled the cedars of the East Coast a hundred leagues out. The men of Henry Hudson’s Half Moon were temporarily disarmed by the fragrance of the Jersey Shore, whiles ships running further up the coast occasionally swam through large beds of floating flowers. Wherever they came inland they found a rich riot of color and sound, of game and luxuriant vegetation. Had they been other than they were they might have written a new mythology here. As it was, they took inventory.” Frederick Turner. Beyond Geography: The Western Spirit Against the Wilderness.

I’ve never been to sea, so I’m not sure what we can smell now when we’re a hundred miles or so off shore. Diesel fumes. Gas fumes, hot asphalt, and industrial pollution? I’m betting the Jersey Shore has a much difference fragrance nearly five centuries after di Verazanno made his run up the coast. And the beds of floating flowers are a forgotten memory. Unless you want to count plastic bags, discarded bottles and cargo lost from containers as “flowers.” Well, there’s a riot of color and sound all right. We spend a great deal of time and energy trying to escape it. And, it looks like we finally did write that new mythology. Of the virtue and necessity of conquest and exploitation. Now, we find ourselves in a trap of our own making.

One industry develops low wattage LED’s and touts them a replacement for home light use while another industry finds a totally new use for light bulbs. Soon every corner bank and drugstore hosts a mini bill board advertising services. In firesale red. Electrical useage stays the same or goes up and visual pollution increases. Plant based bio fuels replace petroleum, at least in theory but it still takes more energy to produce the fuel than we’ll ever see in our fuel tanks.

Each appliance may take less energy but the number and SIZE of the appliances increases. Remember the TV’s with nineteen inch screens? Can you even get one of those these days? I may really like Tom Selleck, but I have no desire to count the number of hairs in his moustache.

And any suggestion that we might simplify our lives a little, just a little is met with that you’re a Marxist, Socialist, Fascist, nihilist trying to destroy the American nightmare. Whoops, pardon me, dream.

Which led me back to this little prayer in one of mom’s workbooks from her Methodist women’s group. And it is also a hymn. Courtwsy of YouTube. 

I am your mother: do not neglect me!

Children protect me-I need your trust;

my breath is your breath, my death is your death,

ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

I am your nurture; do not destroy me!

Love and enjoy me, savor my fruit;

my good is your good, my food is your food,

water and flower, branches and root.

I am your lodging: do not abuse me!

Tenderly use me, soothing my scars;

my health is your health, my wealth is your wealth,

shining with promise, set among stars.

The Creator is our maker, do not deny,

challenge, defy or, threaten this place;

life is to cherish, care, or we perish!

I am your mother, tears on my face.

Adapted from a prayer by Shirley Erena Murray 1996

She actually has a couple of hymn collections published. Barely known outside her native New Zealand the books only went though one publishing cycle. Expensive as all get out. 

I originally posted an answer on the original posting to a comment from a friend. I wished (wish) I could draw worth a damn. I'd replace Michelangelo's Pieta in Saint Peter's with the Earth as the grieving mother with all the wonders we've wasted in her lap and surrounding her 

SOUL WALKING

As usual what is in my head and what I can manage to put into words doesn't quite match. I'm working on it. 

 One day Tom Cowan (Yearning for the Wind) doing his favorite hike in the woods. Only his mind wouldn't stay in the woods. He kept thinking about his next workshop. that phone call that didn't end well, the deadline for an article he'd barely begun. talking to himself until he ended up looking out over trees and mist and the sky wondering how he got there. Not that Mother Nature or the Universe didn't have ways of reminding him to pay attention. A rock, a root, the thwack of a low lying branch on a rainy day. 

His folks introduced him to the woods while he was still young enough to believe that he and the woods were connected. Most kids do. Somewhere along the line the world convinces us that we aren't connected, especially to the natural world. Our soul and the soul of Creation are one and the same. Hildegarde of Bingen said " Just as the heart is hidden in the human body, so the body is surrounded by by the powers of the soul because these reach to the ends of the earth." Or the ends of the universe. Never heard that in a Sunday morning Methodist sermon. 

Somewhere, sometime he realized that he wasn’t carrying his soul around like a backpack. His soul was carrying him and he quoted the Welsh bard Taliesin. “I adore my God…who has infused a soul to direct me with its seven faculties; fire, earth, water, air, mist, flowers and southerly wind.” Well, that just about covers everything doesn’t it? Because those “faculties” don’t just infuse my soul. They infuse the soul of all Creation. And that soul reaches down and joins my soul and can carry me past the ends of the earth to the edge of Creation if I’ll just let it.

Remember someplace you’ve been that really reached out and touched you. A mountainside in spring when the flowers are just beginning to bloom and there’s still a nip in the air when the sun goes behind a cloud. Summer at the beach as the waves break over and over. And if you’re in Oregon, and it isn’t that special two weeks in August? Well, there’s still a nip in the air. While the sun is out. Or if you happen to be across the narrow channel between the mainland the lighthouse on Tillamook Rock you might get a reminder that while the soul may go to the ends of the universe, the universe can be a powrful place to explore. I'll tell you though that wind lets you believe you can fly. If only you had the courage to try. It will carry your soul thought. 

Maybe it’s fall and the leaves are at their best. Red, orange, burnt orange. Fire in the branches. Then there’s winter and the bare branches are hidden in the mist or covered with snow. Remember how you felt. Let it fill you with fire, earth, water, air, mist, flowers (I like that one) and southerly wind.

Irish or Celtic Druids and saints often asked the blessing or protection of the natural world. Patrick supposedly wrote this one.

I bind unto myself today

The virtues of the starlit heavens,

The glorious sun’s life giving ray,

The whiteness of the moon at even,

The flashing of the lightning free,

The whirling wind’s tempestuous shocks,

The stable earth, the deep salt sea

Around the old eternal rocks.

Now go beyond mere blessing. Get past asking for elemental protections. Stretch out your soul until you are the heavens, the sun, the moonlight, the lighting bolt, the wind, the rich life giving earth and the sea we all can call our mother. Walk out into the world knowing that you and all of Creation are one. And go for a walk. 

MOTHERS OF LIFE

 

I can't remember when or how I discovered Tom Cowan. I must have been searching under Irish mythology, Celtic Mythology, Shamanism, it's been awhile, fair amount of water under the bridge awhile. The first book was Yearning for the Wind a series of interlocking essays that go together like Celtic braidwork. One of his essays addressed creation as the Mothers of Life. 

He has written about the Celts, especially the Irish and on Shamanism. Used to do workshops and give classes. He's in his seventies now and it looks like he's slowed down considerably. Too bad, looks like I found him just as he was winding down. I keep tap dancing on the line. Trouble is the faith I was raised in simpley does not speak to me. I sit building and it's just that. A building. I sit under a Doug fir, or spruce they talk back. I walk on an Oregon beach wind in my face trying to shove me back and their are voices on the wind. Singing to me. Perhaps it's the Mothers. 

We need the bounty of the world, but outside of a few animals that we've created to be largely dependent on us, the world will got on quite nicely without us. .

Mothers of Life,

You bless the earth that gives us food, shelter, clothing and tools for our work and play, and that provides the many paths that lead us through life.

Forgive.

Mothers of Life,

You bring water from the sky and from deep in the Earth to cleanse and refresh us and keep us moist and living.

Forgive

Mothers of Life,

You give days when the air is crisp and sweet scented, and days when it is heavy with dew and the dampness of decay.

Forgive.

Mothers of Life,

You nurture us in the long bright days of summer and in the rich darkness of night and winter, you teach us the mysteries of the moon and stars.

Forgive.

From Yearning for the Wind by Tom Cowan.

Change forgive to Bless Us , or Thank You and it changes the meaning of the prayer. What is being forgiven? Why are we asking for forgiveness?

Are we asking the Mothers, the goddesses of life and the sovereignty of the land to forgive us for the unholy mess we’ve made of the Creator’s gifts to us. 

Here it is. For some reason it just did NOT want to be written.

THE GREAT CHASM

The heck with the sword. I want that harp.

We all have that book or author. You reread the book, reread the author. Don't necesarrily read all their books but the ones that stick with you. For me it's Morgan Llywellyn. Took my long enough to finally spell her name. The Welsh they are a curious race. In this case it's the Irish, or who legends claim became the Irish, the novel is Bard. The Gaelician tribe of Celts and the clan headed by the Mil. Milesios with seven sons. Only two are important to this part of the story. 

Ir, the eldest. The best looking, the strongest, the finest warrior. And the relative you hope won't show up at any important gathering. Ir is dangerously unstable and no one is ever quite sure when he will lash out. The other is Amergin. Not the oldest, not the youngest. And dark haired where all his brothers are as gold as the sun. Trained as a bard, struggling to find his voice. He's learned the harp, memorized the tales and generologies. The poestry is there, he hasn't found his voice. 

It's been years since the traders from the Middle Sea have come to trade for tin, the foundation of the wealth of the clan and those who look to them for wealth and protection. The tin mines are failing, years of drought threaten the cattle herds, even wild boars are harder to find. 

On the edge of a storm a fleet of trade vessels find refuge in the Gael's harbor. Neither side is really honest about what is available for trade. A great feast is laid on. All the most important people are in the Hero's Hall (if you've seen Return of the King think Meduseld, seating around the sides, not so large and a gallery above for the women) including Ir, the one you wish wasn't there. Milesios is aging, getting in a nap before the festivities begin, Amergin is in the bench reserved for the bards. 

Enter the traders. richly dressed, shorter, darker, speaking their language etc. and Ir has a paranoid breakdown,  seizes the captain of the traders, eating knife at his throat. Into the melee the poet finds his voice. Thie is Llywellyn's version of the Song of Amergin and there about as many versions as there are authors to write about it. Note: a dolman is a megalithic single tomb with a stone slab for a roof. Usually covered with earth or turf.

Amergin strikes a chord and begins a chant that rings through the hall above the shouts

        "I am the wind upon the sea,

...and they could hear the high keening of the storm voice: they could they could feel the wind on their faces! Men glanced at one another startled.

        I am the flood across the plain.

And their visions were filled with a tremendous wall of water bearing down upon them as the rivers burst periodically from their banks,surging across the land.

        I am the hawk above the cliff,

        I am the thorn beneath the rose.

Sharp stab of painmaking beauty more poignant, as death does life, as winter does summer.

        I am the stag of seven tines,

        I am the salmon in a pool,

        I am wisdom; who but I can cool the head aflame with smoke?

A soft curling of sound surrounding a pulsing center, soothing and easing.

        I am the hill where poets walk,

A stately tread of revered feet from a height above them; an awareness of remote creation.

        I am the lure beyond worlds end.

A haunting call of irresistable beauty. the bard's voice ached with longing and they were all forced to share it, suddenly hungry for they knew not what, or where.

        I am the spear that rears for blood,

        I am the tear the sun lets fall.

        I am the breaker, threatening doom,,

        I am an infant; who but I peeps from the unknown dolmen arch?

The implacable power of granite stones; the bones of the Mother, arranged in a portal linking worlds. The earth's womb with a newborn face emerging from the archway, its eyes already ancient with wisdom." From Bard by Morgan Llywellyn. (And there it is. The great gulf between the "I am that I am" of the Abrahamic religions with God separate from the rest of Creation and the I am complete identification of what we know of the Celts and the world around them.)

The power of the poet works. Everyone has stopped shouting, Ir drops his knife, finds some excuse about testing their guests, and goes looking for some wine. The trader is shaking in his sandals. He makes an offer to Amergin. "Come to my ship tomorrow, choose whatever you wish to pay my debt to you." Or words to that effect.

Amergin tries to tell him that he needs nothing. His gift is in service to the tribe and whatever he needs is supplied. One of his responsibilities as a bard is to separate combatants when needed. And that is just exactly what he did. Finding a spark of the talent he's searching for.

That is not the world of the trader. A debt has been incurred and the Gods must be appeased. He tells Amerigin that he is counted as a prince among his people, his houses are full of children and the fairest is a daughter, U-ropa (odd choice here sometimes Llywellyn is about as subtle as a train wreck). When he returns home he will offer her to Melqart in Amergin's name so that Tyre will learn of him and the debt will be repaid.

Sidenote here: the novel was written in the eighties. What was seen as almost wholesale sacrifice of infants and small children by the Phoenecians has been reexamined. And back in the day travelers tales could have inflated the death toll. It isn't so much the death toll as the mind set behind the practice. The Gauls were accused of practicing human sacrifice although the main accuser was Julius Caesar.

At any rate Amergin is appalled by the trader's offer. He begs him to spare the life of the child. Trader looks around him. These Celts look like giants to him. They shout, they drink, they love bright colors and wear a king's (or at least a trader's) ransom in jewelry.

"Even the smallest of their women looked as though she could break him across her knee. Yet this man begged for an inconsequential child's life as if that life by itself had any meaning. Age-Nor was swept by sudden longing for sea-girt Tyre, for white southern light and the rustle of palm trees. For people who understood that life was both cheap and expendable and only property had lasting value."

This is probably my fourth read of this book. Each time something sticks out. This passage was like slamming into a brick wall. There it is. The great chasm. What we see around us now. Those who value Creation and those who see dollar signs.

A tree has no value until it's milled into lumber leaving a clear cut behind. A mountain is valued for the ore beneath the surface, open pit mine the waste dumped into the stream below. Water valued for irrigation, bottled for sale or to carry our sewage. The split began long ago and it's killing us.

YOU MUST REPAY

 The speech of Eriu of the Tuatha de Danaan to sons of Mil in Morgan Llywelyn's novel Bard. The last of the mythylogical invaders of Ireland the Gaels have come to conquer, not share. That message sounds awfully familiar in a culture that takes and takes without giving back. The fallacy that forests turned into plantations are "sustainable." That open pit mines can be "restored" after the geology has been destroyed. That watersheds can survive have debris from thos mines dumped into the creeks and rivers. Take only what you need, be thankful for the gift and restore as much as you can. If not the Earth may just decided to take it back. One way or the other and often those paying the price are not ones guilty of the crimes. 

FOLLOWING THE INNER LIGHT

 This is another blast from the past. The map is from How the Irish Saved Civilization by Thomas Cahill. I don't agree with all of his ideas but the map really caught my attention. The Irish called it the Three Martyrdoms. Dying for the faith, becoming a monk or nun. or going on a pilgramiage. Monks trained by Saint Columba were among the first. Monks they trained moved further on. Through norther England, nothern Europe, down to the heel of the boot in southern Italy.

Lancashire and Yorkshire, home of the Quakers. Northern Europe home to the likes of Hildegarde, Ekhart and Martin Luther. Go a little further Assissi is right in the middle of Italy between Bobbio and Rome. Assissi home of Saint Francis and his Sermon to the Birds and the Creche at Christmas.

As I worked my way through the waves of English immigrants IFischer; discovered that there’s something you can’t escape. Religious history and political history are Siamese twins. You can’t understand the one without the other. And it’s our loss.

Each section of Fischer's Albion’s Seed has maps that show which part of England the majority of the members of that migrating group came from. Most of the Quaker immigrants came from northern counties including Yorkshire and Lancashire. As I was looking the maps, the highlighted regions seemed awfully familiar. They were. The counties that were home to the majority of Quaker immigrants overlap the paths the Irish monks took on their way to Europe. A path that took them through what became northern France and southern Germany all the way to the heel of Italy’s boot.

Those monks and missionaries planted their respect for the Creator and their belief that the believer could have a direct and person experience of God. Perhaps that belief wasn’t so unusual in mystics like Hildegard of Bingen, Meister Ekhart and Francis of Assisi. They all spoke of the Inner Light. Quakers continued the teaching and spoke of the Inner Light, but they went further in their beliefs. For a Quaker no intermediary between believer and Creator was necessary. No ordained ministers, no bishops. And at that point they parted company with just about everyone else in England. 

Like all new believers, the early Quakers were eager to share what they had experienced. They ran into immediate problems. They claimed the right to preach where they would and refused to tithe to the Anglican Church, the Established Church. Unless you accepted the 39 articles of faith you couldn't be liscensed as a doctor, lawyer, or teach in the universities. 

The preaching got them pilloried, whipped or imprisoned. The refusal to tithe led to confiscation of crops, stock and property. Often the value of what was taken was more than they owed the church. Quakers also believed in equality before God and played it out in the streets and the council chambers. They refused to take of their hats. Not even when they were before the king.  Most Quakers also refused to swear oaths. Their yea was yea and their nay was nay.

Enter William Penn. The son of an admiral in favor with the court of Charles II he converted in his early twenties. He managed to get himself arrested almost immediately for attending Quaker meetings. Young William traveled with George Fox not only in England but in Europe. He soon turned his hand to writing for the church. He turned out more than sixty pamphlets or short books, almost half of them on liberty of conscience.

One of the reasons I took more time with the Quakers had to do with a 1670 court case. Penn was arrested with William Meade and charged with preaching to a crowd of more than five people. They were denied the right to see the charges against them and the judge directed the jury to reach a verdict without the defense being allowed to present a case.

The jury returned a not guilty verdict. They were “invited” to change their verdict. The jury refused. The impasse continued over several days. When the jury continued to refuse to change their minds, the judge committed the defendants and the jury to Newgate prison. Penn and Meade for contempt and the jurors because he could I guess. 

One of the juror’s petitioned for a writ of habeas corpus. After all he hadn’t committed a crime, he just refused to change his mind. Eventually, after some polite judicial back and forth over just which court he needed to go to for the writ, the writ was granted. The justices also ruled that juries had the right to be free of intimidation. The right to habeas corpus in cases of unlawful detention was also upheld. Even though the trial was held in seventeenth century England, these rights found their way into American law.

STILL HERETICS?

Another small blast from the past. Edited. Sunrise off the Oregon coast. Not sure where, but I'm guessing that it's north of Coos Bay. Perehaps even north of Florence. Our beaches tend to get smaller the further north you travel. Until you get north of Seaside up towards Astoria which pretty much has no beaches at all. Hills and the Columbia River. 

 From the blog of a druid who also happens to be a Unitarian.    Excellent blog BTW he posts severaltimes a week. "Heresy has it's roots in a Greek word that basically means 'to choose.'" To bad most religions don't really want us choosing anything beyond showing up at the right time with cash in my pockets to throw in the collection plate. In fact ran across the story in The Parish blog of a guy who started attending a mega church. Attended for awhile, received the envelopes for his "offerings." Didn't take long for the mega to suggest very strongly that unless he upped his contribution he could forget about attending THEIR church. He left. Surprise, surprise. 

Can't imagine how they'd act if the traveling rabbi and his "looks like we're sleeping in the orchard tonight" followers darkened their doors. Although they would more likely be asking for directions to the nearest synagogue and when is the Sabbath in this part of the world. 

Ironically this story was one of the reasons that the blogger, who survived Pentacostalism and later became a church of the Nazarene minister, claims that he is no longer a believer. I guess he just got tired of fighting to keep his head above water. One of his fellow Nazarene pastors was basically defrocked when the elders discovered he liked wine. 

The Nazarenes are offshoots of the Methodists. The last time I had communion in a Methodist church we were still doing the Welch's grape juice and tiny cubes of commercial white bread. It takes a lot of imagination to see this as what that itinerant rabbi had in mind. 

Anyway, reading this blog entry got me thinking, always a dangerous occupation. LOL

What continues to puzzle me is this. What each of us experiences of the divine, the unknown, what lies behind the veil; however you describe it, is unique to each of us. I can tell someone else what I experience, but I can’t “prove” it.

I suppose that’s why mystics are viewed with so much suspicion by the Abrahamic religions, especially Christianity and Islam. I could never understand how any “church” could insist that we all had to experience the same things at the same time and in the same way. First the churches call likes of Thomas Aquinas or Ekhart heretics, then when they're safely dead for awhile the church makes them saints. And although I am not a Catholic, I'm barely a Quaker, do not get me started on the last pope to be sainted. John Paul II spent most of his years in the Vatican trying to overturn Vatican II with his attack dog Benedict snapping at the heels for anyone who didn't toe the line. 

Which reminds me. To be honest, there are days when I’m pleasantly surprised when most of us agree where the sun was when I spotted it this morning.