Just Renters
The house that we think of as “our” house does not belong to us. Not because we are still paying the mortgage on it. This becomes evident one morning while sitting in a moment of calm before the day has begun, watching the bird feeder which my husband lovingly is filling. He has dumped out the seeds too big to fit through the wire mesh of the feeder. About 10 little birds, sparrows and juncos and sometimes a dashing male cardinal, are feeding on the seeds on the snow-covered ground. They are not scared off by the lone squirrel who comes to eat the peanuts from the mix. Larger birds flock to the now-full feeder. The largest birds, too big to land on the feeder, sometime take over the small bird territory, eating seeds on the ground.
The snow is falling as we prepare to go to work, cleaning up the kitchen and locking up the house. The birds fly around in my mind. So vulnerable they seem yet so brave, so tiny yet enormous in their freedom to take to the air. I want to hold them in my hand and stroke their soft, downy feathers, give them love. But truth is, this is purely a selfish wish on my part for they don’t need my love. They don’t really even need the bird seed my husband religiously puts in the feeder. There are bushes out back with berries which they love. It is I who need them, to make me feel happy, to make me feel loving, to make me feel alive and connected to something larger than myself.
As we pull out of the driveway I take another lingering look at the birds in the brightening light. And then it hits me. They get to stay there all day as we drive off through the snow to our respective jobs in the cement jungle of a nearby city. We drive past horses, grazing in a neighboring meadow. Same deal. Often I make an effort to remember the birds and the squirrels and the horses to bring calm to a fraught work day. Yet I usually get so caught up in my frenetic, little life that I forget to think of them. Or if I manage to conjure them up, the image of them in my mind is thin, pale and lacking in substance.
I imagine the animals laughing at us as we have to drive off to go to work. Our house belongs to them. Sometimes they even invade our living quarters. When we first bought the house, it had 50 or so little brown bats in the attic who would occasionally fly around the bedroom at night. One year we had a pair of squirrels. We even had the company of a milk snake one afternoon. And every fall as the weather turns frigid, the field mice run in.
A little more thought on the subject reveals to me that in actuality we own nothing. Not our house, our spouse, our children nor our pets, not even the body we inhabit. All of these things are on loan to us, rented to us if you will, by the Maker of the sun and the moon and the stars. Such a wealth of beauteous bounty is there for us, ours to enjoy for the mere act of attention. The trees, the summer breeze, the blanket of snow in winter, the flowers of summer, the butterflies, the deer who eat our lilies, the possum, the ever-changing species of birds, the occasional coyote and the thousands, if not millions of insects underfoot in a terrestrial universe, to say nothing of the universe above our heads and the trillions or gazillions of stars, the planets, the sun, the moon. And yet we are so caught up in the dramas of our mundane lives that we fail to duly honor the ever-present gifts except in periodic snatches, when we turn our attention outside ourselves to the piece of earth we rent. We may pay a sum to rent a piece of the earth but that piece contains a seemingly infinite multitude of gifts given for the taking. Or rather, I should say, for the renting.
Sounds of Summer
(Click to enlarge photos)
Coming out of the winter silence– a silence so deep that one can hear the sound of one’s own nervous system– slowly nature’s musicians warm up in Spring. Gradually they gather and by summer we are hearing the full orchestra of the wilderness. There are so many sounds, one might talk of layers of sound.
Distant sounds waft through the air like a bank of clouds floating towards us. We hear the raucous cry of a murder of crows flying over some carrion far off in the forest. We hear the dogs down the road barking at some intruder into their world. From deep inside the dark woods comes the unmistakable throaty call of a turkey. And from the field across the way, the cooing of a dove.
And then the sounds of nearness, so familiar perhaps we no longer notice them: The wind blowing through the dark green summer leaves, each type of tree with its distinctive rustle. The chirping of sparrows and other frequenters of the back yard. The whine of a pair of grackles. The frequent complaint of the ever-present blue jay. The crystalline voice of a yellow warbler singing an aria. The plaintiff cries of a gaggle of geese flying far above. While in a nest under the eaves fledglings squeak waiting to be fed.
Bumblebees buzz across the lawn, miraculously defying gravity with their weight and size. They mix with the menacing whirr of wasps in a huge nest overhead. Flies and mosquitos hum literally in our ears as the occasional vibrating zum of a humming bird, jewel-like in the sun, flies around in the Joe Pie Weed. Dragon and damsel flies whizz by and hover in the air, occasionally even landing on us. All this reaches our ears above the constant background drone of crickets and cicadas.
As the day progresses, the late afternoon brings the intermittent twang of wood frogs hidden in the bushes, calling to each other from all directions. It seems we are surrounded by wood frogs and tree frogs who have replaced the frenetic, unceasing peeps of the spring peepers. Bird song reaches a crescendo and then dies down to silence for the night. The day sounds are replaced at night by the haunting hoo-hoo of a very close, but invisible, owl. The occasional crying baby sound of a bobcat cuts through the cricketed silence, and in the full moon the poignant howling of coyote fills the black night air, illuminated by silent fireflies.
And then there are the sounds of man and his machines. Noise pollution. Lawn tractors, airplanes, cars on the road, all terrain vehicles, weed wackers, motorcycles, trucks, lawn mowers, steam shovels. The list continues and grows in strength drowning out nature’s sounds of summer. With natural habitat dwindling, all the creatures of the wilderness are dying out or moving to last holds of their breeding grounds. Villages have become cities, masses of land covered in concrete and asphalt and steel, punctuated by tiny pockets of manicured nature.
Certain species of frog are becoming extinct around the world. The bee populations are dwindling leaving us to wonder who will pollinate the flowers. And the songbirds are dying out. Conservation biologist, Bridget Stutchbury in her book, Silence of the Songbirds, says this is partially due to habitat loss and predation but she believes the real culprit is pesticides. She says we are losing barn swallows, Eastern kingbirds, Kentucky warblers, bobolinks and wood thrushes. Pesticide can kill 7 to 25 songbirds per acre of application. As Stutchbury says we can stop this destruction by buying local and organic produce, in-season food and shade-grown coffee. As she points out, the balance of ecosystems is at stake because birds eat the caterpillars that fell forests. “If you take birds out of the forest, bugs are going to win.”
Though the current state of affairs looks grim there are activities one can do online to safeguard the future of the wilderness and its inhabitants. On one website you can click for free every day to give food and aid to animals. The address is http://www.animalrescuesite.com. On other websites, if you click on the “take action” button you can become involved in lobbying for animal rights and conservation of the wilderness with a modicum of effort, signing a letter, for example. And although you absolutely don’t have to, you can always make a donation. A select group follows …
http://www.sierraclub.org (The Sierra Club)
http://animallegaldefensefund.org (The Animal Legal Defense Fund)
http://farmsanctuary.com (The Farm Sanctuary)
http://www.peta.org (People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals)
http://humanesociety.org (The Humane Society)
http://defendersofwildlife.com (Defenders of Wildlife)
Add your voice to the sounds of summer, speak for those who can not, and insure the future of the symphonies of summer.
Welcome to samples of my work in various art forms showcasing “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” “Eye-locks” is a Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir in narrative form that describes the triumph of love over mental illness.
Submerged Cow
(Click to enlarge)
Welcome to samples of my work in various art forms showcasing “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” “Eye-locks” is a Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir in narrative form that describes the triumph of love over mental illness.
Blessed by the Animals
Last week my husband called me from the back yard. “Come quick, come see what I found.” I ran to the back door where he was, holding out his arm, and there in his hand sat a teeny green frog, about the size of a thumbnail. I oooed and aahhed over it and thanked him for calling me. The frog had jumped onto his arm while my husband was unrolling the garden hose, its temporary home. “How wonderful!” I said. And then I thought some more about it and I realized I was jealous. Jealous of the fact the frog had jumped on my husband’s arm and not mine. “Well he deserves the frog more than I do,” I found myself thinking, as if any of us deserve such things.
Today I began to think more about this. I remembered when we had first moved in. My husband was at work and I saw a mound in the grass moving out the back door window. Upon closer examination I found to my utter delight it was a box turtle. This time it was my husband, an affirmed reptile lover, who was jealous and even admitted to being so. Okay, jealousy of such things is obvious and on the surface in children. Yet we were dealing with adults here who, it seems, covet visits from animals. We cherish an interchange with a creature. And why?
I remember the Sunday night a few years ago, apprehensive about a challenging week ahead, when I saw a stag in the woods behind our house. I called to my husband to come see him. He was stunning with huge antlers, an imposing presence. And suddenly I knew everything would be alright. Because I saw the stag in the distance– majestic, princely, beautiful. A sign.
And how thrilled we are to have a snapping turtle return every year to lay her eggs in our driveway. We feel privileged. Again, blessed. Or when with delighted guests, we saw a giant luna moth flying in the porch light one night. And the countless times a butterfly lands on one’s body, on a shoulder or head, or a dragonfly visits an arm or a sleeve. And, of course, the beautiful hummingbirds. We even had a hummingbird nest in our Black Birch. Such visits feel so special– to have these delicate, beautiful creatures near us. Even when my least favorite reptile makes an appearance out from under his home on our back deck, a tiny garter snake, the spirit soars.
Research has shown how having pets is therapeutic. We feel blessed by the animals who trust us. We feel their trust and it is pure, unalloyed by human characteristics. We don’t deserve such trust and yet we receive it as a gift. We have made contact with a being of a different species who lives in a different world whose being synchronizes with different biological rhythms. The native Americans believed animals to be spiritual guides that have much to teach us. Psychology tells us Nature is a natural antidepressant. An animal can disarm the most defensive, bring out the goodness in the criminal, and bring a smile to the face of the young, old and in-between.
And, yes, animals can be pests when they get into where they don’t belong or become aggressive or defensive in a bad way. But our world is a rich, vibrant place because of them. Animals bring us out of ourselves and into the experience of awe. Their innocence lightens our loads, allows us to share the “mystery of the other” with others, drawing us closer to our friends and family. We share the world with animals and they share their hearts with us. And their innocent interactions with us are blessings from God.
Welcome to samples of my work in various art forms showcasing “Eye-locks and Other Fearsome Things.” “Eye-locks” is a Bipolar/Asperger’s memoir in narrative form that describes the triumph of love over mental illness.
It’s 4 AM and I Miss You
It’s 4:27… 4:28… 4:29 AM
and I miss you
I hope to God you’ll awaken
and bring me coffee
and tell me something funny and I will laugh
and you will be so pleased to see
someone “get” one of your thousands of spontaneous jokes.
I miss you…
you with the beautifully streaked-with-grey, fuzzy hair
and hundreds of lines, going up, down and sideways
around the corners of your shy blue eyes.
You don’t know I am awake
missing you… your suddenly taking my hand
in yours and holding it on the sofa as
we silently watch our country self-destruct.
I hope to God you’ll awaken and all will be okay
for another day
for it is not promised
for it is not guaranteed
Nothing is.
The wonder that is you
that I found so many years ago
after being alone for so long and through so much.
Unadulterated joy you bring me
as I worry about your every breath
God keep you in his arms
and protect you
for it is 4:38 AM and I am missing you
as you lie in the arms of Morpheus
and I see lights on across the street
Others are awake
as you slumber
Time drags on as I am alone
I cannot wait for you to awaken
to see the twinkle in your eye
and the tousled hair.
I miss you
as I sit here typing and
reading of other’s lives.
It is 4:45 AM
about two more hours
for you lie
in our bed of 33 years.
It is 4:46 AM
and time goes so slowly
as I count the hours
until you awaken.
You with your gentle voice
the pleasant voice
that helped so many
as you listened to their anguish
A healer I always said you were/are.
Almost 5 AM
and I miss you.
If I miss you this much now,
oh, and here come the tears,
what of the day or night
God takes one of us away.
Or could we be so lucky
to go in each other’s arms?
My morbid mind
destroying the present with
fearing the future
It is 4:54 AM
and you have arisen
to make water.
You will stop by to see me
and ask why I am up
and ask me when I will come back to bed.
You are gone again
having returned to
the embrace of sleep
For a second the thrill of you
all tousled and concerned
shot through me.
I will come join you
and look at the lights across the way
and wait if I can’t sleep
for you to awaken
and greet me with another day
as our shared time together
zips by with a vengeance now
my time with you.
5:03… eternity
the pain in my throat and head
throbbing
I should lie down
but it has been so long
since words have come
5:05 AM…5:10 AM
I feel chill
I feel pain
missing you.
5:11 AM
Let me go
lie next to you
and think of the wonder
of your presence
in our marital bed.
5:25 AM…
Turtle Tears
It is before dawn on a moonlit night. The moon has swept the trees and grass in silver. I await the sun. The moon wakes me to whisper about the silent beauty of the predawn hours. The yard is white magic and I imagine a monarch butterfly now sleeping, awaken to find a turtle to drink its tears. Monarch butterflies drink turtle tears. Why are the turtles crying? They cry for the ailing earth. They cry for those who suffer. They cry for the dying. They cry for those striving to become one with all. They cry for the sap in the trees flowing. They cry for the animals who are constantly on guard for their lives. They cry for the bird egg which will not ever hatch. They cry for the dying stars in an ever expanding universe. They cry for the unawareness of the high and mighty. Turtle tears are like diamonds sparkling in candlelight. like dew drops on a drooping Lily of the Valley. Come now to drink my tears, dear Monarch. Your beauty gladdens my heart. Your heart drops manna from the heavens into my soul. Come now, dear Monarch. Come lick the dew drops in my eyes.
Happy Mother’s Day!
Happy Mother’s Day!
Love and pride in the mother’s eyes, complete trust in the infant’s sleep
Veneration of the Lamb
“Lamb of God, you who takes away the sins of the world, have mercy on us!”
“What has happened to our instinct for unity? The creatures know the rhythm of the earth. They have not forgotten the oneness of which we are a part. So in the Celtic world, they are messengers of Christ, the One who comes to reconnect us to the Heart of Being.” (Christ of the Celts by J. Philip Newell)
Giving Thanks to the Animals
On the day those in the U.S. set aside for giving thanks, I thank God for the animals who have led me on a higher path in my life. Animals have been among my best teachers.
HAPPY DAY OF GRATITUDE TO ALL!
(Dedicated to Duchie and to Ko-Ko)
Do Lions Feel?
This video should put to rest any doubt that all animals are sentient beings. I feel badly that this lion is trapped in a zoo but at least he was saved from death. Obviously never forgot his saviour.
http://www.vitality101.com/Fun/lion-kisses-rescuer
Bees Buzzing, Fuzzing and Fading
Beautiful fuzziness going strong
But not for long
Fading fast
They will not last
Please act fast
and sign the petition below:
http://act.credoaction.com/sign/syngenta_bees?nosig=1&t=1&akid=11795.2247563.eaCuKn
Sir Paul McCartney on Animal Suffering
WARNING: This post is graphic in nature. I have long debated whether to post it or not. It features Paul McCartney speaking on the nightmare of slaughter houses and showing how animals are horrifically mistreated. But if we subject animals to these horrors by creating a market for meat than the very least we can do is suffer the discomfort of watching a video showing how our meat comes to our tables. Paul McCartney got me well on my way to being totally vegetarian which seems to be in the offing as I think more and more of any kind of meat as flesh of innocents.
The Horrors of Horse Racing
All that you see on this video is true. This is just the tip of the iceberg. My brother worked on many racetracks, including Belmont, and he told us stories that were heartbreaking. He finally got out of the race track business because he loved horses but could not abide the cruelty of how horses were treated. The video explains…
PETA – STOP THE SEAL SLAUGHTER!
Please sign the petition and do whatever you can to stop this horrific cruelty. It is a crime of against God’s creatures and a heinous act on the part of men who call themselves human.
Stop the Seal Slaughter! Urge Canada to End Shameful Killing
For centuries, pregnant harp seals have migrated from Greenland down the coast of Canada, stopping each spring to give birth on the ice floes off Newfoundland. And every year, the Canadian government funds a trade in which the baby seals are massacred by club-wielding sealers from the local fishing community while their pelts remain soft enough to sell on the international fur market. The commercial seal slaughter is not a subsistence activity for native peoples but an off-season fishing industry cash grab, and it accounts for less than 1 per cent of Newfoundland’s economy.
Over the last few years, all major markets have banned seal-pelt imports, including the US, the European Union, Mexico, Taiwan and even Russia, which had been importing 95 per cent of Canadian sealskins. The only reason the Canadian government continues to defend this dead industry is…
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Animal Ghosts
The documentary, “The Ghost in Our Machine,” follows photographer, Jo-Anne McArthur as she takes pictures to show animal abuse on factory farms and how animals are helped by sanctuaries like Farm Sanctuary. It is a disturbing film but an extremely important one. We must rethink how we contribute to the cruelty inflicted upon dogs, cats, foxes, minks and farm animals. Please watch the trailer below. Jo-Anne McArthur has a book of her photographs and writings called, “We Animals.”
Radioactive Fish
http://stockdalewolfe.artistwebsites.com/featured/radioactive-fish-ellen-stockdale-wolfe.html
Blind Comraderie
Two blind cows suffering a lifetime of abuse come together for the first time…
MOONSIDE 
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