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Archive for Earth
April 28, 2012 at 6:27 pm · Filed under Books, Earth, Environment, Home, My son, Questions, Travel and tagged: beach, dolphins, eating out, Food, Garbology, incinerator, landfill, ocean, plastic bags, restaurants, sea, Subway restaurants, Subway sandwiches, trash, vacation
Again, I was sent into a tailspin of despair after eating at a restaurant that uses only disposable plastic cups. After I asked the server if they recycle, she first said yes. Then she seemed confused and changed her answer to, “Well, no…We just throw them all away.” How hard would it be? For just one person working at every restaurant to care enough to collect recyclables in a trash can?
Every time I go on vacation, I have to come to a resolution about where the trash goes. Will it go in a landfill? Will it go in an incinerator? I’ve convinced myself that an incinerator is preferable. At home, I’ve made my peace with the impact I have on Earth. I know exactly where my trash is going. I’ve limited my consumption both in terms of the amount of things that I buy and also what it is that I buy. And I’ve come to terms with what I do and don’t control.
When I go on vacation, I go into this tailspin that I mentioned. I worry about everything from the unnecessary bags that Subway puts every sandwich into, to my child’s diapers, to other people’s trash that I see left on the beach, or even in trash cans. Where will all this trash go? I watch the dolphins swimming nearby and whisper my apologies. At least once an hour, I have to remind myself of what I actually have the power to control.
(P.S. I am very excited to read the new book coming out on this topic, called Garbology!)
April 11, 2012 at 9:57 pm · Filed under Earth, Poetry, The Good Things, Water and tagged: georgia, island, jekyll, ocean, Poetry, sea, sunrise, vacation
One moon.
One sun.
Who drips red up
from water.
We are here
to honor
the sea.
I’m lucky
I don’t
live here
because this way
every day
is magic –
would I want
to think that this
is ordinary?
October 22, 2011 at 7:45 pm · Filed under Earth, Family, Home, My daughter, Poetry, Trees and tagged: autumn, Children, daughter, Fall, leaves, nature, Poetry
The leaves fall slowly
down, constantly,
always the same
speed, always
the same number
of leaves seemingly
always falling
such that I think
of a screen saver
called “Autumn”.
They have coordinated
their falling — in fact
it is a simple letting go:
first these, then the next
group. It seems it will always
be the same, but it won’t
really and this exact
scene won’t last for long.
These are my thoughts
as we walk together,
and you have just
turned three, and you collect
your beautiful leaves
for your bouquet, so excited –
each one is a miracle.
July 22, 2011 at 1:51 am · Filed under Big Cities, Earth, Language, Poetry, Teaching, Trees and tagged: autumn, English, Fall, high school, leaves, paying attention, Poetry, teach poetry, Teaching, trees
Cleaning up my house, I found this poem written nearly a year ago. It’s not that original at all, but was written during an activity I facilitated with my students. Now I want to remember the activity, and throw out the paper the poem is written on, so I will type this little guy up as a memory.
We took a walk around the school in the Fall. The assignment I had given them (after a couple weeks of talk and activites about poetry) was to write a poem with two stanzas and at least one metaphor and one simile. This was what I came up with to read to them after the walk. I have their poems somewhere — I’m sure theirs are more interesting! I remember one girl’s in particular; she is a refugee from Somalia and is an English language learner, and her poem was fantastic. The fact that English is not her first language made her poem that much more unique in its descriptive language.
Autumn
The trees are a book of matches
that have all caught fire
together — leaves like red and yellow
flames. Some trees are bare already:
burned out matches.
Next to us as we walk,
the cars hurry by
making a sound like waves
at the beach. It’s strange
to think of water walking through
these dry and crackling leaves.
– Fall, 2010
June 24, 2011 at 9:01 pm · Filed under Animals, Community, Earth, Environment, Family, Home, Love, My daughter, Sun, The Good Things, Time, Travel, Trees, Water and tagged: beaches, Colorado, elk, family, God, Grand Canyon, lakes, life, Michigan, mountains, nature, once in a lifetime, Orvis, Ouray, paying attention, present moment, sunset, Upper Peninsula, Utah, Valley of the Gods
I was recently remembering a time that I was driving back to Utah from a trip to Orvis, Colorado. Just a gorgeous area, amazing natural hot springs, totally my thing. Driving home through the evergreen-filled mountains, I passed through a valley of sorts and came upon hundreds, if not thousands, of elk grazing in the setting sunlight. At the time, in 2002, I thought, “There is no way that I will not be back here soon. Maybe even once a year.” Yet, nine years later, I have never been back. Even when I do go back, what are the chances that I will see all those elk that way again…I think maybe that was a once in a lifetime thing.
I’ve been very fortunate to have many of those moments in nature with all the camping and backpacking I did when I was a kid, through the few years after college. Being in nature is always where I have felt most at home, and most felt the presence of God. That’s where it’s easiest for me. I can recall one magical moment after the other from hiking and swimming the crystal clear lakes of the Upper Peninsula of Michigan, to walking the pristine beaches of Bali, to riding in a hot air balloon over the stunning desert landscape of the Valley of the Gods. Each place, each time, I know that about 25% of me was thinking, “I’ll be back here; I’ll see this again in my life.” And never have I ever re-created one of those moments. This leads me to realize again the ancient truth that here and now is all we are guaranteed. See each moment, and appreciate it, for just what it is in all its spectacular singularity. A once in a lifetime moment. Because in less than an hour things will be different. Maybe even very, very different.
You will never go back.
While I have been required to see natural beauty in a tamer setting these days, I recognize that all of the above applies very much to my family life, which has taken priority in my life over the past seven years. It’s always been a priority, to be sure, but since my own marriage and the birth/upcoming birth of my children that priority has shifted to becoming nearly all consuming. I have yet to find a way to completely synthesize my love of travel and the natural world into my current life, but I’m not too worried about it. I know that the moments I have with my children and spouse, parents, brother, and grandparents are as beautiful and unrepeatable as any sunset over the Grand Canyon. Moreso. I could have moved to any one of those amazing places if I wanted to, but always the draw of my family has pulled me back home. I do believe that love, and relationships with other people, is all that we will take with us when we leave Earth. Though it would be nice to take a few of those lakes and sunsets, too!
Basically, what I am trying to say is that every moment is once in a lifetime. I think my daughter has made me realize that more than ever as she changes so quicky from week to week.
June 11, 2011 at 1:44 am · Filed under Animals, Community, Death, Dreams, Earth, Fences, Love, My daughter, Questions, Religion, Time and tagged: animals, Bible, Children, death, Divine, environment, God, justice, love, religion, spirituality, unconditional love, universal love, universe
When I tell my daughter that I love her, she likes to say, “I’m wiping off all that love!” And she wipes her face off with her hands — she gets a big kick out of it. I tell her in return, “You can’t wipe off that love; that’s stuck to you forever!”
That’s how I imagine so many adults acting with their behavior and choices. The violence that we inflict on each other, the animals, and the earth makes me think that people often do not accept that any kind of divine or universal love should be wasted upon them. Most likely, they did not feel a lot of parental love as children, thus they can’t imagine love on an even greater and unconditional level. They must not feel loved because they certainly don’t act lovingly — or like they know what love is.
I imagine them trying to wipe all the love off their faces with each hurtful act they commit. And I hope that someday, they are in a position to see things more clearly — such as, after their deaths — and that they recognize the pain they have caused, even feel all the pain they have caused. Maybe we’ll all feel all the pain (and love) that we have been responsible for. But I hope that people do not feel the pain that they have caused for eternity. I hope that Divine Love is stuck to all of us forever, and that eventually we’re all grown up enough to feel, accept, and reflect that love back to others.
June 9, 2011 at 7:57 pm · Filed under Animals, Earth, My daughter, Poetry, The Good Things, Wind and tagged: Children, fireflies, heat, in the moment, lightning bugs, night, paying attention, present moment, summer, wind, witness
Nothing extra
ordinary really, but it also is
because what are the odds
I’d be paying attention:
the very first night that fireflies
flicker in a hot dark sky.
I know the night before
they were yet unborn,
so as I stand at the window
I’m a witness to this turning
on. A sluggish breeze,
not left with much by the time
she reaches me, runs her hands
around my face the way I touch
my little daughter’s cheeks.
April 13, 2011 at 1:10 am · Filed under Earth, Home, Music, Travel, Trees, Water and tagged: Caribbean, flowers, ocean, rain, spring, trees
(That is a great song by Patti Griffin, by the way).
When I stepped out my front door at 6:45 this morning, it was raining. But it was so gorgeously warm and balmy. It was one of just a few times where I’ve stepped into darkness and felt totally comfortable. Usually, the dark scares me — that fear of the unseen. This morning, though, felt like the time I was in the Caribbean.
We stepped into the ocean and it was clear and blue and warm and the French couple we met — the guy — described it as the only time he’d been swimming in the ocean when he felt “no hesitation.” That’s how I felt this morning. I stepped into the warm wet darkness like I had stepped into the ocean: with no hesitation.
The tall tree in front of me opened thousands of its white flowers in my face and all the birds were singing and singing. Was it a bright and sunny afternoon? No. Was it beautiful? Yes.
April 11, 2011 at 9:21 pm · Filed under Earth, Family, Love, My daughter, Poetry, Water and tagged: Children, daughter, magnetic poetry, Poetry, season, spring
When I lived in Utah, I had a friend who had magnetic poetry on her fridge. She always had the best poems stuck up there! She was a very neat and creative lady. When I moved back home after my year of service on the Reservation, J. and I got a box of the magnetic words for our fridge.
I was not nearly as prolific a fridge poet as I would have hoped, but I did have two little ones up for over a year. My daughter loves to pull the letters down and hide them in secret places around the house, so the magnetic poetry is on its last legs.
I have grown accustomed to reading the two poems every day, and however unimpressive they may be, they are words I am used to seeing and I don’t want to forget them after everything is back in a little box. The first is good for the season:
rhythm
kiss as always
the eternally
young
season:
spring.
And the second:
Father mother
baby daughter
heart ocean
surrounds.
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