John Michael Greer- http://thearchdruidreport.blogspot.com/ - is to my mind is the pre-eminent Voice of the post-industrial age-watch community. He’s a historian/scholar/sociologist/Druid, noted speaker at ecology/crash watch conferences, author of several books on the subject & regular blogger. He’s patient, reasoned, articulate. He’s written the most lucid, understandable explanation of Peak Oil, & the ramifications, I’ve seen. His weekly blog posts are often responses to questions put to him by readers- lately, answers to the hopeful notions that technology will either save us from the ecological changes we’ve wrought, or that SOME technology will survive- like trains & the internet. He gently points out that trains, even electric trains, get their electricity from burning coal- & that the internet- free as it is- is run on servers that require huge amounts of energy. The idea that some resources are just too valuable to lose is just too bad: the value to humans doesn't determine the sustainability of the product.
His essays present a very clear understanding of the global economic, ecological,and industrial situation we're living through.
I’ve already passed along to many people printed versions of a letter he wrote to the activist community- finally, I found an online link to it: http://www.redroom.com/articlestory/getting-beyond-the-narratives-an-open-letter-activist-community . The use of magic and spell-making as metaphor in this letter explains numbers of issues to me- like forgetting your baby in a hot car, or of course thinking the Emperor MUST have clothes on. The power of the right/wrong duality he explicates, too- I hope to talk about this with you if you can read it.
Showing posts with label Heart and Spirit. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Heart and Spirit. Show all posts
Sunday, July 5, 2009
Sunday, December 30, 2007
What happened next……
A long time since I last posted; a lot happening along with very apparently little….. first, the little:
Chickens: we lost another chicken to a night critter- didn’t put em up soon enough that night. We’re still getting eggs from the red hens; about 4/wk… surprising in this time of little light…. We didn’t expect regular eggs again till spring or so. The remaining white hen, Stripes, molted this year; looked like a frail old chicken for a minute, but’s now back in full henny feather.
Winter Garden: I planted in back, against my better planning, thinking I’d just put the fencing back around the plots….. well, it wasn’t nearly high enough, and the chickens had a Great Feast. We didn’t. In fact, if we were solely food-dependent on our winter harvest and what we stored from fall & summer, we’d be living on a few dried tomatoes, figs, grapes, and three giant zucchini; eggs, once in while; preserved lemons; wild salads, mostly sour grass; a few wild-seed crackers, including naturalized wheat and millet (about 2 cups worth); herbs & herbal teas, of course; about 10 lbs of potatoes; nasturtium capers; uncured olives, 34 of them packed in curing salt; and a few gallons of harvested rainwater.
I console my harvest-seeking self with the realization that this is MUCH better than last year, and next year is sure to be even more….. and my “told you so” self with one does what one can, and keeps on walking the walk, no matter.
Infrastructure: still slowly tooling along, but have moved back to the Front House for main living… front house with electricity, running water…. heat…. and moved almost all Stuff from the Middle, realizing that it’ll be MUCH more efficient to lay flooring and insulation with Stuff out of the way….. we’ve dug the deep trench and installed the conduit for electric to the Middle House, too, and started painting the Front and almost finished the front gracious stairs & porch….. one does what one can.
Then the lot…. Much social and inward change; composting old sour emotional shit, family relationships, old habitual un-needful behaviors; talk about Stop Shopping! (http://www.revbilly.com/…. Check out the music while you shop the site) I’ve begun to stop shopping in the aisles of discontent, going-nowhere-I-want-to-be-relationship; what a deep breath that is…
And what a hard road to travel; at least it’s clearly lit- the road signs say yes, keep going yr own way, focus on the vision, keep on keeping on, no matter what other’s want or expect that’s off the road- they’ve dropped off, gone their own ways without me; as Dr Seuss said, “those who mind don’t matter; those who matter don’t mind”…. So here’re me & QR, snuggled down in deep blankets, walking the walk with a whole lot of sweaters & coats on whenever we HAVE to get up. $…. After gaining, from family & friends & work, thousands of dollars, and then losing thousands to old debt and generosity and perfidy, I’ve decided to work full time. I’ll make a lot more $; I plan to pay for the work to be done, pay others who need the $ and want, and can, and WILL do the work we need. This has been a tough nut to compost…. I love sharing resources and visioning and what I think is building a future and an immediate Life…. What’s happened is, I appear to have cast my pearls before swine, and the swine have choked on em & spit em back in my face… So. I often struggle in relationship the ways I’ve often struggled in the rest of life: unsure what’s real, accepting what’s clearly not… going with someone else’s flow, at the strugglous expense of my own. Clearly not efficient or healthy or happy when I’ve so much I want to share, and so much to do…. and clearly an old habit, diverting from my own path in favor of someone else’s problems, part of the tough process of digging deep and letting the old relationships and unhappy habits go their own way without me; for the moment I’ve got my eyes on my own River, sailing along.
Chickens: we lost another chicken to a night critter- didn’t put em up soon enough that night. We’re still getting eggs from the red hens; about 4/wk… surprising in this time of little light…. We didn’t expect regular eggs again till spring or so. The remaining white hen, Stripes, molted this year; looked like a frail old chicken for a minute, but’s now back in full henny feather.
Winter Garden: I planted in back, against my better planning, thinking I’d just put the fencing back around the plots….. well, it wasn’t nearly high enough, and the chickens had a Great Feast. We didn’t. In fact, if we were solely food-dependent on our winter harvest and what we stored from fall & summer, we’d be living on a few dried tomatoes, figs, grapes, and three giant zucchini; eggs, once in while; preserved lemons; wild salads, mostly sour grass; a few wild-seed crackers, including naturalized wheat and millet (about 2 cups worth); herbs & herbal teas, of course; about 10 lbs of potatoes; nasturtium capers; uncured olives, 34 of them packed in curing salt; and a few gallons of harvested rainwater.
I console my harvest-seeking self with the realization that this is MUCH better than last year, and next year is sure to be even more….. and my “told you so” self with one does what one can, and keeps on walking the walk, no matter.
Infrastructure: still slowly tooling along, but have moved back to the Front House for main living… front house with electricity, running water…. heat…. and moved almost all Stuff from the Middle, realizing that it’ll be MUCH more efficient to lay flooring and insulation with Stuff out of the way….. we’ve dug the deep trench and installed the conduit for electric to the Middle House, too, and started painting the Front and almost finished the front gracious stairs & porch….. one does what one can.
Then the lot…. Much social and inward change; composting old sour emotional shit, family relationships, old habitual un-needful behaviors; talk about Stop Shopping! (http://www.revbilly.com/…. Check out the music while you shop the site) I’ve begun to stop shopping in the aisles of discontent, going-nowhere-I-want-to-be-relationship; what a deep breath that is…
And what a hard road to travel; at least it’s clearly lit- the road signs say yes, keep going yr own way, focus on the vision, keep on keeping on, no matter what other’s want or expect that’s off the road- they’ve dropped off, gone their own ways without me; as Dr Seuss said, “those who mind don’t matter; those who matter don’t mind”…. So here’re me & QR, snuggled down in deep blankets, walking the walk with a whole lot of sweaters & coats on whenever we HAVE to get up. $…. After gaining, from family & friends & work, thousands of dollars, and then losing thousands to old debt and generosity and perfidy, I’ve decided to work full time. I’ll make a lot more $; I plan to pay for the work to be done, pay others who need the $ and want, and can, and WILL do the work we need. This has been a tough nut to compost…. I love sharing resources and visioning and what I think is building a future and an immediate Life…. What’s happened is, I appear to have cast my pearls before swine, and the swine have choked on em & spit em back in my face… So. I often struggle in relationship the ways I’ve often struggled in the rest of life: unsure what’s real, accepting what’s clearly not… going with someone else’s flow, at the strugglous expense of my own. Clearly not efficient or healthy or happy when I’ve so much I want to share, and so much to do…. and clearly an old habit, diverting from my own path in favor of someone else’s problems, part of the tough process of digging deep and letting the old relationships and unhappy habits go their own way without me; for the moment I’ve got my eyes on my own River, sailing along.
Sunday, November 18, 2007
Naturalizing Living Food & Medicine
So back to "what did you mean "the tires were a bust?"- I meant my naturalizing efforts. For some time, I've been scouting out locations that seem to be largely undisturbed raw or abandoned land with good sunlight. In places that have good- or any!- soil, I've strewn poppies and native tobacco seeds and planted aloe vera pups. The aloes died already; too much sun, not enough water, I think- so I'm scouting new places, ideally not too inaccessible, especially needful for the seemingly universally useful, good-in-emergency, benevolent aloe.
As for the the poppies and tobacco, we'll see how it went this spring!
And as for the tires: I noticed that the railroad tracks here run mostly South to North, giving them really good sunlight potential where there aren't too many trees or cliff walls in the way. AND they're graded so water flows naturally into the rail bed, which is saved from annual flooding by the leveling and draining gravel spread under the tracks.
Of course, there's a marvelous tradition here, planting on the railroad bed: who doesn't remember the romatic story of old time engineers tossing poppy seeds along their routes, spreading golden California comfort and color? Now it's a bent gray-haired old woman leaning on a stick, stumbling along the tracks with multiple plastic bags and possibly some interesting pieces of wood or iron or purslane.......
Well, the tires. I saw a few scattered along the tracks during my usual course of busyness. They stayed there for almost one year before I made a move. I'd also scouted very easy access to the tracks, places where I could park and walk easily carrying a gallon of water, a little soil, and some straw. Places that already had tires lying around, or, in one place, could be easily rolled into position. I set up three tire planters in three locations along the tracks, using tires that were already sitting there and as much local dry brush and earth as I could find, supplemented with rich compost, hauled-in water and straw. Before planting, I came back a few times with a gallon of water, sometimes two, in plastic milk jugs; I packed the dry material tightly into the rim, more tightly each time, and poured more water in; the dry material takes some time to soak up the water, but eventually soaks up a LOT.... I wanted that water stored in the wet straw rim of the tire so the roots could suck it up later on, like the five-gallon bucket planting referenced here earlier (post 5/22/07), without the holes drilled in - I figured the rims would hold the excess water, with the rest running through the bottom- so the drilled holes were uneccessary. Every time I went back- at my whim & convenience, having stowed the water bottles, straw & soil in the trunk- I tested the wetness with a hand or a stick; when it'd stayed moist for a few days, I planted poppy seeds in the soil on top. I saw them all sprout! So why were they a bust? Like the song says, "the angels took him away, poor boy......" only in this case, I think it was The Man, who'd decided to clean up the tracks. So they were a bust.... the tires were gone one day, along with some rolls of heavy gauge wire and bark I'd been eyeing. Well, gone but not forgotten- I've yet to strew seeds on the tracks, or try the tire planting in corners of the city... maybe I'll try two or four inch plants this time, so they don't just look like old tires with dirt and a few weeds in. And strew a few poppy seeds, in memory of the old engineers. I hope you will too.
As for the the poppies and tobacco, we'll see how it went this spring!
And as for the tires: I noticed that the railroad tracks here run mostly South to North, giving them really good sunlight potential where there aren't too many trees or cliff walls in the way. AND they're graded so water flows naturally into the rail bed, which is saved from annual flooding by the leveling and draining gravel spread under the tracks.
Of course, there's a marvelous tradition here, planting on the railroad bed: who doesn't remember the romatic story of old time engineers tossing poppy seeds along their routes, spreading golden California comfort and color? Now it's a bent gray-haired old woman leaning on a stick, stumbling along the tracks with multiple plastic bags and possibly some interesting pieces of wood or iron or purslane.......
Well, the tires. I saw a few scattered along the tracks during my usual course of busyness. They stayed there for almost one year before I made a move. I'd also scouted very easy access to the tracks, places where I could park and walk easily carrying a gallon of water, a little soil, and some straw. Places that already had tires lying around, or, in one place, could be easily rolled into position. I set up three tire planters in three locations along the tracks, using tires that were already sitting there and as much local dry brush and earth as I could find, supplemented with rich compost, hauled-in water and straw. Before planting, I came back a few times with a gallon of water, sometimes two, in plastic milk jugs; I packed the dry material tightly into the rim, more tightly each time, and poured more water in; the dry material takes some time to soak up the water, but eventually soaks up a LOT.... I wanted that water stored in the wet straw rim of the tire so the roots could suck it up later on, like the five-gallon bucket planting referenced here earlier (post 5/22/07), without the holes drilled in - I figured the rims would hold the excess water, with the rest running through the bottom- so the drilled holes were uneccessary. Every time I went back- at my whim & convenience, having stowed the water bottles, straw & soil in the trunk- I tested the wetness with a hand or a stick; when it'd stayed moist for a few days, I planted poppy seeds in the soil on top. I saw them all sprout! So why were they a bust? Like the song says, "the angels took him away, poor boy......" only in this case, I think it was The Man, who'd decided to clean up the tracks. So they were a bust.... the tires were gone one day, along with some rolls of heavy gauge wire and bark I'd been eyeing. Well, gone but not forgotten- I've yet to strew seeds on the tracks, or try the tire planting in corners of the city... maybe I'll try two or four inch plants this time, so they don't just look like old tires with dirt and a few weeds in. And strew a few poppy seeds, in memory of the old engineers. I hope you will too.
Friday, November 2, 2007
Won't Be Water But Fire Next Time
California burning... we've probly all watched that news; 300,000 people evacuated in the nick of time to a super dome, homes destroyed, insurance companies talking their talk; and that's about the end of the resemblance to Katrina & the Gulf Coast. The relieved, grateful, rescued people aren't characterized as "refugees". They were, for the most part, rescued in the nick of time. There are medical personnel roving around the superdome, distributing fresh water and particle masks. Many of them had private fire insurance- and their hired firefighters were on the scene before the public safety guys. They talk about just being patient while the insurers rebuild. I saw two people of color in the displaced crowd footage. As my Father said when I returned from a trip to Idaho with the news that I'd seen only two black people the whole time I'd been there, "Wow, you were lucky! there're only two black people living there!"
So much for the obvious dis-parrallels. We see that a co-ordinated rescue effort is really possible when we set our minds to it.
And so much for what we think we personally can or cannot do in the direct recovery efforts in SoCal & Gulf Coast- we can certainly work on our own reflexive actions, attitudes that made the hell of Katrina recovery possible in the first place. For one thing, we know that "pulling the race card" is deeply offensive to many white liberals- "how dare you call me predjudiced!", while our own attitudes towards poverty and class remain almost invisible to many of us. How often do we actually look at a "homeless" person's face? ,
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
Alma: Homeless, With Garden
I asked some friends whether they’d seen her around: You mean that big pile of moving clothes & blankets? Oh yes, she’s been around for years…
I never noticed her until yesterday. It wasn’t the big moving pile of clothes & blankets, or the beach umbrella cocked at an angle to keep out the sun, or the overflowing grocery cart holding the umbrella up that opened my eyes to her- it was the garden. A little row of tin cans with green, green billowing out: tiny purple flowers, a few green onions, a potato vine…. obviously carefully tended to.
I parked in the lot behind her and walked over to her bench; she was bent double over her big lap… sleeping? Dead? Will she mind an intrusion?
Excuse me… Ma’am? Hello? I knocked on the back of the bench, the closest she has to a door to her home… Hello?
She unfolded slowly, blinking at me- Yes?
Hello- my name is Pam. I noticed your beautiful garden….
Oh, thank you!
Her face is enormous, round; yellow sclera and an unnatural golden glow to her brown skin; hepatitis, for sure…. usually accompanied by abdominal pain, nausea, and swelling… her feet and ankles, covered only by white socks, are huge; partly healing and newer open sores visible on her calves. Front teeth missing….. and her Smile! Her face opened to it like the sun coming up; no, she seemed not to mind my intrusion.
What’s your name? I held out my hand; her answering fingers are long, delicate, strong-looking; her palm over mine is gentle, no pressure…. blackened nails, dry crusty skin- My name is Alma. How nice to meet you.
She has the gentlest voice, soft, but carrying over the traffic sounds; a British accent. Gracious, kind- the voice of a Lady or a benevolent queen.
What do you have growing here? (The onions seem to be leaning over in the little can, very little soil)-
These were planted in sand, but I think someone wanted it, you know. This one is a potato vine- Oh, the flowers are so pretty! I’d like to water them, but they had no water today….
I know where I can get water, Ma’am… may I bring some back to you?
How kind! I could use some water…
Is there anything else you could use? I have some of that waterless handwashing stuff if you like; it’s very good stuff when there’s no water….. Why yes, (gesturing toward her cart with a twinkling laugh) I think I have some in here, but I’m not sure it's still there- people do like to go shopping, you know-
I got home fast as a rabbit on the run. A big jar of water; an Aloe Vera pup planted in a coffee can; another can of soil; a fresh bottle of waterless cleaner…..
Why, hello! How kind of you! Oh yes, I know Aloe Vera….. very good for the skin. I used it when I was working; I’d come home and take off my…. Gentle hands make a scrubbing motion across her face; Take off your makeup? Yes, makeup! And then I’d rub the Aloe on my face; very good for the skin….
Ma’am, I have no wish to intrude- but I think it’s going to rain…..
Yes, good for the garden!
Yes…. good for the garden, not so good for the feet… Ms Alma, I’m worried about your feet…. could you use some shoes?
Oh dear, I have shoes in here! Then her light little laugh….
You see, I’m a nurse- I can’t help but notice these things; do you want to go inside? Do you have the services you need? Do you have a doctor?
My words came out in a rush of anxiety for her, for me, for Us…
Well, I have my social security, and that insurance… what is it… yes, I have everything I need.
Do you want to be inside, Alma? There’re places you could go- Casa de Vallejo is nice-
Oh no, no, no- she’s smiling, shaking her head, looking at her lap- I’d like to buy a little house- just a little one, with a roof over my head and running water… and again that soft little laugh. No, I have everything I need....
Ma’am, I’m so happy to meet you, so glad you welcomed me here- she looked surprised, stumbling over her words- Why, I’m glad I could be here for you to meet!
Me too, Alma. Me too. Thank-you.
I never noticed her until yesterday. It wasn’t the big moving pile of clothes & blankets, or the beach umbrella cocked at an angle to keep out the sun, or the overflowing grocery cart holding the umbrella up that opened my eyes to her- it was the garden. A little row of tin cans with green, green billowing out: tiny purple flowers, a few green onions, a potato vine…. obviously carefully tended to.
I parked in the lot behind her and walked over to her bench; she was bent double over her big lap… sleeping? Dead? Will she mind an intrusion?
Excuse me… Ma’am? Hello? I knocked on the back of the bench, the closest she has to a door to her home… Hello?
She unfolded slowly, blinking at me- Yes?
Hello- my name is Pam. I noticed your beautiful garden….
Oh, thank you!
Her face is enormous, round; yellow sclera and an unnatural golden glow to her brown skin; hepatitis, for sure…. usually accompanied by abdominal pain, nausea, and swelling… her feet and ankles, covered only by white socks, are huge; partly healing and newer open sores visible on her calves. Front teeth missing….. and her Smile! Her face opened to it like the sun coming up; no, she seemed not to mind my intrusion.
What’s your name? I held out my hand; her answering fingers are long, delicate, strong-looking; her palm over mine is gentle, no pressure…. blackened nails, dry crusty skin- My name is Alma. How nice to meet you.
She has the gentlest voice, soft, but carrying over the traffic sounds; a British accent. Gracious, kind- the voice of a Lady or a benevolent queen.
What do you have growing here? (The onions seem to be leaning over in the little can, very little soil)-
These were planted in sand, but I think someone wanted it, you know. This one is a potato vine- Oh, the flowers are so pretty! I’d like to water them, but they had no water today….
I know where I can get water, Ma’am… may I bring some back to you?
How kind! I could use some water…
Is there anything else you could use? I have some of that waterless handwashing stuff if you like; it’s very good stuff when there’s no water….. Why yes, (gesturing toward her cart with a twinkling laugh) I think I have some in here, but I’m not sure it's still there- people do like to go shopping, you know-
I got home fast as a rabbit on the run. A big jar of water; an Aloe Vera pup planted in a coffee can; another can of soil; a fresh bottle of waterless cleaner…..
Why, hello! How kind of you! Oh yes, I know Aloe Vera….. very good for the skin. I used it when I was working; I’d come home and take off my…. Gentle hands make a scrubbing motion across her face; Take off your makeup? Yes, makeup! And then I’d rub the Aloe on my face; very good for the skin….
Ma’am, I have no wish to intrude- but I think it’s going to rain…..
Yes, good for the garden!
Yes…. good for the garden, not so good for the feet… Ms Alma, I’m worried about your feet…. could you use some shoes?
Oh dear, I have shoes in here! Then her light little laugh….
You see, I’m a nurse- I can’t help but notice these things; do you want to go inside? Do you have the services you need? Do you have a doctor?
My words came out in a rush of anxiety for her, for me, for Us…
Well, I have my social security, and that insurance… what is it… yes, I have everything I need.
Do you want to be inside, Alma? There’re places you could go- Casa de Vallejo is nice-
Oh no, no, no- she’s smiling, shaking her head, looking at her lap- I’d like to buy a little house- just a little one, with a roof over my head and running water… and again that soft little laugh. No, I have everything I need....
Ma’am, I’m so happy to meet you, so glad you welcomed me here- she looked surprised, stumbling over her words- Why, I’m glad I could be here for you to meet!
Me too, Alma. Me too. Thank-you.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Brains On Cruise Control
We've probably all heard about, and are appalled by, the latest infant death from heatstroke after being left in a car. Interestingly- but maybe not surprisingly- I'm not able to find the information online, published in last week's SF Chronicle, I found most important. First of all, there are about 3 dozen of these deaths each year in the US alone. That would be THIRTY SIX infant-left-in-car-deaths each year; three deaths each month; almost one each week.
What's up with this?!? The Chronicle posited an answer: "brain researchers" ( my quotes) have found that the human brain can, and does, go on automatic pilot. The brain does NOT make any distinctions regarding the importance of what's forgotten- it could be the coffee cup on top of the car; the ice cream melting in the trunk; the baby in the back seat. It doesn't matter- the brain makes no value distinction when on auto-pilot. In fact, the perceived importance of the baby actually makes it easier to forget: we tell ourselves we'd never forget the baby, for god's sake. Thirty six grief-struck parents per year tell us a different story, one I think we need to pay close attention to. Not only so we don't forget our babies or the ice cream- we need to pay attention to this because auto-pilot is a potentially dangerous hypnosis, and we're all vulnerable. What else do we "forget"? What happens to our critical thinking abilities when we're on auto-pilot- accepting the "news" as Truth, buying tainted food & polluting chemical cleaning products, using pertrol-based energy, distractedly listening to political leaders, accepting official counts of US soldier deaths in Iraq as the only ones we need to hear about, choosing the lesser of the evils? How many times have we told ourselves "they'd never let that happen...." probably as many times as we've reasssured ourselves "I'd never do that, allow that, put up with that...." and we do, all of us, over & over again.
As Jim Hogshire (see Poppy Post) reminds us, when we're raised to believe something cannot exist, we don't recognize it, even when it's before our very eyes. Well. Waking Up is obviously very hard. Compassion for ourselves & others is crucial to the process. I think we can do it- recognizing and challenging unspoken assumptions, remembering and evaluating from one day to the next the changing stories political leaders tell us, asking the hardest questions- especially of ourselves- and really hearing the hardest answers, learning to see what's before our very eyes - hey, the coffee smells GOOD!
What's up with this?!? The Chronicle posited an answer: "brain researchers" ( my quotes) have found that the human brain can, and does, go on automatic pilot. The brain does NOT make any distinctions regarding the importance of what's forgotten- it could be the coffee cup on top of the car; the ice cream melting in the trunk; the baby in the back seat. It doesn't matter- the brain makes no value distinction when on auto-pilot. In fact, the perceived importance of the baby actually makes it easier to forget: we tell ourselves we'd never forget the baby, for god's sake. Thirty six grief-struck parents per year tell us a different story, one I think we need to pay close attention to. Not only so we don't forget our babies or the ice cream- we need to pay attention to this because auto-pilot is a potentially dangerous hypnosis, and we're all vulnerable. What else do we "forget"? What happens to our critical thinking abilities when we're on auto-pilot- accepting the "news" as Truth, buying tainted food & polluting chemical cleaning products, using pertrol-based energy, distractedly listening to political leaders, accepting official counts of US soldier deaths in Iraq as the only ones we need to hear about, choosing the lesser of the evils? How many times have we told ourselves "they'd never let that happen...." probably as many times as we've reasssured ourselves "I'd never do that, allow that, put up with that...." and we do, all of us, over & over again.
As Jim Hogshire (see Poppy Post) reminds us, when we're raised to believe something cannot exist, we don't recognize it, even when it's before our very eyes. Well. Waking Up is obviously very hard. Compassion for ourselves & others is crucial to the process. I think we can do it- recognizing and challenging unspoken assumptions, remembering and evaluating from one day to the next the changing stories political leaders tell us, asking the hardest questions- especially of ourselves- and really hearing the hardest answers, learning to see what's before our very eyes - hey, the coffee smells GOOD!
Monday, July 23, 2007
Prayer
Mother of All Beings, I implore you, hear my prayer.
I feel your tenderness.
Mother, I now understand I have let myself be devoured and I have devoured others and I have vomited out rot.
I feel your forgiveness.
Mother, I now understand that if I think someone has wronged me, I will become a mad junkyard dog ready to tear out the throat of another in your care.
I feel your compassion.
Mother, I now understand that if another has wronged me, and promised to make it right, I remain frightened and bitter until it’s made good, even though the other is also in your Care.
I feel your sorrow.
Mother, you who know above all others how I’ve neglected the Life you gifted me, the long years I’ve forgotten you, the despair I’ve breathed even in your presence,
yet you still recognize me and hold me tenderly in your heart.
I feel your tears mingle with mine and the tears of all beings, our tears that salt the seas and water the earth and fill the blood and breath of all beings in your Care.
Mama, I feel your infinite Love.
I feel your tenderness.
Mother, I now understand I have let myself be devoured and I have devoured others and I have vomited out rot.
I feel your forgiveness.
Mother, I now understand that if I think someone has wronged me, I will become a mad junkyard dog ready to tear out the throat of another in your care.
I feel your compassion.
Mother, I now understand that if another has wronged me, and promised to make it right, I remain frightened and bitter until it’s made good, even though the other is also in your Care.
I feel your sorrow.
Mother, you who know above all others how I’ve neglected the Life you gifted me, the long years I’ve forgotten you, the despair I’ve breathed even in your presence,
yet you still recognize me and hold me tenderly in your heart.
I feel your tears mingle with mine and the tears of all beings, our tears that salt the seas and water the earth and fill the blood and breath of all beings in your Care.
Mama, I feel your infinite Love.
Thursday, July 12, 2007
Being a Part of It All
A friend commented: Have you heard of the Waterkeepers Alliance? Wonder if any of them have made their way into your circle. Turkey Creek Community Initiatives is a member of the Alliance (at least for now).
WOW. I checked em out at http://www.waterkeeper.org/. I very much dig that they’re a national constellation of groups of trained local people with their own boat (and waders, too!) observing and documenting, through formal protocols, the condition of watersheds and waterways in their own neighborhoods, focusing on the effects of industrial pollutants. They sound like true Guradians of the Earth, Water Division. Also provides the people direct connection with Earth as well as power tools for protection of, and advocacy for, healthy living waters.
For myself, it’s essential now that I focus on my own daily practice: the solid realization that I am myself an industrial polluter- an Ajax chlorine BLEACH user, a solvent and detergent user, a corporate water user, and that I have a choice about that, as well as deeply felt knowing that I can do this- keeps me focused on personally exploring daily practice independent of the hegemony of Babylon. I find that employment or participation within the nonprofit world, the corporate world- especially working with issues I care about deeply- keeps me thinking/being/engaging/obsessing in and with the Babyloney of struggle. Struggle with meetings, papers, memos, budgets, deadlines, filings, phones, bureaucrats and bureaucratic wrangling, all the while desperate to keep “making” enough little money to keep giving to the big polluters/sweatshop runners/agribusiness captains/bankers/looters to keep them supplying the soaps and balms and fashions and “entertainments” I’ve come to depend on….. Well.
I’ve been thinking lately that all of our widely varying practices- social, political, cultural, personal, thinking, religious practices- are essentially human attempts to live consonant with our human needs, in this case our need to do right by our own lights, the light being reflections of the same Sun through widely varying lenses.
Guardians of the Earth like Waterkeepers and TCCI are trained, willing & able to engage directly with the Man in his own language. Formal organization is essential to that process.
And through my current lens, informal organization is essential: focusing on practice within my geographic community, who or whatever that is, is opening in me exploration and direct, immediate engagement with LIFE.
WOW. I checked em out at http://www.waterkeeper.org/. I very much dig that they’re a national constellation of groups of trained local people with their own boat (and waders, too!) observing and documenting, through formal protocols, the condition of watersheds and waterways in their own neighborhoods, focusing on the effects of industrial pollutants. They sound like true Guradians of the Earth, Water Division. Also provides the people direct connection with Earth as well as power tools for protection of, and advocacy for, healthy living waters.
For myself, it’s essential now that I focus on my own daily practice: the solid realization that I am myself an industrial polluter- an Ajax chlorine BLEACH user, a solvent and detergent user, a corporate water user, and that I have a choice about that, as well as deeply felt knowing that I can do this- keeps me focused on personally exploring daily practice independent of the hegemony of Babylon. I find that employment or participation within the nonprofit world, the corporate world- especially working with issues I care about deeply- keeps me thinking/being/engaging/obsessing in and with the Babyloney of struggle. Struggle with meetings, papers, memos, budgets, deadlines, filings, phones, bureaucrats and bureaucratic wrangling, all the while desperate to keep “making” enough little money to keep giving to the big polluters/sweatshop runners/agribusiness captains/bankers/looters to keep them supplying the soaps and balms and fashions and “entertainments” I’ve come to depend on….. Well.
I’ve been thinking lately that all of our widely varying practices- social, political, cultural, personal, thinking, religious practices- are essentially human attempts to live consonant with our human needs, in this case our need to do right by our own lights, the light being reflections of the same Sun through widely varying lenses.
Guardians of the Earth like Waterkeepers and TCCI are trained, willing & able to engage directly with the Man in his own language. Formal organization is essential to that process.
And through my current lens, informal organization is essential: focusing on practice within my geographic community, who or whatever that is, is opening in me exploration and direct, immediate engagement with LIFE.
Thursday, July 5, 2007
RIP, Dear Friend
It’s been a little over a year since Don died. Donald Leo Shortis. Donny. My dearest friend during a period of extreme upheaval and wild personal growth. Don!
We met soon after I’d moved, alone, to a sun-filled apartment on Carolina Street. I’d abruptly left a ten-year marriage and a valiant attempt to go straight. Not that I was drug-ridden or outlaw- just that, after years of struggle living as an artist, I thought I’d try a different route- something with a pension, maybe, medical benefits and a decent $ salary; I realized that I’d probably keep on living- maybe a long time- and my life at the time was pretty tiring for an old lady to live. I started nursing school and married- on the books- a decent, fine man with a credit card he paid off every month and a “good” job. Well, I DID become a nurse, DID get a pension and benefits and decent salary….. and lived pretty much in misery. No lack of love- just too much misery. So I Left. It took one week to find a place & move completely out; new town, new life….. and I met Don.
He was mowing the lawn at my new place, sweating and grunting over bumpy ground with a hand mower, leaving that sweet moist new-mown grass smell behind him; he looked so startling- a two foot long straight red beard growing down his neck, giant arms and belly, tattoos of skulls and women and faded illegible words everywhere I could see, clothes so dirt- embedded the original color and fabric was obliterated- that I’d’ve thought he was a dangerous freak if he hadn’t been mowing, & just would’ve sidled away with my face turned. But I didn’t- I introduced myself, shook hands, and commented on the sweet fine smell; for the next five years, he’d periodically remind of that day: member when I first met you? & you said how nice the grass smelled? I knew you were a nice lady.
We got a little closer when I came home with a giant piece of furniture I needed to haul up my twisty stairs; he was across the street by the church (he was living in the church basement then) and I called him over for help:Yeah… I can help you! member how you like that grass smell?
We got the big chair upstairs- he was strong as Atlas, and I felt like he was holding my world up with that one giant piece I couldn’t move alone. We sat down with glasses of cold water, and he asked me to help him with some writing: think maybe you could look at something I got? Sure. He pulled out a clutch of official looking papers he kept folded in his back pocket; he wanted help filing a complaint with the Labor Board. He’d been working at the church, sweeping the parking lot, in exchange for living in the basement and $60/month- now they’d stopped his $ and told him he couldn’t live there anymore. But that wasn’t his main concern; he was most upset that they’d been paying him less than minimum wage, which he’d just found out- I don’t think he knew there WAS a minimum wage until a friend told him. I don’t like people cheating me. Just cuz I’m homeless.
He couldn’t fill out the forms because he couldn’t read; he could barely write either, except for his carefully drawn signature. He didn’t know or have most of the information required for the form- his boss’s last name, how long he’d worked there, his residential address, a phone number- he DID have a social security number squirreled away in his back pocket with his other official papers. We filled out the forms as best we could- I figgered yr smart, cuz yr a doctor. He called me “doctor” from the first time he saw my stethoscope up to the day he died.
We went through a lot together after that: Don wanted a place to stay ( I only had to say “no” one time before he got it and never brought it up again), I wanted help with my projects, and we both wanted Friendship. I got the help I needed, Don found a car & then a field to live in, and we both got strong, sure friendship.
There are marks of our projects all over the Farm: we tilled the hardpacked clay, planted roses (his grandmother told him that roses are the heart of the home- she always planted them around the house), planted trees, built makeshift arbors- and he generally kept the front little lawn looking respectable. He always looked out for clay and rubble for me: we hauled at least a ton- in very small loads- back to the Farm from fields & lots & construction sites he’d sussed out. We tried turning tires inside out for planters; we built planting beds with the rubble and cut turfs for retaining walls in the Medieval fashion. We painted the middle room red- then immediately painted it over in white. We fixed what we thought we could fix, and tried what we couldn’t- we had to get a new toilet after me & Don tried to fix the old one, cracking it open in the process. We teased each other and hollered sometimes and always worked it out.
We spent regular time admiring our work, even years after the event- member when we painted the room red? member how we hauled all that clay? I gotta eye fr clay now.... member how we planted the poppies in my field? member how I gave you that butter dish? I knew you’d like it cuz it’s yellow…Yeah, we work good together…
When I explained why I didn’t want any of his friends visiting here- criminals know criminals, and I don’t need any criminals around, yrself excepted- he said simply yeah. I know a lot of criminals. OK. He never failed to say to astonished friends I introduced him to I’d never steal from here. These’ re my friends, we help each other out. And he never did steal from here, just gave & gave & gave.
A few years after we met, we were sitting on the porch with a friend who’s also an LCSW. She’d had an attack of nausea, and was kneeling on the floor to keep it at bay; listening to him, she crawled over on her hands & knees to ask him more questions- she was appalled that he had no social services in place. Later, Don said Man, I didn’t know what to think when that lady started crawling toward me…but he took it with absolute equanimity, like he did everything else that surprised him. He told us he’d gave em the papers last time, I don’t know what happened.
Our friend worked with him for some time; did the written psych eval and guided him to the right agencies. When I drove him out of town, about 30 miles away, to one of the appointments, he said I guess this’s why I never heard from em last time…I didn’t know I had to go to Fairfield…how’d they think I ‘d get there? Was I sposed to WALK? And I thought, how’s anyone who can’t read expected to understand what to do in the first place?
He got the services he needed. He got to a doctor, he started getting checks. And he got sicker & sicker: emphysema, massively swollen legs from venous insufficiency, type II diabetes and heart disease.
By the time he died, he was living inside- he’d inherited a little trailer house from his Dad, & his long lost brother found a park and moved it there. He was too sick to go out much, so I’d visit him there. He told me he could hear his Daddy playing cards at the table, talking to him- he told me he had all he ever wanted: to live inside, to have a little money just like reglar people do. We planted roses around his door, the heart of his home. Then, a few months after going inside, he died.
It’s been a year and a month now. That’s how long it’s taken me to write about him; that’s how long ago he died. I miss him every day. I hear him calling me Muscles when I lift something big; I hear him recounting our projects when I’m discouraged. I think of him every time I clip the roses. The Heart of our Home. Yeah, we do good work together, Don. RIP, my Friend.
We met soon after I’d moved, alone, to a sun-filled apartment on Carolina Street. I’d abruptly left a ten-year marriage and a valiant attempt to go straight. Not that I was drug-ridden or outlaw- just that, after years of struggle living as an artist, I thought I’d try a different route- something with a pension, maybe, medical benefits and a decent $ salary; I realized that I’d probably keep on living- maybe a long time- and my life at the time was pretty tiring for an old lady to live. I started nursing school and married- on the books- a decent, fine man with a credit card he paid off every month and a “good” job. Well, I DID become a nurse, DID get a pension and benefits and decent salary….. and lived pretty much in misery. No lack of love- just too much misery. So I Left. It took one week to find a place & move completely out; new town, new life….. and I met Don.
He was mowing the lawn at my new place, sweating and grunting over bumpy ground with a hand mower, leaving that sweet moist new-mown grass smell behind him; he looked so startling- a two foot long straight red beard growing down his neck, giant arms and belly, tattoos of skulls and women and faded illegible words everywhere I could see, clothes so dirt- embedded the original color and fabric was obliterated- that I’d’ve thought he was a dangerous freak if he hadn’t been mowing, & just would’ve sidled away with my face turned. But I didn’t- I introduced myself, shook hands, and commented on the sweet fine smell; for the next five years, he’d periodically remind of that day: member when I first met you? & you said how nice the grass smelled? I knew you were a nice lady.
We got a little closer when I came home with a giant piece of furniture I needed to haul up my twisty stairs; he was across the street by the church (he was living in the church basement then) and I called him over for help:Yeah… I can help you! member how you like that grass smell?
We got the big chair upstairs- he was strong as Atlas, and I felt like he was holding my world up with that one giant piece I couldn’t move alone. We sat down with glasses of cold water, and he asked me to help him with some writing: think maybe you could look at something I got? Sure. He pulled out a clutch of official looking papers he kept folded in his back pocket; he wanted help filing a complaint with the Labor Board. He’d been working at the church, sweeping the parking lot, in exchange for living in the basement and $60/month- now they’d stopped his $ and told him he couldn’t live there anymore. But that wasn’t his main concern; he was most upset that they’d been paying him less than minimum wage, which he’d just found out- I don’t think he knew there WAS a minimum wage until a friend told him. I don’t like people cheating me. Just cuz I’m homeless.
He couldn’t fill out the forms because he couldn’t read; he could barely write either, except for his carefully drawn signature. He didn’t know or have most of the information required for the form- his boss’s last name, how long he’d worked there, his residential address, a phone number- he DID have a social security number squirreled away in his back pocket with his other official papers. We filled out the forms as best we could- I figgered yr smart, cuz yr a doctor. He called me “doctor” from the first time he saw my stethoscope up to the day he died.
We went through a lot together after that: Don wanted a place to stay ( I only had to say “no” one time before he got it and never brought it up again), I wanted help with my projects, and we both wanted Friendship. I got the help I needed, Don found a car & then a field to live in, and we both got strong, sure friendship.
There are marks of our projects all over the Farm: we tilled the hardpacked clay, planted roses (his grandmother told him that roses are the heart of the home- she always planted them around the house), planted trees, built makeshift arbors- and he generally kept the front little lawn looking respectable. He always looked out for clay and rubble for me: we hauled at least a ton- in very small loads- back to the Farm from fields & lots & construction sites he’d sussed out. We tried turning tires inside out for planters; we built planting beds with the rubble and cut turfs for retaining walls in the Medieval fashion. We painted the middle room red- then immediately painted it over in white. We fixed what we thought we could fix, and tried what we couldn’t- we had to get a new toilet after me & Don tried to fix the old one, cracking it open in the process. We teased each other and hollered sometimes and always worked it out.
We spent regular time admiring our work, even years after the event- member when we painted the room red? member how we hauled all that clay? I gotta eye fr clay now.... member how we planted the poppies in my field? member how I gave you that butter dish? I knew you’d like it cuz it’s yellow…Yeah, we work good together…
When I explained why I didn’t want any of his friends visiting here- criminals know criminals, and I don’t need any criminals around, yrself excepted- he said simply yeah. I know a lot of criminals. OK. He never failed to say to astonished friends I introduced him to I’d never steal from here. These’ re my friends, we help each other out. And he never did steal from here, just gave & gave & gave.
A few years after we met, we were sitting on the porch with a friend who’s also an LCSW. She’d had an attack of nausea, and was kneeling on the floor to keep it at bay; listening to him, she crawled over on her hands & knees to ask him more questions- she was appalled that he had no social services in place. Later, Don said Man, I didn’t know what to think when that lady started crawling toward me…but he took it with absolute equanimity, like he did everything else that surprised him. He told us he’d gave em the papers last time, I don’t know what happened.
Our friend worked with him for some time; did the written psych eval and guided him to the right agencies. When I drove him out of town, about 30 miles away, to one of the appointments, he said I guess this’s why I never heard from em last time…I didn’t know I had to go to Fairfield…how’d they think I ‘d get there? Was I sposed to WALK? And I thought, how’s anyone who can’t read expected to understand what to do in the first place?
He got the services he needed. He got to a doctor, he started getting checks. And he got sicker & sicker: emphysema, massively swollen legs from venous insufficiency, type II diabetes and heart disease.
By the time he died, he was living inside- he’d inherited a little trailer house from his Dad, & his long lost brother found a park and moved it there. He was too sick to go out much, so I’d visit him there. He told me he could hear his Daddy playing cards at the table, talking to him- he told me he had all he ever wanted: to live inside, to have a little money just like reglar people do. We planted roses around his door, the heart of his home. Then, a few months after going inside, he died.
It’s been a year and a month now. That’s how long it’s taken me to write about him; that’s how long ago he died. I miss him every day. I hear him calling me Muscles when I lift something big; I hear him recounting our projects when I’m discouraged. I think of him every time I clip the roses. The Heart of our Home. Yeah, we do good work together, Don. RIP, my Friend.
Tuesday, May 22, 2007
Critical Thinking- Use It Or Lose It
A friend recently emailed re my invitation to view this blog:
“I'd be careful about inviting people to 'be generous' with comments unless you mean to agree with you a lot.Which I will if that is what you want -- like I tell students, tell me what you want -- and if all you want is a 'well done' I can do that now and we'll both be happy-- otherwise I'll spend time and expect the same.”
Well, I love to hear “well done”, and any other wonderful things you have to say to me…. But that’s not something I expect or demand from friends or anyone else. I also like questions, and even answer em, as you can see under post comments. I answered this particular email:
“……what I'm asking for is honest feedback about my ideas and practice- presumably based in YR ideas and practice- I DO prefer evidence-based remarks unless yr referring to yr own feelings and ideas. Frinstance, statements like "thousands of people die each year from badly cured compost" just aren't evidence-based. Well, not in this or the last century. "Thousands of people die each year from water-borne disease, including those which are transmitted through contact with untreated sewage" would be accurate and verifiable, and we could have a discussion based in documented evidence..... anyway, would you really be happy doling out feel-good lies-on-demand to me, yr students, or anyone else? Not me.”
And there it is. I think that many of us hold our tongues - even bite em- because we don’t want to upset the other or ourselves… and that’s often at the expense of a free exchange of ideas and observations; always at the expense of honest expression, which may or not be a very high priority, given any particular conversation. But inhibiting a free exchange of ideas, for whatever reason, inhibits our ability to See and Understand ourselves and our world; our often mistaken assumptions go unchallenged and we believe them to be Fact.
When we don’t ask why something is true, or if it even is true, we’re at risk of accepting “common knowledge” and “the way things are” as simple facts that need no thought or examination. If we accept “ because it’s dangerous…” or “because it’s yucky…” or “because people don’t do that…”, etc, those unreasoned attitudes seem to be legitimate arguments for unreasoned behaviors and practices. Questioning commonly held assumptions seems like stupidity, disloyalty, or just plain silliness in that mode; intellectual curiosity gets damped down and recycled as ignorance. We regularly challenge the legitimacy of political ignorance- I say let's challenge our OWN, and help each other do it!
“I'd be careful about inviting people to 'be generous' with comments unless you mean to agree with you a lot.Which I will if that is what you want -- like I tell students, tell me what you want -- and if all you want is a 'well done' I can do that now and we'll both be happy-- otherwise I'll spend time and expect the same.”
Well, I love to hear “well done”, and any other wonderful things you have to say to me…. But that’s not something I expect or demand from friends or anyone else. I also like questions, and even answer em, as you can see under post comments. I answered this particular email:
“……what I'm asking for is honest feedback about my ideas and practice- presumably based in YR ideas and practice- I DO prefer evidence-based remarks unless yr referring to yr own feelings and ideas. Frinstance, statements like "thousands of people die each year from badly cured compost" just aren't evidence-based. Well, not in this or the last century. "Thousands of people die each year from water-borne disease, including those which are transmitted through contact with untreated sewage" would be accurate and verifiable, and we could have a discussion based in documented evidence..... anyway, would you really be happy doling out feel-good lies-on-demand to me, yr students, or anyone else? Not me.”
And there it is. I think that many of us hold our tongues - even bite em- because we don’t want to upset the other or ourselves… and that’s often at the expense of a free exchange of ideas and observations; always at the expense of honest expression, which may or not be a very high priority, given any particular conversation. But inhibiting a free exchange of ideas, for whatever reason, inhibits our ability to See and Understand ourselves and our world; our often mistaken assumptions go unchallenged and we believe them to be Fact.
When we don’t ask why something is true, or if it even is true, we’re at risk of accepting “common knowledge” and “the way things are” as simple facts that need no thought or examination. If we accept “ because it’s dangerous…” or “because it’s yucky…” or “because people don’t do that…”, etc, those unreasoned attitudes seem to be legitimate arguments for unreasoned behaviors and practices. Questioning commonly held assumptions seems like stupidity, disloyalty, or just plain silliness in that mode; intellectual curiosity gets damped down and recycled as ignorance. We regularly challenge the legitimacy of political ignorance- I say let's challenge our OWN, and help each other do it!
Saturday, May 19, 2007
Good News on Global Warming
I heard George Manibot on Democracy Now ( http://www.democracynow.org/ ) last night- his book is "Heat: How To Stop the Planet From Burning". My housemates had already heard of the book, but it's new to me- and I thought the interview was thrilling. For one thing, he's talking about, in some detail, the actual nuts&bolts of how changing human habits can reduce global warming; he's even optimistic. Well, maybe not optimistic- at least his ideas seem reality-based and well researched. Possible. We hear quite a bit about how impossible it is to reduce emissions without destroying The Economy, imposing dreadful hardship on Americans, etc; this guy tells us, very simply, that that's NOT true and then goes on to tell us why- and more importantly, how.
I agreed with everything he said with one major exception: when Amy Goodman asked him what individuals can do, he said that green lightbulbs are all well & good, but it's more important for us to see ourselves as citizens rather than consumers- right on, I say- and organize, push & pressure politicians to toe the save-the-planet line. Well, if that's the case, a lot of us are doomed to ineffectiveness, since we don't organize or demonstrate or, some of us, even vote. Not to say that's right or wrong; some of us just don't. Maybe we can become Citizen Consumers: vote directly with our little dollars, write to corporations we buy products from- thank them for less packaging and anything they do to curb emissions; decry them for continuing bad practice; contact information is usually in the box, isn't it?
There was a pretty recent statement or report from the UN on global warming- it said in part that individual efforts ARE important. I'll try to find that reference; meanwhile I'm trying on metaphors like" individual efforts are the sands that make the beaches, the cells that make our blood..... the drops that make the sea...... the leaves that make the tree! The bees that make the honeywee! OK enough. We get it. My point is that when we think our actions don't count, watch News in horror and think but what can I do?, we get overwhelmed and stop even looking at it, much less try to behaviors. At least I do.
I agreed with everything he said with one major exception: when Amy Goodman asked him what individuals can do, he said that green lightbulbs are all well & good, but it's more important for us to see ourselves as citizens rather than consumers- right on, I say- and organize, push & pressure politicians to toe the save-the-planet line. Well, if that's the case, a lot of us are doomed to ineffectiveness, since we don't organize or demonstrate or, some of us, even vote. Not to say that's right or wrong; some of us just don't. Maybe we can become Citizen Consumers: vote directly with our little dollars, write to corporations we buy products from- thank them for less packaging and anything they do to curb emissions; decry them for continuing bad practice; contact information is usually in the box, isn't it?
There was a pretty recent statement or report from the UN on global warming- it said in part that individual efforts ARE important. I'll try to find that reference; meanwhile I'm trying on metaphors like" individual efforts are the sands that make the beaches, the cells that make our blood..... the drops that make the sea...... the leaves that make the tree! The bees that make the honeywee! OK enough. We get it. My point is that when we think our actions don't count, watch News in horror and think but what can I do?, we get overwhelmed and stop even looking at it, much less try to behaviors. At least I do.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
The True Inspirational Story of Chicken Little
Chicken Little was walking through the woods one day when an acorn fell on her head. We don’t know why she mistook that acorn for the sky falling- maybe the little acorn was as big as her little head? Maybe she’d never been in the woods before? We don’t know why she thought the sky was falling, but we do know what she did about it- She immediately warned her friends Foxey Loxey, Henny Penny, Snakey Bakey, Possum Lossum, Chicken Licken, Turkey Lurkey, Roley Moley, and the rest.
They laughed at her and went on about their business. Later in the day, Little’s friends were walking together- maybe still laughing about Chicken Little- when they came across her on the road, lying there on her back with her feet in the air. We do know they laughed when they saw her: “Chicken Little, what are you doing? Do you really think you can hold up the sky with your little feet?” Chicken Little replied with dignity: “one does what one can”. That's the kind of people I want around me!
They laughed at her and went on about their business. Later in the day, Little’s friends were walking together- maybe still laughing about Chicken Little- when they came across her on the road, lying there on her back with her feet in the air. We do know they laughed when they saw her: “Chicken Little, what are you doing? Do you really think you can hold up the sky with your little feet?” Chicken Little replied with dignity: “one does what one can”. That's the kind of people I want around me!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)