I was late to class.
I pulled in to the only parking space at the bus lot
and was reaching to punch off the radio when
a bald eagle flew over the car maybe 15 ft overhead –
a shadow like a pteradactyl will get your attention.

It landed in the top of a pine tree just at the end of the lot.
Simultaneously, this song came on the radio.
‘Where A Life Goes’ sung by Bettye LaVette.
I hadn’t moved yet.

While the eagle watched,
my mind suddenly filled with memories and thoughts
of an amazing man I’d met fallen in love with
some thirteen years before.
An artist – a hot blooded short tempered brown eyed redhead
two artists, two red heads too much passion too much to be real
we’d broken up logistically; we hadn’t stayed away we couldn’t
on the night we’d decided to get back together
commit and all those scary things we’d broken up to flee,
and let us happen for life without us was only a misery;
he was killed in a car wreck.

Everything and I mean everything in my life changed
because of that one choice he’d made.
I doubt I’ll ever stop mourning him.
If I’d had a soul mate in this life – it was him.
The thing is … we’d both known it.

We’d both run. Then we’d run back long enough to say, literally –
“I remember. I remember you. Let’s do this.”

I sat, unmoving, the car idling, hand still in the air at the radio
my mind filled with memories of us working in studio
out in nature we both loved the same things differently
my heart filled and spilled as I remembered him, remembered us.
   I listened to every word of this song.
While the eagle watched me listen.

Tears streamed down my face
those who know me know I’m not a ‘cryer’.
Every cell of this tired, painful, dis-functioning
body I’m so unhappily trapped within these days
knew that he’d sent me that moment.
Through eagle eyes, he watched me receive his gift.

The song ended.
The eagle flew out over the golf course and up the mountain.
I watched until it disappeared from sight. I took my time.
I turned the car off, composed myself; it took a bit
eventually was ready and caught the bus for class.
Thirteen years later, in my fifties and studying fine art.
I was doing what he, as an artist had always wanted to do.
He wanted me to know he was still around and still loved me, too.

This is why this song means so much to me.

I’ve lived the life of a Mystic. A Warrior.
My strange life lived so deeply connected with Nature and Spirit
Has separated me from a world of shiny cars and latest trends
I’ve lived out of step with humans and in step with Spirit and Life.
Because I made that choice, I have time to stop for special things.
And I wouldn’t change it for all the World.
Those who don’t believe in magic shall never find it.
Those who do believe in magic shall never lose it.

 

October 18 happy birthday.

Rather than just expect you to dive right in, I think a bit of background on today’s post might help you understand the mood that sparked today’s entry.

Here’s a link referencing what I’m talking about – http://www.kpax.com/news/elk-that-followed-missoula-motorcycle-put-down/

and another that helped set off this mood –

http://www.kpax.com/news/do-not-eat-advisory-issued-for-105-miles-of-clark-fork-river/

and finally – today is my birthday. a full moon, an elipse, a comet, and a significant number of years made it a special day.

So I go outside to cool off about the killing of the elk thing … and am immediately thrown into that ‘nature blissout’ state that hits me whenever I am tuned into a spot of Nature. The moon is BRILLIANT tonight; it’s as light as anything out there right now. Can’t see the Milky Way because the moon is so bright, though what stars one can see are HUGE.

I’m standing out there, listening to the sounds of the night: traffic, a distant laugh from some apartment … just ‘vibe-ing’ the place, you know?

Then I hear this crunching kind of sound.

No, it’s more a breaking sound.

Erm … a clacking.

I move over to the golf course, and there it is again.

And close.

I stand in the shade of the tree in the middle of the road (I know, only in Montana, right?) being as still as I can in my pajamas and jacket; just waiting for what ever is coming next.

My eyes adjust, ears honing in on the source of the clacking sound and there, in the golf course are two bucks.

They’re sparring.

The crunching sound was their antlers hitting together as they pushed each other back and forth.

Welcome to rut.

There were other shadows milling around in the shade of those big Russian Elms on the course. I never did get a good count of how many deer were actually out there but I’m thinking 5 is a safe, but conservative estimate. Whether they were all bucks, or just the two bucks and the rest were does will just remain one of those Nature mysteries.

I stood watching shadows, listening to the sounds, and thinking.

I thought about these beings trying to live amongst the most destructive species to inhabit or infest this Earth to date: humans.

I thought about all the other species that live in this tiny patch of nature beside my apartments. The otherwise invisible co-habitators of this bit of University housing whose footprints tell me daily of their quiet passage through this mired, paved, noisy nest we humans tend to be so smugly proud of.

They aren’t encroaching into our world.

We’re paving, cutting, burning, flattening and hacking our way through theirs.

We bore our way through what is the last of their refuges: throwing up unsellable McMansions right and left while telling ourselves that we’re doing nothing wrong . After all, we carefullycultivate ‘the look’ and make certain everyone knows that we only consume what we’re told is ‘good’ and ‘does no harm’ or at least makes a show of having ‘minimal impact’ on the Earth while we drive vehicles that suck minerals from the marrow of the world and pretentiously write on paper that kills fish for a ten mile radius of the plant that makes it.

We’re ok though. Those statistics aren’t talking about us. It’s all those others.

It’s not US causing the damage. We’re the good guys because it’s all the OTHER people – those people in cities and sprawling mindless miles of suburbs and strip malls and such who are making the problem … not us. All out there somewhere. Not here. Right?

Thought jumble in my head sometimes, like cards being shuffled. I’ve learned to just let The Dealer finish before trying to read the spread put before me. I felt them rolling into place while I stood so motionless in the moonlit Montana night.

I reflected on the mindset so prevalent here; perpetuated by a comfortably well – off yet displaced ‘Lost Angelians’ who, for the most part moved here a couple of decades ago, after cashing in on the housing insanity balloon market in LA. These are now the running, jogging, powerwalking, biking and dogwalking semi-retired populace of Missoula.

They’ve got ‘the look’ all right. They all look the same as they did in LA only changed where they buy their ‘look’ from The Gap to Sundance. Little else has changed in truth.

I know that look. I learned it in Bozeman.

And I’ve seen what that mindset can do to a fragile ecosystem like Montana.

Montana, you see, is one of the most violent, dramatic, dangerous, beautiful and downright deadly environments you could choose to live in while at the same time – it’s incredibly fragile.

Unbelievably fragile.

But majestic mountains, sub zero temperatures, large predatory species (other than human) fool people into thinking it’s a tough old gal of an ecosystem who can take whatevcer is dished out. Nothing could be further from the truth.

It’s really as fragile as a soap bubble.

There were wildfires here all summer.

These animals making the news are simply displaced.

The mountain lion I read about seen just a quarter mile from here – it’s just preparing for winter, like all the rest of us. The food it usually hunted has been displaced, and it’s following it’s food source – deer – down here into the city as has been it’s species’ way Since Always long before humans pulled themselves upright.

But if that lion is found – it’ll be killed.

For seeking food.

So would any bear were it to show up, any wolverine – anything.

For the crime of seeking food.

Their penalty is death.

In a culture that throws away more food than it consumes.

And they call me crazy.

Well, understand this once and for all about me:

I’d rather be crazy … than criminal.

I reflected on this and more, standing motionless in the moonshadow of a tree.

Watching two shadows noisily push one another forward and back I thought about just how Ancient a Dance I was witnessing. And I thought about just how un-ancient humans actually are in the greater picture of planetary habitation as a species.

I wondered how much longer we actually have. As a species, I mean.

And I wasn’t concerned if it isn’t long.

Not ‘long’ meaning like “sometime next week”

I’m talking – ‘long’ like … maybe another three centuries.

Do we even have that?

Have we earned even that much time?

Whatever you do, don’t leave it up to me to decide that –

we’d be gone already if it were up to me.

I listened to the clack of (probably) Mule Deer racks beating out a rythm so ancient it outdated my own species.  I glanced up at the Moon, and made a silent asking that it be allowed to continue for as long as grass grows and rivers flowed.

Then it occurred to me that I might not be the only species attracted to this Ancient Dance. There are other species, also far older than mine who would hear this rythm, and come seeking to participate in their own Ancient Way.

Yep.

This might well be the very sound that would attract a displaced Mountain Lion, trying to hunt in new territory. After a few weeks of little other than dumpsters to fend from, the clacking of Mule Deer in rut …

would be the feline equivalent of a dinner bell.

Ah. I see.

It was right about then I decided that moving my reflections indoors might be a prudent decision.

I came back indoors, to the human world of electric lights, computers, and cushioned chairs in climate controlled well heated spaces.

But for just a few minutes, I danced with The Others from within a Circle of Understanding. For just a few minutes, I was part of that Greater Dance.

All in all, it was a very good Birthday.

(“Screw This Negative, Fearful, Crap” first appeared on Occupii.org  ©March 24, 2012 written & posted by Barb Dwyer)

Screw Politics.

Screw economics.

Screw talking about it as if it’s real.

Screw that whole noise.

It’s false. Artificial. Contrived.

I’ve been watching a lot of negative seeds being sewn lately.

Here, on Livestream, in Mumble chat – and

I’m asking you to stop it.

 

I’m asking you to stop a minute.

Turn OFF the tv.

Put DOWN the paper (whether rag, mag or tabloid)

Stop – the input.

Concentrate.

Remember.

Remember what it was that brought you to Occupy.

Remember what it is that keeps you here.

What holds us together.

 

It’s the HOPE.

The HOPE is what makes us shine.

It’s the HOPE that kept us glued to the screen

Eating, drinking, living Occupy Heart –

It’s the HOPE that made us befriend each other and stand behind our marchers

Made us call the police the mayor the sheriff the city council…

The HOPE.

 

Negativity – squashes that.

Threat of new laws… squashes that.

It literally shuts down energy and makes us concave

They’re actually trying to write laws IN CASE we do something.

Can you not see the INSANITY of that?

They’re that afraid.

The Sandman knows we’re coming.

They still think – they’re not us.

But worse – WORSE –

We’re reading about it.

We’re talking about it as if it’s something that is going to become real.

 

WE – make it real – not them.

WE are the holders of the new way – not them.

WE hold the HOPE.

We SHINE with it.

 

And I’m not seeing it.

I’m not seeing it in contrived, rebroadcast ‘shows’ on livestream.

I’m not seeing it in working groups, closed email lists,

committees and finance secret meetings.

I’m not seeing it in the structuring of that which must be without structure.

 

HOPE HAS NO FORM other and that which we breathe into it.

The only SHAPE hope can have in this World is OUR shape.

Each of us.

You. Me. Us.

Recover the HOPE.

Find it.

That’s where our power lies.

 

And they know that.

So they are bombarding us with negativity

and a sense of pre-condemnation.

STOP IT.

STOP LETTING THEM.

 

Put the paper down and walk away.

Walk into your world.

Get involved in your immediate world.

Breathe the hope here –

breathe it into this world THROUGH our actions.

Not ust words – actions – deeds of honor of HOPE

Because-

It must be hope before it is love.

 

I am saying to you go back –

Go back and watch those early days.

Look at their eyes.

Go to the mirror

Look into your own eyes.

 

The Hope – is still here.

It’s still with US.

It’s still … ours.

 

Live it.

Breathe it awake.

Bring it with you into all things.

 

Become the change.

We already are – the change.

 

 

(Fear … the final frontier first appeared in Occupii.org February 14, 2012 posted by the Author)

Conquer fear ~

And we’ve won.

 

Connect with someone

Anyone ~

In a real way

And we have changed.

 

From the One to the Many

and the Many … to the One.

 

Reach out ~

In innocent trust

and we have conquered.

 

Simple.

But rarely easy.

 

Reach out ~

Be the hand

that offers kindness.

 

Become the shoulder

that lends strength.

 

Give the hug

that will not allow another to fall.

 

Be the ear

that offers time.

Say nothing ~

Let the silence bring forth

the unspoken beauty

that lies between you.

 

Bask in that beauty.

 

Be the heart

that reveals love’s blinding light

And the world

trembles.

 

Remember who we really are.

 

Live completely.

Live honestly.

But live.

Choose love.

 

 

 


 
  Normal
  0
  
  
  
  
  false
  false
  false
  
  EN-US
  X-NONE
  X-NONE
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  
  
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
  

 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 


 /* Style Definitions */
 table.MsoNormalTable
	{mso-style-name:"Table Normal";
	mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
	mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
	mso-style-noshow:yes;
	mso-style-priority:99;
	mso-style-parent:"";
	mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
	mso-para-margin-top:0in;
	mso-para-margin-right:0in;
	mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
	mso-para-margin-left:0in;
	line-height:115%;
	mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
	font-size:12.0pt;
	mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt;
	font-family:"Times New Roman","serif";}

Does this ring any bells with anyone?

 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Astroturfing

(‘So. That Was The Superbowl’ © first appeared on Occupii.org in February, 2012 posted by the Author)

So that was the SuperBowl.

I don’t really know what to say about it.

But I need to say something.

I can feel it boiling and churning

But I don’t know what it is.

 

I’ve been watching the people around me

Face their demons

And do the best they can with it.

And I’ve seen others run away

Or shout from their corners of fear

That their demons are not the problem.

 

For me,

I think I picked a bad week to try and stop smoking.

I’ve questioned my sanity

For the millionth time

Wondered if this were the last day for me

On this Earth

How would I want to spend it …

 

And then I spent it doing that.

 

Just in case.

 

I was offered two ponies

From friends who wouldn’t let me fall

I was offered three places to live

Whenever I choose to shuffle this mortal coil

To the next point of interest

On this life’s tour bus of experience.

 

Every wave has its ebb

a brief time of pulling back

as light dreams Itself outward into space

to see Itself reflected in substance.

 

There was a miraculous shift in energy this week

This was only the first of many yet to come.

And this is just a little reflux

Before the next surge.

 

As Dolby thundered, the brilliant colors spilled

From a digital television screen

Messages of consumption and of satisfaction

Images of abundance and words of satisfaction guaranteed

Invisible hands of full spectrum sound

Reached into my head and throttled my eardrums,

Snaking down then shaking me by the neck

To assure me me it was still in control of our hearts and minds.

 

Clint Eastwood growled a symbolic ‘we’ were in ‘this’ together

And that ‘they’ had everything under control

We can feel safe now

Our Sacred Blind Nationalism is in tact.

 

I’m glad we got that settled.

 

Detroit is going to save us.

They’ve made some magic cars

And it’s all going to be better now.

So have a diet pepsi

And be grateful prohibition is over

So we can stay drunk on platinum light beer

Because if ever America needed a drink

It’s now – and grab your new razor phone

And invest imaginary money

With the same people

who got us into this mess and

Who are destroying our world.

 

I watched Madonna at half time,

And thought to myself well –

At last – some weight on the woman

(she’s my age you see)

And like me – moving a bit slower

And more carefully-

Ending her show with the words

‘world peace’ on the field in lights.

 

And I wondered

 

Which world?

Mine?

Or Hers?

Or some other symbolic world of lights

That has yet to be released?

I assume she meant the world that mattered most to her.

And her loving fans of course.

 

I only lasted to the third quarter

Made my excuses said my goodbyes

and noticed right away

how much better my house smells

not I’m not smoking as much.

 

I came online like one sinks into a warm tub

Few were at ‘home, but it was okay

I wanted to be alone for a while anyway.

 

I’m digesting.

 

Every wave has its’ ebb.

Every push as it’s pull.

Danger exists to make life precious

And safety is a human concept

It does not exist in Nature.

 

I waded into an old paradigm tonight

And got it on me

So that I was almost pulled under

The glamour and illusion once again.

 

I beg you to keep working on yourselves,

I take great courage from your efforts

And am humbled by the beauty I see you create.

 

You have all helped me become a better person.

Never give up on that growth.

Never doubt the light.

I peeked into the world of the still sleeping –

The Sandman knows we’re coming

And he’s afraid.

 

We are the good guys, Mr. Eastwood.

We need the truth not more rhetoric.

We need straight talk and a clean eye

And a good heart within each of us.

 

Detroit is not going to save us.

Nothing outside of us is going to save us.

What we uncover within us

Will be our salvation.

 

This is an inside job.

 

 

 

Where to begin…

There’s a small retaining pond behind the college apartments.It’s just a retaining pond made in case of flooding at the end of a creek that runs down from somewhere back up in the mountains. I go back there several times a day; it’s a good smoking area that forces me to have a bit of a walk at the same time. It’s technically on college property, adjoining the greenhouses at the end of the university golf course.

Missoula is peculiar in that there’s wild life on hand at any given time. Coyote, deer, otter, water birds including ducks abound back there. Having an ‘edge of the woods’ feel to it, it has proven to be a good ‘touch the earth’ spot for me. As well as a few hundred other Missoulians who use it as an access to the hiking trail just up the street.

Sometime around mid-terms (I have no other way to gauge time other than what was happening in class) breeding season occurred in the pond. Geese, Mallard Ducks, and even a few Great Blue Herons did their dances and rituals right out in broad daylight, making me re-think the term ‘fresh water’ and what actually goes on in it…

Moving right along: time passes.

Older ducks & birds moved on to the bigger pond down the street which is in a very public city park. The animals (more than just ducks, trust me) there are fed regularly by well-meaning passers-by.

An obviously very young Mallard pair stayed behind in the holding pond and began seeking out a nesting spot. I say obviously, because they were a good bit smaller than the other ducks. While I thought it was interesting they chose to not be with the others, the general consensus of residents and frequent dog walkers was that it was a bad choice. They unanimously opined that no one feeds at this pond (it’s surrounded by a high fence courtesy of the Missoula Water Authority) and floods frequently in heavy rain or melt off. It is anything but secluded.

Regardless, I watched this young couple with interest. She busily proceeded to stake out several nesting sites before disappearing into either the cat tails, or the other tall grasses surrounding the pond, with her young male keeping a close eye on her.

There were three ‘bachelor’ males, all quite a bit larger and more mature who also set up residence at the pond and except for the occasional confrontation; kept to their side of the pond while the female nested in the tall grass. For the most part, they left the young couple alone.

About two weeks ago (again I can’t be sure of dates it may have only been a week) there was a loud quacking from the pond about 2 am. Several residents came out and went to the fence, as I am not the only one who watches the pond. There were three reports of deep growling from the bushes inside the fence, and I had heard a loud splash when out earlier – as if a person, or possibly a deer had jumped into the water – not something small like an otter, this was something LARGE that jumped in. I suspected then that this would be the end of any nesting, because whatever it was would find the eggs, right?

Three or four days later I went out right at sunset. There, on the water were what I at first thought were the largest water bugs I’d ever seen. Little black dots were darting back and forth all over the pond. It took me a while to register that these black spots were in fact newly hatched ducklings! Mother duck was nowhere to be seen, but the babies cavorted, eating who knows what: skimming along the surface at a surprising pace – even making a wake as they hot rodded around. I counted eleven babies. I was so excited. And I had no idea they could be so fast!

Little ‘pond meetings’ began occurring as residents who’d only been able to watch from their apartments came round the fence to catch a closer glimpse of the ducklings. We met up, ‘talked duck’ and went our way – finals were on the horizon and stress levels at the apartments were astronomical. Watching the babies was a blessed mini-vacation from the serious business of higher learning.

Two nights ago, there was a tremendous lightning storm. This storm touched off what’s being called the first seasonal wildfire in Phillipsburg, Montana – a fire still going as I write.

I opened my door and walked straight into two residents right outside. They apologetically told me they were in pursuit of a baby duckling who’d hunkered down between some bikes locked together right outside my door. I helped them move the bikes (I mean what are they going to do – explode? I just moved them along the bar they were locked to) and retrieved the very cold and shivering duckling, no bigger than the palm of my hand.

How big is the world to a creature that size, I wondered.

In the pouring rain, we went out to the pond, and I showed them where I thought the ‘nest du jour’ as I’d come to call it might well be. The young man scrambled into the feeder creek & under the fence. Making his way out to the spot he carefully put the duckling on the ground. It followed him back to the fence. He went back, put the duckling into the water, and turning, ran back to the fence. The duckling – beat him to the fence. To be so small – I admit shock at how fast the little guy actually was! After a few more tries we got a good soaking & they gathered up the baby and took him home for the night. It was as if the baby was saying ‘screw this – it’s cold and wet out here – take me home where it’s warm!’

So they did. They released him the next morning and the duckling went straight to the Mother Duck and his little tiny siblings. No harm no fowl, as it were.

The next day, I went out to the pond around sunrise. That’s when the mother duck brought the babies out in full view (not like they’ve been alive long enough to establish any kind of predictable pattern, I just noticed that sunrise and sunset were very active times for the little family) – or so I thought.

One of the older males was chasing the Mother duck all over the pond, deliberately keeping her from her brood. She ran, swam and flew all over the place, trying to get back to her clutch, but this male would not let up. The ducklings scurried around in panic, scattering and regrouping both in the water and on land, but this larger male was relentless. He gave the mother no rest and plowed through the ducklings every chance he got; knocking some over & walking right over the top of some as he ravaged the little family. The younger male tried somewhat to intervene, but just wasn’t aggressive enough (or at least that’s how it looked) to be any kind of deterrent. I wound up watching them for quite some time, almost missing an appointment getting caught up in the drama at the pond.

School requirements being what they were, I had to go. When I returned, I immediately knew something had happened. The female was standing on the grate leading to the drainage culvert and I could hear the ducklings chirping. I knew right away that the babies were in the drainage and couldn’t get out.

The Mother Duck occasionally went through the bars & down into the drainage, and would come back out calling the babies, but investigation proved it was at least a six foot drop onto concrete inside.

While I stood and tried to think what could be done, an upstairs neighbor saw me and came out. He confirmed that the male had chased the ducklings into what I call ‘the grate’. There’s probably some engineering term for it but that’s what it’s going to be called from here on out. Thick metal bars are welded together all around it I’m sure to prevent children from getting sucked into the sewer system underneath the road.

Walking around the pond (which I’d never done before) the bottom of the culvert couldn’t be seen from the outside of the fence. It took a very short time hearing the distress calls of mother and babies with the aggressive male still hard at it before my neighbor was inside the fence in his stocking feet, checking out the situation close up.

Inside the culvert were the babies, running all around in total panic. My neighbor reported that three were very still. We assumed they were injured in the fall (at least six feet) and possibly dead already. I found a long board and handed it over the fence, hoping the babies could use it to walk out of the culvert like a ramp. I’ve worked on or around ranches and farms most of my life, and have seen baby chickens know enough to walk out of similar situations. The board proved to be too short.

As we tossed ideas around, a few dog-walkers joined us at the fence. Everyone had ideas how to get the babies out. Residents of the apartments soon showed up & we began inventory of household items that might be converted into duck rescue equipment.

Then, in an unspoken ‘break’ moment – we launched our plan. Going back to our houses we retrieved what we thought might help get the babies out. When we returned, there were even more residents gathered inside the fence at the grate checking out the situation.

One young man showed up with a hundred feet of climbing rope – something I found personally hilarious and remarked ‘Wow. SOME-body reads Stephen King- bust out the clown suits” and we all laughed while students crawled all over the grating, looking for a way to get to the babies. Flashlights came out as it got darker and I saw a ‘flash’ of silver at the base of the grate. I stopped everyone and pointed it out to those inside the fence.

It turned out to be a bolt. An unwelded, unpainted bolt. Someone produced a wrench, and soon a small gate was revealed & opened, and two students dropped into the hole.

Baby ducklings were handed out to those waiting above. Three were dead, but six came out, one badly injured. Students walked over to another part of the pond, putting the ducklings gently into the water as close to the distressed mother duck as possible. She went straight to her babies, and five little ducklings were reunited with their mother while others triple checked the grate then re-sealed the little opening.

Two babies went home with my upstairs neighbor, one badly injured, the other shivering and unable to walk. The badly injured duckling died within a couple of hours. The other lived through the night and was reunited with his mother just before daybreak. My neighbor had visitors throughout the night checking on the little ducks.

When I went out around 7 am this morning, the mother was on the pond. Only four babies followed her. I had no idea what had happened to the other two overnight. Could have been the sudden cold of the night, shock … or the aggressive male, there’s no way for us to know. I do know that the large male was already (or still) at it – harassing the mother and ducklings, so it is possible they could have died from the stress that undoubtedly continued all night.

While I watched, the large male continued his harassment of the Mother duck. Had I had access to a slingshot – the world would be less one mature mallard duck right now. Intellectually, I knew that Nature was just being Nature, but I am only human.

The mother paraded the babies in front of me, I can’t describe it any other way – she saw me, brought them over to the side of the pond right where I stood, and for all the world appeared to be showing them to me. Then she proceeded across the pond, right beside the grate.

I remember thinking ‘oh man, here we go again’, but she swam right past it, climbed the bank with babies behind her, and flew over the fence. The babies followed her – being so small they passed right through the weave of the chain link. They proceeded across the sidewalk, up to the street, and crossed it. They completely brought traffic on the busy street to a grinding halt as they toddled to another stream close by. Taking the sidewalk, they disappeared from sight and traffic resumed its industrious business headed to various nowhere specials.

I stood for some time at the now silent pond.

Four days ago, there were eleven ducklings. This morning, there were four. Two months ago, with snow still on the ground, the little pond was bristling with life and reproduction busting out all over. Today it was silent. Three weeks ago, the little pond was doing all it could to turn green while a polar wind blew, and deer quietly foraged to coyotes yipping and laughing in the hills, a soon to be mother duck sat on her eggs under an inch of snow.

Later this afternoon, I returned to the pond. There was the mother duck, and a male I can only assume was the aggressive male. No babies to be seen. I watched for some time, the male sticking closely to the young female – so closely at times he drove her right up onto the bank. No babies. She’d taken them to the stream on the other side of the hill that feeds into the other pond, and abandoned them there, returning to this little drainage pond. And to the attentions of this aggressive male whom I’ve decided I don’t like at all.

I’m not sure how I feel about that. 

Other than knowing that it doesn’t matter how I feel in the overall view; I learned quite a bit from this little pond drama.

I learned that ducks, like alligators, do not ‘feed’ their young. I’m talking the mother duck and the big Mama bill stuck into the little bill kind of feeding that we normally associate with birds. No upchuck for ducks apparently. You hatch, you find food, or you die while the mother watches. Just like alligators. Seems to be pretty much the deal as I observed. I learned that wherever a female duck sits – is the ‘nest of the day’ as far as a duckling is concerned. I learned that a duckling will follow whatever is tallest, and prefers a warm apartment to a cold pond bank – mother or not.

I learned that college students (myself included) have a dismal array of useful tools on hand. I also learned that college students care deeply about Nature, and watch it far more closely than I have given them credit for doing in the past.

I learned that people of any age or position in life- people from all walks (pun intended to the dog walkers) can and do come together offering help, acceptance, support and knowledge when they want to. And they do so without requiring special attention, recognition, celebrity, fame, special treatment, individual accommodation, or even acknowledgement of their participation.

Nature … does not fuck around.

A wise man once said to me, “Nature is not silly.” How right he was. You either get on with the business of living or you experience the consequence. There is no guarantee, no glory, no neatly wrapped happy ending. There is only the unrelenting livingness Nature pours into this world, and its utter indifference to our presence within it. This was not a matter of ‘right’ or ‘wrong’, ‘good’ or ‘bad’, no matter what kind of humanistic spin I put on it.

 This is Nature. This was straight up survival, straight up action, straight up … life.

 

 (‘Nature Isn’t Silly’ first appeared on Occupii.org 05/05/2013 posted by the Author)

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

(Originally published in Occupii.org January 12, 2012 by the Author BarbDwyer)

And along come the spiders …

There are a lot of interesting innovative things happening online these days

in regard to the Movement.

There’s also a good many tired, old, divisive things going on as well.

 

There are people who have confused ‘getting the word out’

With ‘designing a product to sell’.

Sales – sales tactics –

Making the movement into something people will want to see –

IS OLD WORLD thinking

Being manifest on a new concept-

And will produce nothing more than the same old tyranny in a new package.

 

Watching this unfold has wrenched my heart

Torn it already ~

For I am deeply in love with what has awakened within all of us.

 

But to see those who are crawling like spiders out of the woodwork-

Shallow little monsters, grappling for something they cannot have …

‘creating content’ and ‘securing superiority’ and the c word –

CONTROL

Of media of what you see of what you are allowed to see …

 

Has been like watching someone smear feces on a newborn baby.

Such is the caliber of what they seek

it is all they know and is all they’ll ever know

and will be the full measure of what they create.

Be careful of that.

Don’t let it kill what you love about this movement.

About this new hope.

 

Be cautious about being pressured to do ANYTHING right now-

Whether it is to hurry up and ‘get on this list’ or

“Quick do this with us – but don’t tell them – they’re a bad person “

“We’re keeping this secret – get yourself signed up for that new thing’

These are the small and poisonous spiders talking.

Because these days –

Being on a list is not necessarily a good thing.

Has that not occurred to you?

Stop and think … I beg you.

 

If someone has heard a wonderful thing somewhere –

They’ll give you a link

And you can go see for yourself.

They’ll cut and paste the quote or message to their page –

Where you don’t even have to be their ‘friend’

(do these types even know what a ‘friend’ …really is?)

 

But they won’t keep it secret from others.

They’ll be eager to share it.

You shouldn’t have to ‘sign on to a list’ to see whatever it is.

Be cautious of that old thinking.

Examine how that kind of ‘sales’ and ‘manipulation of others’

Has permeated every corner of our being-ness.

RUN from the ones who will not find another way

for they will undermine this light

and make all of it a performance – a “show” –

just another lie.

 

Take the time to use your discretion.

Find your own ground. Find where YOU stand.        

And see… where the movement … meets your new ground.

 

That … will be your place of power.

Every person in this movement – will have a different place.

And it won’t be ‘wearing’ a shiny new garment that you can only get from them-

It will be radiating out of every pore.                              

And they will finally understand there’s nothing that can be sold.

 

What is going to be of VALUE in this movement –

Is what is awakening in our hearts.

And it shows itself by guiding all our actions

I ask you to simply watch –

And do not cave in to pressure to do anything.

This movement has brought together many people

Who have never had a voice.

 

I’d love to be quiet for a time to hear what these people have to say.

 

Right now- too many others are shouting for attention.

Exercise your most sacred gift –

Exercise your choice.

 

It is the only thing … that is truly yours.

 

 

 

 

I am not an ‘audience.

I am not a ‘viewer’

I am not a potted plant over here ensconced on a couch

And I am not EVEN … a ‘number’

A faceless mass –

Festering in some indescript state of complacency

Waiting on someone to re-invent the wheel ‘for’ me.

 

Hello. Let me introduce myself

And remind a few thousand others … who I am.

And a few thousand others…who are like me.

 

I am an Occupier.

I am a participant.

I Occupy the internet.

 

I read articles, reference material, watch documentaries and videos

Push my edges to educate myself (although sometimes grudgingly)

Then connect with and engage others online

Who are of the same mind and who want to know more.

I share what I know and I pass on what I’ve learned

and I listen. And I learn.

 

I am not munching popcorn, flipping channels.

I am not looking for “entertainment”.

I am not a ‘viewer’.

I am a WITNESS.

 

I watch.

I blog.

I spam what is recorded.

I have my congressman and senators on my email speed dial.

I talk to everyone 

I show them vids.

I raise hell.

 

I find and post telephone numbers for others who are supporting 

Whatever action I am supporting.

 

 

I contact city, state and local officials

I bury them in faxes and phonecalls

I get in the chat streams

and encourage other chatters to call these numbers also – 

(I nag them if I have to) but I aim to motivate- 

To get them INVOLVED – to take their own ACTION

In the moment. In the now.

I am teaching others to be ACTIVE while I learn.

 

And THAT…Is the power of the internet.

I intend to wield it.

Get used to me.

 

Unlike many –

I do not stop being an Occupier when the ‘stream’ ends.

I follow up the next day 

To find out if any arrested have been released

I search for arrest stats and release stats-

Where they were taken – who knows and how do they know

how many – are they all accounted for?

And who is following up on the physical release of these people.

I follow up again and again in some cases –

And make sure that any who were hurt or reported hurt

Are either all right or are seeking appropriate care and assistance.

 

I am NOT – an audience.

I am NOT – a streaming ‘consumer’

I am NOT – a ‘number’

(“we have to get these numbers up people”)

 

I am NOT what “the new media” expects me to be

and if you’re looking for a numb vidiot

who will sit mindlessly while images spew

out of my monitor onto my desktop-

I am not what YOU are looking for, either.

 

And I am NOT – interested in what that mentality has to offer.

We’re in this TOGETHER 

or it’s just a poor man’s MSM in the making.

 

I am a WITNESS.

I follow through.

I follow up.

I pay attention.

I take notes.

I share those notes.

I make a difference.

Expect me.

I am HERE.

I am not alone.

 And I’m not going anywhere.

Normal
0

false
false
false

EN-US
X-NONE
X-NONE

/* Style Definitions */
table.MsoNormalTable
{mso-style-name:”Table Normal”;
mso-tstyle-rowband-size:0;
mso-tstyle-colband-size:0;
mso-style-noshow:yes;
mso-style-priority:99;
mso-style-parent:””;
mso-padding-alt:0in 5.4pt 0in 5.4pt;
mso-para-margin-top:0in;
mso-para-margin-right:0in;
mso-para-margin-bottom:10.0pt;
mso-para-margin-left:0in;
mso-pagination:widow-orphan;
font-size:12.0pt;
mso-bidi-font-size:11.0pt;
font-family:”Times New Roman”,”serif”;}

(‘I Am Not A Potted Plant’ was first published on Occupii.org 04/11/2012 by the Author)