Listening to healing sirens from Mother Earth

I was the only aging suburbanite in the group of six urban dwellers, sitting on a pillow on the floor of the 2nd story, the woody smell of coffee infusing the space from the shop below. The rest were 20-somethings, engaged in banter with our teacher like they were old friends. I was the rookie in a collective who had come to study song and singing, how to lead others in song, and how to connect song to the Earth.

Following the call

I cannot resist a call on the wind from Camp Creek Canyon, urging me to bring my gear.

I squish along on curious boots, tripod balanced on my right shoulder, Nikon and extra lenses strapped in a pack on my back. The hot dusty smell I remember from my visit a year earlier is replaced with a damp perfume of penstemon and lupine, lush with unseasonable rain on this sacred ground once home to the Nez Pearce. Out here on the Zumwalt Prairie, where scientists count and plant and monitor, there are mysteries that cannot be explained.

Why coyote sings

We are created by the song of the Universe, we are created by sound--

words to a lovely Singing Alive song, and an alternative way to consider why coyote sings to the moon.

If coyote was born to sing to the Universe, 
a message about Prairie's reach

It's easy to value each yip and yap 
all background howls,
each bark and witchy screech.

Each voice of course tells the story beyond 
what constrains a science lens.

A canine-perfect cacophony of sorts 

so the Universe understands.

First verse over, it's time to pause

so coyote keeps quite still.

Dialogue with one's maker requires

a polite reciprocal trill.

It takes time to receive the messages, 

found in purposeful songs without words . . .

more time to receive spirit wisdom 
on frequencies meant to be heard.

A language for all

Instead of expecting others to speak their difficult languages tribes like the Paiute, Pawnee and Iroquois--our ancestors--created "rock art" using universal symbols to communicate with each other; the road signs or computer icons of today. These symbols expressed meaning but were not meant to be spoken. Using a few simple figures they were able to convey complicated concepts like the past and spiritual connection. 

Find out more about visitors that cross your path

The name “Nighthawk” is a bit of a misnomer because the bird is neither strictly nocturnal--it's active at both dawn and dusk—nor closely related to hawks. While this picture of a docile Nighthawk contrasts with the behavior it's known for, the image of this insect-eating, owl-like bird resting on the deck railing at dawn was easier to catch than its characteristic whooshing and booming at dark near the prairie floor.

Man vs. Earth

Prince Ea's work on behalf of Pacha Mama and Father Sky is hip, smart and worth passing on-- Man vs. Earth. I think I'll go out and sing to the birds, and make a place for some creatures.

Music from my spiritual perch

It started one dusk-saturated evening last summer, after the dinner dishes had been washed and put away. We were rocking gently in metal chairs on the cantilever deck 30+ feet above the dense, echoey greenway behind our house. The same greenway we are restoring to support the beaver family that spends its springs and summers here. It's been a labor of love for some time now.

Thirty-two goats had been munching their way through an acre or so of wetland invasives, mostly blackberries, grass and nettles, across four neighbors' backyards. The goats were there to clear the land before we could plant the three dozen willows gifted us by a local nursery. They marched single file down our driveway and through our yard because it has the easiest access, and because we are up on stilts there is a large open space perfect for night time shelter. By this time the peaceful little darlings had been working long enough to eat their way south into Terry's and Becky's property, returning under our house to bed down.

Inviting Mother to dinner

Mother’s fecund perfume arrives on cool air 

through screened windows above the sink.

The open latch invites intimacy with source and destiny, 

arrives with grace and, somehow hope,

under dusk’s blanket.

The kitchen fills with syncopated croaking,

as if agreed to the night before;

one, then two, then a dozen rasping versions,

and then silence because the neighbor’s black cat 

skulks through the greenway,

up to no good as far as the frogs can tell.

Robin neighbors chirp in starts and stops 

hopping through the duff, poking for the day’s final catch

while I chop celery, rinse mushrooms

prepare Mother’s bounty for our grateful table.

I pause a moment and wonder 
if I listen well enough will I be able to hear 

nesting crows pull moss from branches on the maple tree.

Gifting as spiritual practice

First wisdom (and the reciprocity it assumes) includes gifting, especially gifting things you love. It's not enough to gift things you have no use for. In native culture the gifts received  aren't regarded as having come from individuals but rather from the Creator of all things. It is to the Creator, the Great Mystery that thanks should be given, not to any human being. We say “Please” to each other and “Thank You” to whatever name we have in our many languages for the Great Mystery, the Creator. This may help ensure that those who give do so with humility, with an awareness of the sacred nature of all gifts. The giver does not call attention to himself or herself, but to the spiritual power behind it all. Thus both giving and receiving remain sacred.

Late in the fall I rescued crowded deck pots by transplanting overgrown violets inside to the path along stacked basalt that leads down into the greenway we are restoring for our beaver neighbors. The violets were a gift from Margie, my mom. She died two years ago at the age of 92, eight years unto Alzheimers. Until the last 3 years or so Margie couldn't help herself but bring gifts, every time she visited. Gifts often came from her prized outdoor possessions, mossy rocks, ferns, her coveted bulbs and cuttings. I dutifully found a home for most things (although many did not thrive on my shaded property), many found their way into decks pots that were more accessible than the acreage below our hillside home on stilts. The fern- dotted igneous rock she insisted on leaving lines the path to our front porch, and continues to multiply each year until now and the house is surrounded by Margie's deciduous ferns.

My trek out into the Sunday morning rain revealed that not only did the violets survive in their new home, but there are thriving, with tiny buds and all. Margie's gift outlives her. A woman who spent her non-working hours planting and tending to a corner lot, knowingly or not, gave the things she loved and they now surround my home each year. They are here to remind me of Margie and the gift of life, and add to the family lore. They are gifts to soothe our souls because they become a piece of our own story . Each spring in this small wildlife sanctuary I will watch and listen to the new sprouts tell Margie's story once again. 

Grateful for all my brothers and sisters

I listen to the slugs, I hear them sing, I hear them sing.

I listen to the slugs, I hear them sing, I hear them sing.

The slugs are my sisters, the slugs are my brothers.

We sing together and we sing to each other.

I listen to the slugs, I hear them sing, I hear them sing.

Slugs break down organic matter, which is important for recycling nutrients like nitrogen through the food chain. They are a good source of protein for snakes, salamanders, toads, frogs, badgers, hedgehogs, moles, shrews, porcupines, foxes, raccoons, beetles and various birds, such as owls, robins, blackbirds, thrushes, starlings, seagulls, jays, ducks, geese, chickens and crows. 

Mitakuye Oyasin

Mitakuye Oyasin (Mutawkwey Ahsun) is a Lakota term that reflects a world view of interconnectedness. The phrase translates in English as "we are all related," or "all my relations." It is an expression of oneness and harmony with all forms of life: other people, animals, birds, insects, trees and plants, and even rocks, rivers, mountains and valleys. Beginnings, endings and all exclamation points in native rituals and ceremonies get a just-audible "Mitakuye Oyasin" from ceremony leaders and close followers. 

I understood this sentiment almost instantly . . . from an intellectual perspective it makes sense based on how life evolved on Earth. I get that we all breathe the same air over and over. But I did not really connect to Mitakuye Oyasin until I faced it straight up.