The dogs and I scamper (well, I only kind of scamper – I mostly walk fast, throw a stick for Omi, and keep tabs on Taka. ) through a jabbering rain forest creaking and groaning against the wind. I suddenly realize the trees are demanding my attention. They’re taunting me for being totally immersed in thought, jangling me awake. I am not present with the forest, the smells, the trail below my feet, the briars and the few rotting blueberries that remain on spindly branches. ooooooops. I’m not present herenow but miles away in brainscape.
Where is my own alarm clock?
Turned off next to the computer – both the computer on my desk and the one in my brain.
How funny is this after my proclamation yesterday of wanting to be an alarm clock for my culture?
But, as I walk and ruminate, I experience a minor epiphany. A version of polyphony is filling my head with multiple trains of thought. I see how posting regularly creates a living being. Ten days ago I promised to tell you the story of what happened after I swore I would not give birth like THAT again. But salmon swished past my knees and I felt the need to take you to the Spirit Bear Territory first. There is a connection to the birthing story I know, there must be, but I don’t remember the relationship now. I could thread back and find it but I don’t want to take the time.
The bears and wolves and salmon oh my, move me into my rap about the web of life, reconnecting to the wisdom of being humble and recognizing how disconnected we are to all things not us, not the dominant culture in our country. . .
Except you and I both know we humans really do love the animals and would be bereft without them. We use their names for the things most important to us …our cars, sporting teams, micro brews and addresses. Haven’t you seen roads named Elk Meadows, Rabbit Run, Fox Farm Lane, Apache Avenue, Tecumsah Street, Lenape Hills? As we gobble up the habitat of the others who used to live there, both non-human animals and humans, we use their names as a kind of memoriam. I used to live on Grizzly Mountain Road, named for the Momma grizzly and her cub who were living there when the neighborhood was carved out of her living room. Really. The only grizzly remaining there now is the name of the road.
This subject of usurping land bears much deeper scrutiny and I am surprised that it surfaced here now in this “cavalier” way. I am passionate about addressing these issues with care and compassion, but this post is not the time.
But I digress.
And that’s precisely my point.
Keeping a blog relates to living life. And life keeps unfolding, leading me to new ideas, additional experiences, and new relationships among subjects. Nothing stands still and writing about it makes that more obvious. Everything leads to everything. . . multiple threads, a variety of paths to explore. I know many of them spiral around the same center or will weave back onto themselves.
As the dogs scamper ahead of me and I trot to keep up with them, I actually think maybe I should have three blogs. Maybe that would keep the stories more untangled…But no, that would just multiply the confusing possibilities. Sometimes setting limits and curtailing options lead to more creative decisions and richer outcomes.