Human Family & Fruitfulness; Setting
A respected reader is indignant; feels tricked by the lyrical; refuses to read the segue to what war is imposing on planetary health.
She feels I should have led in with war depredations, and followed with tales of redemption, rather than the reverse order.
But the disturbing info presented is not new; it's simply shunned, hence my easing into it.
Two juxtaposed life choices, as our global Zeitgeist grows less oblivious to repercussions. Gardens & community, or wasteland? What'll it be?...
Farmers and elders and impassioned young folks are planting gardens and orchards, a dream of Eden. A dream of four-season gardening, community and local prosperity.
A life where children and butterflies, honeybees and birds, all creatures great and small can thrive. Where stewardship can be mentored, and children grow up with hope.
pioneertrailorchard.com
We're alive at extraordinary intermezzo, all of us on earth, as individuals wake up, reality thunk upside the head. Many of us are choosing to rendezvous with like hearts.We roll up our sleeves and re-discover the world of forest and watershed, deep earth and life worth living.
I've pondered early photos of the Holy Land, a land of olive groves, fruit trees and shepherds. Some of the olive trees, as at Gethsemane, date back to the time of Christ, and have fed families for countless generations.
Apartheid bellicosity is bulldozing and setting fire to olive groves, and the new trees planted to replace them.
Earth guardians protect; they replant.
The passion of conquering obliterates common humanity, for war profiteering and wasteland. In the larger "sand box" arena, anything goes, in order to control:
Opium poppies, museum plunder and oil pipelines.
Even a half-life of 4.5 billion years can be justified by pathologies of power, destroying nations with depleted uranium or DU.
Let's bunker-buster; let's telecast thrilling fireworks of "Shock & Awe" as ancient (populated) cities are laid waste.
Never mind the unborn, or dust storms and the Jet Stream.
Parents of children of invaded countries and DU-exposed war veterans are trying to cradle:
Cheney-hissing-in-the-night is recipient, at age 71, of a heart transplant. Curious, these transplants. Medical anecdotes mention personality anomalies after heart surgery, a transfer of the likes and dislikes of the donor.
Perhaps from one who lived a heart-centered life? A watershed moment.
It may be that we're about maxed out on leaders who do harm, whatever the toothy smile and presentation.
posted by Wayfarer @ 4:58 PM
4 Comments
4 Comments:
The addition of a warning to readers only speaks to me of your big, sweet heart and a desire to do no harm. A spoonful of sugar. If we don't look, will it go away? Hardly. "Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act."—Dietrich Bonhoeffer
YES!! Donna, thank you. Bonhoeffer, a Pastor of conscience and courage, spoke out against the Nazi terror when it was not safe to do so. Indeed, he ended in a concentration camp and was murdered just before the war's end.
Threat of torture and annihilation become, as intended, a way too vivid disincentive to action. But there are many of us all over the world who are not in agreement with cruelty as govt. policy.
...cruelty and also disregard -- for our young friends (in this case, at COP19 in Warsaw, which closes after two frustrating weeks of international "discourse") fighting dearly for the recognition of a tragedy wrought by the ignorance and indifference of aforementioned policy.
Dear Wayfarer-Friend,
Young storyteller from October weekend here, wishing you well from the salty sea place. Been thinking of you! And wishing for your address--the packaging from the book (so happily received) was recycled by accident before I had a chance to copy it down. If you get the chance, do pass it on through my email at eschultz@coa.edu. I'd love to send in return: poetry, photos of clay women, rosy granite pebbles--memories from a pilgrimage.
with love from a small island
eloise
Oh my dear, She who Sings to the Deaf!!! Am so delighted to hear news of you. Indeed I'll wing contact your way. How I long for the fragrance of balsam fir as holidays draw near. Oh, and the sound of the sea.
Just wrote a Thanksgiving piece here, preparing to fill water jugs, bring in more firewood, and batten down the hatches. Winter Storm incoming.
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