Beautifully written and powerfully expressed Susie. I too feel so much love and grief for “Mother Nature”. Nature has always been an enormous inspiration for my creative expressions.
Such a graceful resolution to the question, landing in love. Wow. And your title! I loved that you turned around the old mystic quote "In the world but not of it" into something so beautiful and right for us to learn, know and become. (thanks for the link, too.)
This one made me cry; especially after reading Bewilderment, which totally blew me away. I could have written this, not nearly so well, but in terms of the growth of awareness, the blindness of entitlement transforming into the love and grief affair which you so beautifully describe. I will read this more than once.
What a fierce, gentle, wondrous invitation, Susie, to keep waking up to our oneness with it all. I write this from complicated Jerusalem, where mess and spirit and the holiness of the land walk together al the time.
Thanks for this post, as always. So beautifully written and honest. For me the damage from climate change isn't coming as a shock of new visceral awareness and I think that's because I spent my adult life, until very recently, in the Northwest and then five years in Colorado. But I remember the closing of the ice caves on Mt. Rainier - they'd become dangerous due to melting - so I am glad I saw them in the '70's. And all the problems caused by over-logging over a long period of time on the Olympic Peninsula and elsewhere. And the fire seasons getting steadily worse over the 3.5 decades we attended the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in southern Oregon. We eventually went only in late spring and in the fall. At this point the air is so bad during the summer they have to close the Elizabethan theater, their open-to-the-sky venue, for days or even weeks at a time. Most of these problems weren't big news items in the East until they began impacting people here in different ways. I used to wonder about that.
You're right. I didn't know about the ice caves. I am close to the California wildfires through my family and have seen and smelled the smoke. It's amazing the degree to which people have become acclimatized. Interesting word, no?
Brilliantly written, Susie. This resonates with my experience during the year, and since, Sandy shook me to my core.
I have always loved nature. As a little girl growing up in suburban Long Island, NY my backyard was a fantasy land of butterflies and bugs, birds and frogs, and the pin oak in the corner under which I built my little world.
Today I turn 73, still fascinated and evermore engaged, with the natural world. But the tides are higher than they’ve ever been and the rainstorms more violent. I feel more vulnerable. And my anxiety rises whenever a nor’easter or hurricane is predicted, knowing, too, I am in it and of it.
Beautifully written and powerfully expressed Susie. I too feel so much love and grief for “Mother Nature”. Nature has always been an enormous inspiration for my creative expressions.
I sense the love in your paintings. I'll have to look at them again to experience the grief.
Such a graceful resolution to the question, landing in love. Wow. And your title! I loved that you turned around the old mystic quote "In the world but not of it" into something so beautiful and right for us to learn, know and become. (thanks for the link, too.)
I didn't hear that reference when I wrote the piece...."in it but not of it." That really enriches this for me.
This one made me cry; especially after reading Bewilderment, which totally blew me away. I could have written this, not nearly so well, but in terms of the growth of awareness, the blindness of entitlement transforming into the love and grief affair which you so beautifully describe. I will read this more than once.
I still feel the ice cold water at the end of Bewilderment. I'm just discovering what life is...so late in the day. Grateful and despairing.
What a fierce, gentle, wondrous invitation, Susie, to keep waking up to our oneness with it all. I write this from complicated Jerusalem, where mess and spirit and the holiness of the land walk together al the time.
Amazing to hear from you from Jerusalem. Everything must be so enhanced at that vibration.
Thanks for this post, as always. So beautifully written and honest. For me the damage from climate change isn't coming as a shock of new visceral awareness and I think that's because I spent my adult life, until very recently, in the Northwest and then five years in Colorado. But I remember the closing of the ice caves on Mt. Rainier - they'd become dangerous due to melting - so I am glad I saw them in the '70's. And all the problems caused by over-logging over a long period of time on the Olympic Peninsula and elsewhere. And the fire seasons getting steadily worse over the 3.5 decades we attended the Oregon Shakespeare Festival in southern Oregon. We eventually went only in late spring and in the fall. At this point the air is so bad during the summer they have to close the Elizabethan theater, their open-to-the-sky venue, for days or even weeks at a time. Most of these problems weren't big news items in the East until they began impacting people here in different ways. I used to wonder about that.
You're right. I didn't know about the ice caves. I am close to the California wildfires through my family and have seen and smelled the smoke. It's amazing the degree to which people have become acclimatized. Interesting word, no?
Brilliantly written, Susie. This resonates with my experience during the year, and since, Sandy shook me to my core.
I have always loved nature. As a little girl growing up in suburban Long Island, NY my backyard was a fantasy land of butterflies and bugs, birds and frogs, and the pin oak in the corner under which I built my little world.
Today I turn 73, still fascinated and evermore engaged, with the natural world. But the tides are higher than they’ve ever been and the rainstorms more violent. I feel more vulnerable. And my anxiety rises whenever a nor’easter or hurricane is predicted, knowing, too, I am in it and of it.
Wishing you a peaceful 73rd birthday. The anxiety is collective. We must claim a collective joy, as well.