Hierarchy ReTurning to the Whole

Hierarchy ReTurning to the Whole by Lois C’leste Barnett. 

Lois and I and another woman were reflecting together on-line while participating in a Liberating our Creative Voice for the Earth course. from Tree Sisters.  Lois had shared the work of Resmaa Menakem with us.  Specifically his free e-course to help abolish white body supremacy in light of all the events surrounding Black Lives Matter.  Menakem's work is thought provoking and timely.  He explains why after all this legislative changes, racism still exists.

After watching the course videos (the whole thing only takes an hour), we discussed the culture that supports white body supremacy and changing the paradigm from a pyramid to a circle.  This inspired Lois to start with the image of the pyramid on the US dollar bill.  Using Photoshop software, she morphed the pyramid into a circle and then began to spin it until it felt beautiful.  We shared more insights on-line and then Lois added words to the piece.  I find it very powerful.

Magic in the Morning Mist

The pigeon gray clouds hang so low over the trees that it seems to be raining and yet it isn’t really rain at all.  The water droplets would have to fall to be classified as rain and these are suspended in the air like a freeze frame in a film.  She can feel them on her face as she walks through the forest. Her glasses get wet and misty at the same time and it looks from her view point, as if she is walking underwater.  And yet she isn’t.  It is the kind of a day when one things seems like another.  A good day to cross over from this world to the Otherworld.  A good day for magic.

She can see the upright purplish grey trunks of the White Pines and the reddish brown trunks of the Red Pines, living in their plantation rows.  They reach up into the sky after nearly one hundred years of growing.  Their crowns are green but she can’t see up there with the brim of her hat in the way.  Even if she could, they would disappear in the low hanging mist.  No matter, she knows they are up there without looking. 

Her feet rise and fall on the spongy ground made soft from years of pine needles falling, decomposing, becoming soft soil, and covering up the sand that used to blow wildly in this very spot. You wouldn’t know it, to look at the forest now, that it wasn’t always a forest.  You might wonder why the trees were planted in rows, but you wouldn’t know the worst of it, the insanity of it all.  Nor would you know that for millennia until two hundred years ago, this land was all forest, stream and lake and sometimes ice.  You wouldn’t know that people lived here in harmony with the land for thousands of years, until the settlers came and brought their trauma, their pain, their mindsets.  The newcomers saw the forests as timber to be taken, seemingly without end.  They saw the trees as taking up farm land, as getting in the way of producing food.  They didn’t see the food that lived in the forest.  They hadn’t the eyes or the imagination needed for that.  Perhaps there was a kind of mist in their minds.

And so, they cut all the trees down.  It took one hundred years to cut and burn it all, but hardworking and determined, they created their vision, their dream of wide open spaces, like the spaces they knew back home.  They felt victorious in their battle with the wild, until their dream became a nightmare.  It turned out that burning  all that wood on the land killed the soil.  It turned out that the soil was sandy and no good for crops.  Once the trees weren’t there to hold it down, the sand blew away in the wind.  And most of the new farmers blew away as well leaving a barren plain behind them.

It wasn’t until people with vision, people who had a different mindset, started to plant new trees, that the idea caught on.  The trees would stabilize the soil and bring back the animals and plants.  And people, people like herself could walk under the trees once more.  That was a hundred years ago. 

A hundred years seems a very long time to a human and then again nothing at all to the rocks and stones that had been there from the beginning.  There is a house foundation made of stacked stones that is still in place just along the path.  She passed it as she came into the forest earlier.  She passed the piled up “field stones” that had been cleared from the deforested land that was then called fields, by hands long gone.  The stones are still where they were placed, but covered by moss now.  They must have stories to tell.

Just past the pile of field stones, she passes the trailing Ground Ivy that was brought by the early settlers to use for colds and as an early Spring green.  They must have welcomed its arrival with joy after a long winter eating root vegetables.  The ivy curls and climbs just as its other names, Gill-go-over-the-ground and Robin-run-over-the-hedge describe.  But no one honours it anymore.  It is called alien and invasive when it covers lawns with its sinister name of Creeping Charlie.  She favours the name Catspaw that describes the shape of each beautiful leaf.  She asked the Catspaw’s permission to pick some for her own use and the answer was an enthusiastic “yes!”  She laid down her own offering in reciprocity and picked some to dry for tea and some to add to her supper.  She thanks this Ground Ivy for the magic of turning the forest floor into food for her, of alchemizing dead leaves into green nourishment with the help of the sun and rain.

Then she walks on down the pine-lined path.  The mist is shifting or perhaps it is her own movement that bring things into and out of view.  It is so quiet.  Maybe the mist is soaking in the sound like a sponge.  The air feels soft and gentle around her, like an embrace.  She can hear the whisperings of the trees as they communicate with each other.  This is her community.  This is where she feels at home. 

She stops to rub her fingers over the needles of a young Balsam tree and then breathes the resin deep into her lungs. This medicine will help her immune system to be strong and she is grateful for it.  The bright smell turns into a colour in her mind.  Yellow.  And the colour turns into a note.  She sings the note back to the Balsam and her energy field joins with that of the tree.  The waves dance as they intersect.

High up above her head, above even the tree tops, Raven groaks.  She lifts her head but can only see grey mist.  No matter, she knows it is Raven and she can picture the bird soaring.  Her mind takes flight as well. She remembers the Ravens at the Tower of London that she saw as a child.  Their presence was said to protect the kingdom from ruin.  She remembers the Ravens she met in the Rocky Mountains and those in Kaslo, BC and on Salt Spring Island.  She remembers the Ravens over Georgian Bay.  Ravens are magic carriers, light bearers, tricksters.  Raven groaks again but closer this time and she becomes more alert.  Something is up.

She closes her eyes and sends her awareness out, scanning in the mist.  She senses a presence behind her to the left.  Turning to face the direction of the presence, she opens her eyes and squints into the mist through her wet glasses.  Her eyes don’t see very well anymore and she relies more on her other senses to navigate.  She feels something approaching.  It is a very alert presence, but nothing to be afraid of.  She opens her heart and sends out love.  She thinks that she can hear the soft rhythm of walking, but perhaps it is a trick of the mist and her old ears. 

But no, there in the greyness something moves.  The mist swirls and the mover comes in and out of view.  She can make out the canine features and slow loping gait as it gets closer.  There is no wind to send scents to announce her so the coyote stops as soon as he sees her.

She smiles and sends more love to this forest dweller.  The coyote stands still, staring at her, sniffing the air.  He is as curious as she and they lock eyes.  She can feel a wave of energy like an infinity loop going to the coyote and coming back.  Her senses are wide open, taking in information.   Then, the coyote sits down, still looking at her and he yawns.  Perhaps, he is part dog and is using the yawn to calm her down.  Coyotes came to this part of Canada from the west about one hundred years ago.  Not only had the settlers destroyed the forests, but they hunted the Eastern Wolves and decimated their population.  This left a void that was filled by the Western Coyotes who amazingly interbred with the remaining Eastern Wolves.  This union resulted in a new hybrid that was later called the Eastern Coyote.  Some of these animals also bred with dogs. 

She decides to believe the yawn and she backs up a few inches until her back is resting on an old Eastern Hemlock trunk.  She slowly slides her back down the trunk until she lands rather ungracefully into a sitting position at its base.  She is, as it happens at the edge of a precipice.  The river runs about eighty feet below and she can hear it singing.  The Hemlock is holding the bank in place, defying gravity and erosion.  And now it supports her as well.  She feels the energy sinking into its roots and she joins with it.

 She has been watching the coyote the whole time, honouring its presence with her attention.  There is a whole world, there in the space between them. And also, connection.  She can imagine a gossamer strand between the coyote and herself and other strands between the coyote and the mice, rabbits and moles that he has fed on.  And the plants that those animals ate and the sun that gave them the energy to grow and the rain.  And then, back to the mist that is swirling gracefully as a slight breeze comes up. She knows in her bones, that there is enough room here for all of them.  She feels herself as part of a web of life.  She can see the lines of light that connect them all; the trees, the birds, the plants, the insects, the coyote and herself.  She feels held by the web.  She just needs to be herself.  She just needs to be in relationship with each of these lives and she knows how to do that.  Coyote is being coyote and she is being herself.  Could it really be that simple?

And then coyote bows his head.  She bows hers as well.  When she looks up, coyote is gone, back into the mist.  It is as if he was never there.  But something has changed.  She can feel a sense  of place.  She, child of settlers, heiress to destruction, has been taken in.  Alien just like the Ground Ivy, just like coyote, she lives here.  But not to dominate, not to control, like her ancestors.  No, she has to learn a different way of being here.  And the forest is her teacher as are the people that have been here for millennia who remember how to live in harmony. 

She feels a little dizzy and she leans into the Hemlock  for support.  Once again, Hemlock sends her energy down into Earth and advises looking deep inside for wisdom.  She closes her eyes and travels deep inside of herself, to her place of knowing.  And there, the searching stops, the vertigo calms and she becomes still, held by the web.

The Truth of the Trees: New Growth is Beautiful

I have been spending a lot of time in the forest these days.  During the stay at home months, the forest was where I felt free and safe.  I slowed down, took deep breaths and looked at everything around me.  The unfolding of spring has been delightful.  As each type of flower finishes it’s job of attracting pollinators and then creating seeds, another flower emerges.  The continuing change keeps me alert and paying attention.

White Trilliiums

I waited for weeks to see the Trilliums finally open.  The cold weather stalled their progress and when they finally opened it was very exciting.  A mere two weeks later, the weather was very hot and they wilted, then faded away.  I felt sad that they had lasted so short a time.  But, then I started to notice the new growth on the coniferous trees.  It was bright green and hopeful.  The fruit that they created in lieu of flowers was spectacular in design and colour.  I had never had this much time to pay attention to all these trees before.

Canadian Yew.  You can see the older growth is darker green.

Norway Spruce

White Pine

Just as the Trilliums were fading, I returned to work part time.  I had just become used to staying at home and now change was happening again.  The Trilliums faded as did my extended break.  But, the new coniferous growth buoyed me up.  We are entering a world in which new growth is happening and I want to be a part of this new world.  And so I decided to carry the teachings of the trees to guide me in this new phase.

Here are some of the trees that are inspiring me to grow new ways of doing things, new attitudes,  new compassion and new collaborations.  The truth of the trees is that new growth is beautiful!

Red Pine

Red Pine

Red Pine

White Spruce

Balsam Fir

Red Pine

Blue Spruce

It Takes a Dog to Raise a Village

Returning from our evening walk alongside marshes and woods, we were just about back to town when we encountered a tall young man with an intense expression on his face.  It was hard to tell if he was angry or upset.  We stepped to the side of the trail to social distance and said “Hello.”  The man looked up at us and then blurted out, “Have you seen a loose dog running down here?”  We replied that we had not seen any dog during our hour long walk. 

“My dog is loose,” he exclaimed. 

“What kind of a dog?”

“A brown and white hound.”

“Okay, we’ll keep a look out,” we promised.

“What’s her name?” I asked.

“Luna.”

“What’s your address if we find her?” asked my partner.

The man told us and then hurried off. I started to call out, “Luna,” with an occasional whistle.  I had lost dogs myself and I knew what a horrible feeling it is to have lost an animal that you are responsible for.  I had also had a dog named Luna.

When we got back to our car, my partner suggested driving around town to have a look for the dog.  He used to deliver the mail and he knows all the addresses in town.  He turned down the first street, reasoning in his mind, that that is where a dog would most likely run to from the address of its owners.  Within one minute, we saw a woman with two children and a small dog on a leash standing on their front lawn.  I thought that she might have seen the dog so I put down the car window. 

Before I could ask, one of the girls said.  “Did you lose a dog?” 

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“Have you seen her?”  I asked back.

“She’s right over there,” said the girl pointing across the road. 

I jumped out of the car and started to call the dog’s name.  She was a fast hound and she was running in a confused kind of way.  I could see her on the porch of the house across the road and it looked as though she might be trapped there, so I moved in quickly.  I got within two feet of her and called her name.  She showed no response to the name or to me.  Instead, she ran out the side of the porch and headed off.

I called back to my partner who was still with the car, to go to the address of the owners and tell them where the dog was.  I knew I wasn’t going to be able to lure her to me.  Then I ran down the road but she had disappeared.  Turning a corner, I saw a woman at the end of her driveway looking in both directions.

“Did you lose your dog?”  she called.

“No, but I’m looking for her for the owner.  Which way did she go?”

The woman pointed around the next corner and up the hill. So, I walked quickly in that direction but I saw no sign of the dog.  I thought that maybe my partner had informed the owner and that she was driving around looking for me and the dog.  So, I looked carefully at every car that drove by.  After a few minutes, a white SUV with the four-way flashers on pulled over beside me.  The woman driving it spoke to me through the open passenger window. 

“Have you seen a loose dog?”  she inquired.

“Luna, right?”  I said.

“Were you close enough to see her dog tag?” asked the woman, confused as to how I knew the dog’s name.

“No, we met your partner on the trail and he told us.  I nearly caught her but she’s really fast.  The last time she was spotted, she was on this road.  She’s here,” I added trying to be reassuring.

The woman drove off down the road and I walked all the way home.  There was no sign of my partner, so I decided to stand at the four way stop across from our house.  From there, I could see four roads and maybe I would catch a glimpse of Luna.  After about ten minutes, I saw the white SUV with the four-way flashers on coming up one of the roads and my partner’s car coming up another.  My partner had the right of way and after turning the corner he stopped to let me in.  I watched the dog’s owner stop her car on the opposite corner.

“That’s the dog’s owner,” I said.

“The dog’s at home,” said my partner.

“I have to tell her,” I said as I leapt out of the car and ran across the intersection to her passenger window. 

“The dog’s at home,” I panted.

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“I don’t know.  I’ll ask my partner,” I said. 

Heading back to his car, I saw him getting out and walking towards me.  I introduced him to the woman and he told the story.  He had gone to her house but there was no one home.  On his way back, the original woman and kids recognized his car and waved him down.  They had managed to catch the dog and were standing there with it on a leash.  So, he had exchanged the leash for a rope he had and had driven the dog home.  Since there was no one there, he had put the dog in the garage and formed the rope into a makeshift arrow pointing to the garage. 

“Your dog is safely in your garage,” he reassured her.

The woman had her hand on her chest and her relief was palpable.

“We’ve only had her three weeks.  She is a very nervous rescue dog and she just bolted.”

We assured her that we had had dogs ourselves and we knew how it felt.  After introducing herself to us, she thanked us and drove away.

It was a nice ending to the little drama.  It is really an everyday occurrence for dogs to run away and then get found again.  But this happened during a pandemic.  All the communication had to be done at a social distance.  This involved some loud talking.  My partner said that he hadn’t been as close to another person for months as he was when he took the leash from the mother.  It was like a minor miracle that the man on the trail had bumped into us, that we went looking, people shared information and somehow, Luna, the lost hound was returned to her new home.  It felt good to take part in an old-fashioned neighbours helping neighbours story even though we didn’t know each other.  It gave me hope about our ability to solve problems together through communication and cooperation.   And it felt good to be able to do something about a problem.  And my partner’s reflection on the event was just this: “It took a dog take raise a village.”

A few days later, we saw this poster in the local post office.

The Shedding of Skin

She has gone blind.  Dead scales block out the light.  It is hard to move.  Her skin is tight, constrictive.  It is even hard to breath and she is uncomfortable.  She pulls her life force inward and tries to make herself smaller and her breathing becomes shallow.  What if she took up less space?  Would the tightness lessen?  Would the pain go away? Could she move again?

She feels a vibration on the earth and becomes still.  It is repetitive and getting stronger.  Something is coming.  She can’t see what it is and her heart beats faster.  She flicks her tongue to pick up the scent.  Not mouse or vole.  Something bigger.  It is very close and she holds her breath.  The sound stops and she slowly exhales.  She senses warmth coming closer and feels the movement of warm air over her blind eyes.

She can’t see the shape of the oldish woman who stands crouched over, watching her, but she knows something living is there. The warmth tells her that.  The woman turns her head, first one way and then another, examining what is on the ground before her.  She can’t tell if it is alive or dead and she watches for evidence.  Then she sees the long, thin, red, forked tongue dart out and move.  She decides to sit on an old tree stump close by and have a rest.  She wants to see what will happen.

The woman is grateful to sit down and her breathing begins to slow.  She lets out a long sigh.  It is good to be in the forest.  It is good to be alone.  Her chest still feels tight though and she tries to breath out the feelings trapped there.  She is grateful to get away from the family, to be alone with herself.  At the house, she tries to be as small as she can be.  She pulls in her energy and tries not to be a nuisance.  She knows that they don’t really like having her live with them but they don’t trust her to be alone.  She feels that she is a burden just by existing.  What if she took up less space?  She stays in her room as much as she can.  When she goes into the kitchen to make a cup of tea or some toast, she tiptoes, tries not to make a sound.  She cleans up after herself right away.  Her skin tightens, her senses are on high alert, her chest tightens with every small sound.

But, here in the forest, she can let go.  She can let her energy expand to greet the trees.  The forest is always happy to receive her.  She stops to talk to the trees and they have come to recognize her presence.  Her large, loving energy field is soaked up by them, like the sunshine, like the rain.  She knows their names.  She gently strokes their young, admiring their strong trunks and beautiful leaves.  She tells them how beautiful they are and thanks them for making oxygen for her to breath.  Sometimes she blows out her breath to them and giggles.  She likes to give back.

At the woman’s feet, the snake’s tongue flicks out again, picking up the smells.  She is hungry and needs to find food.  The urge to move, to hunt, to feed begins to grow.  She senses no threat from the other presence.  She senses a strange energy coming from it that she can’t identify.  It feels warm, like the sun.  The snake tries to move forward and her skin holds her back.  But not for long.  The growing hunger moves her forward and she tries again, pushing against the resistance, the constraining tightness.  The tension grows.

The oldish woman is rubbing her hands together now as she sits on the stump.  Her hands that have mastered so many skills over her years are sometimes stiff these days.  She thinks of how they stroked her new born babies, combed their hair with her fingers and held their hands to keep them safe.  She remembers sewing, knitting, and weaving.  She can still feel the graceful movements of painting, drawing, and dancing.  Her fingers were always creating, making, and mending.  She can still feel the tomatoes that she plucked and the resistance of pumpkin stalks, the feel of new peas coming out of their pods and the sting of the nettles she grew.  Her hands remember the feel of a horse’s coarse mane, the curly hair of her Border Collie, the soft fur of dozens of cats and the wool of her sheep.  The memory of pulling lambs, lifting day old chicks to the water trough and the soft lips of horses is stored in her very cells.  The knowing about the skin of thousands of people that she touched as a physio, the texture, temperature and flexibility is surely still locked away.  Did the experiences make her bigger? Did she get too big?  How did all of this get locked into a skin too tight?

The snake is still at work and finally, there is a tearing, a breaking open as the old skin sticks onto the earth and her nose breaks through.  Wriggling, her face breaks out and she can see again.  On she goes, muscles rippling, propelling her forward and the old skin releases scale by scale.  She is used to the freedom of graceful movement, not to being tethered by her own skin.  And now that her head is free, she knows what to do.  On and on, she draws herself forward.  More scales release and she slithers out of the dead skin.  As her ribs become free, she breathes deeply and the pain is suddenly gone. 

Finally, her tail is free and she slides out of the empty shell of herself.  She doesn’t look back.  There is no point.  Her hunger drives her forward and her tongue senses a mouse somewhere ahead of her.  Her bright, new, smooth skin allows her to glide easily, to breath.  There is room to grow here in this new skin.  She disappears into the undergrowth. 

The old woman has been watching all the time, learning from the snake.  She can almost feel the skin tearing.  She noticed that she was holding her breath, waiting for the moment of release.  She feels the tightness in her own body.  The self-imposed tightness of trying to make herself small.  Of trying to make her life tiny so that no one notices, so that she is not in the way, so that she is safe.

As the snake breaks free, the woman lets her breath out and then takes in a deeper breath. She wonders when her hands became fists.  She slowly opens them.  Then she puts them together, open palm to open palm like children were taught to pray when she was a girl.   They begin to move, mimicking the serpentine motion of the snake.  Back and forth, back and forth, her hands make an S- shape.  Then her shoulders and torso join in.

  The movement gets larger and she is swaying from side to side.  She hears a song in her head and sways to the beat of the music only she can hear.  And then the song erupts from her mouth as she sings.  The trees and stones feel the vibration of her voice. It feels like the wind.  A crow high up in a pine tree calls back.  But she doesn’t stop singing.  It feels good to take deep breaths and to hear her voice bounce off of the trees and stones.  She notices that her chest doesn’t hurt anymore and she laughs. 

She looks down and the snake is gone.  The empty skin lies at her feet.  Her own tight skin with the scales of perfection, of getting it right, of being enough, of being not too much and the constant anxiety do not serve her.  They are squeezing the life out of her.  She knows what she has to do.

In “keeping her safe” her adult children have squeezed the life out of her.  She recognizes their own fear of losing her, not knowing that they already have.  She owes it to herself and to them to shed the skin of safety and to expand into herself.  Maybe they won’t like it, but that is already the case.  It doesn’t really matter, she now realizes.  Life demands growth and she surrenders herself to the river of her life, here and now. 

She slowly bends over and picks up the empty snake skin.  The shape of every scale is there, the shape of the eyes, the tiny tail scales.  It is beautiful and yet unnecessary.  It weighs almost nothing.  How could something so thin be so strong?  Then she places it on the tree stump and stands erect, stretching out her stiff lower back.  She opens her arms wide as if to hug the whole world and lets out a big breath.  Lifting her chin a little higher, she sets her shoulders back and then smiles.  She will bring the love of the forest community back home with her.  The whole thing will be in her energy field; the trees, the stones, the river, the snake, the whole lot.  They are coming back with her to the house. This makes her laugh. Her kids wouldn’t approve of a forest coming into their tidy house!  

And then she begins to walk in the direction of the house, humming the song of her soul.  She doesn’t notice the nearly invisible scales falling away from her body and being scattered by the wind because she doesn’t look back.  There is no point.  The forest floor will know what to do with those.