***I composed and posted this almost a year
ago today. This week, Aug 2016, I am grieving a different kind of loss, sitting
in my new residence back up in the oh-so-beautiful and comforting Pacific Northwest.
Currently, I
live in California.
Upon waking last
weekend, I felt an unnameable sadness, uncharacteristic for my usually
optimistic self. It seemed like grief associated with geography. I imagined it
must be my continual longing for the verdant land of the Pacific Northwest, a
place I have called “home” for more than twenty-five years.
That evening I
saw a huge fire-cloud: smoke from yet another nearby wildfire. I snapped a
photo and then went home. Suddenly I heard from within me:
Ohhh! I’m grieving the drought!
This was a
shocking and powerful recognition.
I know that I
have embodied grief about the earth before: I felt sorrow about the clear cut
forests of Washington; I felt sorrow one year ago when a huge temblor shook our
nerves and broke our homes. I felt sorrow when I first visited Yellowstone
during the huge blaze of 1988. I feel sorrow each time I encounter
tangled-in-plastics sea species, housing developments where fields or groves
once thrived, malls near protected areas. And many, many other earth sorrows. But
today’s sorrow, unexpectedly sharp as it arrives in my inner landscape, is
about the desiccated land of California being consumed by ravenous wildfires
hungry for the tinder of dead grasses.
I could easily
return to the Pacific Northwest.
And, I have a
place right now in this beautiful-but-desperately-thirsty land.
I can feel my
heart break at the sight of brown, smoky skies and the eerie, fluorescent red
of the sun…I can feel it in my parched emotional landscape as an abider in
nature, as a seeker of stillness and silence beside creeks-oceans-under forest
canopies-atop mountains-on hiking trails with my face upturned to the sun and
my hands resting firmly on grass, bark, sand, mud. I love this gentle and
fierce, pulsating and beating, breathing earth. Her winds and waterfalls. Her
mountains and meadows. It is my supreme delight to rest upon, move across,
ponder deeply, and breathe in the Air.Fire.Water.Earth of this planet.
But her parched
dusty skin frightens me.
I will love her,
no matter; she is my strength and my soul-aesthetic. I will offer her beauty in
the form of reverent words, soul ponderings, blessings, and altars in her
sacred outdoor places. I will caress her with hands firmly laid upon her
grasses, moist or dried out. I will conserve-water-beyond-usual. I will
remember each time what a blessing it is to shower or wash hands. I will honor
that which still grows and thrives in dried-out-beyond-recognition landscapes.
And I will honor
the drought by being true to my grief.
All blog images created & photographed by Jennifer J. Wilhoit unless otherwise noted. Please circulate images with photo credit: "©2016 JenniferJWilhoit/TEALarbor stories. AllRightsReserved."
