108 Things We Can Do for the Earth/#2, Understand

Number two on His Holiness Karmapa’s list of 108 things we can do to help the environment is:

”Read, discuss, and develop an understanding of environmental issues and how they affect you and your community.”

Maybe it’s because I’ve always loved the area where I live now that I can’t imagine not being interested in the surrounding environment. Maybe if I lived in some place that I didn’t much like, though, I’d feel differently.

For right here and right now, however, I want to know as much as I can about our local birds, our local water cycle, our wild native creatures and plants, our stars, and how the continually changing cycles of the seasons manifest in North Central Florida.

I first tuned in to seasonal changes several years ago, when I was doing a lot of reading about the new paganism (I did comparative religions in college and am fascinated by that subject), and got acquainted via email with a remarkable writer named Waverly Fitzgerald. Waverly lives in Seattle and produces a web site called School of the Seasons, which I highly recommend. Reading her articles made me realize how out of touch with seasonal changes we can become, given our prevailing culture’s neverending focus on work, consumption, and entertainment.

Now, of course, the area where I live is embroiled in the water wars. So I think it’s more important than ever for us to educate ourselves about our natural resources, so we can stand up for them and protect them. The California Pulitzer Prize-winning poet Gary Snyder had an article in the November 2007 issue of Shambhala Sun called “Writers and the War Against Nature,” part of which is reprinted in the July 2009 (pp. 64-65) issue; in it, he says:

“How can artists and writers manage to join in the defense of the planet and wild nature? Writers and artists by their very work ‘bear witness.’ They don’t wield financial, governmental, or military power. However, at the outset they were given, as in fairy tales, two ‘magic gifts.’ One is ‘The Mirror of Truth.’ Whatever they hold this mirror up to is shown in its actual form, and the truth must come out. May we use that mirror well!

The second is a ‘Heart of Compassion,’ which is to say the ability to feel and know the pains and delights of other people, and to weave that feeling into their art. For some this compassion can extend to all creatures and to the world itself. In a way, nature even borrows the voices of some writers and artists. Anciently, this was a shamanistic role where the singer, dancer, or storyteller embodied a force, appearing as a bear dancer or crane dancer, and became one with a spirit or creature. Today, such a role is played by the writer who finds herself a spokesperson for non-human entities communicating to the human realm through dance or song. This could be called ‘speaking on behalf of nature’ in the old way.”

To really speak for Mother Nature or any of her creatures, it seems to me, you need to know what you are talking about. You need to “read, discuss, and develop an understanding of environmental issues and how they affect you and your community.”

I’ve pictured above some of the resources to which I turn when I have questions about our area and its flora and fauna. There are, undoubtedly, many such resources for every area of our country and, no doubt, the world. The Internet itself is one such resource. You can’t see it on the computer screen in the picture above, but I had surfed over to the Water page at Food and Water Watch.

Here in North Central Florida, I always encourage people to tune in to what the folks at Our Santa Fe River are doing. My friend Merrillee, who does an outstanding job of communicating river-related news, also has an e-mail list that provides a wealth of current information (pun intended!); you can get in touch with her through the Our Santa Fe River web site. Rachael Ryals, a journalist with the High Springs Herald, provides a great service not only by writing about environmental issues for that paper but also by administering the new North Florida Nature News web site.

What are you most curious about in your own local environment? What are some resources you can use to find out more? Do you know other people who are interested in some of the same things? How can you begin to speak for your neighbors who are voiceless—the plants, the animals, the outstanding natural features?

Magic May Morning/Early Summer

This morning I went down to the spring that's near my house to take some pictures while all was quiet and the water was still. The place is a popular swimmin' hole, so it's impossible to get people-free pictures of the water later in the day.

I was happily snapping pics when something started dripping on me from the trees above. Slightly irritated, I shielded the camera and moved out of the way. I looked up for a guilty squirrel or bird, but saw nothing. So I continued around the spring, snapping when I saw anything that looked like a good shot.

A bit later, as I circled back toward the spot where part of the river that flows around a small island is used for boat launches, the drippy phenomenon started up again. This time, I was looking into the sun and could see that the water was dripping from all the trees around me, coming down in little cascades of twinkling drops. I remembered that we had had a terrific thunderstorm yesterday afternoon, so I finally figured out that the drops were moisture from the rain that had lingered on the trees overnight, only to be blown down by the early morning breezes.

The Tibetans have an expression called "a rain of flowers" that refers to either rainfall or snowfall (I've heard both) when the sun is shining. In the namthars (sacred biographies or hagiographies) of the Buddhist teachers that I've read, a rain of flowers sometimes appears as an auspicious sign. Of course, it's not surprising that I got irritated by this "rain" at first—I thought I was standing in an inauspicious spot!—but I was glad I finally figured out what was causing the droplets, so I could appreciate it as a beautiful natural phenomenon and not simply an irritation. I guess this is an example of how your perceptions can shift when you change the way you look at things.

As I was taking pictures of the main vent of the spring system (there are a couple of smaller vents closer to the river as well), I noticed two large fish had come up into the spring to explore. Two fish are an auspicious symbol in Buddhism as well; they can represent happiness, among other things. (I'm always happy to be at the springs!)

A bit later on near the boat launch, I heard a hawk call and saw two two large birds fly into a tree. I waited a bit, and while I wasn't quick enough or expert enough to get a picture, one of the hawks left the tree and flew right by me. Partly because "Faulkner" (falconer) is a family name on my mother's side, I feel a kinship with these beautiful birds; my spirits lift whenever I see one.

As I was driving up the little hill away from the spring and river area toward higher ground, a black crow flew in front of my car for a long way—not leaving the path of the winding road, but flying directly above it, almost as if to guide me away from the river.

I don't attribute any special significance to these events, by the way—I just think it can be inspiring to contemplate what Mother Nature will show us, if we are patient and focused enough to watch and listen.

Sometimes two fish are just two fish; other times, a symbol of two fish can represent beauty and abundance, or the embodied consciousness in which we so often find ourselves imprisoned.

Sometimes a hawk is just a hawk; other times, a hawk can remind us of our connections with our ancestors or inspire us to see things from different perspectives—the hawk's eye view.

Sometimes a crow is just a crow; other times, a crow can remind us of Mahakala, the dark protector of the Karma Kagyu lineage.

Sometimes raindrops can just be raindrops; other times, raindrops while the sun is shining (which happens a lot here in Florida!) can remind us of our beloved teachers, and of Buddhism's twin goals of wisdom and compassion.

It was really a magical start to the day—first being alone at the spring and then watching as two beautiful retrievers joyfully splashed around in the water with their owner; their delight was so obvious that I couldn't help smiling.

As I was leaving, more people began to arrive. How the springs draw us all in—it is true, isn't it, that "recreation" means, in part, a process by which we re-create ourselves?

There may be a magical place very near where you live. What is it? How does it reveal itself? How do you honor it? What can you do to protect it?