Tending the Fire

Even though we only had one full month this year that we didn't build a fire, I forgot some things about tending one. The weather is chilly cool and rainy, the tamaracs are a painting on the mountainsides and there's a nice white-tail buck stalking the woods surrounding the house. The black bear seems to have moved on and wood must be fed in a consistent manner to keep the house toasty warm.

A consistent manner - hour by hour, day by day.

No, that's not my fire pit, not my gorgeous cast iron dutch oven, but I'd love to cook that way sometime. I fancy myself green witch drawn to cauldrons full of critical ingredients - onions, garlic, potatoes, venison, parsnip, yam, ginger and peppers. And maybe the occasional eye of newt. I sprinkle some leftover or borrowed hope, a glimmer of faith, a forgotten belief in something. My own cast iron skillet goes in the oven to be retrieved an hour or so later with food medicinal in nature, glorious in taste. I feed the fire.

I know I've been silent here for awhile but it was necessary. The inner fires have been raging and have required their own consistent tending. They have left me wrung out, exhausted and mad. I temporarily lost interest in much of anything except my sobriety and getting through the day. It's entirely discomforting to suddenly turn scarlet with flush, break out into an entire body sweat that feels like it's literally steaming out the top of one's head while trying to speak with a customer or a friend or the cat for gods sake. Mini-kundalini volcanoes. I'm reading Derrick Jensen and the words reach me in a deep place that takes time to assimilate: the truth harsh and cold. I have to take breaks from the book, but I'm compelled to continue reading each time I pause and I steel myself and open the pages - telling myself I can keep it at an emotional distance, I can keep from going into the dark place, telling myself it's necessary, it's part of becoming aware. I read chapters aloud to Brent and he hangs on every word. We feed the fire.

I have continued following the Gulf Coast and there continues to be excellent work done there, although don't for a minute think BP or our government have much of anything to do with that - except getting us there in the first place. National Geographic did a cover story, which mostly bored me to tears and the spill has been in the national news again, but the reports come with no real stories of assistance where it's needed most. They do not engage me the way Drew Wheelan with the American Birding Assocation and the bloggers at the Gulf Restoration Network continue to do. These grassroots activists are my heroes and there are pockets of them all over the globe. A friend in South Africa works to slow the same type of destruction to her Delta knowing that it's late late late in the game. We feed the fire.

We can all see what's happening here, can't we? The story will continue to die down as more and more of these disasters take place. I haven't heard much about the Red Sludge lately. They've built a wall, people are returning to their homes. But there's lead in that stuff and it's radioactive and the ground is a sponge. And it's happening in a thousand different ways in a thousand different places that we never hear about and never will.

We must see that any real answers will not come from the established order. Pluto cojunct Ceres asks us to revolutionize our relationship with the food we eat. To offer it respect and good soil, clear sunshine and pristine water. To thank it for the life it gives, whether animal, vegetable or mineral, and to offer something back. The deer are abundant here and their meat is healthy, lean and good. I will let one choose me and honor our pact from the moment I take the shot to the last savory bite. My willingness to participate so intimately with my food is surprising still to me. It is changing me. It is making me better. I don't like the task especially, don't enjoy killing in any way except that that's the way it feels it should be - if I want the meat (and I do) and I intend to eat it (the only reason to hunt in my opinion), I should at least bless it for myelf and recieve the animal's blessing. I'm almost certain it changes the food, making it a bit more nutritious, a bit more delicious, allowing a healing alchemy to take place in the cells. Our plant and animal siblings help feed the fire.

I'd love to hear how you're feeding the fire.

Absolutely Painful

Drew Wheelan of the American Birding Association and the bloggers at the Gulf Restoration Network continue to report the oily truth in the Gulf of Mexico. How many people believe that the disaster is over; the oil cleaned up or "dispersed"; the damage somehow mitigated? Do you believe that?

I've been working a lot the past couple of weeks. I come home tired, feet and legs hurting. My diet goes to hell because I don't have the energy or the time to cook like I usually do. I actually like my job, but that doesn't seem to make me any less fatigued when I'm done. The store where I work is a home and ranch store - they play a country music station all day that plays the same damned songs over and over, taking us down to the little white church at least 8 times a day. It's a large store with bright eye-piercing light and concrete floors (luckily the dept. I work in has a thin layer of something akin to carpet over the conrete). The radioes are going all day and this week is school-shopping week. That means kids. Lots and lots of kids.

I find it overstimulating at best and absolutely painful after 6 hours. I like to work and I definitely need the money, but I hate how it sort of sucks the passion out of my life temporarily. And I'm running late this morning, but I did want to keep the attention here at ER on the Gulf. Surely this story will eventually break.

Thanks for visiting.

More Than One Kind of Oil

Drew's fly-overs of the Gulf become more disturbing by the day. (If you live in the U.S. and you don't follow that link - shame on you.) This is the kind of information that can start a revolution, but no one is really paying attention. Meanwhile, headlines say the economic "recovery" is slipping. I really want to curse here, but I will refrain. There hasn't been any kind of recovery and the media's own spin, brought to you courtesy of the Administration and corporate conglomerates, is not working anymore. Just this morning it was reported that the month of July was the second largest month for foreclosures ever.

The proposed energy bill is woefully inadequate to deal with our environmental issues and the advertisements for the Dodge Ram get glitzier and glitzier. Food prices are going up and the water table is going down. Those of us who have given up rearranging deck chairs are left to watch, mostly helpless, as the ship goes down. Maybe we'll be the only ones able to enjoy the stars on a dark night at sea.

I've begun writing to people who might be able to get the word out on the true story in the Gulf. In the meantime, there are things that provide me comfort. I hope no one thinks that I walk around living my life in a state of doom and gloom. True, I feel deeply the pain that goes with the kinds of issues we face, but it doesn't define or rule my life. I rarely speak of collapse with anyone but Brent, who is of a same mind.

Once acceptance is reached, every little thing becomes a blessing. Fresh food. Clean water. Relationships with family and friends. The ability to connect on-line. I have it better than most. I live in a state that has roughly a million people and takes a day to cross. I see eagles, osprey, white-tail and turkeys on a daily basis. Right now, there is abundant food to fish and hunt if you're willing to do that and I became willing some time ago. Actually I feel learning to hunt was an initiation that is helping me deal with things now, helping me to feel more empowered and capable of stepping up to the plate, whatever it holds.

I know my little blog is not doing much in the big picture, but it provides me some sense of participation and is a kind of launching pad for the activist I'm becoming.

I request, once again, that you please join me in sharing this vital information. Thank you.

Industrial Disease

I have industrial disease. And you do, too. I'm waking up from our shared delusion of living in the "more, more, more", consumer-driven, petroleum-based, disaster that we call our society. And you can, too. But you can't look away. You have to look and read and become truly informed. And maybe the hardest part? You have to admit we've all been duped.

My industrial disease manifests itself in all kinds of ways - both physical and mental. Physically, I've become wheat-sensitive (the reason which is another post in itself); I have inflamed tendons in my heels from being on my feet 8 hours a day for a pittance; I would find it extremely difficult to function without my car; I'm becoming allergic to lotions, soaps, make-up and especially perfume (hi Sherri); and the internet is my lifeline. Mentally, I struggle with strong emotional responses: depression, anxiety, nihilism. Then sometimes, like now, I feel alive and real like I never have before. I feel the kundalini energy tugging at the chakras.

Those are some late-stage symptoms. Early stage symptoms were a deep sense of disconnection from source, bad - as a matter of fact, very bad decisions based on false assumptions about how to live life, an appetite for drugs and alcohol that overrode my wise mind and early family issues I couldn't resolve at the time.

I'm almost 49 years old and though I'm sober today, I will be living with the affects of my use the rest of my life. I think I've finally accepted that. I've discovered a new commitment to myself and the earth and its inhabitants and the only thing I really want, which is to be awake and sober right now, is mine as I choose it. If I didn't take action now about the things I see happening, I would never forgive myself. I've made a mess of most of my life, but I can make a difference now. And so can you.

I don't know if many people are still visiting my blog. But I'm calling on what readers I have and my fellow bloggers to help me draw attention to the people on the ground in the Gulf who are reporting the real story. We have to fight. For ourselves, for the earth, for future generations if there are to be any. Information is currency. Food is going to be currency.

Sign the petition. Write your congressmen. But don't expect the change to come from them. It will only come from us. Put a link on your blog to Drew Wheelan and Jonathan Henderson. Even if it's impossible to wake up to the whole picture right now, wake up to this part.

Thank you for visiting Eclectic Recovery.

A Jolly Good Time

My best friend from Georgia, Wendy, came out with her husband and two beautiful girls for a few days and a jolly good time was had by all.

We spent two days in Glacier National Park where we spotted mountain goats and their babes but alas, no bears. Not that they weren't there: the young ranger we spoke with told of a harrowing encounter the previous day with a sow and three cubs which brought her within 10-feet of mama. A little too close for comfort. Luckily, her bear spray got her out of a tough situation with no harm to animal or human as it did with Jack Hanna a day or two later in the same area. He was at Glacier doing a public service announcement for, guess what? Bear spray. Unfortunately, one fellow visiting Yellowstone, as noted in the article, didn't fare so well.

We kayaked Swiftcurrent Lake, did some hiking, picnicking and generally just had a grand ole time. Still, I have to apologize to Abby (far right) - while kayaking her paddle was a little warped, the wind was up, and I think she got pretty frustrated at going around in circles for half an hour. She was a good sport, though and I really have to say that for teenagers, Abby and her sister, Avery (next to Abby in orange t-shirt) were an absolute pleasure to be around. Tommy, Wendy's husband, is an all-around great likeable guy with an adventuresome spirit. Yes, indeed. Very good times.

The third day we drove to the National Bison Range. We saw large herds of bison, the random pronghorn antelope and mule deer and had a nice picnic at the top. And the last day we did this. Oh my god it was so much fun! I was a little nervous about flying through the treetops 100-ft above the ground at speeds of up to 50 mph, but it was nothing but fun. It just didn't last long enough and neither did the Weatherford's visit.

One thing that's lasted almost 50 years now is mine and Wendy's friendship. I'm nine days older than Wendy and we grew up within 1/8 mile of each other. We were virtually inseperable in grade school and if we were little terrors individually, as a team we could be devastating. Luckily, her offspring don't seem to show the same tendencies. Friendships like this are a rare and beautiful gift and I was struck more than usual by what it means to share such a history. It's comforting to be around someone who knows you that well.

I burst into tears when we got in the car to leave the hotel their last day here. They were mostly happy tears: happy we got to spend such quality time together, happy everything went well, happy they are doing so well and the girls are growing up to be such poised and beautiful young women, just happy. Well, maybe some sad, too. Sad because I'm not immune to homesickness for my family and friends in Georgia, sad in a 48-year old we'll never walk this way again sad, bittersweet, happysad.

Meanwhile, in the Gulf the stories from the ground continue to contradict what we're being told by the media and the government and BP. Trust me, there's a reason they don't want us to know the whole story just like there are reasons they don't want us to know stories like the Afghan War Diary. Wake up time. If you're really lucky right now, you'll have lifelong friends who will give you back your hope, or at least let you borrow theirs. Thanks, Wendy. I love you, girl.

It Really Does Take a Village, or Two

Every morning I sit down at the computer with a cup of coffee and check the Gulf Coast links on my sidebar to see what's happening. This morning I was happy to see a new post from Velveteen Mind. Megan is an incredibly smart woman, an excellent writer and as far as bloggers go, well, she's what you might call at the top of the food chain, publishing her own literary e-zine/blog called Blog Nosh which I am only now beginning to explore.

Megan has hope that BP actually can "make this right". Better even.

Well, wouldn't you if you lived there? Do you think you could face the devastating loss while still reeling from Katrina, a not-so-great depression, huge corporate buy-outs paid for with OUR money, lies and deception at every level of government and corporations. Wouldn't you cling to anything that might provide some glimmer of hope for the people, the ocean and the wildlife? For a way of life which Megan describes beautifully? I probably would if I were there. But I've taken Derrick Jensen's advice and given up on hope:

A wonderful thing happens when you give up on hope, which is that you realize you never needed it in the first place. You realize that giving up on hope didn't kill you. It didn't even make you less effective. In fact it made you more effective because you ceased relying on someone or something else to solve your problems, you ceased hoping your problems would somehow get solved through the magical assistance of God, the Great Mother, the Sierra Club, valiant tree-sitters, brave salmon or even the earth itself - and you just began doing whatever it takes to solve those problems yourself.

Also, I'm not there. I'm about as far away as you can get from the Gulf and remain inside the contiguous U.S. But growing up in Georgia provided many wonderful times in the Gulf. It was only 6 hours to Panama City, Destin or Pensacola. I love the Gulf and I hurt for it. Perhaps my distance allows me to be more cynical about this disaster, or more realistic.

Many in our country now are sympathizing with the poor sots in the Gulf Coast. "Oh, how awful for those people." You can practically hear the relief in their own voices. Finally, someone has it worse. We may be un or underemployed, without health insurance and unable to afford care and we may be on the verge of bankruptcy, but we're not down there. We're not covered in oil with no end in sight and the losses growing by the minute.

Here's the thing, though. WE ARE. We are all down there. That sigh of relief will empty your lungs and lower your heartrate slightly, but it won't change the facts. We are all drenched in oil. This country has been built on it for the last 150 years and our arrogance and stupidity are catching up with us. In my experience there's only one thing to do with an addiction like we have: face it and do the best you can. Read. Be informed. Take action. Find it interesting when a non-profit environmental organization scolds BP while cozying right up to them. Do not turn away from what's happening to the wildlife, even when it hurts. And it will.

Know that there are 27,000 abandoned wells now in the Gulf of Mexico; many of which are probably leaking. Oh yeah, don't forget all the ammo from the WWII ships coming home. Don't forget that most of the fish we eat is already contaminated with mercury, PCB's and other toxins, even before Corexit (make sure to read down to toxicity). Don't forget that all we have left is our choice of how to handle the things we face. We will either stay in denial and await a return to "normal". Or we will get busy re-creating normal into some semblence of what it actually is for human beings and the earth: small communities, small economies, local food resources. In other words, villages.

That little fellow above is a river otter we saw on a recent kayaking trip. He's not covered in oil; he just has an incredibly black coat designed for colder waters and sleek swimming. Isn't he wonderful?