dear friends ,

I know I repeat myself. I know I keep on telling the same stories over and over again, about forest and earth and spirit and beetle.

I have noted that it is a device used in other cultures and imagine that maybe repetition is one of the keys to our ongoing survival growth and learning.

and so once again

***

on any given day a turtle plods past the house

a black swamp wallaby drinks from the water pot outside the kitchen window,

a superb blue wren picks at crumbs shaken out from the breadboard onto the verandah

a skink wanders along the kitchen bench

a whipbird ducks thru the shrubberies

a black snake flattens out along the woodpile warming up.

 

***   the forest is magic;

it is biodiversity And,

it is poetry rhythm song and dance  ***

 

as a forest dweller I love it,

and yet because of my presence here  adaptations are taking place all the time. I am witness to evolution in the making. foods not previously known or eaten are now available and the black swamp wallaby and the brush tail possum like to take up all offers.

year after year our earnest human ideals have been tasted and added to the palate of bird possum wallaby, even the skinks love hommus.

we the usurpers have retired our ideals and watch in unfeigned delight at the bowerbirds, cuckoo doves, lewins honeyeaters, currawongs and silvereyes hoofing into the figs.

***

the question for me is –

how can I reduce my footprint to leave a world of beauty for the grandchildren and their grandchildren?

***

I have to take responsibility for all that is going on

all that I like and all that I despair of.

all this is within me.

we the humans are co- creating – changing the blueprint making our mark.

so on the one hand we are capable of biocide and on the other, acts of great kindness and generosity.

***

every year the whales swim along our coast, sometimes shepherding their babies in close so we can see them easily from the cliff tops. I think of the sounds they make and the songs they sing and the stories they hold and wonder why we do not know and honour their language their passion their lore.

I know next to nothing of the languages/stories within this forest, of what the kurrajong or the echidna is saying or where the turtle has come from and who its relatives are, or how old it is, or what it dreams of when it lies on the log beside the dam.

all this I do not know which is why I cherish living within this space – this place of worms and bacteria and fungi, of death and decay, of bud and bloom.

***

and that question leads me to another,

I wonder that if we are willing to plant the seeds of tomorrow

the seeds of cucumber and kindness,

of tomato and compassion,

of beans and generosity

will this make a difference ?

 

and then I pray

that it can

and that it will.

 

I do not know if there are answers

but I am thinking that

while the bee still sups from the flower

and the platypus still plays in the river

and while Mother Earth is the only embodied home we know

then,

for the sake of all that we hold dear – whale tree dingo bat sugarglider dolphin eagle  river child wattle fern wombat …….

 

let us sow the seeds of tomorrow

honour respect kindness laughter generosity compassion grace…….

 

yours faithfully,

sandra taylor

daughter of the earth and the sun

xxx

 

 P.S.  have you noticed that there is no mention of zen- what am I on about ? not even a vague attempt to bring it into the picture . I found that as far as zen goes there is nothing to say . there is only the lived and felt experience which may be zen or maybe not . who am I say? 

P.P.S. my thanks to the a to z challenge for inspiring me to write every day , to share this love I hold, this prayer I sing.  I honour all those who have travelled with me and I thank you dear companions for your support and your stories in return.