Woman Turned To Stone (Soldiers, Warriors and Feminine Power)

September 2014

          Men need to speak out more about violence against women. We also need to speak out more about violence against Mother Earth. For, as Grandpa Sequoia recently reminded me, they are both absolutely a part of the same illness. Show me a traditional Earth-reverent society and I will show you one where violence against women simply does not exist. Men need to recognize and challenge the many forms that this violence takes in this mad modern world: it’s not only physical and sexual, but psychological and spiritual as well – all plagues upon all of our sisters… but also upon all men. Martin Luther King, Jr. spoke of how racism not only destroyed black people but white people as well (take a look at the current state of middle America – and many police forces – after generations of refusing to ever seriously deal with racism.) It is the same with sexism. It cripples men too; it destroys our spirits too. Most obviously in the inability of many of our brothers to ever have meaningful, egalitarian relationships with women. We’ve all lost a part of ourselves because of this false patriarchy. Men created the illness, and so it is all of our responsibility to help cure it. It has bred such fear and distrust and shallow understandings of each other… what kind of world is this?! How utterly out of balance we are with Mother Earth and her profound lessons about living together and real power. How is it that we refuse to listen to the wisdom of the greatest feminine power any of us can ever know? Doesn’t it follow that if men truly loved, honored, and respected Mother Earth it would be impossible for those same men to inflict this plague of violence upon women?

            So what to do?

Heavy Doses of High Sierra Mountain Medicine (Spiritual Crisis', Sick Hearts & Deconstructing “The Big Three”)

July-August 2014

“These mountains are our Holy Land, and we ought to saunter through them reverently...”

–Brother John

            So I climb down from the mountain and check the news. Not surprisingly, once again another US and European bomb fueled religious war disguised as politics racks the so-called “Holy Land”. Not a coincidence, I suspect, that this theme has been on my mind a lot this summer. Sometimes, most times, while in the midst of these High Sierra mountain temples it is quite easy to ponder religion/spirituality/the Great Spirit/Mother Earth/God/science... whatever you choose to call the attempt to understand the Great Mystery is fine – I’m not concerned with labels or semantics. As with most so-called controversial subjects, rather than shying away from chatting about them I tend to just dive in headfirst and try to stir it up (always with a laugh and a smile, of course.) After reverently sauntering amongst these divine mountains and forests for a few years I’ve come to the conclusion that the root of most if not all of our modern dilemmas is simply this: the separation of Man/Woman from Earth (alas that this has been violently re-enforced by all the so-called ‘great’ religions). It is this arrogant notion that we are superior to and not a part of Mother Earth and all of her beings, particularly each other. Our connection is gone. Our spirit is lost. So perhaps the root of the crisis we face in this mad modern world is not political, nor economic, nor social, but… spiritual – something that some Indigenous folks have been saying for centuries.

521 Years of Indigenous Resistance (and counting…)

October 12, 2013

            After the solemn prayer and opening ceremony about a half hour earlier, we boldly marched down the old pueblo street and into the famous Santa Fe Plaza, drums roaring, singers chanting. The energy was tense. The crowd that had gathered there an hour or so earlier to celebrate this day looked on in shock. Fake conquistadores and fake Indians awkwardly forced to stop their absurd re-enactment charades. I remember one of the organizers frantically running to the front of our columns screaming at us to stop and turn around. “You can’t do this!” she croaked. We ignored her and quickly took over the Plaza, going around it in a circle several times, the fierce pow-wow tune echoing off the old adobe buildings. It was October 12^th, 1992. Columbus Day in Santa Fe, New Mexico was emphatically shut down.

The Will to Live

September 2013

           I came up over the ridge, stopped to admire the ever-inspiring Big Trees, and then slowly entered yet another stunning ancient Sequoia filled valley. On some levels, it very much reminded me of my first saunter through Giant Forest last Summer. Just breathtaking. Other-worldly. Per usual, a calm peace entered me as I slowly wandered about the home of these divine abuelitos, this time in Atwell Grove, near the southern boundary of Sequoia National Park. Descending into the valley, I looked up and sort of gasped as I stopped in front of an enormous tree. Literally half of it was burnt to a crisp, from the bottom almost to the top. At least 200 feet of charred wood. From this angle, thoroughly blackened and appearing long dead, one would think that this old grandpa’s fine life had ended some time ago. Not so. The other half was still covered with brilliant red bark, slowly healing around the ancient scar; still full of strong, healthy limbs, ever growing; still gracefully stretching upwards towards the heavens.

Always Listen to the Mountain

August 2013

           Suddenly feeling my boots start to slip as I was trying to lower my backpack down, I had no choice but to let go and let it drop over the ledge. I watched in dismay as it tumbled down the sharp incline, pleading, “stop!” Some 20 meters below a clump of bushes heard my plea, caught it, and, thankfully, saved most of my gear from about another 100-meter tumble down the mountain. One water bottle was not so lucky, and I watched it bounce and go flying out of sight over the ledges further below. Five minutes before, realizing I could not get down attached to a 40 lb. backpack, I had removed it, and now sat on a series of ledges, slightly concerned but carefully pondering my next move.

The Epic, pt. II

April 18-May 23, 2013

                        This could become a ritual. These “epic” cross-country jaunts to and from my dear Sequoias. Road-trips that may very well define my decade of the ‘40s’. Hard to feel my age amidst the pure freedom and joy that is roaming alone without a real schedule, seldom even looking at the time or date. This time it was east to west. Back to the divinity of the ancient Sequoia groves, away from the shallowness of the immature concrete jungles. After a spectacular two-month long South American saunter, I could only stay ten days in the NYC before hitting the road once again to go cross-country. I find that nowadays I take my Big Apple in very small slices! Bus ride to DC, quick drive across Virginia and West Virginia (very pretty land them Virginias) and it was on with a full-on family gathering in Louisville, Kentucky. Once on the roadways of this great land, one needs at least a full month to do ‘The Epic’ properly - it’s odd when even a few free weeks of rambling along feels rushed. I visited several remarkable places where I could have stayed two or three weeks alone. Once again, coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.

Abuelo Mapajo, Hermano Tacana (plus Civilization vs. The Great Mystery and Prophecy)

2013 South American Saunters

February 2013

           Wilman stops, listens intently, glances up towards the treetops, waits a few seconds, and then slowly continues on along the barely visible jungle trail. He repeats this routine every few minutes as we amble down one of the numerous trails around the Caquiahuara eco-lodge in Tacana land, Madidi National Park, Bolivia, South America, Earth.  After four or five silent pauses, he suddenly urges us to quickly come forward and look up at the distant tree branches… there we spot a Howler Monkey 100 feet above, almost invisible to the naked eye. Wilman’s finely tuned vision grasps any movement in these jungle trees and quickly directs us city folks toward a whole array of Amazon birds, plants, and animals. I could spend weeks out here studying trees, plants, wildlife, listening to this brother’s knowledge of his land. It feels like I’ve been here before, like I’m re-living something from a past not so long ago.

An Antenna Between Heaven and Earth (Ranger Responsibility)

2013 South American Saunters

April 2013

            As Autumn approaches Mapuche land (Wallmapu - what is now referred to as central Chile), while walking beneath the groves of the beautiful, abstract looking Pehuen or Araucaria trees one can hear the piñons tumble off the trees almost like a rattle shaking or the sound of heavy drops of rain hitting the ground. The ripe pine-esque cones on the female trees grow thick and round when they are ready to deposit hundreds of super rich seeds to the ground, seemingly intentionally sent down for every sort of animal to consume. The entire forest, humans included, lives off this magnificent pine nut. My timing was perfect: I arrived in Conguillio and Huerquehue National Parks at the peak moment of piñon collecting – they were literally falling at my feet as I hiked through the glorious landscapes that make up these two parks.

The Epic, pt. I

September 2012

                                   1 month. 3,500 miles, 20 states, 15 National Parks & Monuments, 100 old friends, a whole bunch of familia, and 2 oceans. Now that it is a road-trip. That is something for which I might justify the use of a car – or at least an old used one that gets about 40 mpg. It began and ended in two of the so-called great urban centers of our society, San Francisco and New York City. In between, I went through more of God’s beautiful Earth than most ever get to see in a lifetime, or two. As well as seeing a few of the saddest and most pathetic places one might ever visit. Along the way I think I discovered just how truly ‘American’ – as in from this land – I have actually become, as well as how correct I probably was in my last blog proclaiming that, “cities [are] not reality.” Of dozens of amazing road trips I taken in my life, this was The Epic. Coast to coast in several symbolic snippits.

In Search of Ishi

September 5^th

           My last week with the Big Trees was a flurry of activity – hikes, stargazing, patrols, packing and a whole bunch of those deep, nostalgic breathes as I said goodbye to the numerous marvels I had witnessed all Summer. I had heard about a particular old giant that I’d wanted to visit this season – The Ishi Tree. Named after the last truly free man to roam the now United States, the last “wild Indian” to live outside of the European invasion. As fitting a name as possible I suppose, as “Ishi” is supposedly one of the largest trees on planet Earth, and also one of the most isolated, wild, free - there are no trails or markers to draw in the tourists, and one has to wander through the woods for a few miles to find him. My kind of spot.