nature

Finding your power.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

In a captivating interview, Jane Goodall offers some final thoughts, filmed to be aired only after her death, with the last bit spoken directly to the camera with no one overhearing. Apparently, this is part of a series on Netflix called Famous Last Words.

It’s a sobering thought, thinking about what is the final thing you want to say to the world, to loved ones, to friends. Because they’re your last chance, these types of words hold special import.

As is unsurprising, Goodall’s final words focused, not on herself, but on others, inspiring everyone to make a difference and not give up in what she called these ‘dark’ times’.

Here are Jane’s final words:

In the place where I am now, I look back over my life. I look back at the world I’ve left behind. What message do I want to leave? I want to make sure that you all understand that each and every one of you has a role to play. You may not know it, you may not find it, but your life matters, and you are here for a reason.

And I just hope that reason will become apparent as you live through your life. I want you to know that, whether or not you find that role that you’re supposed to play, your life does matter, and that every single day you live, you make a difference in the world. And you get to choose the difference that you make.

I want you to understand that we are part of the natural world. And even today, when the planet is dark, there still is hope. Don’t lose hope. If you lose hope, you become apathetic and do nothing. And if you want to save what is still beautiful in this world – if you want to save the planet for the future generations, your grandchildren, their grandchildren – then think about the actions you take each day.

Because, multiplied a million, a billion times, even small actions will make for great change. I want to – I just hope that you understand that this life on Planet Earth isn’t the end. I believe, and now I know, that there is life beyond death. That consciousness survives.

I can’t tell you, from where I am, secrets that are not mine to share. I can’t tell you what you will find when you leave Planet Earth. But I want you to know that your life on Planet Earth will make some difference in the kind of life you find after you die.

Above all, I want you to think about the fact that we are part – when we’re on Planet Earth – we are part of Mother Nature. We depend on Mother Nature for clean air, for water, for food, for clothing, for everything. And as we destroy one ecosystem after another, as we create worse climate change, worse loss of diversity, we have to do everything in our power to make the world a better place for the children alive today, and for those that will follow.

You have it in your power to make a difference. Don’t give up. There is a future for you. Do your best while you’re still on this beautiful Planet Earth that I look down upon from where I am now.

God bless you all.

As they did while she was alive, her words inspire us to do as much as we can with what we have, to look out for others, and to cherish and care for creation. let her words be a blessing and beacon to all of us now.

Touching, kissy words.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Spring has sprung, and nothing beats a morning walk for plugging into springtime energy. Birds twittering, gentle breezes, heady fragrances. And that good vibe can carry you through a mundane day.

Consider this from Mary Oliver

How lovely to think of a morning walk as a gateway into gratitude, and that all of creation is whistling, slapping, stamping, shining, humming, and turning right there with you. In gratitude.

What are your touching, kissing words of gratitude?

Keeping on.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

There are things in this life that break us. Usually they involve some sort of loss—of health, of life, of relationship, of stuff. Despair is a crippler. You can’t breathe; you can’t think; you can’t see a way out. The world becomes very small until it feels like you are living in a tiny bubble apart from everything and everyone, floating along fragile in your pain. At times like these, you have to force yourself to hope and to push through. Start with your breath. In and out, in and out, until it is smooth and full, rather than broken with the catch in your throat from the threatening cry. Keep at that, smooth and full, smooth and full, smooth and full until you can open your eyes and start noticing beauty, maybe, at first, in the tiniest of things. A drop of dew on the grass, the feel of breeze on your skin, laughter of a child, the bud of a flower, birds in flight. Keep at it. No one said it would be easy. Keep at it. Smooth and full, smooth and full, smooth and full.

Welcome the wind.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

It’s too easy to forget that we are of this earth. Our agendas and business suits disguise us. Our tasks distract us.

But we are sensuous beings, of the earth and for the earth. We, like the tree frog, are part of creation. How lovely it is to remember that, to appreciate our moment of life in the grand scheme of things, to feel the wind in our hair and the grass under our feet. To drink deep of this moment when we are here.

We are here.

Breathe in this new day.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Apparently, chaos is on the agenda. With breakneck speed, legal norms are being tossed aside, and guardrails appear missing. It’s hard not to be overwhelmed with concerns about our future.

What to do?

When we lose our way or feel overwhelmed, we can return to nature and be renewed. Hear the birds singing. Feel the cool breeze. See the long grass ripple in a gentle wind like ocean waves. Breathe in the sweet earthy fragrance of the morning. Feel small and surrounded by an amazing, complicated system that has been pulsating with life for millions of years. That awe is good for us:

It has long been established that a healthy diet and lots of sleep and exercise bolster the body’s defenses against physical and mental illnesses. But the new study, whose findings were recently published in the journal Emotion, is one of the first to look at the role of positive emotions in that arsenal.

That awe, wonder, and beauty promote healthier levels of cytokines suggests that the things we do to experience these emotions—a walk in nature, losing oneself in music, beholding art—has a direct influence upon health and life expectancy,” says UC Berkeley psychologist Dacher Keltner, a coauthor of the study.

Breathe in the day, full of life and possibility. Breathe out the stress, the worry, the defeat.

In.

Out.

In.

Out.

In.

And for a more guided practice consider adding these words to your breath, suggested by my former pastor John Foster:

Like to the lark at break of day.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

I am a huge fan of birdsong. It is so joyful. Listening to a little bird, so unassuming, singing with all it has to welcome the day reminds us of what it is like to be alive—vibrant and grateful, blessed with a day ahead to sing our song however that might manifest itself in each individual life. Open. Ready. Eager even.

And yet life can bring us low. Consider Shakespeare’s 29th Sonnet below. He certainly gets what it is like to feel outcast and alone, bemoaning our fate, jealous of others’ future and friends, their talents and possibilities, when we feel we have none.

And yet,

There is, or maybe was, someone who brightened our spirits. Someone who loved us and, like the simple lark singing its joyful song, that love can change an outlook in a blink. And next to that love, all the treasure of kings is paltry.

For a perfect, tear-jerking read of this Sonnet, take a listen to Judi Dench in the clip below. and take a minute, sometime today, to listen to a bird singing its heart out and remember those you love and those who love you.

When, in disgrace with fortune and men’s eyes,

I all alone beweep my outcast state,

And trouble deaf heaven with my bootless cries,

And look upon myself and curse my fate,

Wishing me like to one more rich in hope,

Featured like him, like him with friends possessed,

Desiring this man’s art and that man’s scope,

With what I most enjoy contented least;

Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

(Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth) sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

       For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

       That then I scorn to change my state with kings.

What gorgeous thing.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

I confess there are times I leave the conversation. Not bodily, but heart, mind, and soul. I drift. Such a time happened the other night. I was having dinner with a group of long-time friends. We were outside in one’s lovely yard which overlooks a golf course and the hills beyond. My wandering off, metaphorically speaking, began with a flock of ducks flying overhead across the darkening sky. And then birds broke into song all about us, flitting from bush to bush. It was such a joyful moment. And although I tried to call my friends’ attention to the ducks and birds, it maybe was just a singular moment for me, astonished by the joy in it all. A moment to savor.

Mary Oliver often captures such moments.

Consider her poem, What Gorgeous Thing about the ineffable joy in bird song:

I do not know what gorgeous thing
the bluebird keeps saying,
his voice easing out of his throat,
beak, body into the pink air
of the early morning. I like it
whatever it is. Sometimes
it seems the only thing in the world
that is without dark thoughts.
Sometimes it seems the only thing
in the world that is without
questions that can’t and probably
never will be answered, the
only thing that is entirely content
with the pink, then clear white
morning and, gratefully, says so.

There is a wordless something in nature that communicates both nothing and everything, and sometimes we just need to drink it all in. (And then get back to the conversation before you’re missed.)

Remember the puggle.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Black white. Up down. Left right. In out. We are a people who love to categorize. Categories simplify things and help us to sort out our place in the world.

But then there’s that puggle, a baby platypus. Classified as a mammal but laying eggs with a duck-like bill, aquatic, poisonous. No wonder the platypus astounded the scientific community when it was first discovered in 1799. Indeed, the skin of the first platypus discovered, preserved in the British museum of Natural History, still bears the marks made by the curator at the time who tried to pry off the bill, convinced the creature was a fake.

The puggle doesn’t categorize easily.

While categorizing can be helpful, it can also be limiting if we fail to see outside the norms and lines we draw. And when it comes to humans, where do we draw the lines? We humans are nearly impossible to sort into classifications because we have so many unique characteristics. Categorizing might even keep us from looking for and seeing the individuals behind the label.

We can find differences and commonalities among any group of people.

We are all puggles.

The mystery never leaves you.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

What an amazing world this is, every bit of it connected to something else, and all together. Under every footstep we take are millions of organisms working out their life journeys. As is true in every breath we take, bite we eat, even into our own interior microscopic landscapes. The whole world is simply thrumming with life force, of which we are a part. We can spend a lifetime studying how it all fits together, and would still probably fall short of understanding the full complexity.

Irish philosopher and poet, John O’Donohue puts it this way

Well, I think it makes a huge difference, when you wake in the morning and come out of your house, whether you believe you’re walking into dead geographical location, which is used to get to a destination, or whether you’re emerging out into a landscape that is just as much if not more alive as you, but in a totally different form, and if you go towards it with an open heart and a real, watchful reverence, that you will be absolutely amazed at what it will reveal to you.

https://onbeing.org/programs/john-odonohue-the-inner-landscape-of-beauty/

Perhaps if we realized the enormity of life force we are wandering amongst, we would walk more softly, breathe more deeply, and open our eyes wide in surprise and delight at the beauty of it all.

A very buzzard homecoming.

Posted on by Shari Swanson

Recently, I pulled down an old scrapbook from my junior high days to show my granddaughter Lily who is just that same age now as I was then. It contained many ‘treasures’. Among the many letters and cards from my late grandmother was one talking about the buzzards coming back home to Hinckley, Ohio, a phenomenon which I remember amused me. Imagine celebrating buzzards!

She wrote:

It should cheer you somewhat to know that the buzzards returned to Hinckley, Ohio, on schedule on March 15th. It is always a comfort to know those gorgeous creatures ‘do their thing’ each year, as anticipated. It would be a bit discouraging to prepare pancakes and sausages for 35,000 eager folks, and have no buzzards to join in the celebration!

Oh, how I loved her, her humor and wit, her warmth and love, her writing style. I have always felt such a kinship with her and reading over her letters makes her feel so close.

Her letter got me thinking. First, about buzzards. Sure enough, a quick bit of googling shows that buzzards are still returning to Hinckley on schedule and have been celebrated since 1818!

And then about the cyclical quality of nature. The monarchs go south and then back. The swallows return to San Juan Capistrano. The elephant seals come back to Cambria. We humans who love animals mark their going and celebrate their homecoming, yes, even the buzzards, and note the steady passage of time.

And finally about how those we’ve lost stay with us even after they’ve gone. Lily has a freckle on her right hand which I’ve told her is her Nana freckle. I load it up with kisses often when I see her. When I’m gone, I hope that freckle will remind her of how very much I loved her. My grandmother and I were separated by thousands of miles, but our letters exchanged helped us stay close. Those letters remind me now to pause and share bits of life, simple moments, with the people I love. Those moments become the memories and precious treasure later.

Even the ones about buzzards.

(I couldn’t quite bring myself to make the lead picture with buzzards. Lol)