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Gaian Rants | Gaian Voices is published by Susan Meeker-Lowry, author of Economics as if the Earth Really Mattered (1986) and Invested in the Common Good (1995) both published by New Society Publishers. Susan was the editor/publisher of Catalyst: Creating an Economy for the Living Earth from 1985-1993. Today she writes regularly for the Conway (NH) Daily Sun, grows herbs, flowers and vegetables in her organic garden, and basks in the energy of her beloved White Mountains. She is the mother of three grown sons and the grandmother of two delightful boys. My conscious commitment to the Earth began about 20 years ago on my first trip to the Pacific Northwest and down the coastal highway to San Francisco. I say conscious because I have always had a close relationship with nature, having been raised in the White Mountains of New Hampshire. I took my cue from my father who loved the woods and all the creatures who lived in them. The woods were my refuge in both good times and bad. I often felt closer to the trees and boulders I hung out with than my human friends. I took this relationship for granted -- it just was. The occasion for my trip west was a conference at the Chinook Learning Community on Whidby Island. As the editor of a newsletter on Earth-based economic alternatives (CATALYST), I felt this event would be a great place to promote my work, meet interesting people, and learn what others were doing. I was not disappointed. One of the things that has constantly amazed me are the signs along the way that indicate that I'm on the right path. This trip was full of them! Right from the beginning I felt as if I was coming home in some way. And this was confirmed the first night of the conference. Many years earlier, when I was a student at the University of New Hampshire, an all-night vigil was held for the students shot at Kent State. Hundreds of us silently marched, with candles, to Snively Arena where singers, storytellers, and other performers were prepared to keep us entertained, and awake, during the night. Early the next morning, the final singer sang a song that spoke deeply to me. I knew my purpose was to help bring about the peaceful, green world described in that song. In the months that followed, I looked everywhere for the song but couldn't find it. After a while I gave up and eventually the song slipped from my consciousness. Well, when I walked into the large room for the opening of the conference at Chinook, the hairs went up on the back of my neck. On each chair was a piece of paper. I knew, before I even looked at the paper, that it was "my song". The song had been written by a resident of Findhorn which was why I couldn't find it all those years before. From that moment on, the conference was magic. I met people who helped and supported my work in the years to come, including Thomas Berry who later wrote the forwards to my books. It was on this trip that I consciously dedicated my work to the trees, especially the Ancient Ones. I had never seen a clear cut before, but I saw many on this trip. They hurt me deeply, physically, as if I had been hit, hard, in the stomach. Later, as a friend and I drove along the coastal highway to San Francisco, we spent some time among the redwoods. On one stop, as I approached one of the larger redwoods in my vicinity, I suddenly realized I was unmistakably hearing the tree speak to me. I couldn't deny the reality of what was happening, nor could I ignore the urgency of the message: "You humans are waging war on us. We of this kingdom feel deep compassion and love for you, especially those of you who are trying to help. But you must not falter! We are dying. We are not afraid of death. Death is an inevitable part of life. But we are the skin of the Earth and our children are dying, too. As we live, you live. As we die, you die. Without us, the Earth will become a desert, a vast wasteland. We are necessary, not only for the physical well-being of the Earth, but also for the spiritual attainment of humans. As you walk among us, open yourself up to our love. The love that is you is us, too. We are all one. You can feel it. There! Awaken and become conscious of our oneness. Live your life in its awareness. Remain open to our connection -- and act within it. There is much at stake!" This experience opened me to the natural world in a whole new way. I felt connected to the beings I loved so much in a very personal, tangible way. I now knew deep in my being that there are different kinds of consciousness and they are accessible to us. In other words, human consciousness isn't always where it's at! I became compelled to open myself to this consciousness and to try and communicate it to others as best I could. My writing reflected this new awareness and the more I shared, the more I learned. One day a couple of years later my purpose just came to me. I “got” it, just like that: To listen to the Earth, write what she tells me, and share it with others. That night I was sitting in bed listening to the wind rustle the leaves outside my window when I heard what sounded like women's voices gently talking in the night. The harder I listened the louder the talking became, but it wasn't any language I had ever heard. Then it was gone. I wanted to hear it again so I thought, "Who's there?" I heard the whispers again but now I could understand them. They said, "You can hear us. You understand what we say." And I knew it was the trees I was hearing. The trees confirmed my purpose then told me I should write what they said, so I got some paper and a pen. They waited for me to be ready before continuing. "Your gift is your writing, and yourself, be yourself. That is most important. You must do what you must do and you know what that is. You can relax in this. Trust it. It is indeed real. It will get easier and easier for you to hear us. Just make the choice and listen. That's all. You understand. Trust yourself." Except for the redwoods, I had never had an experience like this and I was quite blown away. Today the words don't sound so Earth-shattering, but that night it was the most incredible experience I had ever had. It was the magic of the world I had felt as a child, then lost in adolescence, come alive again. It was such a wonderful gift. I knew it at the time and I still know it today. Unfortunately, during my last 4 years or so of activism (early 1990s), of fighting and struggling against the "powers that be" and so infrequently feeling as if any headway was being made, I lost that sense of magic and possibility that made my work feel like such a gift. I tried (and tried and tried) to get a sense of the magic back. But it didn't come. Not in my work, not in my personal life. I simply trudged along, doing what was necessary, writing articles on subjects like corporate control, the World Bank, how messed up international development is, biotechnology . . . . The research for these articles depressed me even more. The trees simply weren't getting through. Then, as is so often the case, the Universe simply took over. In the first week of January 1996, my father fell and broke his hip. On the same day I ended a six year relationship that was painfully going nowhere. For my father, this fall was a major blow after a debilitating stroke four summers before. He ended up getting an infection in his heels that simply would not go away. Meanwhile, my beloved grandmother got sick with pneumonia. Two weeks after entering the hospital, and four days before her 95th birthday, she died. A few weeks after her death, Daddy had to have both legs amputated. (He lived in a nursing home until his death in 2001). After a summer spent mostly on the road between Vermont and Maine, I made the decision to move to Maine after my middle son graduated from high school. I decided to take a break from activism and follow my own advice to “listen to the Earth”. The first thing I did after moving here was to start a garden, which has since blossomed into a beautiful, sacred place in the backyard, where flowers, herbs and vegetables flourish among the bees, worms, insects, and devas. It took several years of listening and I had almost given up on doing anything “out in the world” but one fall day in 2002 I woke up and knew it was time to start another newsletter. I called it Gaian Voices and the first issue came out in the Fall of 2002. I have no clue what the future holds. I do know that if there is to be a future worth living we must wake up to the true nature of what it means to be human living on a beautiful, fragile -- and alive -- planet. | |||
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