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Gaian Rants | The Beauty of the trees, the softness of the air, the fragrance of the grass, speaks to me. The summit of the mountain, the thunder of the sky, the rhythm of the sea, speaks to me. The faintness of the stars, the freshness of the morning, the dewdrop on the flower, speaks to me. The strength of fire, the taste of salmon, the trail of the sun, and the life that never goes away, they speak to me. And my heart soars. - Chief Dan George & helmet Hirnschall | Cornmeal and pollen are offered to the sun at dawn. The ears of the corn are listening and waiting. They want peace. The stalks of the corn want clean water, sun that is in its full clean shining. The leaves of the corn want good Earth. The Earth wants peace. The birds who eat the corn do not want poisons. Nothing wants to suffer. The wind does not want to carry stories of death.
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When the animals come to us, asking for our help, will we know what they are saying? When the plants speak to us in their delicate, beautiful language, will we be able to answer them? When the planet herself sings to us in our dreams will we be able to wake ourselves, and act?
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Tonight I walk. I am watching the sky. I think of the people who came before me and how they knew the placement of stars in the sky, watched the moving sun long and hard enough to witness how a cerain angle of light touched a stone only once a year. Without written records, they knew the gods of every night, the small, fine details of the world around them and of immensity above them. Walking, I can almost hear the redwoods beating. And the oceans are above me here, rolling clouds, heavy and dark, considering snow . . . It's winter and there is smoke from the fires. The square, lighted windows of houses are fogging over. It is a world of elemental attention, of all things working together, listening to what speaks in the blood. Whichever road I follow, I walk in the land of many gods, and they love and eat one another. Walking, I am listening to a deeper way. Suddenly all my ancestors are behind me. Be still, they say. Watch and listen. You are the result of the love of thousands. - Linda Hogan, from "Walking", Parabola, Summer 1990 | ||||
The breezes at dawn have secrets to tell you.
You must ask for what you really want.
People are going back and forth Across the doorsill where the two worlds touch, The door is round and open.
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The Earth is a living thing. The mountains speak. The trees sing. Lakes can think. Pebbles have a soul. Rocks have power.
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