If everything in the land body has a purpose, like the wolf or the juniper, then what is ours — our human purpose — collectively, as a species? Leopold dichotomizes between the land body and the human body, yet he also speaks of ecology and the relationships of all things in the context of a system.
For instance, of what use is it that humans go into nature to excavate our own psyches? We do it. We are unique in our ability to do it. How does that contribute to the ecological whole?
Leopold also says that, “Man kills what he loves,”
and that, “An ecologist lives alone in a world of wounds.”
My body has been broken, also my heart. It is helpful to know that this is the way of it. This is how the apricot tree blooms: by breaking open the seed. This is how she remembers her own inherent self-worth; this is how she remembers to take the risk of blooming again. This doesn’t mean that life becomes easier; it means that life is lived with greater courage.
Story originally published in snapdragon: a journal of art and healing, spring 2020, issue 6.1: vibrant | vision. https://www.snapdragonjournal.com/
Each of us who is not seen in this world, who is not invited to be present in our full eccentricity, in ownership of our truest gifts, is abandoned.
In an economically driven world, we are orphans, forever in need of love and nurturing, holding and listening.
The intention of the writing has been to explore shame, femaleness, reproduction, sex, the body. A specific goal within the intention has been to explore, to excavate, to say out loud the choice to make the female self, the female body a priority, to decide when and under what circumstances to allow another life to inhabit it. Patriarchal ideology has decided for the female body that it is a “host” for life and not, in itself, a life. And, further, that it, the female body, can be a source for pleasure, but that its pleasure is derivative.
I look out at the man across the street taking care of his yard.
I look out from behind the paneled window pane.
a world is created between us.
There are feelings out there,
on the other side of the glass:
a whole city,
about who we are
and who we are supposed to be.
There are feelings out there,
where the agave is blooming.
you lay on a mat exercising your pelvis.
I stand in my blue bathrobe, hair wet.
It is so quiet, only:
The movement of your belly up and down as you breathe,
the tea kettle,
the shuffle of paper.
I stand in my bathrobe writing a poem
about the feelings out there
and the world in here,
that has stopped,
full of bath water and fresh eggs.
The ceremony has to be within.
The mountains and the desert and the sun and moon and open spaces and canyons and rivers need to live inside you. You need to be able to be there in a heartbeat and here, too, wherever here is (especially with the children).
Now clean your house.
We go into the woods, into the wilderness, to practice traveling, to practice our understanding of attack and protection, to practice seeing out and seeing in, to practice listening. And it’s all happening right here, in the kitchen, on the soccer field, as we move through traffic. Right here. All the time.
I use creative non-fiction and poetry to communicate, connect, and understand.