All we are saying…Peace

Last Saturday, driving to a day of teaching for the Self as the Source of the Story seminar, I drove past the weekly Peace Vigil alongside the highway a few miles from our house. I was so touched I decided to write about this in my blog… and today, into my box came this anonymously penned “history and celebration” of the current peace activism on Whidbey. I have participated in both these events over the years, but have been so much on the road in the past 4 years that my personal ability and dedication to stand in place has eroded.

I am sharing this pretty much as shared with me–only removing local names since this has a much wider audience.

The Saturday Morning Peace Vigil and Women in Black –
A brief History and a Celebration, May 24, 2014.

On Saturday of Memorial Day week-end, two different peace groups are being celebrated. The Saturday Morning Peace Vigil (every Sat. 10-11) and Women in Black (first Fri. of every month in the late afternoon – times vary) both meet in Bayview, one in silence, and one decidedly not, but with a common hope for a peaceful world to pass on to their children.

The Saturday Morning Peace Vigil began in the summer of 2002 to protest the growing momentum in the U.S. Government for war with Iraq in the aftermath of 9/11. This war eventually became a reality in March of 2003, in spite of millions protesting all over the world, including the group at Bayview.

As the deceptions and tragedies of Iraq became apparent, there were times when as many as 150 people protested up and down Highway 525. Over the years, the numbers have decreased, but many have been there most Saturdays, braving rain, wind, ice and snow for twelve years to witness their belief in the futility of war and the wisdom of using our resources to improve our world.

The messages on the colorful signs being held vary according to U.S. and world events and the passions of the individuals. There might be a sign saying “Harm No Child”, “Books not Guns” “Health Care for Vets” or one saying simply “No War.” Spirited discussions about current events and community involvement infuse the gathering. Over the years there have been at least four Naval aviators from the Vietnam era who have been regular participants.

In the beginning, when 9/11 was fresh in our memories, the hostility toward the demonstrators was sometimes palpable with verbal and physical expressions from passersby. However, over the years, peace signs, honks and thumbs up became the norm. …

South Whidbey Women in Black began standing in silent vigil in the summer of 2006, inspired by the Coupeville WIB. (A small group) began in Langley. At later vigils at the ferry landing, women in black often stood in single file up the long hill, causing quite a stir as commuters came off the ferry. Part of their mission states, “We ask you to reflect on the aggression occurring in the U.S. and other countries around the world as well as in our homes, in ourselves and against the earth itself. Let our stand remind us there is a limitless capacity for healing wounds of all kinds. Together, we can move forward into a world we would love to pass on to future generations.”

Niece Erin and her friend the time they stood with us.

Niece Erin and her friend the time they stood with us.

The public is invited to attend a celebration of these two groups on Saturday, May 24th from 10-11 at the Bayview Park and Ride. There will be refreshments, written materials, music and a short ceremony from 10:30-11 where there will be a chance to share memories. Especially invited are the drivers of the many cars who have honked or waved over the years (and yes, those who lifted their middle finger, too).

Come stand with us for a day or a decade! I’ll be there, again.

Wilderness Quest

For months the Olympic Mountains had been beckoning. Sometimes veiled by layers of gray clouds, sometimes towering in snowy glory, their many moods called to me across the waters of Puget Sound.

 

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Massive rainforest trees, thundering waterfalls, wandering bear and cougar, no highways or roads penetrating their wild interior—I knew it was a perfect place for a rite of passage to mark the transition into my 65th year, and to honor the death of my father and son this past year.

 

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Following the pattern of the vision quest, I entered the separation phase of the journey: preparing my backpacking gear, completing office and home details, saying goodbye to family and friends. Once I left the trailhead and began the 3.2 mile, 1300 foot ascent to Lena Lake with my backpack, I stepped more deeply into separation from the comforts of civilization.

 

 

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My simple, beautiful camp provided the threshold or launching place for me to imagine and create a ceremony to honor my father and son.

 

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On day two I entered the Brothers Wilderness and hiked another three miles and ascended another thousand feet in elevation.

 

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I found the perfect place to sit and be with their memories—a place nestled in moss, watched carefully from above by the Brothers Peak.

 

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The ceremony I created is a private one, partly based on some of the traditions of the threshold phase of the vision quest and partly generated by my own soul and relationship with these two dear men.

 

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Time alone in wilderness heightens my awareness, reminds me to look within, and stirs my creativity. It restores my soul. I am home now slowly, carefully entering the longest phase of the vision quest—incorporation. I made the journey to the “sacred mountains” on behalf of myself and my people. Now I must learn how to make real in my daily life the wisdom I discovered there.

 

Dirty Fingernails

Half an hour in the morning.

Ann swimming at the club, I’m dressed for yoga when she returns with the vehicle. Dog still in bed. I put down her breakfast to entice her out. I have scrolled through emails, thank goodness stayed off Face Book. My mind is racing with ideas… shall I communicate with myself in the quiet of the journal, or communicate with “you”—whomever reads this blog: today, tomorrow, or in the mysterious digital timeframe that streams on and on… (Robots are still reading older entries here: if I get a comment on a certain outdated post—it’s not from a human… the rest of you, I love hearing from!)

Half an hour in the morning. Unload dishwasher? Start laundry? Turn on the office computer? Clean my desk? For a few minutes I stand whirling in the midst of tasks and choices. Then breathe. What do I want? What would give this moment meaning?

I want to communicate something quieter than my mind, something small and green, a thought with bud and possibility. My primary reader is myself—I need to know I am capable of settling into the level of quite notice that writing is capable of instilling. If you want to come along, welcome…

Raven sculpture in the garden

Raven sculpture in the garden

It is rainy/cloudy/sunny today. Wherever you are, suck in this soft sweet air of gift. Rain. Cloud. Water above and below. A patch of blue is drifting down from the north. Puget Sound is an undulating grey blanket, the foothills are completely shrouded. Sometimes the clouds are so low it doesn’t seem that rain is falling, but rather emerging out of the grey and green of things.
This world offers so much beauty. The neighbor’s lilac bush is weighed down with purple blossom clusters as big as grocery grapes. We have nearly 40 peony buds shooting up in the garden. The spinach is ready to start munching, and we laid out a line of chicken wire fencing for the peas to climb. We weeded the beds, beheaded the tulips, and mowed the lawn before the rains came in.

World's biggest lilacs

World’s biggest lilacs

I need to keep doing this—bringing dirty fingernails to the keyboard. I need to touch the green, find the beauty, tend to nature—especially in places not so easy to find it. I have stood in a parking lot on a cell-phone call, knelt down and weeded the beds of struggling landscape plants. It literally grounds me in the conversation and in my place on the earth. I am tending. Tend, tendance, attention all stem from that same source.

Tend, v.t. means 1) to care or minister to, 2) to look after, watch over. Tendance means ministration, as to the sick. Tending is an antidote to all the pulls of attention that stream in from the machine world… Tending is a ministry—to my yard, to my hearth-friends, to what is not connected to the Internet and is connected to the web of life.

Half an hour… paying attention. I know I will put some green-time into my day.

 

Entranceway

Entranceway