Wet Bird

Ta-Wan

"The stiller the viewer, the more that is seen" - Is something I said once and it struck me again but in different words today and became "The less of a viewer..."

Nature is beyond words and is living Tao, if the world could just see the magic there and not keep running around trying to shape life into a misfit reflection of mini-mind, then all would be well - and all IS well for those of us who do do that.

One bird flew with a heavy load of nest material and hit the tree, crashing into the branches. The shaking rocked the other tree dwellers and then crash bird had to struggle to get a footing and place his over egged basket on the branches before it fell. The other birds shuffled in their seats and a number of us human types stopped to look on, smile and laugh.

Below the tree, which was on an island in the lake, another of the same kind of bird was standing with his wings held up and out. He was allowing the sun and wind to dry them I would guess and he just stood, occasionally shifting his footing. Did he know the sun, a large electrical anode, and the wind, the air on an electromagnetic flux, were what were drying the liquid state hydrogen/oxygen mixture off his waxed, tubular feathers?

As the other humans moved on, I stayed. I watched crash bird decide against the crash landing point as a place to stay, pick up his materials and plummet out of the tree back into the water with a splash. He re-emerged and with a shake of his wings the water was off his back and he swam, load splitting up as he pulled it along. Drying bird stood on, drying. The other birds did nest stuff and two proud black swans marched the lake's perimeter looking for troublemakers and bread litterers to honk at.

As this happened none of the water forgot to be wet, no bird fell through the tree as the wood forgot to be stiff, my heart did not once forget which way or how often to pump, my hair grew, the birds feathers remained waxed, light, the sun remained consistently warm and distant, the sky did not go green as it was changing channel for snooker. It just worked.

Nature works. We then, with increasingly more self awareness; crash into trees, laugh, pick up sticks to throw for dogs, ride cycles, run whilst checking times on the watch, sit in a car texting a friend about the park you can't see as you sit texting, drive with music on to drown out the birds, eat a picnic of plastic wrapped sandwiches of chemically preserved ingredients, pick up the kids to get home in time to watch a programme on nature, desire to be able to do this more often...

But I stood on, watching this, seeing humanity in its glory ignoring the very nature they sat within and I saw wet bird, now dry, take a hop into the air and a couple of powerful strokes, up, he was dropping onto a high branch to sit. Crash bird had dropped his load and was now on the bank near me picking up new materials. The swans had found a small boy to harass and his father, who was on his phone, shooed the big guys away. Luckily for him they had eaten already - but that did not stop them giving a passing honk to remind Mr Man and Master Small Boy who was in charge around here.

As various layers of awareness observed each other, the ground did not turn liquid, gravity did not reverse, air remained perfectly breathable and a dog ran by, happy as a dog, running by. I thought "hey dog, don't you know there is a world recession?" and I laughed to myself knowing how it was only me him and the birds who could be free enough not to care.

Nature just goes on, beautifully, and humanity on the whole blindly ignores it and worries if they are getting fat and should have a 3 meat pizza not a 6, if they will get home in time for the news, if their car is new enough or if they were right or wrong when the other driver shouted at them "open your eyes you fucking idiot!".

Nature is quietly being perfect. Not showing off, but just setting the perfect example to those who choose to look.

This post originally appeared on Ta-Wan's blog, Tao Wow.

Ain't So Pretty

Trey Smith

Poets, novelists and commentators like to paint nature as such a pretty place. Heck, who among us doesn't swoon at a forest cathedral or become spellbound at the majesty of a roaring ocean. For all its beauty, nature can be what we humans would describe as ruthless and heartless.

This morning Jaz and I were out on the beach as we are almost every morning. As we approached the surf, Jaz frequently enjoys chasing the seagulls. On most occasions, it's no big deal. She goes bounding off in their direction and they take flight -- landing far beyond my dog's reach. Today, however, Jaz went charging off at a particular bird and, in no time at all, I had to call her off. She minds well and broke off the chase almost immediately.

Why did I end this frolic? I realized the bird she was set to chase was wounded. It had a broken wing and showed that it was unable to fly away.

A seagull with an inoperable wing isn't going to last very long. It can't feed itself and it can't escape predators. I don't know if sea lions eat gulls, but there was a large group of them only a few yards out in the surf. Regardless of whether or not this gull becomes a sea lion meal, it will soon be SOME creature's meal. I would be surprised if it lasts until nightfall.

In the overall scheme of things, this happenstance is neither good nor bad. It is the way things are. As a compassionate human, however, it is hard not to feel sorry for this poor bird. It has death written all over its broken wing.

A Howling Good Time

Trey Smith

We lived in South Bend on the edge of a forest for 6+ years and yet I've seen or heard more wildlife in my first month in Ocean Shores!

Late last night, as I walked with Jaz in a nearby field, we heard a pack of coyotes not more than 2 or 3 blocks away. A few nights earlier, I watched a raccoon the size of a koala waddle across the road about 4 blocks south of our apartment. Everyday I see scores of deer in all sections of town. In the southern part of the Ocean Shores peninsula, there are sitings of fox, otters and, on occasion, even black bears. The last reported siting of a cougar was near the high school (about 1.5 miles north of us).

When we made this move, we ostensibly moved from a small town to a slightly larger one. According to official census data, the population of Ocean Shores (5,500) is over three times greater than South Bend (1,700). But those figures are a bit deceiving. There are a lot of people who are counted as Ocean Shores residents who don't actually live here. They are snow birds. They own property and "live" here only 2 months of the year (July and August).

While this is a more urban environment than South Bend, it's not by much.

There are two other factors at play as well. First, there is a lot of unimproved land sprinkled throughout this peninsula -- excellent habitat for wildlife. Secondly, while Ocean Shores is 3 times larger than South Bend in population, it is nearly 6 times larger in total area (12.4 square miles to 2.01 square miles). Less human population density is an invitation for greater wildlife density.

Real Life Tao - Early Mornings on the Beach

Trey Smith

Since moving to Ocean Shores, I take Jaz to the beach every morning for exercise. On most days, we arrive at or just after sunrise. In most cases, no one else is on the beach -- at least within eyeshot. My dog chases seagulls or sticks that I toss into the surf. Me? I watch the waves ebb and flow, ebb and flow. Mesmerized.

A person can be a Taoist (or simply find symmetry in Taoist metaphors) anywhere at anytime, but it is so much easier at the beach! The concepts of transformation and ever returning are on display 24/7. The waves coming in quickly transform into the waves going out. While water constantly recedes toward the ocean, it concurrently always migrates toward land.

It is a symphony with no apparent beginning or end. From the standpoint of my singular life, the tides have been this way from before the time I was born and will remain so long after I die.

When I am on the beach, I am at peace. I understand the unknowable just a wee bit more than at any other time. Watching the rhythm of the waves, the words of the Taoist sages ring true...wordlessly.

This post is part of a series. For an introduction, go here.

Dasher, Dancer, Prancer and Bambi

Trey Smith

Hunting is not allowed within the boundaries of Ocean Shores and so this approximate 7 miles long peninsula has remained home for a variety of wild critters. While sitings of bears and cougars happen very infrequently, raccoons and coyotes are often seen. But the one wild animal that dominates our area is the black-tailed deer. They are everywhere and I mean that almost literally.

Late last night in a field near our apartment complex, Jaz and I practically walked up the back of one. We came within a few feet of it before we realized it! Today, on a drive down Ocean Shores Blvd., I counted over 50 deer in less than 3 miles. Because they are protected AND some people feed them, most of the deer are not scared of people. This is not to suggest that the majority will eat out of your hand, but you generally can come within a few feet of them before they saunter away.

Of course, this lack of fear of humans can be quite deadly. As long as the deer remain within the confines of the City of Ocean Shores, they are safe. However, the moment they cross those invisible boundary lines, they can be shot (in season). I'm sure the deer do not comprehend this distinction!

Bambi Had It Better

Trey Smith

Below I am sharing an absolutely unbelievable article posted at Alternet. The short story it tells defies commonsense. After reading it, I hope you have the same response I did: WTF? What is wrong with these people?

When an Illinois family brought a baby fawn to a no-kill shelter at the Society of St. Francis on the Kenosha-Illinois border, they figured the fawn's mother had abandoned her, and hoped to save her life.

That hope turned into a nightmare two weeks ago when multiple squad cars and heavily armed police officers arrived at the shelter with a search warrant for the fawn that had been nicknamed Giggles for a noise she made that sounded like laughter. "It was like a SWAT team," shelter employee Ray Schulze told WISN 12 News.

Apparently, the Department of Natural Resources had received anonymous reports of a baby deer living at the shelter. Nine DNR agents and four deputy sheriffs, all armed to the teeth, was the proportionate response. The agents even had aerial photos of the fawn going in and out of the barn, because Wisconsin law forbids the posession of wildlife.

No problem, shelter employees said. Giggles was scheduled to go to the wildlife reserve the very next day.

Giggles never made it. According to WISN 12 News, the agents "corralled workers near the picnic area and then set out in search of the fawn." And that was more or less the end of Giggles.

"I was thinking in my mind they were going to take the deer and take it to a wildlife shelter, and here they come carrying the baby deer over their shoulder. She was in a body bag," Schulze said. "I said, 'Why did you do that?' He said, 'That's our policy,' and I said, 'That's one hell of a policy.'"

Later a spokeswoman for DNR made sympathetic noises about how the shelter tried to do the right thing, but policies are policies. She also denied agents killed Giggles at the shelter, saying she was tranquilized, then euthanized later.

It was not a response that satisfied shelter workers, who also wondered just how much the Operation Giggles cost the taxpayers.
~ Overkill: Armed Agents Raid Wisconsin Animal Shelter; Kill Baby Deer Named Giggles by Janet Allon ~

A Gift from the Earth (Revisited)

Scott Bradley
Original post date: June 2, 2011

We finished digging out the garden's second 45' raised bed yesterday, but not before we turned up yet another treasure. It is a shallow bowl of soapstone just big enough to fit comfortably in the palm. It is perhaps the most beautiful man-made object I have ever held. Beautiful, because somehow it moves the heart to joy and tears. It is a gift from a people long disappeared, yet still present in and to us all. It is a gift from the earth because it has come from the earth, looks like a stone, is a stone.

It is the size and shape of a small abalone shell. Its inner part is completely striated by scratches, as if made by a knife. Was this how it was made? Or was it a kind of cutting board, held in the palm, to cut leather thongs?

Its lip and exterior are rough a pitted, almost as nature made it, yet nonetheless shaped. Its feel is smooth and almost soapy, so that the hand naturally seeks out its texture, is pleasured in the feeling.

It imbues the heart with a deep sense of continuity and connectivity, to humanity, rock, earth and time. It is a true treasure.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

Willy the Worm (Revisited)

Scott Bradley
Original post date: June 1, 2011

Digging in the garden as much as I am (making raised beds) I come across many a worm. Most are wrestled down and placed in a nearby raised bed where I promise them a worm paradise. Some of these, however, are already now two, having been sliced in half by the shovel. I'm told they manage to live on as two distinct worms. I hope so. And I hope getting cut in half doesn't hurt too much.

As I watch these poor critters I wonder which one is the worm called Willy and which one needs a new name. Would the real Willy please crawl left?

This thing called 'identity' can become very confusing. As humans, we have a strong sense of personal identity, yet it certainly is an apparently, exceedingly momentary thing — so transitory, in fact, that one might think it worth giving it up right now and getting it over with. It does, after all, cause a lot of grief.

This may sound like an invitation to suicide, and in a way it is. There seems to me to be a definite parallel between death and enlightenment — indeed, the enlightened are a kind of walking dead. If you lose your self while alive, isn't this to experience what you fear most in death? Enlightenment would then be a co-option of death. So, we could say like Paul, "Death, where is your sting?"

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

BeMuddled (Revisited)

Scott Bradley
Original post date: May 31, 2011

When I shared with a friend that post in which I said Pray For Plague he replied that he really liked it verbally, but wasn't it a bit negative and didn't it contradict my philosophy in general? It is negative, I guess, and it does in some ways contradict my philosophy, but it made its way to your computer screen because it expresses how I feel. I figured a bit of honesty is worth letting my contradictions and 'issues' air out in public.

The truth is, I am a bit bemuddled on the whole issue of environmentalism. How can I reconcile my deep love of nature and fear for its destruction with the way of flow and acceptance and laisez faire? How can I say All Is Well when all is not well with our fragile planet?

Ultimately, All Is Well, of course. It will all come out in the wash. In the infinity of space and time (and the exfinitity of no space and no time) and the Unknown Source of it all, how could anything be 'lost'? But there is also this present and real-enough human experience, and it has its requirements and its qualitative values.

Earth is good for humanity, and thus, from the human perspective, worth preserving. And Earth is also good in and of itself. When my heart fills with thankfulness and joy in just sitting among the poppies, do I need to question and justify this experience? I think not, therefore I am — more fully.

None of this gives me hope in the ability of humanity to stop, however. An estimated 160 species of living beings become extinct everyday. "Sustainable development" is not only an oxymoron, it is a pernicious lie. Recycling your plastic water bottles is not going to save the planet. Most all this "eco-friendly" greenism is a fraud intended to make you feel better about buying more, using more, disposing of more. We've got to keep consuming if there is to be growth and growth is the end all and be all of human industry and civilization.

I can thus be joyful in nature and attempt to share that joy with others, but I cannot yet see my way through to an activism imbued with hope. Perhaps this is a moral shortcoming and I should, like Confucius, strive for the implementation of the Good whether there is hope for success or not. But that saves nothing either.

Nature itself will, of course, solve this 'problem' in the end. Whether by preemptive plague (for which prayers are only a sentiment) or yet another aeon of reconstruction (for Earth has suffered massive ecological destruction in the past), it will all come out in the wash. And really, when I think about it, remove whiny 'me' from the equation and All Is Well once again in any case.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

What An Egotistical Lot We Are!

Trey Smith

If nothing else can be said about humans, it is this: What an egotistical lot we are! We think so much of our species that we imagine that, if other species spoke and thought as we do, they would be bedeviled by the same real and perceived problems that we deal with day in and day out.

In the past few years, there have been many films with talking animals. Movies like Zookeeper (2011), Doctor Dolittle (the remake -- 1998) and the animated The Lion King (1994) come to mind. Not only do the animals depicted talk just like we do, but they love, despise, joke, strategize, dream and connive just like we do too.

If you've ever watched animals in the wild, it is really obvious that they don't behave like humans for the most part.  They don't operate based on a shared sense of morality.  There is no indication that one species sees itself as biologically or intellectually superior to other species.  They don't amass wealth just for the sake of it and they don't subjugate others to meet their own lustful needs.

As far as I can discern, they don't worship gods either.  

They simply live their lives according to their own innate natures.  We humans could learn quite a bit from them by NOT trying to humanize them.

I have never heard of lions trying lionize us!

Misunderstanding the Tally

Trey Smith

For those familiar with the Christian religion, most of us know about the Day of Judgment. As the story goes, when we reach the Pearly Gates, we are greeted by Saint Peter who takes us before God. In a sort of celestial court hearing, the charges -- our sins -- are laid out against us. We may get to rebut the charges by trying to show all the good we did in our lives on earth. In the end, God passes judgment and our ticket is punched either for heaven or hell.

By and large, Christians think they know what goes into the tally, but what if they have it all wrong? What if the criteria is altogether different from what religious authorities would have them believe? It might go something like this.

Bob Johnson, having recently died, is waiting outside of the Pearly Gates. Peter approaches him.

Peter: Okay Bob, you're up next. Before you go in, I want to go over the ground rules.
Bob: (nervously) Do I look okay?
Peter: What? Oh yeah, you look fine. Rule #1: Look at me at all times. Do not look at God. If you even as much as try to catch the briefest of glimpses of the almighty, the hearing is over and you will be sent straight to hell. I can't stress this point enough.
Bob: Not even a little peek?
Peter: NO!! You want to burn in the eternal cauldron?
Bob: Of course not.
Peter: Then follow Rule #1 without exception. Rule #2: Don't even think about lying. Don't fudge or hem and haw. When he asks you a question, answer it truthfully. If you so much as cut the tiniest corner in the truth department, he will know it. Just the slightest fib and the hearing is over. You will be sent straight to hell.
Bob: Totally truthful. Scout's honor.
Peter: Rule #3: Don't be argumentative. Don't forget that you are dealing with the omnipotent almighty.
Bob: Can I ask questions?
Peter: Yes, but not argumentative ones. Also, don't ask too many questions. He sometimes views that as being argumentative.
Bob: Anything else?
Peter: Yes, Rule #4 is butter him up without seeming like a brown noser. He's got a huge ego and he likes it when people fawn all over him. But you must be careful. If he thinks you're simply trying to score brownie points, he gets ticked off. Trust me, you don't want him ticked off at you.
Bob: I'll try to keep these four rules in mind.

They walk through a door into a celestial courtroom. Bob is told to kneel before the bench with his hands folded in front of him.

Peter: Heavenly Father, I present to you Bob Johnson.
God: Hi, Bob. Do you have anything you wish to say on your behalf before we get this ball rolling?
Bob: Yes, oh merciful Heavenly Father.
God: Well, spit it out. We don't have all day.
Bob: Heavenly Father, I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal Lord and Savior. I have loved him with all my heart, all my mind and all my soul. I regularly attended church and took counsel from my ministers. I prayed fervently before every meal and each night before bed. I beg your forgiveness for my sins...which are many.
God: None of that is germane to this hearing, but thanks for sharing.
Bob: I also tithed a minimum of 10% of my annual net earnings to my local church and almost always added more to the weekly collection plate. I also made hefty donations for church missions.
God: Still not germane, but this your time to say whatever you want.
Bob: Not germane? I don't understand.
God: Well, it has nothing to do with my judgment as to whether you warrant a ticket to heaven or hell. I base that decision on far more important criteria.
Bob: Like what?
God: How many non-humans have you carelessly killed during your lifetime?
Bob: Excuse me. I don't understand the question.
God: What's not to understand? The question is very straightforward.
Bob: What exactly do you mean? Mosquitoes? Bed bugs? Rodents? Elk?
God: Yes. All of those meet the definition of non-human. So, how many non-humans have you carelessly killed during your lifetime?
Bob: Hell if I know!
Peter: Hey, watch your language. Remember what I told you before we came in here?
Bob: Sorry. But what kind of question is that?
God: Are you questioning ME?
Bob: I simply don't understand this inane question. What does it have to do with salvation?
God: How can you be "saved" if you don't understand that all things are connected through me?
Bob: In the Book of Genesis, it is written that humans have dominion over all other creatures. Those are your words.
God: I was misquoted a bit, but that's not that important right now. Dominion simply means you have control or power over something else. You can choose for it to be positive and loving dominion or, as you have chosen, negative and hateful dominion.
Bob: I simply did what I was taught by the church fathers. How was I to know they were giving me bum advice?
God: Because the answer is written in everyone's heart. If you had bothered to look, you would have found it.
Bob: Look, I'm sorry. What do you want from me? I'll repent right now, if you like.
God: Too late. You had that chance every moment of your life.
Bob: What does this mean?
God: You, my son, are going to h-e-l-l.
Bob: Then I want to file an appeal!
Peter: There are no appeals in this court. Bailiff, escort Mr. Johnson to the fiery furnace.
God: Let's break for lunch. I'm starved.

Out From Under the Big Top

Trey Smith

One of my favorite memories of childhood is going to one or more circuses per year. Though the crowds of people made me more than a little bit nervous, I loved the clowns and the animal acts. Since I grew up in a somewhat large metropolitan city -- Kansas City, Missouri -- the circuses that came to town were the big outfits with the three rings: Ringling Brothers, Barnum and Bailey Circus and the Shriners Circus.

Next Monday a much smaller outfit -- one ring -- will be here in South Bend for two performances. Since I loved going to the circus as a child, it would be natural to think that I will go to the one here for no other reason than to bask in the nostalgia. But that won't be happening for two important reasons.

As many readers know by now, my social phobia has grown worse as I've aged. Just the idea of sitting under a packed Big Top is enough to make me queasy. So, the anticipated local crowds are enough to keep me away.

That is not the ONLY reason I will not attend. The more important reason is that I now am an opponent of circuses that feature "wild" animals. To me, no matter how humanely personnel try to treat their animals, it isn't humane enough!

As a child, I didn't take the time to consider the circus atmosphere from an animal's point of view. I simply went to the circus and was entertained. By the middle of my teen years, I realized that my entertainment wasn't worth removing animals from their habitats and social relationships. While I might marvel at an elephant balancing on a ball or a tiger jumping through a ring of fire, these were not the natural actions of these creatures. Circuses force these poor animals to go against their internal natures to become novelties for humans to ooh and aah at.

And so, the circus will come to town and I will stay far away from it. I don't wish to play ANY role in the exploitation of these animals.

Real Life Tao - So Many Ways

Trey Smith

One of the central theses of philosophical Taoism is this notion that there are as many ways as there are beings. Each life form has an innate nature that is different and unique from other life forms. I was reminded of this idea when I read the following article posted at The Guardian.

Any day now, billions of cicadas with bulging red eyes will crawl out of the earth after 17 years underground and overrun the US east coast. They will arrive in such numbers that people from North Carolina to Connecticut will be outnumbered roughly 600 to one. Maybe more.

But ominous as that sounds — along with scientists' horror-movie name for the infestation, Brood II — they're harmless. These insects won't hurt you or other animals. At worst, they might damage a few saplings or young shrubs. Mostly they will blanket certain pockets of the region, though lots of people won't ever see them.

"It's not like these hordes of cicadas suck blood or zombify people," says May Berenbaum, a University of Illinois entomologist.

They're looking for just one thing: sex. And they've been waiting quite a long time.

Since 1996, this group of one-inch bugs, in wingless nymph form, has been a few feet underground, sucking on tree roots and biding their time. They will emerge only when the ground temperature reaches precisely 64F. After a few weeks up in the trees, they will die and their offspring will go underground, not to return until 2030.

Other cicadas do not follow this unique pattern. It is not part of their innate nature. If a cicada king or queen arose and tried to force all cicadas to live underground for 17 long years, most of them would die in short order! It is not their way.

It is the same with people. What might work for you might not work for me and vice versa. The way you achieved success in some endeavor may have worked for you fantastically, but if I followed the same steps, I may or may not succeed as you did. In fact, it might so happen that the path I took was the exact opposite of yours and yet I achieved much the same goals and objectives that you did.

Just like this type of cicada, we each must seek out and follow our own paths. And we should remember that path seeking is not a competition. Just because you and I choose different roads does not mean that one is superior to the other. That would be like saying that the path of the 17 year cicada is that much better than the path of the 13 year or annual cicada!

This post is part of a series. For an introduction, go here.

Birdsong

Scott Bradley

Ah, Spring. Each morning I awake to the song of birds. Even now a cock quail tells the world where he is. Come on, Baby, let's do the family thing. The wild turkeys gobble, fan their tail-feathers, and strut their stuff. Even the vultures have gathered in a nearby field to perform their pre-nuptial dances. Oops; even the vultures? "How do daos come to be obscured, such that they are subject to judgments of 'authentic' or 'inauthentic'?" (Zhuangzi, 2; Eno)

Zhuangzi asks if our speech is any different than the chirping of baby birds. His answer, if there is one, is not so easily deciphered. Might not this be because, in the end, it would have to be both yes and no? Our songs have meaning, perhaps more meaning than the call of a quail, but are they more meaningful? Do they capture Dao? Or are they rather an expression of Dao, no more nor less than the songs of the house wrens now nesting in my trailer? How is Dao obscured except in that we declare one expression more noble than another?

How do vultures demonstrate their procreative worthiness? Is it in their sense of rhythm? ("Do you love me now that I can dance?") Or do they vomit to show their prowess at finding carrion? (Having had them do so on my boat, I have a visceral sense of this.) Among vultures the answers and their distinctions are clear. But are they more worthy than those of the wren?

For Zhuangzi, there is space for making distinctions between the various daos of our day; some are more efficacious than others. Some tend to bind us; some to free us; none necessarily does either. But their relative worthiness need not obscure the underlying unity of things, the unity of Dao.

What daos obscure Dao? Those daos that exclude other daos, exclude the all-encompassing Dao. But Dao does not exclude them. Why do some daos exclude others? Because they believe their chirping has captured Dao. But Dao cannot be captured; it sings in every song.

The dao of Zhuangzi is just another dao. And as with every dao, if a person is to use it, she must in some sense exclude others that she might focus her skill on this one. He who plays the guitar has said no to playing the drums, but he does not say no to the drummer in the band. If the point is to make music, unity in diversity is the key, and each one must master his chosen skill.

For Zhuangzi, to master this sense of all-encompassing Dao, to experience this boundless openness, this is the skill that harmonizes every possible song, and frees the heart to enjoy them all.

You can check out Scott's writings on Zhuangzi here.

The Human Hill

Scott Bradley

I have often made reference to the human hive or the human ant hill. This has many implications but the primary idea is to get a glimpse of humanity as if from the outside — as if we were not in fact human, not absorbed in our own self-importance, not immersed in our own sectarian biases. This exercise provides a sense of what it is to take the view from Dao. Suddenly, all these issues, personal and societal, seem inconsequential. They are so incredibly petty, why did we invest so much time and energy, distress and worry, in them?

Observe an ant hill. Is not humanity very much the same? For the ants, it's all about, only about, ants. Yet we, being of a more expansive consciousness, see them as of little consequence. Remarkable, yes; the center of the universe, no. Are we not like the ants?

Ants build intricate homes, manipulate things to further their purposes. Humans build cities and smart phones; is there really that much difference between us? Ants fight wars, red against black, black against small, small against large. Looking down upon them, we find this curious, take no side. Could we likewise observe our own folly, find it curious and take no side?

The view from Dao equalizes all things. All things are wondrous; yet no one thing is more wondrous than another. Things arise; things pass. Universes most likely arise and pass. Each is a momentary expression of an ever-emergent, ever-unfolding Dao. As such, every thing is special. Every thing is worthy of honor and respect.

Observe your own heart. Is something there that is affirmable beyond every other consideration, beyond dependence on any prerequisite conditions? This is also how it is with the ants, though they do not 'know' it. The view from Dao sees it in all things and invites us to do likewise.

Moses went up the mountain, met his god, and though he descended the mountain only to find a golden calf, he was never the same. Informed by the view from Dao, we continue to live in our hill, take part in its struggles, work for more peace, more justice, more happiness for all, yet because we have experienced a wider view, in all our seriousness, we understand that it is not so serious after all. And this, paradoxically, is what makes our non-seriousness the most effective seriousness of all.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

On Being a Snake

Scott Bradley

I recently mentioned holding a tiny snake in my hand — the first I have seen this year. I showed it to a friend who was working with me in the garden and then released it into a pile of dead vegetation where it would be safer than where I’d found it. (I'd barely missed chopping it with a hand-hoe.) That was it; in a moment it was gone. Then I missed it.

Though I have often admitted that these posts are necessarily about me, still I do try to avoid describing the minutiae of my life as if they could be of any great interest to you, or that they were possessed of profound meaning. This post may be an exception.

This snake, a sharp-tailed snake, is about six inches long, a third as thin as a pencil, deep copper on top, with alternating black and white scales on its belly. It is simply beautiful. I fell for it immediately. I wanted to keep it, possess it. (I've been a collector of things natural since I first crawled into a garden.) But it belongs in the world at large, not in a jar.

Why I am writing about this despite knowing myself unable to articulate the profound feelings it has aroused in me, I am not sure. Maybe in trying I can better understand and appreciate them.

How can I possess this snake and its wondrous beauty, its tiny black eyes, its barely detectable flicking tongue, the perfect symmetry of its minute scales? How can I be one with this snake, rejoice together with it in its being alive and beautiful in the world despite its diminutive size, apparent vulnerability, and now total anonymity? (Though you may be asking Why, here I address only the How.)

Might it not begin in letting it go; watching its tail disappear into safety? Nothing to which we cling is ours. The closer we hold something to our breast, the greater our fear of losing it. The more we fear to lose something, the less we have ever really 'possessed' it. We cannot truly possess anything, of course — not even our own selves. It is not in clinging, whether to things of mystery and beauty or to life itself, that we 'possess' them, are them, but in letting them and ourselves be free in the vastness of Mystery where we are all things and all things are us.

Since space remains on this page, I will admit to having a pet grub in a jar. I found it months ago when clearing a rotting, fallen and shattered tree off the road, so it was also a rescue mission. It’s about as big as my index finger, and I’m curious to see what kind of wondrous beetle it will become. Meanwhile, it seems contented enough munching away on its native wood.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

Lord of the Flies

Trey Smith

Ever since we moved into this house in South Bend 5 1/2 years ago, we have had a problem with flies. It is not a universal problem; it pertains solely to the southeast corner of the house. Anytime the sky is clear and the temperature gets to the mid 50s or above, flies congregate on the exterior walls of this one corner. If you walk around the outside of the house, you will find them nowhere else.

Initially, we speculated that some critter died in the inner walls of that location and the decomposing corpse is what attracts the flies. But one would think that such a corpse would have decomposed in nearly 6 years time. The problem that we first noticed in the summer of '07 remains the same in the late winter of 2013!

Not only do we experience this problem on the exterior walls of the southeast corner of the house, but the front bedroom -- Della's bedroom -- shares this problem as well. Anytime the temperature goes up and the sun is bright, hundreds of flies appear on the front wall of her bedroom. They don't flit around the room very much; they seem to be affixed to that front wall.

Over this period of years, I have tried in vain to figure out WHERE their entry point is. For some reason, I had decided that the entry point involved the window frame, despite the fact that I didn't see any holes or cracks that would suggest this indeed was the entry point.

With Della gone, I tend to keep that bedroom door closed. About one month ago -- on one of those warm and sunny days -- I went into her room to grab an empty box. I was greeted by the usual swarm of flies. I grabbed my trusty flyswatter and set about to "play god." Thirty minutes later, after the last fly had been swatted, I again investigated the window frame. Even though, as in the past, I couldn't find any holes or cracks, I somehow decided yet again that this MUST BE the point of entry.

Over the past month, this scenario has played itself out several times. It wasn't until the last time that something dawned on me. Every time I entered this bedroom to a mass of flies, I have noticed that a particularly large grouping could always be found near one spot of the interior wall about knee-high. Taking a closer look, I discovered two small holes -- holes most likely utilized for an old cable TV hookup.

It can't be there, I thought to myself. The problem is the window frame! However, on the off chance that these holes indeed played a role, I covered them up with some duck tape. I had almost no confidence that this act would remedy the problem in any way.

Two days ago, we had clear skies and the temperature hovered near 60 degrees. With much trepidation, I opened the door to my wife's bedroom expecting the be hit with a mass of flies. To my utter shock, I did not see one fly! The same thing happened the next day.

The moral to this little true life tale is that our expectations often do us in. I expected that the fly problem was due to a faulty window frame and I completely disregarded the two holes in the wall. If I had not allowed my expectation to cloud my vision, we could have fixed this problem within days of first discovering it, instead of suffering through it for nearly 5 1/2 years!

I Saw a Moth

Trey Smith

Yesterday, while walking through my laundry room, I saw a moth stuck in a web. I haven't dusted in this room for ages, so I thought it most likely was an old cobweb enhanced by a lot of muck. Just as I was getting ready to free the moth, I saw a spider making its way toward the fluttering creature. What should I do now?

I tend to be a tenderhearted soul, so my first inclination was to free the moth before the big spider got there. On the other hand, moths frequently get caught in spiderwebs and this supplies spiders with food. So, after a bit of contemplation, I let nature be. Had I not been there, the spider would have gotten the moth anyway.

Every time we free one creature, we generally are depriving another of sustenance. Which is more important? Saving one life or putting another in jeopardy of death.

Would I have felt differently if the prey was a beautiful butterfly and not a drab moth? Maybe. We humans like to make these sorts of distinctions. Because butterflies are beautiful, we like to think that they are good. Because spiders spin webs that ensnare unsuspecting critters, we like to think that they are bad.

But butterflies, moths or spiders are not bad or good. They simply are. And it is the nature of spiders to eat both butterflies and moths, if they become ensnared in a web.

A Cure for Bad Medicine

Scott Bradley

Yesterday I drove further back into the hills to help a friend hang some sheetrock in the work in progress that is his home. On the way back that evening I saw what I took to be a bear sitting next to and facing the road, but something in its appearance was not quite right. When I got within a few yards it turned and lethargically made for the trees. It stopped, looked at me with fear and managed a few more steps, stopped and looked again. It was probably the most pathetic creature I have ever seen. It had lost most all its hair. It was skin-and-bones. Its hipbones protruded grotesquely. I could not identify its hairless head with any creature I knew; I was no longer sure what kind of creature it was. I went through a mental checklist and once again decided on 'bear' — what else could it be?

If it was a bear, it was a zombie bear, and I confess that I looked around fearfully to see if it didn't have zombie companions even then sneaking up on my blind side. I sped off, mouth agape and sure I had just seen a 'bad omen', a portent of a fearful future, "bad medicine".

I've been living on a ranch in the foothills of the Sierras in California for nearly two years now and have been amazed at how so many of those who have lived in the area for a long time have such a different sensibility than what one generally finds elsewhere. Many have shamanistic interpretations of the world and, following the way of the Native Americans, believe that the animals one sees are messages about one's self and one's fate. Many times I have been told to take note of the wildlife I see. That day I saw a zombie bear. What god-awful message did it convey?

I awoke that morning to see wild turkeys outside my bedroom window, surely a good omen. Was there enough good medicine to counter the bad? But the truth is I don't really buy into this worldview; I don't imagine the world as actively involved in my life, sending me messages, good or bad. The messages I receive are participatory; things provide an opportunity for me to participate in their reality so as to better understand and integrate into my own. Thus the zombie bear was an occasion for me to understand how life is not other than the collision of galaxies, the implosion of suns, the impact of asteroids. Shit happens. If there is purpose and caring in the universe, it is beyond my cognitive grasp. Feeling at home here requires surrender in trust. Fortunately, trust is a fundamental and spontaneous condition of existence; it need not be manufactured, but only discovered and nourished.

I sent and send compassion to this zombie bear, wishing it a speedy and painless death.

And this morning I will burn some sage and let its cleansing smoke let me let it cleanse me of fear so that I might say yes to the zombie bear.

You can check out Scott's other miscellaneous writings here.

A Poetic Pause

Trey Smith

Truth be known, I'm not much into poetry, but I read a poem recently that I'd like to share. I thought about including it in my infrequent series, Pop Culture Tao, but decided to just let it stand on its own. I do think it has a philosophical Taoist spirit to it, though.

DIALOGUE OF A MAN AND A TREE
by Vincent Godfrey Burns, Poet Laureate of Maryland, 1965

The Man: Why do you grow so tall, way up there in the sky?

The Tree: I love the heights that are clean and free, where the lonely eagles fly, where the crane and the hawk can nest with me, and my friends, the geese, go by.

The Man: What do you use for food, tree to make you grow and grow?

The Tree: I live on a diet of Nature's best from my roots deep down below; I never go hungry, I rest and rest and wait for the rain and the snow.

The Man: How do you grow so strong, Tree, sturdy and straight and true?

The Tree: I live in the light of the sunshine and yarn for the sky's deep blue; the clean, sweet air is always mine, and the cold winds help me too.

The Man: How do you live so long, Tree, so much longer than man?

The Tree: I've geared my days with the Creator's ways since ever the world began. There is no death when life keeps faith with nature's wonderful plan.