10 of 12 | Monday is for Religion: "Exploring Our Afro American Heritage," by Alice E. Van Pelt

Hi lovely Earthlings!

This week we get into another aspect of Alice's life.  She was a leader and a public speaker in educational events about the Afro American cultural heritage.  Her scrapbook reports some of the talks she prepared.  Here's one where an introduction is followed by poetry and music.  Who should be ashamed of slavery?  Alice's presentation begs the question.  Again, we are present to an inclusive voice that embraces all of the Afro American heritage, that looks at history as a flow.  Not a tale of winners and losers, but rather a sense of creativity, of music, dance, ritual, song, of feeling life pulsating together as we overcome odds.  Perhaps this is the art of living after all.

Two voices are present: Alice and her husband Harold.  He is the musician who accompanies the song.  The pictures refer to the African American music scene in New Jersey in the early 20th Century of which he was part.


Theme

Exploring Our Afro American Heritage

From the mountains of West Virginia to the farmlands of Pennsylvania

From the West Coast to the East Coast

From the South to the North 

They came and they kept coming

And they kept signing, playing music.

Beating the drums to freedom.

African Americans--survivors of a spiritual people--people who made it out of the trials and tribulations of Slavery.

We are here today to explore that history through music.

It is a rich heritage that will not be denied 

That must be fortified, restored, built up in our young people for future generations.

Black folks have a strength that has survived racism, depression, recession, and genocide--all designed to steal, kill, and destroy them.  The term of "we shall overcome" aptly describes their perseverance.

Our Program today depicts thought "music" pictures from whence we have come and will point out a direction for others to follow.

To show where we are going.

I would like to take you back to the period when slavery existed--a regression for black people--a time when the only thing that kept them going was faith in God. Music became an integral part of their day to day existence--the Negro Spirituals became a coded message used to signal that the master was coming--notify them of a meeting tonight--to "steal away"--meet secretly in old barns, people's home, anywhere they could pray and ask God to deliver them from the bondage of slavery--strong faith sustained them.

Recent study of Newark's black music scene

During the 19h Century Gospel songs were sung in the Black churches--Gospel meaning "Good News."  Webster's Dictionary defines Gospel music as African American music--combining spirituals, Blues and Jazz--isn't it strange that each type of music is distinct in its own right?  Spirituals are sacred songs also called jubilees, folk songs, shout songs, sorrow songs, slave songs, slave melodies.  Gospel music added another facet, they became religious songs used in church to lift the spirit.  Even though Blues and Jazz were performed in the clubs and honky top bars--this music also came out of the souls of black folks and contributes to the Black Heritage.

Alice: "I want to first show you a picture of role models who motivated me--my mother was the one who pointed me in the right direction--even though she died when I was nine years old.  Those formative years have stayed with me throughout my life.  I have always felt her presence guided me, teaching me--at the time I didn't know it but God was with me and through his guidance my mother was there--I wasn't a 'motherless child'"--play the song.

Harold: "What and who motivated Him."  Talks about beginnings of boycott in Montgomery.

After he finishes, Alice to continue with poem "Troubled Water"--do spiritual "Wade in the Water."

Today we all face a new type of slavery, a modern type of bondage--destruction of the family--no matter what the color or race of people.  Drug addiction has taken its toll.  Again, we must all work together in unity to break the bonds of slavery and be free.  

Friday, February 26, 1999

Notes from the scrapbook of Alice E. Van Pelt, published here with permission from her descendants, gratefully acknowledged. 

Dear Earthlings: 

Did you notice the wisdom of these words?  Yours truly remembers when she first moved to the United States.  She lived with emigres in California. African Americans were definitely her first American friends.  So warm, so welcoming, so magical in their ways of being together.  She felt privileged to be accepted by them.  Never treated like a "foreigner."  What moves me in these notes is Alice's mention of her late mother, the model she offered, the spirit who lingered on to protect the little girl.  And her final note: whose "family" is she talking about?  Is it the normative, nuclear family, the family of all African Americans, or perhaps the human family?  And drugs?  What drugs is she talking about?  The drugs that medicalize the lives of seniors and other people with chronic illnesses to the point of making conscious death a more sustainable choice?  The drugs that infest the streets of the poor and replace the hope for an education that only money and privilege can access?  The drugs that kill one's creativity rather than enhance it?  When I read Alice's poems without the prejuduce against monotheism, all kinds of meanings and interpretations are open.

More poems from Alice coming.  Stay tuned for next.  We will post every Monday at noon.

Did you enjoy the post?  Let us know!  Yours truly appreciates your attention.  The comments box is open.

Come back!  And stay tuned for more wonders.

Namaste,

Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio, PhD

Gilf Gaia Extraordinaire

Author of Gaia and the New Politics of Love and many other books
Professor of Humanities

University of Puerto Rico, Mayaguez

   

Follow us in the social media

Poly Planet GAIA Blog: http://polyplanet.blogspot.com/ 

Website: www.serenagaia.com 

Become a Fan: www.facebook.com/GaiaBlessings 

Author's Page/Lists all books: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001JS1VKA 

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9 of 12 | Monday is for Religion: "Those Sizzling Seniors," by Alice E. Van Pelt

Hi lovely Earthlings!

Yours truly is back with another of Alice's poems.  This time she talks about how it feels to be a "senior," to get "older."  Oh well, aren't we all going to feel that way--if we're lucky enough to stick around!  Yours truly is absolutely ignorant about Protestantism, especially the American denominations, and so she had to educate herself about Presbyterianism.  And sure enough she found out that the Elders are respected.  How nice!  Being raised by a grandmother always helps a young girl respect old age.  Yours truly is aware.  And Alice experienced that as well.  As an adult, she lived in New Jersey, where the toxic soup that produces so many of the chronic illnesses of today is particularly thick, including industrial waste, nuclear plants, soil, water, and air contamination, and much more.  She suffered and died from one of them.  Yet in this poem she celebrates the seniority of age.  Seniors are ablaze with a special kind of energy: more subdued, more long-standing, wiser and steadier.  Old age can be a fun age if one relishes one's memories.  Remembering past events with joy can be just as much fun as being part of them once was.  One may not attend in person, but once the memory is written in the body the dream can stay awake.  And of course, more longevity, more cherished memories. 

As Alice remembers:

THOSE SIZZLING SENIORS

Don't write us off yet, cause we're ready to roll

Just see what you get when you're calling us old

You forget that we have been where you're trying to go

And we have the skin from the battles to show.

Alice E. Van Pelt

Like a TIMEX watch we've been taking a licking.

But also we've found that we have kept on ticking.

We've learned to slow down to a steady pace--

Keeping ourselves still in the race.

We try to remember the things that we have done.

The trials, tribulations and the prizes we've won.

Somehow the mind doesn't work the same

And you look around but there is no one to blame.

There is always a place that you want to be

But somehow you wonder if that's for me.

You have searched and wandered near and far

But can't remember where you are.

Once the mystery of it all was in the old faces.

Now you realize that you have just changed places.

We have danced and pranced and kicked real high

Now you sit and dream and wonder why.

September 8, 1999

From the poetry collection of Alice E. Van Pelt, published here with permission from her descendants, gratefully acknowledged.

Dear Earthlings: 

Did you notice the wisdom of these words?  Alice wants to be seen as senior, not old.  Senior, as in one worthy of respect, not "over the hill," as they say.  Senior, as in one whose wisdom has accrued with experience.  And isn't saving one's energies part of that wisdom as well?  One can interpret this poem from the point of view of an artist of love.  The wisdom Alice claims speaks of one who lived life in an artistic way.  The art of living is what she calls attention to as she claims her senior place in the world. That, yours truly bets, is the message she wants all descendants to get. 

More poems from Alice coming.  Stay tuned for next.  We will post every Monday at noon.

Did you enjoy the post?  Let us know!  Yours truly appreciates your attention.  The comments box is open.

Come back!  And stay tuned for more wonders.

Namaste,

Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio, PhD

Gilf Gaia Extraordinaire

Author of Gaia and the New Politics of Love and many other books
Professor of Humanities

University of Puerto Rico, Mayaguez

   

Follow us in the social media

Poly Planet GAIA Blog: http://polyplanet.blogspot.com/ 

Website: www.serenagaia.com 

Become a Fan: www.facebook.com/GaiaBlessings 

Author's Page/Lists all books: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001JS1VKA 

YouTube Uploaded Videos: http://www.youtube.com/SerenaAnderlini
 

8 of 12 | Monday is for Religion: "A Letter to My Sons," by Alice E. Van Pelt

Hi lovely Earthlings,

You know how prejudiced yours truly is against monogamy.  "Monogamy is all about exclusion," her mind goes!  So, let's exclude monogamy and we can be inclusive then.  Same applies to religion, no?  Monotheism is what drives the cultural wars.  So, let's be pagan instead.  We can include however many deities and there will be no wars!  Well, when she read the poems in this series she realized the cost of this prejudice.

This series, "What Is Mono?" includes poems from unpublished collections by Alice E. Van Pelt.  This woman was the mother of yours truly's beloved, a friend we'll call Eros.  He is devotional, magical, and absolutely inclusive in his love.  Alice was Eros's confidante and favorite parent.  She left a legacy of poems and yours truly offered to take it on as form of devotion to Eros and his loss.

The Van Pelts are Presbyterians.  In the North-East this denomination is not uncommon among African-Americans with deep roots in Unionist states.  With its abstract, non-representational sense of the sacred, its exigent work ethic, it was probably a belief system that sustained them better in the industrialized economy of the Eastern Seaboard.  Alice's poetry is very religious, and very inspiring in that way.  There is a fervor, a devotion, that marks it as genuine, heartfelt.  The words dance on the page and recollect themselves in a gentle prayer, as in the poem you'll find below, to Alice's two sons.

However, Alice's vision is just so far removed from that of the African American women's voices that have guided yours truly to first question the ideology behind the single white male deity Christians call "God."  As in, for example, Ntozake Shange's "i found god in myself and loved her, loved her fiercely."

What was yours truly going to do with this legacy on a blog that's devoted questioning that belief system and supporting others who do so?

Sometimes the contradictions, the inner conflicts of our lovers help us untangle some of our own.  Eros is of course not a monotheistic person at this point.  And yet there is a correspondence between his magic as an artist of love and Alice's as a wordsmith.

Yours truly often claims that monogamy is not the opposite of polyamory but just a special case of it.  The number "1" just happens to be the first in an infinite series that includes it.  By the same token, monotheism is just a special case of polytheism.  The infinite, not the one, is where the whole resides.

"Polytheism, polyamory, are just more inclusive, that's all," yours truly claims.  But then, does that alleged inclusiveness give one the right to exclude monotheism and monogamy--to declare them obsolete, prejudiced, or wrong?

If we who believe in poly truly believe that poly is inclusive we need to practice that by including mono, no?

So that's how yours truly came to accept Alice's poems.  And, guess what, once she did, the poems acquired a whole new meaning.

For example, the poem to Alice's sons below: is it only to her own two biological sons?  Can it not be read as a poem to all of the "sons" Alice's poetic voice embraces?  An invocation to action, to resilience, to self knowledge, to self possession, to extending the embrace well beyond the poet's family or denomination?  As yours truly reads the poems again without prejudice against monotheism, their ecumenical, inclusive values become transparent.  Their evangelical message is one of courage and awareness for the infinite that is the whole.


A LETTER TO MY SONS

To my sons this time I take

this wish from Mom's heart I make.

Alice E. Van Pelt

Remember how we came to be

part of the Negro's history.

Shun not the struggle, for you see

we must continue this legacy.

Be strong in all you attempt to do

for God is always watching you.

There is hope for you in prayer today.

His aid is never far away.

Call upon him whenever life grows dim

and you must never abandon him.

Our strength is in the young today

and we must guide them all the way.

Be kind and loving to your brother

for there will never be another.

Since we were brought to this place

we have become a dying race.

Our blood is running in the streets

from drugs, and guns and men in sheets.

Our children are victims of the man's oppression.

Prejudice is the oppressor's obsession

and yet we hope for a brand new day 

Three generations in Alice's family

with every step along the way.

Lift your voices loud and long

remember how hard we fought, be strong.

This torch I place within your hand

carry the struggle throughout the land.

Don't let us die in vain you see

We need to make this our legacy.

Alice E. Van Pelt

No date.

From the poetry collection of Alice E. Van Pelt, published here with permission from her descendants, gratefully acknowledged.

Dear Earthlings: 

Did you notice the wisdom of these words?  Alice reminds the children to stay connected and get along, to respect each other and respect themselves.  She wants them to guide the young and feel connected to their legacy.  History is important, and standing for justice is more important than winning.  Feeling part of that force that brings hope to our worlds, that "universal energy" that the Greeks called Eros and the Christians call "God."
And since it's everywhere, then it may as well be a "one" that's form to the many. 

More poems from Alice coming.  Stay tuned for next.  We will post every Monday at noon.

Did you enjoy the post?  Let us know!  Yours truly appreciates your attention.  The comments box is open.

Come back!  And stay tuned for more wonders.

Namaste,

Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio, PhD

Gilf Gaia Extraordinaire

Author of Gaia and the New Politics of Love and many other books
Professor of Humanities

University of Puerto Rico, Mayaguez

   

Follow us in the social media

Poly Planet GAIA Blog: http://polyplanet.blogspot.com/ 

Website: www.serenagaia.com 

Become a Fan: www.facebook.com/GaiaBlessings 

Author's Page/Lists all books: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001JS1VKA 

YouTube Uploaded Videos: http://www.youtube.com/SerenaAnderlini
 

7 of 12 | Monday is for Religion: The Art of Connecting What's Not Really Separate

Hi lovely Earthlings!

Nuraghe Losa, Sardinia

Our series on religion is coming to a close.  But not before we briefly look at an echo of Native American wisdom across the world.  Often we think of Western culture as predatory.  In reality there are many simultaneous cultural traditions in the numerous regions called West and they don't always get along.  The sense of sacredness of the Earth, the notion that it belongs to itself, comes across very strong in this short poem yours truly learned from the ex-mother-in-law when she was married in Sardina.  This Mediterranean island, she learned, was host to an ancient civilization whose communitarian values organized life around a main stone building the group shared, the Nuraghe.  

Listen to what the poem says:

Nuraghe Prisciona, Sardinia

« Tancas serradas a muru  
Fattas a s'afferra afferra
Si su chelu fit in terra 
L'aiant serradu puru »

The first line refers to agricultural land that's enclosed by walls.

The second line explains that these walls were made "the grub-street way."  They were built in a hurry and without consideration for the common usage that had been customary of the land, what deep ecologists call "the commons." 

The third line refers to the sky or heavens, which in Italian and Sardinian are the same word: "cielo," or "chelu."  It compares the Earth to the sky, which cannot be fenced.  And refers to the predatory ways of those who appropriate the commons by saying that, if at all possible, they would fence out the "heavens" or sky as well.  

Central Building, Nuraghe Torralba

So the poem's force comes from the way it connects the earth with sacred space: the "cielo, chelu" where people in Catholic cultures believe the sacred is located.  

The affinity with Chief Seattle is that here too the Earth, the land, is sacralized again by the invective against those who keep privatizing it, appropriating it.  "Should the land not deserve the same reverence the sky gets?"  the poet seems to ask.  "Why is it that we've come to believe we can own it?"  "Does this sense of ownership not violate the Earth's sovereignty over itself?"

The Italian version echoes this wisdom: 

Su Nuraxi, Barumini

« Proprietà chiuse coi muri
Fatte all'arraffa arraffa
Se il cielo fosse stato in terra
Avrebbero chiuso pure quello »

The poem is attributed to one Melchiorre Murenu. 

For those well versed in Italian or interested in another translation of Chief Seattle's Lament, here goes the Italian Lamento.  It's in verse translation and yours truly brings it to you this way.

Nel 1854 il governo degli Stati Uniti offrì una grossa somma per l'acquisto del territorio di una tribù di pellirosse, che avrebbe poi dovuto sistemarsi in una riserva. Il capo della tribù replicò col documento che qui pubblichiamo. Avevo l'edizione integrale di questa splendida lettera che purtroppo è andata persa. Questa è una versione leggermente ridotta. Questo documento da un'idea della profondità e sensibilità dell'animo del popolo pellirosse, tutt'altro che selvaggio. Il sentimento di comunione con la natura ed il cosmo e la concezione immanente della loro spiritualità sono sorprendentemente affini alla concezione Zen della vita e dell'Universo. Ritrovare questo profondo sentimento di comunione con la natura è la base su cui costruire il proprio equilibrio interiore.


Questa terra è sacra

Come potete comperare o vendere il cielo,
il calore della terra?
L'idea per noi è strana.
Se non possediamo la freschezza dell'aria,
lo scintillio dell'acqua,
come possiamo comperarli?
Ogni parte di questa terra è sacra per il mio popolo.
Ogni ago di pino che brilla,ogni spiaggia sabbiosa, ogni vapore nelle scure foreste, ogni radura e ronzio d'insetto è sacro nella memoria e
nell'esperienza del mio popolo.
La linfa che scorre attraverso gli alberi porta i ricordi degli uomini...
Noi siamo parte della terra ed essa è parte di noi.
I fiori profumati sono le nostre sorelle;
il cervo, il cavallo, la grande aquila, questi sono i nostri fratelli.
Le cime rocciose, la linfa dei prati,
il corpo caldo del cavallo, e l'uomo:
tutto appartiene alla stessa famiglia...
I fiumi sono i nostri fratelli, e ci dissetano.
I fiumi portano le nostre canoe e nutrono i nostri bambini.
Se noi vi vendessimo la nostra terra,
voi dovreste ricordare ed insegnare ai vostri figli
che i fiumi sono nostri fratelli, e vostri;
e voi dovreste d'ora in poi dare ai fiumi la gentilezza
che dovreste dare ad ogni fratello...
non c'è nessun posto tranquillo nelle città dell'uomo bianco.
Non c'è nessun posto
per udire il dispiegarsi delle foglie in primavera,
o il frusciare delle ali di un insetto.
Ma forse c'è, perché io sono un selvaggio e non capisco.
Solo lo scalpitio sembra un insulto all'udito.
E che cosa è vivere
se un uomo non può udire il pianto di un caprimulgo
o le conversazioni delle rane intorno ad uno stagno di notte?
Io sono un pellerossa e non capisco.
L'indiano preferisce il soffice suono del vento che vibra sulla superfice dello stagno, e l'odore del vento,
pulito da una pioggia del mezzogiorno,
o profumato dall'odore del pino.
L'aria è preziosa per il pellerossa,
poiché tutte le cose hanno lo stesso respiro;
I'animale, I'albero, I'uomo,
condividono insieme lo stesso respiro.
L'uomo bianco non sembra accorgersi dell'aria che respira.
Come un uomo morente,
per molti giorni, è insensibile al fetore.
Ma se noi vi vendessimo la nostra terra,
vi dovreste ricordare che l'aria è preziosa per noi, che l'aria condivide il suo spirito con ogni vita che sostiene.
Il vento che fu dato a nostro nonno al suo primo respiro ha anche accolto il suo ultimo respiro.
E se noi vendessimo la nostra terra,
dovreste tenerlo a parte in un posto sacro, come un luogo dove anche l'uomo bianco può andare per sentire il vento addolcito dai fiori del prato.
A queste condizioni noi considereremo la vostra offerta di comperare la nostra terra.
Se noi decidessimo di accettare, io porrei una condizione:
che l'uomo bianco deve trattare gli animali di questa terra come suoi fratelli...
Cosa è l'uomo senza gli animali?
Se tutti gli animali se ne andassero,
I'uomo morirebbe per la grande solitudine dello spirito.
Poiché qualsiasi cosa accada agli animali,
presto accade all'uomo.
Tutte le cose sono collegate.
Potreste insegnare ai vostri bambini
che la terra sotto i loro piedi è la cenere dei nostri nonni.
Affinché loro rispettino la terra,
dite ai vostri bambini
che la terra è ricca delle vite dei nostri amici.
Insegnate ai vostri bambini
quello che noi abbiamo insegnato ai nostri,
che la terra è nostra madre.
Qualsiasi cosa accade alla terra, accade ai figli della terra.
Se gli uomini sputano sulla terra, sputano su se stessi.
Questo noi lo sappiamo: la terra non appartiene all'uomo;
I'uomo appartiene alla terra.
Questo noi sappiamo.
Tutte le cose sono collegate
come il sangue che unisce una famiglia.
Tutte le cose sono collegate.
Qualsiasi cosa accada alla terra, accade ai figli della terra.
L'uomo non ha intrecciato il tessuto della vita: egli è semplicemente un filo di essa.
Qualsiasi cosa faccia al tessuto, lo fa a se stesso...
Possiamo essere fratelli, dopo tutto. Vedremo.
C'è una cosa che noi sappiamo,
e che l'uomo bianco un giorno scoprirà:
il nostro Dio è lo stesso.
Potete pensare ora che il vostro "Lui" come voi desideri possedere la nostra terra; ma non è possibile.
Egli è il Dio dell'uomo e la Sua compassione è uguale
sia per il pellerossa che per l'uomo bianco.
Questa terra per lui è preziosa,
e danneggiare la terra è disprezzare il suo Creatore.
Anche il popolo bianco passerà.
Ma nella vostra discesa brillerete luminosamente, infuocati dalla forza di un Dio che vi ha portati in questa terra
e per qualche scopo speciale
vi ha dato dominio su questa terra e sopra l'uomo rosso.
Questo destino è un mistero per noi,
poiché non capiamo quando i bufali
vengono completamente massacrati,
i cavalli selvaggi tutti addomesticati,
gli angoli segreti della foresta appesantiti
con l'odore di molti uomini
e la vista delle colline in fiore
rovinata dai fili del telegrafo.
Dove è il boschetto? E' andato.
Dove è l'aquila? E' andata.
La fine della vita e l'inizio della sopravvivenza. — 

Rutger Zen with Silvana Cibba.

Republished with permission from Facebook Group Assenza: http://www.facebook.com/groups/193924080673423/

Dear Earthlings,

This post brings the series to an end.  We are so happy you followed it.  Thank you!  Stay tuned for what comes next. 

Did you enjoy the series?  Let us know!  Yours truly appreciates your attention.  The comments box is open.

Come back!  And stay tuned for more wonders.

Namaste,

Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio, PhD

Gilf Gaia Extraordinaire

Author of Gaia and the New Politics of Love and many other books
Professor of Humanities

University of Puerto Rico, Mayaguez

   

Follow us in the social media

Poly Planet GAIA Blog: http://polyplanet.blogspot.com/ 

Website: www.serenagaia.com 

Become a Fan: www.facebook.com/GaiaBlessings 

Author's Page/Lists all books: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B001JS1VKA 

YouTube Uploaded Videos: http://www.youtube.com/SerenaAnderlini
 

Link to the complete Lament

6 of 12 | Monday is for Religion: The Art of Connecting What's Not Really Separate

Hi lovely Earthlings!

We're on the final stretch.  Chief Seattle concludes his lament with an even more touching lesson.  What is life?  Joy, connectedness, a sense of being part of a larger whole, beauty, pleasure, the music of trees, of birds.  Being present to all this IS life.  Does "survival" qualify?  "No" the chief claims.  And so it goes for the hypermedicalized lives many of us live today.  When one's life is mere survival it doesn't even count as life.  It would be better to surrender it and become part again of life in general, return to the larger whole.  The hostess will know what to do next with what's left of the individual whose personal life has dissolved.  As Annie Sprinkle and Beth Stephens declare in the vows of their ecosexual weddings, when we marry the Earth we do so "until death brings us closer together."

So life is not really different from death, it's a cycle, a continuation of strands that come upon other strands, of waves and their ebbs and flows.  If we shift the focus away from death, and the fear of death we internalize from belief systems organized around it, we find out that there is no such thing as death, only life and its ongoing ebbs and flows.  

"Survival" the wise chief implies, is not worth the pain.  It's just a result of the fear of death and the effort of staving it off.  But then, when life in general becomes survival, there is no real life left at all.  Zombis, as they say.  Oh well . . . .

"The Land Is Sacred to Us"

Chief Seattle's Lament, Cont'd

Handsome chief, eh?

Even the white man, whose God walks and talks with him as friend to friend, cannot be exempt from the common destiny. We may be brothers after all; we shall see. One thing we know, which the white man may one day discover—our God is the same God. You may think now that you own Him as you wish to own our land; but you cannot. He is the God of man, and His compassion is equal for the red man and the white. This earth is precious to Him, and to harm the earth is to heap contempt on its Creator. The whites too shall pass; perhaps sooner than all other tribes. Continue to contaminate your bed, and you will one night suffocate in your own waste.

But in your perishing you will shine brightly, fired by the strength of the God who brought you to this land and for some special purpose gave you dominion over this land and over the red man. Your destiny is a mystery to us, for we do not understand when the buffalo are all slaughtered, the wild horses are tamed, the secret corners of the forest heavy with the scent of many men, and the view of the ripe hills blotted by talking wires. Where is the thicket? Gone. Where is the eagle? Gone. And what is it to say good bye to the swift pony and the hunt? The end of living and the beginning of survival.....

Source: From "The Land Is Sacred to Us: Chief Seattle's Lament."

Dear Earthlings: 

Did you notice the wisdom of these words?  The Washington Chief assumes Chief Seattle thinks he owns the land.  Chief Seattle knows better.  And he is honest.  Nobody really owns any land.  The earth own itself.  It is sovereign.  And it the seat of life where individuals graced with presence are mere moments in the energetic flow. 

Stay tuned for the next step.  We will post every Monday at noon.  

Did you enjoy the post?  Let us know!  Yours truly appreciates your attention.  The comments box is open.

Come back!  And stay tuned for more wonders.

Namaste,

Serena Anderlini-D'Onofrio, PhD

Gilf Gaia Extraordinaire

Author of Gaia and the New Politics of Love and many other books
Professor of Humanities

University of Puerto Rico, Mayaguez

   

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