My uncle, my grandfather and his father lived with their hands in the dirt. When asked about current events, the changing world, technological advances, or any matter on the tips of people's tounge's, my uncle could reply with "Oh, I don't know anything about that". Or, he could quote Noam Chomsky, for after his daily work in the bush, nature had purified his mind to the point that it turned information into knowledge at lightning speed.
They were a type of homesteaders, they worked the land, all information they had was analogue and their knowledge was embodied. To me, my uncle is a kind of plaid clad mythical creature who connects me to roots which run far below me in the city where I live. I don't see him often now. He lives 2 ferry boat rides away in a town on the water with nothing but a fish and chip stand and a few die hard west coast ruffians. Yet, the call I feel to return to some kind of land runs so strong in me that my hands shake when I look at Vancouver's west coast mountains. The mountains, the forest and the bush have a tether around me.
Tomorrow, thousands of women will march in Washington DC, throughout the US and in parts of Canada in something called the Pussy Hat March. They'll do it as a means to speak out again misogyny at the same time that Trump is becoming president. It's on everyone's mind, the tips of their tongues and, as someone with a lot of opinions and beliefs, I feel pressured from within and without to speak about our current political and social state.
But, I simply don't want to. I want to stand humbled before nature, my face wet from west coast rain, dirt on my city leggings, fingers embedded in a million tiny moss dwelling organisms. For, although the time to live the way my greatgrandfather did may have passed, my blood knows that within nature are the signs and evidence of, dare I say, God.
Nature pushes through cracks in the sidewalk and runs below the city. She doesn't care about our headlines or all the thoughts that cloud purity. She just grows upwards and onwards as she further invests in the web of interconnectivity. Her goals reach so far beyond our day to day, her laws are absolute. Laws such as oneness, equality and the singleness of truth. She layers simplicity to create sophistication and beauty is the result and her inspiration.
What she teaches me about God, myself and this current day is that the plan is much bigger than this moment. It can only be accomplished through tiny growing seeds weaving their path and radiantly acquiescing to their calling. To know her is to speak out about truth. To find my pure path is to be political. To be true to me and follow the river that weaves under the city is to tap into God underneath my mental chattering and ranting.
As many women march, I will run to nature. In this way, I will create the world that I want to see.
They were a type of homesteaders, they worked the land, all information they had was analogue and their knowledge was embodied. To me, my uncle is a kind of plaid clad mythical creature who connects me to roots which run far below me in the city where I live. I don't see him often now. He lives 2 ferry boat rides away in a town on the water with nothing but a fish and chip stand and a few die hard west coast ruffians. Yet, the call I feel to return to some kind of land runs so strong in me that my hands shake when I look at Vancouver's west coast mountains. The mountains, the forest and the bush have a tether around me.
Tomorrow, thousands of women will march in Washington DC, throughout the US and in parts of Canada in something called the Pussy Hat March. They'll do it as a means to speak out again misogyny at the same time that Trump is becoming president. It's on everyone's mind, the tips of their tongues and, as someone with a lot of opinions and beliefs, I feel pressured from within and without to speak about our current political and social state.
But, I simply don't want to. I want to stand humbled before nature, my face wet from west coast rain, dirt on my city leggings, fingers embedded in a million tiny moss dwelling organisms. For, although the time to live the way my greatgrandfather did may have passed, my blood knows that within nature are the signs and evidence of, dare I say, God.
Nature pushes through cracks in the sidewalk and runs below the city. She doesn't care about our headlines or all the thoughts that cloud purity. She just grows upwards and onwards as she further invests in the web of interconnectivity. Her goals reach so far beyond our day to day, her laws are absolute. Laws such as oneness, equality and the singleness of truth. She layers simplicity to create sophistication and beauty is the result and her inspiration.
What she teaches me about God, myself and this current day is that the plan is much bigger than this moment. It can only be accomplished through tiny growing seeds weaving their path and radiantly acquiescing to their calling. To know her is to speak out about truth. To find my pure path is to be political. To be true to me and follow the river that weaves under the city is to tap into God underneath my mental chattering and ranting.
As many women march, I will run to nature. In this way, I will create the world that I want to see.
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