This feels like growing up in the 70s and 80s. This stuff was on the news more it felt like. I've lived near rivers my whole life; the Detroit, the Grand, the Kalamazoo, and now the Hudson. When my daughter was little she would yell "HUDSON RIVER!" whenever we crossed it. We also live by the Mohawk so sometimes she'd yell "HUDSON RIVER!" We'd say, "That's the Mohawk, Juni."
She rows on the Hudson now and the club has an 'adopted' pair of bald eagles that nest along their training route. The Hudson is one of the most legally protected rivers in the world, but there is still sludge from GE buried deep in the riverbed even after years of dredging. There bomb trains parked a few hundred yards from the river, and my house is in the evac zones if they go boom.
Thank you, Mary, for bringing the wildflowers to our hearts and minds. Just after reading your post, I received this poem in my inbox from another substack I follow (Words That Fly from Stephanie Carney) - thought you might enjoy the synchronicity.
At the River Clarion by Mary Oliver
I don’t know who God is exactly.
But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.
I’d been to the river before, a few times.
Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.
You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.
You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.
And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.
2.
If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,
if you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?
If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.
He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?
Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.
I only know that the river kept singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy
which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.
3.
Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.
Let us live it, gesture by gesture.
When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?
And should we not thank the knife also?
We do not live in a simple world.
4.
There was someone I loved who grew old and ill
One by one I watched the fires go out.
There was nothing I could do
except to remember
that we receive
then we give back.
5.
My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.
But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from
to where it has been told to go.
I pray for the desperate earth.
I pray for the desperate world.
I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.
Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.
6.
Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers.
And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes–
Thank you for sharing your personal story of waking up to the lives and needs of Our Mother and all her children. I feel so blessed when I have an encounter with the Wild Ones. Yesterday my daughter and I saw a beautiful little river otter in our neighborhood creek. She surfaced with a small fish in her mouth and we watched her run along the bank to her home in a pile of branches where she disappeared. I'm telling you this because you are the people who understand how holy this encounter is. Even in this city where humans have taken over the land, water and plants, even here we can be blessed by Mother and her beauty.
Noted that the basis of capitalism is to exploit natural resources, and in consequence, all beings and the planet is harmed. Yet it's turned on the public, how are lives are made easier by (oil, toilet paper, electricity). Given the choice, which through free enterprise is not a choice, I would do with much less to preserve and love our planet. Thank the goddess for the wild flowers, who bloom all over Texas, domesticated and not. Thanks for the lovely post Mary.
I was born in Charleston, and one of my earliest memories is being evacuated for a chemical spill. People seemed to think of it as the “cost of doing business.” That was before Bhopal, though. I’ve always felt conflicted about that beautiful wild place that is also a place of degradation and ruin of the natural wonders there.
This feels like growing up in the 70s and 80s. This stuff was on the news more it felt like. I've lived near rivers my whole life; the Detroit, the Grand, the Kalamazoo, and now the Hudson. When my daughter was little she would yell "HUDSON RIVER!" whenever we crossed it. We also live by the Mohawk so sometimes she'd yell "HUDSON RIVER!" We'd say, "That's the Mohawk, Juni."
She rows on the Hudson now and the club has an 'adopted' pair of bald eagles that nest along their training route. The Hudson is one of the most legally protected rivers in the world, but there is still sludge from GE buried deep in the riverbed even after years of dredging. There bomb trains parked a few hundred yards from the river, and my house is in the evac zones if they go boom.
Maybe that would make the news.
Nicely done. :-)
Thank you, Mary, for bringing the wildflowers to our hearts and minds. Just after reading your post, I received this poem in my inbox from another substack I follow (Words That Fly from Stephanie Carney) - thought you might enjoy the synchronicity.
At the River Clarion by Mary Oliver
I don’t know who God is exactly.
But I’ll tell you this.
I was sitting in the river named Clarion, on a water splashed stone
and all afternoon I listened to the voices of the river talking.
Whenever the water struck a stone it had something to say,
and the water itself, and even the mosses trailing under the water.
And slowly, very slowly, it became clear to me what they were saying.
Said the river I am part of holiness.
And I too, said the stone. And I too, whispered the moss beneath the water.
I’d been to the river before, a few times.
Don’t blame the river that nothing happened quickly.
You don’t hear such voices in an hour or a day.
You don’t hear them at all if selfhood has stuffed your ears.
And it’s difficult to hear anything anyway, through all the traffic, the ambition.
2.
If God exists he isn’t just butter and good luck.
He’s also the tick that killed my wonderful dog Luke.
Said the river: imagine everything you can imagine, then keep on going.
Imagine how the lily (who may also be a part of God) would sing to you if it could sing,
if you would pause to hear it.
And how are you so certain anyway that it doesn’t sing?
If God exists he isn’t just churches and mathematics.
He’s the forest, He’s the desert.
He’s the ice caps, that are dying.
He’s the ghetto and the Museum of Fine Arts.
He’s van Gogh and Allen Ginsberg and Robert Motherwell.
He’s the many desperate hands, cleaning and preparing their weapons.
He’s every one of us, potentially.
The leaf of grass, the genius, the politician, the poet.
And if this is true, isn’t it something very important?
Yes, it could be that I am a tiny piece of God, and each of you too, or at least
of his intention and his hope.
Which is a delight beyond measure.
I don’t know how you get to suspect such an idea.
I only know that the river kept singing.
It wasn’t a persuasion, it was all the river’s own constant joy
which was better by far than a lecture, which was comfortable, exciting, unforgettable.
3.
Of course for each of us, there is the daily life.
Let us live it, gesture by gesture.
When we cut the ripe melon, should we not give it thanks?
And should we not thank the knife also?
We do not live in a simple world.
4.
There was someone I loved who grew old and ill
One by one I watched the fires go out.
There was nothing I could do
except to remember
that we receive
then we give back.
5.
My dog Luke lies in a grave in the forest, she is given back.
But the river Clarion still flows from wherever it comes from
to where it has been told to go.
I pray for the desperate earth.
I pray for the desperate world.
I do the little each person can do, it isn’t much.
Sometimes the river murmurs, sometimes it raves.
6.
Along its shores were, may I say, very intense cardinal flowers.
And trees, and birds that have wings to uphold them, for heaven’s sakes–
the lucky ones: they have such deep natures,
they are so happily obedient.
While I sit here in a house filled with books,
ideas, doubts, hesitations.
7.
And still, pressed deep into my mind, the river
keeps coming, touching me, passing by on its
long journey, its pale, infallible voice
singing.
Thank you for sharing your personal story of waking up to the lives and needs of Our Mother and all her children. I feel so blessed when I have an encounter with the Wild Ones. Yesterday my daughter and I saw a beautiful little river otter in our neighborhood creek. She surfaced with a small fish in her mouth and we watched her run along the bank to her home in a pile of branches where she disappeared. I'm telling you this because you are the people who understand how holy this encounter is. Even in this city where humans have taken over the land, water and plants, even here we can be blessed by Mother and her beauty.
Noted that the basis of capitalism is to exploit natural resources, and in consequence, all beings and the planet is harmed. Yet it's turned on the public, how are lives are made easier by (oil, toilet paper, electricity). Given the choice, which through free enterprise is not a choice, I would do with much less to preserve and love our planet. Thank the goddess for the wild flowers, who bloom all over Texas, domesticated and not. Thanks for the lovely post Mary.
I was born in Charleston, and one of my earliest memories is being evacuated for a chemical spill. People seemed to think of it as the “cost of doing business.” That was before Bhopal, though. I’ve always felt conflicted about that beautiful wild place that is also a place of degradation and ruin of the natural wonders there.