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Howling in the Night, an Eerie Wonder
Wouldn’t you like to leap and spin around and over your friends and end up out of breath in a mush pile, a laughing heap of beings? That’s what wolf pups do.
The wolf is one of the animals that call to me, one of my Tla Twein. (see my earlier post on the Tla Twein)
I notice that many people love wolves. For some of my piano students, the stickers of wolves that I receive in the mail from conservation organizations are the first choice to put on a finished song.
Two conflicting ideas about wolves are prevalent. One is of the “lone wolf”, solitary, strong, but alone. The other is of the close warm ties between the members of a wolf pack.
But perhaps they’re not so conflicting. Perhaps we yearn for the comradery, the playful closeness of the pack, and yet feel like the lone wolf who is seeking a pack. On the other hand, sometimes we need the solitary alone (but not lonely) of the “lone wolf”. Sometimes we need to move away from the pull toward compliance of the pack. We need to find our own path.
But the lone wolf doesn’t stay completely alone. Sometimes in the night the lone wolf howls. If others can hear them, they respond, and the song echoes back and forth across the miles. This howling in the night is an eerie wonder – wolves singing together reaching with their songs across long distances to lone wolves and other packs (and all the other species that can hear them). Strange dissonances send thrills up our spine, bring new ideas of harmony, new possibilities.
Solitary singing is good, but when we sing in a group there is something so powerful and breathtaking that happens that I, at least, can hardly contain the joy. And when a human composer brings in the forbidden dissonance we hear in the wolf songs, I tremble with some combination of fear and delight. It’s clear, when we watch videos of wolves howling, that this power of harmony and dissonance happens for the wolves, too.
I confess, when the husky down the street howls in her yard as my dogs and I go past, I cannot restrain myself from howling back. Sometimes if she isn’t howling, I’ll give a little howl and she joins me. My little dogs don’t howl with the husky, only with the fire sirens. But when they howl, they sit up so straight, so earnest, so involved in the howl, that I know it’s a spiritual ritual, a solemn invocation of….?
What is it that the wolf as my Tla Twei is asking me to take on? Perhaps it’s the cooperative bonding of the pack for the serious business of the hunt – in my case to take on the serious problems of the world – and the restful dance of playtime ending in the physical closeness of the mush pile.
And in the night, the ritual of singing in strange harmonies, reaching joyfully to my fellow humans on the other side of the valley or the world.
In my book, The Earth Woman Tree Woman Quartet, the Tla Twein are trying to bring humans back into the sacred Dance of Life, the Tsin Twei. You can purchase print and ebook versions at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and order print versions from your local independent bookstore.
Want to explore your own Tla Twein? If you live in the San Francisco Bay Area you can attend a three hour workshop on April 28th in Oakland where we will move and sing, write and create art work in search of the reason our particular Tla Twei call us. The fee is “pay what you can”. Contact me at connie@deephum.com for more information. Put Tla Twein Workshop in the subject line.
“All Who Hate [Wisdom] Love Death.” Proverbs 8:36
When I first studied the Wisdom literature of the bible I was so caught up in the joy and delight of the second half of this passage where Lady Wisdom speaks of her role in creation that I didn’t really get how serious and important this message found in the first half is. In fact, I thought it was a bit much to say that anyone who hated wisdom loved death.
But today I understand.
Why is this message so important today? The “hatred” of wisdom is prevalent in our society. Those who don’t listen to the words of the scientists who tell us of global warming choose the death of our species and many others. Those who turn their eyes away from the lessons we learned from the Holocaust and allow our government to imprison refugees, to separate children from their parents, choose the death of refugees and of democracy in our country. Above all, those who embrace the ugly propaganda on right wing white supremacist websites and take a gun and commit mass murder choose immediate and horrific death.
What is Wisdom?
In Proverbs she says, “Learn prudence, acquire intelligence, … take my instruction instead of silver, and knowledge rather than choice gold, for Wisdom is better than jewels.” (Proverbs 8:5-11) She speaks of “attaining knowledge,” and using “the paths of justice.”
What is the difference between wisdom and knowledge? “Attaining knowledge” is integral to attaining wisdom. Wisdom has to do with what you do with your knowledge. A wise person relates what they have learned, the knowledge they have gained, to how they should live their lives.
What does it have to do with “the paths of justice?” Those who are wise understand that without true justice in our world we will never have peace. If we don’t choose peace, we choose death. Wisdom is knowledge that leads to justice.
Today we need to acquire knowledge about our earth, understanding the danger we have put all life in. In Sirach 24:13 a beautiful soliloquy compares Wisdom to the trees of Israel. Trees just may be the salvation of the earth, since they filter carbon dioxide from the air, storing carbon in the trees and soil, and releasing oxygen into the atmosphere.
We need to learn about the other humans in our world, understanding their cultural differences and similarities, and most of all learning to love and care for them.
This means we must understand what is happening in other parts of the world, learn about wars and oppression, floods and droughts, so that we know what our neighbors are experiencing.
And, we need to understand the consequences of our own actions, of the actions of our government and of the corporations that bring riches to a few of our fellow citizens. We need to dig into the understory, the past, if we are to understand why we have so many refugees on our southern border.
Then, above all, we must act on the knowledge we acquire with a wisdom that makes a “path to justice.”
If we do this, we will have “chosen life.”
If not, Wisdom says, “All who hate me love death.”
*******
When taking a class on Wisdom Literature, I wrote a three part piece of music, For Wisdom is Better than Jewels based on Proverbs 8 and Sirach 24 for my class project. Wisdom’s joy as she takes part in the creation of the world infuses itself in the music giving us the hope that will help us deal with the necessity to choose “acquiring knowledge” and the “paths of justice,” choosing Life. For information about this music go to SheetMusicPlus.com or look at the Wisdom page on www.deephum.com
What is the Difference Between a Migrant Detention Center and a Nazi Concentration Camp?
I was reading a rather light book, American Ghost, by Hannah Nordhaus, enjoying her explorations into her family’s history as she tried to find out more about an ancestor, Julia, who was supposed to be haunting the building that had been her home and was now a hotel.
As she delved further into Julia’s German Jewish family, some of whom had immigrated to New Mexico and some who stayed in Germany, she came upon Julia’s youngest sister, Emelie, who lived in Germany, and who was sent to a concentration camp at the age of 80+. The Nazis called the camp a “Jewish retirement ghetto,” a “holiday camp”. Suddenly I had a much harder time reading the book as I saw the parallels for our time.
I quote: “… the town’s stern grid [the town became the camp, fenced in and guarded by soldiers], designed to house 5,000 people, held 50,000 instead.”
A month later it was 60,000.
“There was nowhere to put them. They slept wherever they could find a spot … Emelie could have expected to occupy about five feet of floor space… There was a desperate shortage of water, of sinks, of toilets… They were allowed to wash three kilograms of laundry every six weeks… they were covered in bites: bedbugs, fleas, lice… They were starving…” (p. 237)
When I read this I had just finished reading the New York Times exposée of the Clint detention center in Texas, “Hungry, Scared and Sick: Inside the Migrant Detention Center in Clint, Texas.” https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2019/07/06/us/migrants-border-patrol-clint.html
Some quotes from that article:
“Outbreaks of scabies, shingles and chickenpox were spreading among the hundreds of children and adults who were being held in cramped cells, agents said. The stench of the children’s dirty clothing was so strong it spread to the agents’ own clothing — people in town would scrunch their noses when they left work. The children cried constantly. …
…some children had no beds to sleep on, no way to clean themselves and sometimes went hungry. …
…The station was never intended to hold more than about a hundred adult men, and it was designed with the idea that migrants would be detained for only a few hours of processing before being transferred to other locations …
…The number of children in the site is thought to have peaked at more than 700 around April and May, and stood at nearly 250 two weeks ago …
…One day this month, about 20 girls were crowded into one cell, so packed that some were sprawled on the floor. Toddlers could be seen in some cells, cared for by older children…”
And for those who think this is an exaggerated account:
“The accounts of what happened at Clint and at nearby border facilities are based on dozens of interviews by The New York Times and The El Paso Times of current and former Border Patrol agents and supervisors; lawyers, lawmakers and aides who visited the facility; and an immigrant father whose children were held there. The review also included sworn statements from those who spent time at El Paso border facilities, inspection reports and accounts from neighbors in Clint …”
The parallels between the concentration camps of Nazi Germany and the migrant detention centers here in the U.S. are too obvious to ignore. Will the future see you as one of those who turned their eyes away and pretended it wasn’t happening, as many did in Germany, or will you be one of the heroes who brings this to an end?
WE MUST STOP THIS NOW BEFORE IT BECOMES ANOTHER HOLOCAUST.
The Cat
So I’m at this workshop, and the presenter says, if you want to get people’s attention write a blog about a cat,
and I’m thinking, yeah, there’s a cat in my book (The Earth Woman Tree Woman Quartet) – a kind of magical cat – who plays a major part – sort of.
He hasn’t got a name. He’s just “the cat”,
that deep smoky gray of the Russian Blue cat,
wise,
independent,
and …
Thump!
Startled, Giselle looked up from gathering the things on the seat beside her to see a small blue-gray cat peering at her from the hood of the car.
“Where did you…” She leaned over, pushing her hair back from her face as she peered through the windshield at the cat – who sat down, intense green eyes staring at her…
He wasn’t very old – not a baby, but not full grown either – with the same kind of impertinent stare as some of the teenagers she’d volunteered with a few years ago when she was in college.
He leaned down and licked a shoulder…
She gathered her things and opened the door quietly, trying not to startle him as she scrunched her legs out of the car seat, her arms full, her skirt twisting under her making it hard to stand.
One of her sandals fell off.
She rolled her eyes as she poked her bare toes back into the sandal while trying to avoid stepping in an oil streak.
The cat was unfazed.
Moving to the edge of the hood and giving a demanding, “Meow,” he jumped down next to her and flicked his tail stepping along beside her as she headed towards the garage entrance.
Once outside Giselle took a deep breath of the cleaner air. Southwest winds.
No fumes from the refineries today.
The cat flicked his tail and raised his head.
An older man was leaning against the telephone pole on the other side of the garage entrance.
The cat walked over to him, rubbing against his legs.
The man crouched down and caressed the cat.
“Is this your cat?” Giselle asked.
“No,” he smiled, his brown eyes glinting in his craggy black face. “I think he’s yours.”
Then standing, he walked away, hidden behind the trunk of the big tree on the corner before Giselle could comment. A moment later Giselle and the cat were distracted by a shrill, “Kee-ee-ar,” as a large bird launched itself from the top of the tree and spiraled up and up above them.
“Kee-ee-ar. Kee-ee-ar,” it cried before it gave one last circle and headed north.
The cat lifted onto his hind legs calling a melodic merrowl to the bird, and then turned back to Giselle.
“Was that a hawk – a Red-tailed hawk?” Giselle asked the cat – or maybe just the empty air around her.
A hawk in the city?
But where did that man go?
She turned in a circle, then shrugged her shoulders and headed down the sidewalk and up the steps to the front entrance of her building, the cat marching at her side.
A newspaper lay on the top step.
The cat stopped and looked at it, then up at her.
“Ten Story Garment Factory in Kanidu Collapses Killing Hundreds,” screamed the headline.
Giselle sighed. Last week the explosion at the refinery in Port Blas had destroyed everything for blocks around it. A list of other major industrial “accidents” passed through her thoughts, and she shook her head.
The cat flicked his tail.
It almost seemed as if the cat… Giselle laughed at herself. Of course not.
She keyed open the door.
Head and tail high, the cat stepped past her into the tiny lobby – the Visiting Dignitary.
Giselle rolled her eyes and fumbled with her keys, listening to the dogs whimpering excitedly on the other side of her apartment door.
The cat marched up to the door and sat.
Putting her things down on the floor, she reached for him.
He side-stepped away meowing loudly.
The doggy whimpering stopped abruptly and Giselle opened the door a crack.
The cat stuck its nose in and pushed it wider, strolling in past the two sitting, tail thumping dogs, and the potted ferns that lined the entrance way. The dogs trailed the cat as he surveyed the apartment, sticking his nose into the ferns, batting the strands of spider plant that swept downward from hanging pots in the windows, peeking into the bedroom and tiny kitchen, and finally settling in for a wash on the old trunk Giselle used as a coffee table.
Laughing and shaking her head, Giselle dumped her things on the old oak table in the dining alcove, greeted the dogs, kicked off her sandals, and settled too, sitting on the couch with her feet up on the trunk next to the cat –
who flicked his tail, then curved it gently around a small wooden statue that sat in the place of honor on the trunk– a woman who seemed to be emerging from a tree, with one foot stepping out into the world.
Giselle took the statue in her hands. The wood was so warm and smooth, her face so serene and calming, and there was something so promising about the foot stepping out.
She smiled at the cat whose tail flicked slowly back and forth, back and forth.
The plants became a smoky green aura pushing everything else into the background and she closed her eyes, listening sleepily to the swish and thump of the dog tails. That deep dark thinking space inside her head seemed to open out. It felt like something was there… touching her. Something beyond…
A fragment of a melody slipped through her mind and then a deep voice whispered,
Breath.
Whispering breath…
Her eyes popped open. “Where did that come from?”
The cat licked a paw and then turned his head to look at her.
She closed her eyes again.
Breath,
murmuring in the wind-whipped grasses.
She cracked her eyes open just enough to peer at the cat,
but he just flicked his tail,
back and forth,
back and forth…
******
Want to read more about “the cat”, and Giselle’s journey to the Tsin Twei, the Dance of Life, and maybe about that redtailed hawk?
You can order print versions from Powell’s Books or your local independent bookstore, or purchase print and ebook versions at Amazon and Barnes and Noble
The Police and the Dance of Life
Part Three of The Police Controversy:
This is my third post on the role of police in our towns and cities, states and nation.
In the first post, The Police Controversy, I laid out the problem and a little of the discourse around policing.
In the second, Police Officers or Peace Keepers, I presented some of my ideas of how to practically make the changes I think we need.
In this post I’m going to give you a passage from my book The Earth Woman Tree Woman Quartet where the main character addresses the police lining the street at a protest march.
The Earth Woman Tree Woman Quartet is a metaphysical fantasy. The main quest is to bring homo sapiens back into the Tsin Twei, the dance of life, where all species come together to create the grand compromise that keeps life going on Earth. The characters can shape change into their Tla Twein, mythological animals or characters who represent the strengths the characters wish to acquire.
In this passage the main character, Giselle, becomes her Tla Twei, the Earth Woman Tree Woman:
Police lined the streets, protecting the skyscrapers that loomed above them, helmets on their heads with opaque plastic covering their faces, and plastic body shields held in front of them.
As they reached the starting point, … Monica and Rod made their way over to Giselle. “I don’t like the looks of the police,” muttered Rod.
Giselle turned around in a circle. “They look like robots. They’re dressed so they don’t look human.”
She turned to Rod. “But they are human. We need to remember they’re human, and we need them, just like we need everyone else if we’re to regain our grandsoul – if we’re to become a part of the Tsin Twei.”
She walked over in front of a line of officers, staring at the smoky gray of their helmets, and couldn’t tell if they were looking at her or not.
She smiled as her feet bored deep below the asphalt, reaching into the water and nutrients hidden below. Her arms stretched up, branching, moving higher and higher above the police, above the crowd. The cat, crouching on a thick branch, stared at them and the dogs sat at the base of her trunk.
With a rustling of leaves and a creaking of limbs, she spoke. “You are one of us.”
Her voice cut like a knife through the sounds of the crowd; her branches danced above their heads. The police line faltered a little, and then held still.She continued, her words resounding off the walls of the skyscrapers that edged the street. “I know you’re afraid for your jobs. I know you believe you’re privileged – a part of the corporate strong men, rather than one of us. But they will sacrifice you, and your families, just as quickly as they sacrifice us, the poor, and the quality of the air and the water.”
She turned swinging her branches down the line of officers. “Your families will not be spared the cancers that come from pollution, or the illnesses that come from poorly inspected food.”
Some of the officers began to shift their feet restlessly.
“When global warming pushes more and more people toward famine and homelessness, your families will also face famine and homelessness.”
She looked at the crowd as her words bounced back and forth in the urban canyon, and then back to the police. “You hide behind these plastic masks trying not to look human, not to look like people who love, and hurt, and care about this world. But I know otherwise. I know that you are people of love, just as we are. You’re one of us.”
The crowd took up the phrase and repeated it over, and over again. “You’re people of love. You’re one of us. You are one of us!”
The Tree Woman took a deep breath. “If you haven’t the courage to take off your masks, lay down your shields, and join us, at least refrain from hurting us,” and she grew taller and taller as she spoke.
“When the orders come to shoot us, or beat us, don’t. Just don’t follow those orders.”
“Don’t follow those orders,” echoed the crowd. “Don’t follow those orders.”The Earth Woman Tree Woman began to sing:
Remember, we are your family,
Your family!
We are you, and you are us.
The song echoed off the buildings, climbing higher and higher into the sky, reaching even the helicopters that hovered high above.
We are you, and you are us.
We are you, and you are us.
Amen, sang Ayoabia*, her voice deep and resonant. So be it, amen.