California Archives - Owl Medicine: Shamanic Healing

Smoky Times

I find myself at a loss for words this evening. We’re living in some mighty smoky times, my friends. While I know I don’t need to tell you, I do find myself unable to concentrate on much else.

What does it say that the skies over the East Coast of the United States are being viewed through a burnt sienna filter as a result of raging infernos 3,000 miles away?

Is there no comprehension of the perversity surrounding two to three feet of rain falling on Alabama and Florida in a single day, at the same time that fires are consuming 4 million acres of land out west?

What blows my mind is that it is neither the peak of wildfire season nor the peak of hurricane season. Yet.

Meanwhile, we have proof positive, playing out before our very eyes, that those in the highest positions of authority in our government are lying to us day in and day out. Atrocities – literal atrocities – are being committed in our name and with our tax dollars against women who have been locked up in private prisons, some for three years or more, as a result of seeking asylum in our country. The country that used to pride itself on being a model of freedom and justice.

Gunfire

I’m sitting here writing these words with the front door of my home open. I was being serenaded by the heartiest of crickets remaining in the grasses and woods just outside.

As I wrote those last paragraphs above, I just heard gunfire. Rapid fire (semi-automatic?) gunfire.

It is 12:53 a.m.

I feel like I’m looking at my country through a haze of smoke and lies and disbelief that go far beyond the ravaging wildfires our brothers and sisters in California, Oregon, and Washington are enduring right now.

I need to consider, again, the small seeds I intend to plant tomorrow for the new moon. What will you be planting?

(T-436)

Photo: L. Weikel

Measure of Guilt

If you live pretty much anywhere on the East Coast, I’m pretty sure you experienced one of those perfect September days today that’s hard to overstate. The hint of fall puts just the slightest, ever so subtle edge to the air when a breeze rustles your hair and cools you down after mowing the lawn. I feel some measure of guilt when I begin to write about days like today when I see the suffering occurring elsewhere in our country.

The fires in California, Oregon, and Washington are terrifying in their devastation. I find it hard to wrap my mind around what it must feel like to see fire rampaging up a mountain toward my home or hear the otherworldly roar of the inferno as it voraciously consumes everything in its path – and sets its sights on me. Or my husband and children. Or my pets.

The photos of the firefighters, splayed out helter skelter on the coolness of a concrete sidewalk, the air all around them a distorted version of pumpkin spice are beyond disturbing. The stories of people being forced to run – literally attempt to outrun a fire on macadam that burns the shoes off their feet – only to discover their loved ones turned back or never made it out of the driveway boggle the mind.

Dead End

I wrote a bunch of words since writing the paragraph above and I just had to delete them. Yeah, I can mouth the words of trying to find some positive arising out of this devastation and heartache – wisdom, perhaps? Appreciation for what’s really, truly, deeply important? A forced re-set of our life?

But it just rings hollow tonight. Anything I might write as I sit here in my comfy home surrounded by my beloved animals with plenty of food in my refrigerator and pantry, a cool breeze of fresh air pouring in through my windows, is warped by my perception – which is admittedly extremely narrow and unbelievably fortunate.

As I said at the beginning, I cannot imagine the terror of being forced to evacuate my home under the threat of a wildfire.

There are a lot of simply awful things people are being forced to endure this year. Yeah, people get sick and die all the time. But not like this. And yeah, wildfires happen every year. But not like these. And hurricanes form and threaten and pound upon the coast every year. But not as early and often as this year.

We must hang in there. No matter how hard or awful things feel. No matter how much we lose. We must hold onto each other. We have to find a way.

(T-440)