Red Cedar

these days i feel that in order to write, i have to allow myself to grieve – a situation that acts as a powerful deterrent to committing my thoughts publically.

it is not that i am unhappy in my life – in fact things have been quite pleasant lately in my bubble of a world floating around the coast of sunshine and oceans and crystal clear rivers – i have had many wonderful visitors of late, many fine meals, and many good sleeps – and even work is rolling along at a productive but unstressful rate.

but the sockeye aren’t returning on the fraser this year (just like last year – and it’s probably climate change related), and last week a train carrying tanks of lye derailed and killed all the fish in the cheakamus river (and poisoned a number of people), and the government is spraying malathion on winnipeg to control the mosquitos, and a top military official just announced that the canadian military will have to remain in afghanistan for the next 20 years.

and it seems there is nothing we can do to escape the death culture into which we have all been born. that is, the culture that consumes rapaciously to no spiritual or cultural or even physical end – the culture that kills and poisons blindly in order to feed itself more comfort and convenience – the culture to which each of us is bound that tells us air conditioning is more important than salmon habitat, and unlimited cel phone access is more important than the migratory routes of songbirds.

if i write in depth about these things i am propelled to cry – and then cry harder all the more when i realize that one of the few people i could talk to about the depth of this killing (inside of me, outside of me), died last december of a heart attack.

and so i don’t. i don’t write about my grief for my friend, or for the salmon, or for afghani people subjugated by foreign soldiers. i don’t write about how much i fear the sockeye are never coming back, or how crushed i have been at the realization we will never know cedars of the size, presence and give (clothing, food, canoes) indigenous people here once did.

when i was passing through ocean falls, i said to my ex who lives there – “it’s just that i am tired of seeing everything i love be killed, over and over again” to which he answered “you have to focus on what is beautiful about the world, so many amazing things”.

is that the answer really? to not grieve? to count blessings without reflecting on what those blessings rely on? to avert the eyes to the easy experiences and realtionships when our relations to the land become increasingly more painful? it can’t be that simple. it can’t be that heartless.

if we think of a sick friend – someone very close who has been stricken by a killing disease – cancer maybe…. what if instead of strengthening our relationship to them, doing what we could to ease the pain (or cure it), doing what we could to comfort and love them in their last days – we turned away to healthier friends instead? what if instead of being there as a present witness to our friend’s suffering we found people more beautiful to whom we could draw our eyes? if we think about our relationship to the planet, to our bioregions and the critters within them in this way – it seems ludicrous to say – avert your eyes, focus on the other amazing things, don’t dwell in this place of grieving and loving because it is too painful. when painted this way, it seems downright wrong.

if it was someone we loved we would do everything in our power to save and protect them from the killing disease, and in fact our grief over the potential loss would be a powerful propellant to do so. the other points of power and strength in life become, with that grief, a fuel for action rather than a latent hopelessness.

we would expect nothing less of everyone else around us in this situation – that the pain of loss be resolved with the need for comfort and the desire for change – in all of us and for all of us (trees, water, fish, people) to stop the cancer.

so why is it that i shy away from this writing rather than allowing those emotions to guide my hand in expression and action?