Comments on: Mulberry Truths – Tree-Given Insights By Jesse Wolf Hardin http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722 Teaching Nature Awareness, Healing & Rewilding Tue, 23 Apr 2013 17:39:33 +0000 http://wordpress.org/?v=2.9.2 hourly 1 By: Strider http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722&cpage=1#comment-5275 Strider Tue, 14 Jul 2009 18:24:45 +0000 http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722#comment-5275 I love this post. I recently did a solo backpack to connect with the Sídhe. My destination was a valley high up on Pikes Peak. After I was dropped off and started up the trail, to my astonishment was a single red, black and white, flicker feather sticking striahgt up out of the middle of the trail. It instantly woke me up. I realized that I can focus so much on the destination and what will happen when I get there that the trail up can blur out by thoughts in my head. The feather was a reminder that the destination is made even more rich and meaningful when I pay attention to the trail up. Each beauty witnessed and absorbed becomes like a talisman that I take with me that enables me to connect with greater skill when I "arrive". Wolf, you comment on the dandelion inspired a slam poem that I plan on reading soon: ********* I want to create a sanctuary today A sanctuary for refugees Refugees that are blown by the puckered lips of children Refugees nourished by wind sun and rain Refugees chased from every over manicured lawn Across the wide expanses of suburbia Yes my friends I speak of the dandelion Who is going to take THEM in? Do our over manicured sensibilities of conformity Apply even to dandelions? How dare they rise higher and have more color than the flat green grass around them! “Stop sticking your gleaming yellow petals so high man! Make sure you are thin, green, and the same height as everyone else!” The flower of poets is not the tulip, the daffodil, or even the red red rose, No! It is the dandelion The flower that is “weed” to those who cannot see The flower that refuses to be tamed by our obsession For flat Green Controllable Nature All my friends and heroes are dandelions Lions who want to devour the dandy And leave the real for all to see smell and touch Men and women who refuse to be told Where they can live What they can think And how high they can raise their chin You wanna hear my war cry? “Remember the dandelion!” You see? We are asked to bow down The gleaming gold petals of our minds To the lawn mower of conformity The weed whacker of obedience And the pesticide of mediocrity! I am a weed today! When you feel the fear When you feel the scrutiny That comes with daring to rise high and drink the sun Remember that your voice and your soul cannot be cut down Remember that you will not to be tamed Remember that your words can be poetry Your thoughts can be seeds And your ideas Revolutions! ******* I love this post. I recently did a solo backpack to connect with the Sídhe. My destination was a valley high up on Pikes Peak. After I was dropped off and started up the trail, to my astonishment was a single red, black and white, flicker feather sticking striahgt up out of the middle of the trail. It instantly woke me up.

I realized that I can focus so much on the destination and what will happen when I get there that the trail up can blur out by thoughts in my head. The feather was a reminder that the destination is made even more rich and meaningful when I pay attention to the trail up. Each beauty witnessed and absorbed becomes like a talisman that I take with me that enables me to connect with greater skill when I “arrive”.

Wolf, you comment on the dandelion inspired a slam poem that I plan on reading soon:

*********

I want to create a sanctuary today
A sanctuary for refugees
Refugees that are blown by the puckered lips of children
Refugees nourished by wind sun and rain
Refugees chased from every over manicured lawn
Across the wide expanses of suburbia
Yes my friends
I speak of the dandelion

Who is going to take THEM in?
Do our over manicured sensibilities of conformity
Apply even to dandelions?
How dare they rise higher and have more color
than the flat green grass around them!

“Stop sticking your gleaming yellow petals so high man!
Make sure you are thin, green, and the same height as everyone else!”

The flower of poets is not the tulip, the daffodil, or even the red red rose,
No!
It is the dandelion
The flower that is “weed” to those who cannot see
The flower that refuses to be tamed by our obsession
For flat
Green
Controllable
Nature

All my friends and heroes are dandelions
Lions who want to devour the dandy
And leave the real for all to see smell and touch
Men and women who refuse to be told
Where they can live
What they can think
And how high they can raise their chin

You wanna hear my war cry?
“Remember the dandelion!”
You see?
We are asked to bow down
The gleaming gold petals of our minds
To the lawn mower of conformity
The weed whacker of obedience
And the pesticide of mediocrity!

I am a weed today!

When you feel the fear
When you feel the scrutiny
That comes with daring to rise high and drink the sun
Remember that your voice and your soul cannot be cut down
Remember that you will not to be tamed
Remember that your words can be poetry
Your thoughts can be seeds
And your ideas
Revolutions!

*******

]]> By: Sidney Barthell http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722&cpage=1#comment-5220 Sidney Barthell Mon, 13 Jul 2009 02:32:55 +0000 http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722#comment-5220 My friend Jenny and I went walking and talking along the River today, and just as you say, we missed the berries until the return trip, when we stopped to munch on Nettle seeds, and Jenny saw the ground hugging vines with ripe berries. Boy were they good! Scratchy, too. The better we know the plants, the more we see as we walk and talk. True for me, anyway, as I am learning the Alders and the Cottonwoods and the wild Elders. Hope to meet you all in person before long; in the mean time, sure am glad you have a website; you benefit so many people! My friend Jenny and I went walking and talking along the River today, and just as you say, we missed the berries until the return trip, when we stopped to munch on Nettle seeds, and
Jenny saw the ground hugging vines with ripe berries. Boy were they good! Scratchy, too.

The better we know the plants, the more we see as we walk and talk. True for me, anyway, as I am learning the Alders and the Cottonwoods and the wild Elders.

Hope to meet you all in person before long; in the mean time, sure am glad you have a website; you benefit so many people!

]]> By: Anima http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722&cpage=1#comment-5180 Anima Sat, 11 Jul 2009 15:14:57 +0000 http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722#comment-5180 Thank you for sharing this, Matt. My favorite "invasive" is dandelion, its roots helping the liver deal with stress even as it proliferates on land that has been stressed by human activity. Let's hear it for the fruitful outlaws! -Wolf Thank you for sharing this, Matt. My favorite “invasive” is dandelion, its roots helping the liver deal with stress even as it proliferates on land that has been stressed by human activity. Let’s hear it for the fruitful outlaws!

-Wolf

]]> By: Matt W http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722&cpage=1#comment-5177 Matt W Sat, 11 Jul 2009 14:24:34 +0000 http://animacenter.org/blog/?p=722#comment-5177 Nice writing. The invasive white mulberry is my totem tree, because it represents the world's unshakeable determination to bless humans with food. They were planted fifty years ago in my city, and now they pop up in thickets wherever there is a small refuge from lawnmowers. They grow along stop sign poles, though cracks in pavement, and they don't mind being mowed a few times a year. A ten year old Morus Alba can produce a hundred pounds of berries per year explosions of fertility, unnoticed by most humans, despite the throngs of joyful birds. Nice writing. The invasive white mulberry is my totem tree, because it represents the world’s unshakeable determination to bless humans with food.

They were planted fifty years ago in my city, and now they pop up in thickets wherever there is a small refuge from lawnmowers. They grow along stop sign poles, though cracks in pavement, and they don’t mind being mowed a few times a year.

A ten year old Morus Alba can produce a hundred pounds of berries per year explosions of fertility, unnoticed by most humans, despite the throngs of joyful birds.

]]>