Perplexing Planning

The Republicans would have us believe that their vision for America is the right one, that they are carefully planning our return to greatness as a nation. Planning. Hmm. So, they planned their convention to be in South Florida smack dab in the worst part of hurricane season? Yep. That’s some planning.

And the Democrat’s convention will be in Charlotte, which is also potentially, but somewhat less so, in the teeth of the same season. Again, we have some planning issues. I guess I just don’t understand the thought process here. Maybe I’m being unfair and un-American. We should never kowtow to Nature. That would be cowardly.

Both of these political parties are so busy telling us what they think we want to hear that they have, perhaps, lost their grip on reality. I sincerely hope that the tens-of-thousands of people who will show up in these cities will have safe events.


Ah, reality. Perhaps we should encourage that our candidates, whoever they might be, pay attention to it and not generate more foggy rhetoric designed to make the other side look bad. It kind of reminds me of a knife fight aboard an inflatable life raft in really deep water.

No Humans, No Nothing

A deep, almost unbearable sadness has transfixed me this evening. It came over me as I played with Toulouse, games we play every day. It started with me thinking of how I’ll miss him when he’s grown old and gone, or when Jessica moves away into another phase of her life. Toulouse was doing his predictable dog things, keeping the toy from me, growling as if to warn me away but watching me with hope to continue the game. I was filled with affection for him in particular and for dogs and all non-human creatures in general. And then I thought, what if there were no humans to feel and show that affection? What if we were gone from the earth? There would be no poetry. There would be no ears to interpret sound patterns as music. There would be nobody to stare out over a grand vista and feel the power of it, to rise to touch the face of wonder and to feel profoundly grateful for the privilege of being able to simply breathe the miracle of air. There would be no imagination.

This human experience has certainly put the planet’s ability to sustain warm-blooded life in jeopardy. Greed and rapacious human behavior have put everything at risk. The dark side of human nature is producing endless war as the dangerous hybrid of corporate economics and exclusionary ideology grope toward some kind of have and have-not world order. That’s been around forever. It is upon the Dark Side that poetry, music, and enlightened thought crash like waves against an impossible cliff.

If humans were not here, the Dark Side would vanish, as would all that stands against it. There would be no need to uplift the human spirit. The rest of Life would go about it’s business without the slightest hint of worry. We are the creators of Art and the only appreciators of it. If we were gone wolves would live in symbiosis with the deer and elk. Salmon would still have a heck of a time getting around the dams, but they wouldn’t be fished to near extinction. The oceans would heal, as would every thing else. Plastic would become part of evolution. Climate would shift and dance like it has since the dawn of time. And there would be no time, none whatsoever. There would only be cycles of vast complex relationships. There would be nothing to define, categorize, or understand them. Things would just be. Events would never be analyzed.

This made me profoundly sad. Both cruelty and kindness would be gone from the world. All we bring to the moveable feast is our ability to interpret it to express it to each other. We are unique in that regard and our passing would still be insignificant to the rest of the creatures here. We would not be missed. Dogs would still be dogs for as long as they could survive. Perhaps we have taken a path that is doomed to ultimate loneliness. Perhaps we could have nurtured better relationships with the other species. That is one of the reasons that I will always pay attention to dogs and believe they are worth spending time with. Through relationships with animals I can understand my own animalistic nature. Even if it becomes simply wondering about my relationship with Everything Else. It is difficult to understand a world where we are not here to attempt to understand it.

Good night.

A City Morning

This morning illustrated perfectly why I have chosen to live where I live. There is a word for a frozen fog that forms in the mountain valleys of the western United States: pogonip. Allegedly, its origins are traced to the Shoshone language, which makes sense since they populated that kind of country. As it turns out, I do too and this morning I watched ridge after ridge march to Mt. Hood, our very own Cascade volcano. These local ridges were separated by a dense white pogonip, row upon row. It was spectacular. The sun was still hidden, but the horizon was falling away rapidly to reveal it. It was a study in grayscale, with a hint of pale rose as a promise of the blazing to come. For an moment, there was absolutely no evidence of anything manmade. It was utterly wild and it was just me looking with an open heart. I would not trade that for anything. It happens, here in this city, several times a year.

All through my working day those images stayed with me. Even now, as the day fades into tomorrow, I am compelled to describe what I saw and to, somehow, cast meaning to it. Why can’t I just recall the view and love it for what it was, a nice visual on the way to work? I think I want to give it added meaning because it is, almost always, a profound and rare experience to feel the presence of wilderness in a major metropolitan area. I feel something similar when I see a coyote in the woods behind my house, or a deer walk through my front yard. I feel something like it most every day when I see hummingbirds and other birds come to the feeders I have out. I see Redtail Hawks and Bald Eagles fly over the house. These are events that inform me directly that I am probably not the crown of creation, that I must share space with fauna and flora very different from myself.

I find this incredibly important. It humbles me in ways that I’m sure I don’t entirely understand. These creatures have just as much stake in this planet, perhaps more, than I do. They remind me that my daily actions can either harm or enhance their very chances of survival. And my own as well.

Most likely, I will get up tomorrow with the sun or slightly before, build a fire, and go out for a morning walk to watch the sky change colors. I’ll try and slip through the neighborhoods like a ghost, leaving no trace of my passing. I’ll climb a couple of formidable hills to heat my blood and give my body the work it craves. While I’m at it I will keep my eyes moving, trying to catch a glimpse of wilderness as it hides from an ever-encroaching city, always hopeful that I will be blessed with that vision. Yes, always hopeful.