Oh how your words resonate with me. I’ve just returned from a 48-day hike where we walked 670kms through bush, hardly crossing a road or meeting a person. Now I’m back in the city, I feel lost, disconnected from life. What a difference slowing down makes!!
The trees! The trees! Hewn in a blind moment, they are not "trees" but 150 or 200 years of living miracle, and we act as if they are not 150 or 200 hundred years times four seasons, stories beyond the telling, below, their roots caverns of countless living cities secret and silent without the madness above the ground. And yes, there too. Above the ground harboring all the life we dare not see too long, in intimate intimation almost wishing ourselves into unknowing, when we dare to look up in every direction that is opposite of the steel that is clawing at the sky. At least, at least we have looked, and beheld, and dared to say. Oh thank you for your daring.
It all resonates, especially this stark truth: “Whenever it was that we stopped knowing trees and Birds and the air that we share as our universal, God-given siblings, I fear that we put down something vital and we picked up something sharp and unwieldy.” I appreciate your reminder that the way back from our estrangement is to listen, to give our attention, to heed the stirrings of our hearts. We make things so complicated (think of what goes into building a skyscraper ~ !), when really it was all set in motion long before our appearance. We have only to notice and accept the invitation to reconnect. There is hope.
Only your words have the ability to do this to me; warmth moves through my body like a spring shower, gently trickling through my veins. As I stare out my window, drying my tears,
sometimes I wonder. If we were blessed to be a bird, even for a day, an hour, or a dream, we could fly up to the forest canopy. Feel the immediacy of survival in the moment, the simple pleasure of cracking a seed pod with our beak. Build a nest, carrying one stick at a time. Sing a beautiful melody like a Thrush, or the whistle of Chickadee, while looking down at our human foolishness. Would we then understand the delicate balance? Or, if we could, would we choose to stay.
I am on my way over for a hug under the Horse Chestnut tree. Put your coat on, we’ll be outside for a long while.
Humus is the root of our humanity, humility is our greatest strength. Like trees we grow from mother earth and reach towards father sky. Our kin surrounds us always and we lack for nothing.
I also wish the humans would slow down and rest beneath the trees for awhile!
Thank you, thank you Chloe, for your inspiration, you have my vote. Let’s hope the WTAF party rises up everywhere and returns us to our roots 💕
Hi Chloe, I listened to this post this afternoon as I cleaned my ‘mother’s studio’, where I have hosted my younger 35 yo cousin for the week ... of things ‘death and birds’, it was our grandmother’s 104th birthday today, and so, as per cousin's wish, I took her to the cemetery so she could touch the plaque, with some roses from my mother’s climber in the yard, before taking her to the bus so she could head back interstate ... funny how we humans respond to matters of the heart ... in ways that nurture our being, different — the same.
I found myself laughing as I listened, shaking the doona back into the sun dried cover ..., and then, in an instant crying and feeling fury ... you were on ‘loud speaker’, and as I began to cry ... there I smelt cigarette smoke — mum was present, she is very funny, cigarette smoke being one of her signs — she died from COPD! Your post took me where I felt it ... such beauty and grace you bring, in all of the emotions you share with us.
The birds — and other animals. How I am talking to the fledglings of the magpie couple who befriended me, who have now both experienced death by car/human ... they have a new papa that Gracie took before she too recently disappeared ... I have promised them that we will be better acquainted over Summer. They watch me from the wire, and practice their warble ... I trust that they know I am OK. I am in their territory and I suspect that their knowledge of me on the corner has been passed to them.
I had 2 return trips to Melbourne during the week, so I relate to your musings on the cramped skies. I watched a doco on Netflix with my cousin just last night about the devastating destruction of Victorian buildings in the city that was my home ... I cried.
Anyway, thank you for writing and reading ... and listening. 🙏💖
“Perhaps, like me, corvids reserve their grudges solely for human beings.”
First this made me laugh out loud… and then I reflected. I will forgive my dog, the woodpeckers drilling holes in our siding, the squirrel in the wall keeping me awake by repeatedly dropping a nut… but people, I somehow expect them to “know better, do better”.
V. Interesting to think about.
How might I work my way through my “grudges” differently.
Our western cultures have their values ass-backwards. Instead of honoring love and compassion, the culture values greed and control. At the root of this, as you say so beautifully, are terrified children who imagine death to be a horrible abyss, to be avoided at any and all cost. Your writing is a brilliant light that shows me the best of humanity, and I’m grateful for the reminder of what is possible. Thank you Chloe.
Oh how your words resonate with me. I’ve just returned from a 48-day hike where we walked 670kms through bush, hardly crossing a road or meeting a person. Now I’m back in the city, I feel lost, disconnected from life. What a difference slowing down makes!!
The trees! The trees! Hewn in a blind moment, they are not "trees" but 150 or 200 years of living miracle, and we act as if they are not 150 or 200 hundred years times four seasons, stories beyond the telling, below, their roots caverns of countless living cities secret and silent without the madness above the ground. And yes, there too. Above the ground harboring all the life we dare not see too long, in intimate intimation almost wishing ourselves into unknowing, when we dare to look up in every direction that is opposite of the steel that is clawing at the sky. At least, at least we have looked, and beheld, and dared to say. Oh thank you for your daring.
I love your Horse Chestnut tree, Chloe, because you shared such a beautiful sense of her, and how deeply you know her... I also know a tree...
Something in these paragraphs, each one, makes me want to rush out to the old Magnolia and hold her tight...
I want to rush across an ocean and hug Chloe.
It all resonates, especially this stark truth: “Whenever it was that we stopped knowing trees and Birds and the air that we share as our universal, God-given siblings, I fear that we put down something vital and we picked up something sharp and unwieldy.” I appreciate your reminder that the way back from our estrangement is to listen, to give our attention, to heed the stirrings of our hearts. We make things so complicated (think of what goes into building a skyscraper ~ !), when really it was all set in motion long before our appearance. We have only to notice and accept the invitation to reconnect. There is hope.
Sleep stupor speeders,
worse than running with scissors.
Beyond human loss.
Only your words have the ability to do this to me; warmth moves through my body like a spring shower, gently trickling through my veins. As I stare out my window, drying my tears,
sometimes I wonder. If we were blessed to be a bird, even for a day, an hour, or a dream, we could fly up to the forest canopy. Feel the immediacy of survival in the moment, the simple pleasure of cracking a seed pod with our beak. Build a nest, carrying one stick at a time. Sing a beautiful melody like a Thrush, or the whistle of Chickadee, while looking down at our human foolishness. Would we then understand the delicate balance? Or, if we could, would we choose to stay.
I am on my way over for a hug under the Horse Chestnut tree. Put your coat on, we’ll be outside for a long while.
I think we do need the ‘What The Actual Fuck’ party… and it needs to be a global one.
Humus is the root of our humanity, humility is our greatest strength. Like trees we grow from mother earth and reach towards father sky. Our kin surrounds us always and we lack for nothing.
I also wish the humans would slow down and rest beneath the trees for awhile!
Thank you, thank you Chloe, for your inspiration, you have my vote. Let’s hope the WTAF party rises up everywhere and returns us to our roots 💕
Hi Chloe, I listened to this post this afternoon as I cleaned my ‘mother’s studio’, where I have hosted my younger 35 yo cousin for the week ... of things ‘death and birds’, it was our grandmother’s 104th birthday today, and so, as per cousin's wish, I took her to the cemetery so she could touch the plaque, with some roses from my mother’s climber in the yard, before taking her to the bus so she could head back interstate ... funny how we humans respond to matters of the heart ... in ways that nurture our being, different — the same.
I found myself laughing as I listened, shaking the doona back into the sun dried cover ..., and then, in an instant crying and feeling fury ... you were on ‘loud speaker’, and as I began to cry ... there I smelt cigarette smoke — mum was present, she is very funny, cigarette smoke being one of her signs — she died from COPD! Your post took me where I felt it ... such beauty and grace you bring, in all of the emotions you share with us.
The birds — and other animals. How I am talking to the fledglings of the magpie couple who befriended me, who have now both experienced death by car/human ... they have a new papa that Gracie took before she too recently disappeared ... I have promised them that we will be better acquainted over Summer. They watch me from the wire, and practice their warble ... I trust that they know I am OK. I am in their territory and I suspect that their knowledge of me on the corner has been passed to them.
I had 2 return trips to Melbourne during the week, so I relate to your musings on the cramped skies. I watched a doco on Netflix with my cousin just last night about the devastating destruction of Victorian buildings in the city that was my home ... I cried.
Anyway, thank you for writing and reading ... and listening. 🙏💖
Your writing is astonishing beautiful, Chloe and it moves me deeply.
You are a treasure and I am so grateful I have found you.
Thank you
That last line made me cry. You speak so wonderfully about how so many of us feel.
“Perhaps, like me, corvids reserve their grudges solely for human beings.”
First this made me laugh out loud… and then I reflected. I will forgive my dog, the woodpeckers drilling holes in our siding, the squirrel in the wall keeping me awake by repeatedly dropping a nut… but people, I somehow expect them to “know better, do better”.
V. Interesting to think about.
How might I work my way through my “grudges” differently.
Thanks Chloe.
Society is increasingly divorcing from the natural world, world leaders see it as a recourse to exploit,
any objection is seen as a barrier to growth, this of course is leading to a planet struggling to continue it's natural cycles.
If you have never felt the spirit of a tree, then you will not care.
Our language reflects the belief that Life is ours alone—and that may just be the thing that kills us…..profoundly prophetic😢
Our western cultures have their values ass-backwards. Instead of honoring love and compassion, the culture values greed and control. At the root of this, as you say so beautifully, are terrified children who imagine death to be a horrible abyss, to be avoided at any and all cost. Your writing is a brilliant light that shows me the best of humanity, and I’m grateful for the reminder of what is possible. Thank you Chloe.
This one was hard to read. Punched me in the gut.