My husband and I one year were driving through Iowa at the time of the Monarch Butterfly migrations, and it was sheer tear-evoking joy at what we saw. We pulled over at times or slowed down to try to avoid as much as possible running into any of them. It was like the sky was raining little floating orange-and-black colors. But even just watching the murmurations of starlings or blackbirds attests to the wonders all around us all the time.
I might, with humility, Leah, respond to your observation of cranes following the same path "with certainty born of a wisdom we cannot comprehend," by saying that I'm not so sure we can't comprehend that wisdom--we've only forgotten it in our insane build up and perpetuation of modernity. Is it possible that our very attraction to these things is that still, small voice reminding us of who we really are and from where we come?
I think the wonderful quote from David Abram suggests that forgetting, speaking of a "seasonal memory," and how we are drawn "back and back again to the place of one's begetting, to that precise blend of wind and rock and glistening water." We have forgotten our Origins, cutting us off from that which gives us Life. Robin Wall Kimmerer beautifully reminds us that even with that forgetting, the wounded Earth still feeds and holds us, while reminding us of the need for Reciprocity for that gift. Our ancient "Agreement with the Wild," as Martin Prechtel fashions it, includes that need for Reciprocity in remembering that it is all Holy.
So many lovely ideas, Leah--thank you. I think all of us responders need Substacks just to initiate enough room for conversations on your writings!
Oh Carrie, it must have been amazing to be amid the Monarchs! Wow! And indeed, this world is filled with wonders - if only we can stay awake to them.
I love your reflection on "wisdom we cannot comprehend." I agree, we have forgotten SO much. It's a journey of recovery that seems invited to me. My language was probably too subtle! I was thinking of not being able to understand these things from our rational, thinking mind. As you're pointing out, body, heart and soul have ways of knowing we too often neglect.
What a lovely image, Leah, that the "journey of recovery" seems invited. I'd only thought of it as necessary, but an invitation, perhaps from the Holy in the Wild (Prechtel again), seems much more hopeful--thank you!
As to Martin (pron. "Marteen") Prechtel, he is a half-blood Native American from New Mexico, brought up on a Pueblo reservation. He wandered down to Guatemala, ending up in the Tzutujil Mayan village of Santiago Atitlan. He apprenticed to the legendary village shaman, eventually taking over for him when he passed. After only a few years, though, he had to leave the country due to the violence and personal danger of the country's horrible civil war. He returned to New Mexico and spent many years--at the behest of poet Robert Bly--working at men's conferences, teaching, giving workshops and ultimately starting a very unique kind of "school" at his place for teaching students of all ages how to remember those ancient origins of which we are all a part, in order to begin to create a new kind of culture built on those memories, on beauty, and on the importance of the twinned aspects of grief and praise.
I assure you this is a very bare-boned description of his background. He is not at all a "mainstream" writer, being steeped in, and maintaining the values of, the indigenous culture of the Maya in Guatemala, though not saying we should all live like that, especially since even that beloved village was "run over" by invading colonialists and fell prey to modernity. But what he IS saying--in his 10 books; I've read 4--is so eloquently, beautifully, and humorously wise--and, make no mistake, VERY unusual--that there's simply no way to describe it. Even the blurbs on his books, from the likes of Mary Oliver and Coleman Barks, are amazing to read. This is a person of a completely different order of human being, and one that the human species would be blessed to be descended from--which, as a matter of fact, is something he says we can all become, that we all have indigenous souls.
I will say, however, that reading him, one has to be open to a radically different worldview, an animistic place of mythic depth, listening deeply to those forgotten
rhythms in ourselves. If anyone is interested, I would probably start with "The Smell of Rain on Dust" or "Rescuing the Light." His "An Unlikely Peace at Cuchumaquic" is, I believe, his magnum opus.
When you said "tell us more" you probably didn't expect this, but in case anyone is interested in something different, this would be a good place to explore.
Beautiful, thank you.
My husband and I one year were driving through Iowa at the time of the Monarch Butterfly migrations, and it was sheer tear-evoking joy at what we saw. We pulled over at times or slowed down to try to avoid as much as possible running into any of them. It was like the sky was raining little floating orange-and-black colors. But even just watching the murmurations of starlings or blackbirds attests to the wonders all around us all the time.
I might, with humility, Leah, respond to your observation of cranes following the same path "with certainty born of a wisdom we cannot comprehend," by saying that I'm not so sure we can't comprehend that wisdom--we've only forgotten it in our insane build up and perpetuation of modernity. Is it possible that our very attraction to these things is that still, small voice reminding us of who we really are and from where we come?
I think the wonderful quote from David Abram suggests that forgetting, speaking of a "seasonal memory," and how we are drawn "back and back again to the place of one's begetting, to that precise blend of wind and rock and glistening water." We have forgotten our Origins, cutting us off from that which gives us Life. Robin Wall Kimmerer beautifully reminds us that even with that forgetting, the wounded Earth still feeds and holds us, while reminding us of the need for Reciprocity for that gift. Our ancient "Agreement with the Wild," as Martin Prechtel fashions it, includes that need for Reciprocity in remembering that it is all Holy.
So many lovely ideas, Leah--thank you. I think all of us responders need Substacks just to initiate enough room for conversations on your writings!
Wow! I will definitely add to my list. Thank you, Carrie.
Oh Carrie, it must have been amazing to be amid the Monarchs! Wow! And indeed, this world is filled with wonders - if only we can stay awake to them.
I love your reflection on "wisdom we cannot comprehend." I agree, we have forgotten SO much. It's a journey of recovery that seems invited to me. My language was probably too subtle! I was thinking of not being able to understand these things from our rational, thinking mind. As you're pointing out, body, heart and soul have ways of knowing we too often neglect.
I don't know Martin Prechtel; tell us more!
Thanks, Carrie, for enriching the conversation.
What a lovely image, Leah, that the "journey of recovery" seems invited. I'd only thought of it as necessary, but an invitation, perhaps from the Holy in the Wild (Prechtel again), seems much more hopeful--thank you!
As to Martin (pron. "Marteen") Prechtel, he is a half-blood Native American from New Mexico, brought up on a Pueblo reservation. He wandered down to Guatemala, ending up in the Tzutujil Mayan village of Santiago Atitlan. He apprenticed to the legendary village shaman, eventually taking over for him when he passed. After only a few years, though, he had to leave the country due to the violence and personal danger of the country's horrible civil war. He returned to New Mexico and spent many years--at the behest of poet Robert Bly--working at men's conferences, teaching, giving workshops and ultimately starting a very unique kind of "school" at his place for teaching students of all ages how to remember those ancient origins of which we are all a part, in order to begin to create a new kind of culture built on those memories, on beauty, and on the importance of the twinned aspects of grief and praise.
I assure you this is a very bare-boned description of his background. He is not at all a "mainstream" writer, being steeped in, and maintaining the values of, the indigenous culture of the Maya in Guatemala, though not saying we should all live like that, especially since even that beloved village was "run over" by invading colonialists and fell prey to modernity. But what he IS saying--in his 10 books; I've read 4--is so eloquently, beautifully, and humorously wise--and, make no mistake, VERY unusual--that there's simply no way to describe it. Even the blurbs on his books, from the likes of Mary Oliver and Coleman Barks, are amazing to read. This is a person of a completely different order of human being, and one that the human species would be blessed to be descended from--which, as a matter of fact, is something he says we can all become, that we all have indigenous souls.
I will say, however, that reading him, one has to be open to a radically different worldview, an animistic place of mythic depth, listening deeply to those forgotten
rhythms in ourselves. If anyone is interested, I would probably start with "The Smell of Rain on Dust" or "Rescuing the Light." His "An Unlikely Peace at Cuchumaquic" is, I believe, his magnum opus.
When you said "tell us more" you probably didn't expect this, but in case anyone is interested in something different, this would be a good place to explore.