I Thank the Lord for the People I Have Found

After having fallen in love with John Muir and having increasingly grown to love Gary Snyder with every reading, I have been viewing the world around me in an immanent way. By immanent, I mean that God, God being something larger than me at work, is present in all things.

My most spiritually profound moments have consisted of being lost, overwhelmed or alone in nature. Seeing the sky bursting with color over construction or how the sky is reflected onto puddles and lakes, the openness of a mountain valley, the depth of the ocean are all things that astound me; there is so much to be amazed by in nature and is thus why we have such difficulty talking about it without sounding cheesy, hippie or contrived.

Yet, Muir eloquently reminds us that while nature would not be the same without the tiniest being, nature is also not the same without man. Humans in fact, are part of nature and we as humans relate to one another because we are one level of community within nature.

One of my favorite songs of all time is Elton John's "Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters." Beyond Elton's gift of an empowered voice and eloquent piano, the lyrics themselves discuss the balance of suffering and good in the world. Though in New York city there are no "rose" trees to remind us of nature's beauty, business men have the potential to look up into the sky every morning, but they never bother to look. Their inability to "know not if it's dark outside or light" intensifies their suffering, allowing injustice in their community. Yet the repeating chorus is "I thank the Lord for the people I have found," suggesting that the goodness in man moves between them and allows for beauty amid destruction.

I pursue a life of seeking to love unconditionally and loving all people. And to a certain extent, that's just what I've been doing. I do my best to listen to others, to understand their actions, to empathize when I feel they have done wrong and to find good in everyone. Yet it wasn't until tonight that I truly understood the divinity within people themselves.

I'm directing a retreat entitled Awakening. My co-director has always represented unconditional love to me because his eyes actually twinkle when he sees you. Tonight the students we selected to give talks met and broke into two groups. They then discussed their ideas for their talks, listened to one another's, and gave feed back. I listened to two talks on Agape, a talk on the holy spirit and a talk on faith. Each person, some of whom I knew well and others I didn't, communicated love so eloquently that their words made me aware of my every breath. Then they would give feed back to one another, pointing out the strength of the person's talk and showing them how to go farther. For those two hours, we were spiritually connected in a way I've never experienced before. My eyes kept welling with tears, though I am not one to shed such emotion, listening to their experiences and understanding of how to love others, how to be open and how to grow. And suddenly I understood the line I loved so much from the Elton John song, "I thank the Lord for the people I have found." Man's ability to relate to one another is as profound as the age of a sequoia, for there are no fragments in all of nature.

The picture at the top is of my best friend and I. We've known each other for over half our life and have a deep, loving, and incredible connection and I am very thankful to have found her and been with her so long.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9tRgYfQ48A0 (Mona Lisas and Mad Hatters)

The Beads of Mardi Gras

As this is my last known semester to be in New Orleans before I graduate and pursue another goal elsewhere, I have been trying to engage myself more fully into the culture of this city.

With that being said, the Lenten season has just begun in wake of Carnival. I have never quite understood the fascination of slowing one's reaction time by drinking heavily, only to stand in a large crowd of people and have things that I don't even want fly at my face. I also was unsure of the implications Mardi Gras has from its history in which the white, priveldged class would throw free things to the peasants. I did not understand the reason why the entire city shut down just to fill the streets with beads made in unfavorable factory conditions in China.

But this season, I decided I would go out into Mardi Gras and experience this aspect of New Orleans culture. So, I bundled up for the chilly February winds and found myself at Lee Circle. Eventhough I'm a quiet, reserved person, I suddenly found myself yelling and begging strangers to throw me cheap plastic. And eventhough the excessive beads began to weigh me down and tighten around my neck, I kept asking for more.

I believe it was after the long Friday night line of parades in which Hermes, D'etat, Morpheus and Muses rolled that I noticed how much trash was everywhere. Derby girls rolled by on the streets, barely avoiding the massive amount of beads littering the concrete. The neutral ground was unrecognizable and layered with colors, bags, broken cups, beer cans, and empty food containers. People around me dropped their finished beverages onto the ground as if it were second nature, and suddenly I slipped out of the cultural hysteria. I can't even imagine how much trash is accumulated in one single parade across the route, much less for the entire Mardi Gras season. All of this trash is simply going to a landfill somewhere, and then I began worrying about the things people put in trash cans on a normal basis. Where does it all go?

Mardi Gras is beautiful in the sense that it unites a city of people, allows strangers to stand beside one another and enjoy an evening of music, art and conversation. Yet, there is also a disturbing suggestion about its ecological impact, as evident by the great amount of trash. Perhaps there is a way to compromise culture with the environmental impact. Now that it's Lent, the city has become to be aware of their own mortality and affect on others. We give something up and chose something to do more of and give. We reflect and pray on understanding our place with God. Maybe there is room to adapt our lack of ecological consciousness during Carnival season. Or, maybe the sheer purpose of Carnival is to be excessive and gluttonous and there is no need to reevaluate the amount of consumption and trash.

Fish Are Friends, Not Food

An Icefish: these fish live in the deep ocean off the coast of Antarctica and the southern tip of South America. They live in the depths of the ocean where no other fish can survive. Their blood is transparent because they have no hemoglobin and they rely on oxygen dissolved through their skin from the surrounding water for metabolism.



For as long as I can remember, I've never been able to eat seafood. Beyond the wretched scent, I've always been disinterested in eating it. Often times I've even joked about how eating fish is like cannibalism to me because I feel so deeply connected with the ocean. I spent a part of my childhood in Venezuela and have traveled across many Caribbean and tropical countries but can never bring myself to indulge in the fine seafood cuisine. I also know that almost 80% of the entire world's fisheries are deficient, over-exploited or threatened to collapse. Fish farms, as a solution, have damaged rivers, lakes and even oceans in response. The fish raised in artifical environments are always devoid of vitamins and natural color and the benefit they bring is far less than the damage they bring.





Perhaps the most prominent (and slightly absurd) reason why I don't eat seafood is because so much of my appreciation for the ineffability and incomprehensibility of the world is derived from the ocean. Water covers 71% of the earth's surface, the earliest life forms first appeared in water, and water sustains life for every living thing. Yet, of all the world's biomes and ecosystems, we know the least about the ocean. Our bodies were not built to withstand the pressure drops (7x's faster than going upwards) and we cannot breathe under the surface; the ocean, truly, is the final frontier that man may never full explore.





My stepfather knew how much I loved learning about the ocean, so he made me a deal. If I took certification for scuba diving, he would buy me an underwater camera so that I could take pictures of all the fish. We ended up getting certified together on St. Eustatia's island (Dutch West Antilles) by a French man. I was absolutely terrified because of how unnatural it is for our bodies to be beneath the surface and because I really don't know a lot about the ocean. Yet, when I finally started to understand how to control my buoyancy and breathing, I began to look around me and witness unimaginable life. I actually giggled into my regulator when I saw a green sea turtle eating and calmly watched a reef shark swim by without being scared. I saw yellowhead jawfish burrow into the sand and spit out rocks, french angelfish darting across the coral and nurse sharks hiding beneath the coral. I saw fish I couldn't name and fish I couldn't quite describe. I was stalked by a curious barracuda and made a mutual agreement with a trumpet fish.





I think of all these creatures--of the Portuguese Man-of-war jelly who is actually several organisms living as one or the angler fish and how the male grows into the female as a parasite--and I feel insignificant. I can never become idle or bored because there is so much to learn and think about. When I think about the ocean, I can't not believe in God; though, I don't quite know what to think of God as. I do know, however, that there is something much bigger than man at work in this world and we will probably never be able to grasp it.

First Impressions of the Sand County Almanac

While John Muir walked a thousand miles exploring the inland plant life off the east coast, Aldo Leopold observed the changes in life throughout the seasons in Sand County (Part One).

Leopold discusses Muir's strong influence on his work, though he doesn't seem to mention Muir's walk as much as Muir's conservation work in California. Perhaps this is how Leopold chooses to make an "almanac," or "an annual table, or (more usually) a book of tables, containing a calender of months and days, with astronomical data and calculations, ecclesiastical and other anniversaries, besides other useful information, and, in former days, astrological and astrometeorological forecasts" (Oxford English Dictionary). By observing the seasons changes in one place, Leopold was able to comprehend the complexity of nature's system even in a concentrated area. He considers himself a landlord because he does indeed "own" land and has "tenants" that pay him in some way. He writes as if he were the wind (intentionally or unintentionally reflecting Muir) and falls in love with the sky dance of a bird.

Perhaps one of the most compelling aspects about his seasonal observation of one place is that his observations constantly pay gratitude to the implications of each aspect. For instance, he notes that someone who has an old oak has a historical library, or a "theatre of evolution" (32). While Muir felt overwhelmed by the grandeur of everything he saw, Leopold has already begun to say something more than the sheer majesty of the seasons surrounding him. It took Muir several hundred miles before he could formulate his excitement into an explanation or purpose. Perhaps this is because Muir was just beginning his journey, both of the walk and of his life as a "harmonist," and Leopold has had time to let these sights marinate and make sense to him.

A Thousand-Mile Walk to the Gulf

It seems that one begins a walk full of energy and curiosity, but as the road unfolds and feet begin to tire, the intensity wanes and one becomes despondent. Despite my disinterest in football, I found myself marching to the quarter with the rest of the city when the Saints won Sunday night. The entire night was filled with the sounds of constant honking, chanting, screaming and laughter. I was so amazed at a stupid football game's ability to unite a jaded city that I walked five miles home at 2am.

It seems that John Muir started his thousand mile walk with vibrant intensity just as I had. He was temporarily blinded in an industrial accident and was compelled to go out into the plants he studied in books, to experience them and be with them. He quit his job and societal obligations, just as I decided to not do my homework, and set out alone to follow his vocation. I, however, did not go alone as Muir had. Herein lies the difference of Muir and I's journey, besides the fact that his was 1,000 miles and mine 5: Muir went out to explore what exists without man and I went to explore how men come together. What Muir discovered though, was that nature exists with man just as man exists within nature. Rather than clinging to anger or frustration that man must always abuse nature, Muir saw that nature is enhanced by man.

Muir's walk did not tire him when he reached the subtropics. He caught fever and illness, yet his records of the walk only became clearer in the latter half of his diary:

When a page is written over but once it may be easily read; but if it be written over and over with characters of every size and style, it soon becomes unreadable, although not a single confused meaningless mark or thought may occur among all the written characters to mar its perfection. Our limited powers are similarly perplexed and overtaxed in reading the inexhaustible pages of nature, for they are written over and over uncountable times, written in characters of every size and color, sentences composed of sentences, every part of a character a sentence. There is not a fragment in all nature, for every relative fragment of one thing is a full harmonious unit in itself. All together form the one grand palimpsest of the world.

It is in this paragraph that Muir's thesis lies: All of the aspects of nature form "one grand palimpsest of the world," or one shape with layers of view points. These layers create different readings, different interpretations despite the fact that it is unchanging.

It was also near the end of my walk where I began contemplating how many hours I could sleep and finish my homework. But, then I realized how much I would miss this city when I leave. I realized in the darkened streets that even in the silence of the early morning, this city remains alive. But, all in all, every place appears different. Yet, if we were to explore and experience more of the world, we would begin to see that we all share the same sky as Muir points out. Even when the sky is different or the winds change their language, it is merely layer of words. Thus, all the different cities, ecosystems and biomes are different words, different layers overlapping and entwining over one earth. Our perspective of how to read it, how to see the earth, will change depending on where we are peering in from.

New Orleans has a certain magic to it that I do think I will miss despite my plans to run away and teach ESL in Europe. I will, however, find something written in another language, another impassioned aspect of a community no matter where I go because there are no fragments in nature; there are only repeating patterns.

The Ethics of Animal Captivity

A long debated argument within the realm of animal ethics is that of captivity in zoos. It feels unethical to lock creatures built for open fields within tiny manmade landscapes. Yet, reducing these animals to these exhibits removes them from predators, habitat degradation, scarce resources and illegal poaching. Animals in captivity are given the life span to be able to die from old age, a feat that is rarely met in nature due to natural and unnatural constraints of the wild.

Many people are saddened by the animals’ immobility despite their large bodies. Yet, these animals are not particularly active in the wild. Tigers and lions are generally as lazy as your common housecat, though the larger cats must engage a little more effort in getting their dinner beyond eating out of a bowl. If anything, we should blame our culture for depicting lions as theatrical predators just as we depict sharks and snakes as being more aggressive than they actually are. The primate exhibit at a zoo exemplifies seemingly active creatures being active in captivity. Because these animals are naturally social, they are often more exciting to see at the zoo than large cats because they enjoy the attention.

Volunteering at the aquarium, I find that the sacrifices involved in maintaining an aquarium are worth its ability to educate and fascinate visitors. Petting a stingray, despite the unnerving name, engages visitors into investing emotions with animals they do not see on a daily basis. I love talking with nervous children about how the sandtiger shark who bears nasty teeth is highly unaggressive and how King Mydas the sea turtle survived Katrina. Learning about these creatures and ecosystems in this way helps strengthen the public’s awareness of ecological necessities and conflicts.

I visited the zoo on the MLK holiday to celebrate my birthday and enjoy my Audubon volunteer card that grants me free admissions to different facilities. Most of the animals I saw seemed content basking sleepily in the sun, as they had attention, food, and shelter. Yet, I found myself staring face to face with a gorilla named Casey. He was the only animal I saw who genuinely looked discontent with his predicament. While I was watching him, a young boy was screeching, “Hi MONKEY!” over and over again, and various parental figures were saying various cutesy phrases such as “Monkey want a banana?” At first I thought it was the ape’s higher mental capacities that enabled him to recognize his own captivity and be mournful of his predicament, yet other primates we as humans are more closely related to did not share the same depression I saw in Casey.

Even when I moved on to see the juvenile giraffe and the zebras, I still had the odd feeling of a despondent returned stare from a gorilla in my mind. I think that as I continue to read for this course (Literature of Nature), I will return to visit Casey and determine why it is he was the only animal I saw who was unhappy at the zoo.

The First

This blog has been created to serve as a medium of contemplations on nature, specifically literature that discusses nature and the thoughts of others on an interrelated system or force no one will ever be able to understand.

I suppose a proper subject for a first post in an independent study course is some means of a rumination on what I hope to gain from these three credit hours.

I find myself constantly thinking, constantly wondering and attempting to seek understanding with that which happens around and without me. With volunteering at the Aquarium, canoeing in the beautiful and strange swamps around New Orleans, weekly bike rides through Audubon park, constantly reading and writing, traveling to various countries of curious ecosystems and simply being in love with the world, I don't always know how to process such senses and perceptions. By reading how others have responded to the presence of nature and how they apply such reactions into human culture, I hope to not only gain insight into the literature of nature, but to learn how to better express my own contemplations.

This blog, I hope, will be a projection of the thoughts I have while reading for the course and reactions to daily experiences with nature through unexpected texts.

I am enclosing my first post with a picture I took while serving as a camp counselor at Camp Orkila on Orcas Island, Washington. It features two counselors I worked with, both from the United Kingdom, simply enjoying the sunshine and laying in the field beside the cabin. Perhaps this blog will take my experiences and translate them into complete thoughts like this photo.