A small blue moth struggles to free itself from a spider’s web. Taking pity, I retrieve a small twig and free the moth. The web is ruined and, though free of the web, the moth remains trapped by the strong, silken fibers of the web. It will die a slow death unless some creature comes along to end its life. I turn and walk away. Are there things here for me to learn about myself, about community, about the hunter and the hunted, and about the circle of life?
In Common Ground, Uncommon Gifts: Growing Peace and Harmony through Stories, Reflections, and Practices in the Natural World, readers are led on inward journeys of discovery through outward journeys into the natural world. As such, it is a guide for individuals, families, and communities wishing to be effective stewards of their own lives and the life of the planet.
The title reflects the weaving of two concepts.
First, Common Ground acknowledges and celebrates that this is our planet. What is here is all there is. Every single being, whether animal, vegetable, mineral, or other substance, has a soul and shares this planet. Though many have known this through the infinity of time and space, more recently, we have lost sight of that deep knowing. With technology, industrialization, and a sense of superiority, we created dualities—man versus nature, mind versus body, sacred versus profane, us versus them, haves versus have nots, and civilized versus primitive among them. Relying on rationality and thought, we separated ourselves from the rest of life on the planet and claimed our superiority over all. Nature became a force to battle against and subdue. We demonized nature. We also demonized those who knew how to live in and with the natural world. The cost has been profound. Now we are faced with peak oil, burgeoning populations, climate change, and dwindling resources, all of which raise questions of sustainability. The cost has also been our isolation from our knowing of connection and interdependence that lives deep within our DNA.
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To address these problems and questions will require something more than technology. We need to be asking ourselves, “How can we re-discover what we have temporarily forgotten though it still lives within our DNA?” What must we do to re-member our Common Ground and re-find our rightful place in the Web of Life. The time is short.
This brings us to the second concept, Uncommon Gifts. The gifts are from the natural world given to us by way of our ancestors, the indigenous people who learned from their environment—the seasons, the stars, the moon and sun, the waters, and the flora and fauna. As keen observers, they learned how to survive and thrive; how to hunt, harvest, and share; how to prepare for seasonal changes by storing or migrating; how to conserve resources; and how to stay warm or to cool down. They learned how to make and use tools; how to carry, and eventually, make fire; and how to make a wheel. But their keen observations led to deeper learnings as well. These indigenous people saw their own lives reflected in the seasons —spring, summer, fall, winter and the rebirth of yet a new spring—and developed a spiritual belief system based on this knowing. They observed how groups of a single species form and live together and, from this, they developed roles for tribal members honoring the contribution of each to tribal well-being. They witnessed how important it was for the young to be transitioned into more mature roles and developed rites of passage, especially from adolescence into adulthood, to help ensure the regeneration of their society. And they saw how the old ones were honored and protected.
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Common Ground, Uncommon Gifts offers opportunities for individuals and communities to turn to the natural world as teacher and guide. Anecdotal stories, reflections, and practices offer opportunities for looking deeply into one’s own journey. In developing ways to live mindfully in the world and to find common ground with all that is here, one is free to bring one’s gifts more fully into the world of all beings, human and other.
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BEING IN SILENCE
Five teens sign up for the day hike. Everyone wants to see wildlife but, of course, we have been unsuccessful thus far because, even on the trails, talk is incessant. I am thinking about this as we drive to the trailhead. I want to see wildlife, too, but this will be a fruitless endeavor if this hike follows past form. Before setting out on the trail, I lecture, (yes, lecture) about the necessity of quiet if we hope to see any wildlife. Sensing this is an exercise in futility, we set off on the trail with a quiet pall hanging over our small band.
We enter a cool, dark forest. Sun seldom penetrates here because the forest canopy is so thick. Moisture is held here so the air is redolent of odors of mud and decay. The forest closes in around us. Suddenly we hear the snapping of bushes on our left. We stop. The sounds build as some creature comes nearer. The air is filled with expectation—excitement fused with uncertainty. What can this be? We hold our collective breath as this creature approaches. Then out of the woods in front of us emerges a cow moose and newborn calf. The cow stops, takes the measure of us, then continues her way across the trail with her calf following on unsteady legs. Filled with awe and stunned into silence, there is no need now to remind anyone about walking and talking quietly. Everyone is smiling at one another in disbelief, and I am smiling and offering a silent “thank you” to spirit.