Author: Dena Eakles

1. the process of coming into view or becoming exposed after being concealed

2. the process of coming into being, or of becoming important or prominent.

Trillium begins to unfold its delicate petals for all to see. The May apple hides its beauty to casual observance. Stinging nettles abundantly rise and there is oh, so much good packed into every bite, if you are willing…the beauty of spring… the dance of emergence.

And I marvel at my own willingness to shine. This is not a moment to cower in fear. This is the moment to celebrate. This is not the moment of doubt. This is the time of hope in action. This is not a moment of debate. Birth does not allow it. We are in a time of birth. We are in a time of emergence. That which has been concealed is made known. That which has been lessened is moving to prominence.

This is the time of the Good. It is not a time to waste in mediocrity. It is not a time to waste in the ignorance of old. This is now. This is new.

And it is oh, so practical. There is nothing more practical than peace. There is nothing more diligent than kindness. There is nothing more powerful than love.

Yes I am giddy with possibility. I am tasting the power of the human spirit and it is delicious. Please take away the plate of wrath. I have had my fill.

Today I know this: the seeds of good have been planted and are taking root. The shadow has no place in the sun. The spring rains are quenching the parched land and all will be well. In my heart and yours. In our lives and for our children, emerge.

photo compliments of Jan Kenyon

The grass crunches underfoot. That isn’t quite right for Wisconsin in April. Looks to be a dry spring…

I spent time today wrapping apple trees. The heirloom orchard is shared with the sheep, who learned from the goats that when grass is down tender bark is great to eat.

As I meandered through the orchard, I recalled a young man here as a woofer (www.wwoof-usa.org) who had wrapped these trees years before. He told me he was studying agriculture and business. I said, “So you may be the CEO of Monsanto one day.” He said, “Yes.”And I said, “Good, then I am really glad you are here.”

Throughout the week, we worked together. He was quick to point out ways to save time and make money. I listened. Then I would point out the joy in simplicity, the kindness to the animals and the land, the value of intention and the honing of being conscious…

When it came to shearing the sheep, he was left in disbelief. I shear my sheep with scissors. For one moment in time they get some corn and I get some wool. We both keep our dignity and our friendship.

There’s much more to stewardship than money.

The following spring the pressure was on and we were looking to create more cash flow, so I wrote my young friend for some business advice. His reply, “Don’t change Echo Valley. What I learned there has stayed with me. I think about it often.”

I guess kindness has its own currency. Perhaps it is nearing time to replace the old one. Count me in.

photo compliments of Noho

Spring is officially here. The sheep are eagerly chasing after fresh green grass. The dogs and Beauty, the handsome  mule, are sleeping in the warm sun.

I was out working on the tractor and thinking about “the family of man”. I was thinking of how similar we are in our hopes and dreams, in our longings, in our drive to make things better, in our need for peace. Acknowledging that I have been more inclined to celebrate our similarities then to fear our differences, I thought back to moments that probably made that so. Wondering where the phrase “the family  of man” came from, I remembered a book of photography I had as a child. It was filled with hundreds of pictures of people the world  over depicting the wonder and the struggle of the human family and I cherished it.

From my own little corner of the world, in a pre-internet era, I was given the chance to see people like me, but different,  with their strengths and their weaknesses, with their joys and their pain and I was touched. I remember feeling proud of this family. I remember wishing the best for this family. And I guess that has not changed for me.

I think there is a kind of tuning fork we all have inside of us that gets stirred by the right stroke. What it takes to ring that chime is a different for each of us and what may make my heart sing may be of little value to you. So it cannot be, look at this, think like this, behave like this and you will feel it…Rather to feel my heart singing let’s me know your heart is capable of singing, too.

Knowing that brings me great happiness and provides a certainty reminiscent of this moment in time. Regardless of the trials of winter, the spring is here, again. And that my friends is a most powerful weapon. Knowing that the heart can sing, is singing, in the family of man, regardless of our hardships. There is no need to bemoan what is wrong; there is just enough time to celebrate what is.

From The Family of Man a collection of photography gathered by Edward Streichen: “There is only one man in the world and his name is All Men.
There is only one women in the world and her name is All Women.
There is only one child in the world and the child’s name is All Children.”
– Carl Sandburg, an excerpt of his exhibition commentary

Photograph compliments of my friend, Jannet Chang

Every drop of love you feel stretches your heart to hold that much more.

Never forget the kindnesses extended to you. Don’t let them be buried in regret.

People extoll duty. I think it is a waste of time. Do what you do because it feeds you. Do what you do for the sake of Love.

If Love guides you, even mistakes turn sweet.

We are all connected. Never doubt the power of loving.

The Best Remembrance is Living Life to its fullest.

These are the meanderings on this day, the one-year anniversary of the passing of one who loved. Rest in Peace.

To all of you, may Love hold you. Every Breath. Enjoy.

I watch the sun rise, grateful to greet her again. Annie had said to me once, “Rise before the sun.” In those days it was a bit of a struggle, waking long before my mind thought it was a good idea. But as time progresses, I have grown to love being alert to greet my friend. I have come to excite in her summoning of the day and all the Beauty she will bring. And in the time before the dawn, in the quiet of my soul, I allow the cascade of characters, both living and gone, to remind me of the preciousness of Life, and I make my promise to fill this day with sweet moments. And so it goes.

While you are here, Love.

The Kickapoo Valley Reserve  had a fund raising event. Small canvases were given  to people to create art that messaged Nature and later the canvases were auctioned. The hand was my offering. The finer points of art have alluded me. The joy of living has not.

The days of quiet ignorance are slipping away. The days of believing your voice is not important are gone. The days of shielding yourself from pain with drugs and alcohol are a total waste. The days of anger over what is broken have only made things worse. There are ways to make things better.

The days of eyes wide open are upon us. The time for awakening the power of the human spirit is now. The days of compassion and respect have arrived. The moment of appreciation for this oh, so brief time on this beautiful Earth is happening. Where are you?

Because, you are desperately needed. Contrary to the pundits and the theories of the day, contrary to generations of enslavement of all types, contrary to ideologies who long for a heaven and miss the one we are living in, contrary to everything that has told you that you are a mistake, lacking worth, and must grovel for a drop of happiness that will eternally allude you – contrary to all of that BS, there is a simple truth.

You are alive and the life that pulses through you is a gift and you have the ability to resonate with the kindness of that gift – no matter what you have done, no matter what has been done to you.

This is the moment. Today is the day. Each of us needs to wake up to the simple reality that holds us as we live and manifest the wonder and the glory of the possibility that life holds – for everyone of us, for the Earth and for those yet to come. As my dear Native friends say – for the two legged, the four legged, the creeping ones, the ones that fly, for all our relations.

Now is the time.

Acrylic painting of turtle compliments of Nikole Verde

There is a story that I have grown to love. It has become a guiding principle for me. The gist is that there is a king who always tried to stump a member of his court known to be quick witted and not easily tricked. One day the king called to his friend, and laying a stick before him, said, “How can you make this stick shorter without touching it?”

The courtier thought for a moment, went outside and returned with another stick larger than the first. He laid it down next to the shorter stick of the king – thus making the king’s stick smaller without touching it.

It seems we are in a bit of a bind. All around us we see hardship, hatred, destruction and the devaluing of our humanity. This is the short stick.

This is, I think, the stick we are not meant to touch; but how to change it?

Lay a bigger stick. Lay the stick of kindness; lay the stick of peace. Instead of wringing our hands and recounting the fear filled moments we see, or raising our fist to display the anger we feel, perhaps it is our time to lay the bigger stick.

The way out is not always apparent. The ways we have tried have failed.

I am betting on the heart to win, even as the bookies are setting the odds against it. I am “waging love” as my friends in Detroit have proclaimed it.

I am fighting every day to upend my own dark thoughts. I am growing vigilant that my words and actions reflect all that I know is possible – and you know what? – it’s fun.

All my life people have said, “Peace is boring.” My response remains, “Then you have not yet met peace.”

There is no game built that can rival the game of the heart. There is no fan cheering louder for your victory than the cry of your soul to make peace. You want to change the world? Lay a bigger stick.

Photo compliments of MJ Novick

My Father had a magic hand. He used it most frequently at dinnertime. Often on meatless Friday meals when the common fare might be lima beans on toast or similar. By Friday my Mother had had enough of my antics and I had had enough of the compromise expected of children, so coming to the table of beans was a tipping point as my Father sat to my right and my Mother directly opposite me.

My Father worked a factory job, up and out by 4:30 am, five days a week. He was a man who cherished peace. My Mother craved hot peepers while she was carrying me – need I say more? In those days we were quite often at odds and sitting eye to eye at dinner was not one of our better moments.

When emotions would reach a tipping point, up came the hand. I don’t remember when it began. I don’t remember any words associated with it. But when the hand came to my face and passed in front of my eyes and moved down, slowly, never touching me, I would begin to smile.

It was as if he washed away my anger. It never failed. He was teaching me how transient were these emotions of frustration and derision, and by helping me change, he empowered me. He opened a door to a more compelling nature inside of me. That comforting place has remained my solace and my guide and continues to grow deeper as I tend to it.

Now there are lots of people willing to explain this all away with talk of energy, psychology, etc. But I can tell you it was, and is, quite simply Love.

“There comes a time when silence is betrayal.” ― Martin Luther King Jr.

I told you I was going now I will tell you what I saw at the Solidarity Shawl Marches in Honor of the Murdered and Missing Indigenous Women in Minneapolis and Duluth.

They came with photographs of missing or murdered dead sisters, aunts, mothers, children. They told of finding loved ones after years of search. They expressed gratitude in finding them and in bringing them home again – some to their graves. They told of the loved Ones they know nothing about except that they are gone. Of ships sailing from the harbors of Duluth taking young captives. Of domestic violence tearing families apart. Some came with tears. Some came with fight. All came with love.

I know about history and conquest and rape, gender genocide and sex trafficking. I know about man camps and police turning their backs. I know about self-serving perceptions and judgement of the value-less lives of women turned prostitute in order to survive.  And I know that if the lives lost were children and women from privilege this would not be the epidemic it has become.

I knew about lives lost. Now I am witness to the love and honoring of those lives by the Ones left behind. I shared in their grief and in their laughter. I watched fathers holding their sons’ hands and young daughters being raised in dignity and surrounded by love. I saw generations holding out for the best for their families and for their people and I recognized again how similar we all are. And I know that if the lost were children and women from privileged neighborhoods in an affluent “white world” this would not be the epidemic it has become.

And I say to myself, “Your silence is betrayal”. And I say to myself, “What more can I do?”

The violence would end if each of us understood the preciousness of every life – including our own.

When our humanity becomes sacred to us, it will end. When we understand our silence as betrayal it will end.

Because it is someone’s son or daughter who is inflicting this violence. It is someone’s shame and ignorance that tears into the flesh of another.

The first step is admitting it. The second step requires turning shame into love.

End the silence. Find the love. In whatever way you can make it end.

http://www.miwsac.org