A Courageous Act of Humanity

I have a question. I see it all around me. It shows up in my rear view mirror, and it even questions me while I’m listening to the radio. There is no avoiding it. And there absolutely no way I can pretend as if I already know the answer.

Are you curious? I’m sure curious how you’d answer this question:

are we a part of the cure, or a part of the disease?  

This question may be a rendition of a Coldplay lyric, but I’m serious. I honestly don’t know. Many years ago, my friend and I were hanging out in our town’s downtown park and we came across a mutual friend with a companion we hadn’t met before. As we made introductions, the stranger asked what me and my friend were all about, and institutionally, my friend answered “animals.”  We went on to exchange stories about our affection for animals, and the guy, who still didn’t know jack about us, chimed in saying, “Yeah, I feel so sad to see animals in cages, and how people keep all animals in zoos. They should all be left free-e-e, you know.” 

It was a funny thing, because at that point something like instinct was triggered in my friend as she heatedly asked where his belief really came from. Because we all can agree that nobody likes seeing animals in cages, it doesn’t really mean that we can be brash and say we should set them free-e-e-e. Although rather unfortunately, in this encounter, we couldn’t all be nice, listen patiently and nod our heads in unison. Some surprising things were said. Like, “every time you drive a car, you’re killing an animal. Driving at 60 mph means you’re bound to hit and kill an innocent animal. We should outlaw driving!”  And then someone said, “every time you take a step, you’re likely stomping on and killing an innocent, adorable bug. Does that mean that we should all stop walking?” 

The debate raged on and on. Normally I love a good debate, but the problem with debates is that both sides only end up getting more entrenched in their own narrow perspective. And in this case, my friend and I were left with the memory of watching our friend of a friend march away in his wool sweater, with steam blowing out of his ears. And all I could say was, “if he is so worried about keeping animals in cages, I wonder why he likes wearing wool sweaters.” Oh well.

The more experience I have working with animals and learning from different people who work with animals for a living, the more I come to love this saying I heard a very modest horseman say:

I may not know much about animals, but I don’t know **** about anything else.

And the more that I study the philosophies of different ancient medical traditions, I more I come to feel incredibly humble about the fact that I may not know much about complementary medicine, but I don’t know anything about anything else.

It seems that so many people want to be an expert in their field. Only they can’t decide what field to tap roots into, so they can grow to be an expert. It seems that so many people grow old without growing wiser. And it seems to me that there is a lot of intelligence out there, but not as much common sense. I never cease to be amazed. Just when I begin to think I know what is really going on…

I’m quite content to not know what I’m talking about. I’m really fine to let life’s processes remain in the feminine realm of intuition and deep transformation. Our senses are much more limited than other animals, like dogs’ whose sense of smell is ten thousand times more acute. Certain things are beyond our limitations of knowing or sensing. And that’s great news, really! None of us should feel responsible for being a master of the universe. And truly, all of the teachers I met who I would certainly call masters, don’t ever proclaim themselves to be. So what does that say?

If we’re a part of the cure, then we must not know it, but sense it like infrasonic rumbles beneath an elephant’s sensitive feet. If we’re a part of the disease, then we’re likely too busy causing harm to notice.

The Persian mystic, Rumi, wrote that, out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and right-doing there is a field. I’ll meet you there.

When we can get to this field, which is surely a place within us, I believe what Rumi meant is that we’ll find true connection and pure belonging. This is the place where animals live when they are free to take care of themselves and connect to nature. There is no doubt, although remember, I don’t know ****.

I think this is important to talk about, because if we have a feeling of where we belong, then we must be with our tribe. I am always seeking connection to nature and place, but a place feels like home when my tribe inhabits it. I can’t explain how it works, but I think the mystics do a pretty good job. I have faith in knowing, and I have faith in cultural traditions. But I feel like there is a disease running rampant in the many communities where the belief that the human mind has the unique ability out of all species to explain everything, is allowed to cement its’ tent stakes. And I do consider one of my most beloved writers, Elizabeth Gilbert, to be a true mystic when she says,

    There’s a reason we refer to “leaps of faith” – because the decision to consent to any notion of divinity is a mighty jump from the rational over to the unknowable, and I don’t care how diligently scholars of every religion will try to sit you down with their stacks of books and prove to you through scripture that their faith is indeed rational; it isn’t. If faith were rational, it wouldn’t be – by definition – faith.

    Faith is belief in what you cannot see or prove or touch. Faith is walking face-first and full-speed into the dark. If we truly knew all the answers in advance as to the meaning of life and the nature of God and the destiny of our souls, our belief would not be a leap of faith and it would not be a courageous act of humanity; it would just be… a prudent insurance policy.

Photo Courtesy La Abeja Herbs

The lesson here is don’t hesitate to reassure yourself that all is ok; you don’t need to know everything. You have just enough life in you to find the field where you belong and to delight in watching every stunning blade of grass grow! I mean this as a metaphor, although you and I both know that there is no good fun like watching grass grow. Trust me.

When you cross that threshold, you’ll see very clearly what side you’re a part of. Whether you live in the dark and gaze at the sun, or you live in the light and gaze at the moon, you are living on the great divide. And what you need is not a prudent insurance policy, but a faith in your own courageous act of humanity.

 

The Ocean in Emotion

Ancient folklore describes the horse as being created from the ocean.

From Juliette de Bairacli Levy’s Herbal Handbook for Farm and Stable, she writes “Legend tells that the horse, stallion and mare were created from the sea waves and emerged white as sea-foam…further legend from Greece tells of Chiron the centaur (half horse, half man) who, long ago, was so wise in knowledge of medicinal herbs that heroes and demi-gods went to him worshipfully to be his pupils.” If you’ve ever experienced the fortune of running with horses on the beach or in gentle waves, you may have already gotten the feeling that they belong on the seaside. Juliette, the famed grandmother of herbal medicine for animals who was one of the biggest influences in bringing herbal medicine to the states, writes that “the horse flourishes when raised by the sea or within reach of sea winds… and certainly benefits greatly from the addition to the daily food of iodine and general minerals-rich seaweed (of most types, though deep-sea kelp is the preferred one).”

The reason I write this is because, first of all I haven’t written in a while. And second, the reason is because of an ocean of emotions in my life that has me learning to breathe under water…again. While it seems most of my existence on this planet has been time spent around horses and their magnetic hearts, because that’s where I gravitate to now, in truth the first few years of my life were spent in the water. When I was young, I could swim better than I could run. I could say that by the first time I rode a horse I gave up my sea legs for the saddle, but I never really gave them up. Water is in my blood, not just in my physical body, but in my family tree. My Grandfather was a passionate fisherman and raised every one of his children by the sea. My Dad has likely spent the greater part of his life in water, whether surfing, diving for treasure or swimming just for the hell of it. And I amazingly enough got to grow up exploring California’s coast line with my father, in search for the perfect wave.

My family tree, if I was to illustrate it, would look like deep-sea kelp because we are inextricably linked to an ancient ocean of wisdom. We all learned to swim before we could walk. We, like horses thrive on sea breezes and make our roots close to the coast, our homes sprawling up and down the California and Baja California Coast. Knowing the roots and listening to the stories that are dug into the roots of my family tree warm me deeply. And when grieving needs to happen or when we let go of some of our losses, I believe we can ease our pain by looking to our oceans.

We all have an ocean within us, in Ayurveda it is related to the kidneys and our lymphatic system. One of my anatomy teachers goes as far to say that our bodies, as a whole, are one big ocean. Every one of our cells is bathed in water, and within every one of those cells there is more water. When we look deeply, we see that the macrocosm and microcosm of the environment to the body and the body to the internal environment keeps on scaling down until our microscopes can no longer scale down. Life, in its full field of vision is one amazing spiral which shows us time and again that what it outside of ourselves is within ourselves too.

Photo Courtesy La Abeja Herbs

During clinic this past week at the Ayurvedic healing center where I am working on my residency, the lead practitioner in my group was speaking to the importance of staying hydrated to begin to change anything in our health. They way she explained hydration has stayed with me, as she said that when our bodies are well hydrated and we are stressed, we are able to bend. But when we are dehydrated and we become stressed, we don’t just bend, we break. So what is the lesson here that the ocean, horses, our families and trees especially have to teach us? The lesson is wonderfully simple enough: when we take care of our oceans, (not just kidneys, lymphatic system but our WHOLE BODY) we will be better able to bend with stress, not break apart from it.

The Ancient’s may have believed that horses were created in the ocean, but I recently learned from a friend a new perspective on what it means to believe. Of course, no matter what we believe the truth will remain true, to believe could be seen sometimes as “being in the lie”. I cannot accept that to believe is to be caught in a lie, though sometimes it can be that stubborn beliefs can blind people to the real truth. I’m sure we’ve all come across what holding onto these kinds of belief can do. However, because my father is a fisherman I was raised on stories of what treasures and mysteries the ocean held, and see belief as an essential tool to have in our lives, (especially on the open sea). Each story my dad shared was incredible and unbelievable in its own way, but the lessons I caught onto in each story of the sea was that absence of belief in a story of shipwreck and encircling sharks may be the difference between life and death. As a fisherman, you may be taught emergency procedures and possess the knowledge of survival in such circumstances, but without a strong belief that you will survive, what will keep you looking for reassurances from lighthouses?

Our emotions are governed by the intuitive waters within ourselves. It’s been shown that we share with all living creatures in varying degrees these emotions, but I do believe that no one has ventured as far to say that all other creatures, in addition to having senses capable of feeling, are capable of belief. Whose to say something so daring anyway! Since belief in itself is a tool very similar to the mind in that we only know its existence because it tells us so. Therefore let me be as bold as to say that if belief works mysteriously in our process of making discoveries about ourselves, then other living creatures undoubtedly can believe, although maybe they have no use for it.

Since beliefs have the power to focus us on reassurances we are seeking, and blind us altogether if we are unwilling to give up that which no longer allows us to grow, I find it more useful myself to use beliefs only until they get me to a place of knowing. Indeed, knowledge can change and researchers and scientists discover new information all the time that changes the paradigm as we once knew it. However knowledge as a tool seems to me to be more flexible a structure than a belief as a system. The two are equally powerful when used properly and with finesse, however they can both trap us in shells if we aren’t careful to shed them once we are ripe to grow beyond them.

To clear this matter up requires some water. Where there is water, there is life, change, flow, growth and regeneration. Knowing and believing are tools that allow us to come to conclusions. But the truth is, no one cares what you believe or what you know until they know how much you care. To conclude, the best way to use knowledge and beliefs is to share them in such a way that demonstrates effectiveness and promotes experimentation. Find for yourself what is true. Let go to the deep tide that moves your stream of consciousness ever onward, keeping a healthy circulation going between knowing, believing and living so that your well of wisdom may never run dry. Strive for balance in your lifestyle, truth in your knowledge and forgiveness in your beliefs. As Sarah Crowell said and Sacred Ecology Films later wrote about, “The way we’ll hold it together is to hold it – together.”