This poem was written for a Peace Project organized by Judy Fisk Lucas. I wrote it thinking of the flooding along the Mississippi a few years back, but it seems relevant every time another place falls to waters, like Nashville, just recently.

I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river,
I’ve got peace like a river in my soul. ~ African American spiritual

After the storm,
hissing, roiling waters burst through
sandbag levees; the river
brings no peace at all.
Waters carry death and carnage,
waters carry stories and belongings,
waters carry worry and fear,
hope and need and new beginnings.

After the flood,
after waters recede, settling between
banks, whispering of dreams and desires,
even before debris can be cleared,
shoots spring up from sated earth
skyward; like hope, eternal.
New-washed land shows signs of life.
Et in terra pax.*

*And on earth, peace.

To learn more about Kelly, visit her website.

This week’s image ~ from the Cascading Water series of Lucie Grenier.
Thumbnail image ~ from the Cascading Water series of Lucie Grenier.

My first assignment as a park ranger for the National Park Service was at Glacier National Park – home to one of the largest Grizzly bear populations outside of Alaska. I was a technical climber, naturalist, and Grizzly bear manager. Actually, you can’t manage Grizzly bear. You manage people to stay far way from the bears. As rangers, we patrol the backcountry, take reports of bear sightings, close trails, post signs, and observe the interactions of bears and humans – from a safe distance!

One afternoon on a beautiful summer day it came to our attention that a sow (mother) Grizzly bear with two cubs was sighted on a trail within the park. This situation, a mom and cubs, is potentially the most dangerous scenario possible, mostly due to mom’s protection and aggressive behavior. My ranger partner and I promptly made our way into the backcountry, forgetting to take protection and radios.

We raced to the area of the sighting and made our way up the trail to a small ridge. As we reached the top of the hump, we discovered the approaching trio of bears. Momma bear saw us and immediately charged to our location. I turned to warn the other ranger and saw the back of his uniform as he raced down the hill, already half a mile from me – and the bears. Knowing that Grizzly bears don’t climb trees like black bears do, I quickly climbed up the nearest tree, as high as I could climb. Momma bear was mad and aggressive. She hugged and shook the tree for a very long time. Finally she left with the cubs following her in single file down the trail. I waited for several minutes before I made my descent from the tree and just when I was at ground level, I saw momma bear returning with papa bear, a huge male, about 1200 pounds.

These two angry and determined bears growled, hissed, snorted, and shook the tree as if their life depended on it. I was frightened to death and could see that they were not going to leave until they got me down and taught me a lesson or had me for dinner! Finally, after about an hour, they ran off into the woods, as if they had a plan or something.

Where was the other ranger and when was help going to come? I decided to climb down the tree and race to the ranger’s camp before the bears came back again. I started down through the branches and then caught a glimpse of the two bears running back towards me – and the tree. They almost looked like they were smiling. As they go closer, I could see that they were determined to get me this time because papa bear was carrying a beaver in his arms  – to chop the tree down.

Luckily for me, just as the beaver was almost done chomping his way through the tree truck, the other ranger and friends arrived to scare off the bears. Even though I have photos of the bears’ tracks and beaver’s teeth marks in that tree, most folks still don’t believe my story. But, despite the disbelief, I’m alive today and have great respect for bears and beavers!

If you enjoyed this post, you might also want to read Steve’s article about old San Diego. Visit Steve’s website, Baja Wine and Cuisine, and view one of his wine shows.

Image ~ above right~ courtesy of award-winning wildlife and wilderness photorgrapher Stephen Oachs, Aperture Academy.
Thumbnail image ~ http://www.flickr.com/photos/gander178/, Creative Commons.

The fact that political ideologies are tangible realities is not a proof of their vitally necessary character. The bubonic plague was an extraordinarily powerful social reality, but no one would have regarded it as vitally necessary. ~ Wilhelm Reich

Here is a girl, standing at the end of an alleyway in Chengdu, in the Sichuan province in China, in the early days of the Gregorian year 2010. The longer I look at these photos the more love I feel for her.

When we first made eye contact, she made a grim face, turned abruptly, and marched with purpose the other way. Then she stopped, executed a surprisingly martial turn, and stood surveying me for a pregnant moment. I waved, and she seemed not to respond at all; just stood there stone-faced, or so I thought at the time. After a moment of standing almost like some absurd soldier, she vanished into the doorway of what I assume was her home.

In this moment, so many things went through my mind: My god the Chinese are rigid; even this little girl in pink and turquoise walks like a soldier! What a dirty alleyway; aren’t they loathe to hang their clothes outside in this grime after they just washed them? I wonder what she was thinking about me?

When I got home and had the chance to look at these pictures in more detail, I saw that there was a glimmer of a smile on her face, mostly around her eyes. I have very poor vision, and the optical zoom of my camera sees far better than I do.

Yes, the Chinese are, for the most part, quite rigid. But you would be too if you lived in an authoritarian state (it’s not communism) and knew almost from the start that you were going to have to compete against billions of other people if you hope for any control over the terms of your life. Authoritarianism and a crushing of people’s ability to dream and define the terms of their own lives is mutilation and psychic murder. We are, all of us, here to grow and love. The Chinese people make the best of the lives their government allows them, and this little girl is a great example of why it’s important to oppose governments, not peoples. The Chinese people are not to be feared or damned for the vehicle their government has shoved them into. Their spirit in trying to advance and overcome is to be respected and admired.

This little girl’s alleyway holds several things of interest to me. To touch on the simplest one first, the grime is a byproduct of industry and sheer population density, and industry is, in our globally metastasized consumer culture, how people raise their standards of living. And maybe the U.S. didn’t invent it, but we sure did refine it, give it some steroids, and begin exporting it to the world on a massive scale.

Second among the things that interest me in this alley is the red and gold tracksuit, probably an older brother’s national team uniform. It takes passion and determination and focus to excel in the athletic arena. That’s why governments spend so much money and time on their teams. It creates a strong emotional bond between the athletes and those who admire them. It’s an entirely natural thing, the same way one might admire a swift or elegant bird. Then those natural human feelings are hijacked and welded to artificial nationalist jingoism. This little girl’s likely older brother probably takes order and discipline very seriously, and if he’s on a national team, it means he’s achieved some level of recognition for his efforts in an insanely competitive society. Even before politics and ideology, this little girl is surely absorbing these things like a sponge: how does one make sense of the world, how does one find one’s way through it? You learn from what’s closest to you. You don’t have to understand ideology to be shaped by it.

As a counterpoint, consider the blue jeans. What do blue jeans mean to the Chinese? Although it’s a glib generalization to talk about “the Chinese,” in much the same way talking about “Americans” is somewhat foolish, asking what blue jeans means is not a silly question to ask in an age of mass-produced culture and mediated conceptions of identity. “America,” among many other things, is a brand, embedded with all manner of code that is exported to the world. Consider how identified with “America” blue jeans are, and then further consider that the Chinese word for America is meiguo, or “beautiful country” (To be fair, the Chinese mostly see it as just a word, not as a word with literal meaning, much like people in the U.S. rarely think of Chicago, Manhattan or Seattle as Indian words with actual, you know, meaning.)

That said, I have been called meiguo-ren (“beautiful country person”) probably several dozen times in my short time here, and somehow it always makes me feel a stab of pain that’s related to the pain I feel when I look around at the ubiquitous Western beauty ideals on display here. Really?, I think, a 5000-year old culture of several billion people with a staggering amount of cultural achievements can’t think of anything better to aspire to now than material wealth and the trappings of conveyor belt consumer culture? They want to be like…. us?

Even a cursory study of China makes it obvious how much yearning and rage course through the people, much like underground waterways. One of my favorite Talking Heads’ songs has a line about there being “water under the water, carrying the water,” and I think it describes the humanity and spirit of the people laboring under the Chinese government quite well. They yearn, they long, and, when it boils over, they can exhibit shocking rage.

At the beginning of this, I quoted Wilhelm Reich, Sigmund Freud‘s radical cohort, who was the victim of the only U.S.-government-ordered book burning in history, and who died in prison, a mad man, after being imprisoned for what he dared to think and write. (Sound familiar?) Freud thought people were violent sadistic animals, who had to be controlled and taught to “civilize” themselves for the good of society and stability. You can fairly say that Freud’s ideas were status quo – he never asked whether conforming to a sick society was natural or not; it was just assumed that being “well-regulated” and conforming was desirable and healthy. Reich thought people were loving and good, and that it was the mutilations of society and government, and the imposition of unnatural order that caused neuroses and dysfunction. Reich thought eros was the highest expression of human health and actualization, and that it should be given free reign and support if we were to link hands with our higher selves. There are a great many things to take from Reich’s story, but the one I think of most often, and which springs most readily to mind looking at this little Chinese girl caught between repulsion and friendliness is this: Love is beautiful and dangerous. But sometimes you have to zoom in and pay attention before you can see it beaming back at you.

This week’s image ~ above right ~ Young Girl, Chengdu, Sichuan province, China. Photographer: Brian Awehali, © 2010.
Thumbnail image ~ Detail, Young Girl, Chengdu, Sichuan province, China. Photographer: Brian Awehali, © 2010.

Brian Awehali is the Editor of Loud Canary, a diverse and pithy weblog exploring interconnectivity, sustainability, and nature from within the bowels of modern mass society. To read about Brian’s travels and musings, visit his blog. 

Sometimes, quite often really, I’ve forgotten the simple fact that we’re here to revel in the world, to soak in the awesomeness of it. We’re meant to enjoy the “ride.” Instead, we buckle up, hunker down, and keep our nose to the grindstone. I’d like to ask, instead, that you lift your eyes to the horizon, and walk toward it. Take small steps, if necessary, but find a way to make those innermost desires a reality.

Here’s a case in point. Last July my eyes kept returning to an email offer I received, of a 10 day tour to Beijing and Shanghai. My spirit was calling me to jump on it, but my practical (a bit fearful) mind was arguing for restraint. What would happen if I left? Would the dog be o.k.? How about the teenager?

What about my clients? Would they accept the fact that I wasn’t ‘there for them’?

After literally days of listening to the two voices inside my head, I took the leap of faith, and signed on. After all, I had six months to pay for the full cost of the trip – and if worse came to worse (heaven forbid), I could choose not to go.

But, guess what? The Universe smiled on my decision for personal expansion – to go where I’d not been before; to stretch my wings, and soar. The money flowed in; the travel arrangements went smoothly, and on March 12th, 2010, I sat down in my airline seat, bound for Beijing. And the trip was phenomenal!

Kim Stacey at Yu Gardens in the canal city of Suzh.

I came home a changed, expanded, more aware being; more ‘myself’ than I had been in a very long time.

For those of you who are over 50, you may remember Ethel Barrymore. Her wisdom remains potent, despite the years.

What did she say that strikes deep?

“You must learn day by day, year by year to broaden your horizon. The more things you love, the more you are interested in, the more you enjoy, the more you are indignant about, the more you have left when anything happens.”

When you couple that with the inner knowledge we all have, yet sometimes forget; that it’s our basic nature to expand and grow – to reach for true happiness through expansion – it’s easy to see that you really must seize on opportunities when they present themselves.

So, when you’re given an ‘unbeaten path’ to a new horizon, take it. The expansiveness of reaching, stretching and growing will transform your life, every single time. Guaranteed.

I’m now dreaming of my next excursion. Back to China? Maybe Africa? It doesn’t matter; as long as it’s a new, totally unfamiliar horizon. Like this one I surveyed from the 7th tower of the Great Wall of China.

Kim Stacey is a freelance writer and copywriter, specializing in working with funeral service professionals. She is also a proud supporter of women in funeral service and is the founder of the Association of Women Funeral Directors. She can be reached at kim@wfdconnect.com.

It’s a well kept secret going back to the glorious days of the Kumeyaay (our native peoples) and the early mission friars. The Kumeyaay Trail and Friars Road both led down Mission Valley and ended at a stunning paradise-like peninsula called Mission Beach. The San Diego River flows into the ocean from Mission Valley, dividing Ocean Beach from Mission Beach while feeding a remarkable estuary called Mission Bay. Few people realize that this beach and bay were a significant food source for our native peoples, important habitat for wildlife, and a point of recreation, relaxation, and exploration for the friars and other early community members.

Clickity-clack, clickity-clack, and then came the human screams. It’s embedded in my soul, the sounds of the roller coaster (and the human response) as it dives from its highest point into a plunge at high speeds. The roar and rumble of the roller coaster at Belmont Park echoed over the courts and alleys into my bedroom window at night. I was born in Mission Beach, and when the coaster was sleeping late at night, my senses, soul, and mind were caressed by the rhythm of the waves. The ocean was my first lover; she took my body unto her and set my spirit free with her energy, power, and healing forces. Dolphins, seals, pelicans, minerals, salt, and sand were my best friends. Life was golden. Most often my toughest decision of the day was: Do I walk out my front door to the ocean, go out the back door to the bay, or walk down to the amusement center at Belmont Park?

Belmont Park

When I was about twelve I had a Sentinel paper route that covered both sides of South Mission Beach. Back then Mission Bay was undeveloped, the waters were shallow, the tidal changes were dramatic, mud flats were dominant, and at low tide you could walk across some coves. Clam digging was phenomenal, halibut fishing was outstanding. The bay side walk bordered a cliff on the east that dropped down about six to ten feet to the shoreline and docks. For years a brightly painted Chinese junk anchored near El Carmel Point added color and character to the cove. I could ride my bike to school in Pacific Beach and never see another person on the ocean front boardwalk or along the bay side lane. The money I earned from the paper route was spent buying vintage cars from an ex-Indianapolis race car driver/mechanic at Al King’s Garage (across from Saska’s Steak House) where my brother and I would transform old Fords, Chevys, and Ramblers into hot rods, surf buggies, or resell them to purchase surfboards, sailboats, go-carts, motorcycles, and quarter midget race cars.

Prior to my career as a paperboy, I made my living under the roller coaster at Belmont Park. My friends and I would venture over to Harry’s Market on Ventura Place, take an orange crate from the trash, and nail a piece of window screen over the top. Then we’d flip it over and have a professional sand sifter. We would sneak under the highest point of the coaster (the drop) where things get real crazy, and we’d make our fortune. You see, back in the 1950’s and early 60’s two kinds of people rode the roller coaster on the weekends and holidays: drunk sailors and the girls that chased them. Despite the sign on the top of the drop reading:

Don’t stand up, Don’t put your hands up, and Hold on!

that rarely happened with the tough sailors and hungry women. Silver dollars, coins, bills, wallets, purses, gold lipstick cases, combs, pocket mirrors, car keys, hats, sunglasses, phone numbers on matchbooks, cigarettes – you name it – these items supported me and my friends quite well. In addition, I sold the lipstick to the girls in my Catholic school, the cigarettes to the bikers at Maynard’s Bar, and received “rewards” for finding car keys, wallets, purses, and phone numbers.

Blacks Beach

Many unique elements made Mission Beach “heaven” for us kids. One example was a small cheesecake factory (Sam’s Homemade Cheesecake) located directly across the street from the roller coaster. Kids “on the inside” knew that you could buy a damaged cake there for 50 cents by entering a side screen door into the factory. Our treasure fund from the roller coaster “lost and found” financed many a cheesecake. When you’re eight to ten years old, not much else beats a cheesecake, a day of surfing, topped off with a golden sunset to the west of the boardwalk. Other keys to our “personal bliss” were the weather, uncrowded surfing conditions, sailing on the bay, a lack of crime, and unlimited options for water sports. For example, I had a surf mat made of canvas, inflated to a hard surface with a rope handle that carried me down waves of up to twenty feet high. Due to the lack of fins on the mat and my light body weight, I’d literally “drop over the falls” of the wave and bounce back to the top. When all else failed, we’d ride our bikes all the way to Blacks Beach near La Jolla to go surfing or just to check out our rivals at La Jolla High School. When we really got bored, we’d throw water balloons across Mission Blvd. into the front seats of convertible cars driven by sailors, going in the opposite direction. For some reason, you’d always see four or five sailors in the front seat with totally empty back seats – it just seemed like a logical target. By the time the furious (wet) sailors made a u-turn in hopes of killing us, we would be long lost in the maze of courts, alleys, and beach escapes.

Mission Beach was a bohemian community and was “off limits” to many kids from Pacific Beach and La Jolla. Our neighborhood had artists, beatniks, bikers, surfers, writers, sculptors, poets, folk music performers, coffee shops, and other sketchy elements of society that raised fears in the suburbs. We did have a “holy rollers” church – you’d think that would’ve made a good reflection on our community. But, sometimes the status quo looks down on free-spirited and creative beach bums; it’s a global problem. What was interesting is that most of the Mission Beach kids turned out to be healthy, successful, and dynamic individuals while our rich counterparts in other “upscale” beach communities turned to drugs and alcohol to numb the pain of abandonment and rejection from their parents who were too busy making money to enjoy family and the simpler things in life, like a beach, a sunset, and cheesecake.

My life has taken me on many amazing journeys, down many roads, but I always find time to return to “my beloved beach” and walk my old haunts. Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear the voices of the carnies hawking goods down the midway at the various venues in Belmont Park. I hear the screams and yells of excitement, pleasure and pain coming from the roller coaster and the fun house. I still smell the saltwater taffy, almost taste the bon-bons, and crave cotton candy. I see myself and my friends on the bumper cars, in the batting cage, up onto the ferris wheel, and over in Frontier Land. Many times, I’ve wondered if my childhood was really as “golden” as I think it was. Is it possible that I was born and lived in “heaven” or was it just my wild imagination? Looking back, I’d have to say it was pure magic. Sometimes, all you need is cheesecake, uncrowded beaches, endless sunsets, spare change, water balloons, sailors, friends, and family. Yes, Mission Valley has a beach. I know it well, and sometimes life really is a beach. You just have to make the best of the situation and enjoy it ~ one grain of sand at a time.

Steve Dryden now lives in Mexico’s premier wine country where he guides small group and and private wine tours. [Thanks, Steve, for the wonderful wine tour you took us on a couple of years ago in Ensenada's backcountry. Your wine expertise of the region was invaluable!] Steve can be contacted by email at sbdryden@hotmail.com and online at International Wine and Food Guide and Baja Wine and Cuisine. If you enjoyed Steve’s writing, you’ll like reading his bear adventure: A Grizzly Event.

Photos on this page were generously provided by Golden State Images ~ Signature California Scenic & Marine Wildlife Photos ~ © Randy Morse.

Thumbnail carousel image courtesy of Larry Carlson.

Ever wanted to live in a truly green town, full of energy-efficient homes and people working together for the environment? Then follow the lead of Craik, Sask., and start up an eco-village.

Located halfway between Saskatoon and Regina, the town of Craik (population: 450) is reinventing itself and attracting new residents from as far away as British Columbia who want to take advantage of its slower pace, greener outlook and cheaper cost of living.

One of the philosophies of this whole project is how cheaply can you live and still live a life of dignity. Mark Smallwood, Craik resident

And while starting an eco-village is a lot of work, as Craik’s shown, it can be done. Here’s how:

1. Find a small town. They don’t get caught up in bureaucracy and are often desperate for new residents and ideas. When Saskatchewan’s Prairie Institute for Human Ecology first suggested the idea of an eco-village in 2001, Craik jumped on it. Seeing the project as a chance to address climate change and revitalize its community, the Rural Municipality of Craik donated 127 acres of land for the eco-village.

2. Raise some money. You’ll need it to pay for such things as legal fees and marketing costs. Start by checking out grants such as the $100,000 one from the Green Municipal Fund from the Federation of Canadian Municipalities that Craik was awarded for their Eco-centre.

Eco-centre floor preparation, July, 2003.

3. Find some residents. Craik built a website and developed partnerships with community and environmental groups to get the word out about what it was doing. Make your village more appealing by pricing land cheaply; Craik sold residential plots for as little as a dollar.

Lots of people come by and some days you don’t get as much work done as you want … but we’re happy to have people … and that’s just it … it’s relationship building. We’re building a structure, but we’re also building community and a relationship. Audrey Taylor-Faye, Craik resident

4. Get people inspired. Build a demonstration project to show off your village’s possibilities. Craik created the Eco-centre, an energy-efficient restaurant constructed with straw bales from nearby farms and timber from the town’s demolished grain elevator. The building is heated using geothermal technology and augmented with solar panels, has indoor compost toilets and outside there’s an environmentally-friendly golf course. Since opening in 2004, the centre has become a popular meeting place for Saskatchewan businesses.

5. Set the rules—and follow them. Have residents agree to community guidelines that encourage them to be as green as possible. Craik eco-village residents are expected to build energy-efficient homes and compost, among other things.

Permission to reprint. © Kelly-Anne Riess.  This article first appeared in This Magazine.
Resident quotes from Zoot Pictures’ The Village Green.
Creative Commons photos by CSLP.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Sustainability Ala Craik trailer ~ above ~ provided courtesy of Wolf Sun Productions. The following is an appeal from its director, Steve Wolfson:

The Craik show was made as an episode for the series Edifice & Us which was broadcast on SCN. SCN helped us and numerous other Saskatchewan filmmakers tell Saskatchewan stories. Unfortunately, the Provincial Government cut funding to SCN in the recent budget. We understand that the Government needs to save money. However, in this case, not spending $5 million on SCN will mean the loss of 10’s of millions of dollars of out of Province money that the SCN money triggered for Saskatchewan filmmakers. It also means there will be no television broadcaster to tell Saskatchewan stories.

SCN is slated to go off the air in May. But it is not too late for the Provincial Government to reconsider its decision. Many people are joining the effort to tell the Government that SCN Matters.

Your support can help keep SCN on the air, telling Saskatchewan stories. You can help by telling others about SCN. Also, please consider writing the Government:

The Premiere, Hon. Brad Wall
 Room 226, Legislative Building 2405 Legislative Drive, Regina, SK S4S0B3
 premier@gov.sk.ca

The Minister of Tourism, Parks, Culture and Sport, Hon. Dustin Duncan
Room 345, Legislative Building 2405 Legislative Drive, Regina, SK S4S0B3 minister.tpcs@gov.sk.ca

Hon. Rod Gantefoer
Room 312, Legislative Building 2405 Legislative Drive, Regina, SK S4S0B3 
minister.fi@gov.sk.ca

Steve Wolfson and Penny Ward
Wolf Sun Productions
306 569-0789
wolfsun@sasktel.net

Don’t think for a blue minute
peace lies in dreamy eyes of smiling Buddha
blinking across fields of pink blossoms.

Peace is no quaint scene,
no warm aroma of homemade cookies.
Nor, sound of luggage placed on holy
ground.

Peace is constant motion,
careful balance,
endless vigil,
rush of a purposeful journey.

Peace is not the people
who sit quietly by
as civil injustice, office politics,
and environmental degradation
unfold before them.

Peace is the courage
to speak out,
shatter comfort,
demand justice.

Peace is not the people around you suddenly
linking arms and taking up song.
Peace is the cumbersome process of
controlling your own temper
so you can smile at ornery colleagues and
small children who contradict you.

That Buddha is not napping
in his field of delicate blossoms.
He’s resting from a conflict resolution
conference
with his roommate.
He is considering
the next move he will make
to stir petals into beauty.

Wake up to the people around you, he calls.
Steady yourself for a long life of
patience, sincere communication,
Bravery, love.

When you hear him,
you will notice the vital peace
of an artist’s hand working paint
onto huge canvases.

~ © Kimberly Wilder *. Reprinted by permission.

* The most important thing to Kimberly Wilder and to her husband Ian – both writers and and poets – is the end of all wars.  Kimberly’s poem, Painted Blossoms, was submitted to Valentine Peace Project and accompanied many of the flowers gifted to residents and visitors of Amsterdam on February 14, 2010.

EDITOR’S NOTE: In Ethics for a New Millennium (p. 203), the Dalai Lama writes:

Peace is not something which exists independently of us, nor is war. It is true that certain individuals – political leaders, policymakers, army generals – do have particularly grave responsibilities in respect to peace. However, these people do not come from nowhere. They are not born and brought up in outer space. Like us, they are nourished by their mother’s milk and affection. They are members of our human family and have been nurtured within the society which we as individuals have helped create. Peace in the world thus depends on peace in the hearts of individuals. This in turn depends on us all practicing ethics by disciplining our response to negative thoughts and emotions and developing basic spiritual qualities.

This week’s image ~ above right ~ Serenade (artistic rendition).
Thumbnail image ~ September Roses (artistic rendition).

That the hands of the sisters Death and Night incessantly softly wash again and ever again, this soiled world. ~ Walt Whitman

Sometimes people speak of how people are destroying the planet, and while that may be true in a limited sense, I tend to think that the planet will simply shrug and issue some stern correctives if it becomes absolutely necessary.

Indeed, it seems already to be trending this way. I take some hope from my understanding of people as a blip in the deep-time soup of the planet, and scaling the dunes under impossible skies at the White Sands National Monument in southern New Mexico, imagining the sea floor it once was, perhaps with manta rays and ruder forms in flight, I was struck humble and filled with a sense of grandeur and awe for a pattern so very much larger than the one we’re consigned to in our finite lifetimes.

A vast expanse of gypsum "sand," speckled with soaptree yucca plants.© Brian Awehali, 2009.

All of my life, mostly in nature, but sometimes in peak moments of human engagement, I have had glimmers of this larger, perhaps eternal order, and in nothing like a theistic or moral sense. We are incapable, as creatures, of fully experiencing this larger order: we are like motion picture cameras, flicking across 24 frames a second and telling ourselves it is movement rather than a peculiar persistence of vision.

My petty day-to-day concerns melted away in White Sands, and I was content to simply let the mystery be and enjoy the bleeding edge of my creature self.

This week’s image ~ above right ~ Dawn, White Sands National Monument. Photographer: Brian Awehali, © 2009.

Thumbnail image ~ White Sands’ Silhouette. Photographer: Brian Awehali, © 2009.

Brian Awehali is the Editor of Loud Canary, a diverse and pithy weblog exploring interconnectivity, sustainability, and nature from within the bowels of modern mass society. To read about Brian’s travels and musings, visit his blog.

A beautiful environment promotes health. Beauty and health are almost synonymous. Throughout creation they are intimately related. When we speak of a healthy forest, we see a beautiful and fertile natural environment. When we see a beautiful person, we see a healthy human being.

To be and stay healthy, we humans need to live surrounded by beauty. The way we decorate our homes and our work places impacts our state of mind, our health, and the way others relate to us in business and in the intimacy of friendship and love.

We see the same law connecting beauty and health in everything. We seek to travel to beautiful places to rest and be healed from the stress of ugly cities and the tiredness of body and soul they produce.

It is self-evident that the ultimate touch of beauty the Divine Artist added to Nature is in the mysterious splendor and fragrance of flowers. World cultures have adopted flowers’ wordless language to express all that is beautiful in our emotional lives. We give flowers to express love in ways words cannot match.

Viktoria Vidali’s masterful photographic art giclees capture the essence of universal floral radiance and bring into home or work spaces a magical artistic alchemy that transforms static environments into elegant ambiances, without forcing intrusive statements like other forms of art. For example, famous paintings like the Mona Lisa or Diego Rivera’s murals impose disturbing realities that are soon best relocated to the impersonal protection of a museum.

It is worth repeating: beauty is health and health is beauty. Together they manifest the greatest truth that guides our lives: that the path to happiness and peace is found in the magic and mystery of beauty. Viktoria’s giclees capture the silent song of Nature’s ultimate beauty and bring in the atmosphere of any place its secret healing powers. ~ Guest Writer:  The Luminous Compass