Humans as part of living systems
"I try to come once a month at least," said Tendai. "Do you know that this hill was once a sacred site? Mbuya and a few other in this area are trying to revive it as a sacred site." "What does a sacred site mean?" I asked Tendai.
"I'll tell you one day. I'm still learning myself. For now, it's a place where I can come and be with Nature and imagine how our ancestors lived for thousands of years. That nyimo you're eating is part of that history. It has nourished many generations of our ancestors. When you eat it you're eating out history. When you pick fruits from the indigenous trees like we did on the way up here, you're doing what people have been doing here for centuries."
We were high up and could see far into the distance. There were many small hills like ours, mixtures of boulders, smaller rocks, trees and many other plants. Ours was the highest. I looked admiringly at my cousin-brother, Tendai, a man now while I was still a boy. Above his head, I noticed a bird high in the sky, like it was floating. I pointed and asked Tendai, "What's that?" "That," said in a solemn voice, "is your great, great grandmother keeping an eye on us." My jaw fell open. "Really?" His face looked serious, and then he smiled. "Don't believe everything I tell you. It's a hawk looking for prey. But I like to think of it as our great, great grandmother keeping an eye on us. And perhaps it is, you never know."
One with the soil, one with water, one with air; one with creation.
A grain among multifareous many;
a drop in placid pools, rushing rivers, crashing waves;
a mere microcosm in the atmosphere.
Breathe deep, drink long, cup sand in hands with fingers splayed to sift the particles;
celebrate oneness.
From dust, to dust, of dust;
& dust we've become for the soil that shapes us has died;
played out and poisoned.
And I, one with the earth, suffer genocide.
Yet, sunrise melts frost and ice.