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Blessings Are Not Enough

Blessings Are Not Enough

Last updated on: November 14, 2014 at 8:27 am by Niki Whiting

Blessings Are Not Enough 2014-11-14T08:27:35-08:00 Niki Whiting

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It’s 35 degrees out. Nine a.m. and I’m on my way to my favorite easy walk, a place full of magic. I need to get out and move. I need to get out and be in a place where no one needs me, a place where I cannot distract myself. Winter descended yesterday, in all its cold, crisp, spectacular beauty. But the family life and spiritual life and all the lives in between are full, so full. I need the quiet.

I pull into the unusually crowded parking lot and I see -and hear- a mass of people. Children and adults bundled in boots and parkas are clustered at the trailhead. I want to cry as I realize a kindergarten is having a field trip.

I find a parking spot on the side. Stepping into the cold I strap on the baby, adjust coats and scarves, and find my way off the asphalt. I close my eyes and will myself to connect to something Other Than Human. Muddy earth sucks in my boots and dead leaves swirl around my feet; their scents swirling up with every breath of breeze. I can still hear the children. I don’t want to hear them. I take a side trail, hoping that I’ve chosen their opposite direction.

Bless the little ones. May their time be full of joy and may their love of the Land grow ever deeper.

I walk, stopping every so often to look, listen, align. I want to be as present as possible. I want space to open up in my head and spirit. I’m feeling out of sorts. I see tiny birds hiding on branches. I hear the whispers of falling leaves. Small things I cannot see rustle in the quiet growth at my feet.

Oddly, I feel more at home in this place during the cold months, when things aren’t quite as lush. Is it the that the gods walk more freely in this place in this season? Is that I am not distracted by all the plants I don’t know? I focus on what I can recognize: two kinds of blackberry, leafless devil’s club, nettles still valiantly popping up green, and a either a black or hawthorn bush.

I make my way to the stream. The last of the chum salmon are variously dying and protecting their redds, the divots where they lay their eggs. Splashes punctuate the babbling of my baby and the water. A dead fish floats belly up to my left.

Blessings be upon these fish. Bless their heroic efforts. May their eggs survive and thrive. May Salmon thrive in this stream, in this land, in all the waters of the Pacific Northwest. May the spirit of the Salmon bless the people of this Place and may we honor Salmon always.

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At the next turn I can hear the sounds of children. I have caught up the field trip. They are learning about salmon. My own 6 year old is on a field trip of his own today, too. He also is learning about Salmon. I hope he is enjoying a cold frolic in a wood somewhere. I hope he is learning not just about the life cycle and various species of salmon, but about Salmon. But I doubt it. That’s my job, isn’t it?

Turning back into the trees to avoid the class, I am struck with a loud and heavy thought: My blessings are not enough.

My blessings upon the fish or the land or the children are not enough. Even if I pack every word of blessing with all the magic and energy I can muster, my words are not enough to make a dent in the damage humanity has wrought on the environment, on the Spirits, on childhood, on all that is sacred – at least, on what is sacred to me.

My blessings are not the beginning, though. They are an intermediate step. As an outpouring of my heart, those blessings exist because I was raised to value Salmon. I have to ensure that others love and care for the Land too. I have to act. My hope is that I’m raising my kids to listen, to engage with, to value the Land and the Other Than Humans with whom we share our home.

My blessings are not enough.

I leave an offering to the spirits and the inhabitants. I notice that some one else has left their blessing of protection on this Place. Another blessing. May the Eye of Horus protect all that dwell on this Land!

Standing still for one last deep listen and breath before heading back to the parking lot, I hear something over the lake. About 100 ft away is a huge bald eagle circling the surface of the lake. I gasp – I’ve never seen an eagle here before! It’s circling broken, it flies up and around for a last dive. It has scored something small and brown. Away it flies.

The eagle was surely just going about getting its breakfast, but seeing something so rare here feels like a blessing to me.

One blessing after another. A momentary connection. But blessings cannot be enough.

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