MINDFUL ACTION ON BEHALF OF WILD NATURE - Jackson Hole, Wyoming

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Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry

When despair grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children's lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting for their light.  For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and I am free.

Mardy Murie

If all is right within you.  

If you have enthusiasm.

If you have curiosity.

If you take it all as a great adventure.

Just see what you can do about it,

while you are here.

Throw Yourself Like Seed by Miguel de Unamuno

Shake off this sadness, and recover your spirit;

sluggish you will never see the wheel of fate

that brushes your heel as it turns going by,

the man who wants to live is the man in whom life is abundant.


Now you are only giving food to that final pain

which is slowly winding you in the nets of death,

but to live is to work, and the only thing which lasts

is the work; start then to turn to the work.


Throw yourself like seed as your walk, and into your own field,

don't turn your face for that would be to turn it to death,

and do not let the past weigh down your motion.


Leave what's alive in the furrow, what's dead in yourself,

for life does not move in the same way as a group of clouds;

from your work you will be able one day to gather yourself.

The Moment by Margaret Atwood

The moment when, after many years

of hard work and a long voyage

you stand in the center or your room, 

house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,

knowing at last how you got there,

and say, I own this,


is the same moment when the trees unloose

their soft arms from around you,

the birds take back their language,

the cliffs fissure and collapse,

the air moves back from you like a wave

and you can't breathe.


No, they whisper. You own nothing.

You were a visitor, time after time

climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.

We never belonged to you.

You never found us.

It was always the other way around.