In the body and in the garden: cycles of grief and celebration

Update: It turns out that little Shadow is okay, the mass on his back is the site of a vaccine he was given last week. Should go away within a few weeks. Amazing how my spirits lifted to find this out.

Tomorrow I head to Seattle again, once again to attend the slow-motion, and very uncomfortable dying process of my 96-year-old Dad. Don’t expect much blogging from me during these next two weeks of familial grief (that he is leaving us) and celebration (that he begins to release the wretched, slowed-down, painful body) . . .

Early this morning I took puppy Shadow as a “drop-off” to the veterinarian. He has a mass on the right side of his little body, right between the skin and his ribs. About half the size of my thumb, and it seems to be growing. Shadow’s vibrant little 3-year-old, 15-pound body trots along the ground. He noses absolutely everything, and drinks from the little stream on campus. Who knows what’s he’s picking up and where and what it’s doing inside him.

As we walk, we notice chemtrails polluting the sky, pretty much every single day, turning the sky milky. Sometimes crisscrossing, or parallel; sometimes short, or long, spreading out into apparent filaments, or thick fog, or droplets . . .

And literally all the time, I notice a subtle hissing frequency in my head — what I presume is electromagnetic radiation, permeating everything.

In our GANG garden this spring, two “mutated” veggies, one a siamese twin cucumber, the other a tomato. Here’s the cucumber (desiccated; in the fridge too long).

Let’s face it. We are under assault, all of us, all the time, mostly in invisible, subtle ways, but continuously.

Is Shadow’s mass cancer? I have yet to know. And the sweet, vulnerable look on his little face as I palpate the apparently painless mass shows me he wonders too. Was the cucumber radiated — with chemtrails, with Fukushima? Who knows, the entire earth/water spectrum is poisoned.

If you have a strong stomach, then check these out:

Karl Grossman, Fukushima and the nuclear pushers

Helen Caldicott: Impact of Radiation from Nuclear Power Plants

I’ve decided to do ceremony in the GANG garden, at the seasonal turnings; ceremonies of grief, to acknowledge, release and honor the overwhelming sorrow that is welling up in our hearts and bodies for what we have done to ourselves, to each other, and to the natural world. I can feel this grief, it’s intense, thrumming, and palpable, and it is ours; only as we unleash the underground rivers of our terrible sorrow can we even begin to heal.

Meanwhile, yesterday evening, a number of us met out in the garden, to water, weed, lay old carpet down in the aisles, harvest blackberries, peaches, cukes, basil, other herbs, lotuses from the pond for fertilizing tomato plants . . .

So wonderful, and so bittersweet, to be with each other during these hard, hard times.