paraphrased from
P. Wesley Schultz, "The Moral Call of the Wild"
Scientific American Online
December 1, 2009

Part of the evidence from which Schultz draws this conclusion is recent research performed by a team of psychologists at the University of Rochester. In one set of experiments people were assigned randomly to view either a slide show of man-made environments or one of natural environments. Individuals who viewed the images of nature, particularly those who became "immersed" in these images, appeared to value intrinsic life aspirations based on internal motivations over extrinsic life aspirations based on external measures of success such as wealth. What I found most intriguing about the experiment was that the two groups were selected randomly from the same population. It would be rather surprising if the slide shows actually induced value structures in their viewers. It seems more likely that people in both groups had both types of values latent within themselves and the two slide shows simply activated different latent values.

Every day each of us encounters a large number of exposures to media experiences which in turn come out of, and embody, a broad spectrum of ethical and moral structures. I have often wondered if such a flood of images and music, of YouTube videos and TV programs, induces in us a moral eclecticism unheard of in previous times. This experiment indicates that it very likely does. Each of us has a subconscious moral storehouse filled with fragments of latent value structures from disparate sources. Even though these fragments can be deeply inconsistent with each other, they lie waiting to be activated by appropriate environments. Our moral compasses may have become controllable by external prompts to a degree that would have surprised even our grandparents.

If these ideas have any validity, a host of practical consequences follows. The environmental prompts, such as encounters with Nature, to which we expose ourselves on a daily basis, form an increasingly important external scaffolding of our moral lives. We have moral responsibility, therefore, for how we manage these prompts. We must also not be totally surprised when we act in fundamentally different ways in different environments. That part of our personality which lies in the shadows is probably more robust, varied, and inconsistent than was that of former generations. While Jung needed just one "Red Book," most of us now have implanted within our psyches whole libraries of "Red Books." It becomes crucial that the tools of self-awareness and self-examination be employed daily to explore our Shadows. We need to become, if you will, Google search engines of our deep Selves.

I only have the word "face" and a few dots for the title. I am reflecting on the meaning of a face, - the word, the reality, the meaning. I do not have logical conclusions or a settled meditative resting place. I have some searchings, and here they are:

When our cat wants my attention, he gets "in my face". How does he know? How does he know my face is the place? He could bat at my elbow and get my attention. Then I, of course, would turn my face to him. Animals watch the faces of other animals for signs of desire, fear, attack, interest, comfort, and more. (Though I wonder about the bats. Do they know they have a face they way we know they have a face?)

Sacred Scriptures say God has a face. The Hebrew canon says Moses saw God face to face. This canon says that whatever creation was before it was creation - that there was a "face of the deep". We hear the language of "the face of the earth". And of the moon. We have other language - "face off", used in hockey games and battles; "face the music", to be held accountable, "scarface", used to 'nick'name a gangster..

I am intrigued by our talk of "face". Yet, all a face is, in the minimal or basic sense, is that space that includes and surrounds certain of our sense organs, - our ears (for hearing), eyes (for seeing), noses (for smelling), our mouths (for tasting), and (if we have them), whiskers, (for feeling) Our sense organs collectively give us a face. If they were more distributed on our body, we would presumably be faceless, or else our whole body would be a face. Our face is the structure of how we receive the world around us. And, it is what others look at to see our intent. We take it as more than the spatial collage of sense organs. So, some questions for my mind and yours:

What is the face of the world? Is it the way the world receives what is around it? Does one see the intent of the earth in its "face"? This might be an important question.

The bat has a face, but doesn't know it. Does that mean I as a human have something basic to my self-presentation and perceiving, but I do not know it?

Does the tree have a face? Does the wind? Does gravity?

Could "face the music" be a pun? That is, could it be that we also give or impute a "face" to whatever the music is - literally or metaphorically?

And, what would a "face-off" be - in some deep or ultimate meaning? It may be, in an ethical sense, an environmental way of talking of our world.

Maybe the cat is not the only being or thing that knows how to be (or "get") in our faces. Maybe, what we sense is in our face.

I had the opportunity to test the merits of this claim when grief recently drove me to take refuge in the woods and meadows. Powerful sources of solace, they often literally reframe my thinking. Today, while trudging through the woods I heard the call of an unfamiliar bird. Looking suddenly up, I was struck by the richness and complexity of life on the high trunks and in the canopy of this forest. I was initially frustrated and unable to find the source of the song. Moments later the light grey bird obligingly flew overhead to allow me a glimpse. Its subtle hues and interesting cry fixed my attention. While watching it, my heart opened-a little. Then I was free to study the plate and other fungi marking the trunks of the largest trees. I noticed the patterns made by the light filtering through the leaves. The whole these elements wove together was hypnotically beautiful "Why don't I look up more often?" I pondered this as I walked, now more lightly, towards the meadow.

I don't know about you, but my thoughts-both occasional and habitual-could really use some work. I find myself in unconstructive patterns of response and analysis with a discomfiting regularity. This occurs despite the fact that improvement of my mental framework and its contents is an important focus of my spiritual practice.

This can be more than a needed lesson in humility. If we are attentive, it can be a call to joy. While I'm neither the scholar nor theologian that C. S. Lewis was, I think I share some of the experience guiding his idea. I found it in the woods and meadows today in the autumn hues of the sassafras, in the full heads bending on the long, delicate stems of the seeding grasses. The beauty of the day combined with the splendor of the plants seemed some extraordinary hymn of praise. Perhaps it is only my unfortunate unfamiliarity with it that makes it extraordinary. What a wonder if I could bring these eyes and this heart daily to truly see the richness offered me!

Because to fail to do so would feel like hoarding, allow me to share the gifts of a small wood and meadow. The oyster fungi high on the tree trunk reveal rich and varied shades of brown as they relish the light and the shadow of this forest. Four deer stop to feed, allowing me to appreciate their delicate legs and heads. Possessing grace and strength, speed and solidity, they seem completely balanced as they move through the bracken. The red fox comes out of hiding and quarters a section of the deep wood. She closes off escape routes for some other animal. Watching her move, I finally understand what it means to allow the bones to hold and carry the body and to keep the muscles free and loose.

Tiny rubies emerge on the stems of the wild roses. I bow to the rosehips, respecting their beauty and function. The asters are in glorious profusion in the meadow. They stand out even in the midst of the stately grasses whose tips are marked with seeds that will be borne on tiny white filaments like those of the dandelion. The asters! Their purples, whites and yellows charm me. Stepping forward to present a splendid solo, they will soon be subsumed again in the symphony of the meadow.

Take some time this week and reframe your emotions. Experience yourself and the world in an unaccustomed way. Find some means to change the level of your thought, whether it involves a problem that perplexes or afflicts you or an ordinary feature of your life. And please, let me know what happens.

Welcome to the Day! It is a phrase my wife and I use. We live in both time and space, but we overwhelmingly welcome people to the spaces to which we are host. We will welcome you to our house, our village, our place of work. You will do the same for us. But there are people who feel unwelcome in the time of their life. They are "too old", or "too young". It was Hamlet who said, "The time is out of joint. O cursed spite, I was born to set it right." In the Tanakh it says, "This is the day the Lord has made. Let us rejoice and be glad in it."

In my religious tradition, Jesus quotes Isaiah about his self identity - saying he is there to give sight to the blind and to set prisoners and the oppressed free. Those are about persons' ability to see into space, or to move in space. But, he also says - "and to proclaim the acceptable year of the Lord" - a way of finding the time of our life acceptable and of welcome.

Each morning the sun invites us to a new day. Our deepest heritage proclaims it acceptable and worthy of rejoicing. So, we choose to say a few words on behalf of our sun, and our heritage. Welcome to the Day!

To some the world that Brautigan envisions in this poem will seem strange, perhaps even ludicrous. Nevertheless I believe that it represents considerable insight (and foresight). Over the centuries philosophers have proposed various models through which to describe the material universe. Aristotle proposes an organic model to describe the universe that persists will into the Middle Ages. With modern science's emergence during the late Middle Ages however, a more mechanistic model replaces the organic model. Rather than an organism the universe becomes an immense machine. With this model the 'machine age' that continues to dominate our lives receives its inspiration, though its actualization had to wait until the industrial revolution some centuries later.

There can be no doubt that we live in a world where technological progress drives our lives and lifestyles. The technological advances since the mid-1900s have brought changes that earlier generations would never have been able to even imagine. There are machines to wake us up, prepare our meals, clothe us, entertain us, transport us to other places, assist us to sleep at night and to keep us alive. The problem is that all too often technological advances accrue at a faster rate than the human wisdom to use them in an appropriate manner. We fail to recognize that technologies are tools, rather than ends in themselves. This points to what is most problematic about the machine model, i.e., the realization that machines have no intrinsic value - what determines their values are their instrumental uses. And when a machine can no longer accomplish its function it ceases to have value at all. To see the Earth as a machine then encourages the attitude that the natural environment is no more than the resources it provides to meet human needs.

What is essential is that we pursue technologies that are sustainable, rather than technologies that continue to exploit the world's resources on a more massive (and destructive) scale. That we create technologies that enhance our lives rather than transform more resources into consumable products (that is some cases threaten our lives). This, at least, is what I envision Brautigan's 'cybernetic ecology' (and our survival) to require.

Fortunately, my masters are more generous and engaged. Were they not, I would have neither faculties of communication nor anything to share with you. With infinite patience they present themselves each day, offering lessons on beauty and impermanence to one lost in the fog of her own concerns. What could be more generous than to recognize that each creature requires nourishment and to lay a glorious table and wait patiently to see whether anyone arrives to perceive and appreciate the bounty? My masters don't stand behind the table awaiting bows. The mosses, grasses, and flowers of the woods and meadows are the table and feast.

As you have no doubt noticed, I'm inclined to hold fast. I've viewed tenacity and persistence as virtues with the hope that they would produce a form of endurance that ultimately yielded success. The fact that I could not resist continually biting the hook of unproductive or even destructive thoughts and actions should have established my unfitness as a student. Had I understood the deeper meanings of the teachings I have been offered, I would have released myself on the currents of air and water--searching for new places and ways to grow. Despite my unreadiness, the lesson book is continually held open for me by patient masters even if I can only catch glimpses of what is written there and can't see well enough to read the author's name.

Here is what I have learned from the meadow in the last days of summer. English asters grow there in profusion. Small white, purple and yellow flowers on enormous stems; they are often culled from private gardens as 'weeds'. They remind me that even what is denounced as common can have exceptional beauty. I stop to watch bees and other insects feed in the Tall Coreopsis. Lemon petals surrounding an amber core, the plants rise above my head. What majestic height and display from relatively fragile stems! I will have to remind myself to try to see how these plants respond to the damage caused as deer move through them to the deeper shelter of the wood.

The Big Bluestem are now bowed by the weight of their own future. Heavy seed heads bring them closer to the earth and within my reach. I caress the seeds, delighting in their texture and color. Why has it taken me so long to understand that inflexible persistence leads to extinction? Everything changes; form must shift when the load alters.

I try to view my tired and aching body differently as I walk the cropped grasses of the lawn. I'm startled to note the emergence of the lone magnolia's spectacularly colored seed pods. I have to close the distance between us before I can see the pistachio and unlikely bubble gum pink which mark their boluses. I ask, "Old friend, after a scant flowering in spring, will you now come to a magnificent bloom?"

May all of us who are slow or unlikely learners return to the feet of the patient masters of the open or natural places. At this school, there are no entrance exams or fees. Means of growth and renewal are never removed, although the teachers and lessons change seasonally. Take your seat and let me know what you learn.

The other day I had the most interesting experience. I was running late, a common thing for me, and dashed upstairs to take a quick shower. I jumped into the bathtub, pulled the curtain securely closed, adjusted the temperature and got my hair ready for shampooing.

Over three thousand times I have begun this daily ritual in this bathtub but this day was different. As I grabbed the shampoo container from its place in the corner of the tub I realized there was something hiding behind the shampoo!

Cautiously I peered over the two bottles of bath gel to get a better look. There, cowering, trying to be invisible was a creature! It wasn't very big but it was clearly alive and very frightened.

Of course, I was a bit unnerved as well, never having shared my shower with a creature I couldn't easily identify. Gently I replaced the shampoo container and decided that since the whatever-it-was hadn't moved and I was already in the shower I ought to go ahead and finish shampooing my hair. Breaking my own speed record I hastily rinsed out the soap and quietly turned off the water, slipped out of the shower and pulled the curtain closed.

As I toweled dry I felt great empathy for this silent, lost creature. How awful to find oneself inside a house, let alone an upstairs bathroom, in a corner of a shower! I kept thinking about the incredible luck that this animal was even alive. We have two cats and a dog-all of whom are attracted to birds, squirrels and rabbits, all of whom dutifully keep the house mouse-free. So, how did this mystery creature manage to get into the house, avoid three keen animals and land behind my shampoo?

I pulled on my clothes and came up with a plan. I found a clear bucket-shaped container that we use to ice beverages when we entertain. I also found a piece of cardboard that would fit over the opening of the container and headed back to my bathtub.

Carefully I pulled aside the curtain, moved the shower gels and shampoo and got my first true look at what was hiding-a small bat! Silently I slipped the clear bucket over the frightened mammal and gently scooped the bat onto the cardboard-all done without attracting the unwanted attention of our curious and inquisitive grey cat who was lingering nearby.

It was the first time I'd ever actually seen a real live bat. We looked at each other through the clear walls of the bucket as I carried it down the stairs and out the back door into my herb garden. There I lifted the bucket and it flew high into a nearby tree.

All day I thought about the incredible mystery of how a little bat managed to get into our house and silently avoid being detected by two cats and a dog, all of whom have inquisitive curiosity, incredible patience and very keen hearing. There are a zillion hiding places in this house, so how did this little bat manage to fly to an upstairs bathroom, avoid capture by the house animals and land in an unlikely hiding place that would eventually lead to its release back into the great outdoors?

Every day I am gifted with miracles, both large and small. In my daily meditations I pray that I am not oblivious or distracted to them when they happen. Clearly, on this day that prayer was answered.

In the Western philosophical and theological literature on the distinction between human beings and other creatures, one characteristic in particular is seen as the decisive difference - reason. What is curious though is that it is reason's mere possession rather than its actual use that suffices to guarantee human beings their superior status over all other creatures. This is perhaps as well, since were actual rational thought and behavior the requirement, our superior status would be much more tenuous. It seems rather credulous to consider our individual and collective behavior over time, with all the pain and destruction that has been, and continues to be, the result, to rational. To a large degree the problem is that there has also been a separation between the rational and the moral. What rational has come to mean is little more that what best ensures our own self-interest.

Despite all the attempts to separate human beings and the natural environment, the simple and undeniable truth is that we are no less within (and thus dependent upon) the environment than are other animals and plants. In is no coincidence that most indigenous traditions see the earth as a mother - indeed the Mother. We seem to have no trouble with the realization that we ought to respect and honor our biological mothers. Reason would seem to dictate then that we also respect and honor that through which all life is made possible - the earth.

Besides reason, human beings also possess compassion and the power to act on that compassion to a greater degree than other animals. Perhaps it is time to encourage (in ourselves and others) an active shift in consciousness and begin cultivate our compassionate natures - wouldn't that be rational?

These meanings, and indeed all the fundamental meanings, that animals may carry are independent of the uses humans may find for them. There is no room in Stevens' poem for the "four and twenty blackbirds baked into a pie" of the nursery rhyme. Significance does not reside in utility. When a species vanishes from among us, our world declines in meanings. Future generations may not know our era so much as that of the "Great Extinctions" as that of the "Great Loss of Meanings." The more we see that our own meaningfulness is intrinsically carried by other animals as existential "words" in themselves, the more we will care for and nurture the world of animal life around us.

I

II

III

The terms of and means to happiness are matters that have occupied much of my thought in recent years. The grief, suffering and trials that life invariably presents reveal the judicious restraint of the Framers to assert that the central aims of good government include the preservation of liberty and the pursuit of happiness. The state protects the foundation, but the process of acquisition is largely left to us.

"Pursuit" definitely suits the problem at hand which can be a terrible hunt indeed. I wonder whether we could even begin to calculate the effort, time and material resources we have committed pounding down blind alleys in pursuit of this elusive state of being? Would improbable or futile efforts to secure happiness exceed those committed to quests for eternal youth and beauty or ideals of romantic love? I'm not sure.

I do know that while I and maybe even you have often been wrong about what is conducive to happiness or how to secure it, the notion of happiness and its experience are real and attainable. We may simply need better tools for its pursuit.

Lately, I've been considering the relationships between liberty and happiness. I'm afraid that my analyses have favored negative accounts of liberty as freedom from: fill in your loss or affliction of choice. The many forms of poverty; isolation; illness, and loss of treasured people, places, or activities can make the pursuit of happiness seem like an impossible dream. (If there are adults to whom this statement is unintelligible, please contact me as quickly as possible. I'd like to know how you escaped.) For myself, even though the obstacles placed by my body pale in significance to the truly horrible suffering of others, these days I encounter it as my tightest and least tractable constraint.

A more measured and complete analysis recognizes the ways in which self selected constraints promote personal happiness. The contentment and serenity of colleagues and friends who have taken powerful ethical or religious vows come to mind. There also seems to be, at least for me, a complex but inverse relationship between self involvement and personal happiness. The more effectively I devote myself to others or the transcendent, the clearer the path to happiness becomes. Perhaps it is simply the fog of my delusions lifting?

Sheltering under these magnificent plants I briefly consider the stages of my own life. However the sumac quickly recaptures my attention. It endures, flourishing in the sandy ridges of the far meadow. How does it find water there? The lovely bobs, fruit and even the bark of the Staghorn sumac have been used by humans for centuries. While the sumac and rudbeckia are in states of splendor, other inhabitants of the woods and meadow aren't faring as well. Parasitic insects threaten some of the trees. The fatigued green and brown leaves of the mayapple show signs of predation. The pond has dried and no longer offers food or protection to the muskrats. Their lithe and stealthy movements in the muddy water fascinated me in the spring. Now I wonder: where did these beautiful animals go?

Careful attention on any walk reveals a range of threats and losses to the inhabitants of our remaining open and wild places. This reinforces our solidarity in the struggles of life and our shared responsibility to protect and promote its flourishing. In the midst of affliction and loss, considerable power and grace reside in what remains. May each of us prove more capable of deep and effective thought and prompt and tender action in the care of all with whom we share this precious planet. Were we to do so, we might find that both liberty and happiness are ready at hand.

Skyler Pham, age 17
Category IV (Grades 10-12) 2009 Grand Prize Winner
Opelousas, Louisiana

[River of Words is a California-based organization which conducts training workshops for teachers, park naturalists, grassroots groups, state resource agencies, and librarians. The organization helps them to incorporate observation-based nature exploration and the arts into their work with young people. In addition to helping improve children's literacy-and cognitive skills like investigation and critical thinking-River of Words' multidisciplinary, hands-on approach to education nurtures students' creative voices as well, through instruction and practice in art and poetry.

Every year River of Words holds a poetry contest for young people. Poetry submissions are judged by River of Words co-founders Robert Hass, who served as US Poet Laureate from 1995-1997, and writer Pamela Michael. Four Grand Prizes in poetry are awarded every year to United States contestants, in four different age categories.]

Mountain-rose petals Falling, falling, falling Waterfall music         -Basho
	Skylark Sings all day, And day not long enough.         -Basho
A saddening world:     Flowers whose sweet     Blooms must fall As we too, alas...         -Etsujin
	Pretty butterflies     Be careful of     Pine-needle points In this gusty wind!         -Shusen

The rangers have initiated their seasonal war of the woods. By this I mean, their assault on "invasive plants." As a member of arguably the most destructive species on the planet, I have doubts about our abilities to be sufficiently self critical in the designation of botanic or animal 'pests'. Given a frank calculation of the horrors we have wrought, how might we be expected to be categorized by another intelligent species, presumably one with greater self discipline?

As I have walked through the woods this week, I've noticed knee high piles of violets wrenched from the earth. This carnage will be followed by the perennial battle with the wild garlic whose corpses will strew the trails. If these woods and meadows held the last precious remnants of threatened or endangered plants, I would at least understand the effort. But, they don't. The botanic inhabitants here are as common as squirrels. Or humans for that matter. And the only unusual plant we have is the spotted horse mint which grows in a drier and sandier section of the meadow undisturbed by garlic or violet. While the horse mint is a welcome guest here, it's considered unexceptional in other parts of the Midwest. Besides, I treasure the delicate golden blooms of these violets. They bear joyful tidings of the season. I grant that their corms often burrow into the roots and bulbs of other plants and divert their resources. But at times, I wonder why they are subject to persistent efforts at extermination while the lilies of the valley and snowdrops are not.

The raspberry bushes have also faced the wrath of the park authorities who have pursued multiple strategies over the years in the hopes of destroying them. Resistant and stubborn, these plants continue to endure despite being clear cut, burned, and poisoned. Last year, in frustration the rangers rented or borrowed a large tiller and drove it all around the meadow, trying to exterminate these plants. I suspect that this year they meant to return to the tilled earth tactic, but they brought the tractor out too early and it sunk up to its wheel wells in the mud. I not only relished the site, but considered delaying the onset of the next battle by adding my weight to the sunken tines of the tiller. Hold now! Would this qualify as peaceful resistance? For my sympathies in this battle are with the bushes which generously offer large and luscious black raspberries throughout the summer to tired and thirsty travelers, whether human, avian or furry mammals. I was delighted to see their green stalks emerge again this spring and to enjoy the soft serrated leaves they are only now putting forth. I bow to the tenacity of these raspberry bushes, to the clever ways in which they cling to life and a terrain they've enjoyed for probably thirty years. Long may they flourish in the face of the rangers' despite.

What is life?
It is the flash of a firefly in the night;
It is the breath of a buffalo in the winter time;
It is the little shadow that runs across the grass
And loses itself in the sunset.

Chief Isapwo Muksika Crowfoot
      (Music of the Sky: An Anthology of Spiritual Poetry, Patrick Laude and Barry
      McDonald (editors). Bloomington, Indiana: World Wisdom, 2004. p 19.)

One of the great joys that I experienced when I moved back East was seeing fireflies sparkling in a field on a warm summer night. Part of the joy flowed out of childhood memories of lazy summer evenings and friends and fireflies. After we had played ourselves out in "Red Rover" and "Hide and Seek" and dusk had turned into night, we would go into a field where the fireflies were flickering. Each of us found a special place in the grass, sat down, and quietly waited for a firefly to light up close by. We trapped the firefly in our cupped hands and held our breath until the little creature's next gleam lit up our hands. Then we released our breath and the firefly at the same time. We had shared in something of the creature's mystery and as a return let the firefly hasten on its way by riding on our breath.

The last few evenings have been warm and relaxed. My dog, Skipper, and I have taken leisurely strolls at dusk. By the end of the stroll Skipper has become so mellow, he merely gazes at the cats stretched out on driveways to soak up the last of the day's warmth. My racing mind too has slackened its pace and become calm enough to feel wonder and to rejoice in the sudden gleams of fireflies, now here, now there. I remember the childhood game and ponder the connection between life, breath, and fireflies. Perhaps Chief Isapwo Muksika Crowfoot experienced the same thing walking in a summer's dusk, seeing fireflies, and watching shadows lengthen on the ground and race into night. There is something timeless in this experience, a sense of participation in a mystery fulfilling itself as it has for thousands of years. All of us living belong to this mystery which unfolds our beings to race across seconds and minutes into the timeless. All of us belong to this communion of breath and spirit. All of us living, by sharing our breath and spirit with each other, hasten one another on the way. Indeed, we become the way.