beyond words.

this afternoon, we filled the tiny airport with laughter. and joy. and dancing. and hugs. as we offered our thank yous and goodbyes in multiple languages. with hopes of greeting each other again. perhaps on the other side of the bering strait next time.

a mere week ago, we met in the same space. in an atmosphere of silence and uncertainty. none of us knew what to expect. or even how to interact. yet through the exchange of cultures, of personalities, of experiences, we grew into a diverse family. as we celebrated our differences. and discovered common ground.

eleven youth and three adults from new chaplino and provideniya, russia were able to visit nome this past week through a grant the community center received from the national park service. the purpose was to connect people in the beringia region, who live in different countries and speak different languages, but share many similar lifestyle practices and traditions.

the group that visited consisted of siberian yupik dancers. and ecology students. during the week, the students had the opportunity to share their gifts with the community. and we did our best to show them around nome. yet regardless of what we did. or didn't do. simply being in one another's presence. and honouring one another's origins. inherently taught us more that can be expressed in words. the whole experience transcended language, really.

and i was reminded of the beauty. of soul connections. of shared experiences. that go beyond words. of the creative ways people can interact. and reach common understanding. when language barriers are present. yet in its absence, i was also reminded of the depth that language allows us to converse in. and how we often overlook its potential to understand one another more intimately. and how often we shy away from depth. and maintain safe words. that merely float on the surface of something greater.

one of the most vibrant illustrations of transcendent connections happened during a community dance performance. eskimo dancers from both new chaplino and king island shared their talents. and though new chaplino's dances were sung in siberian yupik. and king island's in inupiaq, the movements went beyond words. and some of the most beautiful moments were during welcome or invitational songs where dancers and community members from both sides danced and drummed and sang together. finding a certain cultual harmony. and the image of people of such similar heritage with a history of such political division uniting in music and movement was profound. perhaps what this was all supposed to be about.

the youth from russia seemed deeply connected to their roots. to their traditions. to where they come from. much more so than i have observed with young folks in nome. and i admired that in them. yet i also observed them very much in tune with modern culture. with mp3 players. and shopping. and rap music. and i wondered how they make sense of it all. these different worlds. that they are apart of. that are apart of them. but i couldn't really ask. couldn't find the words.

i offer tremendous thanks. that my journey merged with the journeys of such beautiful, interesting people. that we were able to learn more from each other than we can express. that we journey on with changed perspectives. and that we journey on with hopes that our paths might cross again.

happy's not the word. you make me free.

i wondered about the timing of it. there were too many things on the to-do list. or the to-think-about list. hardly ever written down. but almost always floating around in my head. it just didn't seem the ideal week to leave everything behind. but perhaps the timing was just right after all.

as soon as we arrived at bear creek fish camp. there was a sense of peace. of release. as if all the busy thoughts clouding my consciousness could be let go of. as if we could simply be. right where we were. amidst beautiful creation.

and there was a certain freedom. to play. to laugh. to sing. to dance. to spalsh. to enjoy. a certain innocence. as if this was all that mattered. this moment. this space. these companions. and i remember asking, can this just be life?

and we picked endless blueberries. and swam in numbing rivers. and fished with hope even when the fish weren't biting. and we hiked along the tundra. and celebrated the sunlight. and gathered around the campfire at night. and we drank spruce needle tea that tasted like christmas. and shared delicious meals together. and played neverending games of cards and charades.

it was as if we were all at liberty to be ourselves. and we all seemed to come a little bit more alive.

and something about it all. inspired me to sing. quite continually. each moment reminding me of a familiar tune. that would come bursting out. beyond my control. a musical of joyful noise. and perhaps in other settings in life. i also sing continually. at least in my head. but this certain flow of melodies seemed rather out of the ordinary. in a freeing sort of way.

and something about it all. was magical. or sacred. as we gathered in this natural sanctuary. to honour one another. to honour the earth and sky and water in our midst. to honour our own spirits.

and i didn't want to leave. this safe haven. this refreshing space. but journeys must continue. and songs must spill into new verses. so the beauty of it all will remain with us. as we venture on.

salmonberry delight.

wandering amidst the tundra. in sunshine. in rain. scanning the vast green for vibrant bits of orange. discovering juicy clusters. budding from tiny flowers. growing into fullness. just as they were meant to. after being hidden for so long. and thanking the earth. for her generosity. her fruitfulness. her gifts flowing so naturally.

wandering amidst the tundra. in solitude with my own soul. in communion with all that is surrounding. mindful of the moment. the moment which is just enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. with no particular path. bouncing from berry patch to berry patch. each new discovery leading to the next. humble moments of barrenness. without a berry in sight. trying moments of unripe berries. needing time to become whole. teaching us lessons in patience. in waiting. in trusting in fruit to come. joyful moments of abudance. berry heaven, one might say.

wandering amidst the tundra. filling our buckets with delights of the earth. allowing the occasional berry to grace our tongues. with juices so fresh and sweet. yet reserving most for times to come. knowing that winter will soon arrive. overwhelming this frutiful tundra. with coverings of white. and we must prepare. for changing times. of scarcity. so that when they reach. there might still be enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. remebering a time when saving fruit for another day didn't make sense. as tomorrow was not assumed. and if we did receive the gift of the next day, we would also recieve the gifts of the land. of the trees. of the sea. meant to be enjoyed in the moment. and shared with our neighbour. with faith that if tomorrow did come. something would be in season. and there would be enough.

wandering amidst the tundra. trying to make sense of these two worlds. of what was. of what is. with little concept of what will be. trying to understand where i fit. my place in the spectrum of it all. appreciating those who listen. who may have had glimpses of one of these worlds. and especially yearning for those who might understand both. who might understand me.

wandering amist the tundra. ever mindful of the berries. of the beauty. of the moment. ever thankful for the joy of it all.

listening.

the beauty of the trees,
the softness of the air,

the fragrance of the grass,

speaks to me.

the summit of the mountain,

the thunder of the sky,

the rhythm of the sea,

speaks to me.

the faintness of the stars,

the freshness of the morning,

the dewdrop on the flower,

speaks to me.

the strength of fire,

the taste of salmon,

the trail of the sun,

and the life that never goes away,

they speak to me.

and my heart sours.

~chief dan george

learning to listen. as nature speaks. as she sings.

wandering amidst mountains. and valleys. and tundra. and wildflowers. searching for a waterfall. journeying in communion. reflecting in solitude. sharing in awe. discovering beauty. resting by the rushing waters. as summer sunshine bathed our faces. and creation's music overwhelmed our hearts. receiving permission. from the earth herself. to be. to simply be. abandoning all else but this very moment. this very space. inspiring memories. of warm beaches. and coconut trees. where amidst uncertainty. there was peace. where answers were unnecessary. because the moment was all we knew. the moment was enough.

wandering amidst grains of sand. and rhythmic waves. and beach glass. and driftwood. in barefoot bliss. questioning the pieces of driftwood. as to their origins as to their stories. curiously wondering where they began their journey. somewhere far away, no doubt. to settle in this treeless land. wondering how they came to abandon their roots. and what their travels were like. wondering how long they had rested on these shores. and how much longer before the whim of the sea carried them off again. wondering what purpose each had in this space. to become a piece of firewood. to serve as a fish drying rack. or a walking stick. or a bench by the sea. and how many would find no other purpose than stillness until they drifted away once more.

wondering if i too am driftwood. somehow uprooted and far from home. inspired by something greater to rest on these shores. with an uncertain purpose. for an uncertain time. depending on the whim of the sea. to leave me be. to carry me away. a restlessness within. wondering where i might drift to next. wondering what journeys are ahead. yet somehow finding peace. to simply be still in this moment. amidst the music of the sea. and the warmth of the sunshine. trusting in where i am. for where i am is enough.

and nature continues to speak. in ways i still don't understand. yet i must seek openness. listening carefully to the wisdom dancing all around. to the wisdom dancing within. as my heart sours.

offering thanks.

offering thanks. for moments together. for a family who loves me more than i realize. enough to travel to the end of the world to see me. once again. this time in the opposite direction. to experience the subartic summer solstice.

offering thanks. for moments together. listening to alaskan bluegrass. hiking on the tundra. walking along the beach. jumping in the bering sea. sharing amazement at the extended daylight. laughing at the characters of nome. playing with our puppy. picking greens. eating salmon. learning about culture. riding through the beautiful countryside of southern alaska. spotting wildlife. seeing glaciers. hiking amidst the forest. walking through street fairs. enjoying local ice cream. appreciating each others' presence.

offering thanks. for moments together. especially when time seems fleeting. but perhaps time is always fleeting. so perhaps we seek continual mindfulness. for the moments we have. for the people we have. for the beauty we have.

offering thanks. for moments together. for images of those moments. preserving memories. reminding us of beauty. just in case our hearts grow forgetful.

offering thanks. for moments together. even now, as we are far apart. yet somehow closer than before.

abundant light.

before you go to alaska. everybody has to tell you about the time they went to alaska. or the time someone they knew went to alaska. apparently everyone's got some connection. everyone's got some story. and many of the adventures recounted to me six months ago, as i stepped off the plane from the caribbean and somehow tried to make sense of my own upcoming journey to the far north, tend to run together. my apologies for not taking better mental notes. but at least one of such shared memories must have stuck with me. as it resurfaced in my own consciousness just the other day.

with his jovial chuckle, gary recounted the time he and his buddies took a trip up to alaska. gliding along the rivers. with no sense of time. enjoying each others presence and the surrounding beauty. floating along in the daylight. then realizing it was four o clock in the morning. and still daylight. and that maybe they should stop and camp. and then gary laughed some more as he offered the memory. nostaglically breathing in those good old days. picturing in his mind a scene that seemed so unknown. so unreal. eternal daylight. endless days.

and then the other night. when i was the one drifting along an alaskan river. gary's story made sense. kayaking along the docile nome river. amidst mountains. and tundra. and willows. and birds. continual blue skies and sunshine. that discourage any sort of prediction of the time. so one simply floats on. not worrying about time. knowing there is more than enough daylight. there is no need to hurry. one can simply float on.

and just when my eyes had nearly forgotten the colour green. they are joyfully reminded. as the landscape gradually transforms. and the mountains come alive. polka dotted by tiny wildflowers. perhaps inspiring a revival of the soul. during those moments when my soul recognizes its unity with the earth. with the river. with the sky.

and so i offer thanks. for long awaited renewal. for indescribable beauty. for endless days. when time seems abundant. when hurry seems irrelevant. and i offer thanks. for the soon approaching chance. to share this beauty. this light. with folks who've only heard second and third hand tales. of alaskan adventures.

a glimpse of the sea.

a glimpse of the sea

seems to awaken my soul
as winter dissolves

a week of blue sky sunny days. light that seems neverending. snow still very present. but the hope of spring in the air. roads closed all winter cleared bit by bit. allowing a new freedom of exploration. on a friday afternoon. we load up the big white bus. and the old gray aerostar van. with fig newtons. and coffee. and tea. and elders. the plan is to drive as far as the road allows. and see what we see. i get to drive the old gray aerostar. which is pretty rockin.

down the east coast. speckled mountains to the left. thawing sea to the right. and as we sojourn on. with the eccletic local radio in the background. occassionally interrupted by observataions and memories. what was a thin line of blue on the horizon closer to town. grows in its scope. gracing our eyes. with more and more blue. and the white still seems to cover most of the sea. but there is evidence of melting. and hope of more to come.

and my heart danced a little. to see the sea. as if it had forgotten. as if it had doubted that the sea really exists. blanketed by depths of ice. since our hello.

and my soul retreated back. to moments of joy. surronded by the sea. twirling in its calm waters. feeling safe. at peace. a part of something bigger than i could comprehend. yet allowed to move amidst it. allowed to float. and be. and dance. and how it all connected me. to that which is holy. to that which is inconcieveably greater. to that which is intimately close.

and i don't know what potential to twirl in the sea there is in these parts. but simply the image. of distant and growing blue waters stirred a sense of hope. that this long awaited summer is on its way. that there is new beauty to discover. beauty my eyes have yet to see. yet eagerly anticipate.

and its still an inbetween time. the season uncertain of its own identity. this gradual transformation taking place. slowly. bit by bit. before our eyes. if our eyes remain open.

and we turn around just after mile fourteen. the snow too slushy for the big white van to handle. and we park at a lookout. and share out the fig newtons and coffee and tea. and soak in the view. and listen to water running down the hill. and look forward to days. when we can drive even further. to see what there is to see. and we celebrate this beauty. with hope that more beauty awaits. just around the corner.