This morning I transferred my remaining 675 shares of ExxonMobil stock into a “Donor Advised Fund” (DAF)at RSF Social Finance. A DAF is basically like a mini-family foundation that is held within a larger foundation. Contributing to this fund, which I have named “The Seahorse Fund” after my Dad, allows me a tax-deduction for the initial gift. They will sell the XOM shares immediately and I have the monies to give away to non-profits of my choice, as I please over time. I feel really good about this way of divestment and am delighted to be honoring my Dad in this way.

The story behind the seahorse goes something like this: I was on a vision fast out on Santa Cruz Island off the coast of Ventura and woke up on the last morning to see a perfect seahorse-shaped cloud right above my head. I knew it had significance, so I sketched it quickly in my journal and went back to base camp to break the fast. The park ranger was there waiting for me with news that my father was dying. He died later that day. When I returned home to look up the meaning of the seahorse, I found that ancient mariners said it was the seahorse who escorted souls to the afterlife! (my Dad did spend lots of time on a ship during WW2) So it is a symbol of my Dad who I honor and give thanks for providing me with so much (including the XOM stock. yuck!).

The Seahorse Fund

I dedicate this journey to future generations.

Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world’s grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work. But neither are you free to abandon it. — from the Talmud

Two of hundreds of warning signs we saw along our route.

I am now back in Ojai, to attend to school and family and life, with a plan to rejoin the Compassionate Earth Walk in South Dakota in September. I noticed that it was only when I returned home and began to try to integrate the experience that the real grief of what I witnessed began to be felt. Floating in our swimming pool, I wept for the people of the Athabasca watershed whose waters are poisoned. I wept for the land scarred and ridden with the network of subterranean, insidious oil pipelines. I wept for the community of all life at risk in the face of climate change. I felt the sorrow of my own complicity and hypocrisy as I return to a life of relative luxury, consumption and comfort. Integration has not been easy as I have tried to hold onto the deep connection I felt with the earth while walking, meditating, sleeping, bathing and eating outside for two weeks. The veil between worlds felt very thin for the first days back and is slowly thickening as I jump into the details of everyday life. I purposely did not step back through the threshold circle as I left the walk, with the intention to hold this time as sacred until I join them again. I trust this was the right decision though I do feel a bit disoriented and in two worlds.

On my way to the Edmonton airport I passed this circle in a field. I hold it in my heart as a symbol of the circle of life that weaves through all things keeping us interconnected through space and time. I resolve to do my part on protecting and restoring this fragile web and I give gratitude to my ancestors, my Dad in particular, my family, and my community for making this journey possible. May it continue!

“I see a vision of a great rucksack revolution thousands or even millions of young Americans wandering around with rucksacks, going up to mountains to pray, making children laugh and old men glad, making young girls happy and old girls happier, all of ’em Zen Lunatics who go about writing poems that happen to appear in their heads for no reason and also by being kind and also by strange unexpected acts keep giving visions of eternal freedom to everybody and to all living creatures.”
― Gary Snyder

A bunch o’ Zen lunatics engaged in morning zazen.

Late one night while staying at the lakeside campground by the town of Czar, I decided to take a quick skinny dip in the lake before bedtime. Attempting to dodge the swarms of mosquitoes, I must have been so hasty I failed to look up into the sky. A few minutes later I hear Lina shouting excitedly “Aurora Borealis! Aurora Borealis!!” We all gathered on the lakeside, me half-naked wrapped in my camping towel, and stared up in silent awe as it changed shape and brightness and color before our eyes. What a gift on one of my last nights with the walkers! And the mosquitoes were happy, too. (Above photo is from Google Images but is very close to what we witnessed.)

Jon offered us this poem.

Northern Lights

We have seen Aurora Borealis
On a warm mosquito bitten night
Casually acknowledging the sacred gift
Small talking in the face of God

We have seen Aurora Borealis
We climbed the mountain; we have been Mecca
Our dreams and voices anointed, our callings blessed
The world will change

Jon R. Biemer
July 2013
Dedicated to the Compassionate Earth Walkers

After lots of discussion about how to walk, where to walk, what speed to walk, and the meaning and purpose of the walk, our group finally found a place of agreement and a rhythm. Together we realized that it was important to all of us to be able to alternate times on the main roads where we would be visible to passing trucks and the local population, with times on the back roads where we could feel the land and have our own souls nourished by it. By now the mythic sense of our journey has begun to sink in. I have begun to feel the earth under my feet in a deeper way and feel connected to the greater ancestral practice of walking. As we cover individually about 10 miles a day, and collectively, about 20, I am beginning to feel the satisfaction of covering great distance, little by little, on foot. In moments of awe and wonder, I feel such kinship with the ancient ones who knew no other way to travel and those who have practiced pilgrimage through the ages. As my body gets stronger and less challenged by the physical aspects of the long-distances, the act of aligning body, prayer, purpose and action begins to be felt as a great joy. The quiet dialogue within my mind and that dialogue with the elementals all around me, begins to blur and merge as my soul and the soul of the land become one. The morning zazen practice, I believe, helps attune to these energies and open us up to the bigger story of which we are a part. The walking staff, which I felt physically cumbersome at first, has become our loyal companion, ceremonially handed over with a bow, each time Shodo takes a break. I am falling in love with this walking.

Logan and Shawn Taylor

While resting on the side of the road, a young man approached us. He said, “My Dad was driving by and saw you and called me to say it looked like there were some protesters walking along. I am working for the local paper and thought I would find out what you are doing. Are you protesting?” Turns out it was his first week on the paper and we were his first “scoop.” We ended up interviewing him and learned his father and grandpa were cattle ranchers. When we asked if he thought his Dad would let us camp on his land he replied, “I think my Dad would like that!” We had some good chuckles, imagining his Dad saying something like, “Son, you can’t bring home everyone you write about!!” So we ended up staying on their land and had a most wonderful visit. Logan’s Dad, Shawn, was great and his grandpa, Bruce, totally adorable. They seemed delighted to have us as guests and a certain cathartic relief in being able to speak openly and frankly about their love of the land and their concerns about the encroaching oil industry. Defying my own cowboy stereotyping, Shawn and Logan’s “bachelor pad” was exploding with books on Amazonian shamanism, environmentalism, adventure travel, and ethnography by authors such as Wade Davis, John Perkins, Alberto Villodo and others.

Lina with Grandpa and Grandma Taylor

Grandpa Bruce informed us that he gets up at 5am every morning, not to tend the cattle, but to practice yoga! In the morning, I followed Shawn down to the corral to watch his artificial insemination operation which was fascinating. After a long discussion about the state of the planet and the ecological crisis we are all facing, we asked, “What do you see as the answer?” He laughed and replied, “Oh I have no idea!!? That’s way too big a question for me!!!” Then he paused thoughtfully and said, “Well, learn to be happy with less I guess.” So humble and so real.

Before we hit the road, Logan wanted to show us what was happening down the road. They had been talking about the “new construction” and their concerns over the oil industry expansion that appears to be exploding out of control. On an intersection between beautiful pastures and farm fields bursting with yellow rape seed (canola), was the beginnings of a giant industrial project — a future train terminal for moving oil. We learned that with or without the Keystone XL Pipeline, there will continue to be lots of ways to transport the oil.

Train Terminal Construction Site

We tried to find out if these pipes are awaiting Keystone approval or are of a different type. Not sure. We do know that there are many places along the route where you can see pipes piled up disintegrating in the wind, rain and sun. As Bill McKibbon optimistically pointed out at the Healing Walk, the activism is working! The resistance creates delays that cost the industry millions.

Pipes lined up to the horizon.

Hardisty PIpeline Terminal

The next step on our Compassionate Earth Walk begins in Hardisty, where the Keystone XL Pipeline would begin. This “tank farm” is an industrial complex and hub for the oil industry in Alberta, sometimes referred to as “the Texas” of Canada. As we walked through this area, we had at least five Crown police patrol cars staked out on hilltops and intersections, watching us like hawks. They told us it was for our protection, but clearly they were assigned to prevent any acts of “eco-terrorism” a term used by Canada’s current conservative government for those who are standing up for the rights of the land, the waters and all life.

Shodo walking past the “tank farm.”

One of the most delightful aspects of being on the road is when you are cared for by strangers. This family went way beyond the call of duty making sure we got all of our muddy laundry done, providing a feast and listening with great interest and heart to our stories. Our “suppertime council” become a deep exchange I will not forget and their profound generosity will remain with me. I look forward to the opportunity to treat future wayfarers with this quality of openness and love.