What happens when we relate to our planet, to our cat or dog, to a tree?  It used to be thought that only humans had consciousness but now we know different.  The Animal Welfare (Sentience) Act became law in the UK in April.  This recognises that all vertebrates and some invertebrates (eg lobsters, crabs and octopuses) are sentient – are aware and experience feelings such as joy, fear and pain.  Even insects have been shown to have unique responses and personalities. Our consciousness was assumed to originate in our brain but now it seems that the brain does not produce consciousness but acts as a kind of receiver for it.  We are learning more about consciousness from octopuses which have a very small brain but each arm has its own consciousness and personality. 

Beyond animals, plants too respond in ways we did not expect, reacting to different types of music, and thriving or failing in response to praise or criticism.  Each morning when I walk the dogs I have a place where I stop and sing to the trees, and they seem to listen.  In our relationships with animals and plants, do we share consciousness at some level?

‘While stroking an octopus, it is easy to fall into reverie.  To share such a moment of deep tranquillity with another being, especially one as different from us as the octopus, is a humbling privilege.  It’s a shared sweetness, a gentle miracle, an uplink to universal consciousness – the notion, first advanced by pre-Socratic Greek philosopher Anaxagoras in 480BC, of sharing an intelligence that animates and organizes all life.  The idea of universal consciousness suffuses both Western and Eastern thought and philosophy, from the “collective unconscious” of psychologist Carl Jung, to unified field theory, to the investigations of the Institute of Noetic Sciences founded by Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar Mitchell in 1973.  I feel blessed by the thought of sharing with an octopus what one website calls “an infinite, eternal ocean of intelligent energy”.  Who would know more about the infinite, eternal ocean than an octopus?  And what could be more deeply calming that being cradled in its arms, surrounded by the water from which life itself arose? As I pet Kali’s soft head I think of Paul the Apostle’s letter to the Philippians about the power of the “peace that passeth understanding”.

And then – SPLASH – we’re hosed. “That was not aggression” says Wilson. “That was playful.”..Kali fluffs up the suckers on her arms like the frills on a petticoat and waves her arms at us.  If she were a person, we could reach no other conclusion than that she is teasing us, daring us to try again.’

Sy Montgomery. The Soul of an Octopus. Simon & Schuster. 2015

Peony

I can sip beauty,
I can take it up
by osmosis
until it becomes
the lining of my soul,
jewels in the dark.

The peony is lush,
a ball of velvet,
carmine petals
folded together
like pleats
of a heart.

Ruislip Golf Course near here has been taken over by HS2 for the last few years and is a wonderful place to walk the dogs.  They are investigating the archaeology and I found some flints when they filled in one of the trenches a couple of years ago.  I had a chance to show them to the archaeologist recently and they are Mesolithic, 10,000 years old, from when our ancestors returned to Britain after the ice age. 

It is very special to walk down the medieval lane that leads to the golf course and then know you are walking in the footsteps of people who used this area so long ago.  They would have been dependent on the land and the weather, whereas for me it is a place of beauty and all I gather are blackberries or sloes.  We have so much now that would not even have been a dream back then, but still I would love to experience the relationship, belonging and awe they must have felt when they walked here.

Breathing the green

I have been surrounded by concrete for too long, trapped in a town with no gardens, no green.  I am making my escape through the low stone cottages and out onto the hills nibbled close by rabbits and sheep.  I can feel the grass under my feet cushioning the rock, the thin soil.  It bounces with me, scraggy and ill-kempt, browning at the edges but to me it is life.  I breathe it in, careless green vistas, but it is not enough.  I sit and let the breeze that blows the few tattered stalks that lift above the green blow in me.  We are both thin and brown and bare.  Breathing; breezing.  There are a few small thistles and everywhere is carpeted with droppings.  I lie down carefully and absorb the blue sky.  The white delight of cloud like a message overhead fades back into the blue as I gaze.  I want the sky to soak my front and the earth to soak my back but I still feel brick bound and tight.  Breathing; lying; skying.

How can I download more of the field into my fancy, of nature into the parched reaches of soul?  Walk the way, noticing, naturing.  There is an old boundary that crosses the field, a ridge of history that now has no fence just occasional stunted trees.  They are hawthorn, small but tight with leaf, thorn and berry.  The trunk is an artist’s dream, split into caves and crevasses, turning and twisting in a slow dance.

Nearby there are rabbit warrens, a dozen entrances burrowed into the earth.  When I walk the hill I am not just standing on rock and soil, I am standing on a honey comb of homes.  Are they in there, furry in the dark?  Do they know I’m here, vibrating their ceiling with my step? My need for nature is like a thirst, as essential to life as water and sunshine.  I have breathed in green.  I can go back to buildings. 

In many parts of the world we have been experiencing extreme heat.  Here in England the temperature has broken all previous records.  With normal weather we can adjust our clothing and our heating.  But we are now experiencing extreme temperatures with wild fires and droughts plus extreme rainfall with catastrophic flooding. Although reported as being due to climate change, I haven’t noticed these events triggering a change in policies or actions that would ameliorate this.  Let us hope for more response individually and corporately as we now know that we can and do influence the weather.

The weight of our thirst

The river lies dry and cracked
and I have further to go
for water.

I walk this path each day
carrying the weight of our thirst.

We dig beneath the land now
for the ancient water,
deeper and deeper,
like chasing memories.

This land holds our memories
but soon we will have to leave.

We will walk a long path,
the young, the old, the cattle,
carrying the weight of our loss.

Every day, a 40 foot tree takes in 50 gallons of dissolved nutrients from the soil, raises this mixture to its topmost leaves, converts it into 10 pounds of carbohydrates and releases about 60 cubic feet of pure oxygen into the air.

A British oak tree is home to about 2,300 organisms including grey squirrels, little owls, ladybirds, aphids, crab spiders, the winter moth caterpillar and the spotted carion beetle.  Of these 1 in 7 ie 326 species only live on oak trees, and a further 229 are highly associated with them.  This is the breakdown:

Briophytes 229 species, Lichens 716 species, Fungi 108 species, Invertebrates 1178 species, Birds 38 species and Mammals 31 species.  If we included micro-organisms there would be thousands.

The damage that all the different caterpillars cause by eating leaves can cut the amount of energy the tree can gather from the sun by half.  When the tree detects it is being eaten, it releases volatile chemical compounds which signal for reinforcements – the blue tits.  Each eat about 100 caterpillars a day.  

Despite their importance, only 13% of the UK’s land area has tree cover compared to an EU average of 38%, which makes us one of the lowest levels of tree cover in Europe. Ancient Woodland is particularly important, yet there’s just 2.4% land area left in the UK. However we do have more ancient oak trees than anywhere else in Europe.

The way of lingering

The garden is full of soft sunshine and dappled shadows, the scent of blossom, the hum of bees and the song of birds.  It is a gentle, beguiling world softened by the play of shadows which still hold a slight moisture from their night’s sleep.  The leaves of the trees shimmer in a dance with a quiet rustling as the breeze lifts them, then lets them go.  They offer their shape and greenness to the face of the sun in a harmony of belonging.  The air is warm in the sun like silk and you can feel it carrying the fullness of this day as particles of pollen and scent brush across your skin.  And it is a Sunday, our sabbath of time saved from the routines of busyness so we can linger in the delight of the day. Have we lost the way of lingering?  Can we still notice the small wonders around us and store them in our treasure-box?  What difference would it make to our busy lives if we took care to let each beauty amaze us and fill us before going on our way, if we stopped to smell the flowers fronting the gardens that we pass?  Do we feel this is our world, do we live in the mutuality of it and enjoy the offerings of bird and flower as gift given to please us?  And do we gift them back with a smile or a touch, knowing our pleasure is a blessing?  This is the place to learn to listen, to live without the carapace that often guards us, and to find that the beauty we can see in ant and leaf and bud is the beauty we can find in our soul.

The complex web of relationships in our ecosystems where each organism affects the others has not been fully recognized until comparatively recently.  One example of this is at Yellowstone Park.  Yellowstone Park was made a national park in 1872 but that did not protect the wolves who were all killed by the 1920’s to protect the ‘more valuable’ species.  They didn’t listen to the Scottish-American conservationist John Muir, the ‘Father of the National Parks’, who said “when we try to pick out anything by itself, we find it hitched to everything else.”

Wolves had been the top predator and without them the elk and deer numbers exploded.  This caused overgrazing of young willows, aspen trees and cottonwood plants, which in turn led to a decline in songbirds and beavers, the latter of whom rely on willows in winter. As beavers declined in numbers, the lack of damming and shade meant water temperatures rose, and certain cold-water fish could no longer survive in Yellowstone.

After much discussion and not a little opposition, wolves were reintroduced in 1995.  The impact on the biodiversity of Yellowstone National Park was seen within the decade – much quicker than those involved in the project had expected.  Willow stands had been in bad shape due to overgrazing , but with pressure from wolves keeping elks on the move, the grazing was not so intensive, and so willow stands became more robust – meaning they could again accommodate songbirds. Willows are still recovering, but strong willows also meant beavers had an abundant food source. When the wolf was reintroduced in 1995, there was only one beaver colony left in Yellowstone. There are now many. As beavers dammed and built ponds, the trees thrived, and cold, shaded water returned to accommodate fish.

In recent years, with a lack of snowy winters in Yellowstone, wolves have become the primary cause for elk mortality. Scavenger species that once relied on winter-killed elk are still able to thrive without the snow thanks to wolf-killed elk.  This is benefiting ravens, eagles, magpies, coyotes and bears. Wolves also kill coyotes, which increases the populations of rabbits and mice, and in turn provides a wider food source for hawks, weasels, foxes and badgers.

27 years on, the reintroduction of wolves to Yellowstone is considered one of the most successful examples of rewilding to take place. It is a remarkable example of the ripple effect that one animal can have on an entire ecosystem, and a lesson for us of the value of all the different species.

Lichen

My fruit trees
have lichen on their branches,
crusted green-grey
and mustard yellow,
another crop
along with the apples and plums,
telling me
like grey hair
that they have been here
for a while
and are worthy
of my respect.