“Believe me, the so-called primitive races who worshipped animals as gods were not so daft as people choose to pretend. At least they were humble. Why should not God have come to the earth as an earth-worm? There are a great many more worms than men, and they do a great deal more good.”

T. H. White, writer (1906 – 1964), born on this day

“In ancient times, knowledge of the tides and seasons was vital, sacred knowledge that kept the tribe in harmony with the laws of nature. The mysteries of sun, moon, and stars that collectively describe the intricate dance of the day, the month, and the year were so important that a whole new class of society sprang up: the sacred clan who, under a variety of names, maintained watchful vigil over these movements that governed the sowing and reaping of crops, the movement of animals, the run of fish. These people were those who had an aptitude for minute and careful observation. They also had an infinite patience that we now find hard to comprehend.

They would watch and record the patterns and cycles every day, every month, every year, over a whole lifetime. Their work was continued by their offspring into many generations, until eventually the vast workings of the cosmos formed meaningful shapes and patterns. Over the centuries, their observations would result in the erection of stone circles and megaliths, each stone sited according to their observations. It was said of St. Columba that he could understand the harmonious dance of the moon and sun, read the tides of the sea, and enumerate the stars of heaven. This alone is proof that as late as the sixth century, the foundation lore of the sacred clan was being passed down.

Today, though we possess tide tables, calendars, and ephemerides with which to track the seas, the days, and the movements of the heavens, the sacred knowledge of their mysteries is own own special heritage.”

From The Celtic Spirit: Daily Meditations for the Turning Year by Caitlin Matthews

“Mankind has gone very far into an artificial world of his own creation. He has sought to insulate himself, in his cities of steel and concrete, from the realities of earth and water and the growing seed. Intoxicated with a sense of his own power, he seems to be going farther and farther into more experiments for the destruction of himself and his world.
There is certainly no single remedy for this condition and I am offering no panacea. But it seems reasonable to believe — and I do believe — that the more clearly we can focus our attention on the wonders and realities of the universe about us the less taste we shall have for the destruction of our race. Wonder and humility are wholesome emotions, and they do not exist side by side with a lust for destruction.”

Rachel Carson (1907 – 1964), biologist and conservationist, born on this day

“Come home to the forest
Where time goes slow,
and breath is mellow.
Where thoughts find rest,
and calm comes to nest.
Come home to the woods
to be friends with trees,
and listen to the breeze.
To wander through trails,
and mend your sails.
Come home to nature,
When your heart is hurting,
or your soul needs healing.
When something feels wrong,
or you just need place to belong.
The forest awaits
Come home.
Be healed.”

Nitin Das, forest film maker

“Abundance is not a result you create. It is an existing state you recognize. We ask for long life, but ‘tis deep life, or noble moments, that signify. Let the measure of time be spiritual, not mechanical.”

From Society and Solitude by Ralph Waldo Emerson (1803 – 1882), Unitarian minister, Transcendentalist, philosopher and essayist, born on this day

“Where do we go, when we’re lost – when the humans around us (much as we love them) can’t seem to help us? We go where we’ve been taught to forget to go. Where our ancestors have always gone. To the woods and the old ways. To the hedgelands and edgelands; to the threshold places and liminal zones. We go looking for the Others who dwell there; we go listening for the murmurs of the dreaming land. We go looking for a wisdom that’s wilder and wiser than our own.”

Sharon Blackie

“Might the simple maxim, that honesty is the best policy be laid to heart! Might a sense of the true aims of life elevate the tone of politics and trade, till public and private honor become identical!”

From Summer on the Lakes by Margaret Fuller (1810 – 1850), Unitarian feminist and journalist, born on this day

Portrait of Margaret Fuller by Thomas Hicks, 1848

International Day for Biological Diversity

“The heart that has learned to love feels sorry for every created thing…
Once I needlessly killed a fly. The poor thing crawled on the ground, hurt and mangled, and for three whole days I wept over my cruelty to a living creature, and to this day the incident remains in my memory…
The Spirit of God teaches the soul to love every living thing so that she would have no harm come to even a green leaf on a tree, or trample underfoot a flower of the field. Thus the Spirit of God teaches love towards all, and the soul feels compassion for every being.”

Saint Silouan of Athos (1866 – 1938)

International Tea Day

“Tea is an act complete in its simplicity. When I drink tea, there is only me and the tea. The rest of the world dissolves. There are no worries about the future. No dwelling on past mistakes. Tea is simple: loose-leaf tea, hot pure water, a cup. I inhale the scent, tiny delicate pieces of the tea floating above the cup. I drink the tea, the essence of the leaves becoming a part of me. I am informed by the tea, changed. This is the act of life, in one pure moment, and in this act the truth of the world suddenly becomes revealed: all the complexity, pain, drama of life is a pretense, invented in our minds for no good purpose.
There is only the tea, and me, converging.”

Thich Nhat Hanh

World Bee Day

“What is this dark hum among the roses?
The bees have gone simple, sipping,
that’s all. What did you expect? Sophistication?
They’re small creatures and they are
filling their bodies with sweetness, how could they not
moan in happiness? The little
worker bee lives, I have read, about three weeks.
Is that long? Long enough, I suppose, to understand
that life is a blessing. I have found them-haven’t you?—
stopped in the very cups of the flowers, their wings
a little tattered-so much flying about, to the hive,
then out into the world, then back, and perhaps dancing,
should the task be to be a scout-sweet, dancing bee.
I think there isn’t anything in this world I don’t
admire. If there is, I don’t know what it is. I
haven’t met it yet. Nor expect to. The bee is small,
and since I wear glasses, so I can see the traffic and
read books, I have to
take them off and bend close to study and
understand what is happening. It’s not hard, it’s in fact
as instructive as anything I have ever studied. Plus, too,
it’s love almost too fierce to endure, the bee
nuzzling like that into the blouse
of the rose. And the fragrance, and the honey, and of course
the sun, the purely pure sun, shining, all the while, over
all of us.”

Mary Oliver