I Am Here

Friends, please, if you will spare me a little of your attention.

I’ve come to this shore so that my friends in the water, in the air, and on the land might listen to me, though I know that using the word “friends” with you is fraught considering what we’ve done to your families, your places, your lives. Please pardon my arrogance in using the word, but I want to come to you with some dignity so that what I have to say will be received as heartfelt and sincere, and not just the expedient words of one who grovels in shame.

I would also ask that you please forgive my use of words to express myself. I know there are better, more genuine, more intimate ways of expression. But words are our people’s reflexive, if not always perfect, means of understanding. We even have a saying amongst our people when we appreciate someone’s understanding. We say that someone can “put it into words.”

Still, forgive me the words I am reliant upon right now.

Our world – the world we all find ourselves in - is seriously at risk today. I want to warn you that your lives especially are at risk. You, Orca. You, Salmon. You, Crow and Cedar and Glacier. All of you. At risk.

We’ve known how much we’ve damaged the waters, the air, even the lands for a long time. I’ll spare you the arcane details of our society that led to that, the discouragement of personal discovery that leads to a people who have lost sight of who they are and believe that their identity lies in bought things, who believe that handing over money is sufficient giving back for what they are taking. Deep gratitude to the earth and all who share it is an uncommon practice amongst us.

But today the situation is much worse. We have a leader who knows nothing of reciprocity, nothing of gratitude; A leader whose thirst for power and adulation could not be satisfied by all the rivers in our land; A leader whose casual cruelty is visited upon any and all beings that he perceives are in the way of his power, his profit, his dominance. He is appetite incarnate. The realization that we are all dependent upon each other is alien to him. And, thus, he sees all of you – Alder and Flounder and Sage Grouse and all of you – as undeserving of respect, let alone care.

One reason that I come today is to warn you of that.

But I come for another reason as well.

Things are difficult right now even amongst our people, those of us with conscience and awareness. I know that grief is a thread that runs through us all, whatever side of the shore we live on. But I don’t know what place hopelessness has in your societies. As a human in human society, it is easy to feel hopeless now. But I realize that feeling hopeless is a conceit, a trick played upon us by our isolation from each other. And I seek your presence for comfort even if you don’t notice me. Or don’t wish to notice me.

There are many amongst our people who are leaving for other lands. Each of us has decisions to make and reasons to weigh. Danger stalks all of us to different degrees, and some must leave.

But the other reason I come today is to tell you that I am not leaving.

I am a small voice in calamitous times. But I swear to raise that voice whenever possible, in whatever place, to whatever power in your defense and in defense of the places we love and call home. This place, these lands, this water, this air, this ice, these rocks where we root our lives and nourish our spirits are not some other body to me. This water has passed through me. This air has soaked into my blood, and back out. These minerals collect in my bones and muscles and sinews, and return to where I pass them to others, maybe even you.

In earlier times in our history, our people used a simple phrase, “I am here.” It is so very lost in our society today, though it seems still very much alive in yours. It asserts a presence of dignity and comfort, a commitment to do whatever is required in the moment, especially in a terrible situation, even if nothing can actually be done but to share the suffering and comfort the afflicted.

I cannot promise that we can stop any of the terrible things that are coming our way. And things will likely get worse before they get better even if we do succeed. But I want to say clearly to all of you today, “I am here.”

Musical Coda: Gretchen Yanover, Heart and Sky