“Of all the creatures who had yet walked on Earth, the Man-apes were the first to look steadfastly at the Moon. And though he could not remember it, when he was very young Moon-Watcher would sometimes reach out and try to touch that ghostly face rising above the hills. He has never succeeded, and now he was old enough to understand why. For first, of course, He must find a high enough tree to climb.”
- Arthur C. Clarke
2001 A Space Odyssey
Well, we Earthling Moon-Watchers built ourselves some really tall trees so that we could get to the moon. Rocket-propelled trees to carry us through space. And so we got to the moon.
No sooner did we land there than we set about trashing it. In the short time that we have been visiting our attendance upon it, we have left over twenty tons of debris — biological, atmospheric and manufactured — on the surface of our once pristine satellite.
Here are just some of things we left to litter Lady Luna: flags and dedication plaques from each moon mission, video cameras at the launch sites, sensitometers, the launch legs for the lunar module,
geologic tools, laser reflecting mirrors, the lunar rovers, a gold plated extreme ultraviolet telescope, a Tesco super market shopping cart, several Apollo backpacks, and three golf balls.
As if that wasn’t bad enough, we have reached new highs in our lows. At 7:30AM EDT on Friday, October 9, 2009 the Lunar Crater Observation and Sensing Satellite (LCROSS) mission, will fire a Centaur rocket into a crater at the South Pole of the moon which will act as a “heavy impactor” crashing into the lunar surface at nearly 6,000 mph sending a debris plume of 300,000 to 350,000 tons of material from the crater floor over 30 miles high.
A second sensor satellite will then drop down into this plume analyzing its contents in the hope of finding water. The result of this search will ultimately determine how realistic a full-time base on moon can be.
After the booster rocket hits the crater, blasting out a hole 90 feet deep, the shepherd will follow through the plume. After analyzing the plume, the shepherd craft will itself slam into the crater four minutes later, creating a second hole 60 feet deep.
According to NASA, this crash will be so big that we on Earth may be able to view the resulting plume of material it ejects with a good amateur telescope. The operation will unfold live on the Internet, as well as under the watchful eyes of dozens of amateur and professional astronomers and orbiting observatories, including the Hubble Space Telescope.
"Water on the moon has haunted us for years," said William Hartmann of the Planetary Science Institute. "It's all part of humanity's quest to understand our nearby cosmic environment." Yeah, right, understand it so we could rape it.
"Who (said the moon)
Do you think I am and precisely who
Pipsqueak, who are you
With your uncivil liberties
To do as you damn please?
Boo!
I am the serene
Moon (said the moon).
Don't touch me again.
To your poking telescopes,
Your peeking eyes
I have long been wise.
Science? another word
For monkeyshine.
You heard me.
Get down, little man, go home,
Back where you come from,
Bah!
Or my gold will be turning green
On me (said the moon)
If you know what I mean."
- Robert Francis
Yours with heartsick, heartfelt blessings for Mama Moon,
xxQMD
Showing posts with label environment. Show all posts
Showing posts with label environment. Show all posts
Thursday, October 8, 2009
Thursday, July 2, 2009
The Queen’s Chronicles: WHEN IT RAINS IT POURS
It is raining. Pouring. Again! For weeks now it has rained just about every day. The entire Northeast is inundated with more rain than we can possibly deal with.
In the best of times, precipitation is seen as beneficent, raining down life-sustaining liquids for our benefit. And then we are grateful, or ought to be.
But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. We are nearly drowning in the stuff. Saturated, soaked, sogged. Completely waterlogged. Rivers rushing down city streets, the drains overflowing. Towns, fields and highways flooded. Dams, bridges, houses and lives swept irrevocably away. And the predicted storms aren’t over yet.
People have long believed that bad weather is some kind of vengeful divine retribution. Punishment for our earthly misbehavior. Certainly in the face of extreme hardship, this is a tempting response, based, perhaps, on guilt. But, of course, weather is weather, a neutral force. Our perception of whether it is good or bad is based solely and myopically on our own immediate inconvenience.
But maybe this rain is not aimed at us. Maybe Mother Earth is engaged in a deep purification ritual, a much needed purging of Her soiled body and profound pain. Picture Her, like any rape victim standing under a pounding shower for hours, days and weeks, trying to wash away the dirt and degradation that we have heaped upon Her so mercilessly.
Or maybe She is weeping, sobbing, down pouring tears of sad disappointment in us, Her errant, arrogant offspring, so rude and disrespectful. After all, just look at what we gave the Poor Old Dear for Mother’s Day in gratitude for all of Her great gifts to us: greenhouse gases, radiation, drilling, missile tests, oil spills and chemical trails.
Or this is a watery warning, perhaps. A reminder to appreciate the present and prepare for the future. To re-enforce our roofs, buy Wellington boots and build a safe, waterproof ark where we can collect, preserve and protect, two by two, all of our best intentions and human qualities: hope and love, charity and understanding, forgiveness and peace, compassion and reverence for all life.
Best blessings for keeping dry,
xxQMD
In the best of times, precipitation is seen as beneficent, raining down life-sustaining liquids for our benefit. And then we are grateful, or ought to be.
But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. We are nearly drowning in the stuff. Saturated, soaked, sogged. Completely waterlogged. Rivers rushing down city streets, the drains overflowing. Towns, fields and highways flooded. Dams, bridges, houses and lives swept irrevocably away. And the predicted storms aren’t over yet.
People have long believed that bad weather is some kind of vengeful divine retribution. Punishment for our earthly misbehavior. Certainly in the face of extreme hardship, this is a tempting response, based, perhaps, on guilt. But, of course, weather is weather, a neutral force. Our perception of whether it is good or bad is based solely and myopically on our own immediate inconvenience.
But maybe this rain is not aimed at us. Maybe Mother Earth is engaged in a deep purification ritual, a much needed purging of Her soiled body and profound pain. Picture Her, like any rape victim standing under a pounding shower for hours, days and weeks, trying to wash away the dirt and degradation that we have heaped upon Her so mercilessly.
Or maybe She is weeping, sobbing, down pouring tears of sad disappointment in us, Her errant, arrogant offspring, so rude and disrespectful. After all, just look at what we gave the Poor Old Dear for Mother’s Day in gratitude for all of Her great gifts to us: greenhouse gases, radiation, drilling, missile tests, oil spills and chemical trails.
Or this is a watery warning, perhaps. A reminder to appreciate the present and prepare for the future. To re-enforce our roofs, buy Wellington boots and build a safe, waterproof ark where we can collect, preserve and protect, two by two, all of our best intentions and human qualities: hope and love, charity and understanding, forgiveness and peace, compassion and reverence for all life.
Best blessings for keeping dry,
xxQMD
Saturday, June 7, 2008
The Queen’s Chronicles: MY BEE CAME BACK TO SAY GOODBY
For years, there has been a certain auspicious day every spring when a bumblebee would fly onto my terrace garden where it would hover contentedly everyday, all day long, throughout the entire summer, until a certain day in autumn when it would fly away.
This ritual visitation took place without fail for more than 15 years until a few years ago when my bee stopped showing up. I say “my bee.” But was it? Could it possibly have been the same bee for a decade and a half? How long to do bees live?
Or did my fuzzy fat friend select a successor who also passed the mantle when her vacation time was up? But whether or not it was the same bee, it was definitely my bee. My buddy. My constant summer companion. My nectar-gathering compatriot.
In Hellenistic Greece, bees were understood to be related to and a manifestation of the muse. My bee was an inspiration to me, as well, and I missed her visits dearly. And so did my flowers.
My bee isn’t the only one who stopped showing up. Millions upon millions of bees all over the world have been abandoning their hives and simply disappearing. Scientists named this mysterious phenomena colony collapse disorder.
If they are dying, they have chosen to do it in private, because large numbers of their corpses have not been found. Last year I found three dead bee bodies on the sidewalk just outside of my building. I saved their remains and added them to my growing collection of dead bumblebees. I keep my beautiful box filled with dead bees on my healing altar, where I pray for their wellbeing.
In some areas over sixty percent of the American honeybee population has died or disappeared during the past ten years, and this trend is continuing around the world. The potential results of this trend are terrifying. After all, one in three bites of all that we consume has been pollinated by bees.
In 1923 Rudolf Steiner predicted the dire state of the honeybee today. He said that within fifty to eighty years, we would see the consequences of mechanizing the forces that had previously operated organically in the beehive — including breeding queen bees artificially.
Well, I could have them that the Queens don’t take interference kindly. And now they are having their royal revenge — a terrible, drastic, exacting retribution, which maybe, just maybe, might force us to rethink our precarious relationship with Mother Nature.
Last week, my bee came back. I was completely delighted, overtaken by the depth and passion of my joy at our reunion. She hovered in front of my face for a moment then landed on my leg. And stayed there for a really long time, our bodies buzzing in unison.
Soon I noticed that she was uncharacteristically lethargic. Oh, no! Did she come back to die on me? I began to stroke her back ever so softly. I whispered prayers and gave her reiki. Then, because I had to leave, I placed her on the dirt of one of my flowering plants. If she was going to die, I wanted it to be in nature.
When I returned home a few hours later, the first thing I did was rush out to check on the bee, half expecting to see her lying on her back with her legs sticking up in the air.
But she was gone. Just gone.
“Like the bees from which this exhibition has drawn its name, we are individuals, yet we are, most surely, like the bees, a group, and as a group we have, over the millennia, built ourselves a hive, our home. We would be foolish, to say the least, to turn our backs on this carefully and beautifully constructed home especially now, in these uncertain and unsettling times.”
-The Museum of Jurassic Technology, Venice , CA
With blessings of nectar and honey,
xxQMD
This ritual visitation took place without fail for more than 15 years until a few years ago when my bee stopped showing up. I say “my bee.” But was it? Could it possibly have been the same bee for a decade and a half? How long to do bees live?
Or did my fuzzy fat friend select a successor who also passed the mantle when her vacation time was up? But whether or not it was the same bee, it was definitely my bee. My buddy. My constant summer companion. My nectar-gathering compatriot.
In Hellenistic Greece, bees were understood to be related to and a manifestation of the muse. My bee was an inspiration to me, as well, and I missed her visits dearly. And so did my flowers.
My bee isn’t the only one who stopped showing up. Millions upon millions of bees all over the world have been abandoning their hives and simply disappearing. Scientists named this mysterious phenomena colony collapse disorder.
If they are dying, they have chosen to do it in private, because large numbers of their corpses have not been found. Last year I found three dead bee bodies on the sidewalk just outside of my building. I saved their remains and added them to my growing collection of dead bumblebees. I keep my beautiful box filled with dead bees on my healing altar, where I pray for their wellbeing.
In some areas over sixty percent of the American honeybee population has died or disappeared during the past ten years, and this trend is continuing around the world. The potential results of this trend are terrifying. After all, one in three bites of all that we consume has been pollinated by bees.
In 1923 Rudolf Steiner predicted the dire state of the honeybee today. He said that within fifty to eighty years, we would see the consequences of mechanizing the forces that had previously operated organically in the beehive — including breeding queen bees artificially.
Well, I could have them that the Queens don’t take interference kindly. And now they are having their royal revenge — a terrible, drastic, exacting retribution, which maybe, just maybe, might force us to rethink our precarious relationship with Mother Nature.
Last week, my bee came back. I was completely delighted, overtaken by the depth and passion of my joy at our reunion. She hovered in front of my face for a moment then landed on my leg. And stayed there for a really long time, our bodies buzzing in unison.
Soon I noticed that she was uncharacteristically lethargic. Oh, no! Did she come back to die on me? I began to stroke her back ever so softly. I whispered prayers and gave her reiki. Then, because I had to leave, I placed her on the dirt of one of my flowering plants. If she was going to die, I wanted it to be in nature.
When I returned home a few hours later, the first thing I did was rush out to check on the bee, half expecting to see her lying on her back with her legs sticking up in the air.
But she was gone. Just gone.
“Like the bees from which this exhibition has drawn its name, we are individuals, yet we are, most surely, like the bees, a group, and as a group we have, over the millennia, built ourselves a hive, our home. We would be foolish, to say the least, to turn our backs on this carefully and beautifully constructed home especially now, in these uncertain and unsettling times.”
-The Museum of Jurassic Technology, Venice , CA
With blessings of nectar and honey,
xxQMD
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