writings

The Story and the River                                                                by Laurel Peña © 2007

      Along the Klamath River in Northern California, an ancient relationship between land and life
has created a world of diversity, wealth, and beauty. From the course of the river among rugged
mountains, to the culture of the native tribes, and on into the work and words of more recent arrivals
these forces of co-creation continue. It is a relationship specific to this area and yet it may have a
wider worth as a basic answer to the question “how do we live here?”
      This question haunts me daily as it does so many others, whether their “here” is meant on a
global scale or as something more specific. For me it means these mountains, this river, this single
tributary creek, this recovering gold mine at its mouth where I have found a home.
      I walked today across the flat where men broke a mountain for the idea of gold. My route
crossed piles of stones and races carved deep in the bedrock. Up the berms of mining ditches, over
the fallen trees that were the first to grow here after the soil was washed away. These pine trees live
on almost nothing, never get very big, and die at a young age. They are so beautiful.
      Even more lovely: the mosses, venturing maybe an inch-and-a-half above the faintest of soils,
verdant green now in the winter and so patiently dry in the summer's heat. And the lichens, eating
bare rock . They are creating land to replace what is gone – because life loves life, I think, and the
worst of injuries can heal under the care of this love.
      Gently, slowly, we put flesh back on the bones of our beloved. The trees and mosses lay their
own bodies down. I will, someday, but today it's words I lay down on the bare bones of history to
make our story, to re-member.

      Telling stories is one way of participating in that ancient relationship of receiving and giving in
return. But words are not necessary. The osprey doesn't use language to critique the salmon, only
claws. The salmon respond by becoming smarter and stronger. However, being a writer, I'm likely to
respond to a salmon's display of strength with a story or a poem. I believe this gives something
back, if only by adding to my understanding of what it means to be salmon and to be human.
      One of the most painful aspects of the environmental crisis on the river is the inability to
respond in this way. No one seems able to fit current events into the continuing narrative of river,
fish, and people. This spring I spoke with Erika Chase, a teenage member of the Hoopa Indian tribe,
about the catastrophic fish kill that claimed the lives of at least 60,000 returning salmon in 2002.
“That was really, really devastating to all of the community,” she said. “To see our tribal elders and
adults not know what to do because they had never seen something like this, and to have that
memory... In a Hoopa language class that I was taking that year we had an elder that would come in.
We had talked about that issue and we had said it was on the front page of the paper, and we laid it
out and he saw it and he was speechless. He didn't know what to do. He had no explanation of it and
we had no explanation of it, to justify to him what was going on.” As she spoke, the pain of this
moment was evident. It was a breakdown in communication (between people and fish as well as
between elder and youth) that threatened the world as she knew it.
      To be accurate our story must include things like fish kills and genocide. But to be complete,
and to continue, it needs to contain so much more.

      Coevolution could be the name of our story. Moss and pine, people and salmon, river and
mountain, rock and word.
      Along one side of the flat rises a long snaking ridge that pushes the river north half a mile in an
illogical bend. The river is older than these mountains; still, it accept the imposition and doubles
back, then resumes the same westerly course. The sides of the ridge are steeply cut by uplift and
flood. It is a place co-created, the river determining the slope and character of the mountains as the
mountains determine the course of the river.
      My mind grasps for fact but holds only metaphor. Story is the best way to understand this place.
Either way you go – up into the High Country where the confounding geology spreads out to each
horizon, or down into the soil where the Fungi Kingdom and a million tiny subjects hold sway – the
complexity only increases, answering inquiry with mystery, inviting another look.
      I have spoken with experts, with biologists and geologists and botanists, with the cross-discipline
scientists of basketweaving and fishing and fire, and this tendency seems to hold true. We discuss
the fisheries and talk about salmon falling in love, navigating by stars, swimming backwards to the
sea so as to remember every turn. We talk of trees and think of community. This place is so big, so
beautiful. To sum it up is to tell a story without an end requiring great leaps of faith from the listener.
      Let me tell you about the river.

      The river created the world as the world created the river. And into this world came the salmon.
In the froth of creation they grew strong bodies, strong minds, strong hearts. (Fact: the fisherman
pulled out the heart of a salmon and it lay beating on the wood bench of his drift boat for minute
after gruesome minute. Metaphor: we have not lost them yet.)
      And into this world came the people, emerging from the ground at the center of the world where
not one but two rivers change direction. (Metaphor: the people came from what the rivers and
mountains made.) The people created the world as the world created the people.
      Does this require too great a leap of faith? The people made the river. Anthropologists reported
a quaint tradition among the Karuk people: they would light fires along the banks of creeks to show
the salmon the way home. But look closer. The fires burn back vegetation, causing more water to be
released into the channel, preparing the high flows that salmon need to navigate the creek.
      Thousands of intentionally set fires altered the forests, shaped the hydrology, managed the
flows. This along with fishing helped to form the salmon's strength. In ceremonies the people remake
the world, putting everything in its place, praying for its continuance. The river gives the gift of
salmon, and in return the people give the gift of more salmon.
      In return the people give songs, stories, prayers, and paintings. Some of us newcomers could
be said to be engaging in the cycles of co-creation. I stood with a neighbor in the tiny art gallery
converted from a gas station. We looked at the paintings of a friend: deep green pools of water,
calm texture of trees, muted stones. “Have you seen his earlier work?” my neighbor asked. “The
paintings he did before he moved here? They're pretty different. Dark, anxious city stuff.”
      From abundance, beauty. The river enriches, we sustain. This is the story I want to tell.

      This is not the whole story. Not everyone who comes here takes part in the co-creation. Miners
came with the thought of gold sealed in their minds, and did not allow anything to touch it. Not the
river, not the salmon, not the starving people when the salmon began to disappear. They lived here
without women or children. Isolated, broken off. Nothing touched their hearts and what they did with
their hands can not be called creation.
        The mines were a product of another place with other relationships and other values. Miners
learned reduction and removal and possession from an ideology that applied the same values to
them. Reduced and removed, possessed, they did not open and were not changed. The could not
see the potential future of what they destroyed, only the object of their desire deposited sometime in
the mountains' past.
      They were the first emissaries from that other place. The ideology that changes so much yet
remains itself unchanged. Busy hands, faraway mind. There are multiple dams on the river now.
Would this have been possible in the co-created world? Something so contrary to the land's desires
could only be achieved by an equal and disastrous change in the human relationship with it. It has
been said that the murder of the natural world requires us to kill it first in our minds, so that what we
then destroy is not thought of as alive. But what happened here was not a murder, and it was not
two murders. It was the encroachment of silence into a relationship that still exists, holding a one-
sided conversation now, telling its stories and waiting for our honest response.

      Frogs are singing down on the flat. The bedrock hollows left bare by the miners catch rain and
hold it, and now it fills with life. The creek swells to receive the salmon, a few stubborn endangered
Coho returning home once again. I've taken advantage of the break in the rain to do a little work
clearing dead branches and old slash piles out of the woods and feeding them to a hungry fire. It's a
small fire, contained, with concentrated heat – I shrivel loose hairs more than once when I recklessly
lean over the flames.
      As I work I think of the much larger fires that once swept these woods, cleaning them of the
downed fuels now piled dangerously high against the trunks of resin-heavy firs. I would like to invite
them back. I would like to remove the young fir trees to make more room for the ancient, surviving
oaks and let fire crawl through, burning the acorn moth's pesky larvae, fumigating the trees with
smoke from their fallen leaves. I would like to light a fire to bring the salmon home.
      This relationship at the very root of co-creation will take a long time to develop. I stutter when I
speak; my fire chars the ground, too hot. What the forest replies is mostly lost in translation. But we
are trying. Some season, some year, or some generation we will again find the rhythm of being land
and people again, forming each other, becoming something together.

Reconnecting workshop outline
Here's the general outline of the Reconnecting workshops that have taken place at gatherings and
random other places over the last few years. It's meant as a general suggestion, not to be taken
word-for-word -- with the exception of the exercise "The Milling" in which the language has been
refined over time and can be read from the page as is if it fits your situation. While I (Laurel) strongly
recommend that you have some experience in emotional work (at least your own) before facilitating a
workshop, this sort of stuff seems to have great value in healing from the trauma of civilization and
should be more widespread than it is.

Introducing the Work:
Poetic Introduction: an introduction engaging the emotions and the body. We often used part of
Susan Griffin's "Prayer for Continuance".
Welcoming: practical considerations such as timeline, breaks, location of bathroom (if any), location
of snacks and water.
Declaration: "The work that we will do today is a series of exercises designed to pull us deeply into a
place within the ecology; within the web of existence shared by all beings, human and non-human...
We are cells in the larger body...We dedicate this work to the healing of the earth..."
History: here we gave credit to Joanna Macy and others who have grown this work over the decades,
and provided some context with a brief intro to ecopsychology and anti-civilization theory.
Listening and Silence: we would go over some guidelines:
"When you're in groups please respect the person talking by giving your full attention, without
interrupting or side conversations. Try not to think of what you're going to say when it's your turn.
When you're in pairs, sit facing each other, looking into the other person's eyes as much as you can,
with your arms relaxed. Remember that you don't have to solve problems or give advice. To jump in
with words right after people have shared deep feelings can trivialize their experience or dissipate
intensity.Just be present—steady, alert, and caring—this is the most appropriate response. Listen to
yourself when you are speaking. Regarding silence: there will be periods of silence today. Silence is
often uncomfortable in our culture, to be filled. Here we will let silence happen. You can choose to
use some silence when it's your time to speak; in stillness you can listen to your body, or listen to
what is underneath words you spoke, or to what is still out of reach, awaiting articulation.
Respecting different levels of participation: Here we would make an pact of confidentiality with all
participants, explaining what is said here, stays here and asking for some sign of agreement.
We would acknowledge that people participate in different ways and that while the activities are
structured for full participation, no one should feel pressured.
Emotions: "We affirm that this is a safe space for emotional expression... We acknowledge that
people repress feelings in different ways...cynicism, sarcasm, medication, shutting down,
distractions...let this be a safe space to let go of these coping mechanisms...We want to break down
the duality between "negative" and "positive" feelings and let them all be welcome here..."
Deep Breathing: We brought attention to the always-present connection of breath -- Breath is the
great living dance of all beings - as it flows from our bodies to the bodies of others, and encouraged
people to stay present in the workshop by breathing deep. We also reminded people to stretch and
drink water.
Group Introductions
"Each of us will have about one minute to say our name and to tell everyone something that we saw
or experienced in the past week or so where we felt connected. This connection can be to the earth,
or to any of the others that populate it's surface: plant, animal, human. I'll demonstrate what I'm
talking about by going first...
"Now we will go around the circle again starting with myself and each of us will have one minute to talk
about an experience we have had in the past week or so where you felt alienated.
"After circle is completed: This painful state of alienation is what we are trying to get beyond today.
This is what we have been taught to accept as normal, but we can no longer settle for being half-
alive."
(Alternate Intro: Say your name and a few words about the land that you connect to most.)

The Milling/Eco-Milling
"The Milling" is active. Please stand up and prepare to move, stretching your body and taking a few
deep breaths. In this exercise you will begin by milling about the room until you will be asked to pause
for a series of one-to-one encounters with other people.
Model milling, silently walking and weaving through the people assembled.
"Let your eyes go out of focus...soft vision...
"If you find us all going in the same direction turn around and go upstream...
"O.K., now you can begin milling and I'll suggest different exercises to try."
"Pretend you're in a big city during rush hour and you're hurrying down the sidewalk trying to get
things done. Thoughts of all of the things you have to get done rush to your mind. You know that you
can't accomplish everything. You remember how your boss was condescending while you sold your
time. Perhaps you are noticing the fumes that seem to be all around. If you make eye contact, look
away. Keep your eyes cast down...hurry up...feel the tension in your body of having to make your
way through all these people/obstacles.
"Now we slow down a bit...we see the faces around us. We see the non-human beings around us. We
notice texture, color, energy, definition, interaction. "Oh, I am not alone." Moving slowly now, your
eyes and spirit engage as you pass each other. "Look, there is life in there."
"And you find yourself in front of somebody- now stop. You are looking into the face of someone who
has a good idea of what is going on in the world. They feel the pain of all beings as industrial
civilization removes mountain tops, blasts holes in the skin of the earth, enslaves animals in farms
and people in factories. They are aware of the alienation from flesh, blood, sap, rock, water, air, body
and love that we all suffer. They know about the poisons that are in our food and water, they know
about clearcuts and extinctions. There is not a day in which this person isn't aware of that; yet they
haven't closed their eyes, haven't turned away. Experience your respect for this courage and express
it non-verbally."
(If appropriate, ask participants at this point to take off their shoes)

"Again, we go back to our milling, letting ourselves move slowly, touching lightly as we pass. And
again we find ourselves in front of somebody and we take their right hand in ours. But this time we
close our eyes as soon as we've connected. Close your eyes so that all your attention can go into
the sensation of touch. Now we can begin to appreciate the gifts of our animal ancestors. Can you
feel the pulse in your partner's wrist? Blood is circulating. That capacity common to all life-forms
arose with the first multi-celled creatures who devised ways to transfer nutrients to their inside cells.
As they developed some of them invented a muscular pump, a heart. That pulsing you feel is the gift
of our ancestors.
"Open your eyes and see how the hand curls over; see the size of the space it encloses between
fingers and thumb. That's just the right size for a branch able to hold a swinging body. Grandmother
Monkey designed that hand. And the branch was designed by sun and wind and gravity, as well as
Grandfather Tree himself as he grew high to reach the light, and limber to allow the wind. So we, with
these hands, are grandchildren of tree and sun and wind, as well.
"Open your awareness to this hand's journey through time. It was a fin once in the primordial seas
where life began, just as it was again in its mother's womb in this lifetime. Countless adventures since
then have shaped it. This hand connected with tree and wind as it refined its intelligence. This hand:
the ancestors are in it, ancestors who learned to push up on dry land, to climb, to reach, to grasp, to
chip rocks, to gather berries and greens, to straighten arrows and pull bowstrings, to cut into flesh, to
bring food to mouths, to gather plants and weave them into baskets, to gather seeds and harvest
them and plant them again; to make fire and to carry this fire from place to place. It's all in that hand
from an unbroken succession of adventures.
"Similarly, open your awareness to this hand's journey through this particular lifetime, ever since it
opened like a flower as it came out of its mother's womb. Clever hand that has learned so much:
learned to reach for the sustaining breast, learned to wipe tears, learned to give pleasure. You know
there are people living now who believe they are worthwhile and lovable, because of what that hand
has told them. There are people living now whose last touch in life will come from this hand, and they
will be able to go into their dying knowing they are not abandoned. You know there are people living
now who will be healed in mind or body by the power that this hand allows to flow through it. So
experience how much you want that hand to be strong and whole for this time, to serve its fellow
beings and the planet of which it is a part. Experience how much you want it to be strong and play its
part in the building of a culture of sanity and decency and beauty. Without words, express your
appreciation of this hand, and your blessings for it."
"Begin to mill again. This time, spread out and let your awareness move to the non-humans around
us. Feel the ground under your feet supporting you, always with you. The pulse of water through this
land mirrors the blood moving in your body, and these cycles are not separate from the cycles in
your body. Stop and stand still for a moment. Let your vision rest on the plants in your view. Their
journey through time is the same as your own, their ancestors interweaving with your ancestors,
forming each other through the seasons.
"Become aware of a certain plant in your view, one individual standing on this hillside with us, with all
the rest. Let your focus slide away from naming this plant to a wider view of this individual. This plant-
person lives as you live, desiring, striving for its place in the world with roots digging deep and
branches reaching for the light. This individual has gifts to offer you, as you have gifts to offer, in the
healing that we are all doing.
"Now, attempting to maintain your connections, allow your focus to spread out from the life before
you. Look as far as your vision can take you. If you see anything that you feel shouldn't be
(powerlines, roads, buildings)simply look away or try to imagine it replaced by wildness. Now imagine
the land is healthy and wild for one mile further than you can see. Move your awareness ten miles
out, fifty miles, one hundred miles in every direction there is nothing but beautiful, balanced
ecosystems and landscapes. Let go of your memories and needs for distinctions. There is no town
now, no civilized, no tame. This wildness is the world and you are standing in the center of it,
sustained. You don't need to leave this place to meet your needs. Food, warmth, water, shelter, and
safety are all right here.
"People who all know your name, love you, and support you are here, but even when you go off
alone, you still feel them with you. You are held. You are home.
"When you are ready, mill once again."

"Moving on, we come to our last encounter. Facing each other, put your hands on each other's
shoulders. You see before you someone who is choosing to be alive now, within this alienating
existence. Though they've probably thought about it, they haven't given up. You know and they know
that this is a risky venture. Open your awareness to the fact that in their body, as in yours, are toxins
that can bring diseases, and with them, an early death. This person, like you, could die alone, from
cancer, war, in a car wreck, rotting in prison. Don't look away! We can face this together. We must
not let this knowledge of our common danger separate us; let it bond us. Breathe deep. What
assumptions or judgements have you already formed about this person? What possibilities might you
have been missing? What might they have to contribute to your life and well being? What can you
offer to theirs?"
"O.K., now if you wish you can sit for a few minutes with your current partner and talk about what
happened for you in this exercise."

The following exercises can be done in any order. It's nice to alternate talks with more active
exercises or running-around games. These are just examples of things we've done. Check out
Macy's books for further inspiration.

"Alien Baby"
This is an active exercise that brings people into a deeper, non-verbal, non-visual connection with
the world. It is often the favorite experience out of the whole workshop. The arguably unfortunate
name comes from the idea that one person is introducing another to the world as if that person were
an alien or a newborn baby. The "alien baby" has their eyes closed while their partner (the
"mothership"?) guides them around, leading them to experiences - digging in dirt, smelling trees,
tasting nontoxic plants, listening to rocks, etc. The guide does not speak and uses sight sparingly,
squeezing the other's shoulders to open their eyes for a few seconds and then releasing to close
their eyes. This exercise should go at least ten minutes, then the partners switch roles.

Who Are You?
In partners again, one person asks the other the question "who are you?", listens to the reply without
responding, and asks again "who are you?" The idea is not to be challenging or accusatory but to
gently get past the easy answers and let deeper feelings arise. The questioner can alternate with
"what are you?" In ten minutes or so, the facilitator prompts the questioner to switch to asking "what
do you do?" After ten minutes of this, the questioner goes back to "who are you?" for a final round,
then the roles are switched. It can feel kinda brutal but worthwhile.
Forefoot Walking/Soft Vision
A brief introduction to the concept of walking with your weight on the balls of your feet, the way
children and people in intact hunter-gatherer societies do. Many Tom Brown-style books have info
about forefoot walking or "fox walking". It's a key physical way to stay in touch with the Earth (partly
because it's easier done barefoot). Soft vision is the practice of using peripheral vision rather than
focusing on one thing in front of you. It helps you stay aware in the woods and may help let go of
rational, objectifying ways of perceiving.

Circle Of Truth
This is adapted from the "Truth Mandala" in Joanna Macy's books and is definitely an exercise in
despair work. Very deep, powerful, and unpleasant emotions can surface here. It's important to have
some grounding in despair work before trying to hold a Circle of Truth - to have done a bit of your
own descending and surfacing so you can listen to difficult things without responding strongly and
can trust the process.
Four objects are put in the center of the circled group: a bowl to represent emptiness, a feather or
leaf for sadness, a stick for anger, and a stone for despair. The symbolism is explained, and one by
one people enter the circle and express emotions while interacting with the symbolic objects. A
person may sit by the bowl holding the feather while speaking of empty sadness, or pound the stick
while yelling about anger. As one person finishes and returns to the outer circle the group may
choose to respond with a short "we hear you" sentiment, but doesn't react further. Sometimes the
group sits in silence for a while before another person enters the circle. The circle will eventually wind
down as emotions are discharged and those who want to speak finish. As facilitator, you stay aware
of energy levels and announce a "last call", then close the circle.
It's good to follow this with a break, but try to prevent people from becoming isolated in the emotions
that have come up for them. Trust the natural flow of the workshop to bring everyone back to the
surface.