I had the joy of bringing the Nature Mandala Ceremony to the Economics of Happiness Conference two weeks ago. It was an inspiring weekend of visionaries working together to envision and co-create a new way of being in relationship with each other and the earth. Radical localization on a global scale. Learn more at Local Futures. Local Futures is a non-profit organization dedicated to the revitalization of cultural and biological diversity, and the strengthening of local communities and economies worldwide. I received this affirmation of the ceremony from the program director and conference coordinator:
“It was such a pleasure to watch the mandala emerge over the weekend as the participants worked on it little by little. It had a unifying and creative power that was truly unique and added another layer of connectedness that we haven’t had at previous conferences. We’re very grateful to you for that and it has inspired us to include similar elements at future gatherings.” Kristen Steele, Associate Programs Director, Local Futures/International Society for Ecology and Culture
Still so much to process but honored to contribute my art and beauty making to the gathering. Bow of gratitude to all who co-created this gorgeous offering of beauty in remembrance of our interconnectedness in the web of creation and our solidarity in serving our world. I dedicated our mandala to the ancestors whose presence was invoked all weekend and to the future beings who will benefit from the vision put forward by all who presented and attended. I closed with this poem from Wendell Berry before sweeping up the mandala. For love of the earth!
A Vision
If we will have the wisdom to survive,
to stand like slow-growing trees
on a ruined place, renewing, enriching it,
if we will make our seasons welcome here,
asking not too much of earth or heaven,
then a long time after we are dead
the lives our lives prepare will live here,
their houses strongly placed upon the valley sides,
fields and gardens rich in the windows.
The river will run clear, as we will never know it,
and over, birdsong like a canopy.
On the levels of the hills will be green meadows,
stock bells in noon shade.
On the steeps where greed and ignorance cut down
the old forest, an old forest will stand,
its rich leaf-fall drifting on its roots.
The veins of forgotten springs will have opened.
Families will be singing in the fields.
In their voices they will hear a music risen out of the ground.
They will take nothing from the ground they will not return,
whatever the grief at parting.
Memory, native to this valley, will spread over it like a grove,
and memory will grow into legend,
legend into song,
song into sacrament. The abundance of this place,
the songs of its people and its birds,
will be health and wisdom and indwelling light.
This is no paradisal dream.
Its hardship is it possibility.