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Forest Woodward  Sky Migrations extra curricular readings ✏️ by @charles_post

“We camped beneath ancient yellow pines, fished remote river canyons soaked in yellow cottonwood leaves, and barreled down dusty back roads as raptors watched curiously from atop windmills, telephone poles, and fence posts. By mile one thousand, our eyes were trained for the birds’ conspicuous silhouettes. We saw them everywhere we looked. It was a sign that wild things still thrived in this landscape, conservation was working, and stewardship had spread across our hemisphere to preserve wilderness for future generations. The widely used pesticide DDT had decimated the survival rates of many bird species, including apex predators like eagles and hawks, in the mid-20th century. Inspired by Rachel Carson’s book Silent Spring, a movement against deadly pesticides grew. In 1972, DDT was outlawed and raptor populations began to recover. The stately hawks we glimpsed on our way to New Mexico are living proof of that shift toward conservation.” // link in profile to @natgeo blog for full behind the scenes account of the making of Sky Migrations ✏️ @charles_post.

This is my friend @charles_post and he gives a damn about stuff. Stuff like smiling, wild beasts, nature breezes, saving the world and getting other folks psyched on all that stuff too. Quite a delight to get to share a bit of his story through our short film Sky Migrations at @5pointfilm this weekend. Huge thanks to our Carbondale family of mad dreamers, creative wizdoodlers, ballers of dodge, and shakers of cisterns for the inspiration and feels, laughs and tears. Cheers to @hawkwatch @floatingfeather and co for their ongoing work in the field and to @max.lowe, @charles_post , @sam.hedlund and @iloweanker for all the collaborative energies in getting this film off and flying

Quispe of the Hatun Q’eros, direct bloodline of the Inca.

Patchamama waking

Looking down valley from the walls of Waqrapukara, Incan fortress of the horns. Built into the sheer cliffs of a split mountain thousands of feet above the Apurímac River valley, relatively little is known of the fortress or its inhabitants. I would guess they were a) not afraid of heights b) had pretty jacked quads from their #homemadestairmaster c) enjoyed lovely nature views despite not having instagram. hmu if you have any more relevant information on the area as I have read every internet morsel I could find in both español and british and have found very little in terms of archaeological or anthropological research.

Shadowfax

There are few places in the world that have moved me, few people who have taught me, to the extent that the sacred valley and the children of the Quechua have. I came here first with my family, some twenty years ago on a two month journey of “immersive experiential education” that resulted in life long friendships and a deep connection to this corner of the world. It’s a connection that has spanned chapters of my life and work, and I count myself lucky each time the world spins me back into the calloused and lush embrace of these ancient ridges and rhythms of land and people.

Sacred Strides XIII // The things we choose to carry. How often we choose to carry pain. Carry anger. Carry fear. Only to act surprised that they have followed us. As if the chests and minds that hold them, the legs and limbs that carry them, are someone’s other than our own. Listening at night around the campfire to the stories of the runners, I was marked by the grace with which many acknowledged pain, fear, and anger and then set it aside in order to carry on with hope, resilience, empathy and love. As the sun winked and grinned over the sandstone mesas on our final day, what she found was not anger, not violence, not fear; rather a slow line of men, women, children, and elders, running, walking, shuffling and occasionally stumbling up the sandy draw to the West of Comb ridge, moving forward together in prayer, in power, and in healing. #sacredstridesforhealing #protectbearsears

Sacred Strides XII // “A lot of activists expect that for every action there is an equal and opposite and punctual reaction, and regard the lack of one as failure... But history is shaped by the groundswells and common dreams that single acts and moments only represent. It's a landscape more complicated than commensurate cause and effect. Politics is a surface in which transformation comes about as much because of pervasive changes in the depths of the collective imagination as because of visible acts, though both are necessary. And though huge causes sometimes have little effect, tiny ones occasionally have huge consequences. History is like weather, not like checkers. A game of checkers ends. The weather never does." - Rebecca Solnit

Sacred Strides XI // Alicia Littlebear. We began our leg of the prayer run in Alicia’s Pueblo in the foothills of the Jemez mountains in Western New Mexico. Along the run Alicia and her fellow runners stopped in neighboring Pueblos to gather the blessing and prayers of the local governors and war chiefs. At the elementary schools they ran laps around the schoolyards with the kids and gathered to talk about why they were making the long journey on foot to Bears Ears. Over the course of the following days, as Alicia and her band of runners worked West, up and over the snowy Jemez mountains and into a shifting landscape of faded sage and sun baked reds, they received word that children in schools across the Southwest were running laps around their home tracks in solidarity with the @bears.ears.prayer.run.alliance runners. Over the course of the week, thousands of miles would be logged, not just by those who made the journey to Bears Ears, but by many who ran in solidarity on their home turf. @wings_of_america @a.littlebear

Sacred Strides X // If you’re in the business of making kids, make a kid like Paul. Make a kid that cares. #protectbearsears #unsolicitedadviceoftheday @wings_of_america @bears.ears.prayer.run.alliance

Sacred Strides IX // Remember. There is magic still in the old ways. A song on the wind and wings that thunder over golden plains. Storms that whisper horizon lines on the edge of night. No one can teach you what you’ve always known; take off your shoes, dig your toes in the soil, press your cheek to the gale and your chest to the sun. Remember. Remember you arrived. Remember you will depart. Remember to do your best in the space between.

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