Are You Awake or Awakened?: A Response to Deepwater Horizon Disaster

Have you ever blinked your eyes open and thought, “What time is it? Wait, what day is it?” On weekends, especially! Waking up is one thing, but awakening is another. It’s the same way with ourselves; we might be living — awake — but are we aware, alert, fully awakened as to true Self?

When that occurs, those awakened and enlightened begin questioning how to relate to the mass of people who “lead lives of quiet desperation” who are awake but not awakened, those who for various reasons struggle in evaluating the big picture. It’s damned difficult, but not impossible, to evaluate the big picture when one is not square with Self. For those who are motivated by ego and not awakened to their own hearts, they can make some destructive decisions, especially as regards the environment.

I’ve spent time writing about Romantic authors who value Nature and all that it can teach us. Nature cannot and will not be ignored, though. When the environment and ecosystems are destroyed, we will be, too. Whether we have truly come to know self or not, we need to become aware of this.

Tomorrow, April 20th, marks six years since the Deepwater Horizon oil rig blew the well-head deep below the surface of the Gulf of Mexico. Eleven humans died; millions of sea creatures did, too. The fact that such a disaster is little more than a blip in history should speak volumes to us. The following is the first half of a poem related to that based on my first-hand witness as the oil globules and slicks rolled into the waters of the Florida panhandle.

The Moon at Half-Mast
I offer a long poem today, written immediately after viewing the devastation of the deep well Horizon oil spill.
(June 22, 2010, Pensacola, Florida)
Nearly full moon viewed in azure blue sky
Before sun had set — all Moon’s features
Clearly visible, clearly weeping.
The flag, our flag, flown at half staff
(half mast on a ship — which is the position
From which I viewed the moon
As I looked up past a sailboat mast)
A symbol of sorrow, mourning,
Community recognition of someone passing
Someone of significance, importance --
More so than the common man,
For those who have served their country, our country.
The moon, our moon — not just America’s — grieved
This day as she stared in horror, mouth agape,
At her waters she so faithfully controls,
Waters of the Gulf of Mexico,
Waters of Southern coastal United States, our states,
Appropriately salty waters, now being raped,
The vicious, belching, bellowing, black gush of
Appropriately named crude oil
Spewing, violently forcing its destructive blobs and blankets
Of life-destroying gunk on this majestic milieu
Of marine flora and fauna.
Questions before tomorrow and the rest of the poem!
1.  Are we willing to give up any conveniences at all in order to alleviate the strain on Nature?
​2. If eleven men stood before us and we had a choice to either kill them so that we could drive more than 30 miles a week or limit our gasoline consumption, what would we do? OR would we be willing to say NO to destruction-justifying, rationalizing corporations using “scientific” evidence to drain the earth of crude oil for our luxury? (Drastic and dramatic — yep! But where exactly do we draw a line and say what actions lead to which consequences?)

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