Earth Shrines for Mount Tam

Why do I feel a distinct anguish from Mt. Tamalpias and from the Marin Headlands to the south? Some years ago, I asked my neighbors if they felt it too. One said it was because of the clear-cutting of the redwoods to rebuild San Francisco, after which the topsoil sloughed off into the sea. Others pointed out that the US Army Corps of Engineers has placed tunnels, batteries, bunkers, hotels, a railway, two military forts, an Air Force station, and nuclear missiles and chemical weapons upon—or into—the land.

Did anyone ask the mountain’s permission for these developments?

I painted these Earth shrines with natural mineral pigments and handmade paint as an apology, a gift for the mountain.

These offerings to the genius loci, the spirit of the place, might become points of remembrance, places of healing—to remind us to stop, to meet with the land with gratitude and respect, and to remind us to ask, include, or defer to the land in the future.

 

The closer I looked and listened to each stone, the more it spoke to me of fiery origins, traveling as formless, molten liquid—of cooling into veins before breaking off and separating—and of centuries in relationship with waters that rocked and reshaped it. I noticed minute polished surfaces, tiny veins, pits, and cracks. And I learned that I must not impose my own imagery onto the stone, but rather ask, listen, wait, and then help reveal the stone’s story—to make the unseen visible, and allow the stone to speak.

I carried all six Earth shrines to their location on the mountain, where they will remain until worn away by the elements or removed by others.

 

It is my hope that these Earth shrines might remind us that a primeval relationship with the land is still possible and even vitally needed today.

Might a dialogue with the land help to heal the Earth? Each of us might enter into that dialogue from where we stand, addressing that great presence that supports us all.