Listening to the audiobook, Braiding Sweetgrass by Robin Wall Kimmerer (exquisite) while reading Peter Kingsley’s just released, The Book of Life, (challenging) writing this with the ocean as my view, sitting beside my love whom I met where I write…
For all of our arrogance we know so little. We might be ‘technologically’ advanced, although, from the lens of a mycelial network, that is debatable. Yet we think nothing of dumping the nuclear runoff from the Fukushima disaster in our oceans, as if the ocean is not us, and we are not it..
The intersecting swirl of what I am reading, listening to, what is happening to the archetypal pattern of human civilisation at this time, is not an accident. Given I am a fractal in a fractal, the seemingly random intersection of what is occurring to me is no mistake.
Perhaps it is no mistake to any of us…that exactly where we are, what we have, what we are experiencing, has perfection in it. I find this hard to stomach knowing innocent girl children in Afghanistan are now reduced to shadows behind a veil.
And the mighty tree in Tasmania is being chopped down. Because…economy? Or beliefs…?
The indigenous language that had the oceans, trees and birds never an ‘it’, always ‘we,’ honoured our incredibly interdependent relationship with all life.
We feel the pain of girls and women in Afghanistan. My heart is torn when I pause to think of that mighty tree being chopped down.
Do you feel it? Can we bear it? Is it easier to block that pain, and get on with our daily chores?
Or might we return to reverence for all things, to acknowledge that what we do in the world, be it a smile or an injustice, ripples through the field of the Universe?
Photo taken September 20th 2021