Category Archives: The Big Picture

To Live Passionately

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A writer friend and I were talking this morning about our goals for the new year. She said she had but one resolution for 2014: “Forget fear.” Except she used another, shall we say, more pithy F-word for her intention around fear.

Later, scanning through my notebook from the past few months, I came across this passage from Nov. 7, which followed a week of extreme doldrums:

Tired of being unconscious, but scared to wake up! Yet that fear seems foolish in light of the many ways we could bite the dust—globally/regionally/personally, calamitously/suddenly/slowly—oh so many options for becoming vapor, energy, disembodied once more. [I was thinking of the Oct. 25 earthquake off Japan’s coast near Fukushima, among other things.]

FukushimaIsHere-Sticker_1So keeping that in mind, how do I live? I want to live passionately.

Did you hear about the child for whom Make-a-Wish is transforming San Francisco into Gotham City, so he can be Batkid?

Photo by Bhautik Joshi, via flickr Commons

Photo by Bhautik Joshi, via flickr Commons

You see where I’m going with this. In our dying we become superheroes.

Thinking of the Buddhist injunction to remember the unalterable fact of our own death, I ended up musing: What do we have to lose?—the exact phrase my friend used this morning.

It seems ridiculous to dither about in fear and worry when we could be gone at any moment. And meanwhile all of life is calling us to be a force for good.

So how about it? Shall we create a passionate, conscious, fearless, superheroic 2014?

Reflection

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Though we gathered with a few friends the night of the Solstice to welcome the return of the light, the days don’t seem measurably longer yet, and the clouds are hanging low this  afternoon.

As the Irish blogger Bridget put it in her post on the longest night, “We need this period of darkness to recoup our energies…spend time with friends and family…to just be. Soon enough we will feel the need to get our hands in the soil and once again plant the seeds and tend the crops.”

This time of year is tailor-made for reflection and dreaming. The deep darkness, the cold and drear outside, the ending of one cycle and the beginning of another. In the midst of holiday bustle, all I’ve wanted to do is pull a blanket up around my chin and stare out the window with a pen in my hand. Or a book. Or just a cup of tea.

candleOver and over, I find my awareness turning to the heaviness of the physical body and the fact that it really isn’t solid. Neurofeedback researcher Les Fehmi taught me that we are actually just clouds of particles floating in and permeated by a vast space.

And my pen idles. Sometimes more words are not what is needed.

We Are the Same

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Not long ago I had conversations with two different poet friends, both about the connective power of the written word.

Shari Wagner said she sees her poems as vehicles for connecting human to nature, living to dead, young to old. Here’s a lovely example of this, her poem about young Orville and Will Wright, and their dream of flight.

Later that same day, Shannon Siegel spoke of writing as a way of “feeling with” someone, as in a Buddhist meditation. She had read a book called The Golden Theme by Brian McDonald. McDonald asserts that the writer’s essential task is to show our commonalities.
By Mike DelGaudio, via Wikimedia Commons

By Mike DelGaudio, via Wikimedia Commons

Shannon sent me this passage from the book:

“Stories are the collective wisdom of everyone who has ever lived. Your job as a storyteller is not simply to entertain…Your job is to let people know that everyone shares their feelings—and that these feelings bind us. Your job is a healing art, and like all healers, you have a responsibility.

Let people know that they are not alone. You must make people understand that we are all the same.”

In a time when our focus is constantly nudged toward what divides us, it is a tonic to understand that yes, everyone on earth has experienced every single emotion that has ever swept through us.

By Kahuroa at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

By Kahuroa at en.wikipedia [Public domain], from Wikimedia Commons

Here’s Shannon’s poem, stretched out to you. Do you feel it?
oceans within

Sounds of water…sounds of water…sounds of water…
The Long Way, Moitessier

Memories lock selves
in place, deep within
the cells, those
inner chambers.
Recall rises up
like magic, aroused,
liberated in an instant,
a rush, an echo,
a ripple through time,
a feeling, just a feeling,
something I felt once,
something I felt before,
I feel again, I now feel again.
A swell crashes the shore,
then recedes. Waves
ebb, then flow, an ocean
of promise and possibility
rushing through my veins, life
unfolds with a touch,
a whisper perhaps, a word
spoken, a gaze, a persistent
recurrence of what was,
is now is, again, somehow.
Deflecting logic, defying reason,
this heart sings a joyous
song, thrums love’s lyric,
hums a tender entreaty:
Come with me. This
way. Look for me.
Find me.

—Shannon Siegel, (c) 2013

Jerry Needleman: Seeking the Questions

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Third in a Series on my Mesa Refuge Cohorts

It is a rare privilege to have sustained contact with a deeply reflective person, someone capable of nurturing reflection in others. Today I am remembering this feeling of spaciousness as I hold a book called An Unknown World: Notes on the Meaning of the Earth, given to me by the author at Mesa Refuge. A philosopher and educator, Jacob Needleman (Jerry, he prefers to be called) enriched my time at the residency enormously.

Jacob (Jerry) Needleman

Jacob (Jerry) Needleman

Jerry was there to work on his next book, and he’s written many. In fact, An Unknown World was penned during an earlier Mesa Refuge residency. I enjoyed getting to know the man behind the bibliography, finding him to be engagingly kind, curious, and funny.

As our senior resident, he occupied a place of honor at our dinner table. I think he enjoyed being the only man among four women who doted on him (and sometimes ribbed him as well).

Jerry’s brand of philosophy is practical, compassionate, accessible, incisive—and quite applicable to the times we are living. Instead of right answers, he seeks the right questions, a refreshing tactic.

In one of our many thought-provoking conversations, he invited us to live the question only we ourselves can answer, which is: “Who am I?” He said that when caught up in a destructive habit, it’s helpful to ask, “Who is the person doing that? Who am I?”

“This question is like a companion throughout your life; it becomes an energy,” he said.

I first opened An Unknown World in my writing shed, with water birds swimming the wind over the marshy expanse outside my window. Jerry had read aloud from this book the previous night—and what he read, his normally quiet voice turning sonorous, riveted me. That passage suggested that humans are channels for “higher influences” that need to be expressed on earth. That without our evolution, “Earth herself could not evolve toward her own greater possibility.”

Photo by Heikenwaelder Hugo, via Wikimedia Commons

Photo by Heikenwaelder Hugo, via Wikimedia Commons

And so I read more, hungrily:

“What we and our Mother Earth need, and what has been needed since Man first appeared, is the energy of awakened and awakening men and women…”

“We can hardly imagine what the Earth will offer us in return for its being seen and understood by the whole being of Man. Earth and Nature need this from us more than anything else. And only from this inner transformation of the mind can right action toward nature and the Earth be pursued without ultimately resulting in ‘the same old story’—that is, division, conflict, and violence.”

After I finished this illuminating book, I asked Jerry which of his works to read next, and he suggested Time and the Soul. I asked Bookmamas to order a copy for me. I’m looking forward to diving in. It’s about allowing time to “breathe” in our lives. (Jerry was right in divining that I need to learn this!)

I feel so blessed to have met Jerry. I probably wouldn’t have encountered his work if not for our time together at Mesa Refuge.

Gail Needleman: We Are Not Monads

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Second in a Series on my Mesa Refuge Cohorts

Gail Needleman came to Mesa Refuge to sort through years of notes.

Photo by Brandon Geisbrecht, via flickr Commons

Photo by Brandon Geisbrecht, via flickr Commons

A pianist and university professor, Gail was working on a book based on her musings and observations about music. Music not as some optional add-on, or the product of a professional, but absolutely essential to our souls. She sequestered herself in the upper room and got to it.

I have to say I was itching to be a mouse in her pocket, because I love sorting through tidbits and insights.

Her advice to writers: Do not make notes in tiny notebooks; you will regret it later. (She teasingly scolded me for my habit of scribbling in a little notebook, but I love my wee notebooks!)

An interview she gave to Works and Conversations magazine is called Music is Something You Do. In it she mourns the trend toward music as performance instead of communal expression—effectively cutting us off from the healing power of our own voices.

She says it’s quite a modern idea to experience the self as a “monad,” a self-contained unit, separate from others. “And music, the most communal of human activities or arts, becomes those billboards with the person with the iPod dancing to music that no one else can hear.”

Photo by Thomas Neilsen, via flickr Commons

Photo by Thomas Nielsen, via flickr Commons

I love her story of the children’s game “Lemonade,” a call and response song-game. It includes the line “Give us some—don’t be afraid” before the child in the middle pretends to pour lemonade, and the others gather around and hold up their cups. Gail thinks this is about breaking the barrier between individual and group.

“It was just a very simple example of how in making music together, the barriers between people go down…We’re armored most of the time, even to ourselves, but certainly to others.”

Gail brought a dry wit and down-to-earth sensibility to our dinner table conversations. Her warmth and wisdom made me treasure her presence. One evening she advised us younger women, all prone to burnout from taking on too much, that “just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you must.” She told of a time when she was in charge of an event and had many demands on her. The line she used, which I intend to borrow, was “Is this a question only I can answer?”

One night when we gathered by the woodstove, she sang a beautiful song that had us all mesmerized, especially her smitten husband.

Jerry and Gail Needleman on our last evening as Mesa Refuge residents

Jerry and Gail Needleman on our last evening as Mesa Refuge residents

It’s almost impossible to write about Gail without mentioning husband Jerry (philosophy professor Jacob Needleman, also in residence), and vice versa. The two are so clearly and completely meant for each other. It’s beautiful to see the love and trust between them—not to mention their lively sense of fun. Each seems to be the other’s biggest fan.

On the last evening she read from her work in progress, which she had been so reticent about discussing, and again held us spellbound. Her handwritten pages were pure poetry. I can’t wait for her book.

Three Luminaries: Hopkins, Hemenway, Heinberg

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While in northern California I had the chance to meet three powerful voices in the movement for positive change. Call them the Three H’s, or Tres Hermanos.

Hermano One, Richard Heinberg of the Post-Carbon Institute, schooled me about the inevitability of a global economic crash. This eventuality is currently held at bay in part by the dubious practice of quantitative easing. (No, I don’t really know how that works, but apparently governments and banks are creating money out of thin air to prop up our ailing economic system.)

When asked how he stayed grounded, immersed as he is in researching the unraveling of life as we know it, he spoke of living with gratitude. He spends time in precious company and places. He plays the violin a couple hours a day, and tends his garden and chickens.

Richard Heinberg in his garden, photographed by Nicolas Boullosa, via Flickr Commons

Richard Heinberg in his garden, photographed by Nicolas Boullosa, via Flickr Commons

Heinberg has been the bearer of bad news for years now, absorbing and presenting material that would leave me immobilized if I were in his shoes. He takes a balanced perspective, noting, “We need to talk about the potential benefits of reorganizing our material economy and doing more with less, and having more cooperation, and sharing and voluntarism—all of those things are good and make life better, more interesting, more fun.”

“And yet, at the end of the day it’s going to be a materially less opulent way of life, bottom line.”

In light of that trajectory, Hermano Two, Toby Hemenway, reined me in from fear mode by sharing the robustness of permaculture-based solutions. He echoed Heinberg on the most basic, square one action, no matter what happens next: Get to know your neighbors.

That means now, not in some perfect future living situation. He told me, “People say, “Someday I’m going to move to a community where I’m going to do that’ (live sustainably). And you’re already in a community right here, with your neighbors.”

Permaculture instructor Toby Hemenway, with Buddha, in his garden.

Permaculture instructor Toby Hemenway, with Buddha, in his garden.

Far better than a theoretical “someday” eco-topia is identifying and building that community right here, where we are. It can start as simply as: “Who will walk my dog when I’m gone? Who will help me water my garden when I’m sick?”

Taking the concept of community even further was Hermano Three, Rob Hopkins.  He spoke of hearing Heinberg speak about the end of growth a few years ago and feeling galvanized to take action. He wanted his fellow permaculturists to join him, but instead “found that lots of permaculture people are very happy living up little misty lanes making chairs out of sticks.”

He wanted more. He wanted to get moving, spread the word. Out of this urgency was born the Transition Town movement.

Rob Hopkins. Photo by Tulane Publications, via Flickr Commons.

Rob Hopkins. Photo by Tulane Publications, via Flickr Commons.

These are groups that aren’t waiting for permission, but instead starting where they are to build a new, localized economy (the REconomy). There’s tremendous energy in this movement. It may not always be called Transition. It may not get much press. But it’s rolling like a wave across the globe.

For more info, check out Hopkins’ book The Power of Just Doing Stuff,  Hemenway’s Gaia’s Garden, and Heinberg’s eye-opening End of Growth.

Respite

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I’m back from Mesa Refuge,* where I had 10 days to write, read, reflect, and draw inward. It was heavenly to leave the smartphone in a drawer for most of that time, and to let my social media accounts languish.

It was a time of exploration. I explored through my writing every day, starting early in the morning and working late into the night in my private writing shed. From this window I spied deer, quail, rabbits, hummingbirds, juncos, redtailed hawks, vultures, egrets, white pelicans, and many other waterbirds and songbirds I couldn’t identify.

My writing shed overlooked a Tomales Bay tidal estuary, where San Andreas fault lies.

The shed overlooks a Tomales Bay tidal estuary. San Andreas fault runs through this wetland. Mesa Refuge is “a place for writing on the edge”–and this shed is situated on the edge of the North American Plate, looking across to the Pacific Plate.

I explored the nearby town of Point Reyes Station. Not one but two yoga studios serve the tiny populace, and the farmers market brings everyone out each Saturday.

Point Reyes Station Farmers Market

Point Reyes Station Farmers Market

And once I ventured out in a borrowed pickup truck to one of the many wild places near the refuge.

Path to Abbott's Lagoon, Point Reyes National Seashore

Path to Abbott’s Lagoon, Point Reyes National Seashore

This was one of my favorite days.

Abbott's Lagoon

Abbott’s Lagoon

I relished the solitude and quiet that are so rare in workaday life. It felt like a privilege.

Beyond Abbott's Lagoon: The Pacific.

Beyond Abbott’s Lagoon: The Pacific.

But there was conviviality along with the solitude. I spent many of the evenings in conversation with the brilliant writers who were in residence with me. In coming weeks I plan to feature each of these writers and their crucial work.

I also decided to spend some time sitting in nature each day, now that I’m home. Here in my city, the hummingbirds are long gone and there are no dramatic cliffs or hypnotic ocean waves, but the leaves are turning and the songbirds are still as vociferous as ever. Heartland beauty may be subtler than West Coast beauty, but it still fills me.

*Are you a nonfiction writer whose work touches on nature, economics, and social justice? I would encourage you to apply for a residency at Mesa Refuge. It is a phenomenal place to write.

Stealing the Future

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Photo credit: Kim Seng, via flickr Commons

Photo credit: Kim Seng, via flickr Commons

At present, we are stealing the future, selling it in the present, and calling it GDP. We can just as easily have a future that is based on healing the future instead of stealing it.

—Paul Hawken, Commencement Address, University of Portland, 2009

Protection

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A turtle among the Roman ruins at Pergamon, Turkey. Photo by Nick Leonard, via flickr Commons


A turtle among the Roman ruins at Pergamon, Turkey. Photo by Nick Leonard, via flickr Commons

Nothing protects us but our constant awareness and rededication to embody our values as much as we possibly can, and to be gentle with ourselves and others when we fail in this.

—Michael Lerner