In times of great change and transition, gratitude can save us from the deepest sadness. Save may not be the right word.
Gratitude is a companion, a ray of light that reminds us of the flow of things.
Trying to escape our current state is a helpless cause, but recognizing that emotions flow in and out helps to buoy ourselves in a restless sea.
After all, the waves give us fear and excitement in the same crash.
The beauty lies in recognizing the unique detail within the vastness of experience, being grateful that it has come and may go.
7.3 I am grateful for time spent alone.
7.4 I am grateful for the sea.
7.7 I am grateful for keeping records.
7.14 I am grateful for...
I'm listening to the earth around me on a walk.
And the color jumps from the ground.
A fallen, barely bloomed flower.
A scattered bouquet, loosened by wind or another earthly shaking.
I decide to give one another life, like the burr that catches the fur of the dog.
I'm conscious of this.
This is not only a small, found gift I'll slip to my partner, enjoying thoughts of him while spinning the gift in my fingers until my steps meet his.
This is a movement of the earth. This is my impact on nature.
We build our nests like birds, picking up scraps of the earth and forever changing it.
We consume like wildfires and leave wakes of waste like tornados.
We're focused on the earthquake while the tsunami soaks us up to our ears in a landscape we never imagined.
Because it started with picking up a fallen flower and giving it to others so many times that it turned into a possession.
Something named mine or his or ours. Not Of The Earth, the plant's, or the soil's or the cow's.
Soon the waters cover our mouths and our eyes glimpse the last of our legacy.
Voiceless, we see what the animals had seen all along.
We see that the voiceless knew better than we did, but we fell in love with the sound of our machines and the buzz of an insulated home.
We thought these spoke for themselves but really they just deafened our sense of earthliness until natural forces had to scream us into our senses and up to our ears in the truth.
If we rape the earth it might just rape us back.
But if we love the earth it can love us back unimaginably.
Love takes time and openness. It is uncomfortable and honest.
It's not possessive, but grateful. It's selfless and sweet.
It's thoughtful. Like walking on a sidewalk and considering the dense earth that lies deeply beneath it.
It's seeing the leaves fall and not taking spring for granted.
Humans belong to the earth. The earth does not belong to us.
A system in imbalance is a flawed system. The compass is fixed in the wrong direction and a new path must be forged.
"If you want something you've never had before, you must be willing to do something you've never done." ~ T. Jefferson
I'm in love with living here.
My heart set roots here.
They're buried deep and daily the waves lap at them,
goodbye, hello, goodbye, hello.
Ready to never meet again and rejoicing upon every re-encounter.
I could learn from my roots and those waves,
I think to myself as the clouds ripple away from the sun.
Into the darkness, until tomorrow.
When the 10th person cancels on you in the past month, you just have to say “fuck it” and buy yourself an empanada to eat while the sun sets. The rent will get paid. I have money for the bus home. Everything will be fine in the end. And if it’s not, it’s not the end.
We round the bend
Cross the bridge
Arrive. Look back,
And ask where the time went
When did the change happen,
And wasn’t it awesome to be alone
Walking with ourselves.
Said "ok" and suddenly I'm in a torn-up teepee in a hay barn with four people I met three days ago. We spent the last hour patching up the hut and stacking the last of the heavy hay bails on the other side of the room.
The door creaks with the breeze and the disgruntled cows moan around us. Tomorrow we will milk them. We're surrounded by earwigs and the only solution is to sleep, quickly, before not sleeping at all.
Let the dull moos and the heat cuddle me up and doze, thinking of Ignacio, my toes, and how easy it was to be here.
the richest day, sweet fruit
deep plunge, creamy breeze
an aroma mixing aged and new
like home and the future at once
autumn and spring at once
mind mixing the sweetest blend
trusting the flow
feet overhead, head behind feet,
hands in hands
your turn, my turn.
treading sun rays,
squinting grins, heavy contact
the ground leaves imprints
on my feet soles,
squeezes that say,
we're in this together but we each
play a part, or apart.
never before tastes familiar.
on the richest day
sweet fruit, deep plunge
we're never seen but we are
One of the many loud and clear messages from the documentary Cowspiracy: There is no way to sustainably consume livestock and animal products.
The following quotation by Dr. Richard Oppenlander, environmental researcher and author of “Comfortably Unaware.” The title of his book just gets me fidgety in my seat, and I think it’s because I am a little uncomfortably aware.
Without using any gas, or oil or fuel, ever again from this day forward, we would still exceed our maximum carbon equivalent in green house gas emissions (the 565 gigatons) by the year 2030 without the electricity or energy sector even factoring into the equation, all simply by raising and eating livestock.
Perhaps in a future post I can delve into what sustainable means and why it’s important to (and extremely downplayed by) the human race.