“When she transformed into a butterfly,
the caterpillars spoke not of her beauty, but of her weirdness.
They wanted her to change back into what she always had been.
But she had wings.”
~ The Poetry of Oneness
I've been thinking a lot lately about what I'm doing here.
Not in terms of my day-to-day functionality -- I have a 'to do' list two pages long
that keeps me on track there. But the bigger picture, zoom out/wider lens framing. More existential stuff. The kind of thinking that happens when your
world gets turned upside down and you're faced with the question, "Now
what?" The kind of thinking that happens when you're trying to write a
book and you're faced (every damn day) with the question, "What's my
story?"
I moved to the farm six years ago because I wanted to extricate myself from the dominant culture that is killing our planet and ourselves
through reckless production and senseless consumption. To create space where I
could live a life of meaning and connection. To take the path less chosen. Inspire
others to do the same. I wanted to make a difference. To be able to look into
the eyes of my kids and their kids (if that comes to pass) and say, "I
tried."
But is that enough?
We live in a culture that craves quick fixes and easy
solutions. To ask the big questions, make life-changing decisions, to fight
against the overwhelming pressure to conform is exhausting. And at times
terrifying.
It's easier not to recognize the gravity of our situation.
The fact that much of our western civilization is built on a regime of unsustainable
growth and appropriation of "others." And the very corporations and governments
that perpetuate this madness offer top 10 lists and simple solutions to save
the planet and preserve our comfortable existence. Absolve ourselves from
personal responsibility. Keep up with the status quo. Defend our smartphones, SUVs
and cruise ships to exotic locales.
As Derrick Jensen says, we've all been greenwashed:
"One way this culture gets people is with the delusion -- "If I just consume less and less, I won't be contributing to the death of this planet. If I wear out my recycled shoes and skip showers, then I won't be part of this destruction." But the salmon don't care about your purity and your lifestyles choices, they care if there are dams and fish farms… So when they tell you to take a shorter shower, it's prestidigitation. It's a magic trick -- sleight of hand. They're trying to make you think, "If I take a shorter shower I can make things OK."
As Derrick Jensen says, we've all been greenwashed:
"One way this culture gets people is with the delusion -- "If I just consume less and less, I won't be contributing to the death of this planet. If I wear out my recycled shoes and skip showers, then I won't be part of this destruction." But the salmon don't care about your purity and your lifestyles choices, they care if there are dams and fish farms… So when they tell you to take a shorter shower, it's prestidigitation. It's a magic trick -- sleight of hand. They're trying to make you think, "If I take a shorter shower I can make things OK."
He also writes about our cultural refusal to confront
reality: "We're facing the death of the planet and nobody's panicking?...
There's a line in a book by Eduardo Galeano that, "The legislature voted
that reality doesn't exist." Congress is debating climate change this
year. They're going to vote that reality doesn't exist. The narcissism in this
culture kills me. It kills everyone."
It would be much easier to give up, sell out, move back.
This piece of earth has provided me with a place to grow roots, but at times
those roots feel like anchors. The work is relentless. There is always something
that needs doing, fixing, tending. There are personal ramifications to this
life. I lost a 20-year relationship, in part, over my beliefs, my differences. Divergent paths. There are times (most days) when I feel strong and powerful for choosing to stay, to keep fighting for
this life, and there are other days when I feel utterly alone. Disconnected. And
yet the idea of leaving is soul destroying.
The person I've become is inextricably woven into the fabric
of this place. I no longer feel that the farm belongs to me, but I belong to
the farm. It is my refuge and my prison. It has seeped into my very being. I am its
caretaker and its mistress. There are
times I yearn to escape this place and yet when I'm gone I realize how much I
need it. I have purpose here.
But again I ask, is that enough? Or perhaps the true
question is, am I doing enough?
I grow vegetables and plant trees and raise animals in a way
that respects and celebrates their innate beingness. I do so to rage against
the industrial machine that poisons our water, our earth, our air and our sense
of humanity. But I do this work quietly. And because of that these actions can seem
so inconsequential.
Am I, too, suffering from the delusional belief that this will make things OK?
I've created a place of refuge from the world but one that
is small and separate from the community that I long to connect with. This
place is becoming an expression -- an extension -- of me but it could be so
much more than that. But that takes letting people in, opening myself up,
becoming vulnerable.
Admitting that I don't know what I'm doing. But I'm doing it
anyway.
My relationship to this place and my role in it is
constantly shifting and evolving. I came here as a borderline militant vegan
and now (though still vegetarian) I raise animals for meat. I ask so many questions, both practical and ethical, and offer so few answers. I read work that
I wrote when I first moved here and I blush at the naivieté. The rose-coloured
glasses. But have I allowed wisdom and experience to become stand-ins for hunger
and conviction, corralled possibility into something more safe and manageable?
And as for my writing: the world is such a messy, complex place and I
abhor being yet another voice that offers simple solutions. And so I let my
thoughts steep, like my daily pots of strong tea, waiting for some definitive
answer that never comes. Too often I bite my tongue, swallow my words, leave
things unsaid. Succumb to fear. Not fear of difference or stepping out from the
crowd, but fear of being judged for being wrong. Or much worse, a hypocrite. There
is still a large chasm between my intentions and my actions. Who am I to tell
people to wake the fuck up, get over yourselves and do something real?
Then again, who am I not to be? I am a person who feels and
experiences this life deeply. Passionately. I fall head over heels, lead with my
heart first, then with my head. When I fall, I fall hard. Desperately so. But
when I take risks and allow myself to let go of the fear and the conditioning and the criticism
for being "too much" (or conversely "not enough") I can feel my wings stretching. Then I fly.
