Tag Archive | ancient junipers

The Wild Cost

Apr5

I continue to follow developments in the disastrous illegal war that the Liar in Chief chose as a multi-purpose ruse to distract from the Epstein files and other corruptions while also enriching himself and his sycophant cronies through weapons investments and market manipulation. The costs are glossed over by the government and complicit legacy media so I’m grateful there are some people keeping track. Twenty hours and twenty minutes into it, as I write this, the US government has spent 42 billion of our tax dollars, and adding $5000 every second on this real-time clock. What a bitter, bitter pill it was to deliver paperwork to my accountant last week.

“168 Pairs of Shoes” video from No Kings Day 3, Paonia, Colorado. 15 minutes

The human cost rises daily as well. It started dramatically with the slaughter of innocents represented above in Virginia Unseld’s moving tribute 168 Pairs of Shoes. Her next installation last Friday at a Methodist church presented the shoes lining the sidewalks to the steps, where they formed the shape of a heart.

photo courtesy of Virginia Unseld

The human cost is grave, the financial cost is staggering, but what about the wild world? Who is talking about the environmental cost? I’ve only noticed one person on my social and news networks making noise about it, environmentalist drag queen Pattie Gonia.

So, I’ll talk about it. It’s taken hours of searching online to learn that there’s a paucity of research on the subject; however, what research there is concurs: War is bad not just for children but for the whole wild world. I also looked into the wildlife of Iran. One of the first hits was an article called “Conservation Policies in Iran: Protecting Biodiversity and Endangered Species” from November 2024.

We savored a long ramble through the woods this Easter Sunday, playing with the infrared Bucktown Pack on my imaginary camera.

It states that Iran’s unique geographical position at the intersection of three major zoogeographical regions—Palaearctic, Oriental, and Ethiopian—contributes to its rich biodiversity. There are many endemic plants and animals, which means they occur nowhere else. “The Caspian Hyrcanian mixed forests are UNESCO World Heritage sites, recognized for their exceptional biological diversity and ancient lineage…. Additionally, Iran is home to many threatened and endangered species, such as the Persian leopard, the Asiatic cheetah, and the Caspian seal. These species are crucial for maintaining ecological balance and health within their respective habitats. However, the rich biodiversity of Iran faces numerous challenges, primarily from habitat loss due to urbanization, agricultural expansion, and industrial development. Climate change exacerbates these issues, affecting water availability and altering habitats, which further threatens the survival of many species.” This article doesn’t mention war, because that wasn’t a factor when it was written.

For pictures of Iran’s endangered species, see this list in Animalia. Many of them are aquatic, including several species each of whales, sea turtles, sharks, rays, shorebirds, and the Indian Ocean humpback dolphin. The list also includes the mammals named above, as well as the Siberian crane, Steppe eagle, Kurdistan newt, Latifi’s viper, and the Persian onegar, a subspecies of Asiatic wild ass endemic to Iran with a population of around 700. A full list of Iran’s 156 endangered species including corals, fishes, insects, and at least one plant, is here.

I did find a few articles that touch on the environmental impacts of war, like this from the US Army War College, and this from The Revelator, but most of them come back to focus on the harm that war does to the environment from a human perspective. All agree, though, that war, particularly bombing, wreak havoc on the wild world as well. From a table in a waste management site, bombs release toxic chemicals into the soil, reducing fertility, harming plant growth, and contaminating groundwater; explosions contaminate water bodies, affecting aquatic ecosystems and drinking water sources; they clear large areas of vegetation, displace soil, destroy habitats, and disrupt ecosystems, leading to biodiversity loss; they generate intense noise, causing stress and injury to wildlife, disrupting animal communication, navigation, migration patterns and food chains. They force animals to flee their habitats, removing or destroying key species. The list goes on.

A Brown University article states that The U.S. Department of Defense is the world’s single largest institutional consumer of oil – and as a result, one of the world’s top greenhouse gas emitters. War is destroying the planet faster than any other single factor in climate collapse. That’s my own claim, but it has an air of truthiness to it.

This article from Action on Armed Violence is one of many that highlight our interdependence with animals. “Though animals may be directly killed or injured by the use of explosive weapons, the impact to their environment appears to typically be the more concerning factor, particularly through habitat loss and human displacement. In Syria, for example, it was recently reported that water buffalo in Hama countryside have been highly impacted by the continued use of explosive violence in the region in recent years. Not only have water buffalo become direct casualties of the bombardment, but much of the land has become unusable, and farmers and their buffalo have been displaced by the shelling…. The total number of water buffalo in the area has decreased by two-thirds compared to the pre-conflict level by 2017.”

It continues, “Landmines and other explosive remnants also have a long history of environmental impact. They have directly killed many animals, including for example elephants in Sri Lanka, snow leopards in Afghanistan, tigers in Cambodia, gazelles in Libya, camels in China, and water buffalo Vietnam. While these have been documented in the past, there is little current research on this issue and the scale of the impact.”

The most comprehensive article I’ve encountered is this Canadian review on the effects of modern war and military activities on biodiversity and the environment, which posits, “Dramatic habitat alteration, environmental pollution, and disturbance contributed to population declines and biodiversity losses arising from both acute and chronic effects in both terrestrial and aquatic systems.” It details devastating effects of aerial assault, naval operations, terrestrial war, nuclear tests, military bases and training, chemical warfare, and more.

Toes-up time under the Ancient One, Wren reclining against my legs.

Among other findings, “The numerous explosive techniques and tools at the disposal of army forces during ground warfare have left a legacy on landscapes across the globe by leaving large craters, shrapnel, and contamination, thus devastating many ecosystems across the biosphere. Landmines applied during active ground warfare have left a lasting legacy on the environment and still remain a major threat to biodiversity, even decades after being deployed.”

After offering a paean to the benefits that military technology has contributed to environmental and conservation science, the article concludes, “…it is evident that warfare’s impacts on ecosystem functioning are indeed overwhelmingly deleterious. The impacts of conflict, nuclear weapons, training operations, and chemical contaminations all contribute to both reductions in the populations of local flora and fauna as well as reducing species diversity in the affected ecosystems. Impacts were demonstrated in a number of environments with a diversity of taxonomic groups represented with war resulting in both acute and chronic impacts on the ecosystem.” It illustrates the impact categories in this figure.

“Creations are numberless, I vow to free them.” This is the first line of the Zen vows that I repeat any time I participate in a Upaya teaching. Just imagine the numberless creations, from spiders to rodents, domestic cats and dogs, chickens, lizards, snakes, common or rare and unique life forms who are getting obliterated with every bomb of every war.

Yesterday I finished reading Against the Machine by Paul Kingsnorth. It was a difficult and challenging read. Though I disagree with some of his assertions, notably those regarding introspection, and those on human sexuality and gender, his thesis that “techno-industrial culture has choked Western civilisation and is destroying the Earth itself” resonates brutally with my observations. “From the First Industrial Revolution to the rise of artificial intelligence, this book shows how the hollowing out of humanity has been a long game—and how our very soul is now at stake.” I will be pondering this book for a long time. Trump’s frivolous war on Iran is a consummate example of Machine culture from every angle at which you examine it.

If you’re still with me, you might want an antidote to this post. If so, check out Jessica Craven’s Extra! Extra! good news post today.

A Walk in the Woods

Nov30

Today it snowed at least five inches, which gave me a chance to catch up inside, and review photos from the last weeks of this mild and gorgeous autumn. Most days I woke Topaz from her mid-morning nap on the sunroom table to invite her out for a walk. She’s going a little deaf, so a gentle touch on the side of the basket and she startles awake with a little mrrrp!

It takes her awhile to get going once she steps outside. She rolls on the flagstones and stretches, while Wren and I zigzag through the woods close to the yard, noticing details. I call to her occasionally: sometimes she hops through the gate and runs to catch up, but most of the time we’re well on our way before she shows herself.

Some days she doesn’t join us at all. Yesterday I thought was one of those days, so after awhile I gave up on her and we ambled eastward, from one lovely view, one magnificent tree, to another.

I’ve been practicing a meditation instruction I heard a few days ago, to remember, just for a moment now and then, the felt sense of being “without a care in the world.” The woods is the best place to do that. I don’t think of myself as stressed until I realize how that feeling used to be much easier to find.

It’s healthy to now and then shrug off worries about health, mortality, money, the collapse of democracy, and recall that carefree feeling. I was immersed in it. We had wandered on deer trails for half an hour and were pretty far from the house, the canyon in sight. I sat on a log for a short meditation. A quiet mrrrp interrupted my reverie, and Topaz jumped up next to me. I was delighted to see her. She’d been stalking us all along.

Once she had gotten enough appreciation she wandered away and that was my cue to get up and move again. I let her and Wren dictate our route.

There’s an avenue of ancients near the southeast corner that came to my heart to visit, so I steered us in that general direction. The junipers are evenly spaced down a gentle slope to the canyon rim. A couple of them appear to be around the same age, five or six hundred years or older, and some younger, just a couple hundred. The series below shows more than one angle on each of the trees.

I got to the bottom of the avenue and realized there was another tree in the line that I had not once in thirty years understood. It was just below a rocky ledge, at the top of the scree that angles down to Ice Canyon. As I considered the whole slope, I experienced the feeling of this next tree slowly sliding down the edge as rock eroded over centuries. Its powerful roots kept it anchored and it reached upward even as the earth carried it downhill.

I turned, and for the first time followed the sight line uphill from that tree along the avenue…

… and then I turned again and followed it farther downhill, to another tree I had failed to recognize as the last in line, barely hanging on above the drop into Ice Canyon. I wallowed in awe for a long while without a care in the world.

Eyes of Wonder

Aug30

I’m grateful we finally got some rain. Yesterday it was overcast all day, drizzled off and on, and the clouds gave a good shower midafternoon. Not enough to make puddles, but enough to make the top layer of clay almost muddy. Little Wren shivered in her Thundershirt and wanted to cuddle all afternoon as I frantically plowed through R.F. Kuang’s surprising, delightful, allegorical, and ultimately very disturbing novel Babel before the digital library reclaimed it today.

I was grateful to wake this morning to sunshine on a cool early autumn landscape with clouds climbing the mountains on their way out of town.

I finally steeled myself to check on the potato harvest in the garden beds, and wasn’t too disappointed. I dug one plant’s yield from each of the small red potatoes and the Yukon golds. The red potato gave a pretty good harvest, and the first gold one did not, so I pulled a second gold and got a sizable handful. Both these potatoes did pretty well considering the grasshopper plague that never let the red ones flower at all, and only allowed a few of the golds to bloom, before demolishing the foliage. I was surprised to dig up what I presume was a skin from the seed potato of the bountiful Yukon gold.

I finally got a good look at the little silver stray that’s been streaking away after only a ghostly glimpse for a couple of months. Or, I think it’s the same cat, a pretty little thing. Topaz was fixated out the window when I walked by and when I stopped to stroke her she growled, but not at me. Only then did I look out and see what she was staring at, and who was staring back at her. It didn’t stay long: I was on my way to let Wren out, and thought it best to get it over with before Topaz wanted out again, to preclude a cat fight. The cat streaked through the fence and left Wren prancing at the gate. I have told Topaz many times since her dear brother’s untimely demise that if she wants another cat she can bring one home, but I guess not this one.

This morning we went for another ramble on soft damp ground through the cool woods, greeting trees we’d not seen for awhile.

We found ourselves at the North Pole, so named the first year I lived here when it designated the northern boundary. I’m grateful I was able to buy the field, forest, and canyon beyond after awhile, so now the North Pole marks the halfway point. We continued on until we came to the Survivor, and sat with her for awhile. She never ceases to amaze me, still living green nearly a century now since she resisted someone’s attempt to cut her up. I always ponder: did she fall over first, or did she get cut first and then fall over? Either way, she’s an inspiration to the power of stoic resistance and determined persistence. All the trees tell stories.

At the base of a decaying trunk, a baby piñon and an even younger juniper grow side by side in harmony.

We follow the course of a natural storm drain to slowly amble home. I’m grateful for the aimless nourishing hour we wandered the woods, remembering again connection, reflecting on those halcyon days when it was all so new. For decades with big dogs it was all new every carefree day. How much has changed, now carrying the weight of the new reich; through a darkening lens, yet still able to see with eyes of wonder so much beauty, and with such sweet, quiet little animal companions. Everything changes. 

A Quiet Day at Home

Jul30

I’ve found another way to use the last few drops of maple syrup that always linger in the bottle after you think it’s empty: it floats on the latté foam! A sweet treat, a small triumph.

I’m grateful for a quiet day at home with pretty clean air inside and out, for accomplishing some household projects inside and out, for tender connections with nature throughout the day.

We took a nice long ramble through the woods this evening, and found somewhere new. It’s a small thrill to find myself somewhere new in my old familiar forest.

This morning at the pond another something new, another small thrill: The first frog’s forelegs!

And this evening, something else new, a little meeting of the minds on the side of the pond. Look at these vastly different organisms all getting along despite belonging to three different phyla: the snail, Mollusca; the tadpole, Chordata; and the dragonfly nymph, Arthropoda. How is it we humans can’t get along better? We’re all the same, five levels down the animal classification tier from Phylum to the smallest division. As members of the same species, we have a lot more in common with each other than we have different.

I’m grateful for all that is good in my life, and all the gifts of this precious day that will never come again.

Creative Energy

Jul23

I’m grateful for the simple, productive pleasure of knitting. I’ve just started the right front panel of the dream sweater. Allowing the flow of creative energy releases agitation and grounds me in this moment. Whether it’s with knitting needles or a camera, writing or in the kitchen cooking, focusing my attention on creating something or capturing a fleeting image calms thoughts and eclipses ego. Wren was grateful that I took her to the canyon this evening.

Holiday Weekend

Jul7
A few chokecherry clusters are ripening.

I’m under doctor’s orders to swim. I swam recreationally for a few years before Covid, but haven’t been back to a public pool since. I don’t like driving 45 minutes to the indoor pool, especially in winter; I don’t like getting to the community pool early enough for swim lanes in summer; I don’t like the mandatory shower before entering the pool; I don’t like what the chlorine does to my hair and my skin. But I love to feel my body glide through water. The rec center pool in Delta has the Lazy River, a rib-high sinuous flow of warm water. That’s technically what I’ve been ordered to do.

Rocky Mountain beeplant started blooming last week and drawing in all manner of pollinators.

So I bit the bullet and ordered a new swim suit when my Dog World sister mentioned them on deep markdown at Lands End. And the other night I ordered new swim goggles, wax ear plug discs, and a swim cap, all of which succumbed to age even as my swimming tapered off.

chewing side of crown
cement side of crown

This afternoon as I sat under the pleasing influence of nitrous oxide in the dental chair, the dentist was chatting with the tech as she ground down my old cracked tooth. “You know Pat–gonia?” she asked. The tech murmured her answer as I pondered the question. Not that I could reply, but I thought, “I just ordered from them the other day,” because while I was at REI spending my free dividend money on swim gear, I also shopped for some sale items, including Merrell water shoes and a Patagonia jacket. I buy Patagonia whenever I can, because of their integrity.

His Holiness celebrated his 90th birthday this weekend. Millions around the world also celebrated his birth, his life, his remarkable gifts to humanity. That was my holiday.

Even though I thought heard “Pattie Gonia,” my first thought went to the clothing company, but in the next second she clarified to her friend “…the drag queen? I saw her in Denver.” I tipped both my thumbs up, then made the heart sign, and they laughed, so she talked about the amazing Pride show that Pattie Gonia headlined in Denver last month. I’d seen clips and pictures on Instagram.

The resilient desert willow, who almost died of cold a few years ago, has rebounded and bears more blossoms this summer than in many years.

I started following Pattie Gonia a few months ago when she showed up as one of National Geographic’s nine Travelers of the Year 2024. She was also named one of Outside magazine’s Outsiders of the Year in 2022, and a Time Magazine Next Gen Leader in 2023. The reason Wyn Wiley chose this name for his drag queen alter ego is self-explanatory if you know the brand. Learning that my dentist is a fan of Pattie made me all over tingle – though that might have been the nitrous.

Fennel when it’s ready sucks in its bulb and reconstituted the energy in a central stalk that shoots up and flowers then seeds.

My emotions have been very close to the surface this weekend. Tears spring at the least glimpse of beauty or tenderness. This is a welcome counterpoint to the simmering rage that erupts when I encounter another headline or photo, or comment from someone I know, that reflects the hypocrisy of so-called Christians celebrating the BBB that will starve children of food and education, kill thousands by making healthcare costly and/or inaccessible, pillage public lands, expedite the climate catastrophe, kidnap and imprison innocent people, and so on. I don’t claim to know the Bible like they do, those hypocritical politicians, neighbors, at least one cousin, but I do know what it says about the poor. Among a hundred other scripture quotes:

“Therefore I command you, you shall open wide your hand to your brother, to the needy and to the poor, in your land.”

Deuteronomy 15:11

So I tuned them all out this weekend, and turned my attention to the beauty, wonder, and delights of the garden. The fennel was bolting so I pulled the last four bulbs that were still solid, and left the few that were morphing to go to seed.

I couldn’t use it all at once, so I sliced the bulbs a little more thickly than I would have to use fresh, plopped them into ice trays, and froze them. That left four fennels worth of fronds to use or compost. I made a fennel fronds pesto, and froze some of that as well.

Into the food processor I put four cups of coarsely chopped fronds, the zest and juice of one lemon, four garlic cloves, olive oil, a little butter, a couple tablespoons of water — which a recipe called for but I didn’t like what it did to the consistency so I threw in an equal amount of cream cheese to add a little binding. Once that was all pretty smooth I added half a cup of pecans and pulsed a few times. I froze most of it, but kept some out.

Then I boiled some pasta, grated some parmesan, and enjoyed my lunch. One pesto recipe I looked at called for a splash of Dijon mustard, which I forgot to put in, so I added half a teaspoon when I tossed the pasta. Yum!

The next day I made sourdough pizza crust and baked two skillet pizzas. On the small one, fennel frond pesto, parmesan, Kalamata olives, and red onion; on the large one, from the freezer, roasted tomatoes with basil and garlic, grated Havarti, red onion, and chopped pancetta.

Yum! It was too hot to eat outside so I enjoyed my a few slices inside, with a delightful book that a friend passed along to me. Thanks, Chris! Later, when it cooled down a bit, I cooled off with my feet in the pond. This time, I went down and got up very carefully, properly, safely.

The babies are getting so big! Their nibbling tickles now. I thought maybe I saw a few tiny legs starting to emerge but Dr. Amphibian suggested maybe not yet. He said it could be six months before they complete metamorphosis, and that they’ll be fine overwinter in the pond whatever stage they’re in. Whew! It all depends on variable conditions, including water temperature. They change at their own pace.

Image borrowed from Encyclopedia Britannica. The Mirador tadpoles are at the early late stage illustrated in the center.

This evening’s sunset walk delivered the perfect cherry on top of my holiday weekend. It’s been years since I’ve seen a bull snake. This little baby startled me — we startled each other on the path, she was perfectly camouflaged, and she slid gracefully away to an ancient juniper. May you also find moments of beauty and joy in your day.

Jun8

It only took a month to finally capture a western tiger swallowtail. I’ve seen one occasionally flitting about the yard but the conditions have not yet been quite right to get a picture—until today.

The wild butterfly bush (Buddleia alternifolia) burst into bloom this past week. It took a few days before its perfume began to fill the yard and draw in the swallowtail who spent most of the day feeding from its many laden branches.

I had a couple of work zooms today and couldn’t bear to do them inside, so I brought the technology outside and sat in the shade under the deck; grateful for zoom, grateful for the deck shade. And most grateful for the trust of the bluebirds. He flew in from gathering insects in the yard and perched over my shoulder on the deer skull just outside the hole in the adobe wall where they’re nesting. In a moment, she fluttered out of the hole and joined him. They both observed me carefully; then she flew away and he remained awhile. I was entranced, and I think we were all three reassured. I’m hopeful I’ll be watching when the chicks fledge.

Where’s Wren? She’s off ahead as we enjoy an evening ramble through the elegant old junipers, exemplars of resilience.

The light was a little strange as evening settled. When we reached the top of the ridge on the way home and could see the horizon through the trees there was strong haze dimming the mountains. Maybe diffuse smoke from Canadian wildfires, maybe why some of us are suffering extra allergies—we can’t bear to stay inside but the air quality isn’t as pure as it looks at high noon. But first, we watched moonrise from our new favorite sitting log in the southern woods.

Nighthawks screeked and dove overhead as we wended our way home just as the sun went down.

Even after sunset the day’s work wasn’t done. Grasshopper mitigation continues: 24 hours after neem spray the front line seems to be holding. There were just a few grasshoppers in the raised beds throughout the day. But I’m not taking chances. There were a lot of little feral lettuces in amongst the onions. To protect them, and to remove the competition from the onions, I popped them out and planted them in the new bed where I could cover them. The cover will cool them with a little shade, and keep out marauders. I hope.

I look forward to another brand new day tomorrow.

“Waking up this morning, I smile. Twenty-four brand new hours are before me. I vow to live fully in each moment and to look at all beings with eyes of compassion.”

Thich Nhat Hanh

A Spring Stroll

Apr24

Beautiful tulips in the garden this morning. After working most of the day, we set off into the woods for an aimless ramble, which I haven’t felt steady enough to do for more than a year. We broke from the main path at the bottom of the first hill, and then meandered along various deer trails, up and down, over a few logs, at a slow, contemplative pace. It was blissful.

Like icing on the cake, as we neared the house again at last, I spied the first Indian paintbrush in bloom, right on schedule. The hummingbirds won’t be far behind! This has been a reliable indicator of their arrival for as long as I’ve lived here. Time to get the feeders out of storage and mix a batch of nectar to be ready when the first one arrives. Remember, if you feed hummingbirds, clean the feeders with hot water, or hot water and a very dilute bleach solution: don’t use soap. Don’t use metal feeders as those can injure tender tongues. And never use store-bought nectar, red nectar, red dye: just use 1 part granulated sugar to 4 parts boiled water and stir until completely dissolved. Let the nectar cool completely before filling feeders. Yes, it takes time, thought, care, and attention, but there are so many things that can go wrong and hurt those tender living jewels that it’s worth doing right.

Wren loves that it’s time to find Biko again every evening. She can hardly wait to get out the door before she races around the whole yard looking for him, and then she tells me when she’s found him.

Resilience

Apr13

Wren wouldn’t stop licking her forearm where she got the IV during her dental, so last night I had to wrap it. It was quite the struggle, involving a medicated wipe, ointment, gauze, vet wrap, and me briefly holding a dog jerky treat between my teeth. She resisted, walked afterward like she had a thorn in her paw, kept trying to lick off the wrap. Once I got her in bed for the night she settled down.

In the mornings if she gets up before me I don’t even open my eyes, just pat the bed, and she jumps up and rolls onto my hand or curls up in the crook of my arm. This morning I patted the bed with the back of my hand, and she did something she’s never done before. I felt her little paw settle softly in my palm. She lifted it and set it down again like a feather. Moving only my fingers I felt the bandage down around her ankle and gently slipped it over her foot. She flung herself down and curled up on top of my hand.

Today she got ointment and the Donut of Protection, and it was much easier. Neither sore nor donut kept her from her job at the pond.

For lunch today, fresh bread and homemade tomato soup from the freezer. I’m grateful for a tip I got decades ago that avocado is the perfect garnish for tomato soup.

I’m grateful that I’m still meeting old trees for the first time sometimes when I walk in the woods. I noticed this piñon from a distance the other day and assumed these were branches broken down over winter. Today we went to investigate and discovered that they’re growing down like a full skirt, having bent when young in deep snow and kept growing that direction. Bent, not broken; resilient.

The Power of the Pause

Feb7

Today I’m grateful for spending time in the forest. After a walk shortened by muddy conditions, I carried a lawn chair out into the trees and simply sat for awhile. Wren snuffled around amusing her nose, nibbling juniper berries, playing imaginary games; I sat and listened and looked; I breathed clean spring air.

I got back into the fray today, catching up on Today’s Edition with sound advice for sanity, making calls to my Senators, reading a few specific articles including this one about the thousands who demonstrated at state capitols yesterday across the country. But I paced myself. The day started with a member of Telesangha who lives in DC telling me that most residents in his building are federal employees who are panicking. So I led a meditation in which I repeated some sound advice recently shared with me from a talk by Oren Jay Sofer, on how to deal with news overwhelm:

  • 1. Do at least your minimum daily requirement for your body’s wellbeing, including exercise, sleep, and eating well.
  • 2. Ask yourself: Am I nourishing myself? This is essential. What gives you joy and replenishes you, emotionally, socially, and/or spiritually? Include this in your life.
  • 3. Set limits on your news consumption. (I would add, turn off all news notifications/alerts, so that you choose when you see the news.) Not only set constraints, but take in news intentionally. Ask yourself:
    • Why are you seeking information and what needs are are you trying to meet?
    • What specific areas of news do you need to follow?
    • What sources of news and info are you consulting?
  • 4. Action relieves anxiety: so being engaged, taking action in whatever ways are meaningful to us, helps us deal with our angst.
  • 5. Practice with Equanimity. Don’t suppress your responses and emotions, but learn how to feel them without feeding them. Your feelings reflect your values, so use those feelings to clarify your values, hold true to your values, and act in alignment with them in all areas of your life.

As I wandered through the woods I thought about how many of the Usurpers’ edicts have already been challenged or held up by the courts, by protests, and by legislators; and, how many outrageous pronouncements have already been diluted or walked back by the Usurper in Chief. We don’t really know what’s actually happening. The sowing of chaos is an intentional strategy to overload our cognitive capacities. As Hubbell writes, “Not everything that Trump and Musk have announced will actually occur or will be easy to implement. And we will have time to resist, fight back, slow walk, and seek injunctive relief from the courts. We can blunt some of the damage but cannot prevent it all. Still, we must do our best to protect as many people and programs as possible.”

In another post he points out, “Do not collapse the future into the present moment. The future comes at us one day at a time no matter how much we worry. The invariant pace of time gives us space and opportunity to plan, react, and adjust. Find community. Support others in distress. Lead by example….” And so in addition to Sofer’s advice on avoiding media overwhelm, I would add, just pause… When you hear or read the latest outrage, pause and breathe. Don’t react from your gut right away: that will quickly wreck your gut. Take a breath, wait for followup information to determine the actual urgency (and truth) of the situation, and then determine whether and how you can in alignment with your values and your abilities. And do not forget to nourish yourself so that you have the energy to engage in resistance.

Today’s cheese sandwich: chicken, potato chips, romaine and havarti, with mayo and mustard on light rye. Very nourishing indeed, along with the quiet time I spent eating it and reading a fine Irish novel. Then, back to work saving the world, one meditation at a time.

Rebecca Solnit wrote the day after the election, “They want you to feel powerless and to surrender and to let them trample everything and you are not going to let them. You are not giving up, and neither am I. The fact that we cannot save everything does not mean we cannot save anything and everything we can save is worth saving.“

Joyce Vance writes another excellent newsletter that gives wise and helpful legal perspective and interpretation on the coup and its ramifications, which she ends with the phrase “We’re in this together.” There are SO MANY informed and determined defenders of democracy out there working on the front lines. You and I do not have to know everything or do everything. I am one among many, and we are strong and resilient. More will join us every day as their lives become uncomfortable. Anything we do that is helpful, or kind, or compassionate; that is wise, that is true, that stands up to oppression and corruption, ripples out into the world in ways we may never know. Thinking about this, I recalled a poem I wrote years ago, early in my mindfulness journey. What we do matters.