In the mornings, I meditate in my bedroom—actually I meditate in my bedroom closet. There is just enough room on the floor between my dresses, blouses, and hiking boots, to roll out my yoga mat, sit cross-legged on my meditation pillow and close my eyes. This morning there was a dog. A real dog outside my window, not a dog in my imagination.
I’m sorry if I’ve ever bent your ear about climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve consciously or unconsciously dismissed the important work that you are doing, thinking that you should turn your attention to climate change. I’m sorry if I’ve been arrogant, cavalier, pretentious or smug.
The Buddhists talk about beginner’s mind. Travelers take to the road and begin to see the most mundane things as a big adventure. New lovers move in slow motion and when they lift their heads it seems that everyone is smiling. Curiosity, wonder, and undoing make for fresh. Make for aliveness. Make for magic.
It’s been a rough year for a climate warrior. Every day, something new to set us back. So many steps backward that I’ve gone into a surreal denial, shuttling the bad news to some dark corner of my psyche.
I’m not having an easy time of it. And I don’t even live in Houston or Florida or Mexico or Montana. This climate change work takes its toll.