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.
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.
I feel helpless. And I can’t quiet the screaming inside my head. This is climate change! Now will you listen??? This is climate change!
Did you hear the one about the guy who drilled a big hole in his lower level ship stateroom till it filled with water? When asked by his outraged shipmates why he did it, he replied, “This is my room, I paid for it, I can do whatever I want.” The ship sank.
We are, all of us, on that ship.