I woke up and thought of guns. Ever on the look out for self-judgment and negativity, I consciously shifted my thoughts to baby bunnies, kittens and puppies, ducklings and, need I mention, chicks. Innocence. Soft and cuddly. Vulnerability. I didn’t think about human babies because that would have led to thoughts of Texas, and what happens when human babies grow up.
Yes, human babies have fabulous potential. Thinking of human babies would have led me to thoughts of the glorious art and literature humans have created. The good works and the Seven Wonders of the World, and that would have led me to the crazy ass architecture that I read about last night in Alice Outwater’s book Water: the enormous dams that have stopped up rivers and streams so that the natural processes of nature have been blocked in favor of watering monoculture crops in deserts using agricultural techniques that cause more deserts. And more little human babies born. And more. And people get upset when one mentions population control.
I get upset about the destruction of our world.
Stewardship or domination.
Patriarchy versus matriarchy.
Guns against people who are just trying to survive. Guns and people who tote them, some claiming it’s their right. An expression of the freedom they claim to fight for. Their freedom or mine? When guns come to mind upon waking—that is a loss of freedom, isn’t it?
I’m working on a play called Triage. In it, I contemplate the question who of the characters is most in need of healing. Who is most traumatized? I have a lot of ideas. Piles of notes of the characters’ lives, past and present. Dialogues and monologues. A vague story outline. Whenever I get a chance, I attempt to organize it all into a coherent Act I, II and III, and it’s these beginning stages of a big project that cause a great flutter of butterflies in my stomach, of frustration and anticipation, because the concept is fabulous. But I need to transform it into a story that others can relate to and story is my weak point as anyone who has heard me tell a joke knows.
I’m in New York City right now. The honks and crashing of cars and trucks. Sirens. People shouting and laughing and talking. A lot of people and NYC is not my style. It feels unsafe. Like the guns of my worry and imagination. So many have guns in their daily life. How vulnerable and unsafe they must feel.
This weekend in Jaffrey there is a move to peaceably stand at the Rite Aide corner and vigil: Hate has no Home Here.
Two years ago, Jaffrey passed a petition at town meeting saying exactly that and, like a cat purring to calm itself, I imagine the myriad ways I might save the people against which the guns are pointed, myself included. The reality? I don’t know karate and I don’t have Super Woman wrist bands to catch the bullets. The twisted thoughts of evil. As in meditation when one returns one’s mind, again and again, to the breath, so I turn my thoughts away from evil, again and again, in favor of positive energy. I agree with Marianne Williamson about putting our energy to good. To love. Humans can grow up to be positive forces in the world. Even if they don’t believe in climate disruption. If they don’t listen to scientists, maybe they will listen to the farmers who know the truth: our soils are dying. Or to the CEOs of Exxon: Fossil fuels will run out. Change—weather or otherwise—is coming. I hope to do my part to shift that change toward healing.
Example: We broke our Tesla into its future truck life by buying a 6′ Korean Pine tree at Walker Farm this past Sunday. Some day, if it survives our tender, loving care, it will provision us with pine nuts.