We have not sent out a newsletter since May. But we are still growing, building, sharing and learning. Instead of organizing public events, we are connecting with those who find their way to us by arranging a retreat, tour, or volunteer opportunity. We are working on boosting food production, and enjoying our local community connections. Here are a bunch of photos from this summer and a recent blog post.
I've been silent. Waiting till I feel I have something wise or helpful to say. Striving for a sane life seems increasingly absurd, and increasingly important.
It's natural to at least search for a new normal. Good riddance to the old normal, with all the exploitation and destruction, shrouded in illusion. What the lifting mist reveals is not pretty either. How do I live in this place where one squirrel took all my squash plants, when they were just beginning to bear fruit?
I live off the rain. I don't drain any aquifer when I use water in the habitat I created. But if the squirrels don't have enough to eat out in the desert, then I have no squash and I can't grow enough food to survive off of anyway. Whose aquifer am I draining by eating the food I bring home from market?
I honor my striving, all of our striving to live in a way at peace with our Earth. But this striving should never make us lose sight of our interconnection. We are all a part of this moment on the planet. There are choices we can make in taking our part.
There are times I have fallen into despair. Not knowing the best way to act, to be, in this time can be discouraging. I've been waiting for my psyche to recalibrate. I've been thinking that I will find a new balance point. But now the birds are falling dead from the sky, having had no safe resting places on their migration this season. People are fleeing from the fires and looking for a place to land too. Perhaps there will be no balance point. Not for a long long time. Not within my lifetime.
Today, I clear out tools that I haven't used in years from my workshop space. How much room can I make for something new? Can there be a garden in every building on site? Can we provide space for the fire refugees looking for sanctuary?
Homes and lives are lost for so many creatures right now. For the time I am able to live in this habitat, for the time that I can preserve and maintain it as a sanctuary, how can it best serve the healing that I still envision?
My work right now is smaller than ever. It is not broadcast around the world. It is very tiny, right here with me and you. Right here with this small flame of prayer and sprouting lettuce seeds. It is the work of carrying on.
Each day it remains close, more intimate than ever. With rest, with love and laughter. Sometimes my work is simply true connection with those whose paths I cross. There will be no new normal. But we have today. We have only now to weave connection and protection with the places and creatures we touch. This is a time to care and a time to take care. We can still be healers.
The more intimate we become with our place and with all of her creatures, the more sacred everything becomes. The sacred is where we stand in awe and friendship with mystery. We can be in the smoke, acknowledge the rising waters, be with death. And we can still be healers, holding a place for possibility.