Floods and Flexibility: Another Rainy Day Reflection by Sara Wright

As soon as I awakened, I set off for my predawn walk in light rain, a habit that I am re -forming after having lived in NM that one summer when the days were too hot, too windy, the air too polluted for me to stand being outdoors except in the predawn hours. It was even too damn hot to sleep at night…even my beloved wild lizards hid out during the fierce heat of the day.

 I am adjusting to living in the tropics by becoming more and more flexible. I make no plans. I stay home when I need to, allowing the day to guide me. I will not walk in polluted air even at 4:30 AM. Fortunately, I love my simple cabin that is mercifully empty of ‘stuff’. I have evolved into a minimalist. Except for plants, dogs, and Lily b my bird, my closest friends and relatives not much has change here since I built this house except that I have less!

 I don’t mind the deluges; (except for lost soil). I ditch the driveway to divert flooding and have chained the bridge that attaches me to the forest across the brook in place. (Amazingly, the lower bridge is still negotiable, but it is slippery and disintegrating; I have no plans to replace it). When the rain is heavy, I am sniffing sweet-ionized air (unless the wind is out of the north where the haunted trees burn on). I sit, watch birds, and work on the porch feeling such gratitude that I have this room, level with the wild gardens just outside the screen. Here I can merge with three seasons, two without bugs.

Last night I saw a rotund three- inch long grandfather/grandmother (?) garden toad hopping just outside the granite step wearing the most beautiful tapestry on his/her back. I have deliberately created a frog haven for the tadpoles that are hatching in my frog pond, appreciating two months of wildflowers now bursting with seeds, their leaves creating a thick canopy, an understory that will give froglets a chance to be safe as they grow, I hope.

For the first time in 10 years, we have had enough rain to nourish what’s left of our invisible, abandoned, routinely butchered trees that people regard as wallpaper, most of which are now diseased. Here, surrounded by trees I am in a perpetual state of gratitude for their shade. Every day that passes without soaring temperatures is a good one. In July, potentially the hottest month of the summer another flood warning is  presently in effect. The air, though mercifully clean is calm. Not a leaf ruffles. With temps in the low 60’s I turn off the upstairs fan to listen to the Hermit thrush whose flute-like melody soothes my storied heart. Most of my tales don’t project a happy ending. I don’t believe like so many do that restoration comes before breakdown. Winter wren tears my heart out. Birds are a gift to the Forest and the same is true in reverse. I don’t think it’s any coincidence that most Trees of Life are pictured with birds because without trees to provide Refuge we would have few if any avian relatives.

The Tree of Life roots us to the earth in body and soul, while spirit rises, but always returns to rest on that tree. This powerful image reminds us that the tree and her animals earth us in a natural world that we are losing (as we know it) and yet are totally dependent upon for survival.

And that spirit may fly but it must always return…  Authentic shamans  know this story well. Spirit Soul and Body are One; the latter changes forms with each life cycle. Spirit and Soul live on for some, but I am not certain that this is true for deliberately destructive/murderous humans…my sense is that for these folks after dying something dark lingers on instead (possibly the origin of hell). Bad spirits are real. Like a form of air pollution. Glimpses of such truths come through visions, dreams, by listening to birds and trees, or sail in on the luminescent flight of winged fireflies at night.

We are all parts of the same fabric as impossible as this seems when it comes down to how badly humans are broken. As the youngest species on the planet and the only destructive one, maybe we are not woven deeply enough into the cloth, and the threads are breaking because we severed the sacred contract we once had with Nature, denying her both personhood or agency. With all the weather extremes intensifying it may be that Nature realizes that s/he made a mistake and is now in the process of beginning to phase humans out.

Amitav Ghosh names our modern western collective thinking “mechanistic metaphysics” stating that this cultural attitude is driving humans towards apocalypse. Woe to those who forgot that Nature is the most powerful living Source and Container for all. That Nature has Power is obvious. What s/he created s/he can destroy.

Yesterday I carefully removed the phoebes’ nest in the hopes that next year phoebe will return ‘home’ to nest again (this morning’s unexpected visit from papa suggests he is assessing the clear space). Such exquisite attention to detail. Mosses and pine needles, deer and other animal hair including some of my own line the cup of the nest I removed. The fact that the birds fledged, and phoebe songs are few feels like a loss. I am aware that the empty nest reminds me that the blessed spring Greening has waxed and is now waning like the moon. Once luminous emerald leaves have turned deep forest green with most of the fruit trees already dropping yellow leaves. In drought yellowing leaf drop seems more natural, but the effect may be the same with flooding. We are living the Unknown…

 Have I ever been more acutely aware of being dependent upon fossil fuels that ironically were once living trees? I run fans day and night to keep the air moving. Last week on the hottest day of the summer (90), the power was out and without a generator, even inside this well shaded house, toxic air would have created more breathing problems for my dogs and me. Fortunately, we have been blessed because during July and August most of our air comes from a southerly direction, bringing humidity and heat but not smoke from northern fires. The Canadian fires torching the skies are destroying the trees that allow us to breathe. Once I would have complained about humidity, but no more. We have already had a taste of what toxic air can do.

 Fossil fuels. How to extricate myself from this killer? I live in the country, so I need to drive a car. I live in a cold climate so I need heat. I have a  cellar that periodically floods; so I must run a fan. I write so I need a computer.  Does it matter that I compost, use few lights, have no dryer dishwasher TV etc.? I’m not sure it does. I leave as small a carbon footprint as I can, but I never forget that I am living the BIG problem with my use of fossil fuels – day after day. I just learned that low-income folks can apply for tax credits should I choose to install solar panels… I am going to investigate. But I am not foolish enough to believe that any effort I make will help much unless ALL of us follow suit.  But I might feel better.  Is this a valid reason to make a change? Probably, if I own that part of the reason I want to make this change is to starve out the hopelessness that lives in me. The dominant culture could give a shit, and won’t until they discover that the ravages of climate change will not discriminate – eventually everyone will suffer but those in need will suffer sooner than later. They already are.

It’s raining harder and the Hermit thrush has stopped singing. Not a breath of air. I turn on the upstairs fan. Again. More apple tree leaves are fluttering to the ground like butterflies. Lucy and Hope sleep in comfort after having had their early morning walk after mine. Today I write to give thanks, to find out what I am thinking and to feel my way into whatever happens next.

Floods or any other change in weather offer me the opportunity to become more flexible, to bend so as not to break.  Becoming more flexible especially when it comes to weather and aging is my ongoing intention.

Just the act of writing helps me believe.