You may know I've been struggling with writer's block the last few years. Well, not really writer's block. A feeling I have to write what sells instead of what's important. The publisher has turned down my four latest manuscripts, which tells me my heart isn't in it. But I find it difficult to focus on regency romances or fluffy entertainment when I see the imminent collapse of society thundering toward me.
I should explain that comment, I suppose. I am deeply aware of the impact of climate change, particularly as it affects food security. Food shortages are coming our way, and higher prices, and contention about the distribution of resources. And it's not just food, it's also fuel, and vaccines, and a number of other things. One country has a glut and other countries can't beg, borrow, or steal what they need. All of this is tied to potential civil unrest and economic meltdown. We've seen how quickly things can degenerate and how widespread the effects can be -- just look at Arab Spring. Look at how the disparity between the Haves and the Have Nots can trigger racism and violence. I'm not the only one who feels it coming -- there are actually online support groups to help those who are already grieving the environmental degradation and the beginning of loss of life as we know it.
I would like to hope that we can avoid chaos, but I'm growing less and less confident in the common sense of the common man. I've been quietly working on building up my food storage and looking at things like alternative energy and potential sources of drinking water. I'm looking at ways to collaborate with my immediate community to strengthen our food and water security. I want to inventory my neighbours to see what skills, expertise, and tools we collectively possess that could help each other in difficult times. I'm looking at my own children and assessing their resilience.
I was a little hesitant to discuss my thoughts with my hubby, who is imminently calm and rational in any situation. Would he think I was over-anticipating or being doom-and-gloomy? But on our drive home yesterday, he brought it up. He's been thinking about it too, and we agree on every point. So we're going to start focusing on some practical preparations that, if they won't avoid the crash, might help at least to soften it.
But there's another element of it that I need to think about, and probably write about. Some themes have been jumping out at me lately: Our recent two-day church General Conference seemed to have an overarching theme of "God loves you. Now go love others" that really struck a note with me. I've been doing Jack Kornfield's guided meditation on "steady heart and quiet mind." I've been pondering the scripture that says "Men are that they might have joy," meaning our whole purpose in life is to be joyful. Sometimes we get so caught up in the behaviours or obedience that lead to joy that we forget to arrive at the joy itself. And I keep thinking about that saying "When falling down a well, keep your eyes open."
I have taken all of this, rolled it into a ball, and come up with my own personal Approach to Life, which is this: Live each moment with compassionate awareness, because Now is all we have. Love others, because relationships are the only thing you can take with you. Find joy in each small moment, even the hard times, because that's where joy lives, where life is distilled down to its essentials. We may not be able to avoid difficulty, or even annihilation, but we can be each other's witness and be compassionate in any circumstances. Life comes down to the first two commandments. Love God, love your neighbour. That's all we're here on earth to do. And if that's all we do, it's enough. Everything else hangs on those two commandments. It really is that simple.
This next while, I am going to focus on just being present, soaking up the beauty of the world around me, and trying to look at everything with love. And if/when it becomes necessary, I want to be able to let it go and look on whatever comes next--be it good or bad--with the same compassion. And from that lens, I want to write -- about things of the soul, about that awareness, about the grief of what we're doing to our beautiful planet, about what we're losing, and about how we need to reach out to each other. As my husband said, in the end, it may be that the only thing we can do as the plane goes down is hold the hand of the person next to us. And that will be enough.
Somehow I don't think my publisher is going to like this next book either...
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