Can't Get No Satisfaction: A Paradox of Gratitude and Horror

From where I sit in Ojai the major effect I experience from the Gulf oil spill is a deep queasiness in my stomach. This feeling arises not only from the images and descriptions of the event and how birds, the sea creatures, and residents of the Gulf coast are experiencing untold gallons of oil entering the water, air and life. It arises also from the remark by U.S. Interior Secretary Ken Salazar's remark that the government will "..keep the boot on the neck of BP" and Lisa Jackson, head of the Environmental Protection Agency who remarked that there will certainly be "opportunity for fines and penalties." Something is amiss and not only in the "we all drive, we all depend on oil so we're all responsible, BP is our proxy villain" train of thought. I have been asking for guidance about how to relate to this event and today, after commiserating with a variety of friends and feeling there was nothing new in any of our responses, from "We don't really know the meaning of this or what 'good' may come of it" to "when will we learn?" to "maybe we really are going to die off as a species maybe that's not so bad." I guess all the available narratives feel pretty stale.
Most of  my day was spent interacting with growing living things. I worked on the farm picking beautiful leeks, loosening the earth with a shovel, gently rocking the bulbs until they gave way from the earth, at one point burying my nose in the roots and inhaling their perfume with deep pleasure. Johanna said, "harvesting leeks is soooo satisfying!" I agree, an exquisite combination of effort and ease. Later in my own garden I futzed around with my compost, picked the very last artichokes and boiled and pickled the new beets from the CSA box. While I was washing out the pot from the beets, reveling in the smell of boiling artichokes and anticipating eating them with some melted butter and garlic, I heard: "I really like it when you appreciate my gifts." I have a collage of a prayer in gratitude for food over my stove, in Hebrew it says, "eat, be satisfied, give praise to the Source of life." Satisfaction seems like the key here. I feel most satisfied when I expend effort and then rest, when I tend the garden and then eat, when I partake of as much of the cycle of life as possible. Then my praise is both spontaneous and pretty much constant.
I began to see an image of the Earth as an angry wife whose lovingly prepared repast is unappreciated, she hurls a plate at her thankless family, "Don't like the food? You want food? Here's your food!" Maybe Gaia is saying: "Oil? You want every last bleeding drop of oil? Here you go!" Maybe we will die off and become the oil, the compressed carbon, for the next iteration of creatures that get to inhabit this planet, it wouldn't seem unfair.  In the meantime, I'm going to think more about satisfaction and look for more ways to appreciate the gifts. Mike Jagger had it right, we've become used to being unsatisfied which renders us like the hungry ghosts that haunt the newly dead, we're unfulfilled. Satisfaction is the pleasure that comes when a need or desire has been fulfilled. I have an odd notion that the challenge of our times is learning how to appreciate things, all things, including oil rigs, drilling technology, cars, roads, airplanes, in addition to the birds, the earth, the water, the plants. REALLY appreciate what we've  made with what we've been given. I think it's a step that we've been overlooking and one that would in fact lead us to change our behaviors in such a way as to prolong and share this adventure a bit longer and more fairly. After all, all those things we often vilify are things we desired and believe we need  and we have had those needs and desires fulfilled. Maybe we are re-thinking that now and need to, but maybe praising the Source of Life for letting us try them out is an order of business that really is a necessary part of the cycle of change and evolution. Not sure exactly, but planning to give this  much more thought....

Witnessing in Nature: Talking to Trees

Before I left Ojai in March I spent some time pruning the branches under one of the live oaks that resides in front of my house. I had discovered that under that particular tree it is always cool, no matter the temperature, a light breeze blows and it feels like a little hideaway. Returning May 8, among many surprises, including the abundance of artichokes on the huge plant in one of the garden spirals, was the way the pruned oak had responded to the pruning a few months ago. It felt like the tree had made the space beneath itself bigger and more accommodating.
At the same time, I am reading a charming little book called Talks with trees by Leslie Cabarga,  that contains a series of interviews with plants and trees. Since talking to trees is simply a version of witnessing, I feel comfortable with the practice and decided to see if I could interview the oak. The tree said that the space it created is my Beit Midrash, my house of study, "Bring me your questions and your observations" it said. The tree then observed the flight of my ideas, a common experience I have. "My, you are flighty! Your attention can go miles in a moment!"  I asked he tree its name. "Camarade" was the answer. "Like comrade? or camaraderie?" I asked. "More the second. I host a world here, it isn't just me, there are nematodes, worms, birds. I am a place of friends and associates." We talked for quite a while, I was recording the conversation in my journal the same way I do when I witness my art work. I asked if it was okay for me to blog about this encounter. In the past I've had some very profound experiences and it turned out to be not the right time to blog. The tree suggested I re-read my notes. What emerged as the thing to share is this: I was reflecting on what a great sabbath observance it was to sit in my tree beit midrash and learn. I heard "Spill some tea" and asked if I'd really heard that. Camarade said "Yes, you heard that. Spill some tea and spill less of yourself. You get filled up to overflow, spilling is one way to release the overage. Notice when you are feeling that way, let it go." I got that to symbolically spill is a way to acknowledge the mad fullness of life's abundance, to honor it and to let some of the inflationary energy out of me. I wondered if this could be a reason the ancient priests spilled blood on the altar. I also began to feel a wave of doubt come over me. I decided to go back out and sit with Camarade again. "What if you're only a tree?" He replied: "It can be that way if you choose, is that what you want?" Such terrible sadness welled up in me, my eyes flooded with tears. I choose to learn to be in the mad fullness of life and learn how to be in that. It sounds easier than it feels....