The way we organize our year is a reflection of our values—that is a commonly observed truism. My family and I share many of the usual holidays with the wider American culture. We also decline to observe a few of them for various reasons. In some cases, we weight the days differently than usual, or attach differing significance. The seasonal change we’re experiencing here in Indiana has me thinking about all of this.
Just as earlier writers would cite scripture to prove their arguments, modern writers cite science. And there’s nothing necessarily wrong with that. Science often makes claims that intersect in intriguing ways with religion. Nevertheless, I am suspicious of supporting religious claims with scientific findings—and not for the usual reasons given by those influenced by the New Atheists, i.e., science is “true” and religion is “false” or, at best, pre-scientific attempts to explain the world.
Charles Eisenstein makes an important point here: My main message to the environmental movement is to shift the narrative away from our own destruction. From “Change or we won’t survive,” to “Change or we will continue to lose what is beautiful and sacred.” It is a shift into love. This is important for three reasons: two practical and one spiritual What if (if!) the threat from climate change has been overstated, especially by those who have fallen prey to the imperatives of social media to drive engagement through hype and fear?
And, with that, a ten plus year relationship with Audible has come to an end. Since I started working remotely in 2020, I just don’t listen to audiobooks anymore. Before the pandemic, 45% of all the books I read were audiobooks – that’s easy to do when your commute is 1.5hrs per day. It feels like the end of an era. Audiobooks and me go much further back than my Audible subscription.
Oliver Burkeman: A life fully lived just is painfully bittersweet, the joy inextricably intertwined with loss. The major chapters of life, such as your children’s childhoods, just will feel like they’re over too fast, pretty much whatever you do. I am forty-five years old and I’m still trying to accept this, even after years spent reading in wisdom traditions that teach this very thing. It is as if there is a small part of me that knows it is true while everything else within me fights it.
In the stirring closing lines of Carmel Point, Robinson Jeffers writes: We must uncenter our minds from ourselves; We must unhumanize our views a little But how is this to be done? One way is surely as a philosophical practice that builds ways of thinking with the more-than-human world instead of thinking about it. That is essential. Yet for those of us who tend to live too much in our own heads, what practical actions can be taken?
In the course of this article on future agricultural possibilities that actually build the soil, George Monbiot passes on some interesting facts about plant interaction with soil. Plants release between 11% and 40% of the sugars they make into the soil, into the area around the plant called the rhizosphere. These released sugars activate bacteria in the rhizosphere needed for the plant’s health and growth. The rhizosphere acts as an “external gut” for the plant.
When the communities around you are policing their borders and in a state of war with other communities, it is madness to preach the need for community. When tech companies are mining our behavior in order to organize us into affinity groups more easily targeted by ads, you cannot trust the algorithm’s recommendations. When the world can only offer you conformity and exploitation, you must refuse them both. You must take the gnostic road.
One of the mantras of those that believe what public health officials have been telling us about COVID-19 is “trust the science” (or sometimes “believe the science”). While I am one of those that trusts the public health officials, I have some reservations about “trust the science.” Not because I am an anti-vaxxer or even doubt the scientific consensus. My problem with the phrase is that is betrays a certain dangerous sloppiness.
Blyssid be the tyme that appil take was! Therefore we mown syngyn Deo gratias! – Final stanza of “Adam Lay Ybounden” Years ago, back when we all still went to public libraries, I checked out a collection of Christmas carols performed by the Choir of King’s College. One of the most curious carols was the one linked above - a six-hundred year old English song by an unknown author, existing only in this manuscript.