A Reflection on Our First Contemplative Practice
1/7/2016
Something that has been resonating with me from the first day of Anthropocene Politics was the quiet meditation exercise, during which we just focused on being aware. Aware of our breathing, the way we held ourselves, how our bodies fit into our chairs, what we were doing with our feet, and the pull of gravity, keeping us firmly in place. Karen described gravity as, “an embrace from the Earth”, which was new to me. I’d never taken much time to consider that while yes, gravity causes things to fall off shelves or me out of trees, it’s also a constant pull towards the Earth and it keeps us close to home. It makes life functional, both in practicality and anatomically — we’d be hopeless without it. Taking a moment to slow down and feel that pull was immensely grounding for me. I felt solidly rooted to this rock. This rock that is currently hurtling through space at speeds I’ll never be able to conceptualize, while I get to remain safely leashed, along for the ride.
A Reflection on Quiet Time at the UW Farm
1/8/2016
[The following are thoughts, jotted down during a trip to the UW Farm]
- The long, multicolored rows of produce, especially chard, never fail to put me in a great mood.
- I can feel the sun on the back of my coat, radiating warmth. I can also feel how itchy my hair is getting from wearing this hat all day, the tradeoff that comes with warm ears.
- The whole farm is quiet right now, but I can see where the future will lead. The posts are up for the new roof over the wash station and pizza ovens. A field has been selected and remains unplanted for the arrival of the new chicken coop and eventual chickens in the spring. I can feel a strong sense of excitement for what is to come for the farm while walking around, but that may be my own.
A Reflection on Quiet Time at the U District P-Patch
1/8/2016
I come to this bench at the p-patch somewhat regularly. Sometimes it’s after an exceptionally good day of classes or work, and I’d like to take a moment to really soak in my happiness and contentment. Sometimes it’s after a particularly rough day, a day that drags on forever and drags me down, and I need a respite. It allows me to focus myself and calm my mind. I just noticed that the tree I’m sitting under is a Douglas Fir, towering above the p-patch. There is something incredibly rewarding about knowing what kind of creature you’re looking at; who you’re talking to. I regularly try to identify what’s growing in the rows of the plots, how they keep them all — some are very well groomed, while the others are left to their own devices. The ones that are a bit of both tend to be my favorite, but again, I may just be projecting my own ideals of how I keep myself.
I love this spot of slow productivity, surrounded by the fast paced speed of UW and the bridges that rise high above the apartments across from the p-patch. Much like the quiet meditation in the classroom, this spot feels grounding. I feel rooted to the Earth here, in love with the slowness. Everything seems still, dormant, but most of it is full of vitality, and it all holds onto some energy.
A Reflection on Whole Strength Work
1/15/2016
Hard work, work that uses your everything, your whole strength, is exceptionally rewarding. Especially as a young queer woman, my physical strength has routinely been underestimated, ignored, and devalued. This is one of the reasons why working on tasks or projects that utilize my whole strength have become meditation-like. Whole strength, which includes more than just my physical strength, is a measure of many other attributes — patience, endurance, empathy, dedication to quality, and work ethic. Work that allows me to engage my whole strength, the best of my qualities, is both gratifying and affirming, and it carries over to my other tasks.
This week I expanded on an existing herb spiral, meaning I dug foot deep and wide trenches in neat circles and carried slabs of concrete the size of my torso. I did this for four hours, in the rain, utilizing my whole strength.
I left the farm on today, wet with rain, covered in soil, and achingly tired; but I left with a sovereignty of self that stays will me still.
A Reflection on Cooking
1/19/2016
Cooking, for me, is a whole body experience. It is a work out for both my body and my senses. I stand for an hour, sometimes twice that, sometimes less. I use my hand for nearly every task; opening, chopping, washing, pouring, crushing, folding. I often use my feet to open the lid on the compost bin and slide it back under the counter. I look at every tool and ingredient I use; I smell everything there is to smell; listen to the boiling, searing, sizzling. I think, constantly, about what I can add next and when. “What will make this taste even better?” “How can I get more produce in this?” “Does this need more salt?”. I feel the weight of the knife in my hand, the grip of my favorite frying pan, the heat of the stove. All of these sensations, happening simultaneously, silencing any other thoughts that might detract from what I’m doing. I am consumed by the creations I consume.
A Reflection on Home
1/20/2016
Arial shots, used in the film Home, conveyed stunning images of our Earth from a perspective incredibly unlike our own. We could have only dreamed of seeing our world from that vantage point just over a century ago; maybe that’s why much of humanity led such an aggressive campaign of deforestation and altering the landscape — because humanity never really had the full view of where we were situated, or just how fantastic that view is. It reminds me of the story of the three blind men and the elephant, each man feeling a different part of the elephant. One man thinks he’s got a rope, one is sure it’s a tree stump, and the other is convinced he’s got a hose, when in reality they’re all holding on to the same animal. This feels like an excellent metaphor for how we currently deal with environmental issues and sustainability. We feel out whatever element of the Earth system we’ve got in our hands, decide that if we can just fix ____, the whole thing will be solved. Truly however, we are blind to the system as a whole, an elephant compared to what’s in our hands. Arial shots like the ones in Home (or in another favorite of mine Planet Earth, or photos taken and shared by astronauts at the International Space Station, where the views are literally out of this world) offer us a chance at sight — to see the system as a whole, and an opportunity to finally deal with the elephant in the room.