Kindness and quiet acceptance left the polite room. Ridicule, name calling, vile memes, and accusations based on anything but rational thinking has found and magnified its voice as it prefers to shriek and howl into a reverberating hallow chamber.
Yesterday, with a friend, I walked along the beautiful the Central Coast bluffs. A magnificent display of wildflowers spreading color up against the cerulean blue sea was breathtaking. My friend shared her story about a recent whale watch trip. “It was great. We saw seven gray whales. But there was a baby whale that was alone and swimming south instead of north. That bothered us.”
All the scientific concerns about a changing global climate was as inconvenient as a rattlesnake in a living room — not to mention those pesky rules and regulations that disallowed bold and rampant pollution and the raping of the earth’s forests.
If I could add another 30 or even 60 days to my mindfulness project, perhaps I could grab complete control over the distracting beeps, bleeps and burps. Maybe. Maybe not. The calendar and life-responsibilities, however, won’t give me those extra 30 to 60 days.
So I decided to wrap the final days with a contemplative retreat at a nearby monastery where retreatants vow to not speak during their stay.
Here, life seems abundant. But this rare forest — one of three Monterey pine forests in the world — dies a bit more with each blink of my eyes. Pines with green needles last week, are now tinged in burnt-sienna — the first sign of a tree’s fight for life.
“This is like living in a third-world country with high-end tax bills!” I screamed while scrubbing the bathroom with the captured water, which was not going to leave enough water to flush the toilet later on. I took a break. When I looked at my garden, the artichoke plants drooped like my sullen mood. They needed water. Thank goodness we captured some rainwater from the roof into a 300-gallon tank that sits in the driveway. It’s the new drought fashion accessory.
This story can also be read in The Cambrian Embedded just over my right eye is a one-inch scar. I was a tad […]
See this map? See the blood-red area of California along the coast? That’s where I live. It’s Exceptional-droughtland. And less than a year ago, our local community water providers left Pollyanna-land, and informed us citizens that there was a huge likelihood of our wells going dry by late 2014.
Not everyone agrees that your or my collective carbon footprint amounts to a hill of beans. Others shiver at the thought of another law or more government. And those who profit greatly from fossil fuels are the first to challenge any notion of the need to reduce one’s carbon footprint.
As if Al Gore just farted in public, the blogosphere gassed-up a regressive debate about NOAA’s reported Co2 397.35 ppm reading at the Mauna Loa Observatory in Hawaii. To me, this denial is akin to my personal denial of why I can no longer squeeze into a size 8 jean