Living Between the No Longer and the Not Yet

Through sheer chance, my son and I ended up at East West Books in Ravenna last night. We saw a speaker whose name has already been wiped from the store's calendar. No matter; I'll attribute him as soon as possible.

He entitled his talk "Living Between the No Longer and the Not Yet."

He spoke mesmerically. He spoke lyrically.

He said, as I heard it, essentially this: nothing measurably different will be happening this winter solstice. Rather, the changes are already in place.

His uncle spent a lifework researching and analyzing human behavior, and discovered just what I've been thinking about in interviews around Vashon - and in the spaces after the interviews. He talked about how our lifework now is learning to intergrate with the other species.

My friend Elizabeth, in the Vashon library on Wednesday, speaks eloquently on the same topic. She is writing a book about the killing of animals for food. She has done her best to come to peace with this, and on her farm, she developed a sacred ritual of gratitude to ease the suffering she feels when working with chickens who will be killed for food.

My friend Angie spoke over and over again about the importance of working with animals kindly, for they do not communicate with us in words.

I spent part of Christmas in an old inn on the sea, caretaking for a friend whose dog is old and blind. As the dog Oso and I walked along the beach, I marvelled at how insane our human sense of construction is: I myself lived six years directly on the sea and know how much more deeply sea dwelling connected me to nature, but today, I walk the shore and feel the absurdity of human living. Where is the habitat for other beings? Where are the trees? Who else among all the species even lives in only one dwelling? Who else takes down everyone else's homes and then squats defiantly in a "dream home" on the ocean waves? Of course, these homes are remarkable for not just their view, but for the challenge of heating them. Without the trees, the homes receive enormous amounts of wind off the water and the homes are generally chilly and drafty.

Today, I would not live right on the water if the habitat had been destroyed for my so-called "pleasure." Today I would not, though I did for six years. I am discovering more and more that moving forward and creating anew is what matters, and my being opens more and more to the other realms of communication with other beings.

The East-West speaker invited us to close our eyes. He spoke of our sense of place. He pointed out that the earth radiates through the structure of any building. He reminded us that each direction contains real mountains and real bodies of water. He spoke on and on. He invited us all to connect with the original human ancestors, and the community of animals, and even the faery worlds. By the time I arrived home, quite late, perhaps 11 or so, I was exhausted from thinking so expansively. I felt my sense of space opening and opening, and my commitment to working with other beings both within and outside the human realm increasing.

The moon shone bright. Birds called out over the water. The grass stood erect, receiving the evening frost. I awoke at about 3, looking for my cat. I wondered about the world of the animals. As Elizabeth and others point out, its understood that many animals communicate through pictures, and many humans strive now to commune with them.

Well. It's interesting how a single night, if ripe, can fruit into the awakening of a nascent vision.