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This morning we had a power outage. I was reading in bed in the delicious quiet of pre-dawn when darkness pitched in that blinding way when a light goes out in full darkness. Pin that metaphor. At first I thought the bedside lightbulb might have failed. Alas, no, for that delicious ‘n’ nourishing morning quiet was no more. It was shattered in the merciless hum of our collective fossil fuel addiction.
Apparently, most everyone around me and their neighbors are on some kind of vital life support that requires uninterrupted electric flow through their abodes lest they die of their thoughtless and greedy addiction to privilege.
Yeah. That’s how I feel.
All these oil and gas powered generators around me kick on the instant - the fucking instant - that the power goes out. Heck, they kick on the instant there's a flicker of a power surge. And it’s loud. I can hear it through the walls and closed windows of our little hut. It’s beyond maddening.
I remember a time, not all that long ago, when we’d loose power - as they say - and I could step outdoors to be with the quietest whispers and the very breath of Nature. I'd pause in the wonder of it all to witness the sacred theatre of trees swaying in a breeze, grass dancing, birdsong, rain on the air, and the infinite other expressions of Gaia weaving stories and harmonizing voices in a way that only Nature can convey. It’s magick. Pure, beloved magick and Medicine from the very heart of Gaia. Now, that is no more. And it is a loss that I've been mourning for years. A loss I can't quite get past.
And why should I?
This facet of our fossil fuel addiction (and it’s related addiction to privilege) rapes and ruins what used to be a welcomed and beloved quiet stillness ‘n’ beauty of the power outage. Now, the beloved song and poetry of Nature is no more. It's been replaced by a rage-filled grief born of these ugly and unsustainable addictions.
That is all.
For now.
🕊
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