“Supposing a tree fell down Pooh, when we were standing underneath it?”
“Supposing it didn’t,” said Pooh after careful thought. – A.A.Milne
There is an old Jewish saying that goes something like this: “It isn’t required of you to complete the work, but it is not permitted not to try.”
Even though I was not raised in the Jewish faith, this principle has long served as the pea under my mattress, nudging me into action when crawling back into (or under) the bed was very much preferred. It was simply unacceptable that I hide under anything when there was a world to save.
Things change. Or, perhaps it’s more accurate to say, understanding complicates the way we think about them.
“Things” are certainly unfolding quickly now — the mainstream is filled with energy news, rising costs of food, job losses. Some of us are moving beyond the “peak oil education” stage to “hey, there are some things we can do!” moments with the newly awakened. It’s a critical time to be awake, active, and available. This is what we anticipated, and is what we’ve been preparing for.
So why doesn’t it feel good?
Amidst heroic efforts, individual and otherwise, other forces counter. Some are the results of decades of irresponsibility; others were set into play long before the phrase “peak oil” was ever coined. The roots of empire run deep; how winnable is this war? Have we gone too far? “We’re doomed!” “No, we’re not!” Well, which is it going to be?
At the threshold of this potentially frantic moment, a door opens, and a bear-of-little-brain shakes his head, reminding me that none of us can reliably predict the future. It is not the outcome to which we should be attached, but the work itself. For its own sake. Because it is the right thing to do. Whether or not it will ever be “enough.”
Blame it on Lee as much as Pooh. Lee is a farmer and friend, currently engaged in painstaking efforts to turn, quite literally, the land on which he and his wife Ruth have farmed for years into a haven of food and solace for their community. Last year, with the help of Lee’s adult children, they initiated “Blackwell Roots,” a CSA and market farm with a focus on certified organic winter storage vegetables… “while supplies last” didn’t turn out to be for very long.
One of my favorite memories is of sitting with Lee in his barn at sunset surrounded by racks of onions, each of us gently peeling away the dusty outer layers of a ruby-purple orb. We were discussing the fate of the larger globe, as if this was something we could weigh in on with any certainty. Layer number one: peak oil. Layer number two: climate change. Layer number three… by this time, Lee was reminding me that it was important not to remove more than the outer layers of skin…
A lot of us have had a foot in two worlds for a very long time: the world of the future, over which we’ve wrung our hands and because of which we do what we can to raise awareness of the issues that world faces. And the present world, more beautiful and rich than any we will know, populated by people and other creatures precious enough to fill our hearts to bursting with sadness and joy. More and more, Lee’s feet are migrating to the present world, to the earth on which he now stands, where he hopes to create, even if we’re “goin’ down”, the funnest non-fossil fuel party anybody could wish to throw. Even if we ain’t goin’ anywhere, he knows it’s the best thing to do.
This isn’t a retreat from organizing. It’s organizing differently. It isn’t shirking from the full dimensions of the situation; if anything, it’s looking them squarely in the face and crafting a values-filled present to live in, regardless of what the outcome will be. It is refusing to be daunted by fear of the unpredictable, or even fear of the known. It is, as Ghandi said, being the change you want to see in the world.
Like many others (although perhaps a tad less faithfully), I follow the long lists of reports and articles analyzing oil supply and demand, dwindling discoveries and reserves, related rises in energy and commodity prices, carbon emissions, and impacts on human (and non-human)-kind. I bemoan (and occasionally rail against) the dearth of leadership at a time when prudence dictates we transition away from, rather than shore up, business-as-usual modes. I salute the modest flags of victory wherever I see them wave; in Vermont, there have been several sightings, and throughout this country and the world itself, remarkable efforts arise. As the work continues, a work that has gone on in some fashion for generations, I bear in mind that it may never be completed, and that its fruits may not be those I would wish my grandchildren to harvest. A tree may fall on us or on them; then again, maybe it won’t. The work, whatever it is for each of us, may go a little easier if we accept that we cannot predict the outcome, and pledge to live the world we want none-the-less. “If I knew the world were going to end tomorrow, I’d still plant a tree,” someone said. In the end, this may be exactly what is needed. After all, it is simply not permitted not to try.
[with a nod to Sharon Astyk, whose recent writing brought this Jewish saying to my attention.]
