In response to Shayla's blog: A planet in peril - The way of perseverance - in which she writes about the candlelight vigil she attended to raise awareness of the Copenhagen talks and global warming.
Waking up from the emotional numbness, so that we can actually feel the enormity of what we are facing, is so crucial at this point. And then finding that place of freedom and balance, from which we can engage without being dominated by either fear or desire, is the other piece. I pray that more and more of us find our way to this level of consciousness, before things reach a point where they cannot be reversed.
Emotional numbness is how I cope with feeling the enormity. There was a time when I was not numb. Mining made my heart ache, I could feel the blood being sucked from the Earth's veins. When I saw clearcuts, I felt as if my legs had been chopped at the knees. Somewhere along the way, my passion turned to anger. I lost hope and my conviction.
As I drove past the candlelight vigil last night, I was humbled and embarrassed. I'm pretty sure I covered my face, so that my conscious neighbours who gathered to raise awareness of global warming, would not recognize me. Technically I was not driving, and for the record I did raise a stink about driving too often as I climbed into the passenger seat. But there's no denying it, I chose to come along for the ride. And while I do make an effort to walk where I can, driving has become a habit; a lazy means to my comfort and the epitome of my numbness.
I'm tired of pretending that my actions are miniscule. Today I had the distinct feeling of my enormity. At the Shambhala meditation today we were led through a bodhichitta practice - first sending love to someone dear to us, and then spreading that to our community, to the country, the Earth and beyond. I have never felt so expansive in my entire life. I felt the edges of my body merge with the space around me. It was as if I was extending out into the universe. I opened my eyes and peered down at my body; it was so much smaller than this feeling.
On my walk home I felt a deep longing and pain in my heart. I turned the ache into a poem, the poem into a song and then had a good cry. I sat on a picnic table by the lake and wrote the words in my journal. My pen ran out of ink and with it went my drama and sadness. I reflected on the words that we collectively recited at the Shambhala centre, something along the lines of: "may all beings be free from suffering and the causes of suffering". I laughed at my indulgence and my fondness for suffering. Perhaps I could reflect the bodhichitta practice inwards and direct love to my own heart? Why do I find this so hard to do?
