(with apologies for background noises)
I have my father’s hands: strong, square, capable, gentle. Like my father’s did as he aged, my fingers now feel a bit stiff first thing in the morning from the “wear and tear” of life, yet there is no pain, no inflammation. I stretch them out first thing every morning, and by the time I sit to write they feel as they always have, though they look decidedly well-used these days.
My mother had beautiful hands. I always thought so, though I wasn’t grown enough to think to say it until I was seventeen or eighteen, and my mother lay close to death after bleeding, almost to death, with an ulcer she wouldn’t tell anyone about, or see a doctor for. Her blood counts were so low they thought she had leukemia.
It was just about this time of year, just about fifty years ago, that I sat in a chair beside her bed at Middlesex Hospital, holding her hand, stroking the top of it with my thumb. My father and I were visiting her after our respective days (me at school, him at work.) She was lying in the bed, pale as the sheets, under mounds of blankets, during a cold and snowy Connecticut January.
“Mom has the most beautiful hands,” I said aloud. My father concurred; my mother was silent. She was uncomfortable with compliments: either receiving or giving. She had a gift for seeing what was wrong, which was helpful in her career as a nurse. She was more comfortable with pointing out trouble than she was with noticing what was going well. My father tended toward the opposite; he knew when things were wrong, he just then built upon what was good.
I am a mix of their genetics and their outlooks. I can see, very clearly, too clearly for many people’s comfort, what is wrong right now, what is coming our way, and how we ought prepare. I have a gift for seeing, and the gift of wanting to be prepared, and the gift of organizing. For me, the three things follow one another and provide a foundation to stand on when times are difficult.
I have seen the environmental crisis coming since I was a little girl watching the town use giant fans to spray toxic insecticides over “the brook” where we children often played. I remember calling my brother inside the house (I was in charge of the house and him during the summer by the time I was nine or ten because my parents worked) We watched from our living room window, as the town workers came in their pickup truck, mixed the pesticides in barrels right in the truck bed (and with no protective gear) and blew those poisons out into the air.
Within days there was no birdsong. The next summer all the trees were denuded by an infestation of Gypsy Moth caterpillars (most of which should have been gobbled up by the birds, except the birds had been poisoned along with their food.) Even my young eyes could see what had happened, and why.
I can see a different crisis coming, and already here, now. A different kind of poison has been mixed and blown through the airwaves, making people sick, angry, and frightened.
It is past time to prepare ourselves; to plan, and organize, so that we can survive, and thrive. It is time to understand who we are, where we stand, what we want. It is time to create communities of resilience. It is time to study and practice nonviolent resistance. It is time to listen, now, to the wisdom of our ancestors, our elders, our own hearts. Wisdom is calling: Wisdom calls out in the street; she lifts her voice in the square.” (Proverbs 1: 20)
Seeing what is, instead of what we wish, takes bravery and hope. It is not the work of pessimists, it is incredibly optimistic because even when we see see what is, and what we are facing now, we choose life, and choosing life is all about hoping for a good world, a good future.
Here is one of my favorite bits of wisdom, credited to an unnamed Hopi elder, and full of clarity, of seeing what is, and what could yet be. I hope it blesses you.
You have been telling the people this is the Eleventh Hour, now you must go back and tell the people that this is The Hour. And there are things to be considered ... Where are you living? What are you doing? What are your relationships? Are you in right relation? Where is your water? Know your garden. It is time to speak your truth. Create your community. Be good to each other. And do not look outside yourself for the leader. This could be a good time. There is a river flowing now very fast. It is so great and swift that there are those who will be afraid. They will try to hold on to the shore. They will feel they are torn apart and will suffer greatly. Know the river has its destination. The elders say we must let go of the shore, push off into the middle of the river, keep our eyes open, and our heads above water. And I say, see who is there with you, and celebrate. At this time in history we are to take nothing personally. Least of all ourselves. For the moment that we do our spiritual growth, and our journey, come to a halt. The time of the lone wolf is over. Gather yourselves! Banish the word struggle from your attitude and your vocabulary. All that we do now must be done in a sacred manner and in celebration. We are the ones we've been waiting for.
Courage my dears. Know that I see you all, and I am glad to be with you. Let us keep our eyes open, our heads above water, and our spirits intact. Love one another.
