It seems that life these days, or maybe all days, is like a swirling pool of stories and experiences that move in contradictory eddies; have you noticed this? Sometimes I have difficulty knowing what end is up, let alone how I should feel about it.
A few days ago the story came over NPR that a new study by glaciologists and geophysicists says that the huge West Antarctic Ice Sheet is surely disintegrating. The study is full of data which indicate that warm ocean water is melting the ice sheet from underneath. This creates a vacuum into which ice from above will inevitably slide. There are no mountains or large hills in between that could act as a barrier. That amount of melting ice could raise the sea level by 10 feet or more. This could happen within 200 years or it could take longer, but the collapse of the ice sheet will happen. It's unstoppable.
The day before this news broke on Monday was the second Sunday in May, Mothers Day. We had just finished leading and hosting the annual "Dear Children of the Earth" retreat for youngsters accompanied by a parent or grandparent. This retreat has happened for years, and the same children and adults participate. The children have become teens. Linda noted that it's like they've grown up together. While the adults appreciate the retreat, it seems like it's the kids who really love it, treasure it actually, and can't wait for it to happen every spring. Certainly they have fun playing games and pal-ling around with one another; but my sense is what makes the time so particularly special for these young people is the experience of the wild: the living, breathing, mysterious, frightening, beautiful, sensible planet and its wondrous inhabitants all around them. That they are immersed in this with their friends and loved ones nearby makes it all the more special. These young nature-human "interbeings" are the new story, and that story too is unstoppable.
Later in the day on Sunday, it being Mothers Day, my sons called me. As my husband Billy says, they're good boys. "So," Tim asked conversationally, "what's new at Rolling Ridge?"
Well, the trees are a fresh luminescent green, arugula is overly abundant in the garden. The lettuce is up and needs harvesting. Alice the hen hatched some peeps, yesterday one was a tiny striped bit of fluff peering out from under her dark feathers. This morning a two-foot long ribbon snake appeared near the Woodhaven pond. Scot sent round the photo this afternoon, of an elegant creature with intricate, beautifully patterned scales. Last Thursday, a gentle man named Storm with a therapeutic approach to tree removal came and compassionately took down the unsafe portion of the damaged oak that had threatened the Meditation Shelter. Talking afterwards, Storm informed us that carpenter ants are the doctors of the forest. Who knew? Everything belongs, it seems, and we all have a role to play and our own thread to weave in the great tapestry of interbeing. All the while, the universe presents us with amazing heralds. Yesterday, a yellow-throated warbler was flitting around in the azaleas, his dashing black mask and bold amber feathers catching the light of the ever closer sun.
What's new with you?