In These Times

Reflecting, responding, renewing

Its Solstice season here on Wangal Country, the time of Burrigin, the echidna, in the calendar of the Dharawal peoples. Outside my window Chinese tallow trees are shimmering, gold, bronze and russet, their autumn hues lighting up our short days. Across the road the early blossoming magnolia pops white against the deep blue sky. Inside I shed my cardigan, as the temperature rises above 20 degrees. For winter is not wintry here. Records show we are heading to Sydney’s warmest winter on records, while European temperatures soar. What are we thinking, what are we feeling, I wonder, as our seasons fast track into uncharted territory?

One thing I cannot stop thinking about is a recent headline. Antarctica’s west coast is missing an area of sea ice the size of France as temperatures peak 20C above average. I am pretty hardened to bad climate news by now, or so I thought, but in this winter that’s not, this missing ice is unnerving my mind and gut. There’s more bad climate news than this of course, the slower and slower North Atlantic current is particularly worrying. But after years of immersion in climate research, I know not to let my mind go too far down this path, unaccompanied. I bring my thinking back to where my feet are, where my hands tap on the key board, and to the gentle rustling of trees. My breath slows. Now, I can ask myself “how can I respond to this, acknowledging my feelings of grief and dread?”

One response I know well, is to thoughtfully write and speak about what we don’t speak of nearly enough. Because so often we don’t know how. We may think why add to the gloom? What say the person sitting opposite me is depressed already or a denialist? Do I want to ruin a cheery chat? Or fall into an incandescent rage about corrupt Governments and eco-cidal fossil fuel corporations? All of these scenarios I have lived out more than once.

But thankfully far more often, I have participated in reflective and moving conversations about climate and ecological crises in research groups, in climate cafes, in dialogue circles, in dreamwork groups and occasionally over the dinner table. These rewarding and sustaining exchanges generally require some space holding for people to feel safe enough to express what they are really thinking and feeling. In recent years conversation/cafe circles have mushroomed around the world and online. They are supportive and often empowering places, forged by active listening and the honesty of people’s sharing. What emerges often surprises participants, as the process of ‘staying with the trouble’ in the company of others so often shifts feelings, renews energy and widens perspectives. If this sounds appealing, you can check out the regular climate café events hosted by Psychology for a Safe Climate or the Climate Psychology Alliance.

After fifteen years of facilitating these kinds of climate conversations, I have handed the reins over to younger colleagues. These days I participate in one ongoing Earth-oriented dream group and facilitate another. Both open the door to nourishing conversations full of imagery, feelings and stories about how to be with the joys and the sorrows of today’s world. Disquiet and despair sit alongside delight, uncertainty mingles with inspiration, grief holds hands with compassion, while dreams deepen insights. Each conversation holds a cornucopia of complexity, contradictions and connections which meet and lighten whatever it is that I and others are holding.

In recent years, another response to climate distress, has been to immerse myself in the work of Earth restoration and renewal, something rarely featured in the news headlines. This season, I am giving myself a breather from scrolling headlines, not as escapism, but to make space for stories of creative responses to what needs tending. Stories which show me a healing and joyful way to live in these times.

More night now, Jon and I are diving into videos about regenerative projects happening around the world. It’s impossible not to be moved by conservation projects which restore river flows, green deserts, re-introduce keystone species like beavers, salmon and wolves to ailing ecosystems. We both get teary at times. We also relish stories about gardeners planting Food Forests in their backyards or regenerative farmers following ancient wisdoms to turn their land into carbon rich, moist havens for biodiversity. There are, we realise, so many good folk around the world working together for Earth repair through projects we can support, and even better emulate.

Down in my Community Garden, I continue to find delight in stocking up the shelves of our new Food Pantry, in monitoring my experiments in slowing down water runoff on paths and chatting with other gardeners about what they are growing and noticing in their plots. After watching so many videos about what others are doing for Earth repair, I can see how our community garden, as humble as it is, is very much part of an evolving global story of protecting and nurturing life in our local places.

What we feed ourselves becomes ourselves. Nutritious foods support healthy bodies and minds, reflective conversations lighten the heart and forge bonds, regenerative stories and projects restore life and spirits. Sitting in the café with my friends, admiring yet mourning the too early magnolia blooms in our neighbourhood, I feel replenished by our shared noticing and concern. Watching videos last night about how to create a nature pond on our balcony has given Jon and I a rewarding project to dive into this weekend.

Sharing together openly and finding inspiration in these times is what keeps me, and so many others, present and participating right now. I would love to hear how you are travelling in these times:

What is in season in your heart and in your neighbourhood?

What is draining you and what is sustaining you?

Where in your life can you share how you really feel in this weird weather season?

How do you stay with what matters in the world right now?

And here’s some recent heart warming, soul nourishing Substack reads for you:

The one thing Mother Earth asked me to tell you

Stuff and story – personal reflection Nature as mentor

A Wild chat with John Seed

I write on Wangal and Gadigal Country, whose sovereignty has never been ceded. I pay my respects to Elders, past, present and ahead, who hold the ecological knowledge, wisdom and love of life here and everywhere.