December 20th, 2020


“A writer is a person who cares what words mean, what they say, how they say it. Writers know words are their way towards truth and freedom, and so they use them with care, with thought, with fear, with delight. By using words well they strengthen their souls. Story-tellers and poets spend their lives learning that skill and art of using words well. And their words make the souls of their readers stronger, brighter, deeper.”
Ursula K. Le Guin

Looking into the abyss

South Milton, Devon
South Milton, Devon

Is that what we're doing in the midst of this pandemic? 

Getting a glimpse of what it might be like on the other side of ruination?

It sure feels that way.

Perhaps the Gods have spoken — more likely a sigh of despair.

Of course, this is all conjecture but I do wonder if we're being told something. And I don't mean to stay safe, wear a mask and keep our (unsocial) distance but something of much greater import; namely, if we don't row back from our calamitous ways — e.g. to consume everything in the name of comfort — that we'll be blown off the very face of this earth.

Now of course, no right-thinking person wants it to be this way — think of all those generations to follow — but it does feel that we've made one spectacular mess of things.

And your solution?

I wish I had one but something tells me that no amount of brand worthy-ship, selling of another grand scheme or waking up in our droves, is going to change our consumptive ways. Truth is, we're too far down the rabbit hole, and that means the language has to change from what might be, to what will be and how we'll adapt — not prosper. 

I think that a much more resonant message:

how do we adapt to the unfolding environmental catastrophe?
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