A Conscious Imperative

"Collective human consciousness and life on our planet are intrinsically connected...as the old consciousness dissolves, there are bound to be synchronistic geographic and climatic natural upheavals in many parts of the planet, some of which we are witnessing now." --Eckhart Tolle
 

It has been snowing ash in Portland. For the past few days, stepping outside to afternoon temperatures near 100 degrees, into a haze thick and grey has been akin to stepping into a sauna that is burning campfire wood with the flue closed. Instead of the cloudless blue of summer, or the cool grey overcast of the rest of the year, the sky has taken on a white density. Folks walk around with bandannas and face masks, there are minimal bikers on the road, and few people are outside. It feels more like fallout than school season. As the West burns, the Gulf of Mexico floods, and the eastern seaboard braces for increasingly strong hurricanes. 

We are now in the Anthropocene, the time when humans are aware of and can objectively measure the extent to which their activities have an impact on the planet. The brilliant human intelligence that has led to the technology and development of modernity has also served to amplify the destructive capability that unconsciousness has on life. On an individual level, allowing the ego to drive thought and action leads to fear, greed, and the desire for power. The ego is fueled by attachment to form - because it cannot feel, it must have. At the root of this is the false premise that humans are somehow separate from or even superior to Nature. Humans, like all of the other life on this planet are of Nature. Viewed from this perspective, the health and sanity of our individual thoughts and actions contributes to the health and sanity of our collective thoughts and actions. 

The intrinsic connection Mr. Tolle refers to is how the state of collective human consciousness is being reflected in the material world it inhabits. As the quantitative impact of humanity continues to increase, it is more important than ever to look at the quality of this impact. What are our thoughts and actions doing to ourselves, each other, and the environment?

One of my yoga teachers recently shared that the current darkness and perceived chaos happening in the world is not necessarily the darkness of the tomb; that instead it could be the darkness of the womb. An opportunity - and at this stage an imperative -  for humanity to birth itself out of the darkness it has created from living unconsciously.  
 

Slow It Down

In his first summer in the Sierra, John Muir was hired to help shepherd a flock of sheep up into the mountains. He mused about the rocks and the trees, the clouds, and the majesty of Yosemite.

 There are many reasons I enjoy reading Muir, but perhaps more than anything else, it is because he serves to remind me of pace. More specifically, to slow...it...down.

 A slower pace allows us to draw focus to the present, to identify certain patterns and habits that are done unconsciously, and to highlight areas of strength or deficit. I believe this applies across all spectra - everything from clinical practice, to yoga, to a walk in the woods.

It can be challenging to be more deliberate in thought and action. There is often an inverse relationship between doing things well and doing them quickly. This does not mean we need to become like the tortoise all of the time (although there is case to be made for why he wins), but rather to practice taking a page out of John Muir’s book once in a while:

"Life seems neither long nor short, and we take no more heed to save time or make haste than do the trees and stars. This is true freedom, a good practical sort of immortality."

Behold, The Sea

I prefer to consult the ocean in the early morning or at the close of day. Having grown up along the sandy shores of New Jersey, the rumbling of the Atlantic is sometimes more familiar than my own voice. It has been the canvas against which much of my life has been painted. It was the standard against which I measured depth and I challenged Fear.

I have borne witness to its most peaceful stillness and its most apocalyptic rage. It has taught harsh lessons and served as quiet counsel. Emerson has described the sea as “the nourisher of kinds, purger of earth, and medicine of men,” and I am inclined to agree with him.

 The Oregon coast is colder, more rugged, and its shores far greener.  As yet, I’ve had little experience with the Pacific. Beneath the differences, the smell of the salt air and the sound of the waves has the same power to “wash out harms and griefs from memory.”

 In a time where a sense of uncertainty, turmoil, and unbridled hate saturates our news and our discourse, it is more important than ever to come into the peace of wild things.