That was the moment

Photocredit: PinkMoose

I fear this is not going to be a cheerful post!

The moment came yesterday evening while checking the news that I really began to fear we have already gone too far in destroying this planet to recover. There were two of many frightening news items that hit me.

The first was simply one of those almost everyday items on the rising price of oil. Yesterday it was up to a record $135 a barrel. How many more wars will be fought over oil as it becomes scarcer and more expensive? Yet air travel is growing, and so is demand for oil from both the West and developing nations.

The second was the dramatic news of huge new cracks in the Arctic ice, together with footage showing the stunning extent of the problem. Changes in the Arctic are happening far faster than scientists predicted:

We’re seeing very dramatic changes; from the retreat of the glaciers, to the melting of the sea ice.

We had 23% less (sea ice) last year than we’ve ever had, and what’s happening to the ice shelves is part of that picture.

Dr Luke Copland of the University of Ottawa

So how do we deal with the fear that it may be too late? How do we cope with naysayers who still doubt the obvious truth of global warming, and those (including ourselves) who put profit and posessions before the lives of our children and the life of our planet? How do we change our own way of living and influence our own governments and those of other nations? Is there even any point in trying?

At times like these I try to remember Julian of Norwich: All will be well and all manner of things will be well. And of course we can’t just give up, we must continue to try. And we must try joyfully, because living with joy is what we’re called to.

And what a world it is in which we are called to live joyfully:

I would like to write a poem about the world that has in it
nothing fancy.
But it seems impossible.
Whatever the subject, the morning sun
glimmers it.
The tulip feels the heat and flaps its petals open
and becomes a star.
The ants bore into the peony bud and there is the dark
pinprick well of sweetness.
As for the stones on the beach, forget it.
Each one could be set in gold.
So I tried with my eyes shut, but of course the birds
were singing.
And the aspen trees were shaking the sweetest music
out of their leaves.
And that was followed by, guess what, a momentous and
beautiful silence
as comes to all of us, in little earfuls, if we’re not too
hurried to hear it.
As for spiders, how the dew hangs in their webs
even if they say nothing, or seem to say nothing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe they sing.
So fancy is the world, who knows, maybe the stars sing too,
and the ants, and the peonies, and the warm stones,
so happy to be where they are, on the beach, instead of being
locked up in gold.

This World, by Mary Oliver

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