Nevertheless

The other day, there was a rocket launch, and I went to stand outside and watch, as is my habit, and I saw the fiery plume rising and the curl of the vapor trail, and then something caught my eye in the treetops to the left, in the macadamia orchard: a bright yellow bird had perched on the highest branch of a tree, oh, so yellow and bright, and it looked to me like the flame atop a candle, and I thought that despite the formidable technology that had put that rocket in the air, and the mighty rumble I was hearing in its aftermath, the yellow bird on the highest branch was equally miraculous. And I bowed to it all.

My friend Dan Gerber writes: “Every day we are capable of being overwhelmed by beauty, by a face, a landscape, or the way the light falls across it, but also by the suffering and terror we both see and imagine.” It’s always been true, and perhaps lately more apparent than ever before. We are saturated by a deluge of everything-ness, and some of it is scary and sad.

But there’s a danger in focusing only on the darkness. Maybe an epic David and Goliath story is unfolding right now in Ukraine, and maybe the world will turn away from authoritarianism, and the forces of democracy will prevail. And maybe we’re not doomed, because we are not denying the reality of climate change, and we love the earth enough to take action.

Maybe, to quote the writer William Kittredge (1932-2020):

“What we need most urgently is a fresh dream of who we are that will tell us how we should act…stories that tell us to stay humane amid our confusions…. We need stories that will encourage us to understand that we are part of everything, that the world exists under our skins, and that destroying it is a way of killing ourselves. Our lilacs bloom, and buzz with honeybees and hummingbirds. We can still find ways to live in some approximation of heaven. There is no single, simple story that will define paradise for us, and there never will be."

Let’s stay steady. Let’s be strong and kind.

I’m going to end this abruptly because my friend Cornelia is coming here to go for a walk with me, a quiet celebration of her 70th birthday.

Mary Oliver said, among other things: "Let me keep company always with those who say 'Look!' and laugh in astonishment, and bow their heads."

That’s exactly what we’ll do.