In Motion

I walked a favorite loop, striding into the wind, bedazzled by the brightness of the hills, trying to settle my thoughts despite the day’s dynamic and disheveled vibe. Wind wolves rippled the grass, a scattered burst of swallows speckled the sky above the train trestle, the surf sounded noisily, and everything proclaimed itself alive. I sought a still place in my heart but could not find it.

But funny little wonders boosted me, as is so often the case. While paused at a redwood picnic table contemplating the day, our resident naturalist and bird watcher, Ryanne, came by and asked me if I wanted to see a sleepy bumblebee up close. She held out a tiny journal filled with meticulous notes about her observations, and indeed, on the lower corner of a page, a bumblebee had landed.

“He’s still drowsy,” said Ryanne. 

Her childlike fascination was contagious. Ryanne quietly notices the creatures who inhabit this place, and she looks out for them. It’s always reassuring to see her.

Earlier, I had walked past a spot where a different kind of animal had been less fortunate. A large feral boar appeared to have been caught in a fence, and his disemboweled carcass, surrounded by a crowd of vultures, had been rotting there conspicuously just a day or two ago. Now there was not a sign of his catastrophic demise.

I saw my friend George nearby, raking up leaf duff; he’s one of the employees who tend to things here at the Ranch. I asked him how it was that the remains of the pig were suddenly so completely gone. Had someone cleared and carted it away?

“Nature does its own cleanup,” said George. “It’s very efficient.”

He may have added something philosophical about the cycles of life, and I am sure I made a comment about the miracles and calamities unfolding every day here, and then we fell silent for a moment or two, in full understanding.

As he headed back to his work, George turned around once more.

“By the way,” he said. “I got married.”

And that was nice to hear.

We held a beautiful event on Sunday to deepen our sense of community and hope and raise money for Democracy Forward (see previous post) and I’m still infused with the magic of it, but I’m already wondering how to keep the momentum going.

In fact, I just deleted an entire paragraph from this blog post listing the latest offenses being foisted upon us and reasserting the urgency of fighting back. I decided that the folks I’m talking to here don’t need to be convinced. If you’re paying attention, you’re feeling all those punches to the gut, and your heart is breaking, and you’re trying hard to put that brokenness to use.

I went to a local Indivisible meeting yesterday in search of more tangible strategies, and it seems to me that we’re still trying to find our footing. I focused on the encouraging fact that the space was filled to capacity and spilling over to the outside, and I know our will is strong and intentions good. But somehow, we need to reach beyond our bubble to those who were misled or didn’t even vote. Our biggest chance is to keep pushing back and then reclaim the majority in Congress in 2026. In the meantime, we can continue to speak out, protest, and support the entities who are fighting on the legal front.

There are so many concerns, globally and even existentially, but I think the first step is to correct the mess that is our own government, then proceed from a sane and functional position. It’s daunting, but when the house is burning down, the top priority is to put out the fire…right?

And somehow we must manage not to sink into despair.

All of this, in addition to the usual ghosts and anxieties, is what keeps me up in the night. But hope is still a kind of religion with me, and maybe the agitation is evidence of attentiveness and of a certitude of principle that pushes back when under attack. Maybe if channeled into action and replenished with intermittent rest and joy, it becomes vitality, strength in motion.

Wide awake in the pre-dawn darkness, I turned toward the window and was startled by the stars. I could not believe how numerous and bright they were, how comforting and constant.