On bad-news days such as today, I call to my ancestors and they remind me that it has ALWAYS seemed as if the world were about to end, as, indeed, it always is. The world could end. Things could get worse. They often do. But my ancestors remind me that there is, and always has been, one (at least temporary) cure:
The Peace of Wild Things
~ Wendell Berry
When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.
It is an act of magic and radical self-care to turn off the computer, and the tv, and the cell phone and to rest in the grace of the world.
It will likely all still be here when you come back. It always has been. I know. My ancestors told me that, too.