Winter silence
This is an excerpt from my journal. I comment on how exposure to nature helps me understand my place in the world.
Winter is the most quiet time of the year here in my mountains. The ever-busy swallows left us a few months ago. I enjoy their presence during the spring and summer months. Every evening they fly all around the area, trying to feast on the various insects. They seem to be happy and I like being close to them whenever I sit outside in contemplation.
The frogs and the crickets are gone as well. I do not know what happens to them. Are they migratory? Do they hibernate? Are their eggs stored someplace safe and will crack open once it gets warmer again? There are so many ways that life forms keep their identity through change; an ever-present commitment to selfhood via incessant course correction, such that what was continues to exist as process yet cannot be as instance.
All vegetation recedes. Most leaves fall and there is no obvious movement above the ground. Yet the juices are still flowing. Pay close attention and you can find the greener spots, the softer parts that still need to expand. Roots grow more dense. They must be ready for the months ahead, to support another cycle of growth. From recession comes progression and then back again. In essence, it is no different to how human history oscillates between the extremes of progressive openness and regressive intolerance.
There is no point in arguing with the world about good and bad outcomes. These are human constructs, which apply to a tiny sliver of our shared experiences. In the systems of systems of which we are but a part, as yet more systems of systems—both as individuals and as collectives—what ultimately applies are forces that bring things together and pull them apart. From equilibrium comes disequilibrium, from imbalance comes balance.
When we try to cling on to any given order, anything we would like to preserve as a constant, be it an individual quality like youth or pretty looks, an event such as a party with friends or a romantic affair, a certain interplay of factors more broadly, we learn quickly that it slips away. The world is in flux. What comes goes. We are no different than the dreams of a puppy, at once a thriving world and a fleeting thought.
Local time is about 10 minutes to midnight. I was outside to do a final check on the new battery for my off-grid solar panel setup before going to bed. That part is working nicely. I have electricity around the clock. As I was about to enter my room, I heard a fox screeching in the distance. It is normal for them to make such noises. I was inspired to stand still for a little while. Even in these quiet days there is motion.
In our hyperconnected affairs, where “me, me, me” is the midpoint, tutelary figure, and secular god of our societies, a simple pause on such a cold night reminds us that we are not important. Not me, not you, none of us. All that is happening out there is not for people alone. The universe is not conspiring to deliver to any of us the state of affairs we feel entitled to.
“What will others think” is a thought that persists for as long as we do not shift our attention to the greater magnitudes. We allow the average Joe to wield immense power over us through something as fickle as an opinion. How can you notice that you are not the centre of the world when your city is denying you the sky? No, this is not a metaphor. It is what is actually happening: you do not observe the stars and will generally not have a good sense of direction. How can you submit to the authority of the greater forces of the cosmos when you do not even witness them firsthand? For as long as you think you are the supreme authority within the nominal domain of your control, you will remain trapped in a web of hearsay.
There are sensible reasons for wanting to fit in. This is a pattern we observe throughout nature. Though we also have the capacity to persevere in uncharted lands as a wolf among wolves. There is no clarity on what to do. Ours is an ongoing attempt at balancing between the worlds of thought and action. Our deeds must be efficacious, while our thoughts need to be clear. Yet we cannot withdraw into a world of pure theory until we figure out all the scenaria and clarify our thoughts to perfection. The body subsists through a series of events. Action is unavoidable. But we also understand that we should not act without thinking things through or, at least, having a sense of the bigger picture we are working towards. Such is our predicament.
With some experience, which is usually painful, and, perhaps a bit of luck, all we can tell is that in the grand scheme of things, the matters we once attached great value to end up being trivial. It is all star dust in yet another one of its transfigurations.
I go to bed now. Admitting to my insignificance brings me peace.