EcoGathering

This shorter cycle’s will focus on slower, quieter themes as we begin the new calendar year that will surely be full of more disruptions and uncertainty. As winter begins to settle in deeper for us in the northern hemisphere, we’ll sit with the elements that accompany this time of year (but are relevant, of course, anywhere on Earth at any given time, no matter your hemisphere of habitation): presence, darkness, and patience.

Modernity pushes us into ever more rapid performance, consumption, and reaction. In the accelerating chaos unfolding around us, we can all benefit from some stillness in our lives. Whether through meditation, prayer, habit, rest, even sleep, stillness has quite a lot to offer.

Darkness — non-metaphorical, the lack of light in the physical world — is an increasingly rare phenomenon, although it certainly feels like we have an abundnace of darnkess in these northern hemisphere winters. Darkness — metaphorical, all the difficult things in the world – is, unfortunately, not an increasingly rare phenomenon. For this call, we’ll focus mostly on the former, but just as it’s crucial to acknowledge the necessity of darkness for the critters and habitats on Earth, it’s neccessary to acknoledge the darkness we feel (gently, of course — we don’t need to dive too deep into the darkness of the world).

What lessons can we and, whether we want to or not, must we learn from darkness, physical and metaphorical? On this call, we'll figure a bit of that out together.

"Good things come to those who wait." “Patience is a virtue." Perhaps, but at the very least we all have experienced the necessary practice of patience in our own lives. On our final call of this shortened cycle, we'll convene around the practice and lessons of patience, which can feel especially challenging when we feel so much urgency.

Humans are offered – forced into, really – relatively few roles and identities in modernity. On this first call, we’ll unpack how we’ve been made to live as conquerers, occupiers, Homo colossus, separated from and domineering over the living world. Our population, our consumption, and the myths we've been offered all inform this role we can choose to resist.

What is our place in the world? What should it be? What do we have to offer Earth and her living and non-living (so far as we think we know) communities?

We regulary see appeals to the privilge or necessity of humans as stewards of the Earth. But what do these claims imply — ownership, power over, posession? Are we above the Earth, separate from her, as her managers? Where does our stewardship lead — or, how do we choose to make decisions as stewards? Do we choose what’s best for all beings, or do we consciously or unconsciously shape the world for our specific benefit?

The idea of being a steward does get at an important point of course: we can and should have a role in co-creating an abundant, diverse living world. Could we do that as stewards? Or perhaps it’s better to imagine ourselves as siblings or neighbors, a more horizontal relationship with all other non-human members of the living world.

Good Grief is a group exploration of our collective grief through the frameworks of Francis Weller's Five Gates of Grief (The Wild Edge of Sorrow). Inspired by our EcoGathering on Grieving during the autumnal Composting series in 2024 and an increasing urgency to process the compounding loss we experience as the continuation of modernity relies on genocide, ecocide, omnicide and fascism's impingement on our basic rights and liberties, we will hold space to tend to the complex and often unaddressed grief that accompanies these losses and expand our emotional capacity for collective grieving as a skill for navigating uncertain futures. 

The gardens of our imaginations may be verdant and flowering places, but a tremendous amount of what’s done in the name of horticulture, infrastructure and agriculture creates landscapes of botanical and ecological scarcity. Whether mowing lawns, mulching garden beds, or paving a parking lot, we have created, are surrounded by, and have become acculturated to the very voids that nature abhors. Given this ecologically impoverished state of affairs, how might we summon the ecological abundance that exists in our midst at the scale and pace that is needed to offset what is passively termed as “habitat loss?” We could follow the cues of charismatic weeds and build flourishing landscapes that fulfill the needs of the human and non-human world alike. Could cultural and botanical reproduction co-create new lands outside of conventional capitalist paradigms? Might we call this approach "eco-maximalism"?