Well June has begun much like May ended: wet and cool. We had a thundershower overnight and more rain is forecast for this afternoon. The mosquitoes have joined the flowering plants in an orgy of proliferation, so that a trip outdoors to view the beauty, or to work in the garden, has a very real probability of being shortened by a cascade of bites.
This week the news of the wider world has been grim and continues to weigh heavily on us, and those who come to us for aid. It is a hard thing to watch prophesies of difficult times come into fruition before one’s eyes.
We have decided to move from Vermont to Massachusetts, from the lake and mountains to the ocean. It has been a hard decision, one that has come about over a long period of time. We plan to move in late October and hope to have summer and Autumn here in Vermont. At the moment, the world is lush and dense and vibrant, making the idea of moving questionable. This was certainly not the case back in February when I felt trapped inside, and only ventured out into the ice covered world when I had to.
This morning we stood in our sun room and sadly looked out over the backyard and the forest immediately beyond. A robin took a long, luxurious bath in the feeder as we watched and its mate hopped about closeby. We designed our home and have always truly loved living here; for the first few months after we moved in we did not want to leave it, even for work. Even now, it is immensely difficult to give it up.
This move reflects our desire to be closer to Jennie’s mom, and necessitates our closing our office of many years. Our credentials do not translate readily to Massachusetts so we find ourselves at a career turning point. Jennie, who is younger than me, wants to do more Reiki and organizational consulting, as well as teaching, and the move seems filled with possibility for her. As I approach my seventy-second birthday I desire to do more art making, to deepen my shamanic practice, and to do more consulting. Of course, as we are moving to a new community, abet one we visit often, I have no idea how any of this will work out. For now, all is Dream and Vision.
I guess that is not unlike the process of making art and social change. Much of my art making has always been deeply anchored in a concern for the environment. Certainly this present historical moment is one in which our oceans and those (including people) who live and work in and by them are at great risk. The Dreaming of our leaders fails to acknowledge this, and their Dreaming of accumulating ever more wealth and power now threatens the very existence of our kin seven generations distant. I am curious to discover whether my work will somehow speak to that threat. If it does, I hope that it does so without becoming preachy, and that it offers a Dreaming of hope, connection, and even humor.