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Writer's pictureCrone

A precarious home

In the coppice, there are many ladybirds. They like crevices in the hazel. Mainly, I try to remove them from the stems. But I have not carried them, like miniature refugees, to a new stool deeper in the wood where they would be more secure. When I take them off the stem, they seem dead, their legs curled in. I try to hold them, but my gloved hands are clumsy and they tend to drop into the leaf litter. A few minutes later, I find them awoken from their torpor and assiduously climbing back up the hazel.


I think of us and how we try to form new habits, but in a few weeks or months, there we are, back in the patterns that harm us or harm the planet.


Our home has become precarious in so many ways - floods and famine, plagues and fire, pestilence and violence. There are voices telling us how we could change, act in ways that preserved rather than endangered life, but we carry onn, assiduously killing and consuming and polluting.


When I realised that the Amazon delivery driver's face is more familiar to me than those of the cashiers at the supermarket, it was something of a shock. During the pandemic, we heard of the bad labour practices at Amazon warehouses. But, well, it's so darn convenient. I know how far my avocados travel. Even if I don't fly, those green gems certainly do. I know that feeding my cats supports factory farming. My driving. My heating. My water usage.


My Jungian Coach reinforced a message from my unconscious - give yourself a break! She sent me ta quote from the Talmud:


Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly now, love mercy now, walk humbly now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.


No. Not free to abandon it. Ah.... the thing is, that feels burden enough.



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1 Comment


maplekey4
Feb 22

Another good post, Crone. Helpful.

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