Envisioning the Future

/ Laura Grace Weldon

Listening to birdsong reduces cortisol, slows your heart rate, and triggers parasympathetic calm. Why? Because for eons your ancestors knew that singing birds meant you were safe. Your body still remembers.

Everyone I know is overwhelmed. It feels bizarre to go on running errands and making weekend plans while simultaneously carrying the weight of today’s world. How are we supposed to be fully present in our own lives while also aware of rampant corruption, violent injustice, oligarchy’s ever tightening grip on power, the insanity of unregulated AI with its evil data centers, plus the horrifying loss of birds and forests and whales while weather intensity increases due to a climate we are pushing beyond tipping points?

A single day’s happenings from any of the last 10 years or so would, a generation ago, have been the top news for weeks. Likely months. Now whatever fractures our sense of humanity this morning will likely be compounded by some other horror later the same day.

Our grief, despair, fury, and sense of helplessness are entirely sane reactions to these times. Joanna Macy, who left our planet last year after a deeply loving lifetime, wrote in Coming Back to Life, “It is no longer appropriate to think only in terms of my nation or my country, let alone my village. If we are to overcome the problems we face, we need… a sense of universal responsibility rooted in love and kindness for our human brothers and sisters. In our present state of affairs, the very survival of humankind depends on people developing concern for the whole of humanity, not just their own community or nation.”

(I would add a sense of universal responsibility for all of us breathers— redwood trees, bats, lions, sap beetles, manatees, sunflowers, every living being.)  

I don’t have any remedies, but can share what helps me: Push against the disconnect that’s imposed on us. Hug whenever possible. Hang out with small children. Pay attention to your senses. Tend to something that grows – a plant, an idea, a relationship. Be creative in whatever way calls to you. Let yourself be playful. Believe in miracles of all sizes. Listen to the birds. And when you can, envision the future you hope to bring into being. See it, feel it, let yourself believe in it. Here’s what I envision.

ALL OUR DESCENDANTS

I see a dark-haired child grasp another’s arm to
watch bright blue/orange African pygmy kingfishers
whistle-sing in the branches.

See children roll down a grassy hillside
flecked with violet Karvi flowers, running back up
to roll again and again in spring’s warm welcome.

See children whisper thanks as they gather herbs and roots 
the way they learned from their elders, leaving enough 
to regrow as people have done from earliest times.

See children dive into pristine fjords,
climb into welcoming arms of ancient trees,
play under colorful quilts hung in the sunshine.

All of them as far as I can vision
are strong-limbed, well-nurtured, with the open
curious gaze of beings who know they belong.

These children are born 80 or so years beyond us.
I send love on ahead to them. They are who we march for,
vote for, sing for, change for, plant and pray for.

from my new book, Universe Marveled Into A Jar

18 thoughts on “Envisioning the Future”

  5. I think when the press of the day feels constant, that is when the whisper of the world calls louder… or at least it feels that way to me. Perhaps that is why I have noted more migrating visitors recently… Red-eyed Vireo’s stopping by for a brief respite, a glimpse of a Summer Tanager a few days later. Birds I never have seen in my backyard… and I wonder if the press of chaos was not there, would I have seen them? I am grateful every day for the “necessary” dog walks that permit me to amble along at a “non-exercising” pace… but rather a walk with lots of stops and pauses. I have been leaving my phone home during these ambles… a very good way to avoid “breaking news” that each day feels less “breaking” and more routine. I can tell you that Eastern Bluebird song in September is a delight and one I would encourage everyone to get outdoors and just listen! I have earmarked that poem from your book… it is one, of many, I return to frequently. Thank you for sharing it here today.

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    • I love your response here. Thank you for reminding us that the press of these times can push us into nature’s arms and all the beauty found there. I’m heartened by the birds you’re seeing as it seems we’re seeing fewer species here the last few years. And bless you for reading my book!

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  7. Wonderfully crafted prose expressing the deep grapplings of living in the world of today.
    “I don’t have any remedies, but can share what helps me: Push against the disconnect that’s imposed on us….” The entire last paragraph is a powerful ‘to do’ suggestion (answer), Laura. May I add a personal experience relevant to the points made in your post? It parallels the focus & things learned during this 25th Commemoration of 9/11. At the time I was a member of the Denver Mandolin Orchestra. We had a substantial concert scheduled for the coming weekend. As a group during our final rehearsal, we deliberated whether it was appropriate to follow through with it. We humbly presented our concert – not as an aggressive ‘push back’ but it did indeed function in part as that…that concert was the best for all attending/performing. Maybe not in the technicality, but certainly (and surprisingly while in the moment) in the humanity, unity, healing of it.
    You are doing that by not giving up on your (he)art.
    hugs

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