To Be Detached, Present, and Grateful For The Compost

What luck, to be here having these conversations. I know of only one way to adequately express my gratitude: Presence. The deepest, most full presence I can manage. Today's conversation, like every exchange I have with Lalaina, touched me deeply. Listen to the full length conversation in french, and read on for my reflections in english.

Ma conversation avec Lalaina est en français, et disponible dès maintenant, écoutez ici: dialoguespodcast.com

I'm in the process of re-evaluating my relationship to detachment, to being detached. When I was introduced to the idea, it seemed to mean refusing all that is good in life, as if it meant the act of renouncing what is nourishing, of renouncing pleasure, of refusing that which is pleasant and good for me--an uncompromising asceticism that is the caricature of an enlightened, illuminated being: "I need nothing".

This is a risky position to hold. Who needs nothing? Who is separate from the world?

To be detached, to be equanimous, I see now does not mean remaining unaffected. What I notice coursing through myself, speaking with Lalaina, is a resonant force asking me to question what it means to be present, to squarely face universal suffering; suffering that comes from human cruelty; suffering that flows from widespread indifference to cataclysm. Human suffering which, depending on the mystical tradition you heed, may or may not be a choice.

We could, I suppose, say that misery is a fact, and suffering is a choice. The same way joy is a question of attitude. That seems such a simple key to avoid the pitfalls of impotence and hopelessness. But what of material reality? What of context? What of trauma? What of loss? Can I look you squarely in the face and say your suffering is a choice? What kind of cruelty would that be?

It comes down to recognizing that my actions have an impact. It's a blurry thing, impact. We can speak of the material side of things, sure, it's obvious enough, the way populations act on a daily basis are creating landfills. That's measurable, that's a material impact. But what about the simultaneous karmic effect of my actions, in my current and future lives? What of my legacy?

Asking the question of long-term heritage has brought me some measure of peace. Just think: what if I am the result of infinitely accumulating choices and actions on a timescale of infinite lives that has accrued up to Now, and will continue for an equally vast and infinite amount of time?

All this, within the beautiful illusion that is the universe where I live. Illusion is assuredly a beautiful thing. It's beautiful and it does not make my life or your life any less important or meaningful. Illusion does not nullify the vast systems that affect us. They are real: we are in flesh, and we are experiencing systemic impact. The whole velocity of injustice that traverses me affects me and my decisions.

My inner dialogue sometimes berates me, still: You are not doing enough. You aren't on the front lines of the movement, you aren't fighting for the cause.

But if I put aside that self-judgement and observe what I am in capacity to do in this culture, and I observe my capacity to offer locally, I see that this context I find myself a part of is a process resulting from the whole rhizomatic universe. Accounting for ancestral baggage. Accounting for the colonizers of my lineage. Accounting for the ancestors lost to genocide. Accounting for the missionaries. Accounting for the ancestors of practice living through me now. Those past and present who guide me towards right action, inasmuch as I can quiet my ego and listen.

So I keep circling back to a fundamental question I learned last year: How can I surrender to love? How can I give myself up to love? It's an image and a set of actions. What are the tangible acts and decisions I can choose on a daily basis that help me move towards love?

If my aim is to remain able to respond to my culture, to the people around me, to build and deepen a new manner of being in the world, I need to cultivate equanimity, sure, and detachment. To accept the present moment and all of its shit, without losing touch, without forgetting my connection to the ground and the earth, without saying "I can do nothing about any of this."

The modes of escapism are plentiful, infinite, and I'm sure I'll continue to escape the pain throughout my life, but I must recognize that each of my choices has an impact.

It begins with an idea: honouring the compost. I want my day-to-day to flourish, so I make room for that process of decomposition and decay, of death, within which I may sow what will some day bloom. That which will grow and make nourishment for me and my family and my friends and my neighbours. And when I'm working with people, when I'm sitting in full presence with someone, the only goal is presence: letting go of the boundaries of the skin, that great individual illusion, and saying "Hello, welcome, we are here, together." And it's always a challenge, and it's always rewarding, to welcome what is. It's always a process.

Lalaina said to me: That's the depth of co-creation. The capacity of presence and co-creation. We are invited to give ourselves wholly to our future lives. Even so, with all the chaos, we must care for the compost of our selves. I may see hate, and pain, and I ought to let them land. And I'll see the beauty, and the laughter. If I look at life just-so, I may nourish myself and nourish the life around me. That's a choice, that's the magic of meeting one another transparently, altruistically. It's a meeting that lets us cultivate what is larger than us and feeds each of us individually, infinitely. The compost helped me immensely, in hard times, to accept that in the process of being, I am just a flower, fragile. I am here to be transformed, to be impermanent. Made of sweat, and petrol, and excrement, all will be transformed, and served to nourish the choices I make in this and every life.

Listen here (en français): https://dialoguespodcast.com