WHEN WE WAKE

It's such a pleasant afternoon, ideas dancing in my head. But sometimes the best laid plans are derailed by a nap. Charles Fort, I recall, said we are lived.

Now here is squirrel sitting on the fence. I had come out, set a cup of tea on the table, gotten out my clipboard, pen and paper and . . . now it's time for her treat. I scatter nuts around the foot of my chair.

The backyard is so green during this break in the storms, the air so humid you could cut it with a knife. Rain returns tonight. I'll have to pack up the cushions and take the side table back inside.

Last year when we met she was so young. She would sit near the bird feeder, scratch, make a funny face, then drop down to get some sunflower seeds. Then back up onto the fence for our conversation.

She's sitting on her haunches, holding a nut and nibbling. The doves and Mr. Finch arrive, followed by the hummingbirds zooming in. It seems they need more nectar, or at least they come by more often than last spring. We're all together again, here in Santa Clara.

It's in something like the eye of a storm. We got the smoke from northern fires, but not the fires. Rain has been heavy briefly, but no flooding on our street. The unusual hail and snow so far are coming down elsewhere. But our relationship with mother nature is getting more attention now because climate change is happening faster than expected.

Though not greatly noticed, actually she's been upset for years. Still – it's officially spring. She's setting out flowers. I feel an unexpected sadness. It seems ancient.

This hiatus, compared with what's to come, is a fulcrum moment. Any nudge now brings amplified results as the change intensifies. For now everything is suspended, barely teetering. It won't take much. For those who call it a hoax, the collapsing climate is unthinkable. Yet what's happening is comparable to thermogeddon, also called unthinkable, in slow motion. That's a whole lot of thinking not going on. The nudge is up to the rest of us.

The change has three ways it can go, and they are not mutually exclusive. We get nuclear winter, or climate collapse, or a change in consciousness.

Already discernible is an effect on planetary consciousness. All of us everywhere, for the first time in human history, can imagine the collapse of infrastructure and social systems as unavoidable. No tribe, village, state, nation or supposed leader can wield such absolute power. An awareness of this will dawn upon even the least astute.

Our greatest danger, us, is also an opportunity.

First, we can recognize our mistakes. Mom's been telling us: We're suffocating her. We're giving her too many mouths to feed. We fill her yard with crap. We burn fossil fuels, commodify everything and anything, and treat consequences that don't add to the bottom line as if, magically, mom will whisk them out of sight.

We can correct these mistakes.

Then we move on, finding ways to develop what serves the whole, not just humans, but the entire planet and all of its creatures. That this is required has become obvious. There's a chance enough of us dream an end to the insanity. It wouldn't hurt to take this opportunity to appreciate what's left of what was called Eden and dream the fulcrum tips back that way again.

Certainly we all belong in the disaster we've been making. It's not as though someone else did this to us. So as the fulcrum tips, what was is possible again. The dream begins with a realistic assessment of the nightmare we're living now. Either way we'd better listen. And mom knows best.