One does not simply walk into Mordor…
I’m having a Frodo-and-Sam moment here.
Looking out over Mordor, exhausted and overwhelmed by the sheer destructive force ahead.
In earlier posts, I have described myself as a vulture: regally aloft on the highest thermals, yet descending to ground level for the humblest of tasks, that require a particular kind of strength: cleaning up dark and rotting stuff.
A lot of that dark and rotting stuff I encounter in my everyday life has to do with the pain I see in the people around me. I’m not a healer, in the sense that it is not my vocation to enter into a therapeutic relationship with them and help them grow into stronger, happier and healtier versions of themselves. But I do perceive currents that move under the surface, echos of old pains and discrepancies, behavioral patterns constructed out of sheer survival instinct during infancy that have now subconsciously taken over and are running the show. And I feel like exposing them or working with them somehow, for the better.
Strange or arrogant as it might sound, it’s a bit like having röntgen vision: I can look below the layers of skin and everyday logic to the psycho-emotional wiring underneath. While the computer program is running, I can see the energy currents in the hardware and software, and how everything is communicating with each other. I can diagnose a lot of what’s going on for a person in a particular aspect of their lives, or in several, and if they allow me to come closer I can dig a lot deeper still.
I want the people I love (or anybody, really) to grow into stronger, happier and healtier versions of themselves, and I hope to contribute a little by sharing what I perceive and feel, if they are open to it. I love doing that, and I do it more or less spontaneously, too, since this röntgen thing is always there, whether I want it or not.
It’s one small way in which I feel I can contribute something to the world.
And luckily, this is not what caused my Frodo-and-Sam moment.
Although related to all I wrote above, my moment of desperation concerns the state of the world.
As you’ve gathered by now, I’m a pretty sensitive person, and both learning to navigate my sensitivities and my creative skills (a door for a story to pass through, remember Sapling#8?) has further honed that sensitivity over the years.
Add to that my newly acquired consciousness about our constant communication with the more-than-human world (thank you, Bill Plotkin and David Abram), and an almost shaman-like allegiance to the living, breathing web of all that lives and what it can tell us, and I’m sure you can see me standing there: floodgates fully opened, the world pouring in from all sides.
A lot of that world’s current affairs are a poisonous, destucrive swamp, ruled by the aggressive neo-liberal, ego-centered need to conquer, control and destroy.
Mordor, if you ask me.
This is more dark, rotting stuff than I can take.
From Trump to IS, from European neoliberalism to the global destruction of our natural habitat, from the petty signs of racism down the street to grand-scale political hate-monguering: sometimes I feel I’m breathing poisonous fumes — yes, I’m quoting Tolkien, as I’m sure you’ve noticed ;-) .
Anyway, I find myself getting out of breath.
I have always taken to the heights — art, beauty, nature, spirit — to replenish my batteries. I still do. I find the creative work I’m doing (Saplings, blogs, Stream booklet) and the time I take to connect with nature becoming ever more important in keeping me sane.
For my work as a journalist, I have read stacks of books over the years about all kinds of social and environmental issues. I have written — on Medium, as well — about women’s and men’s rights, about racism or homophobia.
I care.
But flipping though the next season’s editorial brochures, I find myself hesitating over yet another book on women’s rights, social issues, the state of the environment, the political landscape, the world.
I’m not sure I want to read it and take it in. I’m not sure I can stomach it anymore.
I’m tired.
The opposition is overwhelming.
Yes, I realize I’ve gone six months straight without a proper week of holiday. Of course I’m tired.
Yes, I realize there’s more than bad news out there. Some of the stories about community engagement and personal change I hear are very uplifting.
Yes, I realize it’s better to light one candle than to rage against the darkness (Confucius rules!).
But still: I’m tired. I find myself wanting to escape.
I don’t want to sign another petition, share another plee, argue another case. I feel I’m up against Mordor.
Yet, like Frodo, I know the only way to go is forward.
So let’s get some sleep. Let’s gather some strength. Let’s have that holiday and deeply savour the joy of my all creative pursuits. I’m going to need all I can get if I want to make it to the destination.
Whatever that might be. Whatever the outcome.
The journey must be made.
