Remembering Eden

That there are multiple layers to any conflict, event, or experience seems to be dulled by the virtue signalling drone of populist vs elitist opinions. The echo chamber is deafening. We seem to be losing the capacity to judge actions rather than intentions. I believe we have a moral responsibility to judge actions, but to judge intentions is to judge the human heart and I don’t pretend to know enough to do that. I pray for Grace and again and again, I to try and see all sides in an issue. This is mentally and morally challenging, but the alternative is limited in its effectiveness. I might feel better for a moment or a day or even a week, but something deeper than my complacent collective conclusions begin to stir.

Case in point. We just had a provincial election here in Ontario and the results, while not unexpected, are certainly divisive. I scrolled social media posts that suggested the majority electorate were ignorant, or ill informed, or even evil. Sounds very familiar to what happened South of us in November. The part of democracy that asks us to stretch toward the majority, even if we disagree, especially if we disagree, is seemingly lost. In most, or in all conflicts filling the feeds, there is another side, another perspective, and it requires due diligence to wade through the information and the misinformation. Discernment is key. For example, on the topic of disputed borders, the Ukraine conflict did not begin with Putin in 2022, nor the conflict in Palestine in 1948. Tariffs have shaped economics, politics and global trade for over 5,000 years. The arch of human history is long and complicated and complexed. When we base our conclusion on a small slice of history, we delude ourselves in the service of staying unconscious. When this happens, we all lose. I think it takes much more that posting a flag on a timeline or sharing a meme to grow consciousness. Consciousness grows when we can hold the tension and courageously try to learn something of the alternative perspective. It is so much easier to judge than to think. I am not suggesting this is easy, but I do think it is essential.

I go back to what I have been learning about conscious empathy. Unconscious empathy is enmeshment, entrainment, co-dependency. It lets the tug on the heart strings be the arbitrator of truth. Surely we must feel what we feel, but toddlers act on this feeling as if it were the only reality. We have seen far too much of this lately. Maturity asks that we discern, explore, and consider all sides. Stretch ourselves, yes, even toward the “enemy”. Build a bigger table. As Leonard Cohen said so aptly, “Take me back to where the suffering began”. How far back must we go? To Eden? Before that? Of course! I don’t like it anymore than you do when I see blatant disrespect, power complexes, or in-graciousness pass for leadership. This is when it is so easy to chose sides. Watch the news clip and think what I witnessed is the beginning and end of the story. But, there is always a back story. Always.

There are two documentaries worth watching, Ukraine on Fire and Winter on Fire. These documentaries look at the same issues from very different perspectives. I expect the truth is somewhere in the middle. It is rare that one side or the other is bias free. I know it is impossible to take every screaming headline and explore all the stories and the backstories. It would be exhausting. Because of the Digital Age, we have access to far more information and less wisdom than we ever have. But what I do know is that splitting escalates rather than resolves conflict. When we do react, can we come back with sober second thought? Can we make repair? I pray, yes.

The gnarly old Mother Tree on our land has weathered more storms than I can even imagine. Some of her limbs are stripped bare by the winds. Some of her nooks and crannies house forest critters. Offerings made to her swing in her branches and nestle at her base. We have know her for seven years. And before her, and certainly before us, other maples have clung to the ridge and turned green into gold into crimson with the changing seasons. Our Mother Tree has fostered the growth of our 100 acre wood. Do you know it took 25-30 years before Suzanne Simard’s ground breaking work was accepted by mainstream science. In Finding the Mother Tree, published in 2021, Simard shows that trees communicate via mycorrhizal networks, challenging previous forestry wisdom that trees mainly compete. Her work has had a major impact on Forest Ecology and the supposed efficiency of clear cutting and reforesting has been significantly altered. If only we could transpose her work on our geopolitical struggles. I fear we may have razed too many of our social and political Mother Trees. We have descended into tribalism. Social media algorithms, echo chambers, and political polarization function much like a severed mycorrhizal network. Only small clusters communicate within themselves, blocking the vital exchange of resources and wisdom between different groups. The result might be the clear cutting of western civilization.

Trudging through thigh deep snow, this afternoon we journeyed to our Mother Tree . I made an offering and asked her permission to tap into her sap. As if on cue, the sun burst through the trees that I took to be a warm response. Three taps, three pails, three generations. Grandfather, Father, Son. It was a joy to watch these men work together, and I think, a joy for them to work together. Masculinity at its best. At my bequest, that it was time, they dedicated themselves to the task. If our tree offers up her sweetness again this year, we will tap more of the maple ridge. We will labour to bring her sweetness to our embittered world. Yes, it is easier, less time consuming, and perhaps more cost effective to buy syrup locally from other producers. But in the words of my grandson, “it never tastes as true”. There will be many hours of sugaring in the weeks ahead. The alchemy of the land writ large by our physical, mental, and spiritual labour. We are both a year older than when we first tapped our trees. The winter has been harsher. The snows deeper. My bones and joints ache and complain louder than they used to. Yet, out in the forest, with the dogs and the men, beneath our Mother Tree, today felt like I was gardening. Planting seeds. Remembering Eden.

Maybe it is that simple?

As Lent begins this week, I will take a sabbatical from social media. I hope this pause will re-calibrate my expression. Instead of scrolling, researching, and vetting my newfeeds, I will write icons, pray, make alms, and dream. I will dream of the wood wide web. I will pray that the mycorrhizal networks of the trees will reach us in the world wide web and remind those in power, those to whom we look to for leadership, that we can cooperate rather than compete. May it be so. See you on the other side of Easter. Hallelujah.