It’s 2020 and Covid-19 has sucked the life out of so much.
We can’t go out and play together.
Everything has become a challenge worthy of a strategic planning meeting: work, school, shopping, home.
But let’s not forget that this is just the start, as far as climate science has been telling us for decades.
This is the carbon we released in the 90s. Spiking towards the sky, swirling up the stormclouds, breeding new diseases, creating the conditions for the worst bushfires in Australian history. Even the original peoples, here for tens of thousands of years, don’t have a story for that kind of damage. And if they don’t have a story for it – the people that were here when you could walk across Bass Strait from the mainland to what we now call Tasmania, who hunted across the plains of what is now Port Phillip Bay in Melbourne before the last great deluge – then it is truly unprecedented.
Now that we’re beginning to see what anthropogenic climate change looks like, we might as well get used to it, as we have to prepare to be lashed by the 30 years’ worth of carbon that has been discharged since this greenhouse began getting pumped full of hot gas.
The storms that lashed the Buddha, as he faced his final spiritual battle before the complete and irreversible awakening that would be the apotheosis of a lifetime of meditative practice, can be seen as metaphorical. Whether they were psychic entities tormenting him towards his great overcoming, or real elements of malevolence, the earth continued to live and breathe beyond the scene. Our reality is the ecological version – real storms and the breakdown of the physical world – but maybe it’s time to treat them as a spiritual challenge too.
To prepare best for the worst, stop thinking things are going to get better. That optimism will leave you victim to reality, shocked with every new assault upon your vision of the good life, unprepared for the horrors to come. 2019 was the best year you are ever going to remember – at least on a planetary scale. You may have better ones personally, but we’re on the downward slide now kids. Get used to it. Breathe deeply and find calm in the midst of the storm. Lean into it. Awaken the Warrior of Peace and Spirit.
While it’s also not enough to find solace in being protected by a great serpent, like the Buddha was, when the storms become truly threatening, it’s certainly one of the things we could be doing with our time, while we still have it. Keep agitating for change but balance that out with some concentration on spiritual liberation. This is your one wild life.
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We packed the kids into the car at 4am, terribly nervous at driving into the face of unknown fire fronts, blocked roads, possibly a tortuous death, but prepared to risk it to make it to somewhere on the other side of this inferno. On New Year’s Eve we prepared to defend our home from ember attacks, with garden hoses and buckets of water. We had no power, no phone or internet service, and no idea of what was coming our way … we were in between Moruya and Batemans Bay:
This is what was coming towards Broulee, where i live. We were already in that thick smoke, so we couldn’t know there was much worse coming. Looking towards my home from the other direction.
We’ve been living with very heavy smoke for weeks, so low visibility had become the norm. I had digested the previous loss of some favoured forests and places, although i hadn’t properly grieved them yet. I still haven’t. When i return from my evacuation, i’m going to have to.
But in the meantime, i need to hear the voice of the muses, as they sing the song of the earth, as it cries. Hear something ecomythic, which matches the fear our kids are going to experience, as they awaken to the Australia – and the world – we have made for them. Something that gets beyond the sexiness of the flames:
… and integrates the death they leave behind them:
How my beloved local beach looks now: ashen.
But really, nothing can prepare them. I try to weave a fine line between informing my kids about the world they will inherit and making sure i don’t scare the living daylights out of them. I turned my ‘prepper/survivalist’ tendencies towards helping to build community resilience rather than retreating to a bush bunker/treehouse combo. In the same way, i turned my Zen monkishness away from dreams of a mountain hideaway to an active life in my community, leading meditation circles and integrating evolutionary adaptations into everyday life. I sing about the apocalyptic times we are hurtling towards as well as about the joy of being in the body, as a self-aware primate on a beautiful planet. I try to integrate what i know from my specific area of expertise – the symbolic life of human consciousness in the context of our relationship with nature – into modern life for anyone who will listen. It’s not very lucrative, but … here we go again.
The Apocalypse, in mythic terms, is both an end time and an experience of revelation; an awakening. For Christians, it involved a rapture in their God’s company. I’ve written before that the term apocalypse now should be seen as something more rational, an actual degradation of our earth in physical terms, an unfolding of the logic of capitalism; while the truly ‘mythic’ leap of faith today is taken by those who still believe in the profiteering dream of unending growth. For the ecological apocalypse we are now witnessing to carry its truest meaning, it must lead to an awakening of the human spirit to the true meaning and value of our beautiful, rare planetary jewel of a home.
And for this to occur, it’s the song of the Muses that has to come through now: those transcendent ladies of the night, whose voices embody earth spirit, whose intelligence is celestial in nature, who flow with the fractal dance of the cosmos even while they stand with those who fight injustice. What do they sing now?
I’ve been praying to hear their words ever since i moved to the coast. I felt their influence directly in every song i’ve composed since, starting with my ode to the salty spirits of the ocean. The Muses love with abandon, they embrace everything, and in their embrace the petty greeds, hatreds and ignorance of the human ego are melted away. The way of the future, they sing, is falling back in love with the earth.
Seek your way through the clutter of human confusion, they advise, to that place where the spirit of life courses through your veins, rises up your spine, emanates from your DNA and passes along the sacred path from generation to generation, from the ancestors to the children: be a part of the transmission as it is embodied in human consciousness.
The Muses sing: fight for the earth, nourish your home, tackle injustice, be the warrior who stands for what is right on the playing field of life. Demand better of those who are responsible for making decisions about how the purse of your nation is spent; make sure they care for the frail, the elderly, the children and our home. Hold them accountable if they don’t. And they don’t.
Calm the mind and focus your anger.
Love your kindred spirits, your families, your home, your breath. Hold onto whatever you hold sacred and dear but be prepared to let it all go. Face death with poise. Prepare your soul to transform into another dimension of loving embrace for life as you enter another plane. Appreciate the little drops of water as dew bedecks the grasses and rain runs along the leaves. Be in awe of the power of nature, the fury of fire, the stellar force of our sun behind and within it, the explosions of volcanoes, the surge of the tides, the subtle draw of lunar magnetism, your sense of your body rising and falling with every breath, the twitching of nerves, the relaxation following a good stretch, the way mist rises from tea in the morning.
Love aimlessly but fight with determination. Meditate upon what gifts have been bestowed upon you, take nothing for granted, but don’t let your thankfulness make you complacent with what can be transformed into something better. Glow from within. Remember your dreams. Stay in touch with friends and remain generous with colleagues. Inspire those around you. Connect with the spirit of life within and without. Walk in peace while you can. Be prepared for anything. Love.
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Not all Severins songs are about cosmic power, depth psychology, ecosoirituality, animism and the like. Some are about plumbing. The unrelenting pressures of parenthood, including showing loving kindness to children even when they are unravelling our patience faster than a kitten works over a ball of wool, only not so cute. The need to clean up after ourselves and take care of water. The desire to just get the job done, as best we can, and then put up our feet. You know, the everyday stuff we can all relate to (with a subtle message of the cosmic psyche business woven throughout – I can’t help myself 🙂
The big gig where we play this psychedelic post-punk indie art rock for the world, the album launch for the Severins vinyl record “Reconnect”, is coming soon.
Friday the 28th of June at the Northcote Social Club in Melbourne, Australia. If you’re there, be thrilled by a cosmic wondershow, a passionate call to arms for the ecospiritual rebellion, and a laugh, to be sure. Listen to all Severins songs and check out some film clips, including a new one and some archival footage of our sonic madness, here.
The Plug – lyrics
I wanna hold this water, Do I gotta? Yeah I oughta
But I got a screaming daughter, I gotta get my house in order
We used up all this water, Now it’s dirty and it’s sordid
The toys yeah they’re my daughter’s, I gotta sort this bricks and mortar
Coz it’s in and it’s out and it’s up and it’s down
It’s all over the shop and i’ve gone out and bought the wrong part
Now it’s swirling around, if I slide the blade under
I can take out the broken bit and then I can get some relief, yeah, and put up my feet
If I cut it too short then I’ve really mucked up
But if I leave it too long I’ll be doing this over again, yeah, all over again
Coz it’s in and it’s out and it’s up and it’s down
It’s all over the shop and i’ve gone out and bought the wrong part, again,
Initiation makes us into something we weren’t before. Successful ritual transforms our consciousness, expanding our minds beyond a little circle of desire and gratification, connecting us to the more-than-human world of nature all around us, the ecosystem we depend upon, the creatures who are our earthly kin, as well as connecting us to the spirit of life in the cosmos itself. This is what we used to get consistently in premodern society and what some people in more traditional societies, which are more resistant to the modern disease of disconnection, still get.
For those of us born into large-scale modernising cultures, religion tries to fill the gap, which is left as we turn away from this world of animistic life, but it gets so cold in those dusty halls and generally misses the meaty, gristly, blood-pumping point of the matter. That is, the living matter …
The best book I ever read on this subject was “Nature and Madness” by Paul Shepard. He pointed out what we had lost, how the turn towards technological domination of the planet came at such a great cost, as we allowed our initiation rituals to become severed from the word around us, and led by new types of elders, whose loyalties were to king and army rather than our fellow animals, our ancient homes in the forests and the mountains, the deserts and the seas. It’s a great book, but like my PhD on the meaning of light, it spends most of its time diagnosing the problem, leaving us to find solutions.
So I wrote this song, as a hint towards some things we could be doing to take our power back, as a signpost, a call to arms, an ecopoetic symbolic evocation of that world, as it calls us back to ourselves and to its living significance, within and without …
We are born out of the eggs of our mother, inseminated by our father, awakened to our immediate environment. As Caterpillar, the next stage includes wandering about in small circles, munching on the leaves we were born on, following the wisdom of our immediate and distant ancestors. In the same pattern utilised since time immemorial, our mother instinctively chose the right plant to lay her eggs on. Likewise, we’ve followed our own internal compass, to feed and grow, extending the range of our explorations until we find their natural limit. Next, it’s time to pull back. Think of it as a mid-life crisis, where we realise that the strategies we’ve utilised so far don’t work anymore; or an initiation, like into adulthood, where we know we have to step up to a new level, to leave behind the indulgences of childhood and accept the pleasures and responsibilities of being a fully fledged member of adult society.
Either way, we are in need of transformation. In terms of the climate crisis, we all face this now, which was the point of the original post that inspired this series: as a race of technologically driven modern humans, we are acting like children, despoiling our nest and hoping someone else will clean it up for us, But as George Monbiot recently warned, no one is coming to save us. Which makes it ironic that one of the most influential environmental activists of the time, Greta Thunburg, is a schoolchild. It’s also of note that the oldest cultures still alive lead the way when it comes to ecological wisdom; if only we could listen better. So what to do? In worldly matters, protest, join the movement that places ecological health above profit and endless growth, agitate and never give in. In terms of the inner life … well, that’s another thing.
Because there is no division between mind and body, or humanity and the rest of nature, our social lives completely infiltrate our psyche. The reverse also pertains; as below, so above, or as we think, so we feel and act. We need to take care of ourselves, our souls and our breath, if we are to live fully and not become victims of the stress, anxiety an depression that increasingly afflicts modern society. If we care about the damage humanity is doing to this beautiful, precious and now fragile planet, we need to take good care of ourselves even more so. Sometimes, we need to withdraw from the world and find solace within. Each night, as an allegory, we curl up into our restful world of sleep, allowing the relief of night time to wind us down and prepare us for another fresh day tomorrow. We choose a soft cocoon, just as the caterpillar does, and retire into it. And that’s where the magic happens. (Again, the feature image is the actual cocoon created on my little lime tree by the swallowtail butterfly.)
Inside our cocoon, we dissemble. Sleep turns our mind to goop. The butterfly appears as a transformation beyond the complete dissolution of the caterpillar; it no longer exists, except as a memory of this incredible new creature. This doesn’t happen for us, however. If anything, most of us probably find the loop of thoughts and habits that limited us yesterday kick straight back in almost as soon as we’re awake. BUT we can make the process of transformation more conscious, thus more effective. We might not wake up completely transformed into a beautiful new being, but each night something changes and over time we do transform. Why not make this more conscious with a simple ritual designed to support this process?
Sage Counsel offered online
Every morning i make a little space for myself and intone my thanks to the spirit of the butterfly. I ask that my night’s rest bring me new insights and allow the parts of myself that are still broken, or crawling inside their own cocoon, or dissolving into goop, or recrystallising and getting ready to break free, to find their way towards transformation into the more evolved being they are destined to become. Find your own way to this and allow the magic to work.
“Choose Transformation, Create Cocoon, Allow Yourself to Dissolve into Deep Feelings, Wait, Crystallise, Reform, Grow Strength, Break Out of Former Limits, Fly Free. Repeat Daily.”
Geoff Berry, outlining the rites of the Butterfly: Adapt and Practice, Practice and Adapt.
