By Kate Wojeck

ground(ing)

By Kate Wojeck

Inhale–we breathe in oxygenated air released by plants (our bodies transform it to carbon dioxide-infused air)

exhale–we release carbon dioxide, plants use this atmospheric carbon to produce food.

The very breath which sustains our life is given to us by plants.

A gift is reciprocated in the exhalation of that breath from our lungs. Photosynthesis and respiration are vital processes that sustain an intricate web of life on earth. These should be sacred cycles of reciprocity by which we are intrinsically connected to nature. Is there more nuance to this process? Yes. Nor is this the only way humans are connected to the Earth. Though, on a molecular level, we are here by way of this mutual exchange – I remind myself of that often.

I think too of how it feels to be embodied. To coexist. To be in recognition of my wholeness and intimacy with the Earth, while simultaneously aware of my smallness and the complexities of the ecosystems I inhabit. Robin Wall Kimmerer writes in her book Braiding Sweetgrass, “gratitude is so much more than a polite thank you. It is a thread that connects us in a deep relationship, simultaneously physical and spiritual, as our bodies are fed and spirits nourished by the sense of belonging, which is the most vital of foods.” Notice the sensation in your body when you read these words, being told that our pull to give and connect are fundamental elements of our humanity—our very existence. Just as fire and water are vital to life, so is the ebb and flow of giving and receiving love.

Kimmerer’s intimate understanding of her orientation to the world expresses an awareness that there is Earth inside us, entwined with us, a thought rooted in indigenous knowledge of what it means to be in relation with a land. Indigenous values are grounded in familial interconnection with the landscape, where the animate beings in inhabitancy are kin. Thus, indigenous people are indistinguishable and inseparable from the land. The land is a source of belonging, a sustainer, and an identity. It is equally a space of enspirited ancestral connection, knowledge, moral responsibility, and healing. Within this network of relations, trust is placed in the rebalancing act of collective contribution to keep the fire lit. Abundance is known.

Consider then the fundamental elements of Western ideology: values of self-sufficiency and survival of the fittest, exponential growth and for-profit commodification of the environment. Reckless pillaging under the assumption that the environment is a bottomless pit from which to endlessly extract. Alongside these ideals came the unwashed feet of the first settler colonists who stomped on this continent and called it their own, claiming dominion and a divine right from God. Settler colonialism brought with it a dissociative complex as it relates to human beings and their relationships to everything, everyone else. Our capitalist society has intentionally thrown us into division with the world—taught us not to feel with our bodies, but with an exaggerated logicality of our minds. Thought bound objectively and systematically. Separate from nature. Separate from ourselves.

Foundational principles of Western ideology have disrupted our cognizance of the interrelatedness which

graces us in a reciprocal exchange with the air we breathe. Breath is now ordinary rather than sacred. An obvious element of our humanity taken for granted. This disruption of interconnection has decoupled our bodies and minds from the earth. We are reduced to a symptom that should not be occurring, then treated in isolation.

We are uncomfortable with the ‘absurd,’ here. Constantly craving instant gratification, here. Compulsively orienting to exponential gain. Listening only to respond. Paralyzed by polarization. Feeling disgust at the perception of our own bodies. Feeling defensive and self-oriented. Consuming as pleasure. Programmed to believe we are only worthy when ac tively producing. Thus, working ourselves to the brink.

Capitalism’s oily tentacles have smeared themselves across the landscape, demanding a distinct and dominant livelihood. A political dogma dependent on our cultural conditioning to not criticize the system. Cyclical validation encoded in our minds to the point that it has become radical to do anything out of alignment with what’s been projected as “normal” – a determinance of humanity fixed along racialized, discriminatory lines. In this positive feedback loop, we spiral into turmoil at the slightest feeling of disruption to our homeostasis: a balanced state we longingly summarize as happiness. We numb ourselves, scrolling. We cannot sit with ourselves. At least, I know this to be true for myself. In my body, when an overwhelming feeling of tension arises, I run. I fixate on how much I want to let go of it, to escape its paralysis. It is hard to sit with ‘it’—whatever it may be. I use the term ‘it’ because rarely can I articulate the feeling—I do not believe that to be a coincidence.

Bobbing in this ever-fluctuating sea, embodiment appears fickle. We gasp for air, only to be submerged again by socio-political forces threatening our wholeness. We feel tension between the Real and reality. It is a distinction referenced by Mark Fisher in his book Capitalist Realism as a desire to engage with the Real, the actually existing conditions and guts of the world, though instead finding ourselves backpedaling within our constructed reality. This idea exposes the passive impulses we find ourselves caught up in and tangibly gives space to recognize how deeply embedded this alienation exists within us. Yet, the projection of value onto the landscape as something to be extracted rather than cultivated is flawed. Extraction of a landscape for the accumulation of wealth, capital, and power gives way in the long run—ecologically, socially, and economically.

Capitalism ends with the apocalypse in this story: the world warms and we erupt into flames with it. Capitalism is this story ending with the apocalypse, then saying “so it goes.”

But we are not passive recipients of Earth’s gifts. We are not meant to lack embodiment.

That is not the story of us (conflicts and heroes and survival of the fittest). That is not the story of indigenous communities. That is a story of colonization and capitalism in direct contradiction of Indigenous ways of knowing collected from continual residence on the land for millennia.

The stories of us, rather, are those of gathering. And as we oscillate between ecstasy and agony, dancing on the brink of discovering how to live in a world two degrees warmer, the words gratitude and reciprocity reverberate loudly. To build a holistic relationship with the natural world around us and adapt to catastrophic climate change, we must look to the indigenous communities who know best, and reconnect with the roots of intersectional relationships. Look to these communities who have been navigating the apocalypse for centuries. In recognizing that we are humans participating in our planet’s ecosystems, there is hope in shifting consciousness towards ecologically and socially sustainable futures. We cannot be of any help to the planet if we are numb, disconnected, and paralyzingly overwhelmed. For health, as Earthrise Studio conveys, “exists beyond individuals,” as an “emergent phenomenon of systems, within systems, working in their optimum state.” Our collective resilience is connected to the health of the planet through the food we consume, the water we drink, and the air we breathe to sustain our livelihoods. It is an embodied connection with the places we are in that we access our understanding of the universe and where we stand within it. It is not solely the land that is broken, but also the relationship with the land. We need to heal both together, simultaneously. My body is my home. And so is the Earth. Caring for one supports my work in both. This sense of rekindling a bond to the Earth beneath your feet to be better equipped to protect her. That simultaneously expanding one’s capacity to receive expands their capacity to give.

Part of the essential work involves the individual and collective nurturing of a mindful and radical love—an act

Kimmerer communicates as the “key to awakening to the preciousness of life and the strength we have to save it.” Often hidden from us, this inclination to cultivate joy is already stored in our bodies; from a physiological perspective, kindness is built into our nervous systems as the opposers of stress. Being kind is a way to move from a state of survival into a state of thriving.

As we envision life, we create it. As we think, we do. By recognizing our role as participants, we foster attitudes in our communities that allow for lively, respectful, and restorative dialogues between body and earth. We must be aware of the ways in which the stories we tell about ourselves become the way we actually think. More importantly, the way we imagine. How can you accept the absurd or create sustainable futures, if you cannot imagine them?

Restoration includes re-story-ation. There is an opportunity to tell different stories about our relationships to land. Indigenous communities who face disproportionate burdens of climate change—at the hand of industrialized Western countries—bear no responsibility to save the Western world, though we all have a responsibility to show respect. “The Earth does not expect you to save her, she expects you to respect her, and we, as Indigenous peoples, expect the same,” says Nemonte Nenquimo, an indigenous activist in the Amazon. Actions of reciprocity and gratitude are the dawn of such an exchange.

So, scribble love notes in the margins, tales of innocents and rogues and those who held on to their embodiment. Actively seek magic. Remind yourself that everything is in a constant state of transformation. That you too, exist amongst the magic and are growing, just as the plants. We are all becoming. Recognize your being as a vessel of felt emotion, this conversation between life and death experiencing being alive.

And ask yourself: What do I carry and how in turn does this carry me? Ground yourself here. Can we step into our hearts and fill our bodies—hon estly, as whole beings in deep awareness of our spatial, living, conscious earth—and move through our lives with the mutual understanding that we are taking up space in coexistence; feeling, not reeling. Then our imagination just might have room to breathe.

Inhale–we breathe in oxygenated air exhaled by plants (our bodies transform it to carbon dioxide-infused air)

exhale–we release carbon dioxide, plants use this atmospheric carbon to produce food.

The very breath which sustains our life is given to us by plants. To the plants, I start by saying “thank you.” H

Art by Kate Wojeck

Lost Guidance

By Josh Delahunt

This piece is called “Lost Guidance.” It is an expression of my feelings about finally finding my way in life after feeling lost. In my piece, this sentiment is represented by the man following the woodpecker through the obscure woods. I chose the woodpecker to be the guide because they are a sign of good luck in my life; encountering a woodpecker says to me “I’m on the right path.”

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