By Kezia
According to the laws of the US government, the land I live on is private property, and I can live on it as I wish because I pay my debts every month.
According to this land I walk each day, best as I can fathom, my task is to live a life in right relationship; to seek harmonious balance between what is given and what is taken, what is offered and what is received, what is shared and what is left internal, so this life I lead feeds life.
But to the gopher tortoises who have been on this land many moons before my species walked here, my kind and I keep as pets predators who murder their children. And my human ways are ones of disrespect, destruction, denial, and entitlement.
Some comrades tell me that the workshops, nature trails, campgrounds, & retreat facilities we offer here are not accessible enough. Some say that, really, these offerings are a human right that should be made free and accessible to all.
In the world I want to build, that is true. I welcome any ideas of how to do this better and sustain the thriving of all beings that call this land home.
Some say we should permit those who desire to live on the land to arrive and do as they wish, come and go as they like. In so many ways I agree, except for all the conflicts that arise without clear communication about resource exchanges and decision-making.
Two pieces of feedback pain me.
One is from those who refuse to engage here because they believe we are exploiting the labor of well meaning visitors to accumulate wealth. Or that we are reiterating harmful economic, social, and cultural patterns through our work.
The other is neighbors who tell us and show us they can’t participate here because our politics are just too different, too foreign. Some of them even desire to stop us, calling the health department on us recently.
What hurts most is my sense that I have something important in common with the folks who judge what we do on the land. I name that commonality as a desire to take real tangible actions towards the things we care about most. Those are the type of people I tend to want to build with, and I feel that these critiques sometimes get in the way of making that possible.
Most of the feedback we receive from those who spend time here is overwhelmingly positive and teems with appreciation, respect, and mutual support. When I think about this amazing outpouring of love and care and energy and effort that this land and our project has received over the past five years, I feel shy.
And so I dream. Dream that I could take all of these notions, these praises and worries and hatreds and loves and and somehow bake them all together in a perfectly spiced, finely appointed, divinely inspired pie.
And to every corner of this community, to every point in this invisible web of those I have touched and who have touched me, an invitation to sit at our table and partake in this pie would arrive.
Then, somehow, through earnest prayers and some queer magic, this pie would be irresistible, and each person would come. And just as everyone took a seat in front of their slice, something sacred would arise, and no one could deny it.
A magic that would manifest, through every bite chewed and swallowed and eased down our throats, swirling clouds of rainbows above our heads and a divine resolution of conflict would settle in our hearts. Our judgments would be cleared from our minds and a lip-smacking humility would bring us peace.
As bits of pie dribbled from our lips we would cry out in all the infinite ways: I have loved you all along, each of you. I’m sorry it took me so long to remember how to do it well.
But, our time is not infinite. In fact, for me, and for you also, tomorrow may or may not come.
So when I wake up in the morning, I try to remember that. And when I do, I say thank you to the sun and to the earth, thank you for this breath. Thank you, I am humbled by the opportunity to live this life.
And on days when I’m blessed by a visiting gopher tortoise, as the caretaker of a beloved pet who murdered their family, I will tell them again:
I don’t take my role lightly, that it grieves me, that I am humbled by the pain I cause them. That I am committed to doing better, to learning and growing, to believing there’s a way for their kin and my kin to thrive in peace, even in harmony, and that I will take actions towards that, every day. And that I love them so very much.
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