The revolution will not be...traumatic.

by Pride Scott Wright

it’s 8:00 a.m., and I’m sippin’ coffee at Trident on a recent visit to Boulder. Trident is a venerable Pearl Street hangout for burned out revolutionaries and their college kid compadres. “Anarchy” (the conceptual variety, of course) wafts through the air like smoke from Turkish cigarettes. The burnouts used to seem so alien to me, but recently they’ve become uncomfortably familiar.

Global climate change, peak oil, religious extremism (both at home and abroad)—the magnitude of the problems we’re confronted with is mind boggling. As an activist, to be anything other than completely consumed with addressing these issues seems naïve, maybe even reckless. But recently I find myself wonderin’ if it’s likely a new era of simplicity and peace will be ushered in by hand wringing and frenetic activity. Is it likely that what’s best for my spirit, my partner, my family, and my community is not also what’s best for humanity and the planet?

While the uniforms and addresses and bank balances differ radically, I’m often baffled by the degree to which my life seems to mirror the paradigm I’m ostensibly fighting against. The outcomes produced by these paradigms differ radically (cosmetically?), but the energetic content is remarkably similar. Both are characterized by an unfocused longing, the perpetual wish that things be other than they are. (Is preoccupation with social or political change not just another form of materialism?) And if minds are joined, the energetic content of each act is of primary significance—how it manifests is secondary. This means that as an activist, my spiritual practice—usually the first casualty when things get crazy—belongs permanently on the front burner. Peace IS the lever for change, not the byproduct of some more favorable future set of circumstances. Peace comes first. Peace is now, or it is not at all. And on a related note, as advocates of sustainable living, if our experience on this sphere isn’t demonstrably better than that of the fear and scarcity crowd, do we really have anything to offer the world?

It's not martyrs we need, but a broad based grassroots movement that is sustainable over time—and this can only happen if we’re actually enjoying the process. Therefore it is our responsibility to live close to the ground, meditate daily, plant a garden, laugh, go for walks, make music, travel, share the table. It is our duty to cherish family and friends. These things are part of the job description. Profound change—both internal and external—happens when we slow down and loosen the grip a little. (Turns out peace and simplicity aren't attained through maximum effort.) Do the optimum thing instead of trying to do everything—what truly needs to get done will get done as an organic part of this process.

I’m on my bike, crankin' up Moran Road alongside the creek, enjoying the flaming reds and yellows of the dogwoods and oaks, the waning afternoon light, the cool and increasingly dense air here in the Sierra foothills. I love the way nature powers down with flamboyance and style. This gradual season-long diminishing of energy is not only a joy to behold, it’s a powerful metaphor. At night, the percussive washboard sound of the crickets slows measurably as the temperature drops. (They say you can actually calculate the temperature by the cadence.) Tonight, friends will gather for butternut squash soup, roasted garden fresh beets, parsnips, fennel, and rutabagas. Throw in a crisp apple and some lemon and thyme—oooahh! This is what autumn tastes like. This is what the earth tastes like. I catch myself feeling exceptionally grounded, connected, and whole—a harvest of energetic abundance that is my contribution at this moment to the Cosmic stew. In ways that remain beyond my understanding, I'm convinced this deep sense of wellbeing is not only beyond pleasurable, but the beginning of planetary sanity. Viva la revolución!