On the counter where I expected to find space to make soup and cheese there are books and unidentifiable metal objects. As soon as I clear the counter my sons will surely appear, insisting that those parts were arranged in some inscrutable order necessary to fix, reassemble or create something. As I get carrots, cabbage and other ingredients from the refrigerator I notice it happens to contain plastic bags filled with dirt balls called dorodango, part of an ongoing project my kids’ friends. And while I drain the whey off cheese made from this morning’s milking, I look at the new comments written on the wipe-off surface of the world map on our kitchen wall. Everywhere around me are signs of my family’s lively engagement in the moment.

Sometimes it’s hard for me to stay in the moment. As I chop vegetables and stir spices into the soup I think about all that’s going on in the world. We hear the media’s relentless drumbeat of doom. If we pay attention we also sense subtle changes as awareness shifts around us. Some people constrict in fear. Yet slowly, many more find their consciousness opening. Amazing work is going on to insure sustainable energy, ecological fairness, justice and greater harmony.

Deep ecologist Joanna Macy, among others, calls this our time The Great Turning. This is a pivotal and undeniably perilous time for humanity and the earth itself. We are called to transition from relentless ego-driven profit-oriented individuals to a life-sustaining and spiritually aware humanity. This choice is the only survivable option for insuring life on earth.

Slowly, painfully and then gratefully we awaken to this understanding. My work right now---raising children, writing and learning, participating in my community, and considering my choices more carefully---this is part of this Great Turning. This is necessary. The very ordinary process of making soup and cheese is something precious, no less than the very remarkable process of taking part in a transformational epoch.

I’ve taken the liberty of sharing Joanna Macy’s suggestions for these times. Please go to her website or Google “great turning” for more information.

 

Personal Guidelines for the Great Turning by Joanna Macywww.joannamacy.net

Come from Gratitude

To be alive in this beautiful, self-organizing universe--to participate in the dance of life with senses to perceive it, lungs that breathe it, organs that draw nourishment from it--is a wonder beyond words. Gratitude for the gift of life is the primary wellspring of all religions, the hallmark of the mystic, the source of all true art. Furthermore, it is a privilege to be alive in this time when we can choose to take part in the self-healing of our world.

Don't be Afraid of the Dark

This is a dark time, filled with suffering and uncertainty. Like living cells in a larger body, it is natural that we feel the trauma of our world. So don't be afraid of the anguish you feel, or the anger or fear, for these responses arise from the depth of your caring and the truth of your interconnectedness with all beings. To suffer with is the literal meaning of compassion.

Dare to Vision

Out of this darkness a new world can arise, not to be constructed by our minds so much as to emerge from our dreams. Even though we cannot see clearly how it's going to turn out, we are still called to let the future into our imagination. We will never be able to build what we have not first cherished in our hearts..

Roll up your Sleeves

Many people don't get involved in the Great Turning because there are so many different issues, which seem to compete with each other. Shall I save the whales or help battered children? The truth is that all aspects of the current crisis reflect the same mistake, setting ourselves apart and using others for our gain. So to heal one aspect helps the others to heal as well. Just find what you love to work on and take joy in that. Never try to do it alone. Link up with others; you'll spark each others' ideas and sustain each others' energy..

Act your AgeSince every particle in your body goes back to the first flaring forth of space and time, you're really as old as the universe. So when you are lobbying at your congressperson's office, or visiting your local utility, or testifying at a hearing on nuclear waste, or standing up to protect an old grove of redwoods, you are doing that not out of some personal whim, but in the full authority of your 15 billions years.

 



 
 

French: "L'oisiveté est la mère de tous les vices" ( Idleness is the mother of all vices ).

Portuguese Cabeça vazia é oficina do diabo (An empty head is the devil's workshop

Egyptian Arabic
الإيد البطّالة نجسة el-eed el-baTTaala negsa   (roughly translated: the idle hand is impure)

Finnish:  Laiskuus on kaikkien paheiden äiti.  (Laziness is the mother of all the vices)

Spanish is "La pereza es la madre de todos los vicios" ("Laziness is the mother of all vices")

Italian "L'ozio è il padre dei vizi" (Idleness is the father of the vices).



When I was growing up my mother used to say, “idleness is the devil’s workshop.” Apparently this is one powerful saying, because variations of the same adage can be found in Finland, China, France, Italy, Egypt, Portugal---actually, in nearly every country. Hearing this must have affected my character development. If I have a few spare moments I can’t rest until I find something useful to do. 

Well, that is, until a few years ago. My husband and I were meeting friends for dinner in about an hour. I figured I could finish the plantings for our back balcony if I hurried. I carried a nearly empty bag of potting soil from the shed. On second thought, I dragged a heavy new bag just in case I needed more. My youngest, Sam, who was 8 at the time, offered to help. Together we scooped soil into the pots as we arranged plants. We tucked own our volunteers of variegated sage, ivy and ajuga around the edges. We added groupings of pansies, nasturtiums and dwarf delphiniums. In some pots we added snapdragons we’d started from seed, in others we planted ornamental cabbage for long lasting foliage.  

“Here you go, little guy, this is a good place to live.” Sam and I spoke to the plants as we tucked them in, introducing them to their new homes and pot-mates. I’ve been chatting companionably with plants for years and it’s something my children do too, although a bit more self-consciously. 

We tamped the dirt down, watered each from our iron-rich rusty sprinkling can and stood back to admire our work. The pots offered plenty of space for the plants to fill in yet already they were abundantly textured with greenery and blooms. Our large back balcony would be graced with color. As soon as I got the pots up there. 

“Are we going to carry all of these through the house?” Sam asked doubtfully. 

 “Good question,” I said. 

 The balcony has no stairs. Carrying the muddy pots through the house, past a jumping dog, to exit the kitchen door and out on the balcony didn’t seem like the most reasonable idea. I thought of an easier method. Our house is built into a gentle slope, so the balcony is almost low enough for me to hoist the pots above my head and onto the balcony floor. After that was accomplished I could walk through the house unimpeded to arrange them as I pleased. 

 When I announced this plan to Sam he didn’t seem convinced. He was downright alarmed when I pulled a chair directly under the balcony’s edge. 

“Mom, isn’t that the chair you got from the garbage?” 

 “Yes, someone it threw out, but it’s still perfectly good,” I told him. “Remember? We’re going to sand and paint it. It’ll look great outside.” 

 “But you’re not going to stand on it now are you?” he asked.

 “It’s fine, see?” I stood on it to demonstrate the chair’s worthiness. It held as firm as a rickety discarded wooden dining room chair could. 

 “Now hand me the first pot, Honey,” I said confidently. “I’ll just scoot it up on the porch.”  

 “That’s not safe Mom.” 

 “Come on, it’ll be fine,” I told him. “You’ve gotta try new ideas sometimes.” Clearly I wasn’t passing along my mother’s time honored adages. Ones like, “Pride goeth before a fall” or “Better safe than sorry.”  

He handed me the first pot. I wasn’t quite as steady as I’d expected and the pot was a lot heavier than I thought it was, but I was determined to be a good example for my little boy. I hoisted the pot up and onto the balcony floor. I didn’t even make too many “ooof” noises in the process.

“See,” I said, somewhat euphoric with success, “it’s not hard at all.”  

 Sam continued handing the newly planted pots up to me as I smiled encouragingly down at his trusting blue eyes. When the last of the plants were finally lined up above us, I smugly explained to Sam from my lofty perch on the chair that it’s important to trust ourselves. After all, I said, how would anything ever get done except the same old way?

 Just about to hop down from the chair, I noticed the unopened bag of potting soil. That would be handy to have in the house. I could repot some houseplants in the laundry tub without making a mess. 

 “Could you hand me that too Sam?” 

 He hauled the heavy bag from the ground and, with some effort, hoisted it up to me. I grabbed it. It was heavier than the pots and worse yet, wobbly as soil shifted inside the plastic. I reached up, extending my arms as far as I could reach. I still couldn’t get the bag quite high enough to slide onto the balcony floor. I stood on my tiptoes, the bag teetering above my head. The unusual pressure on the potting soil bag took its toll. The bag split wide open. Keep in mind that some reactions are beyond our control. So when my eyebrows tensed and my mouth opened in an involuntary expression of surprise and dismay, it just so happened that this took place at the exact second that the bag broke. It emptied in a sudden rush, piles of dirt cascading in my hair, down my collar and directly into my open mouth. 

 I did an improvised dance to shake potting soil from my hair and clothes, spitting dirt and laughing while I whirled around the backyard. Sam, bless his heart, never said, “I told you so.”

Later that evening as we enjoyed dinner with friends (my hair still wet from a hurried scrubbing) I realized the old adage about idleness and the devil didn’t really suit me. I’ve given up the tendency to fill each moment with a useful task. When I have a little time a-wasting I remind myself that all work and no play makes a woman spit dirt.