This week brings a guest post from Megan Leatherman, an anti-capitalist writer, teacher, podcast host, and vocational guide. As we've come to admire Megan's work over the last several months, we asked if she would lend her voice to this newsletter in the spirit of kinship, and we're grateful to share her restorative and grounding thoughts.
SIX MONTHS AGO . . .
I took a day trip to the Pacific Ocean for my birthday. I'd been feeling weighed down by the demands of work and family life, and I wanted to give myself a restorative day with the Sea. So after I dropped my kids off at school, I made the journey out of the city, through the forest, to the beach.
I found a beautiful group of large stones to sit on near the shore and watched the waves crash and retreat as I told the Ocean what laid heavy on my heart. I expressed how overwhelmed I felt with life and the stress that comes with being forced to earn a living inside of this capitalist economy. I shared how powerless I felt to change anything, for myself or this planet that I love.
Feeling better after getting these things off my chest, I sleepily laid my head back and listened to the waves breaking on the rocks, then receding, then breaking again. In my relaxed, dream-like state, I heard the Ocean say to me, "I stop for no one…." When I opened my eyes, I noticed that the tide had come in faster than I expected, so I quickly gathered my things and moved further up the beach.
After humbly settling in elsewhere on the shore, I considered what the Sea had said. I stop for no one. It brought me a huge wave of relief.
The Sea stops for no one; not me, not you, not anyone. The Sea was here long before any of us, and she will be here long after we are gone.
So much of what consumes our attention and causes us worry is nothing to the Sea. Imagine what would happen if we placed our phones, computers, money, or to-do lists on the shore at high tide–they would all be washed away, sacrificed to a much older rhythm and power.
That visit to the Ocean was in late September, at the time of the Autumnal Equinox. In a couple of days, on March 20th, we will cross the Spring Equinox, or vice versa if you're in the Southern Hemisphere.
The Equinoxes occur twice each year, and they are days in which the Sun's light is equal to the amount of darkness–a tipping point before we either shift into growing light (Spring), or deepening darkness (Autumn).
My practice of observing these natural phenomena and living in alignment with the seasons is a primary source of strength for me because it helps me to remember the humble place that humans inhabit within the greater web of Life.
I find it incredibly reassuring to remember that no one can stop the Equinox from happening. It brings me great ease to know that even the most well-funded laboratories can't create a garden buzzing with pollinators or imitate the complexity of a Whale mother singing to her newborn calf. Humbly witnessing the power of Nature recalibrates my sense of who is truly in charge, which helps me act from rooted agency instead of panic, which is an edge I think many of us are navigating in the midst of this polycrisis.
One of the root causes of these crises is capitalism, which is the primary way our economy is organized right now. Before I was aware of what capitalism really is and how it works, it felt like a vague, all-powerful and permanent force, when actually it's quite precarious and relatively new. When I feel overwhelmed by the harm that capitalism and its cronies are causing, I remember what the Sea told me. I remember the mind-boggling age of the Earth and the actual magic of Spring. I can soften, knowing that capitalism is–ultimately–no match for these forces.
As we approach the Spring Equinox, I hope you'll hold your heart and turn your gaze toward that which is truly powerful in the natural world around you. Let yourself be awestruck by the cherry trees in full bloom, the symphony of bird song, or the fact that the Sun rises every morning without anyone telling it to.
Even as so much within and around us is buckling and bristling under chaos and strain, I hope you'll remember the Earth of which you are a part and find stability in your ancient and interconnected roots. When in doubt, remember: the Sea stops for no one.
If Megan's writing resonates with you, we urge you to check out her upcoming course, "Composting Capitalism," on the origins of capitalism and how to transform its toxicity into fertile soil for new life. The class starts again on April 9th. You can learn more at awildnewwork.com/composting-capitalism.
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