Dear Earth, it’s 4am & I’m frightened

The lights are on and I’m sitting up in bed with my laptop. There are three cats on the bed, one of them purring. The temple is quiet.

Earlier this evening twenty of us sat in a circle and explored the facts of the current state of your health, beloved Earth. We were asked how long we thought we had before things break down. Twenty years? More? Less? One person said they had chickens and apple trees, and wondered how it would be to protect their family with a baseball bat.

I move in and out of denial. It can’t be that bad, can it? I don’t live in an apocalyptic film, but in a small wealthy town in a privileged country. It’ll be other people whose countries slide underwater. Other people who push their children into flimsy boats as a desperate last resort. Surely science will save us. Surely the government will save us.

And then I feel the pain of the people who are already suffering, right now. My brothers and sisters. My animal friends. You, Earth.

Why am I writing to you, when I could be trying to sleep? Because “solidarity is the tenderness of the people.” I feel tender towards you, Earth, and I am still filled with the compassion of the strangers in the circle, who held the space when I cried, and who cared. I am writing because I have faith in this tenderness. I don’t know if it will save us or not, but I know that it’s how I’d like to live.

None of us know how long we have. What can we do in the face of this catastrophe? What can we do in the face of our deep ignorance, selfishness and violence? We can love each other, and you, while we’re here.

Thank you, Earth, for holding me as I type, in this small town in a small country, my animals sleeping around me. Thank you, reader, for any sweet moments of solidarity that light on you like butterflies as you hear me. It’s time to sleep, because tomorrow I have things to do.

Love, Satya <3