“Maybe this is the way of the world.”
His words arrested me on the dirt path I was trekking up a Cretan mountain. We were one hour into a conversation about what is to be done, circling something unnameable, something frightening, something ancient, perhaps. Perhaps, Nietzsche’s dangerous perhaps, a startling admission of that which lives beyond the Uber-mensch and through him, something older than us all, which sings with rivers as they fall from cliffs and dances with vortexes where the atmosphere is thin. This earth loves us as we love her, of that I am sure. But—perhaps—this is the way of things. Perhaps there is nothing to be done.
Perhaps there is no winning, only the way. Perhaps the worst will come, and there is nothing we can do. Perhaps the Earth will love us anyway, as we love her. Perhaps resistance is not rising up but rooting down in this soil, in this heart, in this sky, in this moment.
Perhaps the very nature of globalised neoliberal fossil-fuelled capitalism will grind itself to a halt as economies crash and states pull back into self-protectionism. Perhaps someone somewhere will start a nuclear war. Perhaps more climate scientists will be elected leaders. Perhaps holding the centre will only worsen the eventuality. Perhaps dawn is breaking no matter what those in power want to see.
Perhaps it is in our bodies and the earth’s body that we find hope. Perhaps it is not taking the tyres out of the car driving over the cliff, perhaps the answer is getting out of the car and letting it go over, as is the way of things. Perhaps we need to help others get out of the car. Perhaps we cannot save the machine. Perhaps we cannot dismantle it. Perhaps it is going to crash no matter what we do. Perhaps people will be all right. Perhaps they will not be. Perhaps tanks will roll into fields and the illusion of democracy will be shattered. Perhaps we will resist with Molotov cocktails. Perhaps we will resist with song. Perhaps we will refuse to fight on terms we cannot win. Perhaps winning is not the way. Perhaps the way is unfolding no matter what we do; perhaps finding the current is the way forward.
Perhaps all of us doing something is better than some of us doing one thing. Perhaps the only body that matters is the collective body. Perhaps, then, love finds its roots.
Bear witness with us.
