14 October 2007 – Eastsound, Orcas Island, Washington

Miles from nowhere… guess I’ll take my time… oh yeah, to reach there...

Steve picked us up at Orcas landing and drove us to his home on the other side of the island, where we met Pat, his wife, and their dogs Wilson and Indy and their cat Bailey. We rested for a spell (I may have actually slept a bit!), got a tour of their organic gardens and orchard, then headed into Eastsound and the Orcas Center, the venue for the afternoon screening.

Cat Stevens is singing clearly right now, for we are un-homed, loosened from place and house, estranged from the known, miles from nowhere and miles from everywhere. And yet… and yet… we are taking time, making it ours, or making ourselves part of time itself, aligning with it, flowing with it, letting go of control, letting go of both past and future and riding the wave of the present moment, reaching there and reaching here and reaching out and reaching in… but not to grasp and own and control… only to pass through, as though grabbing handsful of air, or water, or smoke, handsful of time or space or love or connection, of consciousness or awareness.

We met our organizer, Phil, worked out the tech and the choreography and the timing, and then waited while the crowd filed in. It was estimated that there were 140 people in the audience, which was cool. This screening was quite different from our usual gig, as we only showed Part Two of the documentary and spent the rest of the time in dialogue with the crowd. We were introduced with metaphors of Paul Revere and Old Testament prophets (also cool, fer sure fer sure…), then we took the stage and introduced ourselves. I spoke of the portion of the movie they would see, and summarized the portions they would not. The lights dimmed and we were off.

Many years ago, in a previous life, in another part of the world, my ex and I served a term as presidents of a square dance club. One of our duties as presidents was to make announcements and serve as hosts. I remember those times, when I had to speak in front of a group. I remember the fear that coursed through my body. I remember the trembling hands, the trembling voice, the numbed brain, the confusion of thoughts. I remember hating it.

And yet, now, I take the stage without only a wisp of fear, with no hesitation. I take the mic and speak with a full and solid voice, with authority, with hands calm and breath almost at peace. I speak clearly, saying what needs to be said, in words that will inform and move and sometimes even inspire. Here’s my secret, I think: it’s not really me up there these days. I am merely a conduit, a voice, a tool being put to good use by the living planet itself. Having placed my picket pin solidly in the Earth, that very Earth is taking me at my word, and compelling me to speak on its behalf.

Part two took the audience through peak oil, climate change, mass extinction and population overshoot. It came to the end and we went back to the front, where Sally led a short pair-share before taking a break. People spoke about the emotional impact of what they’d just seen, then headed to the lobby for a few minuites.

About eighty of us returned after the break. We passed around wireless mics and some people wrote questions on cards. We spoke about the Orcas Island community and situation. What here would make the coming transitions easier? What here would make them more difficult? What needs to be done, and what stands in the way? How would Orcas Island fare, and is there a better place to be? We spoke of despair and hopelessness and action and power, of raising children and educating students in this time of great change and disturbing trends. And soon enough our time was ended, and some of us made our way to a room across the lobby, for cheese and crackers and wine and more conversation. It was a sweet group of souls, and we were glad to have come. We wish them well in the future unfolds.

Steve took us back to his home, where Pat had prepared a wonderful meal of stew and fresh-baked bread and apple crisp, comfort food for a Midwestern boy miles from nowhere. We sat by the fire and talked for a while more, then retired to our room for the night.

Phil picked us up early the next morning to take us to the ferry. We stopped for a minute in Eastsound, to see his library and speak of how libraries can serve a vital role as the system unravels around us. Then we made our way to Orcas landing, got our tickets and some coffee and a bite to eat, and boarded the boat back to Friday Harbor, where Josie joined us for the trip to Sydney.

We spoke with Josie as we made our way to Canada, learning of the plight of the orcas, the atrocity of fish farming, and the challenges of being an activist here in the Northwest coastal area, where some wild still remains, where the ravages of Empire are so apparent, so tragic, so heartbreaking to behold. We cried for the dead and the dying, and for the blindness and insanity of our culture, and asked, again, and again, for forgiveness, and pledged, anew, to serve the life of this planet in any way we can.

We landed in Canada, passed through customs, and rode with Josie down into Victoria, where she delivered us into the hands of Alex, our next host and organizer, and his partner Magdalene, their son Raphael, and Magdalene’s mother Esther. (I hope I spelled all of those names correctly.) Our thanks to Phil for bringing us to Orcas, and to Steve and Pat for taking care of us, and for the wonderful Pippen Steve handed us as we left.

Onward.

Tim