Contemplation for a World in Crisis
This is the revolution of contemplative ecology:
a fundamental change of perspective, a complete reorientation,
giving up the illusion of separation and allowing reality to
live and breathe within us and around us, to change us completely.
Crisis and Contemplation
Humanity is at a crisis. We have put at risk the systems
that all of life depends on for survival: the atmosphere, the soil, the oceans.
Crisis means a point of inflection, a change in direction, the decision that
will determine the outcome. Will we continue on our current, disastrous path,
or can we change completely?
My understanding of the crisis and its resolution is based
in my experience of contemplation. Contemplation offers insights into the
nature of the ecological crisis that come from no other place that I know.
Contemplation is the art of "listening," through all the
senses, to the entire range of experience, inner and outer. The word
"contemplative" comes from the Latin root "templum," which means a place set
apart, and originally referred to an area set aside for observing the auguries.
The prefix "con" is an intensive, so the meaning of contemplation is essentially,
"careful or sensitive observation." A contemplative is one who takes the time
to observe herself and the world around her closely and sensitively, with
openness and without an agenda. He observes his own thoughts and feelings and
patterns of behavior. She actively observes herself, others, the plants, the
animals, the wind, the rain, the streams and rivers. Contemplation honors the
world with open, undivided attention.
Contemplation is simple in practice, yet it touches
everything, our sense of who we are and our sense of what the world is, our
relationships with each other and the Earth, the whole movement of life.
Nothing is excluded from this simple but profound thing called contemplation.
That is why contemplation is relevant to the ecological crisis. The crisis also
touches everything: our work, our economies, civilization's long history of
violence and exploitation, how we think the world works, who we think we are.
Because the crisis involves the whole sweep of the human
presence on the planet, the resolution of the crisis must be equally
comprehensive. A thousand things must be done to restore balance, but one essential
thing: a fundamental shift of perspective without which all other actions will
fail because they do not go to the root of the problem.
Although it is simple, contemplation goes to the root. Doing
so, it challenges our sense of identity, of power, of control and even of
meaning, especially where that meaning has been adopted from society without
question. Contemplation changes everything. It might therefore seem threatening
to some. The contemplative perspective shakes our worldview to its foundations.
If it fails to do so, it is because it has been bent to fit into the
mind-society system that it challenges. It is not an ideology. It is not a
belief system. It is a way of looking. Contemplation does not have to be
attached to any religious or spiritual tradition or practice. Anyone can pay
attention, anywhere, at any time.
The heart of contemplation is inner emptiness. Inner
emptiness makes attention to the whole movement of life possible. Inner
emptiness is the space in which everything arises and falls away, all thoughts,
all feelings, all experiences. It is the capacity to allow everything to happen
as it is happening, inwardly and outwardly. It is the abandonment of a fixed
sense of self, which normally adheres to some experiences and excludes others.
This emptiness is immeasurable, indescribable, but it carries with it a deep
affection for everyone and everything. It has no enemies. It knows no conflict.
It knows no separation. It knows only love and acceptance. Inner emptiness is
absolutely inclusive. That is its nature.
This is the essence of
contemplation: attention to the whole movement of life, inner and outer, from
the perspective of inner emptiness. Emptiness that brings fulfillment without
the need to have or attain or become anything more than what already is.
Stillness that quiets the restlessness of greed, of acquisition, the basis of
the exploitative economy. Silence that allows us to hear and to speak the
truth, to be honest with ourselves and with others.
Another word that could be useful in understanding the
contemplative perspective, but only if we are clear about what it means, is
"mystical." "Mystical" means "with closed lips." The root is the same as the word
"mum" which is imitative of closing the lips. All esoteric, other-worldly connotations aside, mysticism is the thought-stopping
realization that reality cannot be captured with words or concepts.
If I say "look at the tree," is the tree captured by the
word? Knowing the word, do I know the full story of any actual tree, or see
into its inner layers, or know how it experiences the world, or know how it is
cycling energy at this moment, or know its fate? I may not even know if it is
an ash or an oak. My knowledge of the tree is small and partial. But I call it
a tree, because it is convenient. Convenient and necessary, and misleading.
The truth of the tree cannot be spoken in a word. So if you
are concerned with introducing me to the truth of the tree, you would never be
satisfied with using a word, not even "ash" or "oak." The word can point, but it
cannot enlighten. If I take a year to sit in that tree and watch it and listen
to it and feel it sway, all through its seasonal changes, I might begin,
barely, to have a sense of what that tree is. I might. Or, I might realize that
I could sit there from the beginning of that tree's life as a seed to the very
end when every molecule has been transformed into something else, and I would
still never know the full truth of that tree. And if anyone asked me, "what is a tree?" I would be struck dumb. How in a few words can I say anything
meaningful? How, with words, can I do anything but diminish the truth? That is
true mysticism. The nature of truth cannot be spoken because it is alive and
dynamic and vastly interrelated and therefore incapable of being captured in a
word or a thousand words or a lifetime of words.
Contemplation, paying attention, carries within it the seed of this realization. No matter how careful my attention, I am not experiencing reality. Reality, even the reality of my own life, is elusive. The truth is unfathomable. Contemplation is inherently humbling.
The Whole Movement of Life
Ecology is the study of organisms and their adaptations and relationships to each other and their environment. At its narrowest, ecology is the study of population dynamics, how and why species and population numbers increase and decrease in response to environmental changes. At its broadest, it is the study of all of the complex interactions present in natural systems.
The central insight of ecology is this: There is no such
thing as a separate thing. Everything is and belongs to and contributes to and
derives its essential existence from, a system of interrelated systems. A thing
cannot be understood outside of its context, outside of its relationships,
outside of its interdependencies. Ecology involves observing everything in
context and beginning to understand the intricacies of interrelationship that
make things what they are. This is a difficult and never-ending challenge,
because all complex systems are constantly changing and transforming in
unpredictable ways. It is impossible to be perfectly up to date on what is
One might begin by observing one plant or animal in detail,
and thinking of that thing as a separate thing. But the more one observes and
tries to understand, the more elusive the "thing" becomes. One sees
more and more clearly that the thing is actually a complex mix of energetic
relationships and not a separate thing at all. The moment can come when the
"thing" slips away entirely, and one realizes that there is only this
vast network of interrelationships. No thing can be grabbed hold of at all.
No thing can be definitively pinned down. The only reality is the dynamic whole
of everything. "Things" are convenient and necessary and delightful,
but ultimately inadequate, descriptions of temporary states of the whole.
Contemplation is essentially ecological. While the central
insight of ecology is that there is no such thing as a separate thing, the
central insight of contemplation is that there is no such thing as a separate
"self." Our sense of self is an idea, a mental image, a story we tell ourselves, one that is fatally flawed and increasingly destructive. Contemplation involves seeing through the illusion of the separate self and allowing the inexplicably real to live and
breathe within us and around us. The importance of self diminishes, as the importance,
the beauty, the value of the whole movement of life increases. More and more,
one's sense of "self" resides in the whole movement of life, in the fluid
movement of reality that has no center.
One of the realizations that comes with a contemplative
ecological perspective is that humans are not the only creative forces on the
planet. Whatever we find in our own bodies and minds we are likely to find in
others as well since we are all branches of the same tree. This is good news,
because it means we have more help than we might have thought in resolving the
ecological crisis. Transformation, like life itself, is a collaborative process.
Life has a tendency to push us back into balance, even when we resist. [It has to be said, though, that we are resisting hard, and it will take a very hard push to reestablish balance if we don't get our act together.]
I know this best from my work with whales. I have been with
many people who are meeting a whale for the first time and I have heard
numerous stories from others about their first contact with a whale. There is
no question about it. Whales change people's lives.
Exactly what is going on in the whale-human encounter
remains a mystery. It is not clear what role the whales are playing and what we
humans are projecting onto the whales, but the whale-human encounter often
leaves the human speechless, or so captures the attention that time and thought
seem to stop.
The experience that people have that they can't speak about
-- or if they try to speak about it, they lose hold of it -- is a sense of
oneness or deep belonging. Life is a single creative act, and I am that. The "I am" that is
here isn't separate from the "I am" that is the whale. I am not a separate
thing; I am the whole movement that includes this and that. In that sense, I am the whale. Sometimes
that feeling is so intense that one feels duty-bound to spend the rest of one's
life in service to the well being of whales. Many people who work with whales
began with such an encounter. I certainly did. Whales astonish us, and draw us
into a more elemental, essentially contemplative mode of perception.
Most people are surprised when they learn that humpback
whales, who sing beautiful, complex melodies, are constantly changing their
song. Sometimes the change comes gradually. Over the course of the year,
individual whales introduce variations that become part of the song sung by all
the whales in a population. Over the course of several years, the changes pile
up to the point where a new song is born. Sometimes the change comes suddenly.
The whole population of whales drops the old song and begins singing a new one,
its origins unknown to us humans. Through a combination of sudden and gradual
changes, the songs being sung now are entirely different from what the whales
were singing a decade ago.
The scientists who made these discoveries were as surprised
as anyone. At first they assumed that they were hearing different whales
singing, or different populations. Their assumption was that animals don't
change their fundamental behavior so rapidly and completely. It took a leap of
human imagination to accept that an ocean full of whales can alter its song
over the course of a few weeks or months. Something like the folk process in
human music is taking place among humpback whales, and we have no idea why. The
old ideas about mate attraction and male competition have not held up to investigation.
We do not know why humpback whales sing. All we know is that humpback whales
are highly inventive and very hard to pin down, like life itself. And we know
that when people hear whale song, they are often moved to tears. The song
changes, and those who hear the song are changed by the song.
One of my most common comments after a whale watching trip
is "I've never seen that before." Whales are infinitely inventive and
surprising. When going out to see whales, one must hold very lightly any
preconceptions one has. One must set aside what is known, and be wide open to
This is not easy. It takes tremendous humility, which means
that from moment to moment, no matter how much knowledge we have accumulated,
we know we might be wrong. We know we are
wrong. We know that our perception and our perspective is always limited. We
know that we do not really know anything. Whatever we think we know must be set
aside in deference to what is.
What is, is the only reality. What is
can never be captured by what is already known. It is too complex, too dynamic,
too alive. The known is dead and gone. Reality is what is, one incomprehensible outpouring of
A whale has its own experience and
its own creativity, which is not ours. A tree has its own experience and its
own creativity, which is even less like ours. The whole universe is full of
unimaginable experience and creativity. We can only approach our essential
unity with these by acknowledging their extreme otherness. Opening ourselves to
the inherent mystery of others reveals our deepest commonality with them.
When we allow other beings to exist on their own terms, when
we listen to them without imposing our worldview onto them, when we free them
from our demands, we also free ourselves to participate fully, with them, in
life's improvisational creativity. When we free them from us, then we are free
to listen and to learn from them.
Most of us vigorously resist
this freedom, this openness to what is,
because it threatens our self-concept, which is based fundamentally on
division. No "self" exists without the "other." We define ourselves by what we
are, but even more forcefully by what we are not. That division exists only in
our minds, in how we view the world. In reality, in the living world, there is
no such division.
This is the contemplative ecological revolution: attention
to the whole movement of life, inner and outer; realizing inner emptiness; giving up the illusion of separation and allowing reality to live and breathe within us and around us, to change us completely. Consequently, identification with self and society ends. The structures, inner and outer, of domination and control, of
conformity and consent, of abuse and exploitation fall apart. It is a fundamental change
of perspective, a complete reorientation. I am not a separate entity observing
the world or living in the world. This body is but one aspect of the whole
outpouring of life, one constantly transforming cell in the body of the living
universe. Apart from that whole movement, I have no existence at all. The sense
of being a separate, autonomous self is merely an image in the mind. The whole
movement of everything together is the only reality. Everything is sacred. Everything is holy, which means "whole." The only thing that is not holy, the one thing that has separated itself from the whole, is the idea of separation, the violation of the integrity of life in violent acts of domination and control and exploitation of each other and the whole living world, based on an idea.
To realize this
requires an inner revolution, a complete reorientation of the mind. But it is a
revolution in which nothing needs to change, for everything to change.
The ecological mess is born of a human economic/social/psychological
system that exists to serve an entity that doesn't exist: "me"!
Nature serves physical organisms, aspects of itself. Civilization exists to
serve "me." The cultivation of needs blatantly serves "me."
Power and privilege serve "me." Control and domination serve "me."
Security serves insecurity, and nothing is more insecure than "me,"
because the "me" is a fiction. It only exists as an idea in the mind.
But we have elevated the "me," the "self,"
to God-like centrality. And therein lies the problem.
your body is hungry, you give it food and it is satisfied for a while, until it
grows hungry again. But a phantom can't be satisfied. It eats and eats and
eats, and its hunger is never filled, because it is not a real hunger. It is not
the hunger of a body. It is the hunger of a fantasy. It is like dream eating.
You eat but you are never filled. The self is a dream entity. So it eats and
eats and eats and is never satisfied, because it only exists in the mind. So it
goes on eating. It is eating up the whole planet. This dream entity has been
loosed on the world. It is consuming real people and real trees and real whales
and real oceans and real soil, but it itself is not real. It has taken
possession of a real body, and the real body is doing its bidding, and the
mind/body has become utterly bewildered thinking that the two are the same. The
body, which has real needs, thinks it is the "self" which only has unquenchable
The mind is confused, thinking its own construct, its self-image,
is a real thing, an entity that needs defending and improving. It tries to find
reality in its image of reality, and it can't. The mind's image of reality is
not made for that task. It can't tell us who we are. It can't tell us exactly
what the world is. We never know what is actually going on. The harder we try
to force the world into our image of it, the more desperately out of step with
reality we become. We think we know, but we don't know. We don't know anything.
We go through life shrouded in not-knowing. The sooner we realize that, the
more balanced our behavior can become.
Once the illusion of the separate self is revealed, its
centrality is dethroned, and the whole person can become reoriented toward
This is no small thing. This is the unraveling of fear and
violence and conflict and greed, the foundation of our society, the foundation
of the separate self, the root of our crisis. The person who has been wholly
identified with their thoughts and feelings and reactions and opinions and
achievements and pursuit of exciting new experiences, discovers this
unfathomable emptiness, and the person reorients, away from their
ideas about the world and about themselves, and toward reality itself, the
whole movement of life.
There tends to be a cascading effect of honesty in the wake
of such a shift. Honesty about everything, about internal deceptions and
rationalizations and false motives, honesty about our cruelty toward each other
and toward the other forms of life who make this planet the vibrant, beautiful
place that it can be. Often, if there are issues or emotions or relationships
that have been avoided or deeply repressed, they begin to emerge into consciousness
for the attention and healing they require.
What is becomes central. What I think about it, what it can do for me, becomes essentially unimportant.
Because the root of the ecological crisis lies in a flawed mental
model, which can change in an instant, the resolution to the crisis could also
come in an instant. At the root of the crisis, it must. Many decades of work
lie ahead of us as we reorient our ways of living toward balance and natural
abundance and simplicity and the well-being of the whole of life, but the foundation of our current lifestyle, the deep,
deadly attachment we have to it, collapses in a moment, when we realize that
the "self" our lifestyle serves, is a figment of our own imagination.
The beginning and the end of contemplation is the whole of
reality, aware of itself in its wholeness. It is the simplest thing: a total,
non-violent revolution in a single moment of awareness of the whole movement of
life. Radical, inclusive love pouring out in the whole of everything, our most
intimate being, always new, always alive, always just beyond the grasp of our