(seeing) things as they are, part 1/n

As I write, the sky is orange. Streetlights blink on mid afternoon. There is a scientific explanation for why the sky is orange (having to do with the size of ash/smoke particles that filter light). But, when you see the sky just as it is, you know, things are awry. Orange is not normal. Its difficult to focus and concentrate when orange is the normal. Even my iphone cannot deal with this. Snap a picture and color correction lightens the sky.

Lately, my daily rhythm is orange with some blue (I am watching my favorite grand slam match, the U.S. Open and the courts are a rich sky blue). I look out the window regularly to see the orange. Is is less? Is it getting better? I am reading Isabel Wilkerson’s new book, Caste: The origins of our discontents (2020 Random House). She writes in Caste, that in her prior opus, The Warmth of Other Suns, a book about the great migration, the word racism never appears. A book about racism that does not use the word racism.

To see things as they are, what kind of language is necessary and when does language get it the way?

1. Wilkerson is suggesting “racism” is not the right descriptor…. she is building the case for caste (instead of racism).

2. The language (in academia, we call this discourse*) of iberalism (and neoliberalism) stumbles about race. Always. Note: the ESPN dialogues with and about Osaka are exemplary of this.

* Forgive me, I simplify this translation. Discourse includes language and much more. They are not exactly the same…. since discursive politics involve language but also points to forms of power and knowledge…

Leaving home, make a plan.

Photo courtesy of Professors Rebecca London and Rob Fairlie. Sat morning, 8/22/2020. Near Western and High St/Empire Grade

I count myself fortunate. Containment is up, but its not over. The new normal is defensible space, planning, and recovery…. from the material damage/dislocations, health (and mental health) experience of crisis, loss, and fear. And actually, the foregoing is shaped in and through histories of inequality, extractive resource politics laid on foundations of how we see, or not, each other. More on this in another post.

Friends and colleagues have lost everything.

Since 2008, I have not marveled at the beauty of dry lightening thunderstorms. A day or two later, the fires began…. and over the next month, the basin complex fire ravaged the Ventana. There were previous fires. In the late 1990s, while working at Tassajara during the summer, there were fires. I recall wearing a paint mask and learning how to shore up the foundation of a wonky cabin. There were carjacks lifting one corner of the cabin. Visibility was crap. I left, asthmatic, and driving out, there were spot fires along the road.

Leaving home requires a plan. Leaving for a day, 3 days, two weeks, forever? Flying away, driving away, staying with friends, camping out, hotel? There are nuances to each of these plans. I’ve thought about a ”go bag” and plan for awhile now. Still, one prepares backward, responding to the last event…. electric outage, earthquake, etc. The last event will likely be different from the next event.

For this CZU evac, I took essential papers, my robes, and clothes for 4 days. I said bye to the house. I became a part of my family friends’ household bubble. They had been careful about all social contacts since Covid. Its a good exercise… what do you take when you leave home? Last week, I eyed the furoshiki of robes, the stack of okesas. I purse my lips. Maybe I should have brought some other things…in addition, or instead. The jury is out.

I took my robes and bowls because they represent my vows….. but truly, we are those vows with or without those things.

I returned last night after being away 8 days. Driving Highway 17, one might not know there was a fire, one of the largest in California history, just over the ridge. Fall leaves scattered on the side of the road. Smoke. Dropping off 17 into Scotts Valley, the fog bank, as per usual, was just offshore. Full police checkpoint to enter my neighborhood, painters tape criss-cross at my door, a police or fire check. When I left last week, it was Chernobyl-esque, orange-tinted air, ash falling, smoke, people packing up to leave. We are saying goodbye to one another. But on return, the ash rainfall is mostly gone and, the neighborhood is quiet. I am relieved of course. Thinking about the nuances of the next leaving home.

Right now, there are fires all over California. Our new normal. There will undoubtedly be a next time. Its not an IF but a WHEN. Its really hard to be clear and focused during an evacuation. Planning is not bullet-proof, but is a a good idea.