A Song of Pause - May 2019
My name is Kirsi. I am a native Finn and nature is my beloved neighbor. Some associate my name Kirsi with “kirsikka” - a cherry. In the spring, I had been taking pictures of trees everywhere where I went, mesmerized by their life force.
On that late April Friday, I picked up my friend and colleague Mary Ann Steiner in our brand-new electric vehicle. The car was so new that it still had temporary licence plates.
We were on our way to a meeting the Patagonia store in Pittsburgh to talk about ways the company and our Creatives for Climate (C4C) collaborative could inspire people to take climate action. C4C is a collective of artists who are interested in incorporating climate change themes into their work, through choice of materials, message and activities.
I showed Mary Ann the new C4C portfolio I had just created. The folder had a Dr Seuss “I Speak for the Trees” sticker on the cover of it. She looked at it, and placed it on the dashboard. We drove down Ellsworth Avenue, then Mary Ann shrieked “A treee.…”
At first I thought it was a branch falling but then realized we were surrounded by green. ...nothing but green, and the windshield shattered - like water crystallizing to ice, just more man-made and square. Time froze for a moment.
There we were, inside our small bubble, hugged by this huge tree, like two bird sisters in a nest. The car ceiling was dented, but did not touch our heads.
“Are you ok?” “Yes. Are you ok?” we chirped. We both were.
My knees started shaking after I was standing on the street. While I was walking around the scene, waiting for the tree crew to arrive and free the car my anger started pouring out. I found myself yelling, telling the rescue guys how angry I am that trees need to die because of us. They listened to me with empathy, probably thinking that this poor woman is in shock.
We learned later, that it was Arbor Day.
I don’t want to leap to weave meanings out of what happened to us, but when you are halted by a dying 40 feet giant, it does not take much imagination to get the message:
Pause.
The Black Cherry gave me courage to say this out loud: I’m exhausted. It is draining to try to wake up people who - most of the times for very human reasons - don’t want to talk about climate crisis, and face our shared reality. I’m sad and I grieve. The spring came and went, the summer is here, painfully hot. And so is this disrespect that we have created, and are creating by our disconnected, dismissive, distracted and rushed ways of living.
Eastern Hemlocks, Redwood trees, Joshua trees, and so many other species -including humans around the world--are dying. In our region climate change is causing more torrential rains, more and more landslides, and more trees falling.
I’m afraid. I know the despair of those who are putting their hands up saying that we are doomed. I feel pain for the world - and I also see and feel the light. This deep sense of meaning, this sense of belonging to something larger than my tiny self keeps millions of us around the world going.
We know the inspiration, the joy, the courage, the compassion that opens up when we face our pain for the world, and work together. We know that the stories we choose to tell ourselves at these crucial times impact the future. They determine our legacy for sure.
Maybe the Black Cherry saved Mary Ann and me to sing another song. A Song of Pause.
The only way to hear the Universe speak to us, and through us, is by pausing. Pausing to listen. There is a new story that wants to be told. It wants to be told by us all.
Thank you Cherry tree from Ellsworth Avenue. Thank you for the home, and all the food you provided for birds and bugs, for cleaning our air and water, for all the carbon you sequestered for the benefit of all living beings. Farewell dear tree neighbor.
Listen to a radio essay version of the essay -with Mary Ann Steiner- on The Allegheny Front here.