Thank you for this. As I restacked it with a quote, the sun came through the clouds in a particular way, and a little mist came through as I sit on my deck between some interesting weather mixtures in the sky. It was a subtle and beautiful moment...
Telling us we are apes and our stories are delusional begs the question why read more of his story. Put down the article, step out into nature, particularly the nature in your neighborhood, and write about it. Decision makers are more interested in what you have to say about your place, eloquently and not long-winded or preaching to the choir.
An interesting coincidence…My husband was in Antarctica twice (Austral summers of 1971-72 and 1973-4) with expeditions from Ohio State. We’re in our 80s now and have been living in Maine since 1976.
Thank you, Bonnie. Good to know of another Antarctican here in Maine. The 70s was a different time for Antarctic work - tougher and wilder - than when I was there from 1994-2004.
I have an Antarctic book, by the way. The first version came out in 2012, titled Hoosh, but a new version is coming out next month with a new title, The Roast Penguin Chronicles. I'll make an announcement about it when the time comes.
Thank you Jason for this extraordinarily beautiful essay. I suppose all these feed into each other - human hubris, the feeling of separation (hence loneliness) and thinking that we can “own” the land. This poem below by Margaret Atwood says it all so eloquently:
The Moment
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
Thank you, Jayasree. Atwood's poem gets to the heart of the delusion of human supremacy. I think most of us know the truth, but living in a culture which doesn't express it means we're forced to make choices all the time that act against what we know to be true. Glad you brought her into the discussion.
There is a striking difference between being alone and feeling loneIy . I grew up in the fields and forests of upstate NY, and have lived 40 years of my life in VT. I ‘held’ up your words after I read them , examining each, and realized I have never felt a loneliness in these environments. Of course I cannot attest to the quantity of time, I’m sure I would feel differently in Antarctica. I skied across the Continental Divide in British Columbia, as you mentioned, it felt like the equivalent of roaming the surface of the moon , more than anything, there was a feeling of awe. I smiled when I read, ”the more-than-human world is always pulsing with life”. As I was skiing solo in the deep snow pack of Vermont’s mountains. I am usually focused on looking up, yesterday, I was thinking about the subnivean ‘condos’ I was skiing above, looking for the occasional tell tale signs in the tree wells. Amusing myself by picturing something along the lines of The. Wind And The Willows~ Kenneth Grahame. Elaborate dwellings underground with a fire burning in the hearth. I thought of Chloe H. and a few sentences later, you and I were on the same page, she always brings acute perspective.
There is a terrible amount of arrogance, of the human kind.
I'm so glad to know you're writing a book. It feels most necessary. That NASA illustration is absolutely chilling. And I share your irritation at the "Are we alone..?" insanity. Our pathological disconnection seems to know no bounds... Beautiful writing, Jason. Thank you so much for the inclusion.
Not writing it yet, Chloe, but taking notes to see what shape it might take. It does feel good, though. I'm glad you were moved by that astronaut image, as I was just thinking it would make a good cover photo. And thanks for "pathological disconnection;" that's a phrase that cuts to the chase.
I’m in a similar space with a book, it’s very interesting to be relating to something in its infancy, in that way… I look forward to whenever, if ever, it finds it’s way into the world… It would make a great cover, but so would your fantastic self-portrait!
Really glad to hear you're circling a book project, Chloe. That's exciting. It is really an expansive experience to have the idea appear and then start to take shape. Like designing a house you want to build.
And then you spend three years figuring out, and hammering out, the details...
This should absolutely be a book, Jason. You write from both heart and mind in a way that captures both the depth and breadth of the current moment. I've long believed that if more people experienced that quiet intimacy out of our mediated artificial bubbles, we would feel that precious sense of belonging. That quote from "Scientific American" about us being the only living thing in the universe made me gasp.
I was in a comment-thread argument recently about the ignorance of claiming that trees are things and only humans are conscious. Not the best use of time, nor the best place for it, but it is curious how tightly people cling to this self-assigned superiority. (Which is, ironically, why we feel so alone.)
Thanks for pointing out Yunkaporta's new book. Loved "Sand Talk."
That excerpt is the first thing I've read by Yunkaporta. He's been on my radar for a while, but I never got around to reading him. That was a mistake; judging from the excerpt, the writing is vital and topnotch.
I was startled too when I first found that SA quote, even though that's what I was searching for. On the bright side, it made me feel like I was in the right business... trying to wake folks up to our blind spots (and their consequences).
Thanks for the vote of confidence on the book idea. I'm still puzzling out the shape and details, and trying not to worry at the moment about how to frame it for a publisher. Early days still.
I think the most distressing part of what occurring to many is the feeling of being powerless to stop it. Anything that highlights the agency we still have is extremely valuable.
As many observers have noted, making us feel powerless is a strategic move, so that's one reason to try to set the feeling aside. In the political arena, leadership will form and give us a sense of where to direct our energies too. But otherwise, yes, seeing the beautiful world for what it is and living accordingly is useful and heartening at a fundamental level. Not easy, but useful...
Hi, Jason. Maybe I see it typically. When I ask "Are we alone?" when I'm looking into space in the nocturnal darkness, I'm asking on behalf of all life on this planet. From the microscopic to the immense, perhaps I'm asking more like "Is life alone?"
Hi Gregg, I'm glad you made this point. I do mention it briefly, but it deserves more space (so to speak). Yes, "is life alone?" is the right question. How rare is the lushness of Earth? What does life elsewhere look like? But far too often the question is asked as if the planet is merely our launch pad. As I've written before, "we" is a small word with immense implications. Thanks for the note.
Hard to believe a book can say it any better than this essay has. The question is whether a book would attract a wider audience, and how it would do that.
Thanks, Ken. The question of whether to expand into a book is one I'm wrestling with. But I've barely scraped the surface of the idea, and each point I'm making in the essay has stories and deeper truths behind it. And the audience question is always a tough one.
Wow, Jason, this was stunning. I’ve been recently confronting the clutter I’ve made in my Substack inbox as I attempt to hoard too much. But this piece really glows from within that pile. I will be keeping it safe, and returning to it often. I love the mossiness of the connections, blurry but strong and knitted. I love the planetary ambiguity, and what I was asked to think about in that expansive space. A beautiful piece.
Thank you, Kirk. I really appreciate the poetry in your generous response here. You're the kind of thoughtful reader any writer is lucky to have. Welcome aboard.
One can surely find a glimmer of Hope in your ever-inspiring words even in these unprecedented times where you continue to make a difference in the lives of your devoted followers - and beyond. Your book would be a timely anticipation of much-needed Joy. Thank you Jason for the continuum of your tireless efforts.
PS: grateful for a flock of bluebirds that have graced my property in Maine for 4 years even through Winter.🐦
Enjoy your bluebirds, Kathleen. We've had a few, plus a cardinal pair, and a male towhee, plus all the usual suspects. Thank you as always for your kind praise.
Nonetheless, thanks for being the messenger. I’m always looking for recommended reading and ‘strange but powerful’ has a definite allure in these surreal times. I’ll check out Daniel Quinn and Ishmael!
Enjoy the book, Laura. I'm tempted to say more about it but will let you do the discovery. There's a website - Ishmael.org - that offers a deep dive on the books (there are others), the writer, and more, but it might be best to find the book first and dive in.
Thanks for the link but I think I want to go in blind, so to speak, with open mind!
Coincidentally, I just read now Barry Lopez’s Love in the Time of Terror, thanks to Orion’s newsletter. What perfect timing to follow your essay, Jason. Here’s one quote, towards the end, where he’s reflecting on a summer in the Arctic:
The experience delivered me into the central project of my adult life as a writer, which is to know and love what we have been given, and to urge others to do the same.
As a reader of you and Mr. Lopez, message received.
Thank you, Laura, but I have to confess that that line is borrowed from Daniel Quinn's book, Ishmael. I've cited it often over the last few years, but neglected this time to note the source. Ishmael is a strange but powerful book that I highly recommend.
I should say the Antarctic coast was filled with whaling, sealing, and fishing stations which housed whalers and processed dead whales, which would have been active year around even when whalers returned home. These whalers were Britishers (including Irishmen), Uruguayans, Paraguayans, Chileans, Australians, New Zealanders, Scandinavians, and people from the Russian Empire. Since the only difference between long term residents (like traders and servants), and immigrants are papers (which did not exist before 1830: indeed papers would have been introduced so Whigs from the South like Andrew Jackson could get rid of Catholics, Scottish people, eastern Europeans (including "China-Swedes" or Finns), ethnic Germanophones, Ladinos (who disguised themselves as Italians), Haitians, Aramaeans, Lebanese, Filipinos, and Chinese), there would have been a large community of Antarcticans which given the vast number of whales, seals, and fish and such, would have been the same as the average colonial population in a given overseas holding during settlement (i.e. in the Age of Discovery). This means there would have been a few million people there (albeit they would have all returned home each year and would have been replaced temporarily), this population only ceasing to exist in the 1990s.
It's just that since they had no papers no one took notice of them, in the same way that due to lack of translations no one pays attention to the 450 ethnic groups in Neu Nederland, which would have comprised traders and servants (like all immigrants in history who farmed and mined and built railways), and thus can be considered the ancestors of later immigrants (as trade with the New World never stopped and immigrants always intended to return home after making enough money). Taking illegal whaling, sealing, and fishing into account, we can assume there are isolated de facto settlements and if Antarctica is ever opened for exploitation, the ex-whalers, sealers, and fishermen will return en masse with their families (since they are debt ridden and know the area: the whalers have all become sealers and fishermen if they did not do illegal whaling). The good news is that due to the vast amount of the original settlers, Japanese whalers will only have a minimal impact. The environmental movement when it gained traction in the 1960s essentially decolonized Antarctica, which gives hope to me that someday whites like myself will be kicked out of the New World (including Oceania), leaving only a few remaining, that Germanics like myself can be kicked out of Celtic lands (like England), and that Indo-Europeans and other invaders can be kicked out of indigenous territories (like Dravidia and Austroasiatic territories like Sichuan).
Thank you for this. As I restacked it with a quote, the sun came through the clouds in a particular way, and a little mist came through as I sit on my deck between some interesting weather mixtures in the sky. It was a subtle and beautiful moment...
Thank you, Alexis. Happy that my writing found you at such a fine moment.
Telling us we are apes and our stories are delusional begs the question why read more of his story. Put down the article, step out into nature, particularly the nature in your neighborhood, and write about it. Decision makers are more interested in what you have to say about your place, eloquently and not long-winded or preaching to the choir.
Stunning piece. I thank you
Thank you, Alix. That's kind of you to say.
Truth is kindness.
STRIX VARIA
At first
I did not see her
perching
on her high
branch-throne
hidden behind
the curtain
of snow
But
when I did
I was as stunned
as if
I had seen
god herself
I watched her
turn her head
this way
that way
Then her eyes
met mine
and pierced
my soul
bare and
blissed
before her
Wonderful article!
An interesting coincidence…My husband was in Antarctica twice (Austral summers of 1971-72 and 1973-4) with expeditions from Ohio State. We’re in our 80s now and have been living in Maine since 1976.
We’re looking forward to your book!
Thank you, Bonnie. Good to know of another Antarctican here in Maine. The 70s was a different time for Antarctic work - tougher and wilder - than when I was there from 1994-2004.
I have an Antarctic book, by the way. The first version came out in 2012, titled Hoosh, but a new version is coming out next month with a new title, The Roast Penguin Chronicles. I'll make an announcement about it when the time comes.
Thank you Jason for this extraordinarily beautiful essay. I suppose all these feed into each other - human hubris, the feeling of separation (hence loneliness) and thinking that we can “own” the land. This poem below by Margaret Atwood says it all so eloquently:
The Moment
The moment when, after many years
of hard work and a long voyage
you stand in the centre of your room,
house, half-acre, square mile, island, country,
knowing at last how you got there,
and say, I own this,
is the same moment when the trees unloose
their soft arms from around you,
the birds take back their language,
the cliffs fissure and collapse,
the air moves back from you like a wave
and you can't breathe.
No, they whisper. You own nothing.
You were a visitor, time after time
climbing the hill, planting the flag, proclaiming.
We never belonged to you.
You never found us.
It was always the other way round.
~ Margaret Atwood
Thank you, Jayasree. Atwood's poem gets to the heart of the delusion of human supremacy. I think most of us know the truth, but living in a culture which doesn't express it means we're forced to make choices all the time that act against what we know to be true. Glad you brought her into the discussion.
There is a striking difference between being alone and feeling loneIy . I grew up in the fields and forests of upstate NY, and have lived 40 years of my life in VT. I ‘held’ up your words after I read them , examining each, and realized I have never felt a loneliness in these environments. Of course I cannot attest to the quantity of time, I’m sure I would feel differently in Antarctica. I skied across the Continental Divide in British Columbia, as you mentioned, it felt like the equivalent of roaming the surface of the moon , more than anything, there was a feeling of awe. I smiled when I read, ”the more-than-human world is always pulsing with life”. As I was skiing solo in the deep snow pack of Vermont’s mountains. I am usually focused on looking up, yesterday, I was thinking about the subnivean ‘condos’ I was skiing above, looking for the occasional tell tale signs in the tree wells. Amusing myself by picturing something along the lines of The. Wind And The Willows~ Kenneth Grahame. Elaborate dwellings underground with a fire burning in the hearth. I thought of Chloe H. and a few sentences later, you and I were on the same page, she always brings acute perspective.
There is a terrible amount of arrogance, of the human kind.
Beautifully written, Jason.
Thank you, Lor, and thanks for connecting my writing to your journeys and thoughts. We're never alone or lonely if where we are feels like home.
“We Are Not Alone”
An excellent title for a book, Jason. I will wait patiently for a copy . This is a wonderful beginning.
I'm so glad to know you're writing a book. It feels most necessary. That NASA illustration is absolutely chilling. And I share your irritation at the "Are we alone..?" insanity. Our pathological disconnection seems to know no bounds... Beautiful writing, Jason. Thank you so much for the inclusion.
Not writing it yet, Chloe, but taking notes to see what shape it might take. It does feel good, though. I'm glad you were moved by that astronaut image, as I was just thinking it would make a good cover photo. And thanks for "pathological disconnection;" that's a phrase that cuts to the chase.
I’m in a similar space with a book, it’s very interesting to be relating to something in its infancy, in that way… I look forward to whenever, if ever, it finds it’s way into the world… It would make a great cover, but so would your fantastic self-portrait!
Really glad to hear you're circling a book project, Chloe. That's exciting. It is really an expansive experience to have the idea appear and then start to take shape. Like designing a house you want to build.
And then you spend three years figuring out, and hammering out, the details...
This should absolutely be a book, Jason. You write from both heart and mind in a way that captures both the depth and breadth of the current moment. I've long believed that if more people experienced that quiet intimacy out of our mediated artificial bubbles, we would feel that precious sense of belonging. That quote from "Scientific American" about us being the only living thing in the universe made me gasp.
I was in a comment-thread argument recently about the ignorance of claiming that trees are things and only humans are conscious. Not the best use of time, nor the best place for it, but it is curious how tightly people cling to this self-assigned superiority. (Which is, ironically, why we feel so alone.)
Thanks for pointing out Yunkaporta's new book. Loved "Sand Talk."
That excerpt is the first thing I've read by Yunkaporta. He's been on my radar for a while, but I never got around to reading him. That was a mistake; judging from the excerpt, the writing is vital and topnotch.
I was startled too when I first found that SA quote, even though that's what I was searching for. On the bright side, it made me feel like I was in the right business... trying to wake folks up to our blind spots (and their consequences).
Thanks for the vote of confidence on the book idea. I'm still puzzling out the shape and details, and trying not to worry at the moment about how to frame it for a publisher. Early days still.
Oh you’ll love Sand Talk.
Loved reading your piece, thank you for sharing your thoughts. This is precisely the writing, and message we need in this precarious moment.
I think the most distressing part of what occurring to many is the feeling of being powerless to stop it. Anything that highlights the agency we still have is extremely valuable.
As many observers have noted, making us feel powerless is a strategic move, so that's one reason to try to set the feeling aside. In the political arena, leadership will form and give us a sense of where to direct our energies too. But otherwise, yes, seeing the beautiful world for what it is and living accordingly is useful and heartening at a fundamental level. Not easy, but useful...
Thanks very much. I like to think it's useful somehow, but with writing it's always hard to tell.
Hi, Jason. Maybe I see it typically. When I ask "Are we alone?" when I'm looking into space in the nocturnal darkness, I'm asking on behalf of all life on this planet. From the microscopic to the immense, perhaps I'm asking more like "Is life alone?"
Hi Gregg, I'm glad you made this point. I do mention it briefly, but it deserves more space (so to speak). Yes, "is life alone?" is the right question. How rare is the lushness of Earth? What does life elsewhere look like? But far too often the question is asked as if the planet is merely our launch pad. As I've written before, "we" is a small word with immense implications. Thanks for the note.
This is gorgeous. Please write that book.
Thank you, Jo. It's a process to figure out whether to write it and how to sell it, but I've started down the path.
Yes, this is a particularly nice one. Thanks!
Hard to believe a book can say it any better than this essay has. The question is whether a book would attract a wider audience, and how it would do that.
Thanks, Ken. The question of whether to expand into a book is one I'm wrestling with. But I've barely scraped the surface of the idea, and each point I'm making in the essay has stories and deeper truths behind it. And the audience question is always a tough one.
Wow, Jason, this was stunning. I’ve been recently confronting the clutter I’ve made in my Substack inbox as I attempt to hoard too much. But this piece really glows from within that pile. I will be keeping it safe, and returning to it often. I love the mossiness of the connections, blurry but strong and knitted. I love the planetary ambiguity, and what I was asked to think about in that expansive space. A beautiful piece.
Thank you, Kirk. I really appreciate the poetry in your generous response here. You're the kind of thoughtful reader any writer is lucky to have. Welcome aboard.
One can surely find a glimmer of Hope in your ever-inspiring words even in these unprecedented times where you continue to make a difference in the lives of your devoted followers - and beyond. Your book would be a timely anticipation of much-needed Joy. Thank you Jason for the continuum of your tireless efforts.
PS: grateful for a flock of bluebirds that have graced my property in Maine for 4 years even through Winter.🐦
Enjoy your bluebirds, Kathleen. We've had a few, plus a cardinal pair, and a male towhee, plus all the usual suspects. Thank you as always for your kind praise.
Thank you, Jason. This beautiful truth stood out to me: “we belong to the Earth; it does not belong to us.” ❄️
Nonetheless, thanks for being the messenger. I’m always looking for recommended reading and ‘strange but powerful’ has a definite allure in these surreal times. I’ll check out Daniel Quinn and Ishmael!
Enjoy the book, Laura. I'm tempted to say more about it but will let you do the discovery. There's a website - Ishmael.org - that offers a deep dive on the books (there are others), the writer, and more, but it might be best to find the book first and dive in.
Thanks for the link but I think I want to go in blind, so to speak, with open mind!
Coincidentally, I just read now Barry Lopez’s Love in the Time of Terror, thanks to Orion’s newsletter. What perfect timing to follow your essay, Jason. Here’s one quote, towards the end, where he’s reflecting on a summer in the Arctic:
The experience delivered me into the central project of my adult life as a writer, which is to know and love what we have been given, and to urge others to do the same.
As a reader of you and Mr. Lopez, message received.
That's kind of you to put us in the same paragraph, Laura. He's such a remarkable writer and human.
Thank you, Laura, but I have to confess that that line is borrowed from Daniel Quinn's book, Ishmael. I've cited it often over the last few years, but neglected this time to note the source. Ishmael is a strange but powerful book that I highly recommend.
I should say the Antarctic coast was filled with whaling, sealing, and fishing stations which housed whalers and processed dead whales, which would have been active year around even when whalers returned home. These whalers were Britishers (including Irishmen), Uruguayans, Paraguayans, Chileans, Australians, New Zealanders, Scandinavians, and people from the Russian Empire. Since the only difference between long term residents (like traders and servants), and immigrants are papers (which did not exist before 1830: indeed papers would have been introduced so Whigs from the South like Andrew Jackson could get rid of Catholics, Scottish people, eastern Europeans (including "China-Swedes" or Finns), ethnic Germanophones, Ladinos (who disguised themselves as Italians), Haitians, Aramaeans, Lebanese, Filipinos, and Chinese), there would have been a large community of Antarcticans which given the vast number of whales, seals, and fish and such, would have been the same as the average colonial population in a given overseas holding during settlement (i.e. in the Age of Discovery). This means there would have been a few million people there (albeit they would have all returned home each year and would have been replaced temporarily), this population only ceasing to exist in the 1990s.
It's just that since they had no papers no one took notice of them, in the same way that due to lack of translations no one pays attention to the 450 ethnic groups in Neu Nederland, which would have comprised traders and servants (like all immigrants in history who farmed and mined and built railways), and thus can be considered the ancestors of later immigrants (as trade with the New World never stopped and immigrants always intended to return home after making enough money). Taking illegal whaling, sealing, and fishing into account, we can assume there are isolated de facto settlements and if Antarctica is ever opened for exploitation, the ex-whalers, sealers, and fishermen will return en masse with their families (since they are debt ridden and know the area: the whalers have all become sealers and fishermen if they did not do illegal whaling). The good news is that due to the vast amount of the original settlers, Japanese whalers will only have a minimal impact. The environmental movement when it gained traction in the 1960s essentially decolonized Antarctica, which gives hope to me that someday whites like myself will be kicked out of the New World (including Oceania), leaving only a few remaining, that Germanics like myself can be kicked out of Celtic lands (like England), and that Indo-Europeans and other invaders can be kicked out of indigenous territories (like Dravidia and Austroasiatic territories like Sichuan).