WORLDFIRE - Chapter 22, Part I
Coming Home
“All things are our relatives; what we do to everything, we do to ourselves. All is really One.” Black Elk, Oglala Lakota Medicine Man (1863-1950)
After ten exhilarating weeks on the road and seven action packed weeks in the nation’s capital, it was time to go home. Little did I know what doing so would really entail. A train would carry me home to Colorado, but it could not take me on the deeper journey I was about to embark upon, a journey home to myself, to others, and to Gaia. The path I have been walking since my 2010 cross-country trek—sometimes joyful, sometimes painful, and sometimes just plain old hard work—has deepened my understanding of myself, others, and Mother Earth. My inquiry to better know my soul resembles a rollercoaster ride, with all the rickety climbs and harrowing descents, all the thrills and spills. My endeavor to better understand my fellow human family members feels like peeling back the layers of an onion, which like an onion can trigger tears, only these are tears of joy and sadness. My quest to better know my Earth mother and her other-than-human children is in many ways the most rewarding adventure of all, for walking that path fills me with wonder and awe. But there is still nothing quite like returning to a physical place called home.
After thanking my friend for her loving hospitality, I made my way to Union Station, where I boarded Amtrak’s Capitol Limited—fittingly described as an “all-American journey between America’s heartland and the nation’s capital”—for the 36-hour train ride home. I was rolling home on the rails to highlight the need for more passenger rail in the U.S. To my dismay, I was unable to convince Amtrak to make room for the trike on the train, so my trusty ambassador had to be sent home on a delivery truck instead. As a treat to myself for having successfully accomplished my mission, I splurged on a sleeper cab. If you have never experienced one, sleeper cabs are like miniature bedrooms with a bed that drops down out of the wall. They come with comfortable leather seats and a giant curtained window where you can watch the miles roll by in the peace and comfort of your own room. I was looking forward to the dramatically marked change of pace with time to just sit and think.
The train’s route west covered some of the same ground I had recently traversed pedaling east. Outside the window, I could even see the C&O towpath, only now it was covered in snow. As the train lurched westward, it felt strange to be covering with such ease ground I had gained with so much effort, but it felt good to be letting someone else do the work. Because trains go where cars usually don’t, they display a different, less manicured, slice of America. In cars, we mostly see front yards. On trains, we get to see America’s back yards, which I find a lot more interesting.
Gazing out the picture window of my sleeper car, I reflected back on what I had learned on my adventure, happy that I had listened to my heart and undertaken the quest. For there is nothing like putting it all on the line to stand up for what you believe and sharing your dream with the world. In making myself vulnerable by meeting the American people on their turf, they had greeted me with open hearts in return, sharing with me as much about their dreams as I shared with them about mine. I thought about how focusing on the solution rather than the problem creates space for common ground to be found, and about how much common ground I actually found. I was returning home with a deeper belief in the indomitable spirit of the American people—and in our ability to overcome seemingly insurmountable challenges—than when I began. I was heading home more convinced than ever that we are ready to make the next giant leap forward for humanity. Maybe what I experienced in the American heartland is why I see possibilities where others don’t.
I thought about all the smiles. I have never seen so many smiles in my life. That little yellow trike brightened up many a person’s day. If all the undertaking had accomplished was to make all those people smile, it would have made the effort worth it, but it achieved so much more than that. I thought about the physical challenge of the two-and-a-half-month, 2,500-mile journey. Out of ten weeks on the road, I had spent six of those pedaling and two recovering, with two weeks of forced “office” time. Not bad for a guy approaching 50 who had never biked more than 100 miles in a day in his life. I had also beaten Old Man Winter to the finish line. But as satisfying as the physical accomplishment was, that wasn’t the half of what I felt.
What I mostly felt was hope. When I originally left Boulder, I was confident I would find public support for the vision I was pedaling, but not the nearly unanimous support I actually found. The bold goal of 100% renewable electricity in ten years resonated powerfully in the inner cities, out in the suburbs, and up and down Main Streets everywhere I went. Almost every single person I had met on my ten-week journey embraced this ten-year goal for America. The common thread we shared was the sense that our nation has gotten off track and that one of the keys to our comeback is renewing America with renewable energy. This thread transcended party affiliation, for I found just as much, if not more, support for a green industrial revolution in the so-called political “red” states I rolled through as in the “blue” states I visited. This surprised but did not shock me, for I have always believed there is much more that unites us than divides us. I discovered that America’s partisan divide dissolves when it comes to public support for a green energy moon shot. This is not the kind of news you are going to see reported in the corporate media.
Many I met on my trek also shared my view that the machinations of the political establishment are undeniably corrupt, with the two major political parties more focused on fighting for corporations than for the people they were elected to represent. Most Americans no longer trust either party to fight for their rights. Like me, they long for principled leaders who will set party label aside and put the people’s interests first. Like me, they see the partisan obstructionism as a sick game orchestrated by the ruling elites to keep the 99% divided so we don’t pull together. Divide and conquer to subdue the population. It’s one of the oldest tricks in the book. I thought about how unity is what the political class fears the most. For they know if the people ever unite behind a common vision, the game is up. They have the money, but we have the numbers. We the people possess immense power when we band together. It's time we started fighting for one another, not against one another.
I thought about all the beautiful souls who had come to my aide and in doing so had themselves become part of the journey. Whenever I was hungry or tired, I found nourishment at their tables and rest under their roofs. Whenever I was in trouble, a helping hand always appeared. So much loving-kindness was so often extended to me that I ceased being amazed. You wouldn’t know it by the angry state of our politics, or by the venom spewed on social media, or by watching the negative news networks, but most Americans are actually nice to each another. I had launched my trek trusting in that kindheartedness and my faith had been richly rewarded. I learned that our most important attribute as Americans is not our oft-touted rugged individualism, but our friendliness, our willingness to look out for one another. For none of us is an island. As social beings, we need each other. But that wasn’t all that the American people I met shared with me. They shared something more personal, more profound, even sacred; their hopes and dreams for a better future.
Mine may have been a solo journey, but I was never truly alone. Joining me in spirit were all my supporters who believed in me enough to make the adventure possible. Joining me physically was everyone I met on America’s Main Streets who signed my green energy moon shot petition, making it not just my dream for America, but their dream as well. Some were motivated by the state of the economy; some by a hunger for jobs; others by the desire for energy independence; and still others by the worsening climate threat. I was also buoyed by a steady stream of local reporters who so thoughtfully reported on what I was doing and why.
But my biggest takeaway was about trusting the Universe. I reflected on how the entire enterprise had been blessed by providence, on how the journey had flowed like a river in a current of astonishing synchronicities and timely support. I marveled at how Hawk had not only encouraged me to launch the venture to begin with, but had inspirited it along the way, reminding me that we are all connected. From start to finish, the trek felt like a dance with the divine. You see, I know the Universe is loving and intelligent because the Universe constantly shows me. If this happened for me, it can happen for America. The air of despair that had sparked my initial flash of inspiration almost a year to the day before had metamorphosed, through transcended trials and tribulations, into a hope-filled heart. I was returning home from my quest with a precious gift: the knowledge that the American people are not only ready, but eager, to launch a green energy moon shot mission worthy of our highest aspirations. In many ways, my journey felt like a microcosm of the larger journey we are now being asked to take as a nation.
As darkness fell, I found myself rocked to sleep by the swaying motion of the locomotive, sinking into a peaceful slumber. In Chicago, I disembarked and changed trains for the final leg into Denver. As the California Zephyr rolled into Colorado, I recalled an informational plaque I had passed in Akron, Colorado months prior pedaling east that described how in 1890 “fast trains whisked passengers through Akron on the Chicago and Denver route” at speeds as high as 112.5 mph. Rolling home at 75 mph definitely beat pedaling the rocket trike for making time, but what happened to rail travel in America? In the 19th Century, passenger trains were running faster than 100 mph. Two centuries later, they’re running slower? We’re going backwards, while the people of China, Japan, and Europe are racing to the future on high-speed bullet trains. At least we pulled into Denver’s Union Station on time, just as I finished a hot breakfast served with real silverware in the dining car.
I disembarked and hopped the bus to Boulder. Less than an hour later I was home. The journey had come full circle. Just as I had come home to people and a place I love, so is it time for humanity to come home to our celestial mother. By this, I mean the deeper homecoming we are being asked to make as a species. I mean renewing our natural bonds to Mother Earth and all of her children. I mean embodying the kind of love future generations will honor us for. Fearless love like the kind expressed by Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr.
No one has inspired my life more than Martin Luther King. It is not just what Dr. King achieved during his 39 years on the planet that fills me with awe. It is how he selflessly dedicated his life to building the “beloved community.” As described by The King Center: “The Beloved Community was for him a realistic, achievable goal that could be attained by a critical mass of people committed to and trained in the philosophy and methods of nonviolence... In the Beloved Community, poverty, hunger and homelessness will not be tolerated because international standards of human decency will not allow it. Racism and all forms of discrimination, bigotry and prejudice will be replaced by an all-inclusive spirit of sisterhood and brotherhood… international disputes will be resolved by peaceful conflict-resolution and reconciliation of adversaries, instead of military power.” Forgiving love like the kind expressed by the late, great Nelson Mandela, who I had the honor of seeing up close when he visited Washington, DC shortly after his release from prison. 27 years old at the time, I was awed by the smiling, soon-to-be President of South Africa’s ability to forgive his captors after serving 27 years in prison. “As I walked out the door toward the gate that would lead to my freedom, I knew if I didn’t leave my bitterness and hatred behind, I’d still be in prison,” the wise Mandela famously said.
As long as we allow ourselves to be separated by race, we will not evolve as a human race. Co-existence is normal. Racism is abnormal. No one is born hating. There are no racist babies. Children are taught to hate by those who ignorantly fear “the other,” but once you know your brother, you realize there is no other. I find other races beautiful and other cultures fascinating. As members of the same human family, we are all sisters and brothers sharing one common home. I dream of a world where no one is ever discriminated against for any reason, whether it be the color of their skin, religion, gender, sexual orientation, age, disability or national origin. Our vibrant diversity is one of America’s greatest strengths. Diversity is something to be celebrated, not feared. Any student of nature knows that diverse ecosystems are resilient and homogenous ones are fragile. The same goes for society. I don’t want to live in a world where all the birds in the sky sing the same song. I don’t want to live in a world where all the fish in the sea look the same.
It is not by accident that cries for climate justice and cries for social justice are erupting simultaneously across the globe, for at their core, the two demands are inseparable. Both are expressions of what kind of country, and world, we want to live in. Both hold the promise of a seismic paradigm shift, a quantum leap in human consciousness. These words spoken by Dr. King in 1964 after receiving the Nobel Peace Prize could just as easily apply to the climate crisis we face today: “Here and there an individual or group dares to love, and rises to the majestic heights of moral maturity. So in a real sense this is a great time to be alive. Therefore, I am not yet discouraged about the future. Granted that the easygoing optimism of yesterday is impossible… Granted that we face a world crisis… But every crisis has both its dangers and its opportunities. It can spell either salvation or doom.” Our survival as a species hinges on finding the “moral maturity” MLK saw from the mountaintop.
To be clear, I do not view my climate activism as remotely heroic. Nothing I have done in decades of activism has managed to calm the climate beast. When I think of heroic activism, I think of those who transformed society on a massive scale, people like King and Gandhi. People like Montgomery Bus boycotter Rosa Parks, Underground Railroad conductor Harriet Tubman, and Women’s Suffrage warrior Susan B. Anthony. What all these remarkable leaders—and countless others—shared in common was a heart and soul dedication to something larger than themselves. Together with the fierce force of their followers, these and other social change agents made the “impossible” possible. We need such soulful leadership today, only in unprecedented numbers, for the climate juggernaut is an unprecedented existential threat. Just as no single solution can turn the climate tide, nor can any one leader inspire America to lead a climate emergency response. Calming the climate beast will require a diverse mosaic of climate solutions, and millions of heroes, both sung and unsung, performing countless acts of uncommon courage.
Some of my contemporaries have displayed such uncommon courage in defense of Mother Earth. Leaders like Julia Butterfly Hill, who spent more than two years of her life living in the canopy of a 1,000-year-old redwood tree named Luna in northern California to draw the world’s attention to the plight of ancient forests. Julia’s courageous act of civil resistance to protest the clearcutting of the forest not only saved Luna from the chainsaw; it shined a spotlight on the plight of the 3% of ancient redwood forests still standing. Leaders like Tim DeChristopher, who spent nearly two years of his life in federal prison for daring to block an illegitimate Bureau of Land Management oil and gas lease auction. Tim bravely posed as “Bidder 70,” outbidding oil companies for parcels near Arches and Canyonlands National Parks. Hailing him as “one serious conscientious objector in the Bush/Obama era,” James Hansen soberly reminded us that “President Obama let Bidder 70 go to jail and cook there for a couple of years – sending a message.” Tim’s willingness to risk and sacrifice his freedom for a higher cause personifies climate courage.
In 2013, climate activists Ken Ward and Jay O’Hara sent a different kind of message by anchoring their lobster boat in the path of a giant freighter to block the delivery of mountaintop-removed coal to New England’s largest coal plant. In a legal move one can only hope will inspire other prosecutors, the conscientious District Attorney, Sam Sutter, dropped the charges, declaring: “Climate change is one of the gravest crises our planet has ever faced.” Elaborating, Sutter shared: “The evidence is overwhelming and it keeps getting worse. So we took a stand here today.” In more recent years, growing numbers of Earth defenders have been imprisoned—some serving multi-year sentences—for the “crime” of peacefully protesting the suicidal status quo. Consider the inanity, nay the insanity, of courageous climate activists languishing in prison for trying to save the rest of us, while the real criminals—the climate arsonists whose actions are driving humanity toward extinction—are foolishly feted as upstanding members of society.
Then there were the fearless water protectors of Standing Rock. Almost everyone knows about the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe’s heroic stand in defense of Mother Earth. In 2016, the Standing Rock Sioux issued a call to other tribes and allies to join their spiritual resistance to a toxic oil pipeline threating their water supply and trampling their treaty rights. I had the privilege of visiting the Sacred Stone Camp and the Oceti Sakowin Camp at Standing Rock with my friends Harvard Ayers and Mackie Hagaman that fall. We made a road trip to North Dakota to deliver donated supplies for the water protectors. Greeting us at the entrance to the sprawling spirit encampment abutting the Cannonball River was the breathtaking sight of the fluttering flags of hundreds of Native nations, flying as the physical manifestation of the Standing Rock Sioux Tribe’s answered prayers for other tribes to join their struggle for self-determination. Tribes stood with tribes in a powerful display of Indigenous unity. Inside the encampment were individual camps demarcated by tipis and tents. Inside the camps was uncommon courage.
The Dakota Access Pipeline was resisted at immense human cost. On top of the personal sacrifice of hundreds who were arrested for peacefully standing against the pipeline project, sickening atrocities were committed by militarized police and private security forces against unarmed water protectors, atrocities like being:
· Maced in the face
· Bitten by security dogs
· Struck with police batons
· Tear gassed at close range
· Punched, tackled and beaten
· Hit with concussion grenades
· Subjected to degrading strip searches
· Assaulted with long range acoustic devices
· Dragged out of tipis and sweat lodges at gunpoint
· Blasted with water cannons in subfreezing temperatures
· Traumatized by the desecration of ancestral burial grounds
· Shot with tear gas canisters, rubber bullets and beanbag rounds
· Caged in kennels with dehumanizing numbers inked on their arms
· Targeted by psychological warfare tactics (including militarized road blocks; razor wire fences; land mine-resistant trucks; armored personnel carriers; body armor; assault rifles; truck mounted face recognition equipment; 24/7 floodlights; and surveillance helicopters, drones and planes).
Yet the protectors persisted, until Barack Obama, in one of his last honorable acts as president, temporarily halted the construction of the oil pipeline. They persisted until Donald Trump, in one of his first dishonorable acts as president, approved the pipeline’s construction. The carbon barons temporarily won their battle to get their toxic tube built, but they permanently lost the war of public opinion. Most Americans were sickened by the brutality on display at Standing Rock. Something powerful and transformative happened on that hallowed ground. There was a shift in the collective consciousness. Indigenous leaders stirred our hearts by showing us what it looks like to fearlessly stand up for our descendants seven generations hence. Native leaders taught us that those who put their bodies on the line in defense of Mother Earth are not protesters. They are protectors.
Anishinaabe activist Winona LaDuke has a different vision for her people that she calls “energy justice,” where tribes “are at the center of the next energy economy.” Her vision is one that could actually be realized, given that tribal lands have enough wind and solar resources to power the U.S. several times over. In the end, I believe the fearful hatred of a fossilized industry lashing out in its death throes will prove no match for the fearless love of a noble people who are saying no more. In spite of our government’s genocidal history against the first Americans, and the intergenerational trauma this carnage has caused, many Native People still want to share the sacred gift of Native wisdom to help modern society make peace with the planet. When you think about how selflessly enlightened this is, it is enough to make you cry. Indigenous cultures possess a beautifully rich ancestral knowledge of how to live lightly on the land, so who better than Native America to show the rest of America how to honor the Earth?
NOTE: The written form of WORLDFIRE is the authoritative version. Any inadvertent errors in transcribing the recordings are mine and mine alone.