An eco-lexical eco-spasm for the eco-modern eco-age
by MARK PETERS
With apologies to “green” and “enviro,” there’s no doubt “eco” is the supreme prefix of the environmental movement.
According to the Oxford English Dictionary—the Bible of the English language, only with fewer lepers and begettings—“eco” detached from “ecology” as early as 1969, when examples of “eco-activist,” “eco-catastrophe,” and “ecocide” can be found. The OED also has subentries for “eco-art,” “ecodoom,” “ecofreak,” “eco-label,” “eco-nut,” “eco-raider,” “eco-terrorism,” and “eco-warrior,” but of course, these are just the tip of the eco-berg. Grist.org, the Seattle-based hip and sassy website for eco-journalism, has been the home of many others, including “eco-troubadour,” “eco-spasm,” “eco-sin,” “mega-eco-economics,” and “not-so-eco-doodad.”
Mostly, the proliferation of these words can be considered a good thing. If people weren’t increasingly eco-friendly, they wouldn’t dream up eco-museums, eco-villages, and eco-bras while worrying about eco-concerns and eco-nightmares. Even the existence of slurs such as “eco-obsessive,” “eco-Nazi,” and “eco-fundamentalism” can be considered a good sign in this sense: eco-worriers have got eco-hostiles pretty worried, too.
Many of these words will make jaded linguists reach for the brain bleach and an ear funnel. Yet word diversity—while not quite as crucial as species diversity—is similarly valuable. After all, not every species is an adorable, skittering chinchilla or noble, spear-wielding chimp, but where would we be without gazillions of sea slug species?
Though the following words range from barely tolerable to gloriously pointless, they must be preserved for future generations. Love ’em or loathe ’em, these are some of the most preposterous, distasteful, entertaining—and, in all cases, real—uses of the eco- prefix.
Eco-porn
Don’t worry; this is safe for work. “Eco-porn” is a cousin of metaphorical expressions like “wedding porn,” “electoral porn,” “wine porn,” “gastroporn,” and “9/11 popcorn porn.” Paul McFedries’ Word Spy (wordspy.com) defines eco-porn as “a corporate advertisement that extols the company’s environmental record or policies,” usually with lush natural images—and most likely a boatload of hypocrisy as well.
Ecobot
The first Ecobot was a seemingly harmless, battery-free, sugar-eating creation of British scientists that looked kind of like a fire alarm (the bot, not the Brits). Ecobot 2, their second unholy creation, had a pseudo-stomach that fed on dead flies and rotten apples. Both Ecobots were able to perform phototaxis—“moving toward the light”—which is what I fear we may all be doing soon if these fly-eating toasters continue to evolve. (I’ve clearly watched too much Battlestar Galactica.)
Eco-whistleblower
In good news for the snitched-upon, ratted-out, and stool-pigeoned, tattletales are now compostable. Well, sort of. This word became necessary after the Bush administration (in September 2006) reversed precedent and took away whistleblower rights from the Clean Air Act. So if an Environmental Protection Agency employee eco-snitches on the government, that employee could be fired and, the way things are going, probably waterboarded without a trial.
Ecosynergy
There’s not a fouler corporate buzzword than “synergy.” I once had a co-worker who used the word with such frequent, punishing regularity that I suspect he was raised on PowerPoint presentations and cappuccinos rather than Dr. Seuss and mother’s milk. Everything he, I, or my uncle did created synergy. Meetings had synergy. Lunch had synergy. Paper clips had synergy. Taken literally, ecosynergy is likely a fine thing, but if I see this or another variation of synergy (what’s next? Franken-synergy? choco-synergy?) one more time I fear my self-inflicted lobotomy will have little synergy.
Eco-mafia
If you cross the eco-mafia, you’ll just wish you were sleeping with the fishes: you’re more likely to nap with the hazardous ooze. The enviro-mafioso forgo wholesome, traditional revenue sources like gambling and prostitution in favour of dumping and illegal construction. Their slogan: Take the cannoli, leave the toxic waste.
Eco-elves
In London, the Recycle Western Riverside group’s eco-elves talk about recycling door-to-door, on the tube, and at malls. Though the eco-elves are doing the world a solid, I don’t look forward to future Christmases that may bring eco-reindeer, eco-eggnog, or an eco-Christ child. EconolomicsHere’s a word with a noble purpose and a less-than-musical sound. Econolomics is defined on Word Spy as “Sustainable living through environmentally friendly business practices.” Who could argue with that? Like ecosynergy, econolomics is beneficial. But can’t we find a name for it that isn’t so reminiscent of high colonics?
Ecosexual
If the word “metrosexual” makes you want to remove your own eyeballs with a spork, you’d better hide the silverware.Ecosexuals, apparently, are hip young urbanites who care about recycling as much as hair products. Instead of man-hands and eating peas one at a time, their deal-breakers are non-recyclers and anti-eco-deodorant. Did the world really need another smarmy buzzword?
Eco-kill me now.
Mark Peters is a freelance writer who writes for Grist.org and other media. His lively linguistic lunacy can be read at Wordlustitude (wordlust.blogspot.com).
It's all about digging deep
by REBECCA EPHRAIM
The low point came several weeks before the couples’ workshop when Ron, my significant other, said he’d rather undergo root canal surgery. Or maybe it was a few days before we left for the workshop when he “joked” about getting prepared for “emotional waterboarding” (waterboarding being that infamous form of torture the U.S. military employs).
Oh, he wasn’t having second thoughts about going—he’s committed to me and our relationship and was determined to see it through (much like root canal surgery). But it was his prerogative to attend under protest, and he knew it. Of course, it’s his authenticity that I find so appealing, even though I wanted him to want this adventure as much as I did.
At any rate, clearly, I was the “dragger” and Ron was the “draggee” to this five-day retreat in December called “Sharing the Path” (surprise: not all the draggers were women). Held at Esalen Institute, a stunning retreat centre nestled in the cliffs of California’s Big Sur and legendary as the birthplace of the Human Potential Movement, we and 13 other couples lost ourselves for five days in an exploration of all aspects of our most intimate relationship. Although I can’t speak for the other couples, Ron and I came away flush with new skills that have enhanced our communication, our intimacy, and our lovemaking.
Lovemaking 101
After this workshop, I’m convinced that, as a culture, most of us learned our basic sexual skills in the back seat of a ’60, ’70, or ’80 Chevy. And those “basics”—clumsy and primitive as they are—ushered us into adulthood.
It’s too bad. I’ve heard of indigenous tribes where, as part of a coming-of-age ritual, an older woman is assigned to school a young man in the art of lovemaking. Now that’s civilized.
I need to pause here to share with you the real definition of lovemaking, a workshop gem that is serving us well. Lovemaking goes beyond sex. Lovemaking is also showing your partner how much you care, in unlimited ways. It could be a soft and knowing touch, a neck rub, a kind word, running an errand for your partner, a generous hug, or a heartfelt “thank-you.”
Judith and Robert Gass, our amazingly wise relationship teachers (with plenty of experience, having been married to each other for 40 years), gave an example of themselves that many of us can relate to: Judith is working intently at the computer and Robert comes up behind, touches her shoulders, and kisses her neck. Instead of waving Robert away, snapping “I’m busy, leave me alone,” she tries a different approach. It goes like this: pause, breathe, acknowledge the adoring gesture, and say something like, “Sweetheart, that’s very nice and I love your touch, but I need to concentrate on this right now.”
Sensitive interactions like this keep each partner coming back for more. With this approach, you’ve just made love to each other and it had nothing to do with the bedroom. (Or perhaps it has everything to do with the bedroom, as it puts you both in a very generous mood toward one another.)
And as for the Chevy back seat, while having desire is one thing, possessing technique is quite another. For the evening sessions, we were split into men’s and women’s groups. Judith, with the women, and Robert, with the men, encouraged us to speak openly (and always confidentially) about our sexual history and how it has shaped our perceptions, for better or worse. Their instruction on advanced physical loving spanned a wide girth, from pleasuring approaches and staying present, to tantric sex (eye-gazing, synchronized breathing). Practice sessions were encouraged. Ron was warming up to this workshop stuff.
Emotional Spelunking
Of course, discussions of sex are always provocative. It was the other assignments Ron dreaded: they required daring emotional spelunking into the very core of one’s shadow self. These jagged, often unexplored, recesses are deep emotional wounds that, when probed, can evoke outpourings of anger, fear, unworthiness, and/or abandonment (to name just a few; you probably know yours). These reactions are toxic to intimate relationships. The good news is that when faced with the courage and caring and skills that Judith and Robert taught, newly learned behaviours can catapult our intimacy to higher levels.
Despite his earlier dramatics, Ron was a delightfully able partner, helping guide me through some particularly dicey emotional moments.
I already have my eye on Robert and Judith’s advanced couples’ workshop in 2009. Ron is talking about scheduling a dentist appointment.
Rebecca Ephraim, publisher of SharedVISION, is a natural-born dragger.
Robert and Judith Gass (sacredunion.com) will be presenting their “Sharing the Path” workshop in August at Hollyhock Retreat Centre on Cortes Island (hollyhock.ca).
Loreena McKennitt on music, passion and giving back
Canadian singer/composer Loreena McKennitt, who performs at Vancouver’s Orpheum Theatre Sept. 30, is best known for her soaring and melodious Celtic music. The self-made musician has sold more than 13 million records worldwide.
Despite international success and personal adversity (her partner, Ronald Rees, died in 1998), McKennitt remains an active member of her community of Stratford, Ont. Here, she describes what makes her tick.
My starting point is the belief that, in one way or another, we are all an extension of each other’s history. Wanting to learn about our neighbours is also a desire to learn about ourselves. I have simply chosen the Celtic vehicle in which to do this.
Beyond music, I have a free-ranging curiosity about many things and a pretty hefty filing cabinet to prove it! My drawers are full of clippings on subjects ranging from childhood development to environmental issues, agriculture, politics, food and nutrition, puppets, religion, and many world issues.
I think it’s important to give to and be part of our greater communities. In 1998, I started the Cook-Rees Memorial Fund for Water Search and Safety, when three people very dear to me—Ronald Rees, Richard Rees, and Gregory Cook—perished in a boating incident not far from where I live. Another project close to my heart has been the establishment of the Falstaff Family Centre, a redundant schoolhouse in Stratford which is now a centre for community and children’s activities.
Certain principles have become my compass points. I reference them whenever I make important choices and decisions. They are things to which I strive and I am pleased to share some of them with you.
Be compassionate and never forget how to love.
Think inclusively.
Reclaim noble values such as truth, honesty, honour, courage.
Be empathetic.
Look after the less fortunate in society.
Respect one’s elders and look to what they have to teach you.
Promote and protect diversity.
Respect the gifts of the natural world.
Set your goals high and take pride in what you do.
Cherish and look after your body, and, as the ancient Greeks believed, your mind will serve you better.
Put back into the community, as there have
been those before you who have done the
same and you are reaping what they sowed.
Participate in and protect democracy. It does not thrive as a spectator sport.
Undertake due diligence in everything.
Seek balance and space, and solitude.
Don’t be afraid to feel passionate about something.
Learn to be an advocate and an ambassador for good.
Be mindful of your limitations.
Indulge and nurture your curiosity, as it will keep you vital.
Take charge of your life and don’t fall into the pit of entitlement.
Assume nothing and take nothing for granted.
Things are not necessarily what they seem.
Loreena McKennitt’s latest CD is An Ancient Muse. Her brand-new DVD set, Nights From the Alhambra,
is available at quinlanroad.com.
by Alicia Priest
The Germans have a word for it: weltschmerz, world-pain, a feeling of deep sadness for the evils of society. Can you relate? Let’s be honest—anyone with a working brain knows that it’s not easy being happy in a time of unparalleled environmental destruction and rampant political corruption. The more you know, the more your heart aches. Or breaks. I’m sure there’s a connection between the tragic state of our world and growing levels of apathy, cynicism, resignation, escapism, and depression. On this ailing earth, many of us are mentally unwell.
But as any healer knows, sickness does not inevitably lead to death. Before you reach for that remote, pop another pill, or scratch yet another consumer itch, consider this: maybe, just maybe, the planet’s prognosis isn’t as terminal as the mainstream media make out. Could there be cause for hope? Absolutely, says Paul Hawken, whose books include Natural Capitalism and the just-released Blessed Unrest: How the Largest Movement in the World Came into Being and Why No One Saw It Coming. A California-based entrepreneur, environmentalist, and social activist, Hawken believes humanity is collectively and instinctively rising to the challenge of an unprecedented man-made crisis in an extraordinary—yet near-invisible—way.
Hawken spoke in Victoria last month as part of the Gaining Ground Summit, a conference on sustainable development. In his well-attended talk at Victoria’s Royal Theatre, he defined this response as a “movement” made up of hundreds of thousands—if not more than a million—non-profit and non-governmental organizations working around the world. This movement has three prongs: the environmental movement, the social justice movement, and indigenous cultures’ resistance to globalization. In Canada, groups range from the Canadian Ape Alliance (advances conservation of all great apes) to the Canadian Native Friendship Centre (advocates concerns of aboriginal peoples) to the Council of Canadians (promotes progressive policies on a range of issues such as clean water, safe food, and public health care).
Leadership aimed at addressing these life-and-death issues will never come from so-called political or corporate leaders. The global political world is largely corrupt, Hawken said. And because the legacy of this corruption is currently playing out, don’t expect any sudden improvements.
“It will be the stroke of midnight for the rest of our lives,” he cautioned.
Change for the better, however, is also in play, in the form of millions of smart, tireless, and dedicated people working (many as volunteers) on solutions to everything from climate change to human rights abuses. And while these grassroots efforts may seem insignificant compared to the Darth Vader-like forces that be, Hawken believes they will percolate from the ground up, spread, and ultimately prevail.
But if this social phenomenon is so massive and widespread, why haven’t we heard more about it? Because the movement, having no name, no leader, no central location, and no ideology, has been ignored by the media, Hawken said. It also, he quipped, “has no charismatic male vertebrate in charge.” What it does have is ideas.
Historically, disorganization and shapelessness have not won any victories. But Hawken believes that what worked in the past won’t work now. The movement’s amoeba-like qualities may be its greatest strengths. Just as the immune system—amorphous, incredibly complex, and mysterious—gears up when confronted with a threat, so pockets of humanity are rising up in a spontaneous, yet splintered, fashion. Their aim is not to save the world so much as to remake it.
Hoping to encourage networking and counter despair, and thus spur on the good fight, Hawken and colleagues have created an evolving global database of environmental and social justice organizations called WiserEarth (wiserearth.org). Hawken has become something of a non-leader of this leaderless movement.
But is he onto something? Can all these groups, working separately but for similar goals, change what appears to be an intractable state of affairs? Hawken closed his talk with a reminder that many audience members have felt severely ill and then, over time, experienced their immune system rallying and transforming them from sickness to health. Will that same happy turn occur on a global scale? “I don’t know,” Hawken said. “I hope so.”
Hope is healthy. So, too, is a little knowledge of history. Humanity has overcome some terrible tribulations in the past. Perhaps with the efforts of the untold thousands that Hawken describes and who often toil in obscurity, the “irreversible” slide to ecological ruin may not be a fait accompli.
Alicia Priest is a Victoria freelance writer who hopes so, too.
A fleeting moment, or a way of seeing?
Ask any number of people to describe a moment of “perfect” happiness. Some will talk about moments of deep peace experienced in a harmonious natural setting, of a forest dappled in sunshine, of a mountain summit looking out across a vast horizon, of the shores of a tranquil lake, of a night walk through snow under a starry sky, and so on. Others will refer to a long-awaited event: an exam they’ve aced, a sporting victory, meeting someone they’ve longed to meet, the birth of a child. Still others will speak of a moment of peaceful intimacy with their family or a loved one, or of having made someone else happy.
The common factor to all of these experiences would seem to be the momentary disappearance of inner conflicts. The person feels in harmony with the world and with herself. Someone enjoying such an experience, such as walking through a serene wilderness, has no particular expectations beyond the simple act of walking. She simply is, here and now, free and open.
For just a few moments, thoughts of the past are suppressed, the mind is not burdened with plans for the future, and the present moment is liberated from all mental constructs. This moment of respite, from which all sense of emotional urgency has vanished, is experienced as one of profound peace. For someone who has achieved a goal, completed a task, or won a victory, the tension they have long carried with them relaxes. The ensuing sense of release is felt as a deep calm, free of all expectation and fear.
But this experience is just a passing glimpse brought on by a particular set of circumstances. We call it a magic moment, a state of grace. And yet the difference between these flashes of happiness seized on the fly and the immutable peacefulness of the sage, for instance, is as great as that between the tiny section of sky seen through the eye of a needle and the limitless expanses of outer space. The two conditions differ in dimension, duration, and depth.
Even so, we can learn something from these fleeting moments, these lulls in our ceaseless struggles; they can give us a sense of what true plenitude might be and help us to recognize the conditions that favour it.
A Way of Being
I remember one afternoon as I was sitting on the steps of our monastery in Nepal. The monsoon storms had turned the courtyard into an expanse of muddy water and we had set out a path of bricks to serve as stepping-stones. A friend of mine came to the edge of the water, surveyed the scene with a look of disgust, and complained about every single brick as she made her way across. When she got to me, she rolled her eyes and said, “Yuck! What if I’d fallen into that filthy muck? Everything’s so dirty in this country!” Since I knew her well, I prudently nodded, hoping to offer her some comfort through my mute sympathy. A few minutes later, Raphaèle, another friend of mine, came to the path through the swamp. “Hup, hup, hup!” she sang as she hopped, reaching dry land with the cry “What fun!” Her eyes sparkling with joy, she added: “The great thing about the monsoon is that there’s no dust.” Two people, two ways of looking at things; six billion human beings, six billion worlds.
Anyone who enjoys inner peace is no more broken by failure than he is inflated by success. He is able to fully live his experiences in the context of a vast and profound serenity, since he understands that experiences are ephemeral and that it is useless to cling to them. There will be no “hard fall” when things turn bad and he is confronted with adversity. He does not sink into depression, since his happiness rests on a solid foundation.
Once at an open meeting in Hong Kong, a young man rose from the audience to ask me: “Can you give me one reason why I should go on living?” This book is a humble response to that question, for happiness is above all a love of life.
Excerpted with permission from Happiness: Developing Life’s Most Important Skill by Matthieu Ricard (Little, Brown and Company, 2006). Ricard, a former biochemist and Buddhist monk, is in Vancouver March 9 to 11. For details on his four free lectures, visit ricard.cfis.ubc.ca.
Sustainable fun on the Emerald Isle
by HADANI DITMARS
When you hear the word “sustainability,” what springs to mind? Dutiful, labour-intensive, ecologically correct activities? Earnest but dull lifestyle choices? Anorak-wearing, styleless prophets of doom, preaching environmental apocalypse?
Such stereotypes are not without foundation, but a recent trip to Ireland convinced me that sustainability can actually be, well, kind of fun.
Of course, if you’re thinking “green” and “fun,” the Emerald Isle is a natural choice for all kinds of reasons. If a spoonful of sugar helps the medicine go down, then a pint of Guinness (not to mention a bit of Irish wit and charm) adds a certain je ne sais quoi to the whole “green” experience.
I discovered this while staying at a friend’s “eco-cottage” in the wilds of West Cork, where green design and lifestyle have been part of the traditional way for centuries.
My pal Colm, who lives in the country and commutes to Cork city for his job with an environmental engineering firm, lives in a 19th-century cottage. Surrounded by rolling green fields, neolithic ruins, and ancient stone circles, the setting is breathtaking. But before you think “romantic country idyll,” consider this—the cottage has no central heating.
That’s right. No central heating, even in the midst of a draughty, miserably wet Irish winter. But as Colm, who has spent the better part of two years carefully restoring the once-dilapidated cottage bit by bit using only “green” materials, pointed out during my mid-November visit: “If you’d come last year, there would have been no roof.”
Although he views central heating as a bit of a luxury—outside of, say, subarctic climes—he is looking into a geo-thermal heating option and hopes to reinforce the walls with cob. Colm has an acre of land; he chops his own wood and hauls his own water from a well. Heat is provided by a cast-iron stove, fuelled by wood as well as anthracite, a less smoky and arguably “greener” alternative to coal.
Of course, he grows his own organic vegetables and sticks to a meatless diet, with plenty of grains and legumes. In short, Colm is living the eco dream. He is, alternately, what you might call committed to sustainability or rather eccentric, depending on your point of view. If this isn’t sounding like too much fun yet, stick with it; we’re almost there.
A highlight of my stay was a trip to the garden on a dark, windy night—complete with rain slickers and a flashlight—to dig potatoes out of the ground and then prepare them for dinner (the quintessential Irish experience, I’m sure.)
By this time, I was gradually adjusting to the rather spartan regime: going to sleep with all (and I mean all) of my clothes on plus a woolly scarf and hat, rising early in the morning to chop wood and light the stove (admittedly, Colm did most of that), and learning how to prepare organic root vegetables a dozen different ways.
Colm’s one concession to modernity is a washing machine. He has an outdoor clothesline, but since it rains in Ireland as much as in Vancouver, hanging undergarments over the stove to dry soon became second nature.
I didn’t realize how much I would miss the whole eco-cottage experience until a few days later, when I was obliged to spend the night in a spanking new downtown hotel room, designed in an anonymous style with invariably toxic materials. I found it hard to relax, even with the flat-screen television offering a dozen different channels and the exotic room service with fusion cuisine.
I secretly longed for boiled potatoes and turnip soup, for the simplicity of the eco-cottage, for the quiet and peace and fresh air, for the dodgy phone and dial-up internet lines that meant a trip to the neighbours was easier than high-tech communication.
I realized that the cottage, not my hotel room, was the real luxury, affording me enough time, space, and companionship to feel fully human. And that there was something downright hedonistic about the taste of fresh vegetables from the garden, the smell of earth, and the scent of wood smoke, not to mention the satisfaction of having coaxed it all yourself.
Of course, we can’t all live in the Irish countryside. But back in Vancouver, as I reach for the organic greens at my local market, or take time to walk along the beach to an appointment rather than driving, the simple pleasures of the “green life” become apparent. Sustainability can be a delight. It’s the grim alternative of a ruined environment that’s not fun.
When writer and journalist Hadani Ditmars is not plotting ways to escape to the Irish countryside and dig potatoes, she travels to Middle East hotspots, searching for that one perfect organic pomegranate.
A Dollar For Your Time?
by LARISSA BUJIS
I got the diagnosis on a Tuesday afternoon. Apathy had long set in and my ability to work—or do much else—was slipping away. The doctor called it burn-out syndrome and ordered me off work immediately. My treatment: do nothing.
Being idle, as it turns out, was more difficult than I...
|
