The Collapse
Way-finding, Imaginal, Human Hubris
The next two pieces emerged, like some of my earlier pieces, from prompts by Perdita Finn. “The Collapse” sprang from her prompt: What is your extinction story? “The Bonfires of the Grandmothers” came into being as a result of her prompt: What stories do you want the grandmothers to be telling around the bonfires seven generations from now? It was Perdita who reminded me that I could put myself in front of a blank screen and see what emerges on the page. It was she who questioned whose words are actually showing up for me to write. I, for one, have been amazed at what has poured forth whenever I do this.
EARLY DAYS
The first thing we noticed was how peaceful it was.
But how does one enjoy peace when worry gnaws at the stomach? Could we survive without electricity? What about those cold, winter nights? Would there be wood to burn? For everyone? That's a lot of people—and a lot of smoke! But on this late spring day, what we most needed to know was how we were going to eat.
It's easy to say, "Grow food!" but most of us didn't know how to begin. The land here in the Willamette Valley is founded on dense, wet clay, rock hard when dry. In the Before Times, backyard gardeners ordered deliveries of more suitable soil. But there was no longer a way to do that. Without electricity, there was no gas. No electricity and no gas meant no motorized vehicles. Money was fundamentally useless as there was no commerce. All systems had broken down. Utilities, power, food distribution, and banking, along with consumer goods (need bigger clothes for your growing children?), medical and dental services, education, most aspects of the government and, of course, the internet, cellphones, and computers. Never had we needed knowledge and goods more. Never had they been so hard to find.
Previously, our water had come to us compliments of snow melt from the Cascades. But when the glaciers and snow fields dried up, even the mighty Columbia slowed to an unhealthy, tepid trickle, too weak to power the turbines. The dams remained as grandiose, useless hulks. There was no money for removal. One of the few useful things the government provided was management of the meager amount of water left in our reservoirs. In the absence of an economy all corporations were shuttered, leaving us just enough water for drinking—for now, while spring rains fell. But summer was right around the corner.
Locally, though, a trade economy showed signs of life. Sharing tools and trading goods and services held promise for helping us to manage some of the deficits we faced. Even this, though, might be short-lived. We’d heard chilling tales of gangs of so-called “militia,” outfitted with every imaginable weapon, who swept through communities, taking everything of value. Including girls and women.
THE TIME OF TRANSITION
The city was barely recognizable.
Because Nature abhors a vacuum every unused lot, building, street, or ditch became host to a wildness that we didn’t have the means to control. Control. Yes, control was the problem. Back in the Before Times it was the perverse “need” to control that had created the conditions for collapse in the first place. Since then we’d been laid low as Nature ripped away our illusions, unleashing unbridled chaos in its place. There were soon not enough of us left to “control” anything.
Disease, violence, and hunger had claimed too many of us to contemplate. But most terrifying was the weather. Years after the collapse angry weather extremes raged on with what seemed to be increasing fury. Spring involved torrents of rain, bringing toxic floods followed by merciless amounts of mud, as well as wild, windy and dangerous thunderstorms. Later, summer brought unbearable daytime heat, with night time temperatures reminiscent of summer afternoons in the Before Times. Crops, animals and the few trees remaining disappeared or died. Late summer and fall brought the fires with accompanying, smothering smoke. Late fall was ushered in with cold, stinging, windy, rain followed by the endless ice storms of winter. The storms generated by the so-called Pacific seemed stronger every year, yet somehow did not produce enough snow to make a snowpack.
Lengthy summer migrations to cooler settlements nearer the coast were carried out by some, but the threat of fire remained ever present. Luckily our sentries, originally trained to alert us to the roving bands of militia, were well-positioned to warn us about fires as well. Still, nearby conflagrations that flared up in moments had managed to wipe out a few settlement. And some folks had returned from their coastal migrations to find their unguarded homes in the valley burned to the ground or raided.
It was often said that our situation was reminiscent of the days of the pioneers but I begged to differ. Back then we had settled on land that had been lovingly maintained for millennia by indigenous stewards. In hindsight I had grown to accept that any violence those stewards of the land had visited upon us as new arrivals was justice served. They could feel the sickness living in our hearts, the rapaciousness and arrogance in our souls. They could see the inevitable outcome of our actions. This! They could see this! In the quick 400 years since we first stepped upon the soil … the land ruined, the water gone, the elements lashing out.
What wouldn’t we have given for help from these same stewards after the collapse?! But no one from our parts had seen them for years. They left their reservations and, for all intents and purposes, melted away into the wilderness. But rumors circulating from back east told of nomadic groups of indigenous people sometimes making contact with communities. According to the tales they were healthy and strong—and had been joined by many white people. They were said to stop for a time, do some trading (mostly to the benefit of the community visited), provide comprehensive and life-saving healing services, and demonstrate how to tend more wisely to the land. They were also credited with teaching us how to outwit the militia. But these nomadic miracle-workers soon continued on their way, leaving many blessings behind.
As a result of their gentle intervention, teaching slowly spread from east to west, settlement by settlement, about healing, nutrition, and new ways of communication between humans and nature. Thanks to this new knowledge we became much more resilient—even against invaders. We learned better ways to create underground bunkers but, most importantly, how to dispatch information quickly by creating networks around settlements in a contiguous manner—such that information could be spread at maximum speed. Invisible to the militia, our sentries were able to silently signal the direction of our persecutors, and inform the settlements when to be silent and whether to hide. In this way we were able to avoid them most of the time. By keeping our food stores and most necessary possessions in the bunkers as well, we suffered little from theft.
When it was necessary to "disappear" into our damp, dark, worm-ridden bunkers we often thought about the stories we'd heard before the collapse—about bunkers the ultra-rich had built on land purchased in places like New Zealand, land they deemed "safe," and guarded with armed security. We amused ourselves by imagining these billionaire bunkers—outfitted with bowling alleys, bars, and movies. Wouldn't that be nice? Instead we huddled together for warmth, telling stories, sleeping, and sharing dreams. And there, under the earth, we cultivated a new kind of consciousness—somewhere between sleep and wakefulness. From this liminal space between the human and more-than-human worlds emerged the wisdom we so desperately sought—through ancestor, animal, and plant spirits who chose to share their guidance with us.
A NEW ERA
Most of the adults who survived the initial collapse have now gone on to become ancestors. Living amongst us now is a precious new generation who never knew the Before Times. It is simply beyond their imagination.
Only a few elders remain. The children are "middle aged" now. Their memories of the Before Times are fading. Sara still likes to tell the young ones tales of her trip to Disneyland. Her eyes always moisten when she remembers such childhood happiness. Joey tells stories of sports cars and hot dogs. And Jennifer waxes nostalgic about the smells of the bakery. She dreams of baking again one day and has, in fact, built a functional clay oven for all of us to share. Now that some farm land has been cleared in the valley again, she’s developing a mill. She knows she can trade her oven technology for the grains she’ll need.
We've come a long way since the collapse. The climate seems to be smoothing out, its rougher edges gone, the weather generally improved. Now it’s more like what southern Oregon used to be, with less rain, more sun. The higher latitude, though, keeps the sun at a more temperate angle. Over time, and with our patient guidance, the chaotic riot of vegetation that overtook urban areas has sorted itself out. The cities have become park-like, seasonally abundant with berries, fruits, nuts and oils.
The fires have done their worst and burnt the sick, old evergreens, which were all we had left. We tended the flammable brush that replaced the trees, prioritizing the saplings which are now growing to maturity. There is shade again, and birdsong, and fires are rare. We’ve learned how best to collect the large volume of water that falls and flows in the fall, winter, and spring, in order to survive the long, dry summers. Snow lingers longer on the high peaks and there are rumors of yearlong ice fields on Mt. Tahoma's north side.
Militia raids are rare these days. After wasting way too many bullets “practicing” their game-hunting skills, during which time they destroyed more game than they could possibly use while at the same time repeatedly injuring or killing each other, they were surprised to find that they'd run out of bullets. They tried to use bows but didn't have the skill to successfully make or use them. Nowadays most of the militia from the Before Times have died. The girls they abducted, now grown, have taken charge. They are raising their boys to have empathy and compassion.
More recently, tales about the Uber Rich in their luxury bunkers reached us from New Zealand. The billionaires did not survive. Once it became clear that their money was worthless, the armed guards themselves turned against them, inhabiting the bunkers until the giant batteries ran dry. At that point the only thing left to trade was the liquor, after which the would-be security guards sealed up the bunkers and left.
Regarding bunkers, we no longer need ours for safety but we’ve gone on using them anyway. The jewel of consciousness we found inside them during the raiding times was not something we've chosen to abandon. In groups large or small, or in solitary fashion, we continue the practice of lying beneath the surface of the earth, quieting our thoughts, until sensation leads us to a fertile, inner darkness where we come in contact with “The Beings” from which we gain great wisdom for the benefit of all. Some say they commune with a female goddess, perhaps Hecate or The Great Mother, Mari, others a male presence, such as Jesus, Krishna, or the Green Man, some say it is the wisdom of the ancestors, plants, or animals, while others seem to come into contact with an assortment of beings. It matters not at all. The wisdom flows for us no matter who imparts it.
By way of this wisdom we cooperate with the land—with the plants, the mountains, the elements. In short, with Gaia. Through this communion the plants have revealed to us their medicine. Debilitating disease is now a rare thing. The animals have offered themselves to feed us, providing we never take more than we need.
Such Wisdom benefits human relations, too. In our collaborative form of organizing, decision-making is a collective practice. We forswear hierarchy, sexism, and the like. We strive for balance—to have enough, not more, not less—with plenty of time for pursuing our various interests as healers, hunters, sentries, artists, teachers, dreamers. etc.
As humans who have survived the collapse there has been a great chastening in seeing and knowing what we wrought upon the Earth by choosing greed, comfort, and convenience over sharing, generosity and service to all beings. There is also great joy in our current sense of inter-belonging. An emptiness that many did not realize they harbored deep inside themselves has been filled with feelings of completeness, wholeness, connectedness. At the same time, though, we know we are vulnerable—that each day could be our last—so we strive to live accordingly.
Keeping all this in mind, and remembering the Before Times, the elders are in complete accord—these are, indeed, the best of times and we are grateful that we lived to witness them. May those who find these writings take them to heart and pass them on. Much love to you, to our descendants, and to our ancestors too!
May Wisdom find you.