Bayside

22 Jun, 2011

A pulse of cars and bicycles flows and rests on the slanting street beside a North Beach café. The streets are dressed with beatnik memorabilia safely settled behind the same museum glass that holds the lanterns of Chinatown and the Italian flags that lead up Columbus Ave. Tourists seek morning snacks while business suits charge down the hill, day laborers warm their hands in the breeze, a homeless man does a spin to the sound of his own voice, a pair of well-dressed woman chat casually in Mandarin as they stroll, and tight jeans grind a fixed gear to a commuting halt. While the shifting fault lines below our feet are an accepted danger, developers along the shoreline know that rising sea levels are their greatest unknown enemy. This great city knows what it means to be shaped by the forces of nature in flux, and it will likely learn that lesson again.

I had a curious thing happen to me this week. When I first arrived in San Francisco, I met up with my old buddy Trip from the Nashville days. We found a flavorful curbside joint in the Mission with some Django Reinhardt on the radio and quickly commenced reviewing times past, present and yet to come with the building energy of reunited compatriots. A few hours passed quickly, and our desire to seek new scenery coincided with the need to move Trip’s car to avoid parking violations. So, in fervent conversation, we strolled to the car and hopped in. It wasn’t until we’d gone a quarter mile that I realized why something felt odd: I was in a car. We remedied this lapse quickly by stashing his car in the first reasonable place, but there was a rift in my thought. I had so easily resumed “normal” behavior that I didn’t even notice I was in the car. This is a danger whose potency lies in its silence. As Americans, we think nothing of getting into cars. We do it by nature. But the car is not the embodiment of liberty that we have made it out to be. In fact, if there is anything that the past few weeks have taught me, it is that the automobile is more inhibiting than it is convenient. Case in point: as soon as we parked the car, we strolled the narrow stepped gardens of Russian Hill down to North Beach, where we happened upon a street fair. A Latin ska band blasted horns in a packed bar. Parents carried little tikes on their shoulders. A stew of cultural heritage simmered on the streets. This fair would have been lost on us had we not stashed the car. But we had to KNOW to give it up. We had to be aware of the fact that we were driving at all. Yes– limiting our use of vehicles is contributing to a drastic shift in the condition of our atmosphere. But it is also making us numb to our own actions. If you have a hard time ascribing to the rules of proper environmental behavior, consider how your own life can benefit from more mindful practices.

Unfortunately, a series of slow internet connections and time constraints will have to keep this post short. While there is much to review, I want to address something that I’ve come across in the Bay Area that has been unique thus far. Many churches throughout the trip have been energized by the Carbon Sabbath, but in SF, I have had the new experience of helping people voice their fears around climate change and dissolve some of their anxiety. This is important. Although it is necessary to recognize the hardships that we are both creating and facing, it is not helpful to be paralyzed by this concern. We must find a way to convert our fears into action. This is where some of the sabbath elements come in. Through our mindful rest, we can restore our connection to the source of all creativity and enrich our lives. Here’s hoping.

Until we meet again

more mindfully creative than we thought possible!