Being the Soil for One Another, Episode 407
We are much more powerful than we often imagine, and in surprising ways. For most of us, our power is not in being remembered long beyond our lifetimes, or in being able to change the world that is far from us. It is rather in that we are each made by one another, and we make one another, by how we live, what we say, how we listen, and how we act.
When we start to see that we are literally making a world for others to live in right here and now, in our every way of conducting ourselves it can open great possibilities both for gratitude and wonder, and great responsibilities for us as parents, friends, colleagues and neighbours in our everyday lives.
In this conversation we remember Joanna Macy, whose writing we have featured a number of times, who died on July 19. And we talk together about what it is to be ‘good soil’ for one another, so that we get to make a world together that we want to live in.
This week’s conversation is hosted, as always, by Lizzie Winn and Justin Wise of Thirdspace.
Episode Overview
00:00 Introduction and Context Setting
02:59 Nature as a Narrative for Human Life
05:59 Reflections on Mortality and Legacy
08:50 The Interconnectedness of Human Experience
11:54 Being Soil for One Another
14:49 Relationships and Community
18:07 Parenting and World Making
21:06 Cultural Narratives that Limit and Bring to Life
23:49 Conclusion
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Here’s our source for this week:
In Honor of Joanna Macy, 1929-2025
I write while staying in one of the great forests of British Columbia, a forest in which the inextricability of life from death is gorgeously evident… Magnificent fallen trees turn back into soil as younger trees reach downward to twine around their ancestors' trunks and upward toward the sky. The roots growing around and gripping these decaying logs look like veins and tentacles and fingers clutching and reaching toward an anchor in the soil. Some of the mature cedars and conifers stand on mounds that must be fully decayed trees or rather once were trees and are further along in the process of becoming soil. Often a great tree that's fallen over still has at its base a tall shield that is its roots still clinging to rounded stones and soil, and from this the trunk stretches across the earth. These trees from which trees grow are known as nurse logs…
When I was younger, I was taught what an artist or writer was supposed to aspire to was immortality, the kind that Dante and Li Po and Shakespeare have, so that in centuries to come memory of your name and attention to your creations continue. Later in life, I realized that there was an entirely different thing to aspire to, an entirely different kind of creative success: to be so much part of your own time, of the present that is making the future, that rather than remaining what people think about, you become in some way how people think, how they value, what they prioritize. You stop being what's in front of their eyes and become part of what is behind their eyes, how they see the world, how they live, act, what they aspire to, what they hold close, what they resist.
You become a nurse log on which new life can grow as you compost into the soil we call culture. And maybe this is the mindset of moist places, of an ecology of vivid decay and regeneration rather than of the arid places, where death dessicates and the mummies, skeletons, ruins, Dead Sea Scrolls, last for centuries or millennia.
Rebecca Solnit, writing in memory of Joanna Macy 1929-2025
From ‘Meditations in an Emergency’, Rebecca’s ongoing public writing for these times
Photo by Tomas Martinez on Unsplash