Earlier this week, Realistic Sanctuary blog posted the first part of a two-part interview with Miranda Loud, a pipe organist, mezzo soprano and artistic director. In 2005, Miranda founded Rialto Arts, a non-for-profit arts organization based near Boston, Massachusetts, whose slogan is “Where nature takes center stage.” The animating idea behind Rialto Arts is for music and art to be a springboard for a vision of a new harmonious relationship with the natural world. What follows is the second and final part of a generous interview in which Miranda relates her thoughts on causes for hope, recommends some books and offers a personal interpretation of the term “Realistic Sanctuary.”

Sanjay Khanna: I have recently begun thinking that there’s a connection between the arts and human survival. I remember times feeling sad about the state of the world and soon afterwards touched and enlivened after going to a Bach concert, or hearing stories about Holocaust survivors breaking down on listening to a street musician play the violin.

Miranda Loud: I think what you’re getting at is that being exposed to and experiencing beauty is essential to human survival. Today music seems all pervasive, especially recorded music. It seems as if it is commonly a background to almost everything—shopping, eating, driving. When you see someone play in the subway or perform live up close, there is fragility and strength to it. It is definitely true that music heard two hundred years ago when there were no radios or recordings would have been perceived differently and probably appreciated even more because it was unrepeatable. Today we are overloaded with sensory information. If you’re trying to navigate a car and avoid crazy drivers (like me) while listening to Bach, you’re not in the optimal context for gaining the full benefit of that music.

SK: To me, it feels surreal to live at this time when on one hand we speak enthusiastically about our technological progress (and prowess), while on the other hand climate scientists are telling us that civilization is at incredible peril over a very, very short time frame, say, the next 10 to 20 years. Do you feel a similar sense of unreality and, if so, what are some strategies you use to keep yourself sane, grounded, connected and, where possible, optimistic?

ML: What a good question. I struggle with that balance of needing to learn and be open to what is happening ecologically, spiritually, scientifically and artistically, and yet sometimes feel myself in danger of becoming overwhelmed at the magnitude of what is going on with famine, water shortages, species loss, cruelty, war. Still, I find optimism in the gestures of kindness I see in the people I work with every day—the actors at the theater where I work, the priests at the church where I play the organ, the people whom I meet around town or in the library.

I think weaning ourselves off of oil will be messy and violent, but, ultimately, I have faith that the earth and people will be much better off after the dust settles. I think many people have a sense of the fragility of today’s society but don’t have the emotional space to deal with it. One idea I find very interesting is that we have been going on “progress auto-pilot” for several centuries and are now developing a global consciousness about what humanity is capable of. As this consciousness expands, more holistic and imaginative solutions will appear to help species survive. I hope I’m around to see a lot of them.

Just to bring it back to elephants: Elephants are incredibly ingenious at surviving huge changes in temperature, drought and food scarcity. Sadly, they are not able to escape poachers although forest elephants are very good at hiding. Elephants have been around a lot longer than human beings. We could learn a lot about community and survival from them. They function in matriarchal societies, which seems like it might be worth a try.

SK: What are some books you’d recommend?

ML: Several books spring to mind:

The Soul of Nature: Visions of a Living Earth, edited by Michael Tobias and Georgianne Cowan, includes thought-provoking essays by Wendell Berry, Matthew Fox, Peter Matthiessen, Thich Nhat Hanh and others.

Natural Capitalism: Creating the Next Industrial Revolution by Paul Hawken is a great book of solutions to restoring the planet with ideas about how industries and economies can work in harmony with the environment (and how many already are).

The Voice of the Infinite in the Small: Revisioning the Insect-Human Connection by Joanne Elizabeth Lauck.

The Dream of the Earth by Thomas Berry is a series of essays about our current environmental situation with unique perspectives on how we got here and what might happen to us and to the Earth.

The Golden Spruce: A True Story of Myth, Madness, and Greed by John Vaillant. I found this book about the Haida people, the sanctity of trees, the issues around clear-cut logging on Vancouver Island (and in British Columbia in general) hard to put down.

Silent Thunder in the Presence of Elephants by Katy Payne.

Grayson by Lynne Cox, an incredible true story about a long-distance swimmer who communicates with a whale in distress.

The Parrot Who Owns Me: The Story of a Relationship by Joanna Burger, which provides a convincing case for cross-species love and respect. A beautiful story.

SK: From your perspective, how can we learn to appreciate the basics more?

ML: This question reminds me of part of an essay by Matthew Fox (a priest who has been excommunicated for his views on a nature-focused spirituality) that a Native American elder once told him that a way to learn reverence for something was to go without it for a while. You really learn reverence for water when you don’t have it for three days.

I guess I’m suggesting that people go without things that they think they really need for a few days to push their comfort envelope. It always teaches you things about yourself and what you really do need. You probably notice that if you eat when you’re hungry, food tastes even better. You appreciate friendship more when you have been traveling alone for some time.

I think it takes very simple choices to help improve one’s quality of life. For me, I practice active noticing in my environment and framing observations in ways that make me feel part of a larger community. Negative thoughts are a choice that you can practice avoiding. I bike and walk more because it brings me more in touch with other people and nature, and I practice vegetarianism and gratitude for food before I eat it. It makes me feel more grounded and healthier.

Sometimes I focus on one of my senses for a day to really enjoy, say, being able to see, taste, smell, hear or feel. Sounds corny, but these little things stimulate my imagination and make everything around me seem richer. They make me feel more present and take me away from worrying about the future.

SK: You mentioned that you spent time in Findhorn, Scotland, to learn about living in an ecologically sound manner.

ML: After resigning from the church job I had as an organist for seven years, I was looking for an experience that would expand my worldview and be fun at the same time. I had been reading a lot on my own about sustainable living and thinking about ways of finding community and lowering the cost of living. I discovered the Findhorn Foundation in Scotland was offering a training course for people who were interested in learning about eco-village design. I had always wanted to go to Scotland. This seemed like the moment!

Not only was my month at Findhorn the largest shift in my personal growth in years, it introduced me to a like-minded group of people from around the world (there were 30 of us in the course) who ended up teaching me by the example of the amazing projects they were already doing in their lives. It was an honor to be there with them and terrific to still be in touch with the group.

One of the first exercises we did as a group was to practice a grief and despair ritual. This was meant to help us feel compassion for one another and the world and move through our grief so that we could really make things happen during the course. All our courses were held with us in a circle. In the middle was some sort of centerpiece that someone had created that day.

For the grief ritual, we took turns as the spirit moved us in reaching a stone from the center of the circle (our talking stone) and describing something that made us sad. The rest of the group then responded with “We hear you.” I mentioned that the ice melting under the polar bears and their drowning made me incredibly sad. A woman Argentina mentioned that she felt grief over a forest near her cottage where she had always spent weekends being cut down and the loss of bird song. One of the members of the group who was an architect in Iraq mentioned how sad he was that the beautiful garden that his friend had cared for was now a pile of rubble since the Iraq war started. It was very profound and also cathartic.

Throughout the course people made presentations of their work in their own countries to the rest of the group. Several people ran community garden projects. One of the more powerful presentations was from a man from Estonia who uses horse therapy in a small school for orphaned or abused children who have behavior problems. We ate lunch and dinner communally and would practice teaching the material we had learned in the mornings to one another in a variety of teaching styles in the afternoons.

If anyone reading this is interested in learning more, I would be happy to share anything else they want to hear about it.

SK: What gives you hope?

ML: There are so many things that give me hope, not only for humanity but also for the health of the earth to return. I have hope because I have seen incredible acts of peace and personal transformation where I wouldn’t have expected it. I see more people talking about things in new ways, politics for example. Starting a Ministry of Peace. Kids are learning meditation and yoga as part of many school programs, tools they can use for their whole lives as a way to deal with conflict, anger and all sorts of emotions.

SK: Finally, what does “Realistic Sanctuary” mean to you?

ML: For me, realistic sanctuary means to trust the wisdom inside, to be able to be at peace in my own mind by using breath and imagery to center myself. Meditation helps me navigate the shifting world and my own inclinations to mood swings, depending on the weather, what I had for breakfast, the latest news on global warming, or who said what to whom. Realistically, safety is an illusion. We all must die at some point, but art, music and the imagination provide me with a movable feast to navigate the journey.

End of second and final part of the interview with Miranda Loud of Rialto Arts.

For more information, Miranda’s personal web site is at http://www.mirandaloud.com, while Rialto Arts’ web site can be found at http://www.rialtoarts.org. Miranda can be emailed at admin AT rialtoarts DOT org.

Comments or questions? Email Sanjay Khanna at realisticsanctuary AT gmail DOT com.

This week Realistic Sanctuary blog is pleased to publish an interview conducted last week with Miranda Loud, an up-and-coming mezzo soprano and artistic director. In 2005, Miranda founded Rialto Arts, a non-for-profit arts organization based near Boston, Massachusetts, whose slogan is “Where nature takes center stage.” According to Miranda, the idea behind Rialto Arts is for music and art to be a springboard for a vision of a new harmonious relationship with the natural world; here’s part one of a comprehensive and engaging two-part interview in which Miranda is interviewed about how elephants inspired her current artistic and musical focus, climate change and more. In part two, she relates her thoughts on causes for hope, recommends a few books and offers her personal interpretation of the term “Realistic Sanctuary.”

Sanjay Khanna: For you what is the connection between Rialto Arts’ slogan, “where nature takes center stage,” and the arts?

Miranda Loud: It is a very fruitful and crucial time for the arts to come together around a love of nature and the planet. The stakes couldn’t be higher.

For several years as a performing musician (first as an organist and currently as a mezzo soprano and producer), I had been gaining more acute awareness of the need for a new way of thinking to help our society regain a non-destructive balance with nature. I felt drawn to do something more with my musicianship and my creativity to help heal the world and be a part of turning things around. I had a vision of nature-themed performances that could inspire delight and wonder, and appeal to people directly through the heart. This would make people more open to sustainable living ideas and to one another.

SK: When did you found Rialto Arts?

ML: I started Rialto Arts in 2005 after visiting a safari park on my way back from Montreal to Boston. I was incredibly touched and saddened by the expressions on the elephants in the park that stood listlessly in a large lot completely covered in dirt with one little gazebo for shade. In the eyes of the elephants, I saw how I was also a captive of an unhealthy society in many ways.

I got home to Boston and had an epiphany that I could combine an organ recital with short films of elephants to raise awareness for both elephants and organists.

SK: Please tell us a bit about Rialto’s first production and say more about the link to elephants.

ML: I’d produced concerts successfully for eight years prior to founding Rialto Arts, but linking arts with nature was a shift in direction that resonated with my deeper yearnings.

In conceiving this first concert for Rialto Arts (which I started simultaneously to support future nature/music productions), there were a few interlinked ideas. Elephants and organists are endangered and, like elephants, organs are incredibly powerful (the “king of instruments”) yet can be incredibly gentle and soft. Elephants also have over a six-octave range in their vocalizations, and probably the most obvious connection is that organs produce low sounds that can only be felt in vibration through the floor, similar to the subsonic sounds elephants produce and hear.

Performed in 2005, Elephants and Organs: From Trumpets to Trunks, the first production of Rialto Arts, was a combination of five short films about elephants with six large-scale organ pieces by a variety of composers—including Widor, Vierne, Franck, Bach, Jongen—and five short movies. I hoped that the performance would inspire people to see the commonality in elephant behavior with some of the best aspects of human nature.

My plan is to replicate this concert across the country by sending the DVD to organists in major cities across the U.S. with a list of music they can choose to play in between the movies. Ten percent of the proceeds would go to Rialto Arts, forty percent would go to the organist and fifty percent would be sent to Save the Elephant Foundation or the World Wildlife Fund. We would work through the network already in place of the American Guild of Organists to reach as many people as possible and hopefully inspire more interest in the organ and in preserving and protecting elephants, which as a flagship species are vital to the survival of several other species.

SK: What are you working on at the moment?

ML: At the moment, Rialto Arts is working from two angles to spark a reconnection to the earth – through nature-themed musical/multi-media performances and through environmental partnerships and information about green living in the program booklets and in movie trailers shown at the beginning of concerts. From what I can tell, Rialto Arts is the first classical music group to be doing anything like this, which is one of the benefits of being a start-up organization. We can be flexible, experimental and daring because we are still so small.

I’m in the process of creating Buccaneers of Buzz: Celebrating the Honeybee, which I hope will be able to tour to communities and highlight the work of local beekeepers, as well as inspire people to think about the effect of petrochemicals and our reliance on pesticides to keep our food sources going at the current levels. Many beekeepers believe that pesticides, particularly ones that remain in the ground for three years, are a cause of weakening bees’ immune systems, making them susceptible to a virus that’s causing colony collapse disorder. The jury is still out on exactly what is killing so many honeybees, but I hope to discover more in the next few weeks when I interview some beekeepers in Vermont for the movie portion of Buccaneers of Buzz. This will be a performance combining tap dance, African drumming, an original movie and storytelling.

SK: What do you like best about the Rialto Arts experience and mission?

ML: I like the idea that people can come to an event and something good happens just because they showed up. For example, since Rialto Arts was founded, we have planted a tree for every audience member by sending one dollar for each person to American Forests, our partner. Because of our audience, over two thousand trees have been planted. I’ve learned that you can’t inspire people with a sense of duty and guilt. They must feel delight in something that causes them to love that thing and protect it. This is where the arts are so powerful as a force for change. The three programs I’ve created for Rialto Arts have this as a basis – to instill a sense of awe and wonder in the world, particularly at the intricate interdependence of everything and the ability of life to regenerate and constantly differentiate itself.

I see Rialto Arts is part of the movement of thousands of groups, which in their own ways are reinforcing a new mythic ecological vision to counteract our current mythic industrial vision. Thomas Berry, an eco-theologian, writes in depth about this shift in his book of essays, The Dream of the Earth. We as a civilization are experiencing disillusionment with the power of industry and technology to bring us safety and happiness. Simultaneously, we are reweaving new visions for humanity and the Earth.

SK: What is your personal opinion on where we are at with climate change?

ML: We are definitely entering a challenging time where the arts may become marginalized even more as people become more concerned with survival in the face of rising costs of oil, food, water shortages and extreme weather caused by our use of fossil fuels among other things.

I think we are just in the early stages of reweaving our society as it is being dismantled with the rising costs of oil. Technology has improved human life in so many ways, and yet at some level it has replaced our need to entertain one another with our own ability to be creative while interacting with one another face to face.

The Earth is waking us up from our love affair with oil-run industry and I have no idea whether we have enough time or even the ability to stop what is happening to the build-up of methane and greenhouse gases in the air. Our civilization is so much more fragile than many people realize. Yet because I see so many people around me sharing a concern and desire to live more sustainably, I feel optimism in the long-term for humanity. We can’t solve these problems we’ve created with the same mindset that created them in the first place: we need to think dramatically outside of the box and bring in a more nurturing element to counteract the strain of violence in humanity. It’s a question of regaining or balance and sense of being part of the world, not separate from it.

I think climate change is terrible and a blessing at the same time because it is causing us to modify our behavior and examine ourselves as a civilization. Thomas Berry would say that we are the earth examining itself.

SK: How can the arts (music, drama, visual art, etc.) contribute to a growing awareness of the human condition as it relates to the environment?

ML: The arts give us an excuse to slow down. People are so hungry for this. Technology seems to save us time by allowing us to get places faster, reach people sooner, meet deadlines faster, write and publish essays or memos quicker, yet the irony is that it raises the bar for everyone which makes us all feel more burdened to be even more efficient and productive.

We often forget that the real communication comes between the words, in the silences where we digest what the person has said and new thoughts arise. When we sit together in an audience and wait for a piece of music to start or listen to the echoes of it fade away, we become aware of our commonality and of the spiritual nature of our beings. Live performance organizes silence for us.

The arts can provide a forum for new ways of listening and learning. They inspire us, they can make us laugh and delight us and, when focused on nature, they can cause a huge longing in us which leads to curiosity beyond the concert hall.

According to Thomas Aquinas, there are three good ways people can enjoy exploring the infinite (as opposed to seeking it in a materialistic consumer mentality):

1. The human mind – you can never learn too much, so learning combats materialism and consumerism (boredom).
2. Our hearts have no limit on the capacity to love.
3. With the use of our hands, human ingenuity and imagination is infinite.

There is so much we don’t know about other creatures, not to mention our own bodies. Millions of things happen inside each of us each day without our minds getting involved. We are walking mysteries.

End of part one of the interview with Miranda Loud. Part two of the interview to come on Thursday, May 5, 2008.

For more information, Miranda’s personal web site is at http://www.mirandaloud.com, while Rialto Arts’ web site can be found at http://www.rialtoarts.org. Miranda can be emailed at admin AT rialtoarts DOT org.

Here’s a food review not of organic risotto as advertised, but of a three-course impromptu lunch at Little Nest, my neighborhood sanctuary of choice, where the food is fresh, usually organic and prepared with care. And where the chefs, the staff and the owner get to know local farmers and suppliers and, in so doing, exemplify the love and attention to detail that make the world go ’round.

Why no organic risotto to review? Well, I walked four blocks to Little Nest yesterday and ordered organic risotto at 12:45 pm or so, only to find out the last order of the risotto special (mushroom risotto with shaved Parmesan cheese) had been sold. So the chef of the day, Mark Cornett, cognizant of the flash of disappointment that crossed my face, decided to improvise a three-course lunch to make up for the too-popular risotto:

1. Salad of roasted beets, shaved fennel, goat’s cheese and watercress on a base of walnut hummus



2. Roasted butternut squash soup with parsley and pistachio pesto



3. Poached egg with roasted mushroom and caramelized onion alongside an arugula and shaved Parmesan cheese salad topped with hazelnuts, toasted multi-grain baguette

At first I was disappointed that my promise to readers of reviewing organic risotto wouldn’t be possible.

Then a funny thing happened: the first course arrived. I surveyed the creamy dollops of goat cheese and the not-too-firm wedges of roasted beet, shavings of fennel, tendrils of watercress on the walnut hummus. The aroma of a light vinaigrette enticed.

I placed my fork into the walnut hummus, making sure to capture some fresh goat cheese, a small piece of roasted beet and shaved fennel. As the flavors merged in my mouth, any lingering sense of no-risotto disappointment vaporized. Instead I became lost in the salad’s textures: the creaminess of the goat cheese, the smooth, robust weightiness of the walnut hummus, the crispiness of the shaved fennel, the firm intensity and sweetness of the roasted beet—and the delicacy and, yes, even the vulnerability (sigh) of the watercress.

Next came the roasted butternut squash soup with the parsley and pistachio pesto resting like a medallion at the center of the bowl. The soup was perfectly hot: Not so hot as to burn the tongue but at a kind of peak heat that made it possible to taste hints of cayenne and other spices I couldn’t identify. The parsley and pistachio pesto made a delightful companion to the roasted squash, bringing to bear both Mediterranean and Middle Eastern influences.

At this point, I was bowled over and giddy, unable to imagine eating a third course. Luckily, there was about ten minutes between the second course and the third, which allowed my mind to be silently appreciative and grateful for the first two courses and also for my body to assimilate the food, just enough at least to accept a coming delight.

By that I mean the third course: Delectable poached egg, just so, combined with morsels of roasted mushroom (only one piece of mushroom was slightly too salty) and finely, tenderly sliced caramelized onion. Sublime with the next forkful—leaves of arugula, shaved Parmesan cheese and a couple of pieces of chopped hazelnut—and followed by a crunchy bite of toasted multi-grain baguette with plenty of melted butter.

Indeed, this was not a harrowing lunch; living to tell the tale of a lost risotto and a found (and wholly unexpected) three-course culinary extravaganza is hardly heroic. Thanks for the fine meal go to Mark Cornett and Craig Wright, the chefs at Little Nest, and to Mary Macintyre, the pastry chef and proprietor, all of whom understand humans’ primal need for local sanctuary and for healthy relationships between farmers, other food producers, cooks and, ultimately, all of us who, through eating, connect consciously and unconsciously with nature and the hard work of many.

And in case you’re wondering, it wasn’t a free lunch. I paid, gladly.

During the week of April 28, 2008, you can look forward to the following:

1. An interview with Miranda Loud, an up-and-coming mezzosoprano and artistic director who founded Rialto Arts, a non-for-profit arts organization based near Boston, Massachusetts, whose slogan is “Where nature takes center stage.” The idea is for music and art to be a springboard for a vision of a new harmonious relationship with the natural world; I’ll be interviewing Miranda about what’s inspired her artistic and musical focus and will also ask her views on the environmental challenges of our time.
2. A review of organic risotto at a local eatery called Little Nest. Since publicly professing my love of organic risotto, I’ve yet to actually write about this wonderful food. (And, well, breaking up weighty issues of global import with an appreciation of local food prepared with care and attention is surely a sane and timely idea.)

Stay tuned.

Whytecliff Park No. 2, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

(Note: This is a revised version of a post placed online originally on April 13, 2008, and then pulled off the blog for another edit. For those who read the original post, note the above photo replaces the one of grass.)

I took this photo at Whytecliff Park in West Vancouver, BC, last month when I’d been experiencing stress around the economy and the environment (I felt similarly perturbed after attending the conference, “Sustaining Cultural and Biological Diversity,” at the American Museum of Natural History earlier this month).

These days, I find myself needing to receive support from the affirming vitality that the out of doors can provide. Although I said I’d blog more about the conference, there’s little I can write at this moment except to say that neither science nor government is keeping up with the accelerating degradation of the natural world. And there’s still ongoing contentious debate on how to address the economic and environmental challenges related to climate change.

The next comment may seem a bit of a leap. The sluggish pace of addressing the myriad threats to human well being implies (to me at least) that it’s imperative to bring as much love and kindness as possible to our work and to the people with whom we interact. The simplicity of this scene at Whytecliff Park—and how much better it made me feel to sit by the ocean after becoming saddened—is a reminder of how nature’s solace can calm us when we’re feeling vulnerable to an onslaught disturbing environmental news such as the accelerating melting of the ice caps, the threat to global food supplies as a result of large-scale agrofuel activities, or global warming itself.

It’s also a reminder of how our ability to offer solace to one another will be increasingly crucial as the pace of change continues to speed up, threatening individual and collective peace of mind.

Chinatown in NYC: A space for respite and contemplation, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

For those who read my first post on attending the American Natural History Museum’s conference, “Sustaining Cultural and Biological Diversity in a Rapidly Changing World: Lessons for Global Policy,” I will write more on this soon after arriving home in Vancouver, BC, Canada.

This post is meant as a kind of sanity break from the difficult overall news emanating from biodiversity experts, assorted academics, community groups, indigenous peoples, and citizens who reported on their efforts at the three-day event.

I remember feeling pretty overwhelmed after the onslaught of first-hand reports and presentations from very good people addressing the tough issues on a constant basis. And when I arrived back at the loft I’m visiting through a friend, I suddenly felt able to breathe more deeply and to begin to find respite from information.

The need for calm today is preeminent to intuit ways forward, especially amid growing mainstream discussion among normal North Americans about surviving the coming decades. To provide my point, take a look at this article in the Sunday New York Times, where Alex Steffen, the editor of Worldchanging (a web site I sometimes write for), is quoted:

“The ‘where do we land when climate change gets crazy?’ question seems to be an increasingly common one,” said Mr. Steffen in an e-mail message, adding that such questions have “really gone mainstream.”

And now for a break from that message, consider spending some time in a quiet, peaceful area of your choosing to reflect on the value of art, the need for public engagement (and wise counsel) to see us through these times of transition hinted at by the mainstreaming of the idea of survivability.

Adrian Cerezo, Yale School of Forestry and Environmental Studies, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

Today was the first day of “Sustaining Biological and Cultural Diversity in a Rapidly Changing World: Lessons for Global Policy,” a symposium being held at the American Museum of Natural History. The conference organizers are attempting to help conservation organizations, indigenous peoples, academics, policy makers, and others join to address the continuing decline of biological, linguistic and cultural diversity worldwide.

It’s becoming clearer that the untold sufferings of indigenous peoples and their cultures as a result of ongoing dispossession from their territories are a harbinger of the future; even city dwellers risk being upended by economic and ecological threats. In this time of economic and climatic uncertainty, humanity is running up against limits of economies and ecologies; and, as an aside, it appears many of the conference speakers and attendees themselves are still trying to get their heads around the shocking implications.

(It’s almost as if none of us actually believe these changes are happening because the imagination doesn’t want to go there: The sadness is too great.)

Over lunch today, I listened as an aboriginal village elder from eastern Finland and an indigenous chief of a Siberian tribe spoke of the troubles of their people, the effects on the stability of reindeer and forests at a time when melting permafrost is changing the migratory patterns of mammals and moving forest ranges northwards.

Let me say this: It’s one thing to read about these events in a newspaper or watch them on television yet quite another to meet those affected and see the love and sadness in their eyes as they express their concerns about the future of their children and peoples. As they wonder about their survival just as we would.

In terms of content today, as one might expect, the disparities in water use, land use and greenhouse gas emissions between North America, Europe and the rest of the world came into sharp focus. As did the statistic that since the 1970s, there has been a 30 percent decline in biodiversity, according to an index of 1,500 species indicators.

So what’s really at stake here? Yes, the threat to human survival and that of plants and animals is grave. There is an underlying threat, though, that touches even closer to home and that may be less abstract than talking about survival when our factories keep churning out millions of ingenious and fascinating things every day.

It is this: The decline of cultural and biological diversity and the threat of economic recession (in the short term) and depression (over the longer haul) imply that love, kindness, and compassion—the very foundations of civil society and inner development—are under threat. Why? Because in the face of a shock wave of synergistic forces, many of us will point fingers, feel disconsolate and disturbed as economic and climatic patterns spread further afield and the cascading implications start affecting cities, our urban oases.

As a result of this thought, I’m becoming convinced that one of the only sure ways to absorb this idea is to learn… to… love. To become more compassionate. To create beauty. To be affectionate to those young, old and in-between. To grow plants and place one’s hands in the soil. And to become devoted to showering each other with so much kindness that we’re able to care for each other as we watch the icebergs melt in hi-def and strive to help those who are most affected by the coming changes.

We. Must. Love. One. Another.

As I write this, the words of the aboriginal village leader from Finnish Karelia (or Karjala) are ringing in my ears. In addressing one of the panels, he said: “European civilization has failed. By creating conservation areas and mapping territories, you are integrating [indigenous peoples] into the same civilization that has led us to have to come here these last days to discuss how to survive.”

Photo credit: Paul Mathews, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

Last week, Worldchanging, the sustainability blog hailed by Bruce Sterling as “the most important web site on the planet,” published an article I wrote called “What Does Climate Change Do to Our Heads?” (The title of the article happens also to connect with this blog’s theme, which is, “How can we face the reality of our planetary situation…and still maintain our sanity?”)

Here’s the summary: The article leads with the idea that there’s a link between the health of ecosystems and the mental and physical health of people, and that we’ve not paid enough attention as a society to the mental health impact of watching our local environments change around us as a result of increasing drought (or other weather effects) causally linked to global warming.

The article’s centerpiece is an interview with Glenn Albrecht, an environmental philosopher at the University of Newcastle’s School of Environmental and Life Sciences. In 2003, as he was considering the links between ecosystem distress and human health—and observing through interdisciplinary research the impact of drought and strip mining on communities in New South Wales, Australia—Albrecht coined the term solastalgia (pronounced so-la-stal-juh), which he defines as “the lived experience of gradually losing the solace a once-stable home environment provided.”

The implication of Albrecht’s interdisciplinary research is that there’s a mental health impact that corresponds to rapid climate change and that we’d be wise to pay attention to how to mitigate that impact along with other serious issues. His team’s work is a clarion call for people to, in Albrecht’s words, “support the network of ecological and social relationships that promote human health.”

Albrecht adds the recognition of these environmental side effects doesn’t have to dishearten us: “There’s hope in recognizing solastalgia and defeating it by creating ways to reconnect with our local environment and communities.”

Magnolias across the street, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

“The branches bend in the wind and rise up again, the flowers grow and fall, the forest swells like a wave, and the whole world trembles.”

— Nobel Prize-winning author Orhan Pamuk, “In the Forest and as Old as the World,” from Other Colors: Essays and a Story, published by Random House Canada, 2007

The events of the past weeks—the recent collapse of the Wilkins ice shelf in Antarctica, the crackdown in Tibet, the rise in wheat and corn prices, and the continuing financial woes on Wall Street—have been troubling.

As I absorb the trembling I feel about forces beyond my control, it’s dawned on me that magnolias across the street are important in and of themselves and also as symbols of beauty and strength. Why? Flowers grow of their own accord and share themselves fully and completely in spite of the suffering of the world.

As this phase of global turmoil continues, it’s easy (and at times necessary) to tune out that suffering because it’s too much to take. Or to be affected by news of cruelty to the point of depression or paralysis. It’s simple as well to forget the good, to take for granted the gift of being relatively safe, warm and fed. Strangely, it can be difficult to seek out support from friends and relations to overcome feelings of despair (though, for the record, I think this is absolutely essential).

How to counter feeling overwhelmed? Along with spending time with close friends, sometimes I remember that life gives life as in the magnolias. That the flora and fauna present in urban environments support our minds and bodies in ways we do not fully understand.

Just as blades of grass (and weeds) grow tenaciously through the concrete sidewalks and parking lots of my gritty urban neighborhood, at times I recall too that we have the opportunity to rise in the full expression of our humanity.

The choice we have is to support human dignity, community building and local business development. For some, that may mean harnessing their decency and intelligence to thoughtfully address innovation, design and architectural challenges for this historical moment. For others, it may mean devising more opportunities for people to get together in physical space and be of social support to one another. In either case (and in keeping with the theme of this blog), a compassionate understanding of the challenges we face can contribute to extending a sense of sanctuary to greater numbers.

(More on some challenges of innovation, design and architecture in an upcoming post.)

Late Auntie May’s “Little House”, originally uploaded by Sanjay Khanna.

In September 2007, my fiancée’s Auntie May died at the age of 97 after having lived for 60 years in a small house that is now set for demolition and new residential development. Auntie May’s self-described “little house” is a local case study in sanctuary.

Born in East Vancouver in 1910 (in the same neighborhood I live in today), she saw Vancouver grow out of ancient West Coast forests and abundant waters. She was a housewife and—when her husband died in his fifties—she got a job at a local dress shop to maintain an income and engagement with community life.

My fiancée remembers her auntie’s irreverent, wicked sense of humor. More than that, though, she remembers staying up late at night, listening to May’s stories of swimming in the Capilano River and going dancing in North Vancouver of the 1930s. She recalls sharing with her auntie her experiences of childhood, young adulthood and beyond and fondly appreciates how well May listened.

May was warm, accepting and ready for visitors. She kept extra food on hand in case anyone dropped by. Before she passed away, she told my fianceé that she felt her generation had ruined the world for coming generations; she worried about how the lives of coming generations would unfold.

There’s something in May’s life that is evocative and rich, worth pondering when considering the nature of sanctuary in these times of strife, gaps in income and concerns about global warming. Something about creating shelter, encouraging conviviality and paying attention to what we can make and do for one another.

To what extent, then, is sanctuary about deep listening? Or being prepared to receive friends and neighbors with open arms? Or opening our ears to the future and making accommodations for young people whose futures Auntie May believed are in jeopardy?