When I was living in a Zen monastery years ago, the phrase I practiced with most often was, "just this."

Only two words. But as I held them in mind, day after day, and then over years, they revealed a world to me.

Since we finished our yearlong retreat a few weeks ago, some friends have been asking what we’re up to.

As in: it looks like we’re still kind of in retreat.

But not. 

The confusion is understandable. Maybe I can explain.

It has been over a year since I last posted to this blog. As many of you know, we've spent most of that time in retreat.

Last week Devon and I guided a workshop on the climate crisis with our dear friend Camila. The experience was moving, momentous even; I felt the conversations we were able to have, all of us together from all over the world, held something in me that needed holding.

Ever since I got my PhD, there's been no one around to tell me what not to do. Depending on your perspective, this has either been a great joy or a total catastrophe.

Which means that when I hike through these parched hills wearing my N95 mask, what I see are trees browned and depleted, sagging, starving, and what I can feel, if I let myself, is despair.

But I have come to think that despair is not an option.

I spent the first week or more in a state of almost physical withdrawal, staring down the impulse to pick up my phone, glance at the news, dance around to Lil Nas X during my little home workouts.

Maybe it's like going camping. You give up a roof over your head and what you get is the stars.