The title of today’s post flows in two directions: It can refer to the love one has for small things, or to the love one receives from them. It’s apt for us here today, in both respects. It’s a state of mind from which the larger world could benefit, as well.
In this country, the dominant culture has long been in thrall to notions of, well, exactly that — dominance. It’s a founding principle, but it’s also a mindset that has been taken to new and positively aberrant lengths since January. Bigger, better, faster, stronger, more extreme in every conceivable way: These are what modern society regards as “virtues.” The goal is to win, to be worshipped, to dominate. Might makes right, and power for its sake — in its most dangerous form, that of authority — is the goal.
It’s a language and worldview of extraordinary violence. Fitting, perhaps, for a culture rooted in and built upon the blood and bones of stolen land and lives, but not a prescription for the world’s survival.
Our ways make space for small things.
An adage from the dominant culture refers to the dynamics of being a big fish in a small pond, and it, too, runs both ways: It’s easier to be important and/or powerful by limiting one’s existence to a small ecosystem, but at the same time, one’s power and importance are only relative to that small size. It’s usually used in a derogatory sense, of course.
But in a culture where even the grains of sand blown upon the wind hold real power and an animating spirit, being a little fish in a big pond — or, more to today’s point, being a tiny dragonfly (and more accurately, damselfly) — in a pond is a position of real power. It’s all in the perspective.
From a distance, the damselfly is barely visible (and to my aging eyes, not visible at all). From water’s edge, and it’s possible to see it upon the reed, but no more.
But enhanced by a zoom lens, much comes clear that we would not otherwise see: bright indigo body; wings of silvered lace; tiny legs able to hold onto a flexible stalk in a relative iron grip. And the water, what from a few steps back seems only a gray flat surface, showing itself to be a rolling textured scape of cross-hatched swells. At least as important is what the damselfly’s presence in the pond assures: pollination.
And pollination rebirths our whole ecosystem here.
Last night, the spirits of the waters finally answered our prayers in a small way. A thunderstorm of sorts moved through, bringing with it lightning and wind and a few minutes of sprinkling rain. It was not enough to soak the earth, but it was enough to tamp down the dust. At least as important, from our immediate perspective, the wind drove out much of the smoke from the nearby wildfire in Bonita Canyon, a blaze whose fireline jumped over the weekend and now encompasses two separate plumes and well over 5,000 acres. This morning, the smoke has returned, but with far less intensity, and the grass is damp with dew.
On this day, it feels like summer — not the overwhelming, elemental power of extreme heat and punishing drought, but the soft green embrace of simpler days. Water flows down the main ditch into the pond. The dragonflies and damselflies, indigenous symbols of love, may show themselves; if so, they will go about their work of spreading fertility — spreading love — in their own small but exceptionally effective way.
And we will be reminded that it flows both ways: Their actions show the spirits’ love for us, even as we love their place in our world.
It is a good world here, one built upon a love of small things.
~ Aji
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