Thank the Gods for Butterflies
Withdrawing from the time-driven routines that tend to shape our modern lives while embracing nature`s unchanging rhythms, raises interesting questions about the shape of our futures.
No doubt some math geniuses have developed algorithms that accurately demonstrate this theory: the more times one hears something initially radical and exciting, the less it holds that fascination over time, or even seems to matter at all. Let`s call it the “accelerating boredom” principle, or maybe dumbing-down by repetition.
The ‘news’, real or fake, has become so familiar that it is creating in me an ever-increasing, undeniable sense of boredom.
What to do about all this?
First, I’ve silenced all the sources of “breaking news” (or any news) for the time being — not an easy task for a confirmed news addict. At first, I missed the talking heads chewing, over and over, the same narratives, trying to convince me that what they were saying was essential, when it was generally meaningless information that often tasted like yesterday’s sandwich. I had to teach myself to hop, skip and jump carefully around the internet to avoid running into some tempting headline.
But now that I am learning to live without them, I’m beginning to wonder what “knowledgeable” actually means, and where it should fit into our daily lives.
There was an exquisite butterfly on my windowsill this morning, a kaleidoscope of deep hues of orange and bright yellow. Isolated from the pandemic in the heart of the Brazilian rain forest, the mata Atlantica. The butterfly is one of the first things I see when I get up on mostly sunny mornings. It flits tirelessly and with great speed from one bougainvillea bloom to another. The infrequent helicopters seen overhead are brutish by comparison.
An agile, white-breasted nuthatch kept me company the other morning, dancing along the swimming pool`s edge to the rhythm of my strokes while I was doing my exercise laps, then diving almost to the water’s surface, taking a quick drink and rapidly returning to its dance.
Just a few nights ago, sheet after sheet of rain swept in from the sea and drummed on the roof of the house with the kind of soothing beat that is offered (for a price) as a sleeping aid by Meditation apps. I hadn’t really noticed it before, and I suddenly realized that the real-time sound was much more comforting than the canned one.
Watching the sun peeking out from behind the rainclouds the next morning, drying the glistening giant leaves of the nearby plants, I’ve become increasingly aware that, during my self-imposed “drying out” from what was happening in the outside world, I now have a lot more time to look inward, to contemplate my navel, if you will. Before, I was inundated with breaking news and a mind full of politics, the pandemic and the latest horrors in world. Now, I have realized that I was missing the simple daily natural beauty unfolding around me.
Like any addict gone cold turkey, at first, I missed the noise of the daily outrages which had previously punctuated every waking hour of my day. Now, the only sounds I hear are the rumble of the Atlantic waves breaking on the nearby shore, the brilliant music of birdsong and the endless crowing of some faraway rooster who can’t seem to stop, no matter what the time of day.
Like many philosophers, I have wondered if a tree that falls alone in a forest makes a sound. And does it make any difference one way or the other, if no one is there to hear it? One could ask the same question about the endless noise of the comings-and-goings on the world’s stage and its hapless actors. Why should not hearing it matter? Will anything change?
Withdrawing from the time-driven routines that tend to shape our modern lives, while looking at and even embracing nature’s unchanging rhythms, raises many interesting questions about the shape of our futures — whether tomorrow will return us to what we were before the pandemic, or whether things will change for the better (or worse) when we confront the new normal.
Happily drowning in a tsunami of natural beauty, surrounded by endless trees, plants, and flowers competing for their places in the sun, one cannot help but think that nature has not given up its environmental struggle with man. Perhaps Covid-19 is nature’s harsh reminder that it will fight back against our reckless destruction — and it will win.
Keeping our focus on that — and adjusting to it — may be our best strategy. It will certainly defuse accelerating boredom.
By Peter Rosenwald
June 30, 2020
