My Plea, My Yawp

The time of making is upon us all.  There is no more reason to tear things down, to divide each other and pit ourselves against our brothers and sisters.  We all want the same things: to be healthy, to be happy, to have a job that pays us enough money to buy housing, transportation, food, healthcare, clothing, heat and air conditioning.  At the very least, most of us want these things. We want to take care of our families.  Some of us want to help our neighbors in need.  But fundamentally, we want to survive and live a decent life filled with opportunities.

Beyond that, every human being has blood that runs through their veins.  We all piss and poop.  We eat and sleep.  At the end of our lives, our bodies die and over time are reduced to a pile of dust.  No one escapes this fate.  This is our reality.  We are here temporarily.

What then will we choose to do with our few years on this planet?  Will we deny our brothers and sisters the same wishes that we have for ourselves?  Will we force an image upon our brothers and sisters that makes them seem somehow different from ourselves?  We might choose to focus on our common humanity and all our similarities instead.  We might hold compassion in our hearts rather than contempt for "others."

If we are to focus on the commonalities between us, then we must fix that focus on the reprehensible characters that we revile. Hillary Clinton.  Donald Trump.  Muslims.  Native Americans.  Women. Wall Street executives.  The poor.  It becomes challenging.

Yet I know in my heart of hearts that we are capable of doing this.  We can be unified in our common humanity.  We can rejoice in the creative spirit that resides in each of us.  We must look beyond the illusion that some would try and create: the illusion that there exists a more deserving group of people, a more privileged group.  We are all privileged.  It is a privilege to be alive in this moment.  And the next.  And the next.  Every breath we take is a miracle.  Because at any second, something beyond our control could take that ability away from us.  And we would soon be a pile of dust.

So let us celebrate this moment of breathing. This next moment of eating.  This next moment of pooping.  Let us celebrate this moment of hugging, of crying, of leaping.  We are all the same.

This We Do In Remembrance of You, Dan River

On Ash Wednesday, 2014 I began a weekly practice which I called "Coal Ash Wednesdays." I initiated this practice in response to the coal ash spill at the Dan River on February 2 as a means of dealing with my personal sorrow and shame: sorrow from the pollution of this beautiful land that has sustained us, sorrow for the deaths of river wildlife, sorrow for the known health risks coal ash brings to the people living along the river and shame for being a contributing factor to the source of the pollution.

I am a Duke Energy customer.  I rely on this corporation for electricity.  I rely on electricity to maintain a lifestyle of comfort and ease. But Duke Energy creates the bulk of its electricity through the burning of coal which results in the waste product of coal ash. My mindless consumption of electricity is no longer acceptable.

What must I do?  How must I live?  Duke Energy is my only option as a power company.  I am not in a financial or physical place to install solar panels. I either must do without electricity or suck it up and continue to use Duke Energy as my source of it.  Neither of these options appeals to me.  

I decided the best way to express my grief and honor the earth would be to drastically reduce my consumption of electricity.  And at a given time each week, I would cut off the main breaker at my home, completely severing my connection with Duke Energy, for a minimum of one half an hour. I established a page on a social media site to invite others to do the same.  This was the start of Coal Ash Wednesdays.

I launched this initiative on Ash Wednesday for a couple of reasons.  In the Christian tradition, Ash Wednesday marks the beginning of a period of repentance known as Lent.  For 40 days, believers fast as a means of repenting for their sins and preparing for the return of Christ on Easter Sunday. It is a time of contemplation, mourning and repentance for all the frailties of being human.  Fasting is historically a standard practice during this time.  Over time, fasting has been replaced with the intentional "giving up" of sweets, meat, coffee, wheat and so on.  At a special service on Ash Wednesday, ash is smeared on the foreheads of participants indicating their process of grieving and penance.

The ash that spewed out of the holding ponds at the Duke Energy plant in Eden was toxic.  It destroyed lives in the river and along its banks.  We who consume Duke Energy's product are complicit in this disaster.  We are responsible. So we, the participants of Coal Ash Wednesdays, as a form of grief and penance, gave up a bit of our massive consumption of energy during Lent and beyond. And every Wednesday from 7:30 p.m. til 8:00 p.m. we shut off our main breakers in unison.

On the first Coal Ash Wednesday, people shared photographs of candlelit dinners with family, board games played by the light of a fireplace, sharing a glass of wine with a beloved. By simply cutting off the main breaker to their homes, they stepped out of the frenetic pace of life with its constant bombardment of electronic stimuli, and they interacted with each other.  Face to face. Despite the fact that we were all scattered across different towns, we engaged in an act of communion by uniting in this process of stepping back, taking a breath, listening to silence, enjoying each other's company and intentionally removing our connection to Duke Energy.

In cutting off our main breakers, we completely stop the flow of electrical current into our homes. We temporarily sever our connection with Duke Energy: the corporation that continues to mishandle its coal ash waste, the corporation responsible for the spill in the Dan River, the one never held fully accountable. This severance feels good.  It feels powerful.  It unleashes the imagination to the limitless possibilities we have as good stewards of the planet.

When the main breaker is off, the house feels unnaturally quiet and still. It is as if I can feel the rhythm of the planet rather than the ticking of the electric meter. I feel connected to the land both in my state of quietude and in my intentional act of severance from Duke Energy.

For me, Coal Ash Wednesday is less of a protest and more of a spiritual practice; a "giving up" of electricity in mourning and in penance. But I do like to think that if enough people participate in this act, maybe we can make a statement to Duke Energy will be heard in their profit margins. It's a dream I like to have: that "people have the power to redeem the work of fools."   

On February 2 I've proposed we cut off our main breakers from 7 a,m until noon.  These are peak hours of electric consumption for Duke Energy during the winter months and a time when the rates are a bit higher: $1.20 more per kilowatt-hour. This can result in a big savings on your electric bill if you make shutting off your main breaker a daily or even weekly practice - even if only for one half an hour a week. And any money I don't have to pay to Duke Energy I can use for investing in renewable energy companies or environmental organizations. It is my one small way of working for better energy options.  It is my one small way of giving back to Mother Nature.  It is my way of saying I'm sorry and I'm trying to do better.