Dearest Friends,

It was delightful to be in your gracious company in our last gathering.

Many of us come to ecological practice carrying grief, despair, anger and anxiety. We watch as forests burn, as ocean warms, as species vanish and as weather patterns shift. Many times, there’s a visceral sense that the world we grew up in is literally disappearing.

In preparing for our most recent reflection, I found myself revisiting the work of William Bridges, the American consultant who made an important distinction between change and transition. Change refers to an external shift that happens to people while transition refers to the internal process that occurs within people as they come to terms with change.

I thought of this distinction because it can be especially supportive when meeting the ecological crises of our times. While significant attention has been understandably devoted to the changes in our environments, it’s just as important that we attend to the transitions that these changes require of us. Such transitions involve three stages:

• The Ending. In this stage, we’re invited to recognize and honor what’s been lost and to allow ourselves to grieve. In ecological contexts, this includes naming the loss of beloved places, species, seasons, lifeways, hopes, dreams and assumptions about the future.
• The Neutral Zone. This stage spans the liminal space between what was and what is yet to be. The world we once knew is literally vanishing—and it’s impossible to determine what the future will look like given the complexity and the rapidity of the changes still underway. The neutral zone can be a place of deep anxiety and confusion given its uncertainty—but it can also be fertile ground for creativity and transformation.
• The New Beginning. In this stage, we envision and participate in the emergence of new values, identities, commitments and ways of living. Ecologically, this may involve radically simpler lifestyles, stronger communities, a deeper reverence for the natural world and a reinvigorated commitment to planetary stewardship.

The aforementioned model of transition offers some insights that can be valuable as we navigate ecological loss and change:

• Every transition begins with acknowledging and honoring loss. Before we can move forward, we must allow ourselves to recognize and mourn what is ending, rather than rushing past our sorrow and grief.
• Not knowing can be a spiritual practice. The neutral zone can feel deeply uncomfortable because the old ways no longer fit while new approaches have yet to fall into place. Yet this liminal space is often where genuine transformation occurs. Fortunately, Buddhist teachings on impermanence can support us in tolerating the discomfort of uncertainty and the impossibility of guaranteeing outcomes.
• New beginnings arise from intentions—and hope emerges from participation. We don’t need to know how the future will unfold to choose care, compassion, courage, simplicity and wisdom. Rather than waiting for reassurance, we forge hope by actively participating in the healing of our communities and ecosystems.

From the perspective of the dharma, this process is deeply familiar: We relinquish and honor what is gone. We abide in uncertainty and unknowing. And we generate new ways of being and belonging. The ecological crises of our times is an invitation to participate in this timeless journey.

SUGGESTED PRACTICE:

Sit quietly and take a few moments to attend to your breath. When you’re ready, bring to mind an ecological loss or change that weighs heavily on your heart. It can be a precious landscape, a beloved season or a cherished hope for your grandchildren. Simply allow your pain, your anger, your sadness and your fear to be present. Silently say: “This is ending.” Allow yourself to honor this truth, gently suspending any urge to fix or to solve the loss (or your experience of it).

Now imagine yourself standing in an open field just before dawn. The path behind you is fading. The path ahead remains invisible. This is the neutral zone: the space between what has been and what will become. Notice what it feels like to stand in this space. Can you breathe with the uncertainty? Can you soften into the unknowing? Can you trust your capacity to meet whatever comes?

Now, in the distance, imagine a small green shoot emerging from the soil: a symbol of possibility—not a guarantee. Silently ask yourself: “What quality of the heart can I bring into this moment to support this possibility?” Perhaps it’s compassion. Perhaps it’s patience. Perhaps it’s devotion. Rest in this quality…before allowing it to radiate outward from your heart.

To conclude this contemplation, silently repeat:

I honor what has been lost.

I embrace what is uncertain.

I devote myself to compassionate and courageous participation.

Remain with the breath for a few moments…then gently return your awareness to the present.

RECOMMENDED POEM:

Mary Oliver’s Lead

REFLECTION PROMPTS:

• What ecological loss or change feels most significant in your own life? What might you still be grieving or what might you still have to grieve about this loss?
• Looking at William Bridges’ three stages of transition, where do you find yourself most often: at endings, at the neutral zone or at new beginnings? What helps you know where you are?
• What practices or commitments have emerged or are emerging from your relationship with ecological crises that might represent a new beginning?