Skip to main content

Pandemic Journey Day 51

May 11, 2020

Today’s idea – On the class agenda was economics.  The word economy originated from the Greek word “oeconomicus” for household management, which included consideration for the value of free men’s work in a household and that of exploited women and slaves. Later these ideas were extended from households to city-states, and later to nation-states.

 The shape of its letters resembles a warren, and I added more rooms by contrasting neo-classic economics with eco–economics and doughnut economics. The word begs the question, what do I consider home? Where is my Ecos? This existential query should be the Axis of any economics question; and its answer would be the Mundi. Unless the home is defined or described, how can we know what we are managing? A clear sense of habitat is rather essential to shape the perspective and frame the response.  

This afternoon I mulled on this question as I sat on a levee beside the Mississippi River in a massive wildlife refuge. I had driven upstream for almost an hour. Then I walked far enough from the road so that the predominant soundscape was an open sky full of bird song – blackbirds, warblers, swallows, goldfinches, a great horned owl, and geese with crickets laying down the lower tracks like alpha waves. In the distance behind the sonic curtain was the low rumble of a train.  Wild spaces they bring me home. The term, wildlife refuge, bears the qualities I admire for a domicile. The levee was good place to consider economics as I pulled out my binoculars for a bit of birding.  Circular conveyances came to mind when I looked about.  Before me was a slough with a water level much lower than last month, yet still high enough to flood the deadfall that had toppled along its edges. The river teams with its own ecology, facilitating a more rapid composting and decay of the woody debris.  Nothing created, nothing destroyed – just molecules rearranged. All around the deconstruction scenes rose the alchemy of this greening season.  It had settled deeply here.   Marsh grasses, dandelions, plantains, and blackberries forested the levee; the deciduous trees were exploding in new foliage, preparing to reopen their well-honed photosynthesis operations, the real magic on the planet. The fauna was well occupied, too, turning out their next-generation and extending the gene pools forward. The debris of one era feeds the dreams of another.

Somewhere in the last few hundred years, we took the biosphere out of economics and straightened the curves of nature’s reciprocity, railroading resources to waste. Now human society is choking the earth with its growth economics, a management system not based in the real world.  Sometimes I feel that pointing this out rings subversive in some households, but damn it, I teach ecology and the economy of the biosphere.  I have been charged by the very discipline of this study to invite my students to look for ways to re-vision such a flawed and dangerous economic system that threatens to run us off a cliff in their lifetime.  Let them be part of a revival moment, if so inspired,to reunite us with the truly global economy. 

Our textbook offered an alternative model to growth economics. Eco-economics studies things inside and outside the market and across other disciplines in an attempt to embed humans in their ecosystems.  I happened upon another school of thought called doughnut economics.  It is the brainchild of Kate Raworth, an outspoken economist from Cambridge. She has put forward that human societies can thrive if we transition from nation-state economies to a planetary state economy, dwelling in a doughnut space with sensible boundaries above and below.  Our economy’s ceiling would be environmentally circumspect within limits that safeguard our precious biosphere. Our economy’s foundations would be held by the social justice principles housed in the UN’s Sustainable Development Goals of 2015. It is quite specific.

I like to think either model could be a twenty first century prize to keep our eyes on, creating another Renaissance instead of the Apocalypse. And perhaps  it is what we need to generate the steady state of oeconomicus  that would facilitate an ascension to the fifth dimension, I hear so much about. But I’ll have to check in with my light worker friends about that.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Covid19 Journey Day 27

April 17, 2020 Today’s celebration – Last May I attended the annual school fundraising gala.   Browsing the items on the silent auction tables, I found nothing that that stirred my avarice, so I took another tack and decided to find things that I could have fun with or devise pleasure from, as a way to justify some necessary opening bids.   There was an impressive box of chocolate bars with a couple bottles of red on which I entered the first bid, and I paused at a wooden crate with another pair of wines, nice glasses and a gift certificate for a charcuterie tray.   The vintner of the Pinot Noir and Chardonnay was Kosta Browne. Without a thought of the initial bid being the winning bid, I scratched my offer on line #1 - $150. I did covet a set of hand thrown mugs from our headmaster’s wheel, but found my bid lost in the healthy bid escalations.   By the end of the evening though, I was the winner of the box of wine and chocolate and the two bottles of Kosta Browne.   Once at home

Temerity

Helen holds hands with thunderheads. It helps when she's weak in the knees, lightning running down abductors, running down bones. Even temple guards succumb to such days, soft as pillows - scarlet velveteen on silk sheets.  Pink cyclamen bells the air, and Helen cut her traces. Bridget dreams the summer wind.  Its susurrate moan rises in waves, swells with tides of sandalwood to chariot the night.  She spins rhapsody around its howl,  dawns a golden jet stream  on spangled festoons of cirrus. Weak knees fly off with yellow wind,  before Bridget stills the night.   Sicily wets her lips with limoncello, quells the rabble of heartache, the clatter of waiting.  She rings goblets like temple bells, makes a sound map for lost days. Her boat of pink sand brims in blood oranges and cyclamen. Lightning festoons the rabble, Sicily finds Helen’s hand.

Covid Journal Entry 14

April 4, 2020 Today’s image – Exploring social cohorts. So, on campus now there is a small village of us living together, the remnants of those in residence this year.   We are an international population: seven from the US, six from Vietnam, five from China,   four from Morocco, one from the DR and two dogs/three cats.   We share four large buildings where we live, take our meals, study and exercise, on a five-acre campus. The rest of the two hundred and sixty or seventy odd community members are sheltering in their homes; some of the teachers and administrators dropping by during the week to work in their offices.   We have had little or no contact with them so far.   Our chef and his crew of two come in by rotation to prepare and serve the daily meals, a maintenance duo tend to the essential tasks and repairs, the city services haul away trash and recycling, the postal service, UPS and FedEx still deliver mail and packages.   It’s Iowa and the governor has been holding out on