I know that is not here, and that it is never going to happen. So I watch my passion shift a little bit, as it aligns with reality. Not a huge shift. Not even a stretch of the imagination. Simply a world where there is no such thing as disposable plastic. No bags and bottles in great islands in the ocean. No beaches covered in old thongs and screw caps. No storm water drains filled with garbage bags, styrofoam cups and fragments of clear, shiny PET. Not a huge stretch of the imagination, but a shift from our reality. And the sadness of those images mixed with the silliness of its cause - (convenience mostly; a way of "saving" a few seconds; or a way, teen-like, to unleash some pent up power by not just giving a shit) - that mixture becomes volatile in my belly and ignites the sense of fire, and justice, and fairness, and caring for others that I CAN call passion. It brings the warmth of a broken heart into focus, the way that watching a beloved in pain does.
This earth is my mother, and my beloved. She is all abundant, all suffering, never complaining. But she is like a mother with wayward children who hit her, abuse her, steal from her, knock her down and piss on her. Stopping the use of plastic bottles does not seem like much, in the face of this, but it is a move in the right direction. There is an energy behind it that can carry more than its own weight. It makes a real difference, it makes an idealistic difference. But mostly, it makes a difference in my heart - in my way of being with my world.
This, I realize, is what I am passionate about: my heart's place in relation to my world. So why use plastic bottles to carry this passion? Convenience really - there is simply no more ridiculously easy target, no more invasive, below-the-radar, yet obvious symbol for how to cock up the planet, and through that to lose my connection with my heart and my passion. Not the life I want, just for the "ease" of a throw away bottle.
Great Australian Tap Water - get the real thing.
photo from 'La Diva de la Telephono Blanco'