You are part of the world you seek to heal
Community care and ecological kinship
“This world is made of sugar. It can crumble so easily, but don’t be afraid to stick your tongue out and taste it.” – Sarah Kay
With cacao warming our bellies, all eight of us lounged on the sun-dappled grass of Mount Batolusong. Beside me, ants had overtaken the plate of leftover cassava and sugar. None of us were alarmed by this. Just like the full bowl of food nestled in the grass, the plate of cassava was an offering to the mountain which held us. I felt happy for them, the ants; what a delight it must’ve been for them to find that plate, to stumble upon sweetness in a volatile and often bitter world.
Steve Manzano, a cultural worker and dear friend, and I organized a retreat for environmental defenders, social workers, and artists in need of rest and reconnection. We called the retreat Liwayway, meaning dawn in Tagalog. Our guiding principles for the space: kinship and emergence. “We need to find comfort in climate urgency,” Steve had told me in our first zoom planning call together. “Yes! We need healing spaces, and new strategies and connections,” I said. For all our planning, all our careful prayers that we could offer healing for other people, we didn’t anticipate just how healing the retreat would be for us.
Mount Batolusong, Ground 1 Arts Space, and the people who joined us all serendipitously aligned, mirroring each other’s journeys and completing each other’s needs — for comfort, for reassurance, for a listening ear. It may not sound profound, but the sacred is in the mundane, after all; the space we collectively held was a true community. Greater than the sum of our parts and with no one treated as less important.
I had discussion prompts prepared, but I didn’t need to ask them because the conversation flowed readily. We spoke comfortably about personal struggles, connection with the land, and love as a revolutionary force within the social justice movement.
Among my learnings from the mountain was my own place in the movement. “How can I hold space for people when I feel like I’m breaking down?” I confessed to the circle, exposing just a sliver of the despair that has threatened to drown me recently. Buried within this question was the larger existential one: how can I be useful to the movement when I’m struggling so much on my own?
“I’m shocked that you say that,” Angela, who I met for the first time that day, responded. “Just your presence is enough. Just you sharing your truth is helpful for all of us.”
I teared up, skeptical yet still relieved that someone could see me so clearly.
What I needed to remember was I am part of the world I seek to heal, not separate from it. I am not excluded from the medicine.
I know the work is heavy, and our task feels urgent. This is a reminder to all of us that we do not have to carry our burdens alone. We are not supposed to. Find and hold close a few people who you trust. Learn to care for each other. Remember that healing oppression can be sweet, too, when you practice relationship-building and care.
The justice we are collectively creating is taking root in the cracks of the system. I’ve seen a glimpse of it on Mt. Batolusong that day. Yes, the world is crumbling, but don’t be afraid to reach out and enjoy its sweetness.
