We All Live in The Garden of Time

A quilt for Palestine.

Today’s post is dedicated to Palestine. If you’re able, please consider giving to the fundraiser organized by Substack writers here:

Substackers for Palestine Children's Relief: A fundraiser

“We are in great haste to construct a magnetic telegraph from Maine to Texas; but Maine and Texas, it may be, have nothing important to communicate... We are eager to tunnel under the Atlantic and bring the old world some weeks nearer to the new; but perchance the first news that will leak through into the broad flapping American ear will be that Princess Adelaide has the whooping cough.”

-Henry David Thoreau, Walden

I first encountered this line from Walden while working as a temp at a call center. The company offered "outplacement services" to employees after layoffs, and my job was to call 50 people a day to enroll them in employment coaching. The clients were "highly skilled," earning an average salary of $80k per year, and perfectly capable of finding jobs on their own. Our services were essentially useless to them. Despite the urgency fabricated by management to make all these calls, I was mostly hung up on or screened out.

As I write this weekly newsletter, Thoreau's sentiment often comes to mind. My small Substack now reaches 28 states and 13 countries. I know that anything of true importance that I have to share already exists within the souls of my readers. I know our daily lives are entangled in a digital cacophony of tedious, senseless bureaucratic tasks such as my job at the call center. And so if I am going to take up this space in your inbox weekly, I will use this space to remind you of what your soul already knows, and what the empire wants you to forget, such as:

1. Your time and attention are precious and important.

2. Your time spent idlely, in reverie and in your own imagination is time valuably spent.

3. The things that we are told that are urgent are rarely ever urgent.

4. Time dedicated to the pursuit of higher knowlege and wisdom is important, even if that does not lead to a career or economic gain.

5. The people you are made to think are important are not.

“But between the people who produce things over and above what they consume, and send them out into the world, and the people who don't produce anything and who do nothing but consume, which are the great human beings? Which are the important human beings? If you ask yourself this, it's not much of a puzzle, is it?”
― Genzaburo Yoshino, How Do You Live?

The only thing of real urgency that I could say to you in this moment is “Free Palestine.” With that, I also call for freedom for the sweatshop worker who sewed my Fenty pajamas. Freedom for the child in the Congo who mined the cobalt needed to manufacture the laptop I’m typing on. Freedom to anyone shackled and dehumanized by this empire for my convienience.

Every aspect of our daily lives has been commodified and trivialized by the systems we exist under. We cannot allow this fate for art. Art is essential for making sense of our lives and the moment in history we occupy. Art carves out a space in our lives for real, intentional living. There are few moments in my daily life where I am fully present, where I am not wishing the hours away. When I am embroidering or quilting, I am fully in my body and in the present. Regardless of the material success I might ever gain from making art, its real value lies in how it brings me closer to my own soul.

Through making art we can unlearn helplessness. Art reminds us of our shared humanity and our common language. We can redefine our values for ourselves and expierience a more meaningful existence.

Today I’d like to show you a quilt I made, alongside the timeline of world events that occured while making it.

Last October, a rabbit laid to rest beneath a wilting tomato plant in my garden. It’s stench wafted into my nostrils combined with the scent of sweet basil. The cucumber vines growing along the fence drooped and bowed to it’s remains. I cut my plants at their base and covered the beds and the body with a layer of cardboard for the winter.

News of Israel’s invasion of Gaza coincided with this moment. Palestinian journalists such as Motaz, Bisan, and Plestia became a daily presence on my instagram timeline. I’ve seen homes, schools, and hospitals reduced to rubble. I watched children cry for their mothers, and parents weep for their children. I watched Gaza descend into hellfire from my phone screen while my garden transitioned into the stillness of winter.

In the spring I uncovered my garden beds and found the rabbit; only fur and bones remained. I plucked the skull from its’ skeleton and buried the bones. I recoil at death and gore, but I feel that this is a ritual I must partake in. I need to face death on my own and make sense of it.

I cleaned and bleached the skull, tucking it away in a drawer for future use. This was at the time of The Met Gala. This year’s theme, “The Garden of Time,” derived from the short story by J.G. Ballard. The story follows an affluent couple who live in a opulent villa surrounded by a garden of "time flowers." These flowers turn back time when plucked, allowing the couple to momentarily delay the inevitable advance of a vengeful, approaching army. The garden eventually runs out of flowers, and the couple faces the unavoidable end of their idyllic life as the masses close in.

This red carpet event clashed with the bombing of Rafah. By this point, Palestinian citizens had been herded south for 7 months towards designated “safe zones” that were subsequently bombed. Our instagram feeds in this moment starkly showed the contrast between the extravagance of celebrity next to suffering and inhumane treatment of the masses. This event prompted a movement to block celebrities on instagram, which I can only hope the collective can continue to adhere to.

This moment exemplifies a phenomenon known as “context collapse,” which we all experience in our daily lives. Our global connections constantly expose us to the stark contrasts between the lives of the elite and the suffering, carnage, and destitution faced by everyone else.

The night I sewed the rabbit skull into velvet, I saw a video of a man in Rafah hold up the burnt body of a decapitated infant on my instagram timeline. I decend into a state of helplessness. I fear there is nothing I can do. I fear it is impossible to live up to my own virtues, and I know it is wrong to simply signal them. So I stitch, mend, and I sew. I try to stay grounded. I want to honor the dead. I want to offer a tribute to their lives in whatever way that I can.

Recently, while walking into my grocery store, I was greeted by an unhoused neighbor at the door. As I perused the produce, Taylor Swift’s “Anti-Hero” played overhead. The billionaire’s chorus of “I’m the problem, it’s me” echoed throughout the aisles and outside the door, where the woman sat, shaking her plastic cup for coins. I can’t help but think of the pop star’s carbon emmissions, quite literally advancing the pace of time for the rest of us for her own leisure. It truly must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero.

The art and entertainment that is broadly consumed in this age reeks of opulence and excess, and wether you are willing to admit it or not, it is at our own expense. It is mocking us. We need to become dissillusioned with it, and quickly.

Have you ever noticed how beautifully the humble penny shines in the sunlight? Here, a penny sewn into an old sheet and thrifted velvet, embellished with plastic pearls from the dollar store is my attempt at resistance. Opulence mocks me, so I mock opulence. Beauty is not rare, nor is it something that must be bought. It is something any one of us can create amidst the ravages of capitalism.

American coins are inscribed with the phrase “E Pluribus Unum,” symbolizing unity from diversity. We should all know by now how problematic the “melting pot” metaphor has become, but there is some inherent truth in this statement.

Out of many, one. From this singular rabbit that died in my garden bed, its body has enriched the soil and brought new life. My tomatoes will grow back stronger this year. Death, in this way, is meaningful and regenerative.

In genocide, death does not bring new life. It accelerates the passage of time for all of us, pushing humanity closer to our collective demise. The number of bombs dropped in Palestine has now surpassed the number deployed during World War II. This senseless violence shatters any hope for regeneration. It disturbs the natural cycles of life. There is no reason to be found in it.

The monkey is reaching

For the moon in the water.

Until death overtakes him

He’ll never give up.

If he’d let go the branch and

Disappear in the deep pool,

The whole world would shine

With dazzling pureness.

This image derives from a Buddhist parable where five hundred monkeys, each holding onto another's tail, try to grasp the reflection of the moon in a well. They fail when the branch they are hanging from breaks. The monkeys symbolize unenlightened individuals who cannot differentiate between reality and illusion.

In our pursuit of illusory endeavors, we cling to the fragile "branch" of opulence, much like the monkey reaching for the moon's reflection. These false values prevent us from achieving true fulfillment and meaning. If we let go of these illusions, embracing deeper, more authentic values, our world could shine with dazzling purity.

Let go of that branch. Let go of opulence. Let go of frivolity. Let go of praising anyone who will not sacrifice an ounce of their own power to speak the truth. What you see in them is already inside of yourself. Everything that you need is within you. Make your own art, and uplift the art of those around you. By doing so, we can create a world that truly reflects our deepest values and aspirations.

We all live in the garden of time. Me, you, the rabbit, and all of the creatures of the earth.