astrid jirka

warrior princess

He said I reminded him of a warrior princess defending her jungle territory. That made me chuckle. I couldn’t quite muster the comparison between myself and the images of the warrior princesses that came to my mind. The first that emerged came from the yearly calendar hanging on my office wall-a powerful woman riding a dragon through the sky, her thick, dark hair blowing in the draught. Standing bravely on the dragon’s nape, spear in hand, she strives forward to defeat the danger that lies ahead. Her posture is proud, there’s courageous conviction in her eyes, and she’s spiritually connected to the beast that aids in her journey.

Seconds later, my mind traveled to the Amazon and imagined all the women there who’ve fought for centuries to defend the jungles they call home. These were warriors that stood steadfast with their families, seeking strength from the bottom of their souls, as they fought for their rights, and the rights of the lands upon which they lived and loved. And I thought of all the indigenous women today who still stand in defense of their cultures in the face of seemingly unstoppable political and corporate greed.

The depth of their struggles are unfathomable to me. Next in line, the greats of our modern day came to mind – Winona LaDuke, Vandana Shiva, Waangari Maathai, Rachel Carson, to name but a few. Women around the world, with worry in their hearts and tears in their eyes, fighting with words, as they organize their communities through writings and speeches. Who gather their strength from a well of conviction that all is not right in the world, from love of their human and non-human kin, from anger and dread and a hollowness too much to bear.

I think it was that hollowness that put me in a craze that day, as I walked out my back door. I’d heard some curious sounds coming from the neighbor’s yard. As I stepped outside, I nearly lost my breath. It felt as if an arrow had been shot through my heart. It was only a few small trees, but their absence, and the sight of their hacked-off branches looked like a massacre had taken place. Everywhere around them, their dismembered body parts lay in big piles on the lawn, and already they were being dragged away. The view was like a scene out of the Lorax, lifeless stumps still left in the ground.

It was the landlords at work and I couldn’t fathom why they did it. In a flash, I was mourning the loss of those few small, yet sacred, plants, that helped form my garden sanctuary. I hadn’t quite known, until that moment, how their essence and spirit had fed my soul. Where were the birds going to go? And what about the oxygen the trees put out to the world? What about their inherent right to share the planet with us? I also felt an immediate concern for the students that live in the landlord’s home. How would the now empty space, the message of destruction of the natural world, resonate in their unconscious, young souls?

I hurried back inside before the landlords saw me and shut the door. I tried to reason with myself through my disbelief and fury. It’s their right to do what they want on their own property, right? Who am I to have a say? I’m just the neighbor next door, peering over our shared fence every day. The one I had arranged to be built, with the assistance of their son. I thought we were neighborly, considering each other’s needs. I tried to go on with my day but my heart and head were in a whirlwind of despair. Emotions and thoughts were crashing all around. A storm was brewing inside my soul and it needed to be set free. I had to say something.

I waited for my breath and heart to calm, for my mind to seek compassion and remember kindness as I gathered the right words to speak. I wasn’t thinking about weapons. I certainly wasn’t thinking about warriors. I was thinking about the earth and all the countless people on it. I was questioning how we can all find peace in living together. And how we can all find harmony in living on our finite planet. I thought about how challenging this all continues to be in our modern-day Age of the Anthropocene. And I contemplated how we as individuals can work to reduce mutual suffering and increase respect and reverence for the natural world.

I’ve spent my career working to advance understanding between people and between people and the planet. I’ve struggled with my cultural identity, my privilege and my various roles as citizen, educator, and activist. And I’ve had my own internal battles with the concepts behind numerous new words that have entered our lexicon of late, like eco-anxiety, climate despair and bio-phobia, as well as nature deficit disorder, doomer humour, and eco-therapy. And especially, solastalgia: “the distress that is produced by environmental change impacting on people while they are directly connected to their home environment.”*

I guess that’s what It was. Solastalgia. The sound of the word practically makes me want to cry. But I know it’s the meaning behind it that elicits all the mixed-up emotions I contend with these days. I can feel these emotions pulsing through our collective society, all around the globe, in the young and old. There’s so much destruction and distress. It’s taking its toll on all of us. But we must soldier on. And we do. Warriors of all kinds continue to hone the weapons they need to stand up for what they believe. Conviction, commitment, cunning, creativity and courage come to mind. And love – for ourselves, our communities, and the earth. Faith and hope and optimism also seem essential, not to mention wits and wisdom and well crafted, non-harmful words.

So I gathered a few of these weapons and cautiously went into the backyard again. With bated breath, I approached the landlords, the fence between us, and boldly asked them, ‘Why?’. And then my emotions came pouring out of their well of despair. I was not rude, nor unkind, but I was firm and I was fierce. I was, in fact, a warrior at work.

Later that day, there was a knocking at my door. Dear Edward. He’d been pulled unwittingly into the fray to help with the cutting and the clearing, and he’d witnessed what he named my ‘righteous indignation’. He placed his hands on his heart and apologized on behalf of the world. I’d never seen him before but there was deep empathy and sadness in his eyes, and I deeply appreciated his gesture.

Six weeks later, another knocking. Edward again. He couldn’t stop thinking about the situation. He was going to buy and plant some new trees along the fence to make up for the loss. And he did. Today, when I open my back door and look across the low fence, the first thing I see are those dead truffle tree stumps. They’re still screaming, crying and lonely. But then I cast my gaze to the new growth of Edward’s trees, and I settle on their kindness and hope, and contemplate how these two realities exist side by side.

As the war against the earth and human connection rages on, the faith and conviction of warrior princesses continue to be called into action. A harmonious world of human beings living in peace with the planet is worth the fight. The tools we need are not bows and arrows that lead to tears and bloodshed, but more subtle qualities of the heart and soul which take time to hone. Let us hope that such weapons of compassionate action, rooted in the conviction of the right of all beings to thrive, and aiming for love, will help us win this essential war of our time.

*Sage Journals: https://journals.sagepub.com/doi/10.1080/10398560701701288

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About the author

Astrid Jirka lives and works in Ithaca, New York, as the current Director of Tourism Initiatives for the non-profit Discover Cayuga Lake, where she seeks to integrate sustainability practices into all manner of operations. She has been working in the field of sustainable travel for the majority of her career, considering matters related to conservation, environmental impact, cultural sensitivity and peace building, and encouraging others to do the same by enjoying educational travel experiences. She is also a long-time yoga instructor and co-founder of Yoga for the Earth. Her website is www.govahana.com.