Ayana Young  Hello and welcome to For The Wild Podcast. I'm Ayana Young. Today we are speaking with Jacqueline Suskin.

Jacqueline Suskin  We might lose the seasons as we know them in our lifetime. We are. That's what's happening, but we won't lose our connection to that rhythmic cycle and to me, it feels so necessary for our ability to thrive and survive even as the Earth is shifting under our presence.

Ayana Young  Jacqueline Suskin is a poet and educator who has composed over forty thousand improvisational poems with her ongoing writing project, Poem Store. Suskin is the author of eight books, including the forthcoming A Year in Practice (Sounds True December 2023), with work featured in various publications including the New York Times, the Atlantic, and the Los Angeles Times. An ecstatic earth-worshiper, she lives in Detroit where she works as a teaching artist with InsideOut Literary Arts, bringing nature poetry into classrooms with her Poem Forest curriculum.

Oh, Jacqueline, I'm so happy we made it and that we're here being able to connect with each other and just, hopefully sit in cozy spots and get to slow down and dive in a bit. 

Jacqueline Suskin  Yes. 

Ayana Young  Well, gosh, where to begin? This is always the challenge with people I really want to talk to. I think I want to start with really rooting into the themes of your most recent book, A Year in Practice, which offers rituals and poems and meditations for a life guided by the seasons, which I really, really resonate with. So maybe we could begin with a question about how you're feeling into Fall right now.

Jacqueline Suskin  Ooh, yes, I feel the feeling of Fall is really heavy on me in this moment... where I'm a little sick. I'm entering the season of leaving Summer behind and there's some grief in that and I think that I'm the seeing the horizon of Winter and longing for it. So I have to be careful not to skip over the gift of Fall, and the last big push of the harvest and the gathering energy that comes with Fall. But I'm definitely excited to rest this Winter.

Ayana Young  Yes, I am always looking forward to what I've been lovingly calling cuddle season, which is upon us. And I think the slowdown is so necessary for the earth and also for us, like we can't go go go all the time. And as much as I love the fruits of summer, it just so much, and so much to keep up. It's fairly chaotic, and so when winter rolls around, you know, or the fall transition, knowing that Winter's coming and it's like, okay, there's no more harvesting right now, or very little harvesting. And it's time to go internal, and to take stock of our lives and, you know, go into whatever rituals we go into. It's such a cherished time for me. And it's also heavy. Definitely a lot of tenderness for me, too. 

And, yeah, there's actually a quote that I want to read from A Year in Practice and you write, "As October arrives, we've regulated a bit more feeling our way into coolness, deciphering the gifts of the harvest and finding the fulcrum of the season. This is the month when the cycle of death really sets in, the veil is thin, and the growing world begins to completely shut down. There's still that bright spark in the air as the trees make their closing remarks with dried leaves and bare branches, and so there's still time to revel in the outdoors before the cold comes," end quote. Ah, yeah, I really feel that. And I'm wondering if you have any recommendations or ideas or inspirations for listeners in the Northern Hemisphere, as we enter into October and really enter the thick of Autumn.

Jacqueline Suskin  I think there's some sense of this kind of last push that I like to be really sensitive around, which is this feeling of not rushing, like I said towards Winter, which I'm really excited about, but also not rushing to attend to that spark of Fall. I feel like it can, in the similar way that Spring offers this kind of really frantic energy that Fall can kind of get into this really heightened state, this crisp air and that feeling of sort of like there's so much to do and it really... I always like to remember to kind of check in with that and use it accordingly. So make sure that I'm choosing wisely what my last push is for and how do I want to intentionally move towards whatever that is. 

 And you know, in the book, I talk a lot about creative practice and being an artist but I also think just in general, whatever is happening in our lives in the Fall, we get this opportunity to kind of choose where we want to give that last big spark. And I think that that's what I'm most interested in right now is kind of like taking a breath, having a pause and a beat and sort of redefining and giving myself some clarity around What is that? What will be the recipient of that final push?

Ayana Young  When you say recipient of that final push? Could you speak a bit more to that?

Jacqueline Suskin   Yeah, I think I mean, like, will I put my energy into this project, before the winter comes? Will I put my energy into seeing all my friends and family before the winter comes? Will I put my energy into myself and like getting my health in line, or my own internal energy charged up for my time of introspection to come. And I love kind of tending to that as a choice. And knowing that there's all this potential and possibility that you could utilize with that vibrant feeling of Fall, but that you actually do get to choose which direction to kind of give that charge to. And I think sometimes we can rush through that choice. And just being a little bit more careful with that and kind of tuning into, okay, well, this thing could actually wait. And I don't need to utilize this glorious gift of Fall energy to help me make this thing happen. But this, on the other hand, it doesn't feel like it can wait. And I'm given this gift right now of this energetic offering so I can put it in that direction, and just the kind of clarity around that choice.

Ayana Young  Yeah, you have a poem from the collection, The Edge of the Continent: Volume One—The Forest called "Autumn Arrives." And I don't know if you would read it for us right now. I'm also happy to read it as well, but is that something that you'd be open to? 

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, I gotta look it up.

Ayana Young  I figured you'd have it right in front of you. [laughter]

Jacqueline Suskin  

“Autumn Arrives”

Wind moves the bay laurel leaves,
conducting a sound I imagine
porcupine quills make while rising,
or what I suppose
the raising of a dog's ruff
would sound like, if only we
could hear the gesture of fur.
I want to pinpoint the season's shift
if only to celebrate it properly.
Which birds stop trilling first?
Do certain plants sigh relief?
Summer gives its final
hours of warmth –  saved for late
afternoon when I have given up
on sun. Suddenly the sky goes blue
with October's brightness.
Good tricks of light, nothing immediate
all these starts
and stops to prepare me for a pause,
a time of deep rest.

Ayana Young  That's just perfect. As I'm looking out my window right now. I really felt it. And yeah, I think we so often have trouble with the season shifting because we can't pinpoint the moment of exact transition. You know, it's far more fluid and uncontrollable than that. And so I'm wondering how can paying attention to the seasons also encourage us to embrace rhythms outside of our own?

Jacqueline Suskin  Right, it's so nuanced. So there's this kind of tuning into the rhythm of whatever the seasonal character is wherever you live. And then I think that that just guides us to kind of know ourselves even more. Like if you start looking at how you specifically respond to the seasons and how they shift and change, then I think you get this great glimpse into yourself. And that's kind of what, like at the very heart of everything I'm talking about in A Year in Practice is this offering of self reflection and self understanding that the Earth inherently gives us time for. And I think that that's the kind of rhythm I'm really interested in, is a very personal rhythm. How does your personal spirit connect to the rhythms of the planet? And the seasons are sort of just built-in guideposts for that?

So I think it's just something that I've done so much work around, exploring and noticing. And I'm just so interested to see like, I bet so many other things will come up for other people as they explore this because everyone's so different. So the seasonal impacts will be different for everyone, especially with just the rhythms of a person's life. And what happened to you as a child during the Fall affects how you feel about the Fall now, and what happened to you when you were a child is different than what happened to me. So there'll be all these personal takes. But I do think that there's just this kind of almost a standard, like a guidepost built into this seasonal rhythm that I do think works on the human level.

Ayana Young  Yeah. And I wanted to read another excerpt from A Year in Practice where you write, "As humans, we're caught in a long cycle of forgetfulness. There's so much in our current culture that distracts us from the inherent information the earth provides. We've replaced the cyclical gifts of the seasons with controlled temperatures, ceaseless production schedules, a year round access to always ripe fruit. We've cut so many of our routes that connect us with the ebb and flow of earthly process. These changes have brought us comfort and a sense of advancement, but they've also disconnected us from the natural pattern of rest and revitalization," end quote. 

And I'd love to discuss this idea of forgetfulness and disconnection a bit more, because I feel like when we're disconnected, we're more inclined to search for the meaning we're missing outside of ourselves and outside of the earth. And I think this really hurts us in the long run. And so, yeah, I'd love to hear a bit more about your thoughts on our modern era of disconnection, and how that really does? Well, or it's very apparent in our lack of connection to seasonality. 

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, I think that that quote that you just read is probably like the heart of the book, the thesis of it.... If I could give anyone anything through all of my work, all of my poems, and everything is just this sort of ability to remember that the Earth exists, and that we are the earth and that we are the same as this planet that we're living on. And we forget that connection so often. And I think that means we always are in this position of overlooking these, I mean, magical tools that offer us so much insight and inspiration and guidance, but we're just so disconnected from that. 

And I think that the idea of offering language around that as a writer is sort of just one step in the process. Language is important and it's this great tool, but then there's the whole other aspect of what you find as an individual in this process of following these rituals or prompts that I offer in this book, and then what does that feel like in your body to remember that you are the Earth and that you are actually aligned with the rhythmic quality of the seasons? And I think in that remembering, there's so much to uncover—there's so much that's been concealed by the framework of our world. 

And that, I just guess, as a poet, I'm always examining, and just trying to ask folks to examine that with me and figure out, you know, what is there in each season to follow the lead of? There's arrows and guidance, and it's abundant, it's endless. It's an infinite gift the Earth gives us constantly. And the seasons, I think, are really just like a very clear cut version of that and I'm excited for what we can reap from that, because there's so much that's offered to us, in even just the information that comes in our bodies as the season changes. It's like, you know, the Earth is saying, "Okay, now do this, like, sit down now or take a rest now take a break now." And we've forgotten what that guidance sounds like. We've forgotten how to tune into it. And I just think it's so easy for us in certain ways to tune back in if we're given the tools and the opportunity, but also the time and the access. And so then, you know, on the same hand, it's both and it's not easy. There's a lot in the way of it.

Ayana Young  Yeah, absolutely. And I was thinking about this quote from Climbing Poetry, and one of their poems and it was "The antidote to destruction is creativity." And so when I'm thinking about not so much destruction, but maybe discuss connection, maybe creativity is also an antidote to that disconnection because when we are challenged by whatever it is in our lives that keep us from reconnecting, keep us from having the space to sink in, or take heed, or shift our schedules. But how can we be creative in these challenging moments to get back to a sense of belonging to earthly rhythms? And so I guess I'm wondering from you is: How does the Earth fuel your creative practices? Well, how do you find your creative practices even admits all of the noise of modern life and busyness? 

Jacqueline Suskin  I think figuring out different ways to keep the Earth as the central focus and the Muse. It's just really me going outside, finding time to tune into the trees in the park, down the street from my house, and finding the trails that I love to go on and giving myself the time and space to listen. A huge part of it, I think, is that. It's just me, valuing that time, and space that it takes to listen. And I think the quality of what I receive from that will inspire a poem, inspired this new book, it inspires everything in my life. And I think that the reason why is sort of inherent. 

I think, even as a young child, I was just tuned into receiving messages from the Earth and collecting bugs and bones and shells and feathers, and just surrounding myself with these earthly treasures. But also, I even then remember this sense of sort of reverence and worship. And then at some point, when I was in my 20s, I married the Earth and chose the Earth as my spouse. And I think that there's this ongoing connection that I have, that actually at this point in my life feels just very steady and present in all that I do. And I think the way that I continue to uphold that connection is really just to be outside or witness someone else in their state of wonder. Like when I see someone who I love, or some students who I work with, in awe and wonder, and the earth is the thing that's guiding them in that feeling. I’m just reaffirmed, there's a lot of affirmation that I felt when I was writing this book that was just like, yeah, so you look into this, like, delve into what the seasons mean to you. 

And, you know, this is a different kind of book than I've ever written before I did all this research and I actually wrote each one of the seasonal chapters with the season. So I wrote the Winter Chapter during the Winter. And I wrote the Fall Chapter during the Fall. And it was, I did not plan that. And so sometimes there's just this kind of magic that's inherent with connecting with the Earth that gives me this great proof. It's like, oh, well, in case you were curious, or wondering whether or not this was potent, and real, here's another example of how it is. And here's another symbol or another visitor of animal form or another beautiful plant that's blooming to send you a message. And I think just allowing myself to continue to freely tune into that and let it inspire me and let my imagination and intuition receive language from all of that to then put into poetry or put into books. It just really continues to be an affirmation that yeah, this connection is it's real and I'm just a human like everyone else. So I'm very much under the impression that that means it's there for everyone and they just need to be reminded of that.

Ayana Young  Yeah. I'm also thinking more about seasonality and connection. And I guess in this moment being reminded that with climate change, and just the shifts of our Earth, it can be hard or even at times undesirable for us, or it may be uncomfortable to connect with the seasons, because there's so much unpredictability and fear even around what seasons hold or confusion. And so, I know you've spoken a lot about regulation—emotional regulation, physical regulation—and I'm trying to imagine or wonder with you, of how we continue to strive for emotional and physical regulation, you know, how we stay regulated as the Earth tries to regulate through these huge climatic shifts?

Jacqueline Suskin  Yes, I did a lot of meditating on everything you just spoke of as I was working on this book because to me, that's an obvious and charged aspect of focusing on the seasons. And I think the message that I kept receiving around this was, yeah, our seasons are leaving us, our seasons are changing and that is very real, and what better moment to memorize what they've offered us before they change and become unrecognizable. And I do think that there's a great amount of fear and also a deep despair woven into that truth. And I think that the thing that I kept coming up against that I was just so interested in was this sense of, you know, we might lose the seasons as we know them in our lifetime. We are, that's what's happening, but we won't change before we die, we won't lose our connection to that rhythmic cycle. And almost like a last acknowledgement to the earth and what bounty and abundance and amazing gifts it's offered us is this seasonal rhythm that I think will live inside of our bodies even as the seasons change. And so as I wrote the book, I thought, Okay, this is something that we have to learn now because when it shifts and changes, we will be left here still needing that rhythm. And to me, it feels like this way of honoring that. And also it feels so necessary for our ability to thrive and survive, even as the Earth is shifting under our presence.

Ayana Young  That was really a beautiful response. And it's such a conundrum right now, like I think about, I mean, every season, but for those living in the so called American West, like fire season-Summer season, where maybe, for those of us millennials or older, Summer used to represent something that was more carefree maybe or, like, I don't know. I think about Summer as a child, and I wasn't thinking about fire, and smoke, and things like that. I was probably thinking about watermelon, or, you know, more like fun times and yeah, sure, I could say, well, I was a kid. But I think, of course, children now are really aware of climate change and the concerns of the earth and their families and being impacted by forest fires. And so yeah, I'm really just feeling our humanity and having a lot of compassion for us as we're in this changing world. And we are attempting to change with it, but maybe not sure exactly how or where to change to. 

And so it's like, no, you can't run from it. This isn't about an exodus from place. This is something much more internal, because the climate has been changed. I don't know what's going to happen. I don't know. I don't really believe anybody does and so what can we do inside of ourselves, to find rhythm and seasonality even? Or can attach to something that feels steady, even when everything around us feels unstable. And I think we actually really need that steadiness to survive these changes, and to care for each other and to remain or try to find tenderness and compassion and gentleness with each other, like we need to find some type of regulation in the chaos.

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, I mean, I feel very much that that is. That's exactly how I feel about it is this sense of, almost like, in the grieving and in the understanding of what we're losing with the Earth almost as this—I like to think of the Earth as you know, my beloved or my spouse, but also like my family member—and I had a conversation with a friend last Summer that was like, "Yeah, you wouldn't want to walk away from your family member who is dying. You would sit with them and hold them, and look at them and take them in, and also think about how they got to this point and memorize whatever you could about what they'd offered you."

And I think that that's how it feels, to me is this sense of memorizing the Earth's offerings and making sure that while I'm alive, that they live through me and I live in accordance to that, and also, you know, showing respect and celebrating that and then maybe even to the extent that I write it all down and offer it to other people so that other generations have the opportunity to remember it as well. Because if it's not there for them, that doesn't mean that it's not teaching them something still. And I just think that there's a lot in that there's a lot in that, yes, we are watching the climate change, we are watching this, and the grief is real. But also, that doesn't mean we should turn away from it and forget what it's offering us. 

And I love that you said that, you know, there's nowhere to run away to. I actually have a poem that I would like to read that brought up for me that yes, this is from a new book of poems that isn't published yet. And I think a lot of them are kind of circling around what we're talking about right now. 

“Run Away”

There is nowhere to get to
nowhere away from 
and no escape. 
We've reached the limit of our atlas. 

Even if you move to a place 
that seems separate and safe 
from crowded city to open coastline, 

from dry desert to wet forest, 
someone will say cut it all down 
to widen the road. 

We got here on that road. 
So stop going or keep going, 
but we are going under. 
This isn't a trick of human language.
Its truth ringing its gorgeous bell 
and we are sitting on our island
surrounded by fire 
unable to ignore its toll.

Ayana Young  Mmmm. I wanted to speak to you a bit about your connection to forest and that reminded me of that and yeah, seems like it's a space of so much inspiration and also belonging in your work like a sense of home. And in one poem that saved a forest for Yes Magazine, you discuss, quote, "The most unlikely pair—the poet and the timber baron," and I'd really love to hear more about this relationship and the power of poetry and connection that you experienced through it.

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, that story just continues to fuel so many things in my life. I met my friend Neil, who is said timber baron at the farmers market in Arcata, California. And I was typing poems on my typewriter. I did this project, Poem Store, for over a decade where I typed poems for people on the spot, and they could pay me whatever they wanted to, and they chose a subject. It was really the most incredible introduction to the human condition that I could have ever hoped for. And in that, I met Neil and he actually commissioned me to write a poem for his family. His wife had passed away, and they were wanting something really specific to put her ashes in the ocean. And through this connection, I mean, you can imagine that that's an incredibly vulnerable and deep space of grief to meet someone. And I didn't know who he was when I wrote him that poem. And it enabled us to become really close friends really quickly. And then I realized that he was the senior vice president of one of the largest timber companies in the country. And obviously for someone who is married to the Earth, that is an incredibly unlikely person for me to want to hang out with. 

But from that, so many things happened. I could just... like I'm still extremely close with Neil and his family, and he's family to me. And we have collaborated in so many ways. But mostly because I wrote this poem that enabled this really vulnerable connection between us to exist, there was this trust built and this pathway for us to collaborate on ideas around changing the status quo of the timber industry, and, you know, communicating about permaculture and mycelium and all of these things, and Neil was just so open to it, because we met through this place of poetry. 

And I've continued to kind of use that as my foundation in a lot of my work where you just never really know what someone is going through. And someone can be in a position of power and if you have compassion for them, you might find a way in that you wouldn't otherwise--and that is a place where great change can happen, and big doors can open. And I think that I'm now interested in the direct connection between how a single poem can be the thing that opens that door. And if you allow yourself to kind of put on the poetry hat, or even just the mindset of a poet, just the mindset alone can kind of unlock different things and usually, it's a connection or communication. 

And I have this other book that I wrote, called Everyday is a Poem. And that's all it's about is just trying to offer people this direct link to this poet that lives inside of them, and show them how expansive that can be, and how that can directly connect to all these different experiences in life that will make great changes and bring great vision and I'm just really interested to see what comes of that. 

Ayana Young  Yeah, I hear you and I have been working on a campaign up in Alaska around protecting some really incredible salmon rivers. And during this time of community organizing, I have been hanging out with and befriending unlikely friends, I guess, in a similar way of what you're speaking to—finding the humanity and the connection between us all, even if we think the other person's the enemy, and it's really fascinating. And I wonder, what are we getting at from holding our righteousness? 

It's hard, because in one way, I want to say no, we need to hold boundaries. And there's the quote "others" that are doing the bad thing. And I think, of course, there's importance to holding that line. But then, in one way or the other, it's like, we all start to blend into one another. And it's like, where are the lines? And what is this doing? Like is the separation, supporting reconnection, which is what we need to heal and be in right relationship with each other and the Earth. 

I think when I was younger, and I was more fierce in my activist life, at that time, I was really binary thinking: good/bad. And now it's like, I'm good, and I'm bad. And that person who's the other is probably both too. And where do we connect? And how can we foster that connection to maybe come to common ground? And maybe we never do. And I guess I also kind of connect that to the climate change moment we're in, which is like, here we are. We are changed, we are changing everything around us is uncertain to an extent. And where do we find that stability within ourselves? And with things we can't change?

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, I really resonate with that feeling of when we're younger, in our like, the height of this activist culture when I was younger, I felt very binary in that way, and then I changed it when I met Neil. And he really showed me that that was not the way to go about changing things. And honestly, you know, the folks who connected with him...because we basically were able to kind of create a project together that allowed him to connect with local Earth First activists. And I remember viewing that as "Okay, Neil is offering an olive branch and he's saying, 'We won't cut these trees down that you've been tree-sitting, and that's that. This is the first step to us having a relationship together.'" And then the Earth First, folks, right, please. So, you know, celebrated that as a victory. And the trees that they've been protecting, are now saved. 

But I think.. I look back on that example all the time, because it just didn't go anywhere. The relationship didn't open up, The change did not continue and there are millions of reasons why, some of which I probably don't have any understanding of, and some of which are very clear to me and make a lot of sense. But I think that we can't ever see an example like that and think, 'Oh, that shouldn't have happened.' You know, I'm really glad that that happened. I'm sad that it didn't go any further and that the collaboration didn't continue, and a completely new system was created. But I'm also really glad that at least something happened. 

And I think that that's a lot of what I kind of reflect on with younger people that I work with, is like, at least you can do something. You might not be able to change the entire system, which does need to be changed and dismantled and rebuilt, absolutely. And all of our ideas and visions around that are so important, and we should make time and space for envisioning a different future. But also we can't hold ourselves back. When we do figure out some way to, like you were saying, connect with these people who are unlikely people for you to connect with. And there is something happening there. Little bridges are being built between us. And I think that part of why that's maybe really unsatisfying, is just that we see the immensity of the problem, and something needs to change now, but we actually don't necessarily have access to that speed and that rigor. We have to be patient, and it doesn't feel like we have time for that.

Ayana Young  I feel that urgency, and we don't have time and then all we have is time. We're somewhere in the middle of the endless possibility, and also the end of possibility, too. It's really confusing. We've probably all gone down our rabbit holes of how do we even begin to move through these times?

Jacqueline Suskin  I think there is something to the experimental quality of all of it. Where, as artists or creative people or just honestly humans in general, we're constantly trying, or experimenting, we're seeing what works, we're testing new things, we have a vision of something or a dream that we follow. And truly, I love to remember, and this gives me great solace, that it can all change so quickly. And that has happened many times throughout the history of humanity, things have been unlocked and figured out and I will say oftentimes in a negative direction, but also in a positive direction. And I think that we're at this point on our timeline, where taking a moment for yourself, to flesh out an idea, to write about a poem, to make a song, to make a painting, to do something that extends the vision that you carry inside of yourself to the outside world that enables you to share whatever it is that you're envisioning. I think there's just so much potential in that and that that's where these great seeds for something new will come from-- in our experiments, in our moments of figuring and digging deeper. 

And when I think about  all the work that I do, it's easy for me to... it'd be so easy for me to just think, "Oh, who cares about writing poems? Like there's actual tangible, like parts of the Earth that I could be, you know, an activist for or this or that." I could second guess myself and question my artistry but I also am like, this is clearly what is meant to come through me and I am meant to experiment with it and I cannot deny that. And if I did deny that experiment,If I did deny my own figuring, then I would be denying the Earth, I would be denying whatever osmic tangle made up these atoms that make this person who I am, you know. And I think that that's true for all of us, like, we just can't turn away from the things that kind of inherently drive us and ask us to experiment and question and just try. 

And, you know, I've been working a lot with young people and creating this project that was totally inspired by Neil and my relationship with him. And that article that you mentioned, this person in Australia read that article about my relationship with Neil and was inspired and created this project called Poem Forest. And now, Poem Forest is basically a way to let students have access to writing nature poetry, and they're writing these poems and for every poem they write, there's a tree that gets planted. And so there's like this direct climate action where these kids are, not only do they actually plant a tree, but they also get to voice their deep concerns and fears and their complex ideas about the planet. 

And I am now bringing that project to the United States and doing it here. And I've done it in Detroit, and it's just to witness what happens to someone, a young person in that place of poetry is just so.... to me, it always makes me feel it, okay, see, things can change really quickly, these students found their ability to write and express themselves so quickly, they just needed the place for it. They needed access to it. They needed to know that they could, and they also got to plant trees and feel like they have agency in everything that's happening. And I think that's what I'm most interested in, is if a young person can feel like they have agency in this complex, complicated thing that we're talking about, that's happening to our world, then I'm like, Well, I most certainly can also. And I will keep experimenting, and keep figuring and keep my visions coming, because in that something could shift and a whole new way of doing things could arise out of that.

Ayana Young  I want to explore more of what your hope for young people is, especially as they are growing up in a time of so much noise and distraction and fear mongering, and probably confusion about what their future will look like or could look like. When you're working on your projects with them like, yeah, what is your hope for them? And what is the feedback you get?

Jacqueline Suskin  I think my hope is that they, too, will receive the messages that the Earth is offering and that that guidance will be restorative for them and show them sort of this endless potential and possibility that exists, even though the future is so unclear and scary. And I think seeing them connect to the Earth and seeing how inherent that connection is, it's what gives me hope. And then I think also it gives them hope. They're like, "Oh, right, I'm part of this greater cosmic whirlwind  and although the future is so unclear, the Earth is just..." I have a lot of poems that kind of contain the sentiment that the earth will survive us all. 

And I think that having young people connect to the planet, and recognizing that they are the planet. I do a lot of work with just this idea of them being nature that they are nature, they're not separate from it, they are it and watching them kind of revel in that. I think it gives them some sense of infinity, you know, just this ongoing, glorious story of whatever it is that life is doing and that they are part of that. And yes, there is despair and darkness included, but that's not all there is and that there's more than we could even possibly understand. We don't understand at all, and watching them kind of grapple with that and explore, that shows me that they have the ability to continue the experiment. They're interested enough, they're excited enough, and they just need the space and time to do that exploration.

Ayana Young  Yeah, I'm really grateful that you're doing that work. And I think that kids are growing up in a really different world. And I mean, so did I from my parents and grandparents, and maybe this is what every generation thinks about the generation below them. Like, “Oh, my gosh, the world is so different. What's going to happen?” And how are they going to navigate through these times? But between the internet and AI, and living in these fantasy worlds, while the real world is escaping us so quickly. Yeah, really, I guess one of my hopes, for those of us that are coming up, is finding time to be in the real world, and not forgetting that it exists out there. And that if we don't pay attention to the real world, there will be very little of that autonomous nature around which is really the basis of our existence.

Jacqueline Suskin  You know, I don't consider myself to be an immensely idealistic person, or an uber positive person, but I do really enjoy balancing hope and hopelessness at the same time. And I like to do that in my work and I really like to do that in the classroom. And not just feed these kids some sort of, you know, idealistic version of a future that doesn't exist for them, but actually, connecting with the Earth and letting the Earth be the main muse and guide in our conversations, sort of allows for what I think to be a practice in memory, and them memorizing the planet, and also learning to care for it, and learning that they already do care for it, and that the earth is very much alive and well in them.

And their ability to connect to it is fast. It's right there under the surface, when they recognize the reciprocity that exists between them and the trees, when they recognize how good it feels to offer up their gratitude for everything that the planet offers them. I can see them click into the importance of that, and maybe that will end up in the future just being something that supports their grief over the planet. It supports their grief in what they've lost. And I know I already feel that grief, and I have the ability to understand it and name it. But if they don't have the chance to even connect to what the Earth was, and is, then they won't be able to grieve it fully. And that sort of is a rebuttal—-is like something that comes up against this plastic world that we're like, yeah, maybe we will be living in this very detached, veneered position with this place of 3d printing and all these things that you're talking about. But hopefully, there will be a memory, there will be a place for that grief that these kids will even be, you know, introduced to what was. 

 I just really, I can't help but think that that's what's important in this sense of remembering that the Earth exists is this. Yeah, even if there's no way for us to combat it on this sort of like historians touch but also just in the in the world of grief, like if we can remember the history of the planet, then the immensity of our grief will make more sense to us in the future something and maybe like, offer us some sense of clarity around why we are grieving so deeply because I think that's a big thing is I think people feel the grief for the loss of this planet and everything that's happened to it so far without even knowing it. They feel it but their connection to it or their clarity already around it, they just haven't been given the time or the space or the accessibility to know what that even is.

Ayana Young  Jacqueline, I love where this has been and where we're going into this, like abyss of, just abyss. I'll just call it the abyss. I feel like I live in this abyss and then I'm like, "Okay, now I need to go get back to an email or I need to go on a walk or I like I need to," I need to get out of the abyss because I know I'll return whenever I have a moment, you know, throughout the days. And yeah, I'd love to continue and so I hope we can have a follow up conversation because this has been really comforting. I think to have a friend in this, like have somebody just to be in the abyss with for a moment. And yeah, and then come back to the present of life things. So thanks for your time. And yeah, I hope we get to continue this.

Jacqueline Suskin  Yeah, me too. I want to leave you with a poem if that's okay.

Ayana Young  Yes, please.

Jacqueline Suskin  I mentioned it earlier. It's called “To Watch the Earth Die.” 

Just as true love has nothing to do with purity, 
I know that although I don't want to watch you die, I am. 
I note the daily losses, the parts of you that shrivel up 
[unknown] birds and frogs, the sickened fish and rivers, 
the weakness of your breath. 

I won't turn away from you 
while you groan under our pressure. 
Your witness, I sing of all that 
human hands have touched. 
I make lyrics to record our damage. 

Where we've cut you as if you were our beard, 
our hair, our own to reap. 
I circle around you as you wither and push light into your skin
saying while weeping, "I wish it weren't so." 

Death cannot be wished away. 
In this final act, your form trembles and I won't close my eyes. 
The last goodbye will be holy
and I know it's you who will resurrect without us.

Ayana Young  Mmmmm, hmmmhmm. May it be holy. May it be divine. Thank you. That like really settled me. Like okay. Yeah.

Jacquelin Suskin  Yeah.

Evan Tenenbaum Thank you for listening to this episode of For The Wild. The music you heard today was by Green-House. For The Wild is created by Ayana Young, Erica Ekrem, Julia Jackson, Jackson Kroopf, José Alejandro Rivera, and Evan Tenenbaum.