One day in mid May, I was sitting at my dining table looking at the pine tree outside my window. The late afternoon sun was shining in on the bookcase behind me, causing a reflection in the window. Suddenly, I could clearly see a reflection of some of my books exactly in the middle of the tree trunk. It wasn't hard to see the symbolism of the books appearing in the trunk of the tree. What had heretofore been a subliminal worry about how my work as a writer might affect the environment -- using trees, polluting rivers with toxic printing chemicals --came forward in my mind. I felt a kind of mental groan in the face of something that seems very complicated and overwhelming -- especially since it affects my livelihood. These are the very real barriers we face when we think us want to Ado something for the environment. How much change are we really willing to do?

Two weeks later Elizabeth Jenkins, my friend whose new book Initiation: A Woman's Journey to the Heart of Peru, had just come out, and we were on the airport shuttle in Berkeley on our way to give presentations at the IIIHS conference in Montreal. As we chatted, it occurred to me to mention the vision I had of the books in the tree. I shared with her my concern about being an author and being responsible for the results of my endeavors. You're right! she exclaimed. We began to discuss avenues of learning more about the printing process and how we might gather together with other writers. About eight minutes had gone by, when the van stopped to pick up another passenger--a woman. Elizabeth and I later recalled that we each felt an immediate urge to engage her in conversation. Overhearing our conversation, she turned around and we began to talk a little. I asked her what she did. I'm an environmental writer and a Jungian psychologist. Dr. Meredith Sabini was on her way to a conference on healing in Boulder, Colorado. It turned out that good friends of hers already knew of Elizabeth's work in Peru and had mentioned her in their book. Within minutes we were making all kinds of connections, and even the van driver got excited because his sister was just reading the Experiential Guide for The Tenth Insight! Amazingly, Meredith showed us a sample of Kenaf, a plant-fiber paper on which her stationery is printed. It has a lovely feel and is much kinder to the environment, using no toxic chemicals in processing--and it is a sustainable crop which does not use trees!

After this encounter, Elizabeth and I looked at each other in amazement at how instantly the universal intelligence had put us in touch with exactly our next source of information.

I asked Meredith to tell us more about her passion for a simple and ecologically sustainable lifestyle. This began for me with the drought that we had in California twenty years ago. The drought seemed to initiate my awakening process in relation to the environment. Instead of resenting the drought, I learned to work with it. It reminded me of camping, and it put me in a pleasant state of mind. Water took on more value, and my respect for it increased--like a limited inheritance you have to spend wisely. Water became my teacher. I was quite embarrassed that I had the typical western assumption that resources were always available.

My relationship with the drought had a deep impact, and not just about water. I realized that I needed to make major changes so that I didn't consume as much. Jung talks about sacrifice and collective guilt, and I was willing to take on the guilt of using too many resources. As a psychologist, I was already interested in the symbolism of how our country spends so much on defense and so little on creativity, children, and the environment. It made sense to me that our country was facing an energy crisis, since we spend more on defense than anything else. If I had a patient with these behaviors, I would be asking some serious questions.

Tuning into nature and its cycles, and looking at my own lifestyle felt very much like a religious conversion," Dr. Sabini continued. "I published an article entitled In Praise of Drought, and joined with other ecopsychologists in the Bay Area. I stopped buying things that were new. This major shift in attitude allows synchronicity to take place, as I find what I need without making much effort.

I live part-time in Berkeley and part-time in a wilderness area, where I have an electric truck, a telephone, and use a solar cooker and solar light system. I hang laundry in the sun. Each of these activities allows the spirit to be present. Carrying Kenaf with me to a copy shop is part of my devotion. I think this is one way spirit can come into relationship with matter. The process of washing clothes and folding laundry becomes meaningful and enjoyable. Feeling pressured by time and thinking work must be 'hard' spoils the spirit of work.

Anthropologist Edward Hall, who wrote Dance of Life, helped me understand that time was a cultural fantasy. Our culture's notion of time is the collective fantasy that things have to be done fast. Actually, most tasks are voluntary and could be done when the spirit moves us.

This article first appeared in THE CELESTINE JOURNAL in September 1997.