Last night I was a grateful guest at a fundraiser for the nature education non-profit with which I have some history of affiliation. At the outset I must say it was a lovely event, catching up with folks I hadn't seen since last year, nice food, wine and margaritas under the stars, and it probably raised more money than was expected in these times.
I was seated as usual with a table of academics, a nice variation from my usual social life with defense contractors. A younger couple was demonstrating the bazillion clever apps on their iPhones: a finger painting program, an easy way to view real estate listings with pictures of bathrooms and kitchens, YouTube searching for a '70s era video of David Bowie and Bing Crosby, ambient sound programs to help you sleep, light sabres, a flashlight! And you can make phone calls! Like a digital Swiss army knife.
At one point I tapped the shoulder of my dinner conversation partner whose eyes had begun to glaze over. I pointed up to the trees where the 98.5 percent waxing gibbous moon had just made its appearance over Diamond Head. It seemed like a Zen moment, because we had been talking about my Wudang meditation retreats and her travel to Ireland and, perhaps, a walking tour in Japan.
I was struck that this event, designed to support nature awareness through education, was going on a little oblivious to the spectacle unfolding above and beyond. The noise of the live auction and the preoccupation with virtual technology seemed alienated from the purpose. And I believe our preoccupation with technology --which I am using right now of course --tends to increase this alienation from nature.
I paid my way at the event; I bid high for a piece of art at the silent auction. But I think more importantly, I pointed my finger at the moon. At least one person noticed.
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