Recently, Transition Town founder, Rob Hopkins, and Peak Oil researcher and writer, Richard Heinberg, debated the pros and cons of planning for emergencies in transition communities as individuals organize to powerdown and localize to the fullest extent possible. The conversation was rich and thought-provoking, and both Hopkins and Heinberg offered incredibly important, diverse perspectives that widened my vision of the topic and reiterated for me the complexity of the issues involved. As with any conversation that is intended to be evocative and not combative, the Hopkins-Heinberg debate opened up a universe of stimulating and fascinating questions for collapse navigators to ponder and act upon.

Similarly, with the publication and review of my recent book Sacred Demise: Walking The Spiritual Path of Industrial Civilization's Collapse, some very juicy and intriguing debate has emerged regarding whether it is better to approach the unprecedented transitions we are facing by "staring down collapse", a term used in the book and elsewhere, motivated by the dire nature of our predicament, or conversely, to engage in "the great turning" out of inspiration and elation motivated by a vision of the possible. This quandary reminds me of what Joanna Macy refers to as the "boring old question" of whether or not people should just work on the inner world of their own psyches or the outer world in which they live and breathe. Of course, she insists, we must do both.

Before reiterating my own notions about the "preferred perspectives" on collapse, I'd like to examine the question itself because it seems to me that it is indicative of the dualism inherent in civilization. In fact, civilization could not have arisen without it because dualism is one of its fundamental underpinnings spawned by a profound sense of separation and either/or, rather than both/and thinking.

It is inevitable that as children of civilization, even as we grapple with creating a new paradigm, we will lapse into dualism along the way and shoot ourselves in the foot with inappropriate questions which preclude our being able to even approach appropriate answers. Such is the question about how best to approach collapse.

I have gone to great pains in Sacred Demise, and in my other writings, to emphasize how important it is that we hold a positive vision alongside the dark reality of collapse. In my review of William Kotke's The Final Empire, I began the article with "My intention in reviewing this stunning book is to share how it has illumined my understanding that collapse and vision are not separate, but that in fact, they travel together and need each other. That is to say that collapse makes vision possible, and vision makes collapse the most desirable option of all as we confront the earth community's current dilemma." In the Introduction of Sacred Demise and in subsequent chapters, I quote Peter Senge, scientist and organizational development wizard, who teaches the urgency of holding vision alongside an accurate picture of current reality for the purpose of generating the creative tension necessary for arriving at new and perhaps previously unimagined options.

More recently, I posted an article on the Truth to Power website entitled "When Facing Reality Is Not Negative Thinking" in which I reiterated the necessity of holding within ourselves both positive vision and dark reality in order to prepare for and bring to current and future transitions the holistic perspective required for manifesting the most creative responses.

I do not apologize for the fact that Sacred Demise is hard-hitting. Like collapse itself, it isn't for sissies, and throughout the book, I periodically salute the reader for persisting rather than tossing the book aside. The very act of finishing the book, in my opinion, demonstrates remarkable courage.

Like any author I could have written the book differently, but I chose the style used for myriad reasons, not the least of which is personal experience with other human beings, including myself. Everyone comes to terms with collapse or vigorously avoids the topic for countless reasons and in a plethora of ways. Authors write books or produce documentaries on the topic in their own inimitable styles based on who they are and the experiences they bring to the table.

My experience with myself as a child of empire and most of my siblings in that milieu is that we love to feel good, make nice, look on the bright side, accentuate the positive, and consciously or unconsciously tout our American ingenuity and exceptionalism. Because empire has taught us that people won't like us or pay attention to us if we say unpleasant things, we often feel that we must express our truth in the most palatable manner and in a style that will lend itself to mass consumption.

However, the collapse of empire dictates for me that I must write and live and think and feel in a manner radically different from all that it has inculcated within me. I am also aware that just as collapse is a process, so is my or anyone else's attempts to navigate it.

I am frequently asked how the awakening happened for me, and I am insatiably curious about how it happens for others. For some, it begins with curiosity about what's behind those rising gas prices or one's desire to simplify one's life. For others, it is engendered by a crisis or some wrenching loss. But however it happens, every person honestly investigating collapse will do so in stages. Initially, one must decide whether to take "the red pill or the blue pill", and at every turn, one must decide whether to keep descending further into the rabbit hole to discover how deep it goes-or not. But eventually, if one chooses to continue exploring, the calamitous nature of the topic will become palpable, and in my opinion, this is both necessary and desirable.

When an individual is journeying, no matter where or how, a certain degree of attention is required in order to arrive safely. If one is piloting a plane or scuba or sky diving or bicycling, one must pay very close attention to the task at hand, in order to avoid a fatal outcome. The journey of consciously navigating collapse is no less daunting, and enormous awareness of what is at stake is required in order to maximize the likelihood of survival and evoke the creativity necessary for manifesting and sustaining a new paradigm. My experience with human beings is that the desire to do or feel good is not sufficient to carry us through the darkest hours of the journey.

A personal experience may serve to make my point. When I was growing up, like most children, I was constantly reminded to look both ways before crossing the street. This was easy while holding the hand of my mother as she was telling me to do so, but less easy to do on my own. Although I had been told a thousand times, one day, I forgot to look both ways. On my first day of grade school, upon returning back to my home, I descended the steps of the school bus, the lights of which were flashing and the stop sign of which was engaged. I had to walk in front of the bus and cross the street to get to my house, but I didn't look both ways, and in an instant, a car, ignoring the stop sign and flashing lights, sped by me and nearly hit me. In fact, it was a frighteningly close call. I was terrified as was my mother watching from across the street and the bus driver. But never again, did I fail to look both ways when crossing the street.

What makes collapse so difficult to come to terms with is that if we choose to fully absorb its implications, it leaves us with a sense of having a brush with death, the consequences of which are at the very least uncertainty and at the very worst, a sense of being overwhelmed.

Again, the words of Joanna Macy come to mind as she repeatedly counsels readers and audiences not to be afraid of the darkness and to allow ourselves to feel the pain and loss visited upon us by civilization. If we're afraid of feeling the pain, she notes, we will lack the compassion necessary for responding creatively to collapse. Quoting Thich Nhat Hanh, she emphasizes that what we need most is "to hear within ourselves the sound of the earth crying."

I suspect that most people begin their conscious collapse journey out of some combination of fear, anger, and grief. If they persevere, they are likely to feel each or all of these with varying degrees of intensity at different intervals along the way. And from time to time, moments of vision and optimism may punctuate more unpleasant feelings until they discover themselves experiencing myriad emotions daily or hourly. However, I seriously question whether any individual can sustain serious preparation for the transitions that attend collapse by focusing only on the positive. In fact, Joanna Macy asserts that opening to the darkness is like mulch for the soil of our psyches as we navigate transition. I would further suggest that receptivity to darkness frequently provides the essential cultivated ground out of which may grow vibrant and hardy crops of creativity so necessary for all that we must be and do in the face of the ubiquitous unraveling.

Wherever we are in contemplating collapse, there is no "correct" way to journey through it. Each of us begins the process and navigates it in our own way, in our own time, feeling and doing what we can to prepare and thrive. The famous psychologist, Fritz Perls, was fond of saying that "all roads lead to where you're at, and everything leads to everything else." Much of the intention of Sacred Demise is to offer pieces of wisdom and beauty that may help us persevere when so much of us would like not to. So much is uncertain, but what is not uncertain, in the words of the farmer/poet, Wendell Berry, is that once the journey has begun, there is no going back.

There Is No Going Back

No, no, there is no going back. Less and less you are

That possibility you were.

More and more you have become

Those lives and deaths

That have belonged to you.

You have become a sort of grave

Containing much that was

And is no more in time, beloved

Then, now, and always.

And so you have become a sort of tree

Standing over a grave.

Now more than ever you can be

Generous toward each day

That comes, young, to disappear

Forever, and yet remain

Unaging in the mind.

Every day you have less reason

Not to give yourself away

~Wendell Berry~