A few years ago, after reading an article about the impact of climate change on the arctic circle, I had a vision. 

A friend had given me a temporary tattoo that read Nevertheless, She Persisted. As I applied it to the smooth skin of my inner arm, I marveled that Mitch McConnell, of all people, in describing his attempt to silence Elizabeth Warren on the Senate floor, had inadvertently handed the feminist movement such a powerful and enduring rallying cry. 

I was meditating on my living room couch the next day, my eyes closed and the ink on my arm already beginning to fade, when I saw that same sentence written across the sky in puffy cloud letters, with the first word separated into three parts: NEVER THE LESS. Seeing it broken up like that made me understand it in a new way—not only does she persist, she is in no way lessened by all she’s been forced to endure. 

What came to me next was an image of the earth as viewed from outer space, that glistening blue-green-brown ball with white swirls of cloud hovering above it. With it came a deep knowing that the words NEVER THE LESS, SHE PERSISTED referred, not to me or women in general or even humankind, but to Her—the earth Herself. She is the one who persists, who will continue to persist, no matter what we do to Her, or to ourselves, or to Her other, non-human inhabitants. Even if we managed to destroy Her ecosystem for a hundred or a thousand or ten thousand years, that would be barely a breath compared to the five billion years She has left before Her precious sun burns itself out. She’d have plenty of time to get us out of Her (eco)system. She’s uniquely positioned to sustain life, and sustain it She will, with or without our cooperation. Should we go belly up, no doubt other species will make their way in, or evolve their way up, to fill the void.

 This vision comforts me. It reminds me that we’re not as powerful as we think, and that’s a relief. At the end of the metaphoric day, there is only so much damage we can do. But it saddens me too, because in spite of everything, I love humans. I have tremendous tenderness for our striving, dreaming, hoping, and making. I love the kindness we can rise to, the unexpected courage we sometimes reveal. But I mourn for us too, for our selfishness and cruelty, our shortsightedness, our greed, small-mindedness, tribalism, violence. Please don’t think I’m exempting myself from any of this. Everything I see in humans as a species dwells within me too. I know it all, all too well. 

This doesn’t mean I’ve given up hope that we humans can do better than we’ve done so far. The vision just gave me a zoomed-out perspective. Buddhist study has taught me that we live our lives with one foot in the absolute and one in the relative, and I strive to hold these dual perspectives at all times. It’s also taught me that many truths can coexist simultaneously. So while Nevertheless, She Persisted may refer to the earth, it also refers to women, to artists, to activists, to anyone anywhere who gets up every day and works to make the world a better place.  

When my temporary tattoo wore off, I bought a bracelet, which I wear every day.  In the face of everything we encounter each day—what the Buddha calls “the ten thousand joys and the ten thousand sorrows”—it reminds me to keep going, to love, to make, to speak out, to work for justice, to do my part, however small, to care for the earth and all Her inhabitants. After all She’s given me, I figure such persistence is the least I can offer in return. 

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