We live in a world that is simultaneously breaking down and blooming. As we move through global uncertainty, from climate change to economic strain, art and nonfiction both try to help us make sense of that collapse. Ruth Stone’s poem “Rising” and the New York Times photo essay on climate displacement seem completely different on the surface—one uses metaphor, the other uses real images and facts. But both are crying out the same truth: survival requires adaptation, and sometimes, adaptation is as painful as the storm itself. Through them, and through the sculpture "Desperate Cargo," a climate-focused YouTube segment from Lemmino, and a curated music playlist, I explore how different genres can speak the same message in strikingly different voices.
It is the time of year
when everything is thin and brittle.
The windowpanes rattle in their casements.
The grass is worn to the root.
Trees cast their leaves, dark and wrinkled.
At dawn the cold air sits on my chest
like a small, wet animal.
I lie still, breathing it in.
There is no word for this, for that feeling
of getting through just by holding still.
You can view the full original photo essay here.
Stone’s poem is deceptively simple, but beneath its quiet surface is a deep undercurrent of desperation and persistence. “Rising” is about holding on in a world that feels unstable. The speaker clings to mundane moments as a way to survive emotional chaos. It is both a love letter and a scream into the void. The poem captures what it feels like to endure change you didn’t ask for.
The New York Times photo essay focuses on people displaced by rising sea levels and wild weather. It’s not fictional or symbolic; it’s real. These are human beings who lost their homes, who live with the literal consequences of climate change. The essay doesn’t shout. It shows. It lets images speak for themselves. Where Stone is metaphorical, this essay is brutally direct. Yet both say the same thing: we are rising into danger, and we’re not ready.
The sculpture "Desperate Cargo" shows human figures crammed into crates, frozen in a moment of panic or confinement. It represents both literal migration and emotional suffocation. Placed between the poem and the photo essay, this piece bridges the emotional and physical toll of displacement. It’s visual, static, but heavy. It forces us to confront how adaptation often means being boxed into decisions no one wants to make.
Stone uses soft, almost lullaby-like rhythms. Her metaphors creep in slowly. Words like "thin," "balance," and "barely" reinforce the feeling of emotional fragility. There’s a kind of poetic minimalism at play—just enough detail to wound, not enough to explain. It’s like trying to hold fog in your hands.
In contrast, the NYT photo essay uses language sparingly. It relies on images to do most of the work. Captions are factual, often naming places, dates, and people. But even the small bits of text carry emotional weight. For example, describing a flooded village, the caption reads simply: "This was the market.” That lack of elaboration is devastating. It trusts us to feel the loss without being told how.
This segment from Lemmino’s documentary "Consumed by the Apocalypse" lays out the science of climate collapse without sensationalism. Watching it after reading the poem and viewing the photo essay, the video acts like a skeleton—the data that holds the body of the meditation together. It proves the emotional and visual narratives aren’t exaggerated; they’re evidence-based.
Together, these materials form a chorus. Ruth Stone gives us the personal. The NYT photo essay gives us the visual. Desperate Cargo gives us the emotional metaphor. Lemmino gives us the science. The playlist gives us the emotional arc. Different genres, same fear: we are rising into something we might not survive. But there is a kind of power in confronting that reality across genres. It gives us language, images, and evidence to push back—to rise on purpose, not by accident. And maybe that’s what meditation really is: a moment of stillness before the wave hits.
Listen to the full playlist on Spotify, Apple Music, or YouTube below!:
This curated playlist represents the emotional arc of this meditation. Each song contributes to the evolving tone of the project, offering a musical reflection of collapse, grief, rage, and numb acceptance. I hope you can enjoy this final piece of my meditation as much as I enjoyed making it! Click below to view the full breakdown and listen to the story unfold:
This cover of Leonard Cohen’s song blends sorrow and fury. It kicks off the playlist with resignation — like the world already knows the truth but chooses to look away. It starts softly and then grows increasingly more confrontational.
Key Lyrics: “ Everybody knows that the dice are loaded Everybody rolls with their fingers crossed Everybody knows that the war is over Everybody knows the good guys lost ”
A haunting desire to undo the past and freeze fleeting moments. This song brings a soft ache — the wish to pause time before everything falls apart.
Key Lyrics: “ If I could make days last forever If words could make wishes come true I’d save every day like a treasure, and then Again, I would spend them with you ”
A descent into darkness. The world turns black, metaphorically and emotionally, as the first signs of irreversible collapse settle in.
Key Lyrics: “ Maybe then I’ll fade away And not have to face the facts It’s not easy facing up When your whole world is black. ”
A weary reflection of damage done — both self-inflicted and otherwise. Cash’s voice turns Trent Reznor’s original into a farewell letter to a crumbling world.
Key Lyrics: “ What have I become My sweetest friend Everyone I know goes away In the end And you could have it all My empire of dirt ”
This one’s about emotional burial. It speaks to being stuck deep underground — metaphorically or literally — and knowing you helped dig the hole.
Key Lyrics: “ Down in a hole, feelin’ so small Down in a hole, out of control I'd like to fly But my wings have been so denied ”
Numbness disguised as peace. This track masks despair in a soft melody, echoing the way people disconnect from reality as it gets too heavy.
Key Lyrics: “ I’ll take a quiet life A handshake of carbon monoxide No alarms and no surprises No alarms and no surprises ”
Written for Into the Wild, this song captures the loneliness of someone who stepped away from society — and found both clarity and sorrow on the other side.
Key Lyrics: “ Have no fear For when I’m alone I’ll be better off Than I was before ”
This is the voice of reckoning. The “Man in Black” asks the biggest questions with the fewest words — about greed, guilt, and whether we can ever make things right.
Key Lyrics: “ Oh, why we waited til so late Was there no oil to excavate? No riches in trade for the fate Of every person who died in hate Throw us a bone, you men of great There is a train that's heading straight To heaven's gate, to heaven's gate And on the way child and man And woman wait Watch and wait - for redemption day ”
There’s nothing left. Just desolation. Kurt Cobain paints a picture of life in the wreckage — surviving, but only just...
Key Lyrics: “ Underneath the bridge Tarp has sprung a leak And the animals I’ve trapped Have all become my pets ”
A funeral without a name. This song feels like standing above the ruins of the world, staring down in quiet sadness.
Key Lyrics: “ Look on down from the bridge There’s still fountains down there Look on down from the bridge It’s still raining up here ”
This is the moment we admit what’s been lost. It doesn’t scream or cry — it whispers. And sometimes, that’s even heavier.
Key Lyrics: “ The flames are all long gone But the pain lingers on Goodbye blue sky Goodbye blue sky ”
The final track doesn’t fight anymore. There’s no panic, no rage — just detachment. Acceptance has arrived, and it’s silent.
Key Lyrics: “ When I was a child, I caught a fleeting glimpse Out of the corner of my eye I turned to look, but it was gone I cannot put my finger on it now I have become comfortably numb ”