❤️‍🔥 Belonging and belongings: what I packed in panic (LA fires)

As I was getting ready to send my newsletter out on Tuesday, I received a text from a friend: “Fire in your area. Stay safe.” 

I stepped out the front door and looked up in sheer horror as plumes of smoke rapidly enveloped the sky. Fast-moving flames soared in the mountains just up the hill from our house.

I ran inside and screamed at the top of my lungs to my husband, “FIRE!!!”

Within minutes, planes were flying low overhead, dropping water on the hills. I’m sheepish to admit it, but I was panicked to my core, unable to think straight in the moment. My heart was racing, my mind frazzled. My Oura ring registered the exact moment the disaster began:

Unprepared for an emergency, I ran around the house haphazardly grabbing things, throwing them into a duffel bag. Within three minutes of the text, my husband and I were in the car, trying to merge into the gridlock that had rapidly developed on our typically quiet street. Hundreds of people were attempting to escape the mountains as quickly as possible.

There seemed to be no traffic management. Three hours later, we had moved only about a mile, witnessing several vicious arguments between drivers disagreeing about how traffic should flow. We finally made it to Sunset Boulevard, which felt like a disaster zone: cars at every angle, barely moving; people running in the street clutching belongings; smoke everywhere; and flames in the distance.

As we inched down Sunset toward Pacific Coast Highway, flames were erupting behind Lake Shrine—the spiritual center I mentioned in my last newsletter. We quickly turned the car around, only to face more bumper-to-bumper traffic in the opposite direction. Our car was stuck on a road between encroaching flames, 80 mph winds, and a cliffside next to the ocean, with no clear direction on how traffic should flow. We picked up an elderly couple who had abandoned their car and were escaping on foot.

Seeing that we were getting nowhere, we discussed abandoning our car, like so many others had, to escape the quickly nearing flames and scramble down the hillside toward the ocean. As if by a miracle, the police opened up a small private road owned by the Bel-Air Bay Club, allowing cars to pass through. We were able to quickly move down to the ocean and ultimately travel to my husband’s parents’ house as a safe landing spot. (Shoutout to truly generous friend, Dhru Purohit, for checking in within minutes of the disaster alert and encouraging us come to his place for safety, meeting us with Mountain Valley waters and healthy snacks in hand as we figured out our next moves.)

Since that time, 48 hours ago, the town of Pacific Palisades—one of the most beautiful, sweet towns on planet Earth—has burned to the ground and is now a wreckage of ashes.

According to the news, the fire hydrants in the area went dry rapidly, leaving the firefighters with few resources. Some of my closest friends - the kindest humans I know - have lost their homes. The schools have burned down. The area where I go to the farmers' market each week has been obliterated. The hiking route that inspired me to move to LA is now barren, smoldering embers. It’s beyond comprehension. Throughout the past few days, the most useful information has come from self-assembled WhatsApp groups of neighbors sharing all snippets of information, pictures, and videos they have. 

Here is a view from the sky of Pacific Palisades yesterday:

There is little useful to say in a moment like this.

I thought I’d share with you the things I grabbed from the house in the seconds we had before fleeing. Reflecting on these instinctual choices, they feel like a clear indication of what matters—and what doesn’t—in my life. While standing in the middle of my living room during that brief, quiet moment before fleeing, my mind was scattered and blank, with no sense of strategy or plan—only primal instincts. So, while I did NOT think to grab my wallet, passport, birth certificate, toothbrush, or clothes (🤦‍♀️), I did grab items that feel irreplaceable to me. Despite forgetting nearly all the logistical necessities, I feel peaceful with these choices.

Clockwise from top left:

1. Childhood photos, family photos, photos with each of my grandmothers, and a picture book of my ancestors; a purse owned by my great-great-grandmother; and a crystal my husband gave me on our third date.

2. Cards my beloved late mother made and wrote to me and letters from my husband, which I keep in baggies in a safe place.

3. All my journals from age ~15 to now, which are where I’ve recorded musings and observations for decades (if you liked Good Energy, you can thank these journals). These also live in a safe place.

4. Handmade intention cards my husband and I created together during a ceremony when we moved in together.

5. Non-toxic deodorant and a hairbrush.

6. My Oura charger and laptop.

I also grabbed some mindfulness cards that my mom hand-watercolored just months before she passed away. My mom and I had discovered the sweetest booklet on mindfulness called Enlighten Up by artist Andrea Smith during a stay at an Airbnb in Sedona, Arizona. Inspired by its sweetness and profundity of the booklet, my mom got a copy of the book and hand-painted the black-and-white drawings for me. I invite you to read through them and let the powerful messages wash over you: 

While these things I grabbed are physical belongings, they symbolize something deeper to me: reminders of my belonging.

To me, these items represent:

• Connection

• The power of the written word

• Mindfulness

• Ancestors

❤️‍🔥 They remind me to ALWAYS take the time to write a letter to someone and express how I feel in great detail.

❤️‍🔥 They remind me that my ancestors are always with me.

❤️‍🔥 They remind me that ritual and art matters.

❤️‍🔥 They remind me that our creativity and expression is precious, as it is a key way our unique fingerprint of a consciousness shows itself and makes its mark in this brief lifetime.

I hope you never find yourself in a situation where you must grab a few items before leaving your home. But if you had to, what would you take? What would those items mean to you?

While I know extreme weather events are a natural part of ecosystems, it’s hard not to feel like the disasters we’re seeing signal that our planet’s complex natural systems are out of balance.

✍️ Please read my recent newsletter, Metaphor of illness as a path to healing, for more on this topic.

We are relentlessly extracting from and polluting the Earth, in a delusion about how long this pace of extraction can last.

The photos from Bali this week remind us that this isn’t an isolated issue—disruption of ecosystems is happening all over the world:

✍️ Recall the Kogi prophecy from my newsletter, 15 ideas for a brighter future.

❓️ Questions I’m sitting with now:

• Can we rebuild our communities in a way that makes even more sense for the future thriving of humans, biodiversity, and the planet?

• Can an outcome of this tragedy be an opportunity to restructure our lives to be more in tune with the regeneration of the Earth, health, and connection?

🐄 What if our cities could help rebuild towns around organic community gardens and regenerative farms people can eat from and enjoy?

🍄 What if we used highly renewable resources or recycled materials for construction like bamboo and mycelium?

🌳 What if we built homes and towns that support human and planetary thriving— with user-friendly composting toilets, water catchment rooftops, food forests instead of lawns, bee and insect habitats instead of landscaping, and non-toxic materials for rebuilding infrastructure?

🤝 What if we can learn from other cultures and traditions that prioritize community, sustainability, and health?

It is probably too soon for ideas and plans, but we can always choose to hold visions of a peaceful, prosperous, thriving future for humans and the land.

I have been meditating on some of the beautiful images of Agrihoods and ReGen Villages.

Sending love and prayers to you and your families,

💗 Dr. Casey

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