Soul Landfill

In the bright yellow kitchen, I separate out the recycling into two piles - plastics and metals, and paper products - and then put the separate items into clear plastic bags to take downstairs to the curb for pickup.

For a brief moment, a wave of futility washes over me, as I remember Katie telling me that the country that does most of our recycling, China, has stopped accepting shipments from us, saying it’s too expensive to process. I suddenly have a vision of the afterlife, where we have no judge but ourselves, and I imagine this moment of karmic balancing: telling myself in the clear light of divine knowledge, “I knew that there was no real recycling, but I still bought products that used too much packaging and tried to tell myself that it was okay because maybe they were still getting recycled anyway.”

I sigh, and keep bagging.