Dipping into Solar Punk

Creative: Franziska Kurz, 12 November 2023

2023 Climate Futures Prize, Second Place Winner

Illustration by Holly Brown

I slammed the front door and ran out of my apartment block. I was late and stressed and stressed because I was late. I had an important meeting with my boss at 9 AM but as always struggled to wake up. I sprinted along the multilane city highway, while tons of dead steel, boiling under the rising August sun, was slowly pushing towards the city center. It was noisy, smelled like car exhaust and sewage water. And it was hot. Way too hot for this time of the day. Quickly, I was out of breath and sweat was running down on my forehead while I was climbing up a footbridge to cross this monster street. I felt the pressure on my chest get worse as I noticed how drenched in sweat my shirt already was and slowed down a bit. But the pressure only got worse. From the footbridge one could see the grey, jagged skyline that jutted into the blue sky like shark's teeth. I hurried down the stairs on the other side and stepped onto the small street. On my left, I noticed a quick movement, a dark shadow that rushed closer. The moment I wanted to turn around something hit me. Tires squealed, someone honked. I started to stagger, then hit the hard ground, then black.

—

I was surrounded by black nothingness. My head was pounding. From afar I heard birds and kids’ voices. I tried to open my eyes. Everything flickered. I saw blue sky and the green leaves of a tree above me. Slowly, I sat up, the pounding in my head got worse but it seemed as if I did not have any serious injuries. Only my white shirt had a big dark green stain from the grass. Shit! The pressure on my chest was back immediately. I checked my phone. 5 minutes to 9. Hastily, I jumped up and looked around, ignoring my aching head. I was in the middle of what seemed to be a small park. A few kids were climbing the low hanging branches of a big tree. Next to the grass area I was sitting on, a mess of bushes and wild flowers blocked my view. I panicked, the pressure on my chest became unbearable. Where am I? What the fuck did just happen? The meeting…. “Excuse me, do you need help?” one of the kids, a boy, approached me. “Emmm… No, I’m fine, I just got hit by a car, I guess, but I’m okay, no worries.” The boy started laughing. “There are no cars here,” he said and had to laugh even more. “Emmm, okay, errr.. where is the subway station?” I asked instead. “I really need to get to the city center.” The boy pointed along the wooden path. “It’s only a 3-minute walk from here. Just follow this path and you won’t miss it.” He said and ran back to his friends. 

I hurried down the path. The park seemed to be a mess of bushes, trees, vegetable patches, and grass. And it was very small. After a minute I reached a small square, decorated with solar powered fairy lights. I stopped and tried to find the entrance of the subway. On the square, there were a few elevated patches with the same mess of flowers, trees and bushes on them and stone benches around. In one corner of the square, I spotted the subway sign. I ran over. A small beamer-like box was projecting the next trains and their destination onto the wall of the staircase. When I saw that the next train would go to a station close to my office, my body relaxed a bit. I had no idea where I was but at least it seemed like I could get back. I looked at the countdown where it usually displays how many minutes the subway is coming. There was no time indicated. Instead, in small letters it said: “When universal timing is right and you learned how to see with your…” – and then a little heart emoji. “What the fuck is this?” I desperately mumbled to myself. Immediately, the pressure on my chest intensified and breathing got harder. This must be some kind of joke. I looked at my phone, it was 9:01. I was officially late now. Shit!

A big guy, probably my age, came up the stairs. “Hello, sorry, what does this mean? When is the next train coming?” I hastily pointed at the wall. “Hi,” he replied with a mischievous grin. “That’s how things go here. The train comes when universal timing is right.” “Stop making fun of me!” My voice sounded angry. “I’m not making fun of you.” he said. “I suggest you stroll around the neighborhood a bit and enjoy the time you have here.” “What?! But how do I know when to be back to catch the train?” “It will come when you learn how to see with your heart.” “You’re making fun of me!” “No, I’m not” He said all this as if it would be the most normal thing in the world. Am I turning crazy? Did the accident somehow hurt my brain and now I am hallucinating? I started getting scared. “I will wait here, until the train comes,” I said determinedly. “It can’t be that long.” “As you wish,” he replied. “If you need anything, I will be in my art studio all morning, come over at any time.” He smiled and pointed towards a small shop, just behind the staircase. I went down to the tracks to wait for the train. I sat and waited. But sitting there doing nothing drove me crazy. I had to do something about this fucked up situation. I tried to call my boss but couldn’t reach him so I left a message saying that I’m having a personal emergency and won’t make it to work today. I knew he wouldn’t like it but not having to hurry to get to work at least reduced the pressure on my chest a bit.

I walked back and forth on the platform and then decided that maybe waiting upstairs would not be as boring. I sat in the shade of a tree on one of the benches next to the elevated patches, from where I had a good view on the projector. I felt desperate and restless and restless because I was desperate. Just a few meters next to me the guy opened big windows of what seemed to be an atelier. He smiled and winked at me. Is he flirting with me? I rolled my eyes. “Would you like a coffee or tea?” he asked. At least he is kind I thought, strange but kind. “A coffee, black and without sugar would be nice.” I replied. A few minutes later he came back with two beautiful pottery mugs and placed them on a small table next to the window. “If you’re coming here, you can have a seat at a table,” he said and pointed at one of the wooden chairs next to it. “And you can still see the info board,” he added. Hesitantly, I walked over. “By the way my name is Hans,” he said as he sat down. Weird name, I thought but didn’t say anything. 

As if he could read my mind he added “It’s in memory of Hans Scholl, someone who stood up against Nazi Germany.” I introduced myself too but kept staring at the subway station. Butterflies were fluttering around a blossoming bush. “What does that even mean – seeing with your heart?” I asked. “You’re asking me big questions,” he replied. “Well, I just really need to get home, I have so much work to do.” I was getting annoyed. The only thing that sometimes helped against the pressure in my chest, was getting at least a bit of the ever-growing pile of work done. “I think a big part of seeing with your heart is understanding how you as an individual are inherently part of the living world and nature. It’s a lot about seeing all humans, plants and creatures in this universe as unique spirits, beautiful, original and very valuable. Our purpose is to contribute to this beauty and be part of it.” “I know that and I do that,” I said angrily. “Do you really?” he smiled. I rolled my eyes. A butterfly sat down on the flowerpot in the middle of the small table. 

“So, you’re an artist?” “Yes, and I work in finance.” “Oh, so art is only your side hustle?” I asked. He looked confused. “No, I do both 50/50 – each more or less two days a week.” “So, you work only 4 days a week?” I almost spilled my coffee. “Well yes, in waged labor no one really works more than that, some people work even less. But there is a lot of other work I do too. I occasionally take care of my neighbor’s kids, manage the community garden over here – he pointed at the elevated patches – and I do volunteer work for the local migration center.” “Sounds like hobbies to me – I spend 50 hours a week at my office,” I replied coldly. 

An old man passed by and greeted us. Hans greeted back. They started small talk. After a few minutes a woman with her two kids joined. They were chatting and laughing but I didn’t really listen to their conversation. They only caught my attention when someone mentioned that the first Indigenous US President was starting his second term today. Did I hear that correctly? But the conversation went on and my mind wondered back to the question: how the fuck do I manage to get back home? I felt so stressed about all the work I wasn’t able to finish today and how it would make the next few days even more stressful. 

After the group left, Hans said he wants to start working now, but that I’m free to stay as long as I would like. He went back inside and started preparing paint and a half-filled canvas. I felt restless, the pressure on my chest was driving me crazy, I had to do something. I stood up and asked Hans for the bathroom. He pointed at a door across his studio. Somehow the atmosphere in the studio was super peaceful. The morning sun fell into the open windows; there was art on all walls; in a corner a big wooden shelf was filled with paint, brushes and books; on a desk, in front of the window a black cat was waking up from a nap, yawning and stretching. When coming back from the toilet one art piece caught my attention. It was one of the bigger ones and the title on a small piece of paper below said: Late stage of capitalism. It was painted in dark colors and showed a huge city highway in abstract lines. In the cars, little humans were sitting crouched together. It reminded me of the highway I crossed this morning on the footbridge. Around the highway big scary looking shadows overarched the scene, they had the shapes of businessmen, companies, oil drilling platforms and sweatshops, and included words like burn out, stress, emptiness, alienation, and loneliness. What I liked most about it was the little light, like a rising sun at the end of the highway. It gave the otherwise dark scene a hopeful touch. 

“You like it?” Hans asked me, smiling. “The little park next to this square” – he pointed to the spot where I entered the square earlier – “used to be a monster street like the one in the picture.” He looked very pretty with the sun on his face and with his  green sparkly eyes. “Mmmm… I guess,” I replied, feeling a bit caught off guard. I stepped back outside and sat down but after a minute stood up again. I couldn’t just sit down here and wait. I really had to get back home, there was so much work I had to finish. I saw an old lady crossing the little square and without further thinking went over and hastily explained my situation. I told her that I had to get back as quickly as possible and asked whether she knows what it means ‘to see with your heart?’ She listened patiently and then replied: “Well, I think it means something slightly different for everyone. For me it’s about self-reflection, and understanding why I behave the way I do. Growing up, I was sometimes really mean to my loved ones. Over time, I started to understand how certain actions trigger unhealed wounds in me and make me become furious.” I was a bit perplexed by her immediate response to this abstract question. “How can I find out what seeing with my heart means for me?” I asked. The lady thought about her answer for a moment. Then she said: “For me the key was being in stillness, being mindful, embracing self-reflection and being conscious about my thoughts.” “I hope this helps you,” she added. “Errr… yes, thank you,” I stuttered. It didn’t help at all. 

The next two hours I spent asking every person that was willing to talk to me if they know what it means to see with your heart. Some said they didn’t, others didn’t have time, but many stopped and were willing to help. However, none of their answers were really helpful. They said things like genuinely serving others and the world, embracing simplicity, that it is important to see the true value of nature and social connections, that it can be reached through creativity and spirituality or religion, or that we need to break free from too much material want, and so on. None of this helped me. I even dared to walk down a street away from the square to find more people. After each conversation, I hastily walked back to check the train time again. Despite the trees and plant-covered sunroofs that spanned across the narrow streets, I started sweating from running around. 

After a middle-aged man told me that I seem to be restless and recommended me to be in stillness to calm down and connect to my heart, I got mad. Without saying thank you, I walked away from him further down the street. I was furious. How could I possibly be calm in such a fucked up situation. It was past noon already and I was exhausted and sweaty. I turned into another side street to get back to the little square as quickly as possible, but without meeting the middle-aged man again. This street led along a little hillside and looked very different than the houses I had seen so far. The houses around the square were multiple stories high, with plants growing on the outside, solar panels everywhere, and small shops or businesses on the ground floors. But these were laid into the hill like little hobbit houses. Three to four of those hobbit houses were stacked above in terraces, with the roofs being grass and flower patches interrupted by big windows. On one of the terraces, I saw the old lady again. She waved when she saw me. I waved back and desperately tried to smile but I could not. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I felt lost and anxious and anxious because I was lost. I started running back to the subway station praying that this freaking train would arrive soon, but when I reached the staircase, nothing had changed. Now I was standing there, anxious, exhausted, sweaty, and crying. I didn’t know what else to do. 

“Are you okay?” Hans came out of his atelier. “I’m not okay,” I responded angrily. “I can try to help you,” he said,  and added “you look like you need a hug?” I wanted to say no, but somehow, I nodded. He came over and gave a big hug. I felt like I was drowning in his big soft body and realized that it must have been years since I got such an honest and comforting hug. He held me for a while and somehow the pressure on my chest became less intense. “You must be hungry from wandering around all day. Would you like some soup?” Hans said and slowly released me. It felt good being close to him and I noticed that a small part of me wanted to immediately hug him again. 

We were sitting outside eating soup, while the afternoon sun was dunking the little square in bright yellow light. Many people passed by and Hans seemed to know all of them. “You know so many people here,” I said while realizing that I didn’t know anyone in my apartment block. “Yes, of course, they are my neighbors,” Hans replied. “We share the same washing machine, repairing tools, some kitchen equipment and the same community garden. How could I possibly not know them.” “Wow, you guys are sharing that many objects?” I was surprised. During college, I lived in a shared flat and it was horrible. I couldn’t imagine people voluntarily sharing that much. “Well, we have a little sharing cabinet and an app where you can reserve items. A few times a year we meet and discuss if we need any other equipment or how to finance repairs. Of course, there’s trouble sometimes but overall, it works pretty well.” I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to admit it but if this sharing system really worked it would free up a lot of space in people’s apartments. 

The soup tasted fantastic. Eating it felt very comforting. For the first time since I arrived here, I was a bit more relaxed and calm, and calm because I was more relaxed. I looked across the little square and realized how beautiful it was, with all the flowers and trees and the small park next to it. The black cat that was sleeping in Hans’ atelier earlier came outside and jumped on his lap. He cuddled it gently. “I have desert too, if you’d like,” Hans said. “Mmmm, do you have coke?” I asked. I was craving a sugary drink after this exhausting and sweaty afternoon. “A what?” Hans looked puzzled. “Coca-Cola,” I said. “The brown sugary drink in red cans or bottles with red bottle caps.” “Coca Cola?” Obviously, he was confused. “You don’t have that here?” I asked. “No!” he replied. “The company went bankrupt many years ago.” Now, I was confused. “It’s from a time when humanity was obsessed with producing and consuming stuff. Especially in the rich parts of the world people couldn’t get enough comfort and luxury. They were constantly striving for more while exploiting the living world and even other people, mainly the poor, for producing the most useless things.” He started to giggle. “For example, super-duper smart electric toothbrushes that track your brushing habits and display them in little statistics on your smartphone.” Now he had to laugh so hard that his entire body started shaking. Startled, the cat jumped down from his lap. “Who needs this? People had no idea how our brain bandwidth is limited and trashing it with an overload of short videos or toothbrush-statistics disconnect us from ourselves, our true needs, our dreams, our spirituality and from seeing with our heart.”

He paused for a second and sadly went on, “only when earth systems were collapsing, they started to understand that after basic human needs are met happiness mainly comes from immaterial things.” “Like what?” I asked and added “let me guess: It comes from seeing with your heart.” Hans smiled and looked very pretty. “Yes,” he said. I rolled my eyes and he added “happiness comes from living slowly and in harmony with this planet, from deep and true connection to others, from being in a beautiful environment and from stillness.” I didn’t really know what to think about his little monologue but I had to admit that my smart toothbrush was maybe not the most necessary item I owned. “How come you know so much about this time?” I asked. “Everybody here knows. We learn about it in school so that we never go back to this dark time.” “I see.” The sun was slowly going down and everything was lit up in an orange golden light. 

“Anyways, I have some homemade lemonade, I’m sure it’s a lot better than your cola thing,” Hans winked at me. He brought the lemonade and we chatted about how things are organized here and where I live. I learned that almost all companies operate on a not-for-profit basis and that Hans’ job in finance is what I would call a job in philanthropy, since he was responsible for deciding to which social or ecological projects excess profits should go to. When the sun was gone, the fairy lights on the square turned on and added a romantic touch to its calm atmosphere. I started to be deeply fascinated by this world where people worked less, shared so many of their belongings, and everything centered around nature and community. Life was slower but did not seem boring at all and people seemed to be happy and so relaxed. “I’m starting to like it here,” I told Hans. He smiled and said “Maybe you can try to make your home similarly beautiful one day.” 

He said it very casually, but somehow his words hit a spot deep inside my heart. They gave me a feeling of excitement, maybe hope. “I think your train is coming soon.” Hans pointed at the notifications. “5 minutes,” said the timer. A wave of sadness overcame me. As much as I wanted to go back this morning, I did enjoy the afternoon chatting with Hans and learning about this place. Hans came over and hugged me – another big, long, wonderful hug. “It’s been a fantastic afternoon with you. You’re always welcome to pass by again,” he said and smiled sadly. “I hope I can.” “No worries, paths usually cross twice,” Hans replied. For a second, I thought about staying longer in this place. Then everything turned black.

—

I was surrounded by black nothing. My head was pounding. From afar I heard beeping sounds. “Hello…hello… can you hear me?” someone said in a soft voice. I tried to open my eyes. Everything flickered. Slowly, I started seeing the contours of a hospital room. I felt very confused. I remembered that I had  just been in this beautiful little square with the fairy lights and the elevated green patches. Has that been a dream? What happened? I tried to sit up but I couldn’t. The pounding in my head got worse. Next to me a big guy was bending down and softly saying my name. Immediately, I felt a bit more comfortable. “What happened?” I asked. My voice was breaking. “You are in the hospital. You arrived this morning.” The nurse kept talking but my mind faded away, back to the little square and the beautiful world I have just been to. My vision was blurry but on a little metal sign that was pinned on the guy’s nurse clothes I could read his name: Hans. I had to smile. I remembered all the work that still needed to be done and all the extra hours it would take me to make up for this missing day, but strangely it didn’t cause pressure in my chest anymore. Instead, I remembered Hans’ words. “Maybe you can try to make your home similarly beautiful one day.” Maybe, I will do this instead, I thought.