Under the Spell of Nervines

It’s soupy outside. Like honey and molasses. Like hot mud. The sun keeps crushing me. It turned me into a puddle like the wicked witch of the west. I melted and the sun sucked me off the ground. Through the air I flew straight pass the moon and pass those inner planets. Now I’m burning in that fiery goodness. That fiery goddess got me in a spell of wordy worships.


We went for a hike today in Wissahickon. I took off my shoes. Touched the ground. Sole to soul. It was relieving to feel the earth underfoot. The compacted soil absorbed my steps, and the networks of fungi heard me coming from several if not hundreds of feet away. Ghost pipe popped out into my vision field. I immediately sat with it, and it asked to be harvested. I’ve found it growing a number of times, but haven’t up until this point lifted it from the ground. It felt right. It felt full of mystery and intrigue. That’s usually how I know it’s time. When I’m on the edge of falling in. Right on the precipice. When I can sink my mind in easily and absorb what the plant has to offer. There’s some kind synergy at play. Cross specie telepathy. I left a good bit of the ghost pipe alone. Ethical harvesting always in the back of my conscience.

The ghost pipe looks just like that. Like an opaque pipe. They grow in what I’d like to call a village. Clumped up together like a band of little huts. It’s a plant, but it doesn’t produce chlorophyl, so it never gets green. Since it doesn’t produce its own food, it feeds off of the mycelial growth of mushrooms, and the mushrooms feed off the roots of trees. So in a sense, the ghost pipe is an epi-parasite. A parasite of a parasite. Which is really interesting when considering its medicinal action: It helps relieve pain, but it doesn’t get rid of the pain. It allows you to “feel” the pain but ignore it. Like getting outside your body to witness what is happening but not partaking in it. Like an out of body experience. Like becoming a ghost. And it has this similar action on emotional pain: It allows the person to see & engage the pain instead of turning away from it because it so deeply hurts.


Disclaimer: I’ve not experienced this for myself with regards to ghost pipe, I’ve only been reading about it. But it makes a lot of sense to me, like I’ve known it for years, because I’ve worked with psychedelics and meditation. That sense of “being beside one’s self” is all too familiar. Ekstasis. It’s where the word ecstasy derives from.

But what I find really curious is that these similar plants are coming into my life right around the same time. Plants that work on deep hurt. Deep wounds. The wounds that are forgotten about because they seem so long gone, but out of nowhere, or so it seems, they give rise and ravage the sleeper from passive dreams into conscious action to heal.

St. John’s Wort is one of those other plants I found recently. Hypericum perforatum. I found it growing wild for the first time ever. It was alongside the railroad tracks in my hometown. It jumped out at me like, “Hey! Would you like a helping hand? How about some of that fiery golden sun absorbed & redistributed into my bright yellow flowers! And when you crush my petals, I’ll bleed a maroon blood on your hands…” It works in that way, on the nerves and on the metaphorical blood. The life force. It helps lift one out of mild depressions, re-directing one’s inner fire, re-aligning the will. I harvested it under the full moon, the gusting wind and rainstorm that blew in beforehand still wet on its leaves. I let it dry out into the next day, then bottled it up with apple cider vinegar and honey. I’m planning on waiting until after the autumn equinox to crack it open in hopes that it crushes me like the sun when the darkness of days is full tilt in the winter valley.


I also bottled up the ghost pipe, but instead of acv, I used one hundred proof vodka. I don’t plan on using it. But I’m sure I will. I guess I’m already working with it. I don’t know why I took it home with me in the first place. It just called on me to save its spirit. Perhaps I need it more than I realize, like I’m entering a deep searching and realization of my own traumatic experience growing up in America. It’s heavy when so many people fly the flag ignoring the war machine that devastates both the home front and the world stage. When I walk downtown, I see all these people wearing flag shirts and other propaganda paraphernalia. When I walk around the suburbs, everyone has a flag marking their home like it needs to be stated: “I am a nationalist and this is America!” That seems to be the lynchpin for patriotism. It’s the forefront of discussion, how complicit are you? The more complicit, the more American. Apparently.

But, come on. We have a problem with healthcare.

Really though. It’s absurd. It’s got that clownish quality to it. We have a major healthcare problem. You don’t know if it’s laughable or so sad you just want to burst like a cloud. So you do both. All of it too real. It’s surreal. All the feels right in the gut. Right in the heart. You want to love everything to death, and death everything to life. Start it all over. Revolutionize the whole damn thing.

And none of us are untouched. That’s for sure. And because of that, it’s nice to have plant allies along for the journey, especially when it gets so treacherous or too much to face.

In my younger years I often walked a path of escapism while calling it freedom, and I see that pattern arising here and there in my adulthood. Don’t get me wrong, I think we all need some rest and relaxation, restoration and rejuvenation. We need to take care of ourselves. Time to slowly experience the intricacies unraveling. To sip sweetly the cup of life. That’s why I take to the woods. Take off my shoes and commune with the plants. So when I come back to the city, I’m a bit more ready to deal with the oppression of brick and wires, the concrete hard like the weight of jack hammers in the early morning, pounding sound in the ears, cramped up density of people stressed out & worked to the bone, which goes hand-in-hand with the constant, drastic change of the climate, politically speaking, environmentally speaking, socially, culturally, and spiritually. The streets are in heat. The war isn’t that far away. It’s a click away for some. It’s a step out the door for others. And if we have a pulse connected to the source, we feel the pain that too many endure.

Like, it’s hard to believe, but not surprising at this point, so many black people are still getting brutalized & murdered by police, and at the same time, so many people are still going about their days like the American dream is supreme.

It’s a broken record.

A broken record that needs repeating until the masses are moved. And there are too many broken records in this country.

But all that being brought up, the change is like this heat. Soupy. Running like molasses. Slow like honey. Insufferable. Thick and swampy like you just want to sit home naked in front of the fan with a cool glass of cucumber and ice. But you can only do that for so long. Because there is work to do. Because the plants are calling. Because people are taking to the streets and calling for simple things like sanity. Caring. Love. For politicians to get their hands out of their greedy pockets, to take a minute to stand outside themselves, to see what’s going on in the world, to give a fuck about the planet and people. But until that happens, we’re making waves in little ways, organizing ourselves, rooting deeply together, growing like little villages of plants and mushrooms. Feeding one another. Inspiring. Nourishing souls.

Taking to the Woods

I arrived in Boston at 5:30am. The sun was up, but the skies were grey. I walked around Boston Commons and people watched. A number of homeless folks slept on the grass. Seeing them brought back memories of the panhandlers I met while I went to school here. There was Uncle Bricks who got the name because he was tired of people stealing the few possessions he had, so he carried a brick in his waistband to protect himself. There was the One Armed Push Up Man who IMG_1977was jacked up from doing so many one armed push ups and smoking crack. The next door neighbor who everyone called Papi who I drank beers with on the stoop and listened to his stories about knife fights and gun fights from his days playing baseball in Puerto Rico. He was proud of his scars. He invited me to play dominoes with his family but I was heading home for summer break and moving to a new place the following year. There were also characters I never chatted with but saw often, like the woman who walked around holding a small mirror at arm’s length in front of her face. I don’t know if she was keeping an eye out for someone sneaking up behind her, or if she was bringing the myth of Narcissus to life. There was also a guy who had scraggly hair and long fingernails. He talked to himself and laughed a maniacal laugh. He reminded me of a Merlin type who was deemed mad by modern society. Despite so many colorful characters wandering & creating texture throughout the city, Boston for the most part houses a whole slew of relatively stuffy, conservatively dressed professionals re: basic, flavorless, and vanilla cookie cutter in-the-boxers. It probably has something to do with its Puritan roots. That’s my guess. In any case, the combination offers up a strange juxtaposition of aesthetic.

I walked probably ten miles from the time I got off the bus to early evening. I decided to pay a visit to Northeastern, which hasIMG_1968 the same distinct smell I remember from years ago. I’ve never been able to find the exact words to describe it. The first description that comes to mind is always young hormones & fresh mulch. I went to the philosophy department as I usually do when I’m visiting, but it must have been too early because no one was there. I left a note for one of my professors. I slipped it into the pages of a poetry book I self-published. I’ve been giving them my literature for years now. One of these days maybe I’ll write a masterpiece and it’ll slip its way into the curriculum.

Skipping ahead to the Rainbow Gathering, wherein, the outside world is called Babylon…

Upon arrival, I started hearing “Welcome Home” and “Loving You” and “There’s a hole in my bowl, I need a nugget to plug it” and all sorts of other cheery phrases. But, it’s not all rainbows and sunshine. Many people, although having an open heart & gentle countenance, they also maintained a sharp edge of cynicism and realness.

I was walking along the main path enjoying the sunset when I saw an elderly woman wiping her eyes with a tissue. She said she was having a moment. I asked if it had anything to do with the sunset. She kind of laughed and shook her head no. I walked over and sat on the rock next to her & gave her a little hug. She rested her head on my shoulder for a moment and cried a few more tears. Her husband passed away three years ago, and she was feeling disconnected from the gathering which made her sadder than sad. She told me about her family, both her son and daughter who live in Berkeley and Norristown, PA, respectively. Her daughter coincidentally lived in Fishtown for a number of years and married a firefighter. She went on and on about her life and desire to live in more intentional communities. She was sweet. She just needed a friend and a shoulder to lean on. I happened to be there at the right moment.

One dark night a guy attempted to kill himself. He cut his neck and wrist with a knife. The cuts weren’t deep enough, so he survived. That night I made a supply run for a kitchen. It rained and rained and rained. When I was hauling the dolly loaded with supplies through the thick, wet mud, I stopped in front of the medical tent to take a breather. I heard a guy screaming, strapped to a table, “You can’t keep me here! I can’t take this fucking place! I want out! I can’t take it anymore!” The name for the medical tent was CALM (Center for Alternative Living Medicine).

There were a lot of lost souls wandering and babbling probably taking too much acid for their own good. For that reason, Calm occasionally put up a different sign. “There are a number of people experiencing bad trips on acid. Maybe you should consider enjoying these beautiful Vermont woods sober.” Also, “Today is July 5. You are in the northeast region of the United States in the forests of Vermont. Maybe Babylon isn’t out there. Maybe you are Babylon because you are an ass hole. Be kind. Don’t be Babylon… And fuck this “‘loving you’ how about ‘helping you.’” I guess some people needed the reminder.

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For the most part, I stayed grounded. It’s easy when you’re learning about the plants and mushrooms in the area. We were literally grounding our focus and language into the surrounding flora. I also remained more or less sober. One night we sat around a fire passing tinctures, wines, meads, and teas all homemade and wild-foraged. We each got a little squirt of tincture and maybe two sips on each bottle. The mood was light and floating and our little camp got giggly from the fresh air and sips of spirits.

IMG_2093Outside of that night, I was offered acid a few times, but passed, because I like to do my drugs in the city. The forest is the real world where the air is clear and there’s filtered water to drink directly from the spring. It’s easy to open up the heart. It’s easy to dive deep into conversation. Clarity of vision allows realizations to unfold without effort. Why do drugs? I’m already there. Whereas the city is ripe for psychedelic medicine because there’s so much bull shit in the air & water and we close off our hearts more quickly because there are so many people in close proximity it’s likely we’d lose our bearings if we opened up to everyone. Low doses of mushrooms or LSD help facilitate deeper connections when there are obstacles like electric wires and concrete slabs blocking us from the natural energy flows of life. And it doesn’t necessarily have to be psychedelics: eating healthier foods from local gardens & farms and growing your own goes a really long way in building relationships as well as your defenses via your immune system.

I’ll say also, taking refuge in the woods (or the ocean or the mountains or the desert) is a necessary recharge. Some people view it as an escape, but it’s really rejuvenation when done with the right intention. I believe everyone needs to take time away from social media and work and return to the earth for extended periods of time or even short spurts. I understand this isn’t always an option, but I strongly encourage the culture to shift in that direction.

Many of the folks I connected with, we had very real conversations about the world we are currently living in. We discussed privilege and questioned why it’s so hard for some people to come to terms with it. We discussed emotions and why so many men (and women) have trouble dealing with them. We talked about polyamory and the need to be vulnerable and open. We talked about the implications of converging in the woods and living communally. For every few people talking about chakras, there was another person talking about biochemistry. I’m still amazed at the depth & variety of interests and archetypes.

Rainbow Gathering came together for the first time in 1972 in Colorado. It was inspired by a Hopi prophecy that spoke of the “rainbow people” who would rise up from the earth in all races, colors, and cultures who would help steward in the renewal of community and earth living. In the beginning years of the gathering it was a good portion vets from Vietnam, recovering alcoholics (one reason alcohol is still strongly discouraged), and hippies. It has been consistently moving around the country from year to year, slowly taking on different forms & evolutions. Every year it’s held on the week of July 4th; re-independence day. It’s held in a different national forest for free as an exercise & practice of assembling freely. The economy is solely based on gifting and bartering. While there, I saw zero exchange or handling of money. Every evening there is a center circle where folks gather to eat. Songs are sang and hands are held. Hundreds & hundreds of people circling together. This particular gathering hosted something like 6000-8000 people. A village of tents and other small structures temporarily put up & spread throughout the forest. There were many, many kitchens that prepare meals over wood fires and feed everyone. Some people bring their own food too. There’s an interesting crossover of self-reliance and interdependence.

So many nomadic people.

The Hare Krishnas had a camp and they went deep into the night with their repetition of mantra. They served food too, but for one reason or another, not at the main dinner circle. In the morning, they paraded around singing Hare Krishna.

I’m really happy I met up with Green PathIMG_2045, a group whose intentions are to educate. Their focus is primarily on plants, fungi, primitive skills, and the like; more or less a skill-share/knowledge-share group of people. There were maybe one or two other crews who brought a similar intention to the Rainbow table. I found it pretty incredible how easy it was to access information. All you had to do was ask someone about this or that plant, and they could tell you so much you wanted to know: what it’s good for, how to cultivate it, how to process it, etc. My notebook was full to the brim with practical education, and I returned home with a pocket full of goldenrod.

Trade circle, or trade circus, started everyday around noon. People set up their blankets covered with crystals, stones, beads, clothes, trinkets, mushrooms, feathers, knives, jewelry, magic cards, herbs, crafted objects, books, zines, seeds, tinctures, tents, tools, boots, and all other kinds of odds & ends. Oh, and patches, lots of patches. Acid & bud fetch a good value at trade circle. It’s interesting to see what people place value on. I traded a couple of beads and stones for a brown paper bag loaded with chaga.

I, as well as a number of other people, found edible mushrooms, so one night we brought them together and cooked up a hearty meal around the campfire. That night we also sang plant songs to call in the spirits of our favorite wild medicinals.

Kid Village was another camp. On the morning of the 4th from sunrise to noon, we observed silence to reflect on life & peace. It was pretty incredible to experience the silence, the whispers of breeze & birds, especially after so much rowdiness and drum circles that went through the night into the early morning. At noon on the 4th, people gathered in a large circle to meditate, and from Kid Village a parade of all the children came through to break the silence.

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There was very little police presence there, and just a handful of park rangers who rolled through. Because we were in Vermont, which is generally laidback anyway, was everyone’s best guess to the low level of authority. Apparently in prior years, there’s been a higher presence of police. Who knows. It was surreal coming back from the woods to hop on the internet and see everyone in a frenzy about the recent murders of Philando Castile & Alton Sterling (may their souls rest in power). It’s sad for more to say, but it feels as though very little has changed. People are erupting (understandably & necessarily so) and showing their dismay about the way police are over stepping their boundaries, and then police are showing up to protests in military gear and, yet again, over stepping their boundaries. There is absolutely no chill and absolutely no accountability. The law of the land is living above the law. The culture of authority is in need of radical change. Our society at large is in need of radical change. People are overheating and inflamed like the planet we’re living on. Especially when summer rolls around and our blood boils twofold. I’m hesitant to say much more, because it sounds as though the story is on repeat. One thing I do notice from last summer until now is that more people are speaking up and voicing their opinions. In general, it seems more people are engaging with what is happening. And with the shootings in Dallas (may their souls rest in peace), people are realizing the severity of the circumstances. The cries are real. No justice, no peace. There is war in our streets, and everyone is in need of re-evaluating priorities & where we expend our energy.

There are images (and even words) that very easily trigger the sympathetic nature of our bodies into a frenzy of flight and fear. We become agitated by gunshots & death. We get stuck in our heads. We get so accustomed to a state of madness that we very easily sputter out, lose our bearings, and freak. We become consumed by the news. Tapping into the heart helps create a balance. It’s as simple as, let’s say, staring at a rose. When you stare at a flower, allow yourself to not only see it, but feel it. This is the heart at work. So often we find medicine and energy through ingesting food, but there’s something to be said about eating with the eyes too. Like when the brain entrains with the gut entrains with the feeling center of the body, and this consciousness of heart leads the body’s rhythm: the sympathetic branch of the nervous system shifts to the parasympathetic nervous system, at which point the levels of cortisol produced by our bodies begins to reduce. We go from stressed to resting. As we continue to integrate with the digital world, these moments of meditation are very necessary, not only with activism, but also with simply living a healthy life. We absolutely need to ground into our bodies, and access our abilities to connect with our environments via feeling-perception. Otherwise, the brain will run amok, and we’ll witness a spiking pattern of enflamed reaction sputtering into dejection & burnout. We must incorporate rest & respite. We must transmute our anger & rage.

So many of us wanted to be here; we just didn’t know what it was going to look like. The breakdown of modern society is happening. This is what it looks like when we smash the white patriarchy.

And there is more that I can do. There is always more that I can do.

If I learned anything from Rainbow, life starts on the ground. It’s important to grow from there, to shed light where there is shadow, to bring definition where there is blurriness, to give knowledge where there is ignorance. We have to stop giving our stories over to the top-down model and build our stories from the ground up. I know it seems impossible when it’s raining down bullets from above and misinformation is rampant, but other paths are available for walking & living. It takes work. When you start believing in a new world, you start seeing where it exists. If you’re not willing to take the first step on your own, no one can lead you to it. The least I can do in this moment is clean a window so you can see out.

IMG_1974Banjos and guitars, fire and drums, a primal twang & a thumping racket reverberating the trees in the stars so many stars like glitter and gold spread across the sky. Voices go up like the smoke of tobacco and prayers for peace acted out boldly sometimes silent in this world overrun with a war of police. The rhythm of feet stomp the fertile earth, hoots and howls ring the air, bare feet dance long into sunrise.

I am full of gratitude to have crossed paths and sat deeply with so many kindred spirits.

America, Cut The Shit

The caricature of the political landscape is so surreal I’m unsure how to fully delve into it.

But for a moment, or a lifetime, let’s play make-believe. We’ll call this episode “The Resurrection of Jesus & Hitler.” It’s brought to you by memes everywhere.

Some would have you believe Bernie is a golden Jew angel sitting on one side of America’s shoulders, and Donald is a little red devil sitting on the other side whispering, like any snake-oil salesman, about all the evils in the world.

Facts, it would appear, no longer matter. Gaining power & prominence is a play at fiction. Who can best win over the imaginations of the public?

Donald is going to make so many deals, because he’s so damn slick and pompous, before we know it, he’s going to slip America out from under our feet and sell the country off to China in exchange for a fat dollar. Because he’s a businessman. Because he gives two fucks about making America great again. Because he’s a businessman.

Bernie’s going to pull a similar trick by whipping the trillion dollar table cloth from beneath the wealthy’s scrumptious meal leaving the place settings magically undisturbed and redistributing it to the working classes. Because he’s reached wizard status. Because he used to read Rimbaud. Because he’s a democratic socialist.

Two old white men battling it out in the psyche of the patriarchy. This’ll be the death of America for sure. The country is due for a heart attack sooner or later, all that ranting and raving is stressing people out. All that white maleness is so damn overbearing, people are having trouble seeing Hillary as a woman.

And recall, black people are in this mix as well, and all of a sudden police and police supporters are literally & figuratively up in arms from sea to shining sea.

The whole fabrication is busting at the seams. And per usual, most people are just sitting back, living their lives saying I’m staying the heck out of this because Fuck Politics.

I remember learning about Martin Luther King Jr. in high school, and did some of my own reading in college. I knew he was a leader of the Civil Rights movement, a powerful speaker and organizer. But I didn’t realize the extent to which he practiced civil disobedience. In a way, at least for me, his legacy was kind of whitewashed.

Now, I’m about 3/4 of the way through reading a book he wrote called “Why We Can’t Wait,” and I’m struck by the number of quotable gems dispersed throughout his writing. I shouldn’t be all that surprised because I see so many memes spreading his words around the internet… I guess what I find interesting, those gems that people quote, they kind of miss what he’s actually talking about. Don’t get me wrong, the quotes are good, but they don’t really drive home the fact that he was waging a crusade for freedom. The man was militant. He spoke of revolution and sparking radical transformation in society by uplifting the spirits of the oppressed and downtrodden. And he didn’t just speak about it, he did it. He made an army of nonviolent protesters. I’m not being hyperbolic. This is the kind of language he used.

What’s more, he had his fingers on the pulse of oppression; he knew its history so well. The way in which he described the lingering effects of slavery, it’s not all that much different than what I hear about the prison industrial complex today. We hear it all too often, “If people only obeyed, they wouldn’t get put in their place.” It recalls a slave/master mentality.

He also writes poignantly about tokenism. To boil it down, he describes a token as a way to keep people under the illusion that change is occurring. For instance, when people say, “There’s no racism, look, we have a black president.” That’s a token, or a small offering to placate the restless masses. It’s an attempt to convince people that equality exists across the board. It doesn’t amount to sweeping transformation though, it’s only a symbol that says, “Look, we gave you this, so calm down and be happy.”

The title of the book is worth repeating here “Why We Can’t Wait.”

Right wing propaganda jumps on tokenism very quickly. So be wary. Any time there is a black person who says something, for instance, to derail Black Lives Matter, they jump on it right away. This is dangerous, because it is exploitative, divisive, and creates a sense of complacency for those who still subconsciously support oppression. It says, “Look, this black person agrees with us, why don’t you?”

I’m also curious if this book is taught in high school? I imagine it would create tension, but King Jr. speaks to that too, that tension, especially within a community is ultimately necessary, because it so often serves as a catalyst for constructive thinking, conversation, and most importantly, a breaking point for direct action.

In the past, I wanted to be a leader in some way, shape, or form. I’m not so sure I have it in me in the same way that so many prominent leaders do. Rather, I’m convinced that I don’t. I think that’s why I’m drawn to reading books about rebellion & revolt, whether it be the Sandinistas in Nicaragua or the student-led protests in China. It’s an important history to keep alive. All too often, we forget how radical change really is. It always happens at the root, and we usually only catch it on a second or third wave, when it’s been somewhat diluted and regurgitated for the faint of heart. We have that privilege, to sit in our ivory towers and be critical of those who are fighting tooth and nail for progress and basic civil rights, without realizing that change looks exactly like that- radically different, and maybe even offensive, because it’s so new to our senses.

Just some impressions.

One last thing, MLK’s “Letter from Birmingham Jail” is brilliant in its own right. Another piece of writing everyone in our country ought to read, and it’s framed out so well in “Why We Can’t Wait.” The context provided helps to bolster and illuminate his words. Same goes with all those quotes and memes. They’re important, and for those who are interested, a little research helps them truly come alive.

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Full Moon in Pisces

Current Events in Brief

People are still being abused by police, and one state in particular, North Dakota, has actually instituted the use of taser & pepper spray drones. It’s madness. This year is on record to be, by far, the most murders by police. It’s both enfuriating and sad. I’d venture to say, it is important to shed light on police brutality, but, it’s a catch-22: Does sharing videos of police violence proliferate it in both our imaginations and reality too?

Trump is an ass hole. Hands down. It has to be said in vulgar terms because it’s true. It’s hard to believe so many people support his old-school, racist agenda. Again, not to perpetuate the idiocy of our times, but it’s worth repeating- the man is a disgrace to earnest Americans. He’s giving his supporters hope, like so many casinos, only to take them for all they’re worth in the end. He’s a business owner. Not a politician. No president wields that kind of power. The one hopeful thing I can say, he’s destroying the conservative party. It needs to happen. Because here’s the thing, I’m not against Republicans. I get where they come from. Many people want tradition and values and freedom. That’s all good. But so many minds have been twisted & fucked by Fox News and Christianity, it’s hard to bring people back to reality.  

 

There are many positive stories in the media. I’ve been seeing a number of young (mostly black, African, and Muslim) entrepreneurs making headlines. Teens who are gifted with a business mind AND a drive to help out their community. Instead of simply stacking dollars, they are creating scholarship programs to help others succeed. In the coming years, I see this as a shocking wave of transition and change. So shocking that people have a hard time believing we are on an upward swing.

A number of people I’ve been chatting with have aired out their disillusionment with our current times. I think what’s happening, the zeitgeist if you will, we are truly entering a new world order, wherein, those places and people we habitually looked down upon are making a hefty contribution and rise in the collectivity of consciousness. Their ontologies, or world views, are bursting our individualistic, privileged bubbles. Even those of us who are “liberal” “independent” and “progressive” have a lot of work to do on who we think we are. And because our lives are getting rocked, we see people fighting back, freaking out, and clinging to what they used to hold true. All those fearful people, like the woman in Kentucky who won’t issue gay marriage licenses, are getting swallowed up by the massive tide of transitions occurring. 

All I can say is, let go into the future, because it’s already here, right before our eyes.