Walking an ancient ocean floor, pushed up into red rock sculptures. Faces, animals, human or alien figures, pop out from the nature-made-red-rock-deco beauty. They pop out from my brain and its ever-workings, seeing as I do as I am.
Sighting animals is rare. A beautiful grey squirrel. Black ravens on the Mescal trail. Coyotes in town. A tiny lizard skirting the red trail then stopping on a rock to heave the way they do. Some partridges flushed from a desert bush undoing the silence.
Ancestors touched down onto this wide mesa. Looking down at my brothers hands I see my fathers hands and the familiarity makes sense of everything. I asked him about air traffic control monitoring the many other planes over this idyllic field. He said, ultimately its on the pilot to watch for others. Full responsibility. My dad materializes again, eschewing the victim society he saw coming, the one we have now.
The walls of our room are sparsely decorated with sand-paintings from a different lineage, earthbound and tribal. The meaning of these simple figures is a mystery to me yet they gesture playfully to be seen and known. After days coming and going from this room Im finally looking up from my phone to actually look at these magical charms. My laptop, my kindle, my phone. Im engaged with machines more than anything else, and its lonely. Devices. Divisive. Dividing me from a natural world I also inhabit.
Walking along a trail less traveled, imagining the parts of my body that cannot be seen. Parts that the seen aspect moves inside of, as I imagine it. To explore even more would have been my druthers but Im walking with someone in a hurry, someone rushing to meet a connection, someone rushing to avoid waiting, someone rushing to complete work that is never done. I was unable to stay with the imaginal invisible, to slow down enough to notice the aspects seen, or not, how they might move in unison, or not. Distracted by this other dude, I wished I was alone on that trail.
Now I wish I could remain whole in the face of disagreements, to stretch with integrity into places I usually avoid, something different than both barrels firing from a minor annoyance.
Bird songs mingle with the sound of a machine. Nonetheless, I am here facing a rising sun, source of all power in the world, whose perfect rays illuminate the earth, and may also illuminate my heart so to do its perfect work. I recite this Viking prayer to the sun and to my heart most everyday, in awe of the sun, its light, and what makes life possible on Earth. Meanwhile there are big-business-sun-blocking-technologies in the works. Also known as solar radiation modification, the idea is to reflect sunlight back into space. Why but to reduce global temperatures! The Cold Truth tells a different story about global temperatures, as well as C02 levels. What is actually rising on the planet in the catastrophic-man-made-climate-change is the trillion dollar climate industry and along with it, rising regulations that make for bigger and badder government. Witness Justin Trudeau levelling a hefty carbon tax on Canadians based on the ill-founded notion that C02 levels are rising to perilous levels. Dont believe it. Humans need carbon dioxide to regulate respiration and control blood pH. Plants use C02 to create oxygen through photosynthesis. I may refine my sunshine prayer to include gratitude for carbon dioxide, Earths most important greenhouse gas, essential to life on our planet. May it do its perfect work.
My eyes look to my own hands, to my body, and to my physical dependence on the elements that surround me. Is my body moving inside of a gravitational field or a divine, immeasurable spaciousness? If only I could slow down enough to notice the subtle qualities of this wave-like space. I imagine experience could be new in every moment if only my eyes could adjust to this imaginal expanse. Free. Un-preoccupied.
When the motorheads grandiose hall of marble facades and bright lights came down to its not-so-grand finale, I found myself one day at the opening to that dimming venue. The exit signs caught my eye as they often had in meetings past. I mused upon my relationship with those red letters, lit from behind and speaking directly to me. Better they had said GET OUT! in a flashing strobe. I might have comprehended its deeper meaning. Nonetheless, I noticed them in every meeting, EXIT in red, on both sides of his lengthy stage.
Then as I stood still looking in past the milky marble entrance, a blazing white sphere of light rushed into me from a far corner of the room. It rushed right into me and blazed into my heart as if in a culmination of all I had known in that room. And so it was.
I have no understanding of that bright-white-racing-globe, and dare not make more of it. Making more of phenomena was habituated in the cult. Magic was everywhere and given credence as being so.
The responsibility is on us for believing the lies and stage magic, for believing what we were told instead of investigating the real science. Too busy we were, blissing out on, or in fear of, unseen energies in a non-local bardo. In that realm we could go anywhere, anytime. Voyaging through consciousness as awareness was a cult-time thing, and all the while the motorhead at work simulating our dying unto him.
I live in the world of machines now, watching as they hypnotize and feed off the people, much like the motorhead does. Entrusting ourselves to ideas and crises transmitted by the Almighty Insurrection against reality is liable to create anything nowadays, so long as it fills somebodys pockets. I guess weve been doing that quite a while now, come down from our ancestors, making things up to create an artificial reality that makes money for someone.
To end on a brighter, sunshiny note:
Theres a place up ahead and Im going
Just as fast as my feet can fly
Come away, come away, if youre going
Leave the sinking ship behind
Come on the rising wind
Were going up around the bend
Ooh
Bring a song and a smile for the banjo
Better get while the gettings good
Hitch a ride to the end of the highway
Where the neons turn to wood
Come on the rising wind
Were going up around the bend
Ooh
You can ponder perpetual motion
Fix your mind on a crystal day
Always time for a good conversation
Theres an ear for what you say
Come on the rising wind
Were going up around the bend
Yeah
Ooh
Catch a ride to the end of the highway
And well meet by the big red tree
Theres a place up ahead and Im going
Come along, come along with me
Come on the rising wind
Were going up around the bend
Yeah
—John Cameron Fogerty
"A" ll "I"n takes on a new meaning ! Beautiful writing again Jess !
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