Author Archives: gdill52

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Politics of Nutrition Economics

Currency reifies values.
Cash represents value.
Capital iconically,
and capitalism idolatrously,
removes humanity
from Earth’s gifting cooperative nature
as reciprocating nurture.

Value,
like organic interdependent nature,
does not grow by hoarding its icons,
but increases in diversity and resilience
through multiculturing, creolizing, nuance,
growing diverse development networks of exchange
through equivalent WinWin nutritional values,
norms of and for cooperativity, love, even transubstantive hypostatic,
as more powerful than WinLose competitions, adversity
and its chronic stepson, violence
and its cousin, rabid militaristic non-thinking instincts
of and for self defense
that looks and smells and feels to alien others
like threat of actively distrusting offense.

Value includes qualitative potential for Earth’s regenerative nutrition,
interdependently includes our humane natures of cooperative gifting,
paying values forward as hosts of/for Earth’s bounty,
receiving value in return, as and when needed to be given
by otherwise mutually naked guests
in exile from co-creating Paradise.

If the transport of goods and not so goods,
of valuables and toxins,
like other exchanges of information and exformation,
regenerative intent and degenerative praxis,
is about our shared nutrition-communicating economy,
does it not follow economic science itself
could not exist as the study of financial value/disvalue trends
without being seminally rooted
in a positive psychology bias?
Toward nutritional is better than toxic communication.
Communication as transport,
exchange,
relationship,
transaction,
interdependence essentially cooperative
and equivalently normed,
valued.

Positive economics
[and reverse correlational double-binding negative bilateral exformational trends]
is to cooperative ownership and design management
and trends of/for further exchange
as healthy politics
is to positive/double-bind negative communication
of/for mutually subsidiary trust
as/in co-investment,
[“of…as” is descriptive definition,
while “for”…”in” invite further prescriptive delineation]
mistrust as mutual divestment
of/from nature’s most powerful original intention
toward interdependent gifting
from among Earth’s multiculturing resilience, resonance
evolving
revolving
inclusive revolutionary values,
ecosystemic health as nutrition/toxin norms
with ego-holistic resolution.

Otherwise,
political and economic currency continues to miscommunicate
mere reification of Earth’s cooperative values.

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Culture of Integrity

Let’s declare solidarity as power and ownership with,
and older client-service models
are power and ownership toward.

Herein lies this with and toward difference
birthed by here and not-yet WinLose capitalizing norms
pervading our non-profit
and for-profit public/private
eco-political capital sectors,
suboptimizing mutually threatening losses
substituting for WinWin cooperative self-with-other equivalent ownership,
Golden Rule cooperative owner rooting
in sacred mutually organic subsidiarity
of grace and wonder
and healthy curiosity,
holistic integrity.

Evolving current competitive LeftBrain dominance
of WinLose Either/Or thinking
rather than advocating revolutions of and for cooperative Both/And
Left/Right ecosystemic balance,
both notnot and for regenerative integrating profits
shared through mutually subsidiary individual
and family
and tribal
and community
and state
and bioregional networks
cooperatively owned
originally intended
and also Self/Other Earth-centered governing.

Let’s declare solidarity
mutually-held power and ownership
with regenerative WinWin integrity
including both past and future generations
reiterations
optimally resonating resolutions
primal peaceful revolutions.

 

 

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HiStory Times

Once upon an evolving time
we were a great first nation,
or second nation,
depending on your historical perspective,
but definitely not a third nation
although some cooperative economists
thought we might be competing ourselves
in that over-invested and ego-inflationary direction.

This first and second nation
had grown tired of electing puppy dogs,
with bought and sold kennel cough
and regurgitation,
as Chief.

Living within this mighty nation was a Big Bad Wolf
who campaigned by shouting “Wolf”
and cheerleading for BigBad Woolfacism,
and the sleepy and bored people
found this exciting as if more entertainment
must be a change for better
rather than almost unimaginable worse
and so nearly half of them
stumbled into dog-eared polls
and elected Chief B.B. Wolf.

B.B. Wolf took his wolfish degenerative promises somewhat seriously,
thinking, sort of, and both reasonably and unreasonably enough,
this was why he was new Chief Wolf,
but became frustrated
as he learned the larger half who had impudently voted for Other
were more hoping for a Big CoOperative Wolf
which he considered more of a Big Bad Bitch.

Tired of hearing “Wolf!..Wolf!”
and “Come hither Bitch!”
twittered and beeped and compressed across every media outlet,
this battered tribe began turning off their radios
at mere mention of B.B. Wolf,
stopped choosing to read his anti-potlatch tweets,
boycotted every paper and editor and blogger,
story teller and poet
who dared mention Chief Wolf
and his campaign of blighting promises
and threats
and competing WinLose compromises
and fake news
and non-events
and non-plans
and non-design
and non-cooperative
and non-trust
non-sense
non-sensed
non-sensing
non-sensual
non-sensical scrambling politics.

This went on for near a week
before B.B. Wolf’s press secretary
called a Briefing
to which no one came but him, or her,
depending on which secretary drew the shortest straw that morning.
No one even briefly bothered hearing for sure
which came to represent
further dissonance and dismay.

By afternoon
even B.B. Wolf heard his own empty echoing chambers
and twittered “Never mind.
I’m the first and best Chief
to ever hold a Brief without pressing business anyway.”
Then announced he would be happy to try something new,
to mindfully listen to questions and comments
and concerns
to see if we might together become smart enough
to come up and down with some well-planned feasible answers,
somewhere this side of more fake non-news,
non-events,
etc…

Someone
way in the back of the smallest press room
in the smallest town
in the shortest State,
some BBB, no doubt,
as the Chief would later say,
asked him what Saudi Arabia
might have been willing to invest in
with less toxic outcomes
if he had offered wholesale
on trees and organic edibles,
wind turbines and solar panels,
natural construction and organic gardening
and nutritional militias
armed with our best good regenerative seeds
and permacultural nurturing designs
for care-giving and -receiving
and global cooperative health insurance
and mutual wealth of resonance assurance.

Still, he had promised to think about it
and so he did the best he could
within his echoing silo.
But the next day
all this nation’s media
on- and off-polypathic communication lines
that spacetime 4D regenerative mattered
twittered and tweeted
blogged and editorially bleated
mindful questions
and cooperative “Yes…and…” responses
listed blisteringly out loud
like positive organic healthy yeast
far too deep and rich for B.B.. Wolf to hope for continuing control
much less to actually nurture and manna lead
like a Big Good Wolf might have started,
and then watched what we together might have remade.

He “Wolf!”ed to agree to disagree
and did so endlessly
but all the larger half not in his fan base
and at least half of his smaller half of former followers
were much too busy
refilling all his negatives
with their WinWins
“Yes that healthy choice,
and how about this nutrition too?”
instead of their old degenerating
WinLose
anti-climatic ways.

This remained such the larger gospel reweaving story
B.B. Wolf had no one to rant at
and, frankly, not much to do
other than playing golf
and counting his money
which were his trump cards anyway.

And so it is this story began
with selecting Chief B.B Wolf
and ends
with everybody living happily
and healthy wealthing ever after.

A moral of and for this story:
That’s what big bad wolves are for,
to show you what is best
to more relentlessly ignore.

But,
I’m sure we can, together,
think of both…and nutritional more.

Our Beginning:

Once upon an evolving time
we were a great first nation
and second cooperatively matriarchal established state,
co-depending on her-historical perspectives…

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Original Invitations

Rather than Ten Commandments,
beginning with loving YHWH,
iconically accessible and yet mysterious
as ecosystemic Earth,
Native Americans
and perhaps all original people
mutually deploy Original Instructions,
both matriarchal and patriarchal,
intended to become prescriptive
only as the Golden Rule of cooperative learning
grows descriptive for each one listening
for how these creation and self/other management stories
inform our days and nights
as naked immigrants invited on and in this Turtle Island.

These creation instructions, not commandments,
begin with Gaia’s invitation
to do as She loves,
to scatter our best seeds
rooted in healthiest nutritional needs
to follow where and only as long as these grow,
developing seeds of their own to further compost scatter
and to avoid those which ossify
into full-blown egocentric
ethnocentric
anthrocentric addictions,
hoarding out what began as healthy need
and grew to dominate our habits of mind and body
becoming capitalizing wealth through pirating
what began as good times
as good seeds
but turned into transparent addictions
to self-powering over Earth’s nature,
Original Invitations to health as wealth,
and not texts and LeftBrain lists and lexicons
of not all that original commandments
to violently hoard fertile wealth
as if this were healthy self-wealth esteem.

Grace can only be truly heard as sacred invitation.
To listen for love as a command,
whether from self or God or other or Earth
as one whole deep and richly wise ecosystem,
sets up a double-bind
competing cooperation competition
between need and emerging addiction to self-idolatry,
between enslavement and self-serving aristocracy,
perennial addictions to overcoming aching loneliness,
rather than becoming cooperative rest,
listening for Earth’s invitations
into deeper and richer voiceless grace.

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Traveling Death Salesman

I can’t sleep.
Or, I can
and did
for three hours
but I continue waking
into a Stephen King nightmare
too real to ignore
because I feel isolated
in this quagmire
of hopeless history.

In this my collective nightmare,
President Trump goes to Saudi Arabia
like Mr. Smith goes to Washington,
bold as an August justice day,
to sell 110 billion dollars of U.S. manufactured ballistics
in this heart of Middle East thirst
for violence–
like selling dope to jonesing crack addicts.

This deal is signed in the blood of our children
then celebrated in full glare of multi media spotlights
with blood dripping off our chins
and hands.
This is a really sweet success
for climate health and freedom fighters
and, oh yes,
our wealthy industrious friends
who rake in their riches
on the strong back
of capitalism’s vaguely cannibalistic WinLose addictions.

This nightmare continues on to Israel
where Jewish leaders wait
until our blood-stained ambassador
of international arm-sales corruption
turns his back
before at last declaring their alarm,
echoed at his next stop
in the Vatican
where even this home of history’s Crusades
finds such dark triumphalism
a bit too treacherously much.

Yet, as often as I awake within this bloodshed bacchanal
blaring with unseemly deep night trumpets
I also wake to total BusinessAsUsual silence
here in this U.S. home.

Here it feels alien accepted
that this is whom we have near bloodlessly become,
crack and frack and oil addicts
selling our preferred markets of death
in exchange for oil
or cash,
our democratically held self-esteem so low
we cannot remember our lowest common denominator
used to be a shared multiculturing Golden Rule.

We have better stuff to sell
for hope of light
not deadly despair.

So here I sit
in the middle of this night’s terrifying domestic silence,
wide awake with guilt
about such dark leadership
we have loosed in a troubling Earth
longing for even just one drop of climate sanity.

110 billion dollars re-invested.
Ours
to grease these well oiled wheels
of military industrializing tycoons
even General President Eisenhower
warned us against.

I guess healing our planet
and our extending brother-sister relationships
will have to wait
until all our guns
and oil,
bombs
and hate,
soldiers
and their innocent children
are gracelessly gone.

I doubt that dawn will ever come again,
yet worry what new macabre celebrations
in vampire cannibalistic capitalism
may appear across our morning screens,
knocking on and out and through our back doors
while our children sleep
in too short innocence.

110 billion for nihilistic death and terror sales
and not one entrepreneurial peep in protest
of sacrilegious prancing.
It is this screaming silence of abject immoral despair
that continues awaking me,
hoping I might see midnight lights
of kindred nightmare souls
haunted by such dark blood business
baldly broadcast as if to help us better sleep.

I toss and turn alone
while other childlike immigrants on Earth
sleep through 110 billion bloody nightmares.

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Doubling Boundaries

You had me at Aloha
all through Aloha again,
between banks of outdoor clouds
sailing sigh,
some lighter whiter
faster,
some darkly starkly stable
yet even these passing through
this invite and disinvite Aloha

You greet me as Shalom
through our health as wealth commencement,
fleeing indoor fleecing fleeting noise
for outside peace
flights of radiant fancy
seeing colors inside out
where we belong
in our less seething sheathed Shalom.

Are we only our indoor voices
ending at odds with where resonance begins?

Our outside voices
ending eventually within,
evenly without,
within and between
clouds both bright and dark.

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Braiding Dawn with Eve

In “Braiding Sweetgrass”
Robin Wall Kimmerer
favorably contrasts Skywoman’s creation story
with Eve’s less abundant vocation.

In our shared Right hemisphere,
Skywoman “created a garden
for the wellbeing of all.”
While in and out of the more extractive Left hemisphere,
Eve was banished from her forest garden
“and the gates clanged shut behind her.”

To live as fully as possible,
Eve must subdue the wildness
“into which she was cast.”
Meanwhile,
Skywoman remains an active matriarchal agent
of this casting and forecasting
wildness.

This feels fine to me as it is.
Yet I can also recognize Skywoman
as RightBrain Dawn
migrating through these four languaged millennia
to re-emerge this Eve of Earth’s climate pathologies
re-approaching reweaving gates bilaterally opening
with no more need for violent slamming shut
gates designed for polypathic bilateral nudging,
Dawn through Eve,
forward through back again,
surfing Left to Right
nondual co-arising.

In my version
of this Skywoman Dawn meets Eve,
Dawn says to Eve
“Sister, you got the short end of the stick…”
while Eve hears and dreams therapeutic response,
resonant resolutions
to lead with longer and deeper
and wider more inclusive nutritious carrots
this seasoning of Earth’s dualdark bicameral health
re-emerging
revolving
revolutioning
braiding dawn then eve
toward dawn’s DNA again.

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Marching Against Military NonSolutions

Militarism,
and its xenophobic Nationalism brother,
are among a polarized USA’s most basic political habits
and economically competitive behaviors.

Violence with and against others
is among the most difficult and sensitive climate pathologies to deal with,
and yet at the heart,
in the heart,
of ecologically polypathic mindbodies,
nondually co-arising
climates of ego- and eco-therapeutic hope
for less violence
and more contentment,
within as without.

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The Voice

Ecopolitics of music appreciation and performance
is not about race,
other than sufficiency of syncopating rhythm and pace,
nor only about competing subcultures,
although this comes closer to my soul matter.
Multiculturing music resonance appreciation
is about ecopolitical range of emotion
acutely and precisely and overwhelmingly articulated
sometimes with dancing performance motions
appropriate to deep wise lyrical resolutions.

Rooted in my permacultural music appreciation class
of many multiculturing octaves,
when choosing my richest and deepest performing Voice,
I am inclined toward denser Chris Blues
over simpler Country-Western one-octave ranges,
devoid of EastCoast creolic jazzy gospel shakes and rocks
and rolling moves.

Probably for similar ecopolitical music appreciation reasons,
I would not choose to replay a dissonant Trump card
when seeking both deep and widely healthy WinWin outcomes,
especially when our choice
is for lead ecopolitical health-wealth Voice.

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