Tag Archives: economics

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Hearing Colors

When I see in colors
I say Yes
softly or loudly
and usually in-between
depending on our vibrancy together.

When we see in black and white,
we say maybe yes
and perhaps not
and other shades of ambivalent grey.

I cannot see in black
as I cannot see white at all
except perhaps as shades of transparency.

When I hear in resonant music
I say Yes
to truths of resolution,
trusting resilient motions of emotion
integrity of life
life as integrity
potentiating further regenerations;
new songs for perpetuating tomorrow.

When I hear in words
I’m listening for what’s missing.
Lyrics without a melody
are just more disappointing words.

I see best in full dressed color
and hear our dynamic truths
most resonantly as music
in soft sizzling preludes
on through conflagrations
loud climatic revolutions
followed by silence
black as night
waiting for white
bright dawning colors
dancing new music
vibrant washed.

Learning in full octave ranges
we can see a child
listening for a parent
seeing community developers
and violators
listening to fellow politicians
longing to write and read
hear and speak poetry together
while seeing as musicians
swelling gospel choirs
and drumming
burning orchestrations
of co-redeeming music
in full non-flagging flames of color.

When we hear in colors
we see full octave best
until it’s time for rest
notes that last
until they don’t
turn just right bright
vibrant multicolors.

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Sorcerer’s Apprentice

S/he knows hot cold felt co-passions
calling to become Bodhisattva Caller,
EarthTown Crier,
co-messianic prophet of brightest gloom
begging prophecies still hiding

winning our least best common denominations
racing diverse nurturing
of ecotherapeutic tranquilities,
resonant resilience
to both call and cooperative calling back
listening through speaking
what has fissured pathological cracks,

powers of matriarchal hurricanes
nurturing yet controlling
Earth’s patriarchal steadfast Peter rocks
deaf to nurturing calls of invitation
but best for flat plane echoing
climates full
uprising
evolving
revolutions
calling as we nurture echo-call,
crying as we nature fall,
supplying all we together recall
competing WinWin cooperations,

co-operators
of and for peaceful piracy,
creolic recreations,
trumping each reweaving species
relearning shared vocations
as Solidarity’s apprentices.

Climatic avalanches self-invite
what we co-invited yesterday
as bounty.

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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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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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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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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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Laundering Her Accounts

New England’s late May sun was long up,
and yet her laundry began to unfold
and clip onto the droopy clothesline,
while yet to warm into 8 AM.

She wore a light spring jacket
and need not think long
about why and how much of water
she consumed each day
each month
each year.

These numbers are written on ledgers of her mind
and asset hanging body.
Food
and heat
and phone service,
electricity
and water
and even some of her compost.
All off-site store
and on-line purchases.

Balancing thoughts nutritional,
sometimes toxic piles of consuming laundry lists
from diverse and fragrant markets.
This was an easy stroll
down double-entry accountability lane
compared to thinking through what she had produced.

Which reminded her to breathe
and about air.
The good air she had breathed all year.
She had no bill for services rendered,
in large part by the trees,
but the ecology and chemistry are complicated.
Still, no bill.

And what about all the bad air she had produced?
No one seemed likely to repay her.
At least not with kindness.

Yet she had also produced some good air,
and so had her daughters and sons.
And she had produced them,
without as much help as she might have preferred
for so much poopy laundry.

Come to think of it,
no one had sent much of anything
for her investments in retaining this planet
with capacity for self-naming Earth,
or any other name either
as far and deep as she could linguistically foretell.

She didn’t bring home a paycheck anymore.
That could have been a measure of her production value.
Yet she was not so sure
which part of all those hours
and years
would end up on the positive regenerative asset side
of self and other investing income
and how much was more degenerative and toxic.
Both trends paid the same in cash,
but not within her warm-washed heart.

This was her accounting problem.
She could measure consumption with her mind and body
but she wanted to balance her production values
and disvalues with her heart,
maybe only because her mind could not wrap around
the positive and negative productive garnering numbers.

What did she produce in healthy amounts?
Too much clean laundry or not enough?
And what else might she over-produce
in toxic overpopulating quantities?
Is this all her kids could be and hope for?
Her contribution to inhumane overpopulation
to further deteriorate Earth’s healthier climates.
What futures would these well-worn clothes cover?

This must not be enough.

So she talked and listened with other women she knew,
including her mother and grandmothers,
but also her daughters,
about how they cooperatively and competitively approached
their double-entry accountability issues.

One grandmother
made a conserving assumption
that all her breath was wasted,
so entered her heart-felt numbers
on Earth’s negative side–
we are intrinsically bad for other nature-spirits.
But also made her balancing assumption,
all her intakes of cash were sufficient in return.
An even exchange,
positive feedback capital
balancing all her bad breath outflow.
Her clothesline
carried only her own clothes.

Her other grandmother
spoke of a rule
her mother taught and listened to tape-measure through each day.
If she had some negative feedback to invest,
it must wait until she had completely played out
any positive feedback
she could honestly express.
In this way she could predict
her positive productions
at least 0-sum balancing
with her negative airs
and positions,
policies and partnerships,
pairs and repairs of pants and socks
and other relationships;
her economic and political productions
across her project lifeline.

She said her goal was to consume
at least as wisely balanced as she produced,
to give at least as well as she had taken.

Her daughter went on-line
to frame a women’s global cooperative.
And then she quantified her negative consumptions
of mind and body
against and with her positive heartbeats and breaths,
to see and hope and hypostatically hypothesize
thermodynamic ecopolitical balance
as 0-sum WinWin
cooperative ego/eco-systemic balance,
slow-growing her matriarchal cooperative laundry ownership
of this women and allies cooperative
transfer and exchange market
for healthier global climates.

She followed her daughter on-line
to co-mentor with her global sisters,
and allies,
how we can add and subtract,
divide and multiply
our cooperative positive mutual dividends
invested for each other
more than WinLose against.

This did not necessarily resolve her ecological balance sheet
but her daughter’s on-line cooperative intention and outcome bank
of entries,
nested by individual within local bioregion,
did resolve and resonate with her accounting
by double-entry
regenerative v degenerative 0-sum balance issue.

Now what was in and on her heart and breath,
was also expanding out through cooperating breasts and chests,
WinWin more than competitive WinLose.

What continued in patriarchal Washington,
and other capital-consuming cities,
hoarding breath ’til smoke-filled blue
denying Earth’s climating pathologies,
faded back somewhat from terrorizing view
because this hoarding vision of contemporary history
was no longer the only cooperative-competitive game in town,
and across Earth’s matriarchally treed forests,
networks,
embryonic organic networks,
regenerative and decomposing lines,
perennial spirals
recycling productive Yang with cooperative consuming yin-fractal DNA
seasonal 0-sum
WinWin reiterative primal relationships,
double-positive-binds,
not just light
but bright,
not just love
but polypathic beloving matriarchal communities
of and for healthy accounting balance sheets,
hung out to dry
on this sunny warm breeze May day.

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