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FRESH Air

I was invited to the FRESH urban farm
for youth development
of plants and people
and a more nutritionally just planet,
for an interview.

As usual
I began with uncovering
where FRESH compassion
for Earth’s healing
stands and sits and kneels,
laughs and cries,
works and plays,
multiculturally races
and feels stuck right here
in stagnant depressing Now.

What nutritional care giving and receiving services
does FRESH have Here/Now passion for
and feel therapeutically missioned
to claim within NewLondon’s WinWin
ecopolitical goodfaith guilds
and subcommunities,
cooperatively interdependent stakeholders?

We use FoodJustice,
fuel fairness,
Positive Nutritional Energy
to reconnect our subcommunities,
to actively mentor global ecological stewardship,
theological ZeroZone Paradise Management,
Earth sanctity, without being sanctimonious,
to inspire nondual nature/spirit youth leaders
to invite
and incite green restoring change,
nutritionally within
as without.

What would you like to permaculturally design
nutritionally together as EarthTribe
that you cannot nurture autonomously,
monoculturally anthro-centric,
colonizing Win/Lose LeftBrain dominance
stuck in Lose/Lose pathology trends
of Left against Right dissonance.

We would like to reverse
Ecological/Theological racing toward mutually unredeemable
Loss of economic health
caused by shrinking ecological wealth,
under-invested in climate therapy,
nutritionally challenged
by way too much competitive investment
in Either/Or
LeftBrain
autonomous
egocentric
secular dominance
OVER
RightBrain
WiseElder
sacred
green nutritional prominence.

Of course you do.
Why else would you be called FRESH?

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Future Cooperative Farmers

Kids,
like adults,
who become ecologically active,
join in gardening,
urban, and suburban, and rural cooperative farming,
green environmental sciences,
school gardens as group art installations
and outdoor entertainment
and spirit/nature nondualistic humane-divine experience,
tend to be joiners and stayers,
sometimes annoying OpenSpace Occupiers

Who stray away
from competing subcultures
and millennially stray toward
green cooperatively-owned and
matriarchally co-managing climates
of healthy-wealth interdependence–
the opposite of competing encampments
for forced and loathed
compromising Win/Lose codependence.

Ecologically passionate kids,
like adults,
tend to be joiners
and stayers,
but if they stray away
then probably they,
like you,
only have so much time
in any one day
and they have found a more resiliently healthy place
to transparently WinWin
vulnerably, yet safely, play

Where Positive/Negative Energy Democracy
is another way to say
Let’s listen Both/And
bilaterally Ego/Eco
Inside/Outside climates together
and not judge ourselves
or each other
as always autonomously Yang-good
or Yin-bad
when we could
instead
invite YangLeft with YinRight
to ecologically with theologically
roleplay WinWin plant planting nicer
as each creolizing
PositivEnergy
Trust-Democratic other.

Kids,
like adults,
who are ecologically active
tend to come from theo/ecological past WinWin joiners,
heading toward Left language for Right nutritional experience
ecopolitical secular/sacred vulnerable transparency,
yet safely protecting past errors
as long transparent,
permeable,
regenerative/degenerative lines
of WinWin Here with Now intent.

Health-evolving mission statements
free to reacclimate
mutual subsidiary
co-arising dipolar
Left with Right
inside/outside
Ego/Eco
Health/SacredWealth enculturation
of binomial ZeroZone
resilient ego-choices

For EcoTherapeutic revolutionary avocations,
praise,
liturgical dance,
sacred meaning
theological sacraments
for ecological purposes,
ethology of EarthTribe developmental phylogeny

Historical WinWin revolutionary dominant,
occasionally hysterical WinLose devolutionary,
EarthTribe compassionate
becoming WinWin
ego/eco-dominant.

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Family Jazz Farmers

I am reading Wendell Berry stories
again,
still,
today.

And notice
over these past several weeks
he unfolds two bipolar themes.

Berry is,
was,
a cooperative Southern neighborhood farmer
of organic hospitality.
His protagonists grow on multigenerational farms
as Berry grows into writing while farming,
thereby farming readers
co-investing in cooperative
organic
ego-feeding
ecosystems.

But Berry’s NegativEnergy tension
emerges against nationalistic
anti-productive family
automated military ballistics
reaping death harvests.

All forms of death
are terror
in and outside Berry’s local farm community,
Yet death’s most absurd forms
are international and civil wars,
tariff warts and tumors
against short-handed family farmers.

As any farmer
worth her compost
knows,
Everyone losing opportunity for organic life
risks isolating
marginalizing
competing
de-commodifying death.

Similarly,
I hear an NPR commentator
this evening
remind us
Everyone loses empowering trade
in declaring wars.

Whether firing retributive ballistics
or tariffs
or both,
bleeding death and threat thereof
are the opposite of cooperatively farming
and feeding health
together.

Wars are LoseLose Games
unto violent absurdity
while cooperative farming,
planting and harvesting,
culling and replanting,
seed sharing and mutual cooperative composting,
multigenerationally,
is WinWin traditional healthy economics
and family politics,
secular democratic trust
and sacred faith
in PositivEnergy ZeroZone communities.

Similarly,
I hear another NPR commentator say,
of an iconic Jazz Master,
whose primary instrument
exploring high and low extremities
of piano-fortes:
He performed cooperative jazz
THE Right Way.

This seems to smirch the Master’s reputation.
Music performed THE Right Orthodox Way
is not jazz,
without capital-hoarding over-investments.

Jazz is not ballistically force-fed at people
Music sharing is about cooperative RightBrain planting
and harvesting invitations into resonant life.
Jazz performance
at its organic ensemble creolizing best
is about several right and left farming ways
inviting us to muse with
our right sharing amusing ways.

THE Right Ways
are about competitive performance wars–
who gets the biggest and baddest button
spotlight,
and not at all about jazz forms
of cooperative improvisational farming,

Recomposing stories
about healthy forest
and ocean
and breath
and light major 7th
and dualdark minor diminished
octave sharing.

I was dreaming Wendell Berry poetry
again resonant,
today.

 

 

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Wendell Berry’s Boutique

Organic
zero-waste stream
permaculturally designed
and cooperatively owned
farms
are no more or less Democratic-Boutique ecopolitics

Than AgriBusiness
extractive anti-ecological
rather than restorative-ecosystemic therapy,
competitively owned
and Business as Usual capitalist-colonizing designed
multinational conglomerates of anthro-hubris greed,
are no more or less Totalitarian Universal Supremacist ecopolitics.

I heard a young woman farmer
raising grass-fed cattle
on her small organic farm
designed to restore health to Southern
RedState topsoil,
as well as to her kids’ kids,
future farmers of Postmillennial America.

She believed the small scale
of her natural-spiritual restorative farming economy
placed her at a disadvantage
to receive government operational loans
as compared to multinational agribusiness conglomerates
using chemicals and pesticides
to kill topsoil
and extract short-term nutritional values
at long-term disinvested cost
to future healthy generations
and their dreams to health-wealth thrive.

A government farm subsidy expert responded:

If we don’t have enough capital to loan to everyone,
we are forced to give priority funding
to larger scale producers
with capacity to provide more than sufficient this-year nutrients
for our large domestic and foreign flooding markets.

She did not mention costs of growing obesity
and simultaneous malnutrition,
dual-poignant trends.

She did add,
The agricultural sector is complex,
composed of large agribusinesses
and small boutique operations,
and all are welcome by UncleDonald to apply,
after first saluting the TrumpTowers,

But she left unchallenged
the Farmer’s original matriotic complaint
of an uneven ecopolitical playing field
that actually favors large patriarchal corporate greed operations
invested in toxic
extractive
farming-as-raping sociopathic practices.

As I was listening to the farm subsidy expert
on competitive economics
make her case for giving separate but
only marginally unequal value
to these diverse nutritional scales,
small and more robustly large,
with distinct investment niches
available for public dollar support
of a presumably synergetic-democratic agricultural department,
without conceding undue favor to AgriBusiness multinationals.

Separatists, yes;
Supremacists for BusinessAsUsual, no.

I was starkly reminded
of an OldSchool KKK spokesman
who last year said
the WhiteBrother Klans are racial separatists
but not WhiteMale Supremacists.

It does feel like a pathological distinction
without a healthy,
non-WhiteWashed, difference
for present
or future lives
of and for thriving nutritional diversity,
deep sacred-secular ecological synergy.

When will pre-millennial threats
ever learn how to hear post-millennial therapies
as other than Boutiquely Synergetic?

I know…
I know!…
When we have to grow together
rather than continue failing apart.

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Dystopic Opiates

Paraphrasing Dickens
speaking of Great Expectations
through Pip’s distraining voice,
Our worst religious weaknesses
and political meannesses
and self and other deprivations
are usually committed
for the sake of avoiding elitist people
whom we most actively distrust.

On the other hand,
trust invites vulnerability
as distraining poverty embraces wealth,
honesty,
integrity,
expanding democracy
and cooperative co-investment.

Oppressive religious and cultural repressions and suppressions
are opiates of multiculturing people
When monoculturing elitists
offer religious opiate addictions to domesticating ritual
thereby over-ruling democratic spiritual experience
of daily natural and cooperative liturgies.

Polycultural non-elites,
like young organic gardeners of polyphonics
and ecofeminist transgendering designers,
thrive best within an alliance
of the gentle and broken,
vulnerable and open
to new cooperative intimacies,
gentrifying neighborhoods and families
and hearts
designed by rural-memory values
for nutrition that also nurtures,
health that also wealths,
climates embracing edible and richly colored landscapes,
mindshapes
of and for regenerating
future generations
of and for polycultural cooperative EliteNetworks,
neither opiated
nor nervously nirvanaed nellies
nor disappointed
that WinLose investment
didn’t turn out
as WinWin actively hoped for
through EcoPolitical Constitutions
reborn in and through each matriarchal ego/eco-doublebound
organic governing womb,
probably not so Dystopically Opiated,
at least in our moments of original cooperative conception.

Or, we could end less simply Dickens,
with Great Expectations for avoiding:
Our worst religious weaknesses
and political meannesses
and self and other deprivations,
usually committed
for the sake of avoiding elitist people
(and other divine personages,
distraining gods and goddesses)
whom we most actively,
LeftBrain dominantly,
distrust.

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Holy StandUp Matters

In April of this year I began preparing a new organic gardening patch,
planning to have it ready for next year’s expansion from a too-small garden
in front of my recently acquired Connecticut Cape Cod home.

I have neighbors toward southern exposure and behind,
between the Thames River and my sunset-facing backyard.

Here, next to an old, but still purposeful,
forest green fresh-painted deck
lies a mix of some rich dark soil
and some topsoil with unpromising smears of gravel stones
scraped off a dirt driveway
that turned to mud when wet
before I installed a pressed gravel drive last month.

Anyway,
next to the repurposed green deck
lies my new garden incubation project.

I rescued my deck floor last fall
from the bowels of a thorny bramble mountain,
some woody stalks obscenely pushing between heavy 2×6 planks,
now upper faced with little green stubs
since I rolled my lavish green porch paint.
But, the old railing around three sides was beyond rescue.
No longer with us, I’m sorry to say.

A sun exposed potential spot for a garden
emerged from my bramble mountain on the south side of the slightly raised deck,
about eight yards long on each of three sides.
I laid out my cardboard boxes,
stored in the grotesquely damp basement since I finished unpacking
last fall.
After soaking the cardboard,
I covered it with a combination of compost,
top soil harvested from elsewhere on this property,
and peat moss.
Then I spread four to six inches of leaves over all that.

While I wait for this to transform into healthy nutritional soil,
I have been religiously peeing on the leaves.

At first I only reenacted this baptismal ritual under cover of night,
not so much out of modesty
as motivated by kindness,
as the sight of the elderly pasty white man who just moved in next door
outside exposing his peeing penis
might offend fragile first impressions of a fairly sane person
who might be expected to behave more reliably
with regard to neighborly decorum
and more traditional liturgical events.

More recently I started peeing in a yogurt container by daylight,
huddled up against the back porch door
where at least only my backside could ever become visible
to only the backside neighbor, so to speak,
who seems to be something of an ass.
But then, who isn’t?
Then I take my yogurt cup of warm pee
and toss it out across the leaves blanketing my next-year garden plot.

This ritual feels generous,
like sprinkling my soil with nutritional holy water,
of which I do have some, but far less,
yet perhaps a bit too much,
experience as a seminarian some decades ago.
Ah yes,
memories of peeing with the other would-be angels.

Now I am concerned that I could use a great deal more urine
for my organic farming purposes.
Perhaps I should come out of my yogurt closet,
send out a note to my nearby neighbors:

“Hi. Just want to invite you to come over and pee
on the leaf-covered triangular spot
next to the south side of my deck,
anytime of day or night you wish.
Feel free to include your pets.
Make it a family destination if you wish.
In return for your investment,
I will probably have tomatoes,
potatoes,
cucumbers,
and leeks (no pun intended)
to share,
not this season,
but next.
Maybe some extra peas too.
OK, I’m gonna’ stop now.”

“The neighborhood that pees together,
eats together.
So, come on,
please don’t leave me standing outside,
peeing alone,
preparing for next year’s yummy harvest.”

So I did.
This invitation has not generated the enthusiastic response I was imagining,
with neighborhood families dropping in
to drop off their deposits
for our neighborhood development project.
But,
it did provoke my backyard neighbor
to jam a note into my otherwise vacant mailbox:

“You mentioned,
among your commitments to recycling and repurposing,
that you are an Organ Donor.
I certainly do hope whoever gets those organic parts
has a good harvest no later than next year.
Sooner is better.”

Hmmm….
Now, how could we compost our collective humanure?

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