As I grow older
I grow colder
but also bolder
not due to insufficiency of too quickly passing time
but just the opposite,
a growing feeling that time invites our multiculturing sufficiency
necessary for suppressing younger monoculturing addictions.
Tag Archives: political
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Invite Our Day
Live each day
as if this day were your last.
What do you mean, dear?
Each day is your last day.
Well, no,
not if you have another tomorrow,
or perhaps even if you merely plan for a tomorrow
which never comes to pass.
Oh I see what you mean,
I think…
Well then,
wouldn’t you be better off and on to say
Live this day
as if it included your only tomorrow?
Maybe…
But, each day does include our only tomorrow.
I don’t think so.
Not if you have yet another tomorrow
after this day,
or one at least planning on being
more than one tomorrow.
What do you mean
by more than one tomorrow?
I thought I had only one of these,
which continually precedes and processes me
by a minimum of 24 hours.
Hmm…
Then sometimes your tomorrow feels longer
and sometimes shorter
than it should
or could
or might become?
But that’s just it, my dear.
Tomorrow never actually arrives,
ever closer by imagining it longer.
Yet imaging tomorrow as remarkably short
at least brings me closer
to Earth’s timeless eternity
of integrative promise.
So that’s what you mean
by living daily
as if today includes your last tomorrow?
Yes, but sometimes no.
That sounds like an invitation
to nihilism,
often confused with liberation
away from future’s regenerous invitation.
How about
Nurture each day
as if today invites your fullest potential
for integrally controlling all our cooperative tomorrows?
It lacks a certain
timeless
ring.
It does not rhythmic zing.
However acute is your ping.
How about
we Yin today
as if rethinking YangYin together
all WinWin tomorrows?
I think we might become
together winning.
Economically and politically too?
As trans-regenderally sacred
through this still small failing futures voice.
Are we through?
It’s been good for me,
how about tomorrow you?
The Climax
as tomorrow’s co-operative beginning.
How LeftBrain capitalizing of us, dear.
Yinning Yang
us two,
WinWin planning
our mutual transitioning tomorrow too.
Living today
as tomorrow’s first through last,
perennial spiral cooperating together
to sometimes compete tomorrows apart
to live again
this integrative timeless tomorrow.
Today invites and disinvites
Tomorrow,
transubstantiating
trans-regenerational
integrity of time.
Today is just like yesterday
except when it is different,
when we are different,
when I am different,
sometimes better
sometimes worse
usually just the same
and indifferent.
Today is just like tomorrow
imagined sometimes better
sometimes worse
usually invested cooperatively same as sane
and yet competitively indifferent
insanity.
Live today
through better inviting cooperative tomorrow.
Yin
as tomorrow becomes our best Yang.
Yin,
(wu wei midway co-arising).
You know,
I can see, and sometimes hear and feel,
your implicating dialectal parenthetical commentary.
(I dipolar hope so.)
Or what,
no better tomorrow?
(I love only notnot threat free,
double-binding.)
Ecopolitical logic for today’s tomorrow.
(cooperatively designing tomorrow’s today)
OK,
you can stop with annoying
book-ended
perpetual double-bind parenthesis.
I hoped we were just now getting started.
Yes, but I’m living today
so we optimize our tomorrow returns
so your Yimplications
might best explicate more widely.
(and deeply)
(Oh, now
you go through tomorrow…)
(Love
your dualdark Yanguage)
(How LeftBrain cooperative positivist of us.)
(feeling aptically warm and dreamy
nonpunctuating tomorrows now)
Promise.
(could we talk about this our tomorrow)
…I think she’s today asleep.
Nope, still almost here
and there,
feeling best in eternal interdependent now.
Seize the day.
Invite our timeless tomorrow.
Conversion Therapies
I could not support a ban on Conversion Therapy
to change gay into straight,
spirals into lines,
because I believe we should each be free
to pay for any alternative languages
someone might be prepared to make
and write
and speak,
with self-marketing audiences to listen
with therapeutic outcomes genuinely preferred.
If some unhappy gay person,
or lesbian longing to be not,
remains willing to invest in persuasions
to switch teams,
transfer and exchange identities,
then that’s a high risk investment
that will die its own ego-exhausting death
when conversion
levels into diverse reversions
and/or some depriving perversion of healthy cooperating love,
or inversions into repressive silos called despair
and, more likely, some of all
of the above.
But, conversion therapy for unhappy gay to happy straight
only if this becomes equally available
accessible therapies
for unhappy straight toward happy gay,
for if it can work
to teach someone into a different dominant identity,
then it could work both ways,
more bisexually.
And, if conversion therapies can,
they should,
to be fair to all those unhappy
with their current team,
or teams,
preferably multiculturing toward health,
rather than monoculturing toward further climates of pathology.
Then we might invite further Conversion Therapies.
Unhappy Conservatives
becoming wealthier quasi-progressive
Earth natural-spiritual residents again,
and vice versa,
except more ecotherapeutic conservators
of regeneratively full-steamed life.
If all it takes is investing in some therapist
to convert my unhappiest attributes
into those that would make my new best ecopolitical day,
then such therapy should not just be free
from gay to straight
and straight to gay
but equally persuasive
for all now feeling out
wanting more in toward sane integrity.
But, investors beware,
we have had many WinLose Therapists
for unhappy powers to become more capital rich,
yet only few narrow WinWin unhappy rich
to become more simply and contentedly reinvesting
away from larger WinLose anti-therapeutic tragedies.
The larger WinLose therapeutic sector
has best outcomes
only for already full-played out entrepreneurial change agents,
and their larger scale not-so-therapeutic marketers
of further competitions
within and between
our diverse unhappy identities.
Conversion AntiTherapy
would be so funny
if not so ecopolitically tragic.
Cultures Healthy and Pathological
It seems easier to do good
and live healthy
if you live in a democratically robust
and multiculturally resonant society.
For the same reasons
it’s much easier to bring oneself harm
and slowly disintegrate into isolating despair
when you live in a capitalistic patriarchal
elitist
competing rights make monoculturing might
anthro-centric supremacist society.
EarthRights denied,
also denies internal climate health
as multicultural sacramental wealth.