a tractor, a poem, a bag and some love

The small man

Builds cages for everyone 

He

Knows.

While the sage,

Who has to duck his head

When the moon is low,

Keeps dropping keys all night long

For the

Beautiful

Rowdy

Prisoners.

                                                                              --Hafiz

photo taken by the lovely kiara nagel in visalia, california a couple days ago 

the bag..

this bag has a bunch of stories. some about friends with hearts aflame and some about politics, food and community. and then some that reveal a funny thing.  

when i was in berlin i was overwhelmed by the cool in some ways and underwhelmed in others.  but one of the hipster trends that i saw perplexed me.  these cotton, often white, often thin, simple bags with a cool print or hip saying.  it didn’t make sense, if you need to walk in the rain it would get drench through or if you need to hop a fence the top is open and you too easily can loose everything.  it didn’t understand the choice.   i scoffed even as i mourned lose of the pretty (dysfunctional) bags.. cause they were pretty, oh so pretty.   as i noticed the white cotton bag on my shoulder today, the one i had been so enjoying, i realized again, i am who i rejected.  yes, not such a big deal in terms of a bag, but the pattern holds true when i judge what people choose or something they’ve said or how they said it or, well the list could go on.  often i will catch myself doing that very thing or hearing an echo in what i heard from the other. i am the other. you are me. i must continue to love the other better kinder deeper more.

before i go let me tell you just a little bit more about the bag.  you see it was a gift from robin and under tallarna.  perfect in timing, celebrating and simply right on, thank you. 

 and i love you all!

from the punk rock and soil yoga camp at under tallarna in järna, sweden 2014

at home nowhere or everywhere

there was a loud banging from the inside of my chest it felt like my own hands were knocking and trying to get out and ‘ i want to go home’  roared through all the chambers in my body.  i want to go home .. the o dragged out and wailing like a pissed off child.  i want to go home . 

‘i want to go home’, startled me awake. i know its not about wanting to go to my childhood home, because where is that?!  i don’t even think its about going home to callifornia.  i fear that i want to go home to god, to die in order to be free, be home.  but even though that doesn’t sounds so bad right now, thats not quite it either.  its that other home.  what i felt for a stretched out span in the ukraine by julians side on the dark fertile earth.  the home i have felt fleetingly before in the company of my friends who reach across galaxies and span the widths of time.   laughing on the couch with masaaki moving mountains and munching mushrooms.  spending the whole day in bed with josh, laughing, telling and discovering what newness to invite and what oldness to break.  in a fairy four days with kris and silas, silent through the ridiculously tall trees, eruptive and melodious moments around the fire and truly there. all of the places where i have that feeling were filled with laughter.   i want to go home.  to a place where all of me fits.  where i don’t have to hide anything.  where i don’t have to be quite, invisible or temporary. 

confrontation

wild boar 

In native american animal medicine the wild boar represents confrontation.  we often think of confrontations as happening between two, and most often the other is outside of our selves.  but the hardest confrontation is when we turn that gaze inward towards ourselves.  i may not be holding a gun to my own head or brandishing a knife,  but still i try to resolve theses inner stand offs with violence and aggression.  for years i've heard people tell me that i am hard on myself, though their sentiment is true i don't feel like its hard to be hard on yourself. its kinda like this bad habit you picked up years ago and the reflex is so natural and seemingly tame!  i notice that when i see things i don't like in myself i push against it, i try to aggressively reason it into something that isn't that bad, i cowardly call myself names and think i've won the fight because i found the enemy and they are weak, unlovable, not worth it and defeated.  often these inner confrontations mutate into fueling my well stoked fire of self loathing and fear. but the real confrontation has been side stepped and the disharmony lies unresolved back in that messy  drawer, the one we toss everything into that we can't deal with right now or figure out where it belongs.  what's odd is how subtle and gentle the inner movement feels, despite taking lots of will to do.  the effort is of a different nature than beating down and dominating, it has the strategy nature of surprise, the unanticipated step and the newly created form.  this is the art that the world is calling for, and to practice bringing it to the earth i have to first practice this art inside myself. to discover confrontation with out violence, i need to internalize the fearlessness of the boar, not by mimicking its animal nature and tearing the other apart, but by adding it's undaunted drive to my divine spiritual nature and then i will find the human nature that can be part of co-creating the future peaceful world.

I don’t seek, I find

Seeking is starting from what is old
And discovering in the new
What you already know.
Finding is something entirely new,
New also in movement.
All paths are open,
And what is found
Is unknown.
It is a risk, a venture, a holy endeavor.
Only those can embark on
The uncertainty of such ventures
Who know they are secure in insecurity,
Who are led into lack
Of certainty and direction,
Who in darkness
Give themselves up to an invisible star,
who let the goal draw them
And do not limit and narrowly determine it
By human constriction.
Being open to each new insight,
To each new experience
Both inward and outward
Is the essence of modern human beings -
Who, despite all fear in letting go,
Allow the grace of being held
To enter them and manifest
New possibilities

attributed to pablo picasso