On my way outta here for “the time being”!

So. As I head out to never never land (Siberia/Mongolia), a bit of gallows humor is in order. Especially since I’m 74 years old, and about to embark on a mighty trek!

I drive to my lifelong friend Mary’s house north of Chicago tomorrow morning. Fly out with five people, including the leader, of our ten-strong shamanic group, Sunday just past noon. Back to Chicago July 11. Drive home July 12. Not sure how long it will take me to reconnect here since, after all, this mighty journey, like nothing else, will check my screen addiction at the door!

Thanks for all the well-wishes. And thank you Rose, for the $100 donation to the cause of this blog! The cause of all of us opening our minds and hearts, shaking ourselves free of the stuck little demons of be-LIE-f systems of all sorts and flavors that keep us apart and feeling superior/inferior — so that we may meet each other, greet each other and the whole wide world round, eye to eye, soul to soul, bathed in the Love of the universe.

Yes, Let us turn our fear into fascination. And what more perfect a fear than Death itself?

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Green Acres Village and Friends: Solstice Gathering, Photos

Green Acres Village and friends took ourselves to Eva’s house out in the countryside for Summer Solstice Ceremony and Celebration this year, telling friends to meet at 6 p.m., with ceremony at 6:30, and dinner at 7:00.

Well, I, for one, got lost (even though I’ve been there before) — by the way, spacey, confusing Neptune turned to go retrograde on the 18th, so it’s been a strange time all around — and luckily, former podmate Briana was in the car with me. We pulled off to the shoulder, Briana found the address, and then directed me with her phone down many narrow, winding back roads to Eva’s house  Meanwhile, the poor people who were gamely following us also stopped, waited for us to go again, and then followed us as we made a quick right turn to all those back roads.

So we didn’t get there until around 6:30, and it turns out, that’s when everybody else started to show up as well — all except for one neighbor who emailed me yesterday to say she had arrived on time, and when she saw no other cars, sat in her car awhile, then saw my son Colin come out of the house and drive away (P.S. he left to get wine), and without speaking to anyone, just started up her car and drove home! So Kathy had her own weird Neptunian experience.

Oh yes, and podmate Dan tells me that our builder, Shy (David) Bunge, all dressed up in his best tie-dye,  sat around here, somehow not having heard where the party was and wondering what the hell happened.

Meanwhile, inside Eva’s spacious house, immediately as I opened the front door, I encountered an amazingly high, loud, excited energy — nearly, but not quite chaotic.

Hmmm, I wondered, and I’m sure Mariella was also wondering . . . will we be able to do our ceremony now, before dinner? And could we do it outside, rather than in the air conditioned living room? After all, it’s Summer Solstice! We should be outside!

Well, no. Right at the moment of wondering, it started to sprinkle outside — and who knows what that will turn into.

Okay. So the living room it is. We cleared the furniture to the sides, and then Mariella called everybody in, asking us to gather in a large circular pattern. Then she turned it over to Brian, our taiji teacher “in real life,” who had also come to the party!  And believe you me, he IS a master teacher. Quieted that unruly crowd right down like magic, and took us through a short five minute taiji form twice to remind everyone of the nature of “tiger” — the fiery energy of the Sun, at its highest in the sky during Summer Solstice.

I think we were all astonished at how we all moved, within a few minutes, thanks to Brian’s invocation and intonation, into an entirely altered energetic: focused, slow, intense, and yes, very moving, all of us moving as one.

I was so taken with this phenomenal energetic shift that I forgot to ask Briana to read us one of her poems, and my “talk” on the astrology of the moment was a bit lame. . .  but it really didn’t matter. We did it. We ceremonied. And then we celebrated. Lots of food, of course, and afterwards, as we had announced beforehand, the instruments came out, for singing and dancing with drums and guitars.

I did dance, in fact one might say that I started everybody dancing, for about 30 minutes, and then, as usual, left the party early, around 9 p.m. I heard that it continued for nearly three more hours.

Here are some pics of the dinner while everybody was eating, all taken within about two minutes . . . I noticed later, how many multigenerational connections are here, especially Moms of adult children. YES!

Mariella’s Mom, on the left, is currently visiting her daughter from New Jersey.

A few people tried out the piano DURING dinner . . .

My son Colin Cudmore on the left. Aaron in back, with Logan just sitting down.

Brian, our magical taiji teacher, on one end of the couch, Mariella on the other. Aaron’s Mom on left.

Mariella’s mom, again.

Our hostess, Eva, with Bryn and Duncan’s new puppy. Thanks, Eva!

Eva’s Mom Wanda, in summery blue dress.

Briana, down at the left end of the table. So good to see and be with her again!

So there we are! And though it’s “summertime,” and “the livin'” is no longer “easy,” we do manage to corral the phenomenally polarizing energies currently bombarding this beleagured planet anytime we clearly do set and hold that as our common intention.

Let us learn from this experience, eh?



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Pedogate Researchers: It’s time “to heal the soul of this nation.”

Dear Briana is visiting over the Solstice; late this morning she and I compared notes on 2 a.m. “anxiety.” Me: “It feels like icky static throughout my body. When I’m able to be fully present to each and every second of it, I do fall back to sleep. But usually, the mind keeps interjecting, trying out different “reasons” for the anxiety. At least I no longer describe it as “dread.” And you know, it really does feel as if this malevolent energy is being beamed throughout the atmosphere to drive us all crazy. You know they have the technology to do it. As well as the intent, as far as I can tell. And without the capacity for full, centered, continuous presence, it really does drive us crazy.

So, if instead, I choose — that’s a loaded word; actually, if I let my addiction to screens and the constant stream (scream) of info/disinfo get the best of me — then I turn on the damn ipod and find a youtube video or podcast to listen to. Last night, this one, starting around 4 a.m. when I gave up trying to “remain present” to the awful, yucky feeling. Finally fell back to sleep around 6 a.m.

BTW: when a podcast or video does not allow me to go back to sleep, then it’s worth paying attention to. That’s my criterion for telling you about it.. And this one, which featured three committed pedogate (child trafficking, child organ harvesting, etc.,) investigators with Hagmann and Hagmann, had my full reluctant attention all the way through. As someone said there, fully 75 to 90 percent of government is implicated, and they keep each other in line through MAB (Mutually Assured Blackmail). So yes, it’s time, way past time, to “head the soul of this nation.”

It’s really unfortunate how many people still haven’t awakened to this cancer that infects all levels of our civilization — including, and especially, the “upper crust.” From these citizen journalists’ point of view, only three people currently in power are trying to cleanse the world of this menace: Trump, Jeffrey Sessions, and Vladimir Putin.



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As I prepare for lift-off to Siberia/Mongolia . . .

I find myself less and less able to focus here on this blog. And in fact, may stop altogether after taking pics from this evening’s Solstice event and posting them tomorrow. And, BTW: Happy Summer Solstice! It’s already happened folks, at just past midnight, last night, EDT.


Meanwhile, here are a few zingers for you to contemplate:

First: Michael Snyder appreciates Ron Paul’s attitude towards the IRS.

Ron Paul: “When I say cut taxes, I don’t mean fiddle with the code . . .”

Next, courageous Amber Lyon (former CNN reporter), says CNN provides “advertorials for dictators.” Whooee! Great line!

And to top it all off:

BTW: I’ve finally managed to watch the first of Stone’s hour-long interviews with Putin, and find it fascinating. To actually see/feel the Russian heartland and its peoples from a loyal Russian servant’s point of view — plus what happened to this vast land during the early ’90s (something that we in the U.S. may be facing soon, unless we turn the situation around now — see Steele’s proposal above), then the seemingly miraculous, gradual improvement of desperate living conditions after Putin came to power in 2000. The other three interviews will have to wait until my return. 

The Putin Interviews

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Who IS Vladimir Putin? And why does it matter?

I’ve been a big fan of Vladimir Putin for several years, finding him to be not only massively intelligent, articulate, wide-ranging and detailed in his comprehension, but literally, I consider him the only real statesman of the 21st century. See his astrological chart. And I find it interesting that his predecessor, Yeltsin, turned over the reins of power on the final day of the 20th century, December 31, 1999!

So of course, I’ve been fascinated with Oliver Stone’s new interview series. And so very grateful to him for having made it. And though I confess to not having watched any of the four interviews yet, I have caught snatches, and read snatches of transcripts, and have paid close attention to others’ perspectives on what the series is about, what it shows about Putin, etc.

In this increasingly poisoned political atmosphere of rabid Russophobia, the Stone series is so damn welcome! And of course, Putin was correct in his prediction, that Stone would receive intense criticism from the MSM.

Here are two, probably the two ends of the extremes of those who also admire Putin. The first, by State of the Nation, unreservedly; the second, by longstanding peace activist David Swanson, who sounds a note of caution, given, he says, his experience.

Putin will eventually be known as VLADIMIR THE GREAT


Watching Putin Watch Dr. Strangelove

And of course, whose view prevails matters. Matters even more today than it did a few days ago, now that the ever aggressive U.S. shot down the Syrian jet and Russia declared its own red line in the sand.

Remember that Edgar Cayce saw Russia as “the hope of the world.” And futurist Lada Ray echoes Cayce, calling Russia the Great Balancer between East and West. According to her, and to others who have their thinking caps on, the West represents yang energy, and the East, yin energy. The action-oriented yang energy, when not balanced by yin, becomes too male, aggressive. The nurturing yin energy, when not balanced by yang, stagnates.

Hopefully, just in time, we now feel the yin energy rising just as the yang energy begins to deflate. This great balancing act via Putin’s leadership of the greatest landmass on this planet is what Lada Ray refers to as The Great Earth Shift.





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Learning from Nature in Green Acres Village

On our early morning walks, puppy Shadow and I often encounter pickups rumbling by with trailers hauling big, heavy equipment: lawn service companies. While I admire the entreprenurial spirit of those who set themselves up in the business taking care of other people’s lawn business while their clients, in turn,  remain on their couches, push fingers onto screens and grow fat and sick and/or, stressed to the max, without once setting foot on soil or breathing real air, leave air-conditioned houses via garage doors to air-conditioned cars to “go to work” — via long commutes to a job that they wouldn’t tolerate except that it offers “health insurance” (an oxymoron)! — I can’t help but be struck by the industrialization of even this humble chore that we used to do on our own, once a week mowing our lawns with small manual mowers like the one we have here in  Green Acres Village. And meanwhile, we reduce the amount of land in lawn as we change over front and back and side laws of all three village homes into gardens. Except for the tiny lawn in front of the Overhill house. We’ll keep this one. Two views:

The tiny lawn is framed by two kugelkultur beds, one from an old stump (on left), now filling with flowers and a little sculpture, and the other, from a recently felled dead maple (on the right) now with a cover crop of clover.

Meanwhile, the beautiful work goes on. Here’s Dan’s latest creation, a trellis for beans, which he will plant this morning. It covers the area where we harvested an abundance of snow peas for weeks earlier this spring. Notice the magnificent crop of various kinds of kale and chard that I have been giving away, and harvesting/freezing, on a daily basis, for a week!

Speaking of lawns, and repurposing these exceedingly strange symbols of middle and upper-class “status” in America, here are two posts from The Roaming Ecologist (note subtitle to this url: “Searching for a healthy land ethic and learning from nature”) that may startle you in their relevance to what’s wrong with America and what we can do about it once we remember to reconnect to the magnificent varied land beneath our rarely bare feet.

First, on the absurdity of lawns specifically:

Why Prairie’s Matter and Lawns Don’t

Next, sociological and philosophical implications of nature’s laws in prairie country: deep-rootedness, acceptance, differentiation, cooperation, integration, stacking functions, resilience — and more, way more; it’s all there for us to re-learn, if we pay close attention.

What the Prairie Teaches Us

by Paul Gruchow

The prairie, although plain, inspires awe.  It teaches us that grandeur can be wide as well as tall.

Young prairie plants put down deep roots first; only when these have been established do the plants invest much energy in growth above ground.  They teach us that the work that matters doesn’t always show.

Diversity makes the prairie resilient.  One hundred acres of prairie may support three thousand species of insects alone, each of them poised to exploit – often beneficially – certain plants, microclimates, soils, weather conditions, and seasons.  This exuberance equips the prairie to make the most of every opportunity, to meet every natural contingency.  The prairie teaches us to see our own living arrangements as stingy and to understand that this miserliness is why they so frequently fall short of our expectations.

The prairie is a community.  It is not just a landscape or the name of an area on a map, but a dynamic alliance of living plants, animals, birds, insects, reptiles, and microorganisms, all depending upon each other.  When too few of them remain, their community loses vitality and they perish together.  The prairie teaches us that our strength is in our neighbors.  The way to destroy a prairie is to cut it up into tiny pieces, spaced so that they have no communication.

The prairie is patient.  When drought sets in, as it inevitably does, prairie grasses bide their time.  They do not flower without the nourishment to make good seed.  Instead, they save their resources for another year when the rains have fallen, the seeds promise to be fat, and the earth is moist and ready to receive them.  The prairie teaches us to save our energies for the opportune moment.

The prairie grows richer as it ages.  Our own horticultural practices eventually deplete the soils.  The topsoil washes or blows away; without additives, fertility dwindles.  But the soils beneath the protective cover of prairie sod deepen over time; their tilth improves as burrowing animals and insects plow organic matter into them; fires recycle nutrients; deep roots bring up trace elements from the substrate; abundant legumes and microorganisms help to keep it fertile.  The prairie was so effective at this work, that more than a century after it was broken, it remains the richest agricultural region in the world.  The prairie teaches us how to be competitive without also being destructive.

The prairie is tolerant.  There are thousands of species of living things on the prairie, but few of them are natives.  The prairie has welcomed strangers of every kind and has borrowed ideas from all of its neighboring communities.  In doing so, it has discovered how to flourish in a harsh place.  The prairie teaches us to see the virtue of ideas not our own and the possibilities that newcomers bring.

The prairie turns adversity into advantage.  Fires were frequent on the unplowed prairies.  The prairie so completely adapted to this fact that it now requires fire for its health.  Regular burning discourages weedy competitors, releases nutrients captured in leaves and stems, reduces thatch that would otherwise become a stifling mulch, stimulates cloning in grasses, and encourages the growth of legumes, which capture nitrogen from the air and make it available to the whole prairie community.  The prairie teaches us to consider the uses that may be made of our setbacks.

The prairie is cosmopolitan.  On the wings of winds and of birds, in the migrations of animals and insects, down the waters of streams and rivers come the messages, mainly contained in genetic codes, that sustain the prairie.  Its storms swoop out of the Arctic or sweep up from the Gulf; many of its songbirds are familiar with the tropical rainforests; its monarch butterflies winter in the highlands of Mexico; its ducks vacation on seacoasts and in desert oases; its parasites hitchhike upon all of them.  We think we have discovered the global village, but the prairie knew of it millennia ago.

The prairie is bountifully utilitarian.  But it is lovely too, in a hundred thousand ways and in a million details, many of them so finely wrought that one must drop to one’s knees to appreciate them.  This is what, over all else, the prairie teaches us: there need be no contradiction between utility and beauty.

More about Paul Gruchow can be read in the article, “Remembering Paul Gruchow: A Chronicle of a Death Foretold” by Michael Finley.  Also, The Paul Gruchow Foundation.

Paul Gruchow was an author and conservationist, as well as a student of poet John Berryman.  Gruchow died in 2004 in Duluth, Minnesota.

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Contrast Accelerates: Supermarket Consolidation vs. Permaculture Proliferation

In the past three days, we’ve learned that a subsidiary of Kroger is set to buy bunches of Marsh Supermarkets (two of them here in Bloomington), and Amazon is going to buy Whole Foods (A “lower-cost” version of Whole Foods, “360”,  is set to open here soon.)

Meanwhile, will our beleagered Bloomingfoods Co-op, over 40 years old, survive? Should it?

While we can celebrate the growing inclusion of local and organic produce in supermarkets, the fact that these gigantic and ever-growing corporate enterprises seem to be bent on taking over the entire food supply feels, frankly, terrifying. Fortunately, despite this centralizing trend, backyard, front yard, and community gardens, plus farmers markets, CSAs, and so on, are also proliferating, both here, and elsewhere. Locals both sung and unsung are digging in to their own decentralized ways of ensuring the regeneration of the human race. One current map for permaculture projects shows 2375 projects total worldwide.  

In New Zealand, for example, way down a dirt road: Heirloom seed saving for all of us. Initiated after Chernobyl, 30 years ago, when organic and permaculture guru Kay Baxter discovered that her farmer friends in eastern Europe had to remove all their top soil and start over. Now, one full Saturn cycle later, the  Kaoanga Institute has become an international pilgrimage destination.

Meet the seed-saving couple living entirely off the land (except for salt)


“We have to have clean food that hasn’t been denatured with fillers and emulsifiers,” says Kay. “We need nutrient-dense food. The industrial process just denatures it, we get unclear messages, mixed messages, weak messages going to our junk DNA which then places weak tags on our DNA so we get sick and the next generation gets sicker.

“We now know that environment determines genetic expression. Essentially, you cannot get the nourishment you need from the foods in the supermarket because it’s not nutrient dense and it’s not nutrient dense for two reasons: one is the way it’s grown and the other is the genetics that the food was grown from.”

Organic, heritage vegetables, grains and fruit, and meat, organs and bones from animals grown on highly mineralised soils full of microbial life are the best foods you can eat, and the science backs this, says Kay.

“There’s around 20 times the nourishment in a heritage tomato than an industrial one, just from the different genetics. In apples it’s eight times, so we know we need heritage seeds and we need to grow the food in a biological system so the soil is mineralised and microbially active and those two things are key for our health and our survival.”

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On My Sister Krissy’s Birthday: The Joys of Family

Today is the day, my youngest sister Kristin’s birthday. She will be 59! Which means she is coming into her second Saturn return in 2018! And which means, as she says, “You guys are really old.”

I called her at 9:15 A.M. EDT, my time. I knew she’d be up early, and probably already hard at work, in downtown Seattle for the Archdiocese, where she has recently been placed in charge of, as I recall, Administration for Catholic Education in the entire Northwest! Here’s a pic, on her fb page. Body language in proper executive listening pose . . . But the look on her face. Hmmm . . .  Is she wondering? Nonplussed?

In any case, yes, little Krissy grew up to become a mighty, behind-the-scenes force in the Roman Catholic world we were born into. And we can be glad for that. Because she brings an enlightened consciousness to everything she touches. Indeed, as the first and last of a brood of eight, the two of us are consistently amazed at how “similar” are our collective concerns, despite the very different roads we have traveled.

She’s burrowed deep inside the prevailing culture, her curious, data-absorbent Gemini self (coupled with a diplomatic Libra Moon) working as a hidden, subtle, step-by-tiny-step revolutionary — and who, in actual fact, loves being a mover and shaker (Venus/Mars and Uranus in Leo!). In contrast, I, as her “big sis” (though over a foot shorter) have, these last 40 years, ridden the edge of culture like the double Sagittarian swashbuckler that I am,  a much more in-your-face, go-for-broke obvious revolutionary, now here in Green Acres Village and on this blog and others. And yet, our concerns are so similar as to feel like two poles of one continuum, namely: How do we inculcate a higher/deeper level of genuine, soul-centered connectedness, within ourselves, in relations with others, and especially, throughout society? I.e.,, what kinds of facts (Gemini) do we pay attention to in order to help generate alternative perspectives (Sagittarius). And, for each of us, both also with powerful, practical, serious Saturns, that means: what specific “projects” are we  now working on to help bring the greater shift about?

In this context, it’s interesting to note that, despite our 16 year age difference, she and I were born only three days from being exactly opposite each other in the zodiac (my birthday is December 19, hers June 16); so this feeling of working/valuing both ends of a single continuum makes sense.

So it is that our various experiments to transform cultural understanding have naturally been the continuing focus of our rare, but running conversations throughout the decades, especially on our birthdays, when we siblings all call or email or send cards to each other. My call to each one consists, first, of my signature loud, fake, discordant, operatic version of the birthday song, wildly divergent each time. My seven sisters and brothers, and my two kids and two grandkids, and close friends here and afar, all know that they must either back away or hold the phone far from their ear if they do not wish to be assaulted by “the (very special) song.”

So of course, early this morning, already at work at the Archdiocese, Kris was eagerly(?) awaiting my phone call.

And so, of course, after her very special ear-splitting Happy Birthday rendition, as usual we started talking, both of us noticing how grateful we are now, to be members of a large adult sibling family, all of whom are still connected. In fact, we’re all gathering in Anchorage in August, to stay in a gigantic short-term rental with assorted kids and grandkids, for a week that includes another family wedding, this one for daughter Hannah of brother John.

I mention my great fortune to be a member of a vital, intact, connected family dynamic, because just other day a young man stood staring at old photos of my family on the refrigerator door.

“Which one is you?” he asked.

“The one on the right. I like this shot because it makes me look tall, and actually, though I’m the oldest, I’m also by far the shortest now that we’re adults.”

I had never met this young man before. He is beautiful, and warm and genuine — and, tells me he’s also the oldest of a large family (seven)!

But the similarity ends there.

Unlike my extraordinary social privilege as the child of a respected physician in small town Idaho, my young friend’s mother was already a drug addict in Indianapolis when he was born; her seven kids, mostly from different fathers, were farmed out to various and changing foster and group homes, scattered while young. “My mother, still drug-addicted, is currently on the streets, homeless. And,” he says, in a low voice filled with muted feeling, “I’m just beginning to recognize that I can’t save her.”

Once again, as with yesterday’s post, I focus on the extraordinary contrasts in our human world, and in this case, how circumstances shape us — or not! For despite his background, I am astonished at this young man’s authenticity, his resilience, his philosophy of life, his compassion for his mother, even at the young age of 25! He who was shuttled from one foster or group home to another; he who has lost track, mostly, of his siblings (one has already died); he who as a matter of principle does not own a car but cycles everywhere he needs to go; he who resonates on a deep inner level with the culture we are co-creating in the Green Acres Village.

I ask him, was there anyone whom you could count on when young? Someone who loved you unconditionally? “Yes, my grandmother. She was, and is, my rock.” Thank goodness for the grandmothers of this world who are so often called upon to serve in this manner, whose family love can balance even the worst of circumstances! Through the decades, I’ve known many people for whom this was the case; their family life hell, except for one person, usually the grandmother, she whom they could go to for solace, to bury their poor heads in her lap.

So I look again at my own life. Privilege, yes. On a social and personal level. Such contrast! On the material plane we had everything we needed. Our parents provided structure and the means for us to go to college debt-free and proceed on out into life. And yet, neither of my (German) parents was demonstrably warm, at least to me. And grandparents lived far away. I did not feel “unconditional love.” I felt duty-bound to be the model eldest child; to obey, achieve, excel, just as they did, in their unstated roles: him on the outside, as the breadwinner, her on the inside, organizing the household. Jobs they both did very well.

In my case, after an early lifetime of such achievement (Co-Valedictorian of high school class, B.A. Magna Cum Laude, Phi Beta Kappa, and, by the skin of my teeth, Ph.D. in Philosophy), I found myself waking up, as if from a dream. And in doing so, except for my teacher, a renegade professor who honored my process even though he didn’t understand it (and for that I will never cease to thank him!), I was all alone.

There I was, nearly 50 years ago the same age as my new young friend now, and I was puncturing through the illusions I had been taught, seeing through to the way the world actually works, and especially, to the way I had been conditioned from a young age to think only certain kinds of thoughts. I assign no blame here: those who conditioned me (parents, teachers, society in general) did not know what they were doing; they too, were conditioned. I identify strongly with my generation, those born during and after World War II, who began to wake up in our teens and twenties in the fabled ’60s, when Uranus conjuncted Pluto for the first time since the Civil War and sent the placid ’50s world spinning out of control. We were the consciousness pioneers, paradigm busters, instigating all those years ago what might still prove to be a profound shift in the way the human world thinks and acts.

At least that’s what we’re still counting on. And we are, each of us who are still awake (who didn’t succumb to either this culture’s alluring, empty distractions or to the downhill descent into drugs, alcohol, despair and/or illness); yes, we elders — mostly old hippies — who are still physically and mentally and emotionally fit (and what percentage is that? 2%? So many of my peers are already dead or decrepit), we are intensely aware that as souls we came to this Earth in this life to accomplish an enormous task. That we must turn around the humungous Titanic of western industrial civilization before it succeeds in destroying the biosphere. And we are intensely aware that this gigantic task will require all of us, all generations now alive. That though we as elders may individually share our wisdom born from long experience, for each of us, of any age, the stark choice is not just Chaos or Creation, but Co-Creation. We’re in this together; each of us allowing all our gifts and talents to surface and express, all of us open-sourcing everything. The way nature herself does it. Yes. More and more without money — beyond money, below money. Money is not the answer. Money — especially fiat money — is an artificial scrim that lies on top of Nature. Instead of paying attention to Nature — and what she has to teach us, how she can and does nurture us, how as we destroy her we destroy ourselves! — our civilization pays attention to Money! Money! Hard to believe we allowed ourselves to get so out of whack so long ago.

I now feel graced to be present with so many beautiful young people in their 20s, wonderful beings who could be my grandchildren; they were born into the massive, accelerating, debilitating consequences of what I, and other pioneers back then, began to wake up to — the immense and growing injustice in this world run by psychopaths that fuels continuous wars and mayhem to funnel economic wealth up to what, since Occupy in 2011,  we now call “the 1%.” Or the .01%.Or the .001%.

More and more, due to the internet and the remarkable rise of whistleblowers and citizen journalists, the systemic corruption of all that we hold dear as ensouled humans is becoming more and more blatantly obvious. I am so grateful for that, for the apocalypse, this unveiling. BTW: If you haven’t yet paid attention to financial whistleblower Ronald Bernard’s extraordinarily articulate rendition of how the fiat-money hierarchy works, please do. Two posts so far: here and here.

And then pay attention to your own body. Its miraculous nature. How, your body, i.e., your very own portion of Earth’s body knows how to heal wounds, all by itself, if you allow and nurture it, from the inside out. How it tells you when it’s uncomfortable, and needs attention. How it grows rigid and tense and/or flaccid and ponderous from disuse and denial; how its symptoms are symbols — acting out in the physical what’s happening on a spiritual level. In general, except for inherited karmic conditions, whatever dis-ease we evince on the physical in this life originates in the spiritual, and funnels down, into the material, the physical body. Heal the spirit, and the body naturally follows. I realized this in the hospital, when I was 26 years old and almost died. Until that huge internal voice filled the room and challenged me: “LIVE OR DIE. IT’S YOUR CHOICE!”

Obviously, I chose to live. And I continue to choose to live, every single day, every single minute, with every single breath. I choose to give to this suffering world all of who I am and am becoming.

The joys of family are not just confined to my family. They spread to include the entire human family and beyond. All the duty-bound, rich doctors intermingling with all the drug-addicted  homeless mothers and their various intact and scattered families. No matter who we are, no matter what our circumstances, we are here all together to wake up, take action, and change the world: TO CO-CREATE THE NEW WORLD. Or to die trying.

But let’s not get too serious, eh? Here’s another photo from my refrigerator door.



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Chaos or Creation: Which do we choose? The view from far and near.

This morning, on walk with puppy Shadow, I ran into some long-term neighbors, two women who are no longer a “couple,” or are they? In any case, I love them both very much and we stood there yucking for quite some time, talking about, among other things, how one of them self-identifies as a lesbian and the other one does not. “You’re a human,” I venture. “Yes! I’m just me!” she replies. Which reminds me of a great rendition of John Lennon’s Imagine that I came across just last night:

Meanwhile, the contrast, the incredible contrast. Just yesterday, at least two mass shootings in this country alone. Or was it three? One, at an early morning baseball practice in D.C., the other at a U.P.S. place in San Francisco. And I do recall yet a third one, but can’t figure out where I saw that reference. Meanwhile, these have become so common as to nearly feel ho-hum. Clearly, blow-back from continuous American violence abroad.

If it weren’t for the fact that one of the shooters targeted Republican congressmen, we wouldn’t even bother to notice. On the other hand, comedian(?) Kathy Griffin’s fake bloody decapitated head of Donald Trump, followed by his mock assasination — what do we expect? The level of national discourse, over the past few years, and ramped up by Trump’s own rhetoric, has become fragmented, extreme, rude, not just polarized, but fractured into a million shards, each of which threatens to become a weapon of mass distraction, getting attention by yelling something peculiar and then shooting bullets or words in the direction of the imagined enemy.

And, what’s astonishing, I see/feel none of that here at home — in my heart, household, village, or neighborhood. I see very little of it in my town, Bloomington, Indiana, and though I know it’s threaded through this sadly sickened society, and know it’s fueled by alcohol, drugs, desperate poverty, trauma-based conditioning of many kinds, and a growing possibly Soros-sponsored frenzy, all of which is meant to bring in Chaos, so out of it can come Order, yep, that ever longed for New World Order.

Meanwhile, I can’t help but think of each one of the lone (read: lonely) male shooters (both of whom, of course, died yesterday in the carnage they instigated), and wonder if they were somehow mind-controlled. The shooter Hutchinson (baseball game) apparently was a facebook Trump-hater, and I don’t know about the other one, but I wonder if each or both of them might have been somehow “instructed” by some kind of technology that invades the brain, to do what they did, after having been targeted by alphabet agency trolls who monitor fb and other social media to find likely Manchurian Candidates.

I wouldn’t be surprised if soon we will see near-simultaneous mass-shootings, basically announcing, through their choreography, that what we suspect is not just true, but blatantly in-your-face: The accelerating Chaos is all (or mostly) designed, deliberate, and meant to bring us to our knees, begging for that Order from above.

It’s very difficult, if not impossible, to detect what’s just a spontaneous uprising of strong feeling that then gets projected out into mayhem and murder and what’s zombie behavior of those whose minds have been targeted and taken over.

Meanwhile, back in paradise . .  .

Today I will harvest and preserve a bunch more kale from the garden; Shy and Dan are right now going to the house where the big strong bamboo stalks are — Nezhla and I checked out the site yesterday — to harvest and bring back for the stalled fence project; it rained last night, a lot, so we don’t have to water gardens today. Yes!

From what I gather, lots of people are planning to participate in our Solstice event. Here’s the final invite, which went out on fb, and to the Next Door and GANA and local permie lists:


Wednesday, June 21. Starts at 6 p.m. Brief ceremony 6:30 p.m. (with Salutations to the Sun, a bit of tai chi, poetry, and an astrological talk about the meaning of Summer Solstice). Community Dinner 7 p.m. Music and dancing afterwards. Children welcome! Bring your instruments and anything you want to share with friends and neighbors of your full summertime expression!

NOT at Green Acres Village. Instead, out in the country, ten minutes from here, at Eva’s house, with plenty of room to roam:

Hope to see you soon!

That’s on the 21st. Two days later I leave for Chicago and my childhood friend Mary’s house. Will leave car there, and board a plane on the 25th for Ulan Bator — traveling to Siberia and Mongolia for two weeks with a shamanic group.

I know, I know: SIBERIA? WHAT ARE YOU THINKING?? Well, it’s on my bucket list, has always been on my bucket list. So has Mongolia. Remember, I lived in a yurt in the Wyoming mountains for many many years.

I’ll bring back plenty of pics and do a few adventure stories on this blog once I return home.

So it’s a full full life of beautiful aliveness pulsing inside me, radiating out to all those who are also gifting their full aliveness without getting dragged into the ghastly stupidity of hatred and violence that threatens to engulf the entire world.

Keep on centering, folks. Keep on doing our daily practices, giving and receiving love, and above all, clearing our own stuckness, so that the huge energy influxes now bathing earth have room to roam — through us humans! Stay in our hearts. Be at one with ourselves, each other, the planet, and the entire cosmos. AMEN!

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Green Acres Village, second week June: Rebecca on vacation. HELP!

Actually, we’re doing okay without her. But only barely. And not without lots of texting back and forth. Lots of photos in this post, documenting mistakes, setbacks, near-mistakes, lists crossed off, and beauty!

GAV News, Second Week June: Rebecca, our mentor, gone for two weeks. Help!


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