Look at this question. Absorb it. I’ve reversed the usual question “How to get from here to there?” which is one of straining towards, trying to devise plans for, getting to goals in space and time, which are, by definition, not here, but there.
So how do we get from there to here? How do we withdraw all our projections and center ourselves deeply within our own embodied selves. How do we, in short, come home.
I remember driving from Terre Haute to Bloomington, Indiana, for the first time. I was to join my husband, Jeff Joel, who had just enrolled in Indiana University Law School. The decision to come here rather than there (wherever there is) came slowly.
He had applied to a number of law schools, as a 55-year-old Princeton/MIT mathematician, starting over in the middle of his life. The first place that accepted him was Indiana. He was excited, told me I’d like it. But I, filled with the progressive indoctrination of my ’60s hippie self, couldn’t imagine relocating to the midwest. All I knew was east coast, west coast, and the mountain west. Nothing else was worthy. I was a bi-coastal/rocky mountain new age snob.
A week later he got into the University of Oregon. I was excited! Yes! Let’s go there!
He really wanted to go to Indiana, but acceded to my desire. We started making plans.
But then, really strange . . . I kept hearing a soft internal voice, saying, over and over again, “Indiana, Indiana, Indiana.” What? I tried to bat it away. Didn’t work. It kept coming. I told Jeff. He was overjoyed, because he knew that I always followed inner guidance, and obviously, this was that.
When it came time to leave Jackson Wyoming, where I had lived for 18 years, and where he had joined me for the final twelve, Jeff left first with the moving van in his car with the two kitties, and I followed in my car, two weeks later. So now, to the point of this story.
After a four day drive, not at all looking forward to Indiana, but following inner guidance even so, I found myself driving Rt 46 from Terre Haute to Bloomington, a narrow, hilly, winding road, much of it forested, with homesteads along the way — when all of a sudden, I was invaded by a strange and powerful feeling. What is this feeling? . . . oh wow, I actually had to acknowledge to myself: “I am feeling AT HOME!” Home! I had never felt such a feeling before. It was beyond strange for this free spirit, who had viewed herself all her life as a bird, lighting on one tree after another, but never staying for long. BTW: even though I lived in Jackson Hole, in a yurt in Kelly for most of those years, I never did feel grounded there, and had treated the yurt as a launching pad, for travels far and wide. Finally, I had to admit that I couldn’t put a root down in that mountain valley, even though I knew it was beyond time for me to do just that. But, Indiana? Give me a break! As I said, I was a new age snob.
So, can you imagine my surprise, my wonder, at, for the first time in my life, “feeling at home” as I drove that one hour winding road towards my Bloomington destination.
Finally, I had gotten from there to here.
Three months later Jeff died. And I found myself alone in our little suburban home that he had bought with the intention that we would be there the three years of law school and then move elsewhere.
And if I had gotten from there to here regarding location on planet earth, now I had to grapple with the continuous, by turns jagged, roaring, sloggy, howling feelings coursing through. Finally, I had landed. Yes. Finally. HERE, inside my own grieving body.
And now, eighteen years later, here I still am. Eighteen years in Jackson, eighteen years here. But in this place, I did put a root down, through my upright body into the ground, and it keeps digging deeper and deeper.
My little suburban home has been transformed into one hub of a dynamic little three home permaculture village, Green Acres Permaculture Village. And we’re nowhere done with our evolutionary process which spirals from the center of the self (myself, yourself, everybody here as a self, a distinct individual self, plus: ourself!) outwards into the neighborhood, the town, the region, the globe, the cosmos.
So yes, putting a root down meant, as well, getting more and more in touch with my own embodied self. Throughout my conscious grieving process after Jeff’s death, I had to learn to truly listen to my body, what it feels, what it wants, and when.
And one thing this body does not want, on a primal instinctive level, is anything to do with covidiana.
My mind aligns with my body, and views this plandemic/scamdemic as a gigantic global psy-op, designed to capture terrorized humans into the despotic, long-planned New World Order by playing on the F.E.A.R. (false evidence appearing real) disembodied people have of both death itself, as well as their own and others’ bodies.
Re: the difference between germ theory into which we are all indoctrinated, and terrain theory which is explained very well by Dr. Zach Bush, is the difference between scientism (which goes for discovery of “causes” via analysis into smallest parts possible) and wholistic, permacultural understanding.
Ommigod. Please do watch this. Very well done! Totally gory. Made me cringe. No wonder my body refuses to have anything to do with this so-called vax.
[Update: May 4, 2021: I just tried to give you the url for the bitchute video below, but didn’t succeed. If you wish to see it, go to Marian Goodman comment on this post.]