Raise your hands. Who, among us, ISN’T confused?

Screen Shot 2015-07-27 at 12.19.13 PMFeeling confused today. Confused about what to do with my confusion, which is no more confused than usual, but about which I do feel I might be heading towards a new way of either plowing on through it or sidestepping it altogether. Or not.

How would I know the difference? I’m confused. Things are thoroughly mingled together.

Okay, try to separate into categories, elements. For example:

There’s lots of “stuff” in geopolitical and geoeconomic news that I don’t report on, though I do “keep up” with some of it in some fashion. For example, just today, I checked in again with philosophyofmetrics and redefininggod, both of which are tracking these enormous chess-playing esoterica in their own unique manners. Lots of contradictions in all the info and possible disinfo, of course! (Greece, Ukraine, Putin, BRICS, oil, IMF, etc. etc.)

Likewise, lots of “stuff” in metaphysical, ET/UFO, and paranoid-about-the-NWO circles, including, just now, a big split with Corey Goode/David Wilcock and Michael Salla on one side and Alfred Webre and Bradley Loves on the other. On my!

Question: why do I care?

Another question: why do I find this “stuff” fascinating?

I do have to ask myself these questions, while sitting here on a stool, typing away on a computer in a two-home ecopod in the Green Acres neighborhood in Bloomington, Indiana. Is it about time for lunch? I also ask myself, shearing instantly from wispy global to right here right now, inside my own growelling stomach.

A few minutes ago, over at Rebecca’s next door, where I went to tell everybody that the couple who borrowed the chipper for the weekend handed us a fresh homemade peach pie in return, and that I’ve got it in the fridge if anyone wants a piece. (I don’t eat either sugar or flour, nor does Rebecca . . .) A young woman is visiting over there. She has been regularly breaking her bones, and then going through all the protracted medical care to “fix” them. I asked her today, “couldn’t you find another kind of drama?” “Well,” she laughed “phyiscal drama is way better than emotional drama.” “And those are the only kinds?” I ask.

Meanwhile, a man had just called me, from Florida, sounds older, like me, says he’s “signed up” on this blog and needs help with his garden this winter. He’s been practicing permaculture for 24 years, he tells me, but now his wife had a stroke, and he has to spend most of his time with her. Says he wants either a permaculturist or a woofer to come down and help him. I tell him I’ll put whatever he wants to write up about it on the permie list-serve here, and maybe that way it can spread to other permie lists. But then, when I hang up, and am over at Rebecca’s, a sudden thought: tell Cyrus (our Woofer, soon to be finished here), about this Florida opportunity! I do. “Good,” he responds. “I have to go to Florida anyway.”

So here we are, ensconced in all the daily details of living in this crazy-ass world in a way that builds community rather than destroys it. And here am I, still, often, internally besotted with “global issues” that nobody I live with gives a rat’s ass about and that I can do absolutely nothing about anyway! But I can at least inform myself, I tell myself sternly. But then, so what? A saner? voice answers, and segues into the voice of my dear deceased husband Jeff, who continuously asked me, “why do you concern yourself with things you can do nothing about?”

But then I look closer, deeper. What I’m doing here, what we are doing here, is in response to all that I’m finding in my lifelong mental quest to understand global realities and trends. (I starting grabbing onto the news headlines in the local paper when I was five years old.) We are responding especially to primary needs: to grow our own food; to reconnect as human beings; and to prepare for all sorts of unknowns — including how much rain, if any. For us, that means prepare water catchment systems and prepare garden beds so any rain is held and utilized rather than runs off or evaporates. I mention that particular subject because building new water catchment systems happens to be the big theme of the summer of 2015 here. And it’s hilarious that we’re doing it in the midst of massive, long-running, and possibly record-breaking summer rains.

Then of course, like any “aware” person, I’m constantly aware of chem trails lacing the sky, thickening, shredding, misting up the atmosphere that, when I was a kid, I remember as consistently deep blue. No longer. A really blue sky with no chem trail tracing is a rarity.

And then of course, again like any “aware” person, whenever I “go out to eat,” like with my son Colin Cudmore of the Garden Tower Project yesterday, I’m aware that I’ll probably be ingesting GMO-laden foods. Hard to avoid when reportedly 80% of American food is contaminated by it.

And then too, of course, whenever I look at the local paper I notice “news” that relates to the MIC (Military Industrial Complex). For example, yesterday’s news about the progress of I69 which connects the military/industrial economic powerhouse called Crane (“Naval Surface Warfare Center Crane Division), to points north and south, and runs right through the western edge of Bloomington. Oh boy! That federal juggernaut just kept coming. There was nothing we could do to stop it.

Just as there’s nothing we can do to stop and reverse the madness apparently affecting our body politic. Yeah, there’s absolutely no way to trump Trump! Which reminds me: How’s this for a weird synchronicity: I had decided to treat my female podmates to a “female-bonding” movie (at least that’s how I perceived it beforehand) called “Trainwreck.” It’s the first movie I’ve attended in a movie theater since November 2014 when I went to see Interstellar and ended up writing a (mostly) scathing review of it.

I’m not even going to get started on “Trainwreck,” my actual experience of that movie (aside from two or three hilarious scenes). It certainly didn’t turn out to be a female-bonding movie, let me just say. Not that we needed it. But it did sound like great fun, in advance.

But guess what? It turns out that we attended that movie, that very same movie, on the very same evening when a shooter tore up a theater in Lafayette, Louisiana. Ye gods! Makes me wonder if we were there for another purpose entirely, unknown to us. WHAT?

I wasn’t going to even mention such a weird synchronicity on this site, but then, well, what the hell, now that I’m confused, I might as get really really mixed up.

So again, here I am, sitting here, apparently just typing away, when all this swirling stuff is whipping through my noggin. As usual. How to process? Don’t. Do your yoga/chi kung/taichi instead. Center, breathe, connect earth to sky through the body. Get real, Ann. Get real and stay there.

Then it will be time for lunch.



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