Tuesday, March 24, 2015

My Journey in Permaculture

My Journey in Permaculture
Jesse Hindman
Prescott College
Spring 2015



In the beginning of March 2015, my friend Tim Richards and I traveled down to San Diego to attend the Permaculture Voices conference (PV2), a convergence of truth-seekers from all over the world to learn, grow, and share with one another. There were a series of talks and workshops throughout the conference surrounding the various facets of Permaculture, whose ethics and principles help people make critical decisions in any number of situations/projects.

This particular conference focused mostly on land-based projects and their design tools, though Permaculture can be applied in any number of different arenas. Throughout the conference I felt as if Permaculture is a movement, as it attracted so many different people, and inspired us all to take direct and immediate action. Everyone was abuzz with various philosophies, practices, and projects, all centered around Permaculture.

That said however, there are leading voices in the study of Permaculture that help to define it in simpler terms, and would argue that it is not, in fact, a movement at all. To this end, it behooves me to cite a very articulate view of Permaculture by a man named Toby Hemenway (2012). In his blog, Pattern Literacy, he elucidates “what Permaculture isn’t—and is.” He says first that “Permaculture is notoriously hard to define. A recent survey shows that people simultaneously believe it is a design approach, a philosophy, a movement, and a set of practices.” (para 1)

Hemenway (2012) goes on to say “that the most accurate and least muddled way to think of Permaculture is as a design approach, and that we are often misdirected by the fact that it fits into a larger philosophy and movement which it supports. But it is not that philosophy or movement. It is a design approach for realizing a new paradigm.” (para 1)

Despite Hemenway’s (2012) contrary comment, I sense it as a movement insofar as it lends to the creation of a new paradigm. I’ve noticed that people I’ve met who define themselves as “Permaculturists” are first and foremost committed to innovation. They are fueled by the desire to create and implement solutions in innovative ways that make the destructive paradigm obsolete. When people get together and discuss how Permaculture—especially in its principles and design systems—can help to shift this paradigm, it feels like Permaculture itself attracts these people to it. Perhaps “movement” is a dirty word to many, with so many activist movements proving to be futile, or less-than-realized (e.g., the Occupy movement).

Generally if I meet someone who is doing something they call “Permaculture,” I immediately feel a sense of alignment and connection with them. I’ve been able to make certain assumptions about the person’s values based solely on their application of Permaculture principles. However, due to Permaculture’s vague and amorphous definition, it is worth mentioning that there are incredible projects that for all intents and purposes are using Permaculture design but would never actually use the term. (Bayuk, personal communication, 2015)

One of the more interesting points that was brought to my attention during the conference (forgive me, I forget who exactly said it) is that there is a need to decentralize "Permaculture" as a term and instead bring its essence to communities/projects that would otherwise not sign up for a "Permaculture" event. Its tenets and essence are extremely important, but just as important is dissuading individuals from getting caught up in the label or the identification that has the risk of exclusivity. I felt this idea was reinforced by showing up to a conference of 660 people, with demographics showing somewhere around 70% men, and 85% white. This lack of diversity is telling.

In other words, Permaculture is a tool, a system of designs that allow us to find the simplest, most straightforward solutions to very complex problems. As a belief structure, it stands up on its own, but should be recognized as but just a stepping stone on the path away from the current paradigm, and not necessarily the new paradigm. In other words, it is a transitional force that will eventually lead us to a place where Permaculture as a label becomes obsolete. Kevin Bayuk (2015) told me once that there is an opinion shared in his circles that the goal is not to need Permaculture at all, that its ethics –"Earth care, people care, and return of surplus" – are principles so normalized that the label Permaculture no longer has use or meaning. Bayuk (2015) goes on to say: “I see Permaculture as a system that helps people design - helps them make choices or create choices when trying to address particular problems/conditions.”

In some respects Permaculture shows up in my life as a religion, a way for me to relate to the world through its lens, with the support of other followers that share the same beliefs. I acknowledge that "religion" is a charged word, and I mean no disrespect to Permaculture or its followers in its use here. From the Latin roots re + ligare, means to re - connect or re – unite. This is my experience of Permaculture so far, and why I see religious implications; it is serving the same function as religion for me at this time in my life, a way for me to find a community of like-minded individuals who have dedicated themselves to its core tenets. I am finding others who believe in, and have faith in this way of living.

In response to this sentiment, Bayuk (2015) responded by saying, “this is a common experience of people that learn about permaculture.  The need for values-aligned community is self-evident.  The ‘ethics’ in Permaculture are explicit and create an ‘opt-in’ to sharing values.  People that practice Permaculture design, de facto, are adhering to the ethical boundaries of Permaculture.”

This certainly conveys an important aspect to Permaculture, and one that I think is an overall motivator for those who choose to adhere to its principles: the ethics are explicit. They clearly define the boundaries in which we are to operate, and nothing is left unseen or unsaid.

My experience of Permaculture as a religion and movement is reinforced by seeing such an outpouring of people from all over converge into one place; it feels a lot like communion. This in essence was a congregation, with preachers and teachers alike, illuminating those who feel the call. It seems we are setting out to abolish the injustices of our current systems, which I believe is the core founding principle for any religion; religion is founded when there is unrest, and fills a need to band people together in common purpose. The need for a shift comes at both the individual level, as well as the collective.

Permaculture's plasticity allows it to be applied in any number of ways, and should be taken on at an individual level, applying it in whatever unique way presents itself. There is work to be done and it shouldn't always be attached to any one label, least of all "Permaculture." Because it is so amorphous this should be an invitation to use its tools and apply them where there is need. I fear that there are groups of people who perceive Permaculture as something wealthy white men practice. I raised this perception to Bayuk (2015), to which he responded, “Undoubtedly this is the case, and also typical of an observation of someone that is living in the affluent world.  As one of my teachers, Geoff Lawton, told me, ‘I've done permaculture design with communities around the world including Iraq, Sarajevo, Vietnam, Nicaragua, El Salvador and more and I am relieved to say that where permaculture is spreading the fastest is in places of dire need, and almost nobody calls it Permaculture. Nobody gives a damn what it is called.’” I was pleased to hear this perspective, and also feel inspired to move away from the Permaculture label, despite how dear it is to me.

I, along with many others, was somewhat disappointed in the lack of diversity at PV2, in attendees, speakers, as well as subject matter. Land-based approaches to Permaculture are ingenious and much needed right now of course, but it dominated this particular conference in a way that left me feeling a lack. I felt that there needs to be more integration of social justice discussions.

This is the space with which I identify most. I believe that my role in the grand scheme of things is one focused on people and commerce. Based upon my studies, the two are inexorably linked. The works of Jeanine Canty and Joanna Macy come to mind. Their work is in diligently acknowledging the very real grief we all feel as the earth is slowly being destroyed. The argument of course is that we are the earth, and that as our bodies are destroyed, it is painful. It causes anger, grief, and apathy. Conferences – be they focused on Permaculture or otherwise –  have the ability create powerful spaces to process this collective earth-grief, and to employ our talents to the psyches of our brothers and sisters on this planet earth.

That said, this is where the notion of Permaculture as religion shines the most for me. We are being asked to do our work to make a positive change, but this work is all for naught until we can identify the wounds we carry not just for the earth but for our families, our partners, and our own personal biographies. These wounds, I would argue, are what keep us disconnected from the earth in the first place. These wounds are what cause us to act out in pain, in struggle, in addiction, in violence, in violation. We are violating ourselves and the earth when we let these emotional traumas go unchecked, but we've lost a context where we can both literally and figuratively be held in those wounds. We don't have communities with cohesion, communities that are so connected one has no choice but to congregate with their neighbors to process their grief.

Permaculture Voices offered a place for us to connect as well as to learn, and yet there were little formalized spaces offered by the conference for emotional process. One exception to this was in what the organization Mycelium offered to the conference. Mycelium is “a learning community: a living network of people committed to activating their fullest potential and creating solutions to the challenges and opportunities of our times.” At PV2, they provided educational integration activities between keynotes. This was an important way to mingle and provide a context for further support, but I still want to see this kind of offering developed more intentionally: I want to see conferences create more offerings to help people get intimate and vulnerable. We need to forge and strengthen the bonds of this community in a way that develops lifelong support and trust. We can't all be warriors all the time! We need space to cry, to laugh, and to engage in meaningful ways with one another.

I was blessed to have been given this experience as a result of this convergence, and have a lot of gratitude for being given the opportunity to identify and connect with key people that impact my life in beautiful ways. I think it is a natural progression when people of like minds get together, but I want to acknowledge that we could be doing way more to support these kinds of connections.

In conclusion it is important to say that no matter where you look, there is no one perfect movement, organization, or conference. There were many things done right at PV2, and I'm excited to see what happens when people put their heads together. We need to consistently do more and better, and I'm delighted to see what Diego Footer has created with his sheer force of will. I'm looking forward to witnessing what he continues to create with his vision.


Bibliography
T Hemenway. (2012, November 28). What Permaculture Isn’t—and Is [Web log post]. Retrieved from http://www.patternliteracy.com/668-what-permaculture-isnt-and-is

Bayuk, K. Lecture, personal communication. March 2015.

Monday, March 23, 2015

The Stage, It Has Been Set

This blogpost is somewhat delayed. I intended to sit down and free-write about my experiences two weeks ago, and alas this is the first moment I felt inspired to do so. It seems that this lack of inspiration is much more common as of late than I would prefer. I have a lot stirring within me, so much to say and to offer and somehow I still struggle with finding outlets for it. It's like I'm waiting for life to offer me a stage, to set it accordingly so all I have to do is stand atop it, and orate.

I have attended a good deal of conferences and shows where I see incredibly inspirational speakers stand atop their stage. Even though I know better, it seems like it was easy for these people to manifest their stage, to manifest an audience on the edge of their seats, eager to hear what the speaker has to say. But of course these amazing speakers did a lot in their lives to gain the attention and the followers required to find a stage.

I haven't found my stage... yet.

I feel inadequate, not having found my stage. In the deepest sense I know that it's out there, waiting for me to get my act together, to get off my ass and just go. But I'm stuck, struggling to understand how to find it. What I've come to understand recently is that I'm focusing too much on what I haven't done, what I haven't accomplished, what I haven't manifested. I am in a particular circumstance and waiting for something to happen, waiting for my stage. I am not accepting where I am now, what I choose to engage in right now. I judge myself for my lack of stage space. I know I have important things to say, know that I want to join the ranks of so many authentic and genuine people who are doing their work, giving their all to what they know is most important.

I smoke pot and watch T.V.

But what I'm not acknowledging are the other things in my life. I am still in school, learning a LOT. I demo for a conscious company and get paid to educate and inspire consumers on their food choices. I get paid to attend incredible conferences such as the second Permaculture Voices (PV2) conference in San Diego. I have a deeply spiritual family, both in blood and otherwise, that support and love me. I am committed to a woman who is a powerful healer, who is stunningly beautiful, sensitive, authentic and loving. Why is it so hard to hold these things in focus, instead of what I'm not doing, or what I don't have? Or how I'm not showing up?

I seem to fall apart until I get my "dose of hope heroin" as Tim Richards puts it. The various shows he brings me with his company helps expose me to some of the world's finest saviors, the true warriors dedicated to making the current paradigm obsolete, to borrow words from the famous Buckminster Fuller quote. And I see that they are really doing that. Attending these shows has become so important to me, it's one of the few inspirational sources I have left it seems.

I had originally intended this post to be about digesting PV2, and all that happened there. It seems that this conference is also wrapped up in my perceived inadequacies, that perhaps I tap into the torrent of inspirational energy but that in some way it also reminds me of how little I perceive myself doing. I use that term very intentionally, the way I "perceive" my life right now. How do I come into loving acceptance of myself and my circumstances?

Perhaps this also describes the apathy that many people feel. It seems like there are many people that feel powerless, and that is a word that I can relate to. I don't know how to make it happen for myself, and it's like my stage has been set, the audience waiting patiently for me to emerge, but I can't find where it is. I lost the directions, or maybe I never knew them. The issue is that the directions can be found within me, and I'm relying on everything outside of myself to show me the way. The stage is set and my intuition has no compass. I've lost my way.

As depressing as that sounds, I also feel that I am being pushed through this threshold, walking through a very intense portal and feeling my way out of it. This is an initiatory process. I have overcome adversity enough in my life to understand its function, to know how it shapes me, how important it is. So much has happened and I'm just trying to digest it all.

Permaculture Voices was a beacon for me. It stood tall amidst the dark swamp, showing me the way: the people I met there, the things I learned, the opening of my heart.

People like Kammer Moss, Jeremiah Youngtree, Region Lewis, Pandora Thomas, Tim Richards, Paul Stamets, Toby Hemenway. These people showed me the way, reminded me that I am worth a damn, that I have a lot to offer the world. I may be lost but that loss proves my path. It defines the contours, illuminates the stones, the prints of small animals etched in the dirt, a canopy of ferns, oak, and redwood towering above me.

I belong with people, sharing, loving, laughing and interconnecting. This is where I thrive, and perhaps this has been my stage all along; it's been set beneath me and myopia has prevented me from seeing that. My stage is in the mingling with other powerful souls, deep in their process and responsible for their own healing. There are voices that would tell me that I don't belong here, and those voices are powerful. I have no idea where they come from but they are so strong, so convincing. But when I connect with the soul tribe, those deeply compassionate and caring people, those voices are silenced.

My third night in San Diego, I got stoned. Really stoned. Too stoned. Jeremiah and Region began deeply engaging, going into the depths of our plight, and articulating beautifully our struggle and our salvation. It was a conversation I was desperate to have, but I was paralyzed on the couch. The voices overcame me. I was literally shaking, anxiety crawling up my throat, constricting my words. The things they were saying we so beautiful, and I was just beyond reach -- their only audience -- in the back row, viewing their glorious stage from obscurity.

Their voices were hard to follow amidst my own self doubting dialogue. I was only half paying attention, trying with all my might to just stop shaking.

But finally Jeremiah said some things that struck a chord. I already knew what he was saying, he articulated words I often speak. There was deep resonance, this was my chance! Despite all the voices and my shaking, I was compelled to jump in.

Region began saying something, I interrupted. I felt bad but was immersed in a flood, a torrent of thought that could not be held back. I began speaking and what came out had an immensely different quality than the words in my head. These words were inspired, eloquent, careful and composed. I watched myself present my thoughts in this way while the voices continued on inside of me. Juxtaposed, self-doubt and self-actualization, happening simultaneously. There was tension between the two, and yet my articulation won, it overcame, and revealed the true nature of my voices, showed me that there are many forces within me that would keep me silent, keep me obscured, disconnected.

Jeremiah's response and engagement that night saved me. I could feel our hearts open and disprove my self doubt, my worrying mind.

The point is, my stage is all around me, at all times. This notion is illuminated as I write these words, the gift of self-reflection. I have a choice to engage authentically and make my offering at all times. The point is, those speakers go up and say the same thing they say to their wives, husbands, children, their colleagues, their students. Those I most admire, and those that are a part of the true calling teach not high on a pedestal but amongst us all. They teach and they listen. I've been waiting too long for my turn to speak, I haven't been listening. I've found my stage but am working on learning how to stand in it. I'm learning how to be impeccable with my words, to not waste anyone's time.

The next morning Kammer Moss and I took turns sharing the stage. He disproved my voices as well, and validated the wisdom stirring within me. We reached high, stood tall and picked the fruit of our philosophical labors. We waxed poetic and deeply recognized one another. This recognition is so key to our survival, it is the process of identifying soul tribe. We are all interconnected but can't hope to interact with every living being, and so we gather. We gather with our tribe to draw strength, to love, and to support one another. I made key additions to my tribe during PV2, and hope to continue identifying who my tribe is. I need it. I need you all.

Where are the rest of you, my soul brothers and sisters?

Sunday, March 22, 2015

C'mon, Love With Me!

The following is a post I made for the course I am taking this semester called "Literature for a Living Planet." It is in response to the readings for the week, one from The Abstract Wild by Jack Turner, the other from Wild: An Elemental Journey by Jay Griffiths.

"The wild. I have drunk it, deep and raw, and heard its primal, unforgettable roar. We know it in ourselves, for we are wild to the core. We know it in our dreams, when the mind is off the leash, running wild. 'Outwardly, the equivalent of the unconscious is the wilderness: both of these terms meet, one step even farther on, as ONE,' wrote Gary Snyder. 'It is in vain to dream of a wildness distant from ourselves. There is none such,' wrote Thoreau. 'It is the bog in our brain and bowels, the primitive vigor of Nature in us, that inspires that dream.'"And as dreams are essential to the psyche, wildness is to life."For the Native American O'odham people, the term 'dvajkam,' wildness, is etymologically tied to terms for health, wholeness and liveliness. 'Life consists wild wildness,' wrote Thoreau. 'The most alive is the wildest. All good things are wild and free' and 'In wildness is the preservation of the world.'" Griffiths, p. 78

This first quote invokes a lot in me. Here is what I just posted on Facebook in response to this quote:
Toby Hemenway, in his keynote at the Permaculture Voices conference, stated plainly that human beings are actually the most tamed animal on the planet. We've become docile. How do we reach for a higher aspect of health, for "dvajkam," and be fully present with the earth?Where can we create contexts to explore our wildness, to let go, to surrender? In our class, Becca Deysach has us explore our wildness by wandering in the wild and freewriting. I would argue that in our creativity, we become most wild, most unearthed, deeply engaged. We connect with our primal energy when we can let go, let the words flow, the paint splash, the ink sink in deep.Our life is a sensual one, if we let it be. Don't close up, reach out. Don't shy away, stand tall and be proud of this delicious existence. You are not separate. You belong here. C'mon, love with me!

I love how often Turner quotes Thoreau, and the deep misunderstanding of his words by conservationists and academics alike. His words on the subject resonate with me deeply. I believe that wilderness describes a place, whereas wildness is an experience, a state of being. Wildness exists in all of us, is akin to our DNA. There is no escaping it, ubiquitous to say the least. It exists in every cell in the entire cosmos. Wildness is a way to describe the spark of life, untamed, spontaneous, and synchronistic. There is order in the chaos, and that is what wildness is: chaos. Perhaps we choose the word "wildness" because it is unpredictable, deliciously creative, and overall without structure. We cannot define it, rationalize it, study it or box it in. It is always transforming, the only constant as change. Each of us may appear to look and act the same today as we did yesterday, and yet we are so different in each moment. The passage of time, as we perceive it, can't help but to rearrange us. It is in our desire to control and replicate experiences that our divorce from wildness occurs."Instead of a clash of needs, the preservation of the wild appears to be a clash of work versus recreation. Lacking a deeper experience of wildness and access to the lore, myth, metaphor, and ritual necessary to share that experience, there is no communication, no vision, that might shatter the current dead-end of wilderness debate. Both groups exploit the wild, the first [farmers, ranchers, loggers, commercial fishermen] by consuming it, the second [conservationists, "fun-hogs" (experiencing wilderness through recreation) by converting it into a playpen and then consuming it. Worship of wilderness designation thus becomes idolatry, the confusion of a symbol with its essence. In either case the result is the same: destruction of the wild." Turner, p. 87

I am very guilty of what Turner describes here; I am a "fun-hog" and consume wildness through experience, and yet I have an aversion to viscerally experiencing it as he describes further on. It is scary to me, imagining spending a month in the deepest wilderness. I have an aversion because I have never considered myself an "outdoors" type, and fear my ability to survive out there. There aren't grocery stores in the wilderness of the Himalayas, the Amazon. Would I be able to surrender to that level of survivalism? Could I surrender to the abundance that exists there? To surrender my fears to the knowing that I will be cared for?

"Yet most of us, when we think about it, realize that after our own direct experience of nature, what has contributed most to our love of wild places, animals, plants -- and even, perhaps, to our love of wild nature, our sense of our citzenship -- is the art, literature, myth and lore of nature. For here is the language we so desperately lack, the medium necessary for vision. Mere concepts and abstractions will not do, because love is beyond concepts and abstractions. And yet the problem is one of love. As Stephen Jay Gould wrote, 'We cannot win this battle to save species and environments without forging an emotional bond between ourselves and nature as well -- for we will not fight to save what we do not love.' The conservation movement has put much thought, time, effort and money into public policy and science, and far too little into direct personal experience and the arts. There is nothing wrong with public policy and science, but since they will not produce love, they must remain secondary in the cause of preservation." Turner, p. 89

I believe in love. I believe Turner is correct here. I am struggling to imagine initiating all the 8 billion people on this earth to experience the wild viscerally, to achieve what he believes it takes for people to "fight for what they love." Is there some other way? Can there be smaller steps in the interim? Do we have time for baby steps into this wildness? This deep identification as Nature, in reverence and respect? Is this really the only way?

Wednesday, February 11, 2015

Prescott Synthesizing Essay

Below is the synthesizing essay I wrote as a graduation requirement for Prescott College. As I complete my undergraduate degree, I found powerful movement in reflecting and synthesizing all I have learned, and how to apply it to the real world. This essay is just one small part of this synthesis.






Synthesizing Essay
Jesse Hindman
Prescott College
Spring 2015



I have come to realize a few things after entering into the Adult Degree Program (ADP) at Prescott College. Namely, I view this as a huge step in my personal development. I want to be able to extend myself out into the world in order to help others in their healing journey. However, it has come to light through my Prescott attendance to date that there are still particular goals I have yet to achieve in regard to my personal development before I can show up in the world in that way. I believe that an unwavering integrity and stability of the Self must be achieved before a healing presence can exist externally. This I feel has been the theme central to my focused area of study.
I chose to create my own degree title in the hopes of more accurately describing the application of my studies, in order to properly define the framework of my learning. I chose the title “Integral Dynamics” to define a field that integrates social and ecological justice with spirituality, interpersonal dynamics, and human development. Through the course of this study, I have come to the conclusion that no outward activism can be healthy or effective without some level of personal inquiry.
The following paragraphs are from my senior thesis to sum up this concept:
“A world comprised of consciously refined individuals will engender harmonious relationships with self, other, environment and planet. An inclination to serve the collective will naturally arise if communities are developed by individuals who fortify their own Inner-church: the internal resource from which one can turn to find solace, wisdom and compassion.
"When one operates from the power of their Inner-church – and not from a wounded place – they can connect to the innate awareness of interconnection present in us all, thus effortlessly serving both individual and community. A person who connects to their Inner-church creates an internal space to feel grief, and simultaneously engender the compassion required to be present for others.”
I chose to present these paragraphs as a way to define what I believe to be the core tenets of Integral Dynamics. The study of this theory has been a teaching for me to consider the whole in every interaction in order to more deeply understand not only what fuels my actions, but what fuels the actions of another as well. Ultimately this means being hyper-perceptive, and a willingness to listen. This includes the consideration of an individual’s socio-economic status, gender identity, race, and other cultural diversities from my own. Taking these things into consideration honors an individual’s place and operation in the world, and helps me take a widened approach to the dynamics created in our interaction.
Applying the theories of Integral Dynamics is an integration of a personal practice as well as a professional one. Practicing serves and informs both: I would argue that there is little separation between how individuals show up professionally and personally. This discovery played a huge role in leading me to investigate the nature of our economy and business. I believe that the current controlling economic system is the number one cause to the destruction of our planet.
I first made this correlation during the Ecological Economics course I took with Rob Hunt in the Fall of 2013 – which just so happened to coincide with the height of my involvement with the sprouted almond butter company I helped to start. I went on to take two Permaculture Business Design courses, Ecopsychology, and a Sustainable Environmental Studies course. All of these helped to inform critical perspectives of our economy. When I integrated my already prominent knowledge of interpersonal dynamics and spiritual work with these perspectives of economy, I launched full-force into the deconstruction of the current paradigm, and have been seeking actions to do my part in rectifying it.
When I say that Integral Dynamics is a practice, I mean to say that it in itself is a dynamic undertaking that often illuminates my own “blind spots.” By taking several human development courses with Prescott, I have been able to deconstruct my privilege as a man, for example, or as a white person.
In my study, I have come to understand that the field of healing requires practitioners to understand their own limitations. Within the context of facilitation, humility is one of the major requirements to perform adequate service to participants. If I walk into that room believing that I carry no baggage with me, that I am above getting triggered or reactive, I am automatically doing a disservice to that room. I have a responsibility as a leader to keep myself in check, but more often than not intimacy cannot be developed without a codified level of transparency. This I believe is at the heart of the matter, and one that has been established fruitfully in the course of my study.
Furthermore, perceiving Integral Dynamics as a practice is of utmost importance. It is a perspective that offers a practitioner the ability to simultaneously witness all aspects of self, while also considering that of others, and in every dynamic interplay, integrating the whole. We do this so that harmony is created with every interaction, even when there is a difference in opinion or need.
These concepts are based largely on the works of Joanna Macy, Sobonfu Somé, Christopher Alexander, and Jeanine Canty, with the encouragement, direction, and insight of both Gary Stogsdill, my core faculty for Prescott and instructor, and Becca Deysach, my instructor of four separate courses in my undergraduate degree program.
The fact that Prescott requires social justice and ecological literacy components really served me in shaping this type of work in the world. My studies at Prescott are serving as a launch pad, the prerequisite for enacting my life’s purpose.
Throughout my program, I have learned about myself spiritually and intellectually as much as I have learned about the world around me, supporting humility throughout. I have seen my education unfolding in two parts: learning the aforementioned integrity and stability within the self first, and then extending outward in order to help guide others with their own path to health. My work, I’ve discovered, lies with people. The more I can heal, the better prepared I am to offer assistance in showing others how to reveal their own truths.
I chose to pursue a program with self-directed learning because I've always struggled in traditional academic channels. I fundamentally disagree with many of the tenets of my country's educational paradigm. While I believe in intellectual pursuit, academia divorced from experiential learning is a folly. There is so much more to life than what the intellect can explain, and thus my hunger for an experiential-based learning was born. I feel grateful that Prescott has a program that was aligned with my own educational goals; the result of which has been far more rewarding than I could have ever hoped.
Furthermore, the social and ecological justice requirements at Prescott have ignited a sense of purpose and determination within me. The immersion of these concepts throughout my time with this school has provided me invaluable tools.
Though my offering is still becoming clear, I can see that I want to provide assistance to businesses and individuals to become more literate within these realms. I have already used my learning to inform actions in food justice circles, and in helping start a mission-driven sprouted almond butter company.
I also recognize my own limitations within the self-directed learning platform. I have always struggled with motivation and time management. This has been by-and-large the greatest challenge I have faced throughout my degree. I knew this going in, and forced myself to enroll in order to stay firmly planted on my edge. I would say that my Prescott experience has been invaluable in transforming my ability to self-direct.
The year before I enrolled in ADP, I went through a process of deep spiritual awakening. It became evident how rapidly I was shifting my beliefs, behaviors, patterns, addictions and worldview. Everything looked different. I was, for the first time in my life, seeing things clearly. I felt organized in my spiritual pursuit. The steps were laid out before me.
When I applied to Prescott, I was scared. There was fear around going to school again, and that is why I applied anyway. I knew that I had to continually face my edge, to never become lulled into comfortable complacency again. I believe that everything that has happened to me until this point makes me who I am; the corollary being a recognition that there is always the choice for radical shifts when necessary. The past never changes, but my relationship to it does.
It is through this inquiry that I see higher education's place: to grow, and to enrich. Every course has held some kind of relevance to my life outside of school. Every assignment struck some kind of cord in my personal process: school offered larger perspectives to my life, perspectives I would not have otherwise discovered. My instructors always provided me with evocative resources offering me myriad perspectives in order to form my own. School brought on more spiritual development. School brought me closer to the earth, and closer to myself. I feel fortunate to report that school and life have never been separate.
The visionaries behind all of my course materials are now responsible for shaping what I believe to be my work in the world: transformational healing; ushering business out of the old destructive economy and into a new regenerative one; sacred connection to grief; experiencing all sides of life, even the most uncomfortable; and finally shifting personal and collective paradigms to include the practice of Integral Dynamics.
My studies at Prescott have taken me through incredible workshops. They have taken me into deep conversation with myself, my peers, and my mentors. My studies have taken me into business. They have forced me to consider my privilege, my faults, my desires, my skills, my intelligence, my place, my footprint, and my emotions.
I started a company (an already intense and difficult undertaking) and subsequently left it (more difficult, still); I struggled and overcame my lack of self-motivation time and time again; I did freewriting staring out over the Big Sur cliffs at Esalen; I facilitated group discussions; I danced, and danced and danced; I learned how to play; I learned the value in self-directed learning.
All this and more are things I learned before and throughout Prescott, and what I will continue to learn beyond. I believe that Prescott accelerated these processes for me. I had the benefit of condensing these studies into concentrated focus, and had an incredible team of people to help administer this potent dose of higher learning.

Tuesday, January 27, 2015

God I hate it when the words suck.



I read because it cracks me open. I read to feel connection, the sheer overflowing of love I feel for those who take the time to write. I read to criticize, and to be criticized; to be critical of my own thoughts, my head-pounding, to examine why it is I think at all. I read because I owe it to my fellow human, read on and on to pay homage to those who want their voices heard. I read to listen. I read to banish the silence and yet to embrace it. The space between the words tends to stick with me, to form an idea that I am more than the sum of my parts, the silence in my sinew, the pulsing of my heart. Hearing the silence without silence, the breathing of the space, the air, the night, my lover’s eyes.

I read because it’s the only way I know how to understand. What is it you’re trying to tell me? I read because it isn’t up to you. “I belong to what I understand.” I am an avid reader but only when it serves me, I don’t read enough. It’s a “should” but when I turn the page, I am revealed. I am revered. I hold true to its potency, and God I hate it when the words suck. I read to flow like blood, I read to hear “the fine tune of my seldom-plucked heart strings.” I am alive and the words remind me of that as I read them. I am honored and honorable, reading with the whimsy of my own desire. I read with callous eyes in the hopes that they can be softened, to let in the light. I read in an upside-down language, the translation of my whole world narrowed down to three stanzas. I read in order to love. I love to read but it hasn’t yet taught me to understand love. My thoughts are reading this before I write, living always on the edge of reason, unreasonable to assume I can truly know. I read because it breaks me open and helps me put together a more holy whole. I read wholesome writing, and God I hate it when the words suck. It’s worse than death, worse than the worst breakup, when the words can’t properly speak.

I read because it’s the only way I know how to listen. I listen for God and for Truth and for something else. I listen as I read for what the author lived for, what he lived through, why he didn’t live enough. I read because I want to. I read because someone needs to hear the cry for help, the pang of regret, the joy of feeling. The rendered space that is carved out within my soul, pixelated and buffering the era of my woes. I read because it has to mean something. I read because it shows me the meaning. The writing is mean, it is sad, I read to cry her tears, to know what she has lost and what she has done about it. I read her catharsis, the bent will of her forebears, the reason we still love and laugh. I read because I don’t know what else to do. I read because I need to understand something, anything, to keep this monkey off my back. I read about monkeys on backs. I read in disgust sometimes, and sometimes I read when I can’t feel my legs. I read when my life feels like it’s over and needs a new beginning, and that’s the thing about non-fiction: “you can’t screw up the ending.” 

I read because I know it’s actually all fiction, “there are three sides to every story: yours, mine, and the truth.” I read truth like it’s a lie told with the best intentions. I read as a meditation, a milestone of mindlessness, of mindfulness, of Buddhist rants and platitudes. I read because I need a justification, I need to justify my actions and my inactions. I read to be more of who I am, I read to let go of who I’m not. I read to fill up, to empty out, I read so that I may cry again. I am listless without the words but my mind is always ranting. I read so I can calm the rant and hear someone else’s, even if the words suck. God I hate it when the words suck, they haunt me. They plague me worse than leprosy, even when my fingers fall off I can still see the book, The Book, those whisperings of a man nailed to a cross, I read his sonnet, his love song, all those sins. God I hate it when the words suck. From thin air they stink up the place. Out of nothing they are something, even when they suck.

This is in response to the following piece written by Terry Tempest Williams:

Why I Write by Terry Tempest Williams


It is just after 4:00 A.M. I was dreaming about Moab, Brooke and I walking around the block just before dawn. I threw a red silk scarf around my shoulders and then I began reciting in my sleep why I write: I write to make peace with the things I cannot control. I write to create fabric in a world that often appears black and white. I write to discover. I write to uncover. I write to meet my ghosts. I write to begin a dialogue. I write to imagine things differently and in imagining things differently perhaps the world will change. I write to honor beauty. I write to correspond with my friends. I write as a daily act of improvisation. I write because it creates my composure. I write against power and for democracy. I write myself out of my nightmares and into my dreams. I write in a solitude born out of community. I write to the questions that shatter my sleep. I write to the answers that keep me complacent. I write to remember. I write to forget. I write to the music that opens my heart. I write to quell the pain. I write to migrating birds with the hubris of language. I write as a form of translation. I write with the patience of melancholy in winter. I write because it allows me to confront that which I do not know. I write as an act of faith. I write as an act of slowness. I write to record what I love in the face of loss. I write because it makes me less fearful of death. I write as an exercise in pure joy. I write as one who walks on the surface of a frozen river beginning to melt. I write out of my anger and into my passion. I write from the stillness of night anticipating-always anticipating. I write to listen. I write out of silence. I write to soothe the voices shouting inside me, outside me, all around. I write because of the humor of our condition as humans. I write because I believe in words. I write because I do not believe in words. I write because it is a dance with paradox. I write because you can play on the page like a child left alone in sand. I write because it belongs to the force of the moon: high tide, low tide. I write because it is the way I take long walks. I write as a bow to wilderness. I write because I believe it can create a path in darkness. I write because as a child I spoke a different language. I write with a knife carving each word through the generosity of trees. I write as ritual. I write because I am not employable. I write out of my inconsistencies. I write because then I do not have to speak. I write with the colors of memory. I write as a witness to what I have seen. I write as a witness to what I imagine. I write by grace and grit. I write out of indigestion. I write when I am starving. I write when I am full. I write to the dead. I write out of the body. I write to put food on the table. I write on the other side of procrastination. I write for the children we never had. I write for the love of ideas. I write for the surprise of a sentence. I write with the belief of alchemists. I write knowing I will always fail. I write knowing words always fall short. I write knowing I can be killed by my own words, stabbed by syntax, crucified by both understanding and misunderstanding. I write out of ignorance. I write by accident. I write past the embarrassment of exposure. I keep writing and suddenly, I am overcome by the sheer indulgence, (the madness,) the meaninglessness, the ridiculousness of this list. I trust nothing especially myself and slide head first into the familiar abyss of doubt and humiliation and threaten to push the delete button on my way down, or madly erase each line, pick up the paper and rip it into shreds-and then I realize, it doesn't matter, words are always a gamble, words are splinters from cut glass. I write because it is dangerous, a bloody risk, like love, to form the words, to say the words, to touch the source, to be touched, to reveal how vulnerable we are, how transient. I write as though I am whispering in the ear of the one I love. 

Tuesday, January 13, 2015

Monument

This song is breaking me wide open. So powerful and inspiring!

Aren't you gonna come along?
Aren't you gonna fight?
Aren't you gonna hold your hands up to the light?
If you feel an emptiness, if you want to hide
Think about the blood that's pumping keeping you alive

We've got it all worked out, the plans all made
If we believe in the fight then we're all saved
It's gonna hurt for a while but it would anyway
Let us stand resolute with our voices raised
We have a right to insist to be free and brave
If that should cease to exist i'd throw my heart away

So, aren't you gonna come along?
Aren't you gonna fight?
Aren't you gonna hold your hands up to the light?
If you feel an emptiness, if you want to hide
Think about the blood that's pumping keeping you alive

It's a long long way to the promised land
So try where you are, do what you can
You belong to what you understand
So teach yourself how to demand the monument that you deserve
For rising up in a beaten down world

Aren't you gonna come along?
Aren't you gonna fight?
Aren't you gonna hold your hands up to the light?
If you feel an emptiness, if you want to hide
Think about the blood that's pumping keeping you alive