The Devil Within

The following is the final post I made for the class Literature for a Living Planet, led by Becca Deysach. It was a beautifully enriching class, with so many powerful readings and discussions.

This post was written in response to Deysach's prompts:

So, we have spent the past three months reading and discussing a range of literature, writing our own, and reflecting upon the process in our journals... all with the purpose of investigating the role that literature can play in encouraging a cultural shift towards a paradigm that supports a "living planet". 

So here, I ask you... what role, if any, CAN literature play in humans' relationship with the earth?  What influence has literature had on YOUR relationship with the wild earth? And, if literature does have a role to play in healthifying our relationship with the planet, where do you see yourself in that process? And if there is anything else you would like to share in regard to your learnings this semester, this is the place to do so!
I believed in the critical role that literature and all creativity plays in supporting a living planet already, but it has been evermore reinforced for me throughout this class.

I have such a soft spot for incredible writing, and it generally serves as a portal for me for deep healing. I am wont to get emotional and moved reading inspirational writing, witnessing powerful writing on the screen, or in the co-creative space of conversation. I often talk about how particular TV shows and movies act as a Bible for me, I'm always able to glean deep truths from them. Sometimes I get the impression that even the writers of the show don't realize the Divine Truth flowing through them.

I just finished the first season of Daredevil, Marvel's newest release. I blew through all 13 episodes in just a few days, and it is the most shining example of what I'm talking about. Yes, it is a super hero story. Yes, it is extremely violent. But the writing is SO INCREDIBLE. There are so many overarching themes of morality and human struggle, so many powerful questions come up, and impeccable production quality, directing, and acting to boot.

I am so taken by it because it frames the struggle we all currently face in harsh, real terms. The story serves as both a literal interpretation of corporate power and the 1%, but also serves as a beautiful metaphor of us all facing our demons, and learning how to live with the "devil within."
To tie this back to our work in this semester, I feel like as we continue to participate in the destructive patterns of our paradigm, we all struggle with the devil within. We have this devil clawing its way out of us, addiction and apathy are its symptoms. It's okay that there is a devil within, we all have our shadows. Daredevil is all about Matt Murdock's journey in facing his devil, and transforming it into a powerful symbol, his fall from grace and wrestling with his anger, and what his anger might do. He sees injustice and gets angry, and plows through the bad guys with his fists, and yet that isn't enough. He is on the brink of becoming a murderer, a line he knows he shouldn't cross. He learns how to reframe it and deal with those injustices with ingenuity, creating other angles where before there were none.

Through the whole season he struggles being just a man in a mask, unable to figure out his role and how to affect the change he wishes to see. In the end he figures out how to stop those who perpetuate violence and suffering in a way that does not destroy him in the process. He raises the devil within and transforms it into unadulterated purpose and action, and becomes Daredevil, a symbol of hope for his community. He embodies the change he wishes to see in the world, and doesn't compromise his values. In the end he transforms from a man hiding behind his mask into Daredevil, the savior of people. It's really quite beautiful, and I highly recommend it. It is all streaming on Netflix, who produced the show as a "Netflix original."

I go into all this detail here because this is the most recent example of literature of a living planet, for me. It doesn't directly address ecology or the earth, but it addresses the very real and tangible struggle we all face. I face these issues through a social justice lens, as opposed to the land-based healing lens. I want to work with people and more diligently understand internal emotional processes, and so Daredevil does a perfect job of this for me.

Stories help us to digest the circumstances of our life. Metaphor has the ability to fit neatly to our unique perceptions and either tear them down, or validate them. Or both. It is a way for us to zoom out and perceive our life from a witnessing poise, a way to look at our life without being so wrapped up in it. These various forms of literature help me to zoom out. It's almost like we put on glasses that allow us to see through the lens of the author, allow us to look into our life through their perspective. It helps to discolor our perception and gain some objectivity about who we are and what we are doing here.

Powerful stuff. Thank you for listening!

Finding the Stage

Finding a Stage:

Creating Spaces for Action

Jesse Hindman

Prescott College

Spring 2015

It is some time around eleven o’clock, though the exact time eludes me. I’ve taken one too many drags off of a joint, feeling consumed by its effects. My body feels heavy, weighed down, and I find myself unable to stave off the convulsions of anxiety. My body and mind are overwhelmed – haunted – by the overarching questions of the era in which I live. 

Questions like: 

“How can I do my part to shift the destructive patterns of my society?” 

“What am I doing to contribute to these patterns?”

“Will we make it out of the ecological crises alive?”

And…

“What is my true purpose in this life?

These questions haunt me from within, but are also mirrored all around me, as I feel immobilized on the brown couch; I sit watching, listening to other seekers in discussion, standing before me while they elucidate their own answers to these difficult questions. My new-found friends Jeremiah Youngtree and Region Lewis are animated as they discuss their view of the world and their place in it. Due to the nature of my reality-bending experience, I am unable to completely follow their train of thought; their words slip through my grasp even as they are spoken. I feel a spectator, locked in my seat, witnessing the discussion unfolding; I am not a part of it. They cite grand philosophical gestures of the way the world is.

We are just outside of San Diego at the Jungle Palace, the old family house of a nursery, surrounded by hundreds of palm tree starts. The life flourishing around us is mirrored in the passionate discussion before me, creativity abounding. Two days ago, we banded together in our common pilgrimage to the Sheraton Hotel in San Diego to attend the second annual Permaculture Voices conference (PV2), and there is already more than enough fodder generated by the conference to bring rich discussion to this living room.

I feel inadequate as the discussion unfolds; I’ve smoked too much weed. There is tension within me; I know I have a lot to offer, and yet I am paralyzed. I cannot speak, self-doubt and worry drench my thoughts, disallowing me from generating the confidence needed to participate. There are strong, screaming voices within telling me that I have nothing to contribute, that I do not deserve the space to speak.

The voices overcome me.

I am literally shaking, anxiety crawling up my throat, constricting my words. The things my fellow truth-seekers are saying are so beautiful, and I am just beyond reach -- their only audience -- in the back row, viewing their glorious stage from obscurity.

Finally Jeremiah addresses some things that strike a chord; he begins to discuss the importance of acknowledging the grief that each human has for the destruction of the planet, begins to talk about creating contexts in which to feel this grief in order to understand more fully what it means to take action anyway. I already know well what he is saying: he articulates words I often speak; there is resonance, this is my chance!

I watch myself present my thoughts to Jeremiah, all the while my voices continue on inside of me juxtaposed: self-doubt and self-actualization happening simultaneously. Here is a tension between the two, my articulation generating forth as a result. The process reveals the true nature of my voices, showing the forces within me that would keep me silent, keep me obscured, disconnected.

I keep allowing the torrent to flow, the words I speak different than my internal reflections. All the times I’ve felt powerless come to mind, the times I’ve felt unable to participate in the movements I perceive to be worthwhile. My mind and my spoken words continue to be separate, different.

While attending PV2, I watched in awe as speakers climbed atop their stage—the stage that was set for them—to frame an activist’s plight in palatable terms. I took in the audience around me that traveled so far to be inspired, to engage, and ultimately develop ways they can actively participate.

As I sat in the audience of various keynotes throughout the conference, I took in the words being spoken and imagined what it means to find my own stage. I have attended a good deal of conferences and shows where I see incredibly inspirational speakers stand atop their stage, and yearn to have that opportunity myself.

Even though I know better, I fool myself into thinking it is easy for these people to manifest their stage, to manifest an audience on the edge of their seats. But of course these amazing speakers have done (and continue to do) a lot in their lives to gain the attention and the followers required for the stage to be set.

 

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

I want a real stage in which to share and inspire, but also want to develop the stage within, to operate and share with confidence. Finding my stage also means finding my place in the world, my function, a way to participate that feels aligned and engaging. I’ve lost my sense of self, and I avoid the pain. I have all the pieces, all the proverbial scrap wood, nails and tools to build my stage, but every time I try to lay out the blueprint, I get stuck.

I smoke pot and watch T.V.

 In the living room with Jeremiah, all of this coalesces within me. All of it condensed into my stoned processing, happening just behind the scenes as I articulate. I feel inclined to push past the “coffee shop revolutionary” phase and into one of real action. I am passionate about the food system in the United States, and its flaws. I am passionate about our economy and its inherent destructive principles. I see the flaws and yet I still participate in them, still wrapped up in the capitalist conditioning, trapped in a system that clearly no longer serves.

How do I come into loving acceptance of myself and my circumstances?

The THC continues to pulse through my veins, I’m cold. I wrap my hoodie closer to me, and continue to shake. I feel a special kind of paranoia, constricting my chest and incarcerating my spirit, while simultaneously the words I speak banish the disease of addiction, thrust me into who I’m meant to be. My intuition tells me there are ways of finding joy even in the darkest depths of an identity disenfranchised.

Where is the joy?

Jeremiah’s eyes light up; I read his body language; his heart opens.

How can I connect to it despite all the suffering of the earth and its inhabitants?

I stand, move closer, into more intimacy as our discussion unfolds.

How do I find joy without avoiding the pain?

We embrace, his long red hair pushed against my cheek.

How do I honor and acknowledge the pain while finding beauty?

We silently recognize the depth of wisdom in each of us.

I am being pushed through a threshold, the split between my immature, adolescent self, and the adult I’m becoming. As I turn 29 in a week, I reflect on this last year of depression. It has been an initiatory process, a rite of passage. I have overcome adversity enough in my life to understand its function, to know how it shapes me, how important it is. The stagnancy, the inertia pushes away from me, my life unfolds in the Great Turning. I am no longer a boy, and yet I am not quite a man. The tension pulls at me between these two spaces, the threshold pushing down on my crown just as my mother’s cervix did all those years ago. I feel the cool air on the other side, waiting for me to take my first breath.

I am discovering what it means for me to become a man.

The friends and speakers I met at the conference show me the way through this threshold by showing up in authenticity. They engage in conversation with me, they stand atop their stage orating powerfully. Their messages are rife with self-actualization, concrete action steps, and open-source ideas. They share what they share not just to inspire, but in hopes that other people will build upon what they have already constructed.

I may be lost but that loss proves my path.

My loss brings clarity, defines the contours, and illuminates the stones. I can see the prints of small animals etched in the dirt, a canopy of ferns, oak, and redwood towering above me.

I belong with these people, sharing, loving, laughing and connecting. This is where I thrive, this is my stage, it has been set all along; it's here beneath me, myopia preventing me from truly seeing. My stage is in the mingling with other powerful souls, deep in their process and responsible for their own healing.

The dark voices within still won’t cease, they tell me that I don't belong here, they are so powerful. I have no idea from where they come but they are so strong, so convincing. When I connect with the soul tribe—deeply compassionate and caring people—the voices are silenced, rendered obsolete.

Jeremiah and I embrace in the dimly-lit living room.

Our connection saves me.

Our hug disproves my self-doubt, calms my worrying mind. We let go, separate. He tells me my words resonate with his own journey, his own mission. He matches my passionate words with equally powerful statements, expressing a desire to work with me. He literally offers a stage, a way to articulate my philosophy, to begin the process of learning to inspire and educate a crowd. He has two projects already in mind. I am in motion.

The Permaculture Voices speakers go up and say the same thing they say to their wives, husbands, children, their colleagues, their students; they speak about their life and how they live it. It is not disconnected or theoretical. They offer concrete evidence of their work. Those I most admire – those that are a part of the true calling – teach not high on a pedestal but amongst their listeners. 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 on it, to respect the responsibility of being offered that space. I'm learning how to be impeccable with my words, not to waste anyone's time.

When I gather with fellow activists, I feel as if I am coming home. I am interacting with family, like there is a powerful recognition that I belong. This recognition is the key to our survival as both individuals and as a species: it is identifying soul-tribe. We gather with our tribe to draw strength, to love, and to support one another.

Each of us has the ability to create our own stage, and to formulate our performance atop it. We are all authors of this life, writing the literature of a living planet: the literature that lives within; the wisdom that stirs in the deepest, wildest parts of our selves; the literature of song, dance, poetry; the prose of a kiss for a lover; the pirouette in a gesture of gratitude; the thesis of a speaker on top of his stage; the iambic pentameter of a woman with a paintbrush.

My work is to inspire others to pick up the pen, and the mic. As I face my darkest fears, as I reconcile the parts of myself that don’t serve, I can still create beauty. I choose to show up, however I look. I choose to show up, even when I can’t stand. I will crawl up, and lie atop my stage if I have to. I commit to the living world, to the metamorphosis, I commit to the universal force, the propulsion of energy into the great, living planet.

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.

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?

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?