Cardón dreaming
Sentinel silent standing
arms reaching
holding high green, fierce flower and thorn
bee and beetle tumbling, sun rock and sky
statuesque shadows lifting long
heat dazed quartz and shale
breathing, we dream
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Sentinel silent standing
arms reaching
holding high green, fierce flower and thorn
bee and beetle tumbling, sun rock and sky
statuesque shadows lifting long
heat dazed quartz and shale
breathing, we dream
Read More
Sliding along the length of your back
caressing high mountain meadows
long as the breeze
soaring, lost in the aroma
the wild flowers of your being
sunlight glinting
Big Sur, California, to Baja California Sur, Mexico
Elemental, nourishing, a retreat from the driven madness of the world, Big Sur, and Esalen in particular, rooted deep in the intrinsic power of nature, held between mountain wilderness and ocean, the redwood forests, the remote valleys, the oak lined ridges overlooking the Pacific. Esalen, on the green cliffs, the hot springs welling up from the deep… early 1960’s through early 2000’s, was a thing. Esalen itself was a phenomenal meeting ground of perhaps damaged, if curious and playful souls, seekers and characters of great heart and spirit. A wellspring. A degree of disfunction, as anywhere, a reflection of society, it’s various ills, and our variously twisted lives acted out in a safe place for reflection and growth, remote, held. Thus essentially good, true, beautiful, transcendent.
Since then that hallowed ground has, of course, become increasingly financially motivated, corporate driven,
Read MoreWere I able to capture
within this flimflam frame
all the majesty of light
and space, scintillating
across the oasis
before me now
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I am not really feeling it myself, and my friend Natalie doesn’t feel ready for what would be her first ceremony either, and we decide to let the idea go. So, we are sitting in Petite Leon café, meeting with a serendipitous group of enthusiastic plant experts from Mexico city, looking to collaborate in regenerative agriculture and medicinal plant cultivation here in El Pescadero. This is the beginning of something good. And in, out of the blue, pops English Iona. Infinitesimal probability of that happening by chance – time and space thing. She’s picking up Leah (name changed by request. One of the lauded Thirteen Grandmothers) on their way back from Los Cabos airport to La Paz. I see only the back of a little white haired lady, struggling a bit, to get into the back of Iona’s convertible white Mustang.
Read MoreA man is grateful for his life, for the couple who brought him in
He is grateful for the land – plant creatures leaning in
The fragrance in the air – sweet earth, jasmine, cypress, sage
Life blooming in response, to his tender gaze
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Dark, but let’s get real. On expatriate gentrification, in this instance, of Baja California, but could be Spain, Thailand, anywhere you like:
Natural borders – rivers and oceans;
political borders – economic and porous;
Privileged with dollars
we wonder across
the last frontier
aren’t we cool. Read More
On his way back to earth, having just walked on the moon, Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar Mitchell experienced a radical transformation in consciousness. As he approached our planet from beyond its sphere of influence, taking in the exquisite poise of earth, moon and sun gyrating about each other within a 360º panorama of stars,
‘he was filled with an inner conviction as certain as any mathematical equation he’d ever solved. He knew that the beautiful blue world to which he was returning, is part of a living system, harmonious and whole, and that we all participate, as he expressed it later, ‘in a universe of consciousness.’ *
Mitchell became aware that, despite science’s dazzling achievements, we had barely begun to probe the deepest mystery of the universe – the fact of consciousness itself.
“I realized that the story of ourselves as told by science, our cosmology, our religion, was incomplete and likely flawed. I recognized that the Newtonian idea of separate, independent, discrete things in the universe wasn’t a fully accurate description. What was needed was a new story of who we are and what we are capable of becoming.” *
Consider this idea. Space only exists when and where occupied by consciousness. Read More
Ever the irreverent rogue, defiant of establishment and death, there was my father, on the slow road. Nine lives cashed in, prostate cancer in remission, driving himself from his off-grid, country shack to dialysis in Palma, three times a week, until my younger brother Hieronymus (after Bosch, no less) had to confiscate his keys for driving faster than a man of his condition ought. The final year then, hospital bound, partial to the pain killers, he kept his own stash of fentanyl for self medication whenever he felt the calling. I tried it with him, for empathic, research purposes, the max strength inhaler – knock out gear. The same stuff that killed Prince, but not my old man. He was a rock n roller of the Kieth Richards calibre. The type that might do shots of embalming fluid before bed, courting death, yet living ablaze through opaque stretches of time, where the rest of their generation slip away, one by one. Keith and Lez, vampire crusaders. Yet time and death catch up with every man. It is the great equaliser.
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Having to pee three times a night is great for star gazing, especially when you live in a field in an oasis in the desert. And then there’s a full lunar eclipse. Gotta be cool, right! So I watch her rise, magnificent, low in the evening sky, sailing through the palms. Silhouetted, their skirts swish in the breeze. She leaves them and the mountains, and enters the open sky. There’s a cool glass of Chardonnay in my hand (from the Guadalupe valley. I like to imbibe local nectar of the gods whilst beholding celestial bodies.) It is delicious. I celebrate all the rich sensory beauty of this world.
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It was perhaps an inevitability, given that I am currently living in an old trailer in a dark field with an obfuscating hedgerow adjacent, perfect for a little bandit to make away with my new TV and silver flute and the lovely pineapple I had been ripening. It’s a poor country. The little shit took my Kindle amongst the other items loaded into the royal blue wheelbarrow and carted off. I followed his footprints and my wheelbarrow tire tracks in the morning, through the fields and up the road. He started ordering books through my linked amazon account. At least the fucker can read, but Read More
They left
I felt their absence every day
The curious thrill of knowing, there is this thriving
silent throng of dangerous
vital existence
right outside my door
I missed that life force.Read More
I’m sitting here with a cuppa in the early morning sun in my field in BCS. I’m taking in the expanse of tall shimmering palms, stretching out towards the jagged mountain ridges that divide this primal peninsula.
There’s a swarm of bees hanging low, 5 meters away from my little trailer home here. I have been watching them morph slowly over a week as they come and go, presumable scouting for a new home.Read More
Right, so this little sojourn, to which you are invited, is predicated on the ongoing exploration of the idea that there are two fundamental forces in the universe, namely fear, (withdrawal) and love, (expansion) and that we get to chose in which direction we lean each and every moment, mid pandemia or otherwise. Like every day, all the time. (There is a third principle concerning power/greed, but that’s perhaps more anthropocentric and less universal and I’m not going there.)
You cool with that?
Then we shall begin.
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What ever you’re doing – stop. Close your eyes, listen…
The idea of arresting increasing climate related disaster was recently taken up by the Extinction Rebellion (XR) movement in the UK. XR represent a confrontational if disruptive demand to hold government accountable for the denial or dallying of their roles in practices shown to disrupt climate stability. Greenpeace, NRDC, and countless other environmental and humanitarian organisations across the globe have continued their efforts to hold industry and government to account since the 1840’s. Read More
What’s not to love about a little love poem ; )
Waiting
impatiently to savour
the smokey taste
tobacco wine chocolate dark
traveller’s lips upon mine softly
once more to hear that husky voice
chattering like water coursing across
mossy mountain rocks singing
the delirious song of being
into my soul under my skin waiting Read More
After an especially dark and internal winter, the light of new creativity and power have been welling up from within those murky depths, the looming horizon becomes present, the Phoenix rises – it must be spring! Here’s a graphic to honour the phenomenon.
I had forgotten how completely and utterly fucking nuts India is. It’s so scuzzy and chaotic you still can’t believe it. But vibrant, colourful and exotic like nowhere else. Hop on your moped and into the foray and it’s adrenalin carnival all the way… Read More
Found this artwork in centre camp at burning man a few years ago (tracked down the artist through the playa vine for attribution) then stumbled across this poem and thought… they belong together!
Wearing nothing but snakeskin
boots, I blazed a footpath, the first
radical road out of that old kingdom
toward a new unknown.
When I came to those great flaming gates
of burning gold,
I stood alone in terror at the threshold
between Paradise and Earth… Read More
Our one world, will be saved by beauty
when we remember, how to see
with the eyes of a child
into the golden heart, of every living thing.
We will feel deeply
the earthly memories
etched into the mountains of home
the forgetfulness in the oceans heave, the forgiving Read More
reflections after watching the haunting film of the same name.
Just as an individual person dreams fantastic happenings to release the inner forces which cannot be encompassed by ordinary events, so too a city needs its dreams.
is the seminal (1977) work of architect Christopher Alexander et al. describing a functional system to meet humanistic needs in the design of buildings, the urban environment and vital community.
Pattern number 58 “Carnival” is a prescient and perfect description of what has organically arisen as the ephemeral Black Rock City – otherwise known as Burning Man!
On his way back to Earth, having just walked on the moon, Apollo 14 astronaut Edgar Mitchell experienced a radical transformation in perspective and thus consciousness. As he approached our planet from beyond it’s sphere of influence, “he was filled with an inner conviction as certain as any mathematical equation he’d ever solved. He knew that the beautiful blue world to which he was returning is part of a living system, harmonious and whole—and that we all participate, as he expressed it later, “in a universe of consciousness.”
Consider this: there can be no omniscient, impartial chronicler of history, culture or identity – it is all subjective. Accepting this on the cultural scale has been a tremendous liberation as I understood that my people, my city, my country, the English speaking world, are not necessarily better. There are of course no “chosen” people anywhere and indeed, my spiritual beliefs are equal to any other aspirant of the divine whether Christian, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Pantheist, Shamanic cosmologist, or astronomer on the road to awe. Read More
This morning, through the twilight, the sound of lovemaking enters me through the open window – such an arousing, hauntingly beautiful sound – a sound that could heal the world. Strange though… whenever this ardent song strays on the breeze, it’s only ever that of the woman I hear, never the man lost in his own rapture. What’s up with that fellas?
Lithe bodied, we dance tall
swaying arcs of verdure leaning
into curved mists of space and aeons
as heaving earth-body
pulsing in tune, exultant
sun, sultry moon
we sink our roots, feeling
deep around you, and swirl
with wind, and stars reaching, we rise
upon the long song, of creation. Read More
letting all the deep
rivers of the world – rush in /
cracking open the quartz prism
of your being – you surrendered
– you no longer had a choice Read More