Syzygy
On representation of the commons.
I am the place in which something has occurred — Kathleen Raine
There is a river in Quebec, called Mutehekau Shipu, that was granted legal personhood in 2022. Standing beside it, Robert Macfarlane writes that he can’t help feeling a fundamental incommensurability between the discourse of “rights” and “standing” and this quicksilver being running three yards away from him.
The river, he concludes, is not a person, it is a God.
At one time or another, most of us have found ourselves standing beside something more alive than we can easily capture in mundane language. There is that moment when the light hits you at a certain angle and you don’t feel separate1. That thing that is there before you arrive, and will be there after you leave, and is not diminished by your leaving. The thing this law is trying to hold like so much water in its grasp.
I keep returning to Edgar Mitchell’s account of his return from the moon — looking back at Earth from beyond its sphere of influence, he found himself overwhelmed by an inner conviction as certain as any equation he’d ever solved: that this beautiful blue world is part of a living system, harmonious and whole, and that we all participate in a universe of consciousness.1
Mitchell was a trained engineer and astronaut, not predisposed to mysticism. But something about the impossible perspective broke the Cartesian spell. He came home and spent the rest of his life trying to reconcile the difference between what he’d experienced and what the institutions of his world were capable of understanding.
How do we reconcile the parallax of perception from a distance to the shortsighted view of global machinations at ground level?
At this moment we are living through a civilisational crisis which can best be described as collective nervous system dysregulation. The symptoms: global conflict, ecological breakdown, institutional capture, industrial strip-mining of attention, systematic enclosure of the commons. Power has concentrated to such extreme degrees that it defies comprehension, yet those wielding global-scale wealth and influence appear fundamentally incapable of addressing the existential necessities of life on Earth.
Democratic societies, in theory, are built on a set of interlocking protections: a free press to hold power to account, independent scientific institutions to establish what is verifiably true, legal frameworks to protect individual rights and dissent, and — the keystone of all of it — an informed citizenry capable of exercising critical judgment. These are not just pleasant ideals. They are the specific systems designed to prevent the concentration of power, the suppression of inconvenient truth, and the management of populations by manufactured consent.
What happens when those protective systems are themselves captured?
Not through dramatic coup, but through the slower, more mundane and arguably more effective process of institutional capture — the gradual colonisation of regulatory bodies, media organisations, academic institutions and public health authorities by the very interests those bodies were designed to hold in check. When the watchdog is fed by the entity it is supposed to watch, the behaviour adjusts accordingly. After all, who in their right mind bites the hand that feeds it? This is not conspiracy. It is incentive structure. It is how power has always worked, and it is documented in exhaustive, publicly available detail for anyone who cares to look.1
What is novel — and this is the part worth deliberating on — is the degree to which the mechanisms of protection have been inverted. The free press now routinely suppresses dissent on officially sanctioned topics. The scientific consensus is enforced rather than earned, with institutional consequences for those who question it, and these function more like heresy proceedings than peer review. Legal frameworks that were supposed to protect individual liberty have, with remarkable efficiency since at least 2001, been repurposed to manage and constrain it — and crucially, as noted at the height of the pandemic hysteria, these measures are never retracted after the emergency subsides.2 The emergency, it turns out, is permanent. Only its name changes.
You wake up
on your back
on the beach
eyes open
stars ablaze
bell clanking
rhythmically
sound of waves
lapping
gently
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
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, Esalen in particular, rooted deep in the intrinsic power of nature, held between mountain wilderness and vast 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 was a phenomenal meeting ground of, perhaps damaged, if curious, inventive, playful free spirits, seekers and characters of great heart and soul. 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 true and good, beautiful and transcendent.
Since then, that hallowed ground has, of course, become increasingly financially motivated, corporate driven, as is the wont of the world,
Were I able to capture
within this flimflam frame
all the majesty of light
and space, scintillating
across the oasis
before me now
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.
A man is grateful for his life, for the couple who brought him in
He is grateful for the land – plant creatures leaning in
For fragrance in the air – sweet earth, jasmine, cypress, sage
Life blooming in response, to his tender gaze
He is grateful for past loves, and all those who may follow
Those who taught true worth in the world, all a man need know
He is grateful for the pain, bearing resilience, depth and art;
For his young feline friends, romping in the grass
Gratitude for this freedom, yet far from manic crowds
To arise and slumber and work as called, by rhythm of the stars
This tender little morning rain, a dark desert sky
This and each and every day, blessed true am I
I am grateful for eccentric friends in orbits near and far
I am grateful for the song of earth, resonant in my heart
Sisters, brothers of many skins
Across oceans deep and blue
Thanks for our radiant sun, fast rivers, high mountains, moon
And you.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
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.
Bitcoin was born out of an extraordinary innovation to resolve the loss of faith in, and the failings of central banks, sovereign states and governments, after the economic collapse of 2008 in particular.
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

The Triumph of Eve by Scott Siedman
Artist FB page Neverwuz Productions
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!