Archive for December, 2014

Happy New Year?

O.k., lets take a closer look at this bit of mindless programming and go for an upgrade, because what we say has consequences. In this case, “happy” is being used in the context of the opposite of “sad” because it would be rude to say, Sad New Year, have a fuckin’ sad new year ya dickheads.

But wait. In the interest of the great spirit maintaining balance in the multiverse we find that the consequence of endless repetition of this epithet is the creation of a cloud of Sad rivaling the Delaware size cloud of methane discovered in the south west u.s..

This is “Sad” with no place to call home. Sad without a cause. Sad because a bunch of knuckleheads are throwing happy around  like burgers on a barbeque without a thought for unintended outcomes, as if its gonna make happy actually happen.

So this ominous cloud of sad will continue to grow until, at midnight the world round it will resemble the financial bubble of ’08 and like some collective tumescent outpouring find its way, by Demonvector (pat. pend.) into the hearts of people whose lives are touched by a gentle and natural way of coexistence, so of course deserve to be enshrined in sadness while the “civilized” world celebrates yet another illusion. Happy new year suckers, have fun walking twenty miles to score some drinking water.

On to “New Year”. This one implies that we’re gonna wake up to all our clothes washed and pressed and smelling like the crown of a babies head, with a brand spanking clean slate to systematically fuck up in the weeks to come. What a magical way to think.

The only thing “new” about the year is numerological by nature, in that we go from a seven (2+0+1+4) to and eight (2+0+1+5). In the western mystical tradition this is a shift from the sphere of Venus to the sphere of Mercury, from the pillar of mercy to the pillar of severity, from emotion to thought from victory to glory. That’s the kind of info I tend to fill my pipe with before smokin’ it because that sort of shift can be profound and deserves a reflective puff.

The path that joins these two spheres is attributed to the hebrew letter “Peh” meaning exciting intelligence. The path is also characterized by the Tower card in the Tarot, by the planet Mars and by the element Fire.

Make of this what you will. Its a roots kind of thing.

My take on an upgrade would go something like, “wishing you a safe entry into a homeostatic state of being”. Don’t really even need a new year to pass that one on. It is a sentiment which leaves no footprint but suggests the possibility of a life unruffled, calm, peaceful and fulfilled. A self perpetuating process of increasing balance from which wisdom emanates and compassion for the condition is all embracing.

So, I’ll see your Happy and raise you a Homeoecstatic state of being.

Other than that, i can honestly report that the “year” didn’t suck all that bad in spite of the usual array of mind boggling, huh what and are you fucking kidding me moments. My intent is to use the entirely of my will to make the upcoming time period suck even less and possibly have that spill over into a parallel universe.

Lately as this wondrous journey takes me more deeply into the life of the farm as organism, I feel increasingly like my interaction with the vitality and spirit of the flora and fauna is becoming more of a two way street.

Mostly, as I go about my daily designer/observer rounds I have a growing sense of being watched and even “talked” about. Its not entirely demeaning although there is a lot of what i have come to know as sniggering going on. Now, i’m gonna go on record as saying that the white sapotes are the biggest gossips and think of me as lame. The avo’s are a wizened group and think of me as giving it the ol’ college try. The mangoes don’t know what to think. Beautiful fruit, but a bit short on imagination. I’ve been encouraging them to just let it out, see what happens.

This morning, I paused in my wanderings to think about the seamless perfection that one witnesses when looking at an ecosystem approaching climax state. Everything working together. No wasted energy. Able to leap tall buildings in a single bound, and I thought, wouldn’t it be hysterical if human language, rather than being the thing that distinguishes us and makes us the pinnacle of evolution was something that the plant world decided we needed to attempt to keep up with the wonder of existence. So they sent out a squad of mushrooms and taught us how to speak, hoping one day we would see there’s no need. I got eyes. Amen

Here’s a thought. Don’t hear about it much, but population is central to all other issues. If we were conscious enough, within two generations, we could cut the population in half without war, starvation, genocide, ravaging diseases etc. and  everyone could still know the joys and heartaches of raising a kid. Do the math. One family, one kid.

One last thing. Many moons ago I remember reading about a series of experiments involving plants hooked up to galvanic skin response type devices. There was conclusive evidence that the plants had feeling that could even be transmitted long distances and through solid objects, especially in the case of trauma inducing stimulants.

Just read a study the other day concluding that plants “know” when they are being eaten.  So I think about industrial chickens, crammed into cages, under lights, laying their lives away or going to slaughter in weeks, and I think about untold rows of greens and root crops and herbs, packed in to optimize profit and utilize space efficiently. Fed far more than the same plant grown in the wild would require and often harvested by soulless machinery.

I’ve done the chicken deal. Know the feelings, find the balance and thankful for vital food. Don’t think the chicken knows when its being eaten. Could be wrong but i’ve eviscerated enough of ’em to know dead is dead.

Don’t really get the Vegan perspective. Respect, but think it through. Thankful trumps biased.

Have yourselves a homeoecstatic thingy.

The more you show, the more we’ll grow. Peace, Jp

p.s. hands down, hero of the year. Groot

 

 

Who knows, who cares?

Awhile back, one of the rock cornish crosses (meat birds) came up lame and was sent to the infirmary. No need for insurance. Animals at the rancho are fully covered, however the treatment usually consists of checking every day to see if its croaked yet. Disabled though she was, her apparent discombobulated state began to stabilize and she became one of the lucky few, allowed to roam the grounds as if they owned the joint.

Joined by the grand matron of rangers, Beatrice, and a brace of goofy ducks, she got into the swing of things right quick. Everything was going along nicely with the usual entertaining pecking order antics and food fights until it became apparent that she was in fact a he. The comb got all big li dat  and the body stay like one basketball, brah. As the plumage developed and he found his voice, it was clear that this fella was going to be enormous.

There really is no way to discourage a rooster from crowing. Its like trying to hold a fart that passed the point of no return a while back. So i sat with him from time to time, and as he nibbled lay pellets from my hand we chatted about his fate. I explained to him that a “no rooster” rule existed in the hood and it would become increasingly annoying if he were to stay on.

He turned broadside to me and, tilting his head slightly he gave me the one eyed stare. He then did a little walking in place shuffle as if he were about to say something. I’ve seen and studied this behavior a thousand times before, along with the attendant voiceings of various levels of concern in the traditional “Peh-kawking” language. Best I could tell he was pretty much saying WTF over and over again.

So he comes up to me the other day and pecks out a morse code message on the palm of my hand wanting to know what his options are. Now keep in mind that its very refreshing talking fowl because there is really no agenda, only the assimilation of information and the formulation of a plan.

I laid it out for him. (a) I defy my own rule and keep him tucked away in a semi secluded spot where his morning ritual is only mildly annoying, (b) I take him out Kahikinui way and drop him in a green zone, (c) I pawn him off on someone who falls in love with him because, stud muffin, (d) I bind and gag him and leave him in Grime’s bed or (e) I cook him up for christmas all wrapped  in bacon.

Now I know that this was a lot to consider and that there was no guarantee that he would get his way, but without hesitation he “said”, Eat Me.

To be honest, I wasn’t quite sure how to take that. He saw my confusion and ended it by tucking his head under his wing, lying flat on his back and sticking his legs strait up in the air.

This took me by surprise, but what he managed to get across to me in his pleadings was that he absolutely Loved the smell of bacon and how it felt when rubbed on his body. Hard to argue with that logic.

As you can well image we were now locked into each other in a kind of meat bird mind meld and that I would be traversing realms hitherto unavailable to the human psyche.

He said he was kidding about the bacon thing and that reality for him was to follow the overpowering urge way deep down, to be the best meal he could be. I actually started to tear up. How simply beautiful, genuine, matter of fact and in the moment of him. We let the silence generated pour over us.

After awhile I looked at him and thought, how can you be so certain of the best path? He said, all the options offered have their virtues but ones calling cannot be denied and if it is, it will come around again. So now, the chicken that had been referred to as Brutus, Hercules, Flash Mob and Bowling ball has turned into Ramakrishna.

Then, he grabbed my brain and in flowed this: one can embrace life or turn from it, either way brings lessons, but to drift in life, to say “who KNOWS, who CARES” is to gather the dust of apathy in ones hands, sprinkle it in ones eyes while claiming to see clearly.

So now, the hair on the back of my body is standing up and I’m feeling behind my ears to find the implant. Make it a meditation, make it a meditation, make it a meditation. Apathy to compassion, apathy to compassion. No longer who KNOWS, who CARES,  but                 WHO knows, WHO cares. Find THAT fucker and you’re home free.

He followed me into that moment of peace and silent knowing. Finally he “said” to me, cook me up with bacon and plenty of salt and butter too, but please don’t cook me with any carrots, potatoes or onions. Why, asked I. Because I can’t stand the sound of their screams when the temperature passes two fifty, says he.

On dancer,on prancer, on donner, on blixen. On moonshine, on gummy bears, on pork rinds, can’t fix em.

I don’t know about you, But…………..

The more you show, the more we’ll grow. Peace, Jp

 

 

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