The sum of all actions that have ever taken place and are constantly coming to fruition in the aggregate Event called Humanity lingers on the brink.
In the time in between, things are seen which rarely get seen. Before and after create an edge where energies and entities from both conspire to give birth to now, where the illusion of confusion surrenders to the peaceful warrior, aware that there is no Other.
And we watch as Before fades leaving little hope, and After, waiting in the wings is but a ghostly blur in the dark with barely a thing to say. Routine guides us. Turmoil derides us. Helping hands gratefully received, if we can reach out. If we can clear the fear. If, between the drowned out, we can hear the heart.
Spoon fed conflict. A diet of division and class. Grass fed loathing. Master, Kiss my ass.
Every culture offers a flavor unique. A silk in the tapestry of human life that stands on its own while being completely integrated. It is like the pot of soup/stew that never runs out. Ingredients, old and new, added and taken away as needed.
Imagine, if you will, a giant cauldron sitting on a bed of glowing embers, maintained by the creative heat generated by like minded everywhere. Simmering away is this soup/stew paying homage to the flavors, scents and textures of all the worlds cultures. A blend of rich herbs and spices swirling through the simmer with oil slick shimmer from sesame, olive and avocado. There's a few fish heads bobbing around with carrots and potatoes rubbing shoulders with shark meat and kosher vegan matzo balls. Seaweed swims about while sago worm grubs puff up with broth next to pork, veal and beef meatballs. What looks like an oil spill is really just a vast patch of mole sauce, in the event you brought your burrito net.
Its all swirling slowly, dancing flavors changing partners. And over there, do my eyes deceive me, or are those peyote buttons bobbing around.
One can book a trip to the Cauldron of Humanity, and for a specified price, and for a specified time, can gather the essence of all cultures in a ladle full of broth and a basket full of eclectic edibles. Saw an Indonesian guy net a bunch of kangkong, cover it with a pile of sago grubs and Italian sausage and smothered it in Bearnaise which he scooped from the simmering sauce pond.
Some of humanity would stand on the walkway circumventing the cauldron, take a look, have a sniff and exclaim, "no fuckin' way." Many others would tingle with the chance to get a bit strange, at which point a strange thing happens. Flavors invoke sights and sounds, textures bring visions of landscapes, and scents transport one to the village center where another cauldron awaits. The anthropologist within awakens and wants to know more. More about the cultures that embrace his senses. More about feeling connected. More about common ground. A patchwork of paradox revealing patterns of possibility.
In the time in between, things are seen that rarely get seen. Chicken heads adorn the ground while sideshow geeks strut around, bloody grin beckoning. Hard to look away. Even harder to stay. Escape velocity requires the combination of genuine disgust with loving it all. Therein lies the awareness that there is no Other. Uniting and divided are but trunk and branches. Seamless.
Seamless also describes a mango season unique to the 35 year history of the Rancho, in that there was no cessation in flowering and fruitset thru 2020. Normally mangoes flower four or five times between December and April, after which they would do the work of plumping up. They are now flowering for the 2021 season.
Intuition whispers, "it's a combination of magnetic north drift, small incremental temperature increase and moving through an edgy part of the galaxy." Add to that, layer upon layer of existing electromagnetic technology fuzzing things up (see Invisible Rainbow), the unseen soup in which we swim and alien shenanigans, why a fella or gal might just get confused and distraught without really knowing why.
Now, if I were a mango tree sipping the soup, I'd just keep flowering away so as to avoid, for as long as possible, the looming extinction event insinuating itself throughout the ecosystems of this gem of an orb. The universe is made up of electrons, protons, neutrons and morons.
And at last, the Relaxzo bored of directors has seen fit to award me with the honorary title of Master Mango Squeezer. As far as I know, the first in the history of the world. This title was bestowed because, using the finest German sensing equipment I was able to distinguish between the softness of two ripening mangoes to within 13 nanograms of pressure.
The other day, I got an offer, for when I become too old to scramble up trees and schlep 40 lb. buckets of fruit, to work as a breast implant tester, calibrating the product to suit the needs of the client to a wet tee shirt. 47 categories from floaty to firm. I do believe I'm up to the challenge. There will, of course be a human control group.
Maui folk can check the "food" tab to see what we have to offer. We also ship to the mainland and three continents in defiance of our growing carbon footprint and in the interest of supporting neoliberal capitalist dictates which will eventually allow me to join the cantillionairs on Mars colony Nova. So long suckers. There, I said it.
The more you show, the more we'll grow. Peace, Jp
December 11th, 2020 | 
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