tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-72805763986151724602024-03-13T04:56:58.297-06:00Where Simplicity Leads...the Pathway to a Brave New Paradigm. Exploring voluntary simplicity as a way of transcending the now-global paradigm of conspicuous consumption...reaching for simplicity's deepest teachings and envisioning a positive, sustainable future for ourselves and the planet. What might the future look like for us when, as a species, we've matured beyond materialism? Who might we become?Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.comBlogger66125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-37024524793539078442013-11-06T05:52:00.000-07:002014-01-07T08:57:57.876-07:00Why Does the Bicameral Mind Theory Still Appeal?In the spring I read Iain McGilchrist’s exceptional book, <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/The-Master-His-Emissary-Divided/dp/0300188374" target="_blank">The Master and His Emissary</a></em>, about the right brain/left brain divide and its implications throughout the span of Western history. It has helped me reframe some of my theories about human consciousness and gain a somewhat tweaked perspective. I’ll be writing more about that later.
<br />
<br />
After finishing the book, I then felt I ought to read Julian Jaynes’ 1976 book <em><a href="http://www.amazon.com/Origin-Consciousness-Breakdown-Bicameral-Mind/dp/0618057072/ref=sr_1_1?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1383760900&sr=1-1&keywords=bicameral+mind" target="_blank">The Origin of Consciousness in the Breakdown of the Bicameral Mind</a></em>, just to get a contrary perspective. It sounded pretty hokey to me, his theory that in essentially Old Testament times the right brain and left brain were unable to communicate directly with one another, and so any time the right brain communicated it could only be perceived by the left brain as hallucinated voices, coming from outside of oneself and issuing forth from the gods. According to Jaynes, in that late Bronze Age period we were unconscious beings, possessing no self-awareness, and were only able to act in the world by mindlessly, zombie-like, following the commands of the gods.<br />
<br />
Now I’m an avid reader, at times wolfing down two, three, or four books in a single week, but oh my this book was different. It was sheer torture, in the end taking me five or six months to get through it. Any time <em><strong>any</strong></em> other book came along I set this one aside, so ten or twelve other books were thoroughly digested between reading the first and last sentences of this one. Truly a miserable experience. I thought many times about giving up but I felt it was important for me to be able to say I’ve read it. Why? Because I’ve encountered quite a few otherwise intelligent people who absolutely revere this book (which to me has been quite baffling) and I wanted to be able to debate the merits (or demerits) of the book should the topic ever come up again.<br />
<br />
Having finished it I think I have it partly figured out. I can see how in its time it must have been earth-shattering, paradigm-shifting, and quite revolutionary for people. It seems ridiculous to be saying we need to put something that was written less than forty years ago into its proper historical perspective, but we do. Times were different then. We’ve changed and learned. I suspect that many people read this book once, when it first came out, and were changed by it. They no longer remember the specific details of it (and therefore don’t know how absurd it is in light of what we now know) but instead just carry the positive memory of how they were changed by it, how it helped them escape an old paradigm that had become too small to fit them.<br />
<br />
My take on Jaynes is that he wrote this book not so much to develop a new theory of consciousness as to debunk Judeao-Christian mythology. His theory of consciousness was just a convenient way to say, <em>Your gods aren’t real; they’re essentially figments of your imagination. </em>And that needed to be said at that particular historical moment. Those of us who were born into and grew up in the 20th century were confronted with a rather schizoid culture. As children, most of us of European and North American heritage were dutifully dragged off to religious services every week. We were steeped in fabulous stories presented as Truth—six day creations and virgin births and a god who could speak from a burning bush and part an entire sea. At the same time we went to schools and then colleges that taught the scientific method, that were objective and thoroughly rational. We learned about evolution and DNA and the Big Bang theory. <em>Talk about cognitive dissonance!</em> Two truths, each totally at odds with the other. And no one had ever so effectively tried to reconcile those opposing truths (at least not in the popular culture) before Jaynes. Before Jaynes, many people had never questioned the incongruency of the two worlds they inhabited. Those worlds <em>should</em> have been mutually exclusive—you believe one truth <em><u>or</u></em> you believe the other. Instead, people compartmentalized their lives in a very schizoid way. They believed the science at work or school, <em><u>and</u></em> they believed the religious mythology at church and in their private lives. Jaynes helped many people realize, <em>Hey, this just doesn’t work. </em>It doesn’t matter much that his theory was pure nonsense, only that it helped a lot of people bring to awareness and acknowledge the cognitive dissonance they had (mostly unconsciously) been struggling with. Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-62829977852797032972013-10-18T08:52:00.000-06:002014-01-07T08:58:07.041-07:00Inner ConflictI’m struggling with several things in my daily life. One is how much information I allow in. I’ve written about this before, several years ago, when I gave up the newspaper and decided I didn’t need to be informed about every little thing going on in the larger world, but there’s been some serious backsliding since then. I go through periods of addiction to information on the internet.The serious research does me no harm, when I’m on the trail of a new idea and I’m trying to pull the pieces together. It’s the time wasted on newsfeeds (of dubious quality) and yahoo groups and even high quality blogs and forums that causes problems for me. When I look critically at the vast amount of information I regularly hoover up, none of it has added anything of value to my life. It hasn’t changed who I am or how I act in the world. Changes for me come from following leads that come to me based on where I’m at in the world at any moment—my own leads, the intuitive ones that come from being present, from being fully here on this spot on this planet. That’s the only thing that gets me anywhere. <br />
<br />
I know this, yet I go through these periods of information addiction, one I cure myself of only to slide back into before I know it. Yesterday I got angry enough to delete all of my bookmarks for news sites and all of my subscriptions to yahoo groups. In the past I’ve deleted feeds to my favorite blogs and quit visiting forums. I haven’t participated in social networks for several years. The addiction always seems to return however. I don’t know why that is—why don’t I want to stay fully in the moment? There’s so much to explore by staying open to this moment and it’s the only way I know of to get to novel insights and solutions. Is it just laziness?<br />
<br />
Somewhat related is my need to be a hermit. Perhaps it’s an over-reaction to the superficial connections the internet encourages, but for the past few years I’ve had an intense need to limit my contact with other people. I do fine with real live people in my real live world, but unless someone is right here face-to-face with me they fall off my radar. Much as I care about and love a lot of people who live at a distance to me and much as I’m stimulated by emails with folks I don’t personally know but who share similar ideas and ideals with me, I just can’t carry on conversations at a distance anymore. It seems like I’m way overcompensating for living in a much too connected world. Yet I do believe I should limit how many relationships I have so I can deepen the ones I do have, just like I should limit the information I allow in so I can focus on what’s truly relevant.<br />
<br />
I think the reason this causes me conflict is because at heart what I’ve really been drawn to do for the past several years is an experiment with being a total hermit. I mean going off somewhere and having absolutely no contact with the human race for several years, apprenticing with the land. Intuitively I feel there are powerful things for me to learn by doing so. Yet it’s something realistically I’m never going to do. Instead I’ve pulled back as much as possible from human interactions so I can at least get a small taste of what my soul is craving. This has to be the solution for me anyway—living on the fringes of human society, so I’m able to dip into the world of human interaction and relationship while mostly immersing myself in those other powers and relationships residing in the more-than-human world.<br />
<br />
My writer’s block fits in somewhere here too, I think. I want to communicate, but taking the time to put my thoughts on paper (or online) takes me out of being right here, which is where I really need to be. When I tried to tell the story of my time in PA on this blog I failed because to me that story was already old news. It was stale. I had already incorporated the lessons learned through that experience and had built on it and was on to a new level of understanding. I bog down trying to tell an old story. I have to speak from my present where the story is still vibrating with energy. I think I still may be able to get the tale of my time in PA told, (and it’s important to me to do so because I learned some really valuable things) but the tale may be told in bits and pieces over many new posts, as each tidbit becomes relevant to a current discussion.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-4885034198576155952013-02-13T13:17:00.000-07:002013-02-13T13:17:00.149-07:00What Filled the Emptiness
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I found the first few weeks at my childhood home in
Pennsylvania to be a period of adaptation. Initially I felt quite disoriented
and out of sorts. All of my usual routines and habits were either gone or rearranged.
I was in a lush, three-dimensional landscape after years on the flat, dry
plains of eastern Colorado. I was in a densely populated and built-out state
after years surrounded by empty and wide-open spaces. And I was surrounded by
people after living a semi-eremitic lifestyle for six years. On top of that, I
was again immersed in the sleepy, hypnotic energy of the land that birthed me,
after a twenty-four year absence. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">And</i>
I no longer had any grounded, physical work to do, not even a garden or critters
to tend to.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">It was too much change too fast and it agitated me
at first, but I did at least recognize my agitation was only a symptom of the
true malaise—being forced to confront that frightening thing called emptiness.
And I knew from past experience that into emptiness something will always flow.
So I waited to see what would present itself.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The first thing seemed innocent enough. It was just
the thought that, hey, here in this lush abundant place I might want to really
get to know all of the wild herbs growing here. I’ve been interested in
herbalism since my college days (when I grew a few potted herbs and loved to
take walks in fields full of yarrow and tansy and goldenrod, and to pick wild
strawberries that grew in some of Penn State’s gorgeous pastures). Later, in
Colorado I discovered that in order to feel I belonged to my particular spot on
earth, I had to get to know the plants that grew there. When most of the plants
were foreign to me I felt like I was a stranger in a strange land. To address
that, in the last few years in Colorado I had begun to get to know some of the
plants that had previously been strangers to me. My part of Colorado was high
desert, however, and its biodiversity was paltry compared to that of
Pennsylvania, so Pennsylvania presented the perfect opportunity for me to take
my plant knowledge to a new level.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The abandoned pasture next to my parent’s property
was the perfect place to start. It was about halfway through the process of
succeeding from well-cropped pasture back to forest again. There had always
been a fair amount of trees in there, but now the open places were sprinkled
with young spruces and some other trees. The bulk of the pasture was a tangled
mass of raspberry and blackberry thickets and huge stands of wild roses. I
began to take forays in there and to learn to identify the plants. Some I
already knew from childhood: poison ivy, black locust, sassafras, queen anne’s
lace, daisies, self-heal, goldenrod, clover, buttercups, wood sorrel,
black-eyed susans, and so on. But many I had never learned to identify: ironweed,
Joe-Pye weed, boneset, St. John’s wort, lobelia, dogbane, crown vetch,
pinkweed, virgin’s bower, pokeweed, etc. As summer progressed the list of
plants I could identify grew longer and longer. And of course I didn’t confine
myself to that one small pasture. I was roaming all over the place and
discovering new plants in need of identification everywhere I went.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">By acting on this one little inkling to get to know
the plants, I immediately began to ground myself. My sense of agitation faded
away because I had something important to do, something physical that connected
me with my environment.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">But not only did I study plants, I also nibbled on
plants, rubbed myself with plants (poison ivy—inadvertently--and
jewelweed--intentionally), sniffed plants, got stung by plants (nettles), dug
roots (burdock), made twine out of plants (dogbane), hung plants in the attic
to dry, made tea out of plants, cooked with plants, fermented plants, snoozed
on top of plants, climbed trees, swung from vines, and more or less interacted
with plants in every way imaginable.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Plants also began visiting me in my dreams and
communicating with me. Poison ivy was one such visitor—a very gentle, feminine
being who apparently plays some sort of caretaking role in the forest. Poison
ivy was everywhere I went, covering the ground at the forest edges and vining
up trees.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I noticed that although she
twined up many trees, the thickest and most ancient vines seemed to be on the
black locust trees. Perhaps it was because locust trees are legumes and fix
atmospheric nitrogen—maybe she chose to parasitize the locusts in order to get
that “fix” of nitrogen. But staring one day at the gorgeous vines, with their
thousands upon thousands of aerial root hairs digging into the warm brown bark
of a black locust tree, a flash of insight came to me. She wasn’t a parasite.
These two species were linked up intentionally and symbiotically. The thing
they were sharing, however, will never be measured by science—they were linking
consciousness. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I got the sense of the consciousness of the forest
and plants in other ways too. On my walks up the back road I would often pause
to look at a huge dying maple tree, its trunk emerging from the forest floor
twenty feet below me and its canopy towering high above me. I remember this
tree from childhood and loved it then too, but in childhood I had never noticed
a peculiar thing that happened when I was in its presence. Here is what I wrote
in my journal the first time I noticed it:<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">The other experience was two nights ago on a walk
up the road. It was a gorgeous evening and there was an amazing quality to the
sunlight. A doe passed twenty feet from me without noticing me. As I continued
up the road I stopped here and there to admire specific trees, particularly the
very old specimens (fortunately no one has logged this part of the woods). I
stood for awhile admiring one huge tree growing from the forest floor below me
and towering high above me.<o:p></o:p></span></blockquote>
</div>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">I stood there just in awe, taking its presence in,
then finally started walking up the road again. But I only got a few steps
before I realized—my hands were just buzzing with energy! I felt such power
coursing through me, but especially through my hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>What’s this? All of a sudden it hit me—it was
the tree. I went back and felt the power moving through me, and something
immense, and an emotion like the deepest grief or beauty or love. And the sense
of dignity and wisdom and deep, aching memory.<o:p></o:p></span></span></blockquote>
<blockquote class="tr_bq">
<span style="font-family: Times, "Times New Roman", serif;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;">And some inkling I can’t yet put into words—about
the earth under the tree, and the sky, and the tree being a tower of water,
pulling earth energies up to meet the sky. And where I stood I was in this
powerful force-field created by that linking of elements. And the tree was not
a mere conduit but a conscious being, and the linking of earth below and sky
above was an exchange of information. And the tree was an individual, but <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>not only</u></i>—it was much more this <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><u>something bigger</u></i>, this greater
field.</span></span></blockquote>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I continued to have this experience every time I passed
the tree. At first I tried to find a rational explanation. The road began to
steepen significantly shortly before I passed the tree. I thought perhaps the
buzzing in my hands was just due to increased circulation because my heart had
to pump harder to power up the hill. But I easily disproved that, because my
hands would buzz even on the downhill journey and they would buzz when I was
just hanging out in that general area and happened too close to the tree, and
they would buzz when I moseyed and ambled my way slowly up the hill without
getting my heart rate up. In the end I gave up trying to be rational about it
and moved into that other, nonlinear way of being and perceiving, letting it
become part of the myth and story of the land that was beginning to unfold for me.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I spent considerable time with that tree, sometimes
clambering down the road bank to hug and sit with it (and get eaten alive by
mosquitoes down there). Besides the feeling I had of being in a powerful
force-field when I was near it, my other strong feeling was that this maple
tree (and I believe all maple trees) <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">really</i>
love human beings and feel protective and parental towards us. This was totally
counterintuitive for me. We’re an awful species, we have utterly no respect for
any part of the natural world, so how could any tree (or any living thing for
that matter), feel love or regard for our species? In my mind, the plant and
animal kingdoms should prefer us gone from this planet, and good riddance! <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="border-color: currentColor currentColor windowtext; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1.5pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext 1.5pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I also thought I sensed
a lot of sadness and that we’ve been missed, because we no longer choose to
have relationships with the maple trees. It seems they <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">want</i> to link consciousness with us, and like the poison ivy and the
black locust tree, the sum of that connection would be greater than the parts.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span></div>
Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-21549392237829233062013-02-10T13:05:00.001-07:002013-02-10T13:05:19.817-07:00Nature and Human Potential<br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><o:p><span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Each of us is on a different journey through life,
taking widely disparate paths and learning wildly different lessons along the
way. Some people seem born to live their lives bathed in the spotlight and to
be the movers and shakers of the world. Others of us take quieter, more
contemplative paths. But every life seems to have its own internal coherence, a
just-rightness about the path taken, even though it may have many convoluted
turns and unimagined obstacles along the way. <o:p></o:p></span></span></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Verdana","sans-serif"; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">When I look over my own life I can identify a few
overarching themes--coherences that have been with me since childhood. One of
those has to do with the importance of the natural world, the necessity for me
to be rooted to a particular place, the need to be a participant in my local
ecosystem. Looking back over my life I can see how, along the way, I have
always been seeking this--always trying to mold my life so I can have a deep
relationship with the more-than-human world. It has been such a visceral, vital
need for me, as if my very life depended on it (and, actually, I believe it
does).<o:p></o:p></span></span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The other major theme revolves around human
potential, what I’ve called my quest to be “fully human”. At fifteen I knelt at
my bedroom window one night, looking out through the dark and the fog at the
graceful old maple tree at the end of the driveway, and I prayed that my life
be given over to the quest for wisdom. It was the most earnest thing I had ever
prayed or wished for, so earnest that I told that maple tree I would willingly
surrender everything else in my life, if only I could follow the path of
wisdom. By a “quest for wisdom” I meant that I wanted my life to be an
ever-deepening exploration of my own human potential. I didn’t want to stagnate
or go mindlessly through life, I wanted to stay awake for the entire trip and
go deeper and deeper (or expand farther and farther) into this hologram that is
our own potential.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Human potential is something that seems to be
horribly squandered in our times. It doesn’t even seem to be talked about much
anymore. In the consumerist and technology-addled culture we live in, where we
fixate on material wants, needs, and comforts, we’ve become so pacified that we
no longer seek for anything greater. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">The intent of this blog when I started it was to
explore this question about human potential: <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Who might we become</i> when we drop the materialistic trappings of our
culture? And as my explorations have continued, I’ve come to an important
realization. We can’t become “fully human” unless we become fully embedded in
the natural world around us. <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">My two
overarching themes in this life are actually the same theme!</i> It’s only
through intimate, full participation with our environment--with not merely the
human environment, but the complex, ever-so richly nuanced, more-than-human
environment--that we can reach our deepest potential. Cut ourselves off from
the natural world and we cut ourselves off from the source of all intelligence
and wisdom.<o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 10pt;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My trip back to the terrain of my childhood in 2011 really drove this insight home for me. Spending five months in deep
immersion within the natural world turned what had previously been more or less
only intuition into a lived reality of a different, deeper way of perceiving
and being in this world. <o:p></o:p></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<div style="border-color: currentColor currentColor windowtext; border-style: none none solid; border-width: medium medium 1pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-element: para-border-div; padding: 0in 0in 1pt;">
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><div class="MsoNormal" style="border: currentColor; margin: 0in 0in 10pt; mso-border-bottom-alt: solid windowtext .75pt; mso-padding-alt: 0in 0in 1.0pt 0in; padding: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman","serif"; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Finally I’ve got a
series of posts lined up to tell the story of my trip back home.</span></span></div>
</div>
<span style="font-family: Times New Roman;">
</span></span><br /></span><br /></div>
Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-17637770384360325812012-04-03T10:04:00.000-06:002012-04-03T10:04:08.123-06:00Hypnotic Land<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Last spring my plan was to move to the desert near Big Bend
National park, go off grid, build a small adobe shack, and create a
demonstration project that would show we can live beautiful lives, sustainably,
in even the harshest conditions. At the beginning of May I put my things in
storage, moved the cats to my friend John’s farm and then spent five weeks there
while I began planning a kickstarter campaign to fund my adventure.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I’d gotten down to where I thought I could
pull off the whole shebang with a mere $5000 (although $10-15k would have been
ideal). I started laying out a blog about the project, bought a mini-camcorder
so I could film my pitch for kickstarter, and really set to work ironing out
all of the details.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My son Collin and I then took the train to my parents’ place
in PA in early June.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Collin stayed a
week, and I planned to stay about eight weeks while I launched my campaign,
then head back to Colorado in August and hopefully be on a piece of land in
West Texas by the end of September. However, when I got back home I started
getting this intuitive message “hold off, don’t launch the campaign, wait and
see what presents itself here”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">What presented itself (first) happened to be cancer, in both
of my parents.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And so I was suddenly
needed, especially with regard to my mom’s issues/surgeries and ensuing accident.
And so I ended up staying five months instead of two and going down a
completely different path than the one I initially intended.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I am now NOT in West Texas, but back in
Colorado where I’m planning to remain. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">
</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Being back in my childhood home and amidst the terrain of my
childhood again was fascinating.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I
embraced the experience whole-heartedly, becoming like a child again (and it
wasn’t a choice, actually--it just happened).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>It seemed to be coded into my muscle-memories. I took the stairs two at
a time, like I did throughout childhood. Serious concentration was required the
few times I tried to walk up the stairs in a more adult-like manner.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I found myself spontaneously doing
calisthenic-type exercises, as I did throughout my teen years—pushups, sit-ups,
pull-ups, and yoga-type stretches.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It
was as if that activity was coded into the environment.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>To be there was to act in a particular
way.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I climbed trees again, instantly
becoming lithe and catlike like my childhood self—not the often stiff and
clumsy 40-something I’ve become. I broke into spontaneous runs, danced with the
wind, got down on all fours, caught fireflies, and roamed and roamed throughout
the hills and valleys. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One thing I was eager to explore was the hypnotic quality of
the land there (as I’ve written about previously). Why did my childhood home
make me so sleepy, bring so many vivid dreams, turn me all contemplative,
intuitive, and mystical?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">One of the first days I was home my sister, my nephew, and my
nephew’s<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>wife came for dinner. My sister
had just gone to Gettysburg with her husband and had stayed in a so-called
“haunted” bed-and-breakfast. As part of the package they were given all sorts
of ghost-detection tools, one of which was a pair of dowsing rods (apparently
water isn’t the only thing that can be found by dowsing).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">We got to talking about dowsing in general and my sister
went and grabbed two metal coat hangers and turned them into dowsing rods.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we all traipsed outside and began
dowsing.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>First we went to our old spring
(still there, but no longer in use) and we all dowsed above it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Most of us got a strong hit (mine was crazy
strong).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>After that we tried the old
well (also no longer in use) and most of us got even stronger results, probably
because the metal casing strengthened the “signal”.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Then we walked down the road and dowsed by
the creek.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>(Obviously my family isn’t
too concerned about what the neighbors think.) As you dowsed and got a “hit”,
in addition to the rods going crazy, you could feel a strong buzzing sensation
in your hands.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My mom dowsed above my
head and I could feel the hair on my scalp standing up.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Pretty wild.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As soon as I got back home I began having my old sleep
issues—sleeping too much, dreaming too much, even one other bizarre effect: I
would wake in the middle of the night unable to ascertain the position of my
body in the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It would feel like, for
example, I would be lying on my left side with my head pointing to the west but
I’d open my eyes and find myself <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>lying on
my right side with my head pointing to the east (or some other odd direction). <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>If I was lying on my right side how could I
not feel the pressure of the mattress on my right shoulder, right thigh,
etc.?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>How could I not feel the effect of
gravity or detect up and down? When I focused on these questions while I was
having the experience I was able to figure out that I wasn’t feeling the
pressure of my body against the mattress at all—instead it was a disorienting
“floaty” sensation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">A few days later I happened to open up my compass while I
was in the bedroom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The dial went crazy
when I moved it over the mattress and I realized the metal coils were probably
to blame. So maybe my sleep disturbances had to do with an electro-magnetic
field created by the steel coils. I decided I would try sleeping on a foam
mattress on the floor to see if I noticed any changes in my sleep experiences. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Meanwhile, I also decided to grab the dowsing
rods and dowse the room. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Of course, the
mattress made the rods go crazy, as did the cast iron radiator (and all things
metal), as well as the corners of the room and the closet. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Moving to the foam mattress however didn’t seem to change
anything. Later however I began to notice a subtle difference when we had
periods of dryness after periods of heavy rains.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The drier it was, the less pronounced were my
sleep disturbances. I suspect it wasn’t the rain itself but rather the rising
and falling groundwater levels that impacted my sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Out of curiosity I started querying online and came across
the topic of geopathic stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Fascinating stuff—previously too New-Agey to have captured my
attention--but now it seemed very relevant. Basically, various geological
features create altered electro-magnetic fields.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some of these altered fields appear to be
detrimental to human health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s believed
such things as underground streams, fault lines, deposits of coal, iron, and
oil, the presence of mine tunnels, et cetera, can adversely affect human
health.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Underground streams are supposed
to be especially bad.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Online I came across a list of symptoms of geopathic stress:
sleep disturbances; restlessness; difficulty in getting to sleep; excessive
dreaming; excessively heavy sleep; excessively heavy sleep requirements; waking
unrefreshed; cold feet and legs in bed; restless leg syndrome in bed; asthma
and respiratory difficulties at night; fatigue and lethargy; mood changes;
sleepwalking in children; and, in adults, waking at odd angles in the bed.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Also, if your bed happens to be located where
two or more lines of geopathic stress cross, cancer is very likely.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Cats are attracted to geopathic hotspots, but birds, dogs,
and livestock avoid areas of geopathic stress. (Also attracted are insects,
molds and fungi, members of the nightshade family, and certain medicinal herbs,
like mistletoe.)</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My parents’ property and the surrounding lands have loads of
underground streams.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s a spring on
the property, and lower down a seep, and just below that in the adjacent
pasture a small swamp.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>There’s an old
coal mine with tunnels that run just fifty feet below the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>In addition to coal deposits the area is
riddled with deposits of iron ore, and the area is also where the Marcellus
shale boom is happening.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Areas that are
rife with underground streams are also supposed to be lightning magnets, and my
parents’ property bears that out.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The
house has been struck twice in its history and trees on the property have been
struck numerous times.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">There’s a family story that when my oldest sister was about
twelve, she had a fight with my mom and in a bout of anger said she was going
to sleep out in one of the trees in the yard that night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I forget if she started the night in the tree
and then came in, or if she changed her mind before ever going out, but it
turns out that later that night a storm rolled in and the tree was struck down
by a bolt of lightning.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">As a young child I was deathly afraid of lightning.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was sure the house was going to get struck
by lightning and burn to the ground and we would all die.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I would cry every night there was a
thunderstorm, much to the aggravation of my sisters.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>During the summer when I was seven there came
a horrible week when it stormed every single night. And I cried every single
night and woke the whole family up. My sisters, with whom I shared a room, were
about to kill me. Finally there came the worst night of all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>A storm system stalled over us and it was the
worst and the loudest and most terrifying thunderstorm of all times.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"></span><span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My fear had been exhausting me all week and that night I finally
reached my breaking point. I couldn’t go on in that crazy state of fear any longer.
<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I just needed to buck up and deal with
it.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>So that night for the first time, even
though the storm went on and on and on all night, I didn’t cry at all (nor did
I ever cry again after that).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The next
morning we woke up to the devastation that was the Johnstown flood of ‘77 (not
nearly as bad as the 1889 flood but, even so, scores of people lost their lives).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>My sisters took to calling me Damien (after
the anti-christ kid in the horror movie The Omen)--they found it really creepy
that, of all nights, I didn’t cry the night there was so much death and
destruction.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Now looking back on it, it seems my intense fears were quite
reasonable.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I think I must have intuited
that we were living on a lightning magnet.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Heck, I didn’t even need to intuit it—we had plenty of evidence already.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Occult happenings (ghosts, UFO sightings, etc.) are also
supposed to be common in areas of geopathic stress.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The theory is that the unusual magnetic
fields alter human brain waves so these strange occurrences seem to have an
objective reality.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>This would explain a
lot of strange experiences we had when I was a kid.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>As a teenager I had two experiences with
entities in the room at night.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I was
smart enough to realize they probably weren’t objectively real, but they were
still pretty freaky.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>The first one, when
I was fourteen, might be called an incubus, although there was no sexual
violation involved.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I awoke in the
middle of the night to feel a man on top of me. Opening my eyes I could see
there was no one there, yet I could wrap my arms around his back and feel his
body.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I could not pull my arms through
him until the sensation of his presence slowly faded.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Some might say it was a dream, but I was most
definitely awake and remained awake for hours afterwards.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>I wasn’t afraid at all (well, not until the
next night when I went to bed).<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Another
time I awoke to the state of sleep paralysis and could see the shadow of a man
standing at the foot of my bed.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">My one sister used to sleepwalk a lot and talk in her
sleep.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>For awhile (I kid you not) she
would either start talking in her sleep or go sleepwalking (I can’t remember
which now) at exactly 3:33am. THAT used to scare the living daylights out of
me.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>And then there was the time another
member of the family, in the wee hours of the morning, swears she saw a UFO in
the field below the house.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Oh, how we
gave her grief about that one!<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But I
think all of the weird things that happened really boil down to
electro-magnetic phenomena.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It’s
interesting to me that as a little kid I feared boogey men were lurking under
the bed, in the dark corners of the room, and in the closet—all areas where the
dowsing rods went crazy. Kids, I think, are very good at detecting electro-magnetic
fields.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">I think the heavy, hypnotic energy I feel at my childhood
home is the land speaking, and not only speaking, but shaping consciousness. I
don’t think it’s fair to call areas of geopathic stress bad.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>They can have detrimental effects on humans,
but they can also have positive effects.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>I believe the land of my childhood is what caused the intuitive,
mystical, and contemplative aspects of my personality to develop. It’s an idea
I still need to explore further, but pieces of the puzzle have certainly started
falling into place.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Verdana, sans-serif;">Exploring the hypnotic power of the land of my childhood was
only one small piece of my total experience during the five months I was
there.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>It got <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">much</i> more interesting and I’ll be working to share that all with
you in upcoming posts.</span><br />Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-75481324461305050472011-09-04T02:44:00.000-06:002011-11-02T09:13:57.252-06:00Some Background Writings About Place<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><span style="font-weight: normal;">Before I get into my newest reflections on place and human potential I thought I'd re-post this entry from my simplicity journal as background food-for-thought:</span></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b><br /></b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><b>September 7, 2008</b></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">In
one of Paul Shepard’s essays he talks about the research of a woman
named Edith Cobb. She believed that the external terrain of childhood
forms a model for internal cognitive development.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<blockquote style="margin-right: 0px;">
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>Perhaps the most remarkable document on childhood in this century is Edith Cobb’s <u>Ecology of Imagination in Childhood</u>.
Surveying the lives of geniuses, she noticed a common thread—the return
in moments of creative meditation to the place of childhood in
imagination or sometimes physically, a trip that helped toward a
solution to a problem. The original meaning of the term <u>genius loci</u>
referred to a unique sacred power. What was it, Cobb asked, about the
original experience that made it useful to the psyche in a recapitulated
travel across the juvenile home range; in what sense was it an
organizing force?</i></span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;"><i>She
concluded that the adult faith and intuition that order permeates the
cosmos, that no bit of data or bizarre idea was truly disparate, that
searching would be rewarded, extends from the singular imprint of an
intensely inhabited space about thirty-five acres at a crucial time of
life. Played through, the child’s transit, time and again, locked this
literal, objective reality into an unforgettable screen, through which
other, novel objects of the mind would be envisioned by the questing
adult as though they were details of a landscape. Just as the mnemonist
studied for thirty years by A.R. Luria ‘placed’ images for later
retrieval along a path in the mind’s eye, at some less conscious level a
holding ground is absorbed. The juvenile home range is a tiny universe,
whose trees, rabbits, culverts, and fences probably register some kind
of metaphorical series whose branching, skittering fleetness,
subterranean connecting, and boundary-marking function in relation to a
speculative field of half-formed and elusive ideas follows a
paradigmatic system of relationships. An anatomical model for this
unlikely neural representation of place is seen in the fundus of the
eyes of vertebrates, where the colored oil droplets in the cells of the
retina, differing according to the frequencies of light in different
parts of the visual field, form an eerie landscape that can be seen with
an ophthalmoscope. Edith Cobb’s own genius has given us insight into
the primordial meaning of coherence as a function of a specific,
tangible, ecology, swallowed by the nine-year-old in repeated
excursions.</i></span></div>
</blockquote>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">What
excites me about this line of thought is the possibility that part of
our minds exists outside of us, in the landscape. While it seems that
Cobb was saying we build up internal neural networks in childhood that
replicate the external environment, to me it almost seems like our
neural networks extend out from us into the environment. It is as though
the whole earth were brain, or mind. I find it especially interesting
that Cobb found <i>geniuses</i> to frequently use landscape as a means
of gaining knowledge or insight. They’re tapping into the larger mind
we’re all part of. I’ve said before, I believe that tapping into our
full human potential means tapping into our larger
identities--identities that extend out beyond the boundaries of our
skin.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Cobb talked about geniuses who returned to the landscape of their childhood. This implies that they <i>left</i> that land at some point. But what if you stayed put? What might be possible in a lifetime of building up internal and external neural networks? Of enlarging the self, extending more and more deeply into the environment? Until we become rooted in the land once again I don’t think it will be possible to reach our full human potential.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Shepard,
in a related essay, mentioned that the classical definition of genius
was “the spirit of place”. It’s by tapping into the spirit of place, the
larger mind, that we can achieve “personal” genius. All knowledge is
out there. None of it is personal. It simply waits to be located. When
I’ve said “Place holds potential”, I mean that very literally. There’s a
very visceral way I’m sensing that place holds unique knowledge. We
become who we are by our unique interactions with the land. We can’t
become the same person in a different locale. We don’t gain the same
knowledge.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">These
days the line between nature and nurture have blurred for me. It’s all
one seamless experience of responding to nature. I think I can begin to
see the next phase of our evolution. Instead of consuming matter in the
childish way that we do, we will begin to convert matter into spirit. By
knowing the land we will expand Mind and eventually begin to know who
we are--Gaia. And once we recognize ourselves to be this entity, Gaia,
then maybe we will shed the idea that Gaia is an isolated dot in the
universe, and begin to extend our identity and mind out into the cosmos.
Eventually we will recognize that we have always been the Mind of God.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">But
if we can just reach Gaia-Mind, that would be hugely transformative.
Our human potential could begin to unfold and it surely wouldn’t be tied
to consumption. We would stop trying to make the ego look bigger.
Instead we would grow our Mind.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I
think we would regain a more fluid way of being and perceiving, as in
our primordial days only with deep conscious awareness. The egoic,
rational brain which is so clumsy and a hindrance, could recede in
importance. Direct experience would again be primary.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ve
often found the rational brain gets in the way. I hate the fact that I
always have maps in my head; always have a name for the place I’m in or
the place I’m going. I don’t want a <i>representation</i> of place. It interferes with my ability to <i>know</i>
a place. I have enough “past life memories” to remember the older, more
fluid and direct way of experiencing. The rational mind, while so
important for building consciousness, really dumbs down reality.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">Intuitive, fluid, spiritual beings--that’s our destiny if we don’t kill ourselves off first.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ve
been trying to encourage a more fluid way of being to take hold in me.
For one thing, since reading the Temple Grandin book, I’ve been trying
not to censor my imagery. I’m becoming aware just how ever-present my
imagery is. It is always flashing up, probably in every moment, if I was
just aware enough. My “haunting” may just have been me moving into that
more fluid way of seeing. There are layers of reality here, always. I
want to get a handle on what I’m seeing, why certain imagery wants to be
connected with certain thoughts, actions, or places.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">One
example (I know this sounds bizarre and psychotic but I think there’s
legitimate knowledge here): lately when I look in the mirror I see a
flash of an image overlaying my reflection. It’s a bird, probably an
eagle, but maybe a hawk, with its wings outstretched in flight.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: verdana,sans-serif; font-size: small;">I’ve
also had tons of "past life" images arising as I read and write and
think. I see the land before all this manic human destructiveness and
development took place and it makes me so sad.</span></div>
<div style="margin: 0in 0in 0pt;">
<br /></div>
Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0751 Pender Rd, Johnstown, PA 15905, USA40.254276 -78.94302940.252761 -78.94549649999999 40.255790999999995 -78.9405615tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-19204615653985334552011-09-03T07:10:00.000-06:002011-09-03T07:12:14.736-06:00Going Home AgainYou <i>can</i> go home again, apparently, because I've done it. I came to my parents house in Pennsylvania in June for an extended visit (extended meaning--to me--about two months) and I'm still here. Events have been conspiring against me (or with me--I'm still not sure) to keep me here. Almost as soon as I got here both my mom and my dad were diagnosed with cancer. My dad's is a slow growing cancer of the prostate which only needs to be watched at this point. My mom has cancer in both breasts and she has opted for chemo followed by surgery. All of that has been put off until after my mom and dad go to Ireland for a week next month. Meanwhile Mom is taking what amounts to mini-chemo in a pill. My gut sense is that she doesn't have an aggressive form of cancer and will be just fine, but I will be sticking around to see how the chemo goes next month. And as if all of this weren't enough, in the past two weeks my mom managed to amputate part of her index finger. *Sigh.*<br />
<br />
So I am here in Pennsylvania after a fourteen year absence (aside from a few very short visits) and back in my home town after a twenty-four year absence. In other words it's the first substantial amount of time I've spent here since I left when I was seventeen. And wow what a time I'm having! I've stated previously on this blog that I believe human potential is tied to the land and that place holds potential. Much as we pretend to be creatures divorced from the land we're really created by the environment that surrounds us. So it's been a fascinating journey to revisit the landscape that created me.<br />
<br />
I'm going to get into all of this in more detail in my next few posts, but for today I just need to ease back into writing. For some reason I haven't been able to write at all this year. It's like I can't string two sentences together, can't form coherent paragraphs. Instead of fighting it I've taken it as a sign that something else is needed, some other way of making sense of the world, something other than words--and so I've written next to nothing all year. But I think I feel a shift happening now and perhaps I'll be able to string some posts together in the next few days and weeks. I miss blogging. <br />
<br />
Here's a photo of me with all of my siblings and my parents, taken over the 4th of July weekend. I'm the one on the left.<br />
<br />
<table style="width: auto;"><tbody>
<tr><td><a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/lh/photo/u7M30ezWUCvlFK-ittYgB-L_5cEkSGqBeowCBhdqoNw?feat=embedwebsite"><img height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUNp2LZSAQySrbIS3i9ehxfO0jhhYLUFfrL3nxA_Nq4lLPJJNs6BpRO_2T3oYM0Xj3g1TDEzNLKU_gh1z2X3Qz96nLeMwgoQIE2K5wgC8Ecu2tamVQSOLVmsyjgZJe77ZtkV3gIlBXdaJC/s800/Williams%252520Family.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td style="font-family: arial,sans-serif; font-size: 11px; text-align: right;">From <a href="https://picasaweb.google.com/103168441356564122548/WhereSimplicityLeads?authuser=0&authkey=Gv1sRgCJ-X54HF7-6d-QE&feat=embedwebsite">Where Simplicity Leads</a> </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-69538691672300094652011-03-06T07:22:00.007-07:002011-03-06T12:22:06.142-07:00A Moneyless World?<a href="http://zerocurrency.blogspot.com/">Moneyless World--Free World--Priceless World</a> is a blog I've had listed in my <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">blogroll</span> since back when I first started this blog. It's one man's account of living without money (since 2000, I think). <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Suelo</span> is not a very active blogger--partly because he doesn't often have access to a computer--but when he does post, his accounts are always interesting. Mostly his posts stress me out, but that's just me. I'm not a nomad or a gypsy; I like to be rooted to a place. So his accounts of standing by countless roadsides with his thumb to the wind, or sneaking into and out of rail yards (and sometimes getting caught) I find exhausting even to read. It's not my idea of a life!<br /><br />But I don't say that to be critical. I hugely admire what <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Suelo</span> is doing and his efforts to document his lifestyle. His philosophy is beautiful and right-on in my opinion. Nature operates as a gift economy and we humans should be able to as well. If you've got some time, check out his <a href="http://sites.google.com/site/livingwithoutmoney/">website</a> (in addition to his blog)--he's got some great essays there that delve into the philosophy behind his lifestyle.<br /><br />I admire <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Suelo</span> for living his convictions, for modelling a different (and healthier) philosophy of life. Many of us have noble convictions, but how many of us get out there and actually live them? <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Suelo</span> is following the path he was put here on earth to follow. That earns him hero status in my book.<br /><br />I hope to soon (and <em>finally</em>) be living my convictions as well. And when I do, the new world I'll inhabit will be largely moneyless too. It won't look the same as <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">Suelo's</span> world, but that's because it'll be my unique path and not his. My unique path involves becoming rooted to a place, becoming an inhabitant, part of an ecosystem, a participant.<br /><br />Money has been a huge obstacle for me all my life. I'm missing what other people seem to have--a link between money and the reward centers in the brain. Money just doesn't do anything for me. The prospect of acquiring money doesn't motivate me. I can't make myself care enough to do whatever it takes to earn wads of cash. Intellectually I understand that to make it in our current society, to be functional here, you have to know how to earn money. And I most decidedly am lacking in that skill. I am most decidedly dysfunctional in this society. But, it was Krishnamurti who said:<br /><blockquote>It is no measure of health to be well adjusted to a profoundly sick society.</blockquote>What I am adapted to is the way we lived in earlier times. What I am adapted to is the way we will live in future times, in all likelihood. I am <em>not</em> adapted to living in this sick society.<br /><br />The economy I participate well in is not the global economy. The economy I participate well in is very tiny--it's a single ecosystem, a single homestead integrated with the surrounding landscape, where a human gives and takes and participates and interacts. There are many, many exchanges, but no money changing hands. There's value created. There's abundance. There's reciprocity. There's balance. There's health. This economy is centered around a single spot, yet it has tendrils that reach out and connect it to other economies and to the larger whole. Most of the exchanges happen on that one spot; fewer and fewer exchanges happen the farther out you go on a tendril. It's a place-centered, intensively local economy.<br /><br />On that one spot, all exchanges operate on the gift economy. All is freely given and received. A little farther out into the neighboring economies and exchanges are more likely to involve bartering, and farther out still they are likely to require some form of money. I don't believe money is evil or unnecessary. It serves a genuine purpose--facilitating transactions that occur at a distance. At a local level, however, money is unnecessary, perhaps even a hindrance.<br /><br />I've stated before on this blog that there's a big difference between transactions and interactions. Transactions are distancing and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_6" class="blsp-spelling-error">de</span>-humanizing while interactions create bonds, trust, and accountability. Historically, transactions occurred at a distance. They were exchanges with people you didn't know, people you rarely encountered, people with whom you had no opportunity to build trust. Money was the perfect way to exchange goods in those circumstances--it had a very well-defined value so it prevented conflict between strangers. Among your own clan however, transactions were never needed. Your clan was its own ecosystem, with all parts (you and your <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_7" class="blsp-spelling-error">kinspeople</span>) freely contributing to the healthy functioning of the whole. No one kept tabs--that would be like your heart keeping tabs on how much oxygen your lungs are contributing.<br /><br />In between these distant transactions and these local interactions was a fuzzy middle ground. Here is where barter took place, or elaborate and often ritualized gift-giving traditions. These were your distant neighbors. You were probably remotely related to them, so there was an accountability to them but it was a bit tenuous. Bartering ensured fair trade practices. Because you might not see these people again for years, an immediate reciprocal exchange made sense. Or, in some cultures there were elaborate and lop-sided gift-giving rituals among distant tribes. If you were the visiting tribe, you flooded your hosts with gifts. That tribe would do the same whenever it visited other neighboring tribes, and whoever visited your tribe would do the same. Thus bonds were maintained, even though it was never immediately reciprocal.<br /><br />Do you notice something here? The gift economy and to some extent the bartering economy are both based on trust and the building and maintaining of bonds. They build cohesion and harmony. The money economy on the other hand is based on distance and distrust; it's based on remaining at arm's length from potentially dangerous strangers--those mysterious "others". A major part of the sickness of our society today is the fact that we've forgotten how to do anything other than transacting. We've turned everyone into a stranger. No one is worthy of our trust. And so we become these islands, in the process losing community and connection and robbing ourselves of a whole bunch of love, laughter, and joy.<br /><br />I'm naturally gifted at interacting. I suck at transacting. For me immediacy is what counts, what's right in front of me. That's why I'm so perfectly geared towards living an intensively local existence. I can't handle abstractions, especially that one called money, but I can handle what I can verify with my senses: what's under my nose, what's under my toes, the people, plants, and animals that surround me, the wind and rain, stars and sunshine, rocks and rivers, clouds and sunshine. And those things fill me up in a way that money never will.<br /><br /><em>Edited to add: My apologies if this post is impossible to read. There's some kind of blogger glitch whenever I use the "blockquote" feature--it screws up the line spacing from that point on. Since it doesn't show up in the html, there's nothing I can do to fix it.</em> :(Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-8385641925988315942011-02-26T06:20:00.002-07:002011-02-26T06:20:00.854-07:00AmeriCorps on the Chopping BlockAmeriCorps and its umbrella agency, the Corporation for National and Community Service, might soon be no more, and that would be a very sad way for the program to end. Now more than ever we need this sort of program. Americorps was originally VISTA--Volunteers in Service to America--a program first envisioned by JFK as a domestic version of the Peace Corps. Back in the early 90s I served as a VISTA volunteer for a year at a non-profit in my college town. We ran a mental health hotline and offered short-term walk-in counseling for mental health and drug and alcohol issues. Like most AmeriCorps projects, our clientele were among the neediest and most underserved in our community. In fact, the overarching mission of the VISTA program was to alleviate poverty. Today AmeriCorps volunteers serve in many capacities--helping to rebuild New Orleans after Katrina, serving in inner city schools, teaching English and literacy, working on infrastructure improvement projects, cleaning up streams, building low-cost housing, etc.<br /><br />AmeriCorps is a brilliant program, especially in our current economy. It gives people jobs while costing very little. The pay might sound insulting--it's sub-minimum wage--but there are plenty of people who would jump at the chance to have <em>some</em> income rather than no income at all, <em>and</em> have a chance to do something truly useful, <em>and</em> gain real skills. In fact, there are always more applicants than there are spaces to fill. If anything, this sort of program needs to be expanded.<br /><br />I'm convinced our economy is not going to recover--not in a time frame that's meaningful, anyway--and inevitably we all will have to adapt to fewer hours of work and less pay. AmeriCorps could be the poster child for this new reality. Earning $5.80 an hour is going to sound more and more appealing to people as time goes on. As I said, <em>some</em> income is better than none at all.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-76413437759124229352010-12-04T08:43:00.002-07:002010-12-04T09:08:51.221-07:00Winds of ChangeI've decided I need to retire this blog and start a new one. The things I want to write about are actually in perfect alignment with the intent of this blog, and yet it just doesn't feel quite right to continue here. This journey of voluntary simplicity has taken me to unexpected places, and though I want to share that journey, if I do so here I fear that some of you may feel it's really not what you signed up for. That shouldn't really matter to me--after all, you're free to move on--but nevertheless it is crimping my style here. I'm finding I'm afraid or reluctant to write about the topics that are really compelling to me now. A new blog, with a revised focus, will give me a fresh start.<br /><br />The big thing that's happened lately for me is that my path has morphed into the shamanic journey. I've said before I believe the path to being fully human is equivalent to the shamanic journey--now I'm starting to live it.<br /><br />The new blog is called <em>desert madwoman</em>--since that's what I'm aspiring to become (actually some might argue I'm already there :) ). The title alone gives me so much freedom. There's no reason to feel I have to censor anything, no matter how unusual. My health has been really lousy lately, and frankly I don't know how much longer I'll be here. I want to use what time remains to live absolutely authentically, and that means not suppressing all of the weird stuff--and there's <em>a lot</em> of weird stuff. :)<br /><br />So, if you're into weird stuff, join me there (I haven't posted anything yet, but probably will get my first post up this weekend). If not, thanks for reading and commenting here and good luck on your own journey, wherever it takes you.<br /><br /><a href="http://desertmadwoman.blogspot.com/">http://desertmadwoman.blogspot.com/</a>Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-62251083245967348432010-10-26T10:40:00.005-06:002010-10-26T14:31:07.219-06:00Off On Strange TangentsThis is such an interesting time in my life. I haven't been posting much lately and the problem isn't having too little I want to say, but entirely too much. I never know where to start. But today I'm going to start with a few intriguing things.<br /><br />Several of you may have caught the post I briefly had up in June about an unusual artifact I found. I deleted that post within a day of writing it because I felt I had been hasty in writing about something that perhaps had been quite a powerful and/or sacred object to someone in the past. I'm ready to re-visit the topic now, at least in part.<br /><br />In June when a robin taught me to dig lawn grubs for him, I happened to dig up a stone spear point in the garden. My curiousity about the spearpoint also led me to wonder about another artifact I've had for about eight years. When I lived in Longmont, Colorado and had been replacing the landscaping cloth under the xeriscaping in my front yard, I found the artifact lying in among the small river rocks. Right away it seemed apparent that the rock had been worked by humans. There was a blackened indentation that seemed like it must have been used for firestarting, and with the bowl facing up the rock fit very ergonomically in my left hand, snugged up nicely against my thumb. When I oriented the rock another way and moved it to my right hand, it ergonomically became a pestle. You could see how the face of the pestle had been worn very smooth with use. About a quarter of the face of the pestle had chipped out at some point, but by the wear-markings it was obvious the pestle had continued to be used long after the break took place. There were also places on the rock that seemed to have clearly been flaked by humans.<br /><br />In June I studied the rock more intently than before and noticed something else. The most heavily flaked area formed the mouth and snout of a snake, with the blackened bowl becoming an eye. How I had never noticed that before I don't know, because once I saw it it was unmistakable. My curiousity and fascination was growing and one day I sat down with it and decided to meditate on it, just to see what kind of impressions would come, if any. Immediately upon closing my eyes I began to see imagery. Not snake images at all. What I kept seeing were representations of birds--numerous petroglyphs and pictographs of the thunderbird. How odd that a snake-shaped rocked would elicit bird imagery! I delved into research online and found a lot of Native American myths linking the snake and the thunderbird, so it really wasn't that odd after all.<br /><br />A few days later I tried blowing on the rock and discovered it whistled. Not only did it whistle, but it made the distinct cry of a bird, with interesting modulations and sometimes a bit of a warble to it. The cry was created by blowing into the bowl or eye of the snake. I began to think perhaps what I had was a shaman's power object. It could have been used to grind healing preparations; to start ceremonial fires or to carry an ember from one fire to another or perhaps to place a glowing ember in the eye to ceremonially/symbolically represent aspects of the snake/thunderbird mythology; and by whistling to call the thunderbird in order to bring rain. Perhaps it had even more functions I couldn't yet conceive.<br /><br />If you'd like to see pictures of the rock I've got some posted <a href="http://thunderbirdwhistle.blogspot.com/">here</a>. You can click on the individual pictures to see closeups and zoom in.<br /><br />Since June I've been researching and trying to learn more about the rock and about Native American myths that might pertain to it. I haven't had luck in finding an anthropologist or archaeologist willing to look at it, and from what I've learned that seems to be the norm for this sort of thing. I suspect it's like any other area of academia--it's all become a bit machine-like. There's no pay-off for straying from the area of expertise that will win you your tenure, and there's certainly no payoff for exploring anything that will challenge the established beliefs (excuse me, that will challenge the <em>irrefutable science</em> which has already been carved in stone for all of eternity, never to be altered). Some of the most interesting things I've come across have been on websites of intelligent amateurs--people like me who have just stumbled upon artifacts and gotten curious. I'm starting to prefer amateurs over professionals. Amateurs aren't wearing blinders so they can come up with wild theories and think outside of the box. They don't have a narrow focus of interest, but can take in the whole gestalt and see patterns that a professional quite likely will miss. It's not just with anthropologists and archaeologists, either--so much of modern culture has become a machine. People have quit being curious and seem to have an aversion to open-endedness and possibilities and novelties. I much prefer the people who entertain wild imaginings, who don't necessarily believe science has gotten everything all figured out. I love crazy theories and prefer to say, <em>Why not</em>?<br /><br />The first site I came across that intrigued me was from the <a href="http://www.iceageartifacts.com/ice_age_animals.htm">Spoon River Valley</a> in Illinois. These artifacts are the most similar to mine of anything I've come across. My rock even has a strange balancing point like many of this guy's artifacts. If this is where my artifact originated, it would imply that it once also had a snake body made up of other rocks that stacked together.<br /><br />Then in Ohio, there's <a href="http://www.daysknob.com/">Day's Knob</a>--cruder stones carved to resemble various figures. I spent the afternoon Sunday looking at the artifacts on this site and some of the others he links to. Some of the figures you have to stare at quite awhile before you "get it"--partly because it's tough to photograph the detail well, and partly because the figures can be rather ambiguous. After immersing myself in all of these photos, I picked up my snake rock again. Now instead of just seeing my snake, I was seeing all sorts of figures all over the rock! My mind had gone into "facial recognition" overdrive. I saw the head of a ram, the head of a burro, various human faces, a young buck just getting the first nubs of horns, the backside of a bear, a bear pawprint, a mammoth with its trunk curled into its mouth. Were any of these figures intentionally put there, or was my mind just playing tricks on me because I had over-immersed myself in Day's figure stones? Hard to say. In August I had shared pictures of the artifact with my friend Khrystle and she commented then that she could see a human face in the bottommost picture (in the first link I gave up above). I hadn't noticed it until then, but she was right. It's subtle, but I definitely see it--almost like the profile of an Egyptian sarcophagus--just left of the center line. So, perhaps it's not just me and an overactive imagination. The interesting thing is that the eye of each figure is what I had previously taken to be just a random human-made mark. <em>None</em> of the eyes seem to be natural formations of the rocks--they all were put there--whereas noses and mouths (except for the snake) all seem to be natural formations.<br /><br />So, in August in my backyard I found two more artifacts. The funny thing is, I found them both on the same day, in <em>different</em> places, and yet they actually belong together! One is a stone drill bit, the other is a rather ordinary rock with a bunch of what seem to be practice drill holes in it (over a dozen). Now, when I first found the spear point in June, my friend John and I both thought it might have been made for a kid. The tip was rather blunt. It actually seems like the original point may have broken off, and then a new tip was knapped on. It would have made a nice practice spear for a young boy who was just learning. So when I found the drill bit and the rock with holes in it, I also thought of a child. The holes seemed random, and what adult is going to waste all that time making random holes? But a kid just learning to drill might spend some winter nights practicing randomly all over a rock. And perhaps he had just learned to make his first drill bit too and was trying it out. The rock with the holes actually seems like quite a poor choice for practice. It's very hard, and by the last hole the drill bit had worn down to near uselessness. Plus the rock has inclusions of what seem to be very hard carbon and several of the holes hit those and came to a grinding halt.<br /><br />When I found these latest two artifacts, I thought they were interesting, but didn't really spend that much time with them. Yesterday, I picked up the rock and took a closer look. And this time, "facial recognition" still in high gear, I noticed some things. There's a nose! And I mean, a <em>big</em> nose, life-sized. And if you turn the nose upside-down there's a face carved into the rock, and there's a protuberance coming off of the upside-down big nose connecting it to the little nose on the face. Very strange! There's also the remnants of a painted line encircling the face. Actually it kind of looks like someone took a dark crayon and drew a circle, except it's not waxy like a crayon would be. You can see parts of the line in the pictures.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMFW_7uiuoc0dIE6goHYUNxz-lOkY4Dpf7klS1-EUKMKHZDparv3ybYGacioQQEnjjQLQz_T-_NVD2zKl3AlpXMzA2yFXHSi7tpKZXwePHiyro5Mwbt8otGrvv48nmX1en2FOzserlZRJ/s1600/100_3918.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532438921937792658" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjcMFW_7uiuoc0dIE6goHYUNxz-lOkY4Dpf7klS1-EUKMKHZDparv3ybYGacioQQEnjjQLQz_T-_NVD2zKl3AlpXMzA2yFXHSi7tpKZXwePHiyro5Mwbt8otGrvv48nmX1en2FOzserlZRJ/s400/100_3918.JPG" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PSM8U6cbK2O2rI8EgkO4DOV94VKdod-A913lP2Wc-YkZBB7QPA89dajaXSUA5v4EwF2-be5rLKxhsFnr-3XiUymzqaavyjPr5zRU3ton7Oac9Yi0kYwWBZuHxSpym3CBP_2vyJ4ED5D3/s1600/Face.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 258px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532438926828158674" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh5PSM8U6cbK2O2rI8EgkO4DOV94VKdod-A913lP2Wc-YkZBB7QPA89dajaXSUA5v4EwF2-be5rLKxhsFnr-3XiUymzqaavyjPr5zRU3ton7Oac9Yi0kYwWBZuHxSpym3CBP_2vyJ4ED5D3/s400/Face.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi541CHEJRgRwNZQl0H2tSc5EOXKMrM0oFlgROJZLh5nY6xNXGjt7nchtUEGrkAUU2jNtJ9fqdehsZGCGtRTq7zN_BCqUBlSafawrnzCCtSSiYEuHHsCIx-IZT4BI-vormkq-bUj_EwoO_u/s1600/DrillBit.jpg"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 263px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532438931210088322" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi541CHEJRgRwNZQl0H2tSc5EOXKMrM0oFlgROJZLh5nY6xNXGjt7nchtUEGrkAUU2jNtJ9fqdehsZGCGtRTq7zN_BCqUBlSafawrnzCCtSSiYEuHHsCIx-IZT4BI-vormkq-bUj_EwoO_u/s400/DrillBit.jpg" /></a><br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9PuyAO2ZSsyQYXUlAomlC4DM2bg2XQhYCwyXhAqfpBRRv9qLi17dg5ONB6oxBOWeHPrjTCkMNwDXJ_jV4LaTyP9eRYDv9ewTXCn6bwOCs8Nb2TyqgAUfVfGtZOBk1lsJqQepbWy8vpLU/s1600/100_3930.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532438934676996770" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiK9PuyAO2ZSsyQYXUlAomlC4DM2bg2XQhYCwyXhAqfpBRRv9qLi17dg5ONB6oxBOWeHPrjTCkMNwDXJ_jV4LaTyP9eRYDv9ewTXCn6bwOCs8Nb2TyqgAUfVfGtZOBk1lsJqQepbWy8vpLU/s400/100_3930.JPG" /></a><br /><br />And after all of this, the crazy amateur in me comes up with a crazy theory. Maybe in oral cultures these rocks were like books--places to hold vast amounts of information. In David Abram's book <em>The Spell of the Sensuous</em>, he talked about songlines and other ways that information was held in the landscape by indigenous peoples. Perhaps information was also placed in figure stones that could be carried with you wherever you went. The bear paw I see in my rock could encode a story or myth about the bear, or a healing technique using part of the bear, or some moral teaching, or whatever. Whenever something significant needed to be remembered it would be linked to a feature in the rock, which then became a mnemonic device to aid in recall. And details could be added to the rocks as needed, so that eventually they might hold layers and layers of meaning. And the rocks could be passed on from generation to generation, each generation being taught the meanings and stories behind each figure. So finding a cache of figure stones would be the equivalent of finding a library, only the language has been lost and we can't read them.<br /><br />Perhaps the rock I have with the drill holes in it isn't the work of a child after all. Maybe the holes aren't random, but instead encode information--distances or travel times or events or stories. The more I look at this rock the more interesting it becomes. I had initially characterized it as rather plain, but the more I look at it, the more I see. It has complex coloration when you look closely, and faint lines that suggest shapes. It's kind of like a scrying glass--you begin to see all sorts of things.<br /><br />A funny thing happened as I was writing this. I was sitting at the computer eating my lunch, which was a bowl of chicken soup. When I make soup, I always crack some of the bones and add a little vinegar to help extract more of the calcium (and some marrow). I guess I missed one of the bones because as I sat here eating I found one in my bowl. Check out the picture. I wonder where the inspiration for the shape of the drill bit came from? I guess that's pretty obvious--we know bones were used as awls, so it would make sense to make the same shape in a harder material if you needed to make holes in rocks, right? I just thought it was ironic that my soup bone was so nearly identical in shape to the drill bit, and I saw it just as I was writing about these artifacts.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt0Q6eDbs4a_fjIMq_-1NFhNsgRX2M1dICheYPJZHb4E5nlbRN6Yt5XJbQe8QD7gUeFHTsMScuyubL3rC_qcaZc6OOpNoimBMf9-0OCgVHMaQ2YERinjnF4BjvEstySpTPrNe5f3Xnrw/s1600/100_3936.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532448712499261074" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgEOt0Q6eDbs4a_fjIMq_-1NFhNsgRX2M1dICheYPJZHb4E5nlbRN6Yt5XJbQe8QD7gUeFHTsMScuyubL3rC_qcaZc6OOpNoimBMf9-0OCgVHMaQ2YERinjnF4BjvEstySpTPrNe5f3Xnrw/s400/100_3936.JPG" /></a><br /><br />The last picture just shows there are multiple layers of history in my yard. It's a scary clown head made out of an early plastic, probably from the 1940s or '50s. I'm always digging up interesting things.<br /><br /><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE3mhag7km5G4EtUwfcH6ho_lCvCKCTCRXlsUmFoT1cpvs0rMmsW1K3PnSk3fp7i4mkpclK1hPve9w5f3b8BI5p594KDRPcwGXj5D31_HOcRwKgwIkvB-b0BODGlLIJz3rchXxatD_Br2/s1600/100_3938.JPG"><img style="TEXT-ALIGN: center; MARGIN: 0px auto 10px; WIDTH: 400px; DISPLAY: block; HEIGHT: 300px; CURSOR: hand" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5532448725897985026" border="0" alt="" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeE3mhag7km5G4EtUwfcH6ho_lCvCKCTCRXlsUmFoT1cpvs0rMmsW1K3PnSk3fp7i4mkpclK1hPve9w5f3b8BI5p594KDRPcwGXj5D31_HOcRwKgwIkvB-b0BODGlLIJz3rchXxatD_Br2/s400/100_3938.JPG" /></a>Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-88093248411668180992010-09-02T07:20:00.003-06:002010-09-02T07:41:27.183-06:00Perhaps My Reel Mower Isn't "Real" EnoughYesterday a woman on the next street shouted down the alley to me. Her son-in-law wanted to know if I wanted a mower! <em>Uh, well, uh, that's awfully nice, but I'm good here. Thanks, but no thanks!</em> I wasn't going to launch into a whole long explanation, especially since we were shouting at each other from so far away. But her offer caught me off guard. I'm sure it looks odd having someone in the neighborhood doing all their yard work with handtools and non-motorized contraptions, but until now I had no idea I was the object of pity. How inconceivable that someone might use a reel mower <em>by choice</em>! I bet my response has that woman really scratching her head now. She's probably thinking, <em>Why that ungrateful little thing</em>! <em>We're just trying to help.</em>Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-19297620729323146372010-08-30T12:01:00.003-06:002010-08-30T13:15:32.746-06:00New Paradigm Series, Part 1This is going to be harder than I thought. I tried offline today to get my first post on this topic written, but I ended up bogging down. So instead perhaps what I need to do is write <em>around</em> this issue for awhile and see what eeks out. I won't stop trying to write about it directly, but until that works for me I've got ways I can still explore this indirectly.<br /><br />One night this summer I had a dream in which I was being shown that the bow and arrow were invented when someone recognized that if bird and snake were conjoined they could be sent together into the future to retrieve bounty for the tribe. It was obvious to me in the dream that the head and shaft of the arrow represented the snake and the feathered fletching represented the bird. The feathers brought flight to the snake and the snake provided the biting ability lacking in the bird. Together they became a powerful object capable of providing sustenance to the tribes.<br /><br />What a neat way to invent something! So different from how we invent things in the Mental phase--where the natural world has no meaning and invention is a purely rational exercise. In the Mythic phase everything in the natural world had meaning and significance, and we could take on the attributes of those natural objects and beings ourselves, or place them in the objects we created. Our inventions weren't just lifeless mechanistic objects, they were living embodiments of various aspects of the natural world.<br /><br />With all the converging catastrophes we're facing today, one thing that's clear to me is how grossly inadequate our current way of problem-solving is. We can't solve our problems from within the current Mental paradigm--we will only be using the same inadequate and now dysfunctional set of skills that got us into this mess in the first place. But if we can move along to the next paradigm, we will have a much broader repertoire of problem-solving skills at our disposal. We will have access again to magical and mythical solutions, as well as mental solutions--but actually I believe it will be a mingling of all three approaches and something greater than the sum of the parts. Solutions will arise out of the earth and flow through us. What wants to manifest will manifest. We'll be led to meaningful actions through instinct, synchronicities, mythical symbolism, and the mental 2+2ing we're so good at currently--all rolled into one fluid, fused experience.<br /><br />Nearly impossible to describe! That's why I'm bogging down in writing my personal account. All of these ways of being are beginning to co-exist and co-express themselves in me. Instinct, magic, myth, and reason all informing one another within me and sending me down a most fascinating path. It sounds crazy, I know!<br /><br />Here's a Mental exercise for you. Yes, I realize a Mental exercise is kind of at cross-purposes with what I'm trying to get at, but...<br /><br />Let's take the end of the carbon era--this crisis of what to do to fuel our human endeavors down the road. Imagine you are an Archaic human plunked down here--what would be your solution to the problem, how would you advise the powers that be (ignoring for our purposes the fact that you haven't acquired speech yet)? Now imagine you are a Magical human--how would you solve our energy problems? And what if you were a Mythical human? Now how about if you were Archaic, Magical, Mythical, and Mental all rolled into one?Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-54267393507936851642010-08-29T10:44:00.003-06:002010-08-29T13:35:48.154-06:00New Human/New Paradigm PreliminariesOkay, I've got to get this post out of the way before I get into the nitty gritty of describing my personal forays into the new paradigm. Maybe I'm just stalling here since I sense I will be challenged to the limit trying to describe/paint a picture of a way of seeing and being that stands so far outside our normal modes of perception.<br /><br />So this post is strictly a Mental post (see <a href="http://wheresimplicityleads.blogspot.com/2010/07/envisioning-new-human.html">Envisioning the New Human</a> if I'm losing you). My more Integral posts will follow soon (I hope).<br /><br />The first preliminary is explaining why I think all of this new paradigm stuff is so important. It's important because we've already extracted all the benefits the current Mental phase of our evolution can provide, and staying here any longer becomes dysfunctional. We've exceeded our stay--we should have moved on long ago--but we've become entrapped by the flashy constructs and technologies this phase has given rise to. According to Gebser, each phase contains all previous phases, but the curious thing about the Mental phase is its vehement denial of the preceding phases. Not that the realities of those other phases don't live on in us, rather here in the Mental phase we've repressed and denigrated them, and in the process distorted their truths. All we acknowledge as "real" is what can rationally be perceived. Myth, magic, and instinct are beneath us, irrelevant in this world of superhighways and cyberspace and resource extraction and stock markets. Our richly nuanced world has been dumbed-down and we find ourselves asking, "Is this all there is?" No, it isn't, and it's time to move on because if we don't we're going to end up self-destructing.<br /><br />The Mental phase is an extremely dangerous phase because in it we are (or perceive ourselves to be) completely separate from nature. As long as we stay in this phase we will continue to see the earth as a mere resource, something "out there" and "other", something to use and abuse without compunction.<br /><br />Our only hope is to evolve into the next paradigm. And quickly. In the next phase, one of consciously reintegrating with all that's "out there" and "other", the earth will be recognized as the ground from which we spring, the matrix which births us and of which we are a part. We won't continue to rape and pillage the earth and those others who dwell here because it will be obvious we're not separate. To harm one part of the matrix is to bring harm to all, including ourselves. Obviously I'm stating this in a very Mental way--"<em>the earth will be recognized as the ground from which we spring"--</em>but understand that the lived experience is <em>something else</em> and <em>something more</em> entirely. To describe it in Mental terms is to miss the nuance, the richness, and the sheer beauty the next paradigm promises.<br /><br />So we need to get there quickly. But is it overly idealistic for me to suggest such a feat might be possible? I'm not sure, but I know we need to try. I already see evidence that others are making forays into the new paradigm--it's something that seems to want to <em>emerge--</em>and I think there are developing conditions in our world that might help precipitate this change.<br /><br />For me what has precipitated the change has been my deepening experience with voluntary simplicity. I've been giving up things, habits, and technologies--all of which were birthed in this Mental paradigm and all of which enforced a (false) sense of separation from the rest of creation. Freed from these flashy constructs and technologies I begin to live directly. Life is no longer mediated by these things--by machines, by bizarre mental constructs like the idea of perpetual growth, by office cubicles that shut out the natural world. Instead I start to have my own unmediated experiences. I act directly in the world, I interact directly in the world, I allow the world to directly act upon me. I give and receive in an unmediated fashion. And in this way I begin to have a direct perception of what <em>Is</em>. And that direct perception shows me a fluid, nuanced, unified world--one where it becomes difficult to discern w<em>here do I start and where do I leave off</em>?<br /><br />I think there's hope that many other people will have these experiences soon. Some voluntarily, like me, but more will be <em>forced</em> to adopt a simpler lifestyle--because of economic conditions, climate conditions, the end of the carbon era, etc. And whether by choice or by necessity, once people start to live more directly again, I believe they will begin to slip into the new paradigm (and out of, and into again, until it finally takes hold for good).<br /><br />The other preliminary I want to cover is a distinction I need to make. In my upcoming posts I'll be making a case for a revival of myth and magic in the next paradigm. As Gebser states, each phase contains all previous phases. In the Mental phase, the previous phases were largely obscured. That won't be the case in the Integral phase. Myth and magic will live again. But I want to be clear, I won't be talking about mythical or magical <em>thinking--</em>all of that mythical, magical, religious <em>explaining</em> we did in earlier phases--I will be talking about <em>real </em>magic and <em>real </em>myth, underlying truths in this universe. Yes, myth and magic are real, just as reason is real too. We tend to think of these things as relics of our primitive past, misconceptions we've outgrown--and we're right if we're talking about mythical <em>thinking</em>, magical <em>thinking</em>, scientific <em>thinking--</em>but not if we're talking about myth, magic, and reason themselves. All of that <em>thinking</em> arose in our Conscious But Separate phase--when we were trying to make sense of what was "out there" and "other". But in the next phase we'll lose that sense of discreteness and so all of that theorizing and sense-making will be unnecessary. What we'll be left with is a direct, lived experience of the magical, mythical, mental creatures we are (and instinctual too--I tend to gloss over that).<br /><br />We're evolving towards something fantastic. I don't believe we have the merest inkling of what powerful and marvelous beings we are--but we need to survive the death of the Mental phase first and that may prove to be an insurmountable challenge. I want to attempt to give voice to my experiences because I think we really need people to begin to paint a picture of what (potentially) lies ahead for us. The world needs my voice and countless other voices sharing our initial forays into this new realm. People need to know <em>this isn't all there is</em>!Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-87945204988235872142010-08-28T13:44:00.002-06:002010-08-28T14:44:44.125-06:00Some Recent "Letting Go" SuccessesBefore I launch into a series of posts about the New Paradigm, I wanted to get this more practical entry out. In the past few weeks I've given up three more things in my life--each of which at one point or another would have been nearly unthinkable--so I wanted to share my successes.<br /><br />1. I went through my boxes of personal letters and mementos and tossed/recycled almost everything. Now you have to realize I have kept every single letter anyone has ever sent me my whole life (friends/family/co-workers that is--not, say, the electric company telling me they need my payment NOW). *ahem* I had all the letters my best friend sent me when she moved away, from 1978 up until our last contact in 1992. I had letters from my next best friend, which he sent me mostly in the summers when we didn't see each other (although we lived only 5 miles apart). I had letters/pictures/postcards/currency from a strange Egyptian <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">pen pal</span> who seemed to be stalking me--if that's possible from another continent. I had stacks of the most beautiful love letters from my college sweetheart and one other wonderful boyfriend (both stacks lovingly tied into bundles with ribbon) and a more troublesome stack of letters from my ex-husband. I had funny notes from my college roommate and other college acquaintances. There was a great big pile of letters from my friend Di, with whom I've shared so many major life events--we were co-workers, she was in my wedding (and even came to my divorce!) and I had the extreme privilege of holding her as she gave birth to her daughter. Letters from my lifelong friend <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Khrystle</span> (since age 3) and from my brother. I had birthday cards from my grandparents from when I turned one and two. You get the picture. It <em>all</em> went, all except the letters from my mom--and those may go someday too. For now they seem like such an important part of my family history, containing all of those trivial little things you tend to forget but which really tell amazing stories collectively.<br /><br />It was wonderful going through these boxes and being reminded just how <em>loved</em> I have been all my life. I feel so incredibly lucky. All of those letters represent time, energy, and love that others have directed at me throughout my life. I think I've held onto those letters precisely because it's such a tangible reminder of that. But I've also come to a point where I know the place to carry all of that is in my heart. (That's a lot easier than hefting those boxes around every time I move too!)<br /><br />Another box contained ridiculous things like a Girl Scout uniform, high school sports trophies and ribbons, academic awards, and report cards from kindergarten through grade 12. Those went too. Seriously, why have I been lugging this stuff around for so long?<br /><br />2. This will sound trivial, but my hairdryer broke. I seem to go through those things with absurd frequency and finally I realized I just don't even need one of those darn contraptions. As you probably know, my plan is to go off-off-grid in a few years, so I won't be using electrical contraptions of any sort then. It just makes sense to start weaning myself off of them now. I always considered the hairdryer necessary because my hair is so thick and takes forever to dry, plus I have this weird thing about going out in public with wet hair (to me it's like going out in a bathrobe and slippers), AND with my body's inability to stay warm in the winter I get too chilled with wet hair. BUT in my a-ha moment I realized I simply have to make sure I only wash my hair right before I go to bed. It has all night to dry and in the winter I can huddle under as many blankets as I need to stay warm while I sleep. How simple is that! It just requires a slight shift in habits--to showering at night instead of first thing in the morning.<br /><br />3. When I'm off-off-grid I will be doing my laundry by hand. My intention is to get a hand-cranked wringer, some galvanized tubs, a washboard, and a tool to agitate the water. Well, what do you know--a few weeks ago my washer broke. Since I'm renting it's really a simple matter to call the landlord and have it fixed--and I think it's a very simple problem like a bad belt or coupler--but instead for the past few weeks I've been washing my clothes by hand. And it's the oddest thing, but I find it so immensely satisfying. Now I don't enjoy the wringing part (by hand, since I don't have the wringer yet) but I find I actually look forward to doing laundry! It gets to something I've repeatedly tried to articulate (and failed miserably at)--that something vital is lost when we let machines take over. What it is I regain when I do something myself rather than relegating the task to a machine is the thing I can't find words for--but I <em>feel</em> it, and it's good, and I'll have to leave it at that for now.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-41642048613716575372010-08-27T06:07:00.001-06:002010-08-27T08:09:39.636-06:00Envisioning the New HumanWhen I created this blog it was with the intention of exploring how to live simply and sustainably, but more than that I wanted to explore <em>who we might become</em> as we made these outer changes. Our outer and inner worlds give us the illusion of being separate phenomenon. We think what exists beyond our skin is wholly Other and what is contained within it is this thing we call the Self. But really these two worlds are one, and changes to one of these worlds creates changes in the other. We’<span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">ve</span> been in a phase of our evolution where it was necessary to harbor this illusion of separateness—but it’s a phase I believe we are about to leave behind.<br /><br />In our earliest days (perhaps even before we could technically be called humans) we were unconscious beings, <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">primally</span> fused with the surrounding environment. There was no sense of self yet, just a fluid merging with all that was. Then as we developed tools and language and began to separate out from the environmental matrix, we began to develop a sense of self, of discreteness. We became conscious. It was a gradual process taking hundreds of thousands--if not millions--of years. Over time the sense of self became more and more defined, more self-reflecting, and more isolated. An internal world developed, something which could symbolically represent what was out there, or even grossly distort it. We began to think we were just these isolated dots of awareness, forgetting our true (huge) Identity. Everything that wasn't the self--this isolated dot--was Other. And we needed to create these false dichotomies in order to become conscious.<br /><br />If one essay helped shaped my thinking more than any other, it was Jung's "Answer to Job". The gist of the essay was that God needed us in order to become conscious of Himself. When God existed alone he couldn't know Himself, as there were no points of reference. He created a physical universe so there could be Self and Other, so parts of Himself (including us) could look at other parts of Himself and compare and contrast and therefore wake up and become aware. It was a radical new way of thinking for me when I first read it (as a teenager), at a time when I was just starting to break away from traditional Christian thought. It seemed almost <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">sacrilegious</span> to speak of God as <em>needing</em> us. Nowadays couching the creative force or life force in such Christian terms doesn't really speak to me, yet it still helps me to envision the process--the evolution of consciousness. When we were unconscious we were essentially God--we were one with the whole universe, but we just couldn't know it. We lived it--that was all. Then we became conscious and separate--believing God was somewhere else and something Other. One day (hopefully soon) we will consciously fuse back with that fuller identity--becoming God aware of Himself.<br /><br />The shorthand I like to use for our evolutionary trajectory is: from Unconscious Union to Conscious But Separate to Conscious Union. We can break it down further if we want. For instance, Jean <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gebser</span> saw five distinct phases in our evolution: Archaic, Magical, Mythical, Mental, Integral. The first phase, the Archaic, represents what I call our Unconscious Union while the last phase, the Integral, represents the Conscious Union we're evolving towards. The three middle phases represent distinct steps in our Conscious But Separate phase.<br /><br />In the Magical phase we had only a very rudimentary sense of self. Language was developing, blossoming organically out of our interactions with nature. We had barely started to separate from nature and at this point words were magical and potent. We couldn't know that eventually words would alienate us from nature--at this point words still had the power to fuse us with the natural world. Also in this phase there was no individual ego and no differentiated sense of space or time.<br /><br />In the Mythical phase we became tool-makers, language became more developed, and we began creating mythologies--stories to explain the natural world which now was something outside of ourselves. As self separated from nature and ego began to crystallize we developed a sense of space. A conception of linear time wouldn't appear until we entered the Mental phase.<br /><br />In the Mental phase we completed our separation from nature and perfected abstraction. Causality could now exist because of our linear concept of time. The sciences were born and with them the Age of Reason. Ego reached its full development and nature became something entirely Other.<br /><br />And that is where we now stand, as separate from nature as we possibly could be and facing all the horrible consequences which that entails--but finally, at long last, we are awake. We've achieved full consciousness--and our fullest sense of alienation from the more-than-human world.<br /><br />And now we stand on the cusp of a new paradigm. What will that look like? How will it feel to be that new human? How will we perceive the world? How will we interact with it? <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gebser</span> saw the next phase, the Integral, as one that would include all previous phases but would be non-temporal and non-linear. He believed we were moving towards a global type of awareness that would be relational in nature--more about the connections and relationships between things over time rather than focused on the things themselves. And while the previous three phases have been about trying to create meaning (through magical thinking, religious mythologies, and scientific reason) the next phase won’t involve all of this <em>explaining</em>. Rather it will be about experiencing the <em>living, embodied meaning</em> of things and relationships. As we begin to fuse back with the natural world, there will be less and less need to explain and our lives will become more a form of performance art. Our actions will harmoniously arise as expressions of what wants to manifest—the earth (or the universe or God) expressing itself through us.<br /><br />All of this becomes difficult to express in words. Words after all are products of our Conscious But Separate phase. They create Subject and Object as tools to help us <em>See</em>. But in the next phase—one of reintegration—they will lose much of their significance. <em>Language</em> will be important, but speech not so much. And it will be the language of <em>being</em>, the language of life as <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">improv</span>.<br /><br />What I want to do in upcoming posts is try to express how this new paradigm is beginning to birth itself in me—a challenging thing to attempt with words! But I find myself more and more slipping into this new way of seeing and being, and the beauty of it so overwhelms me I feel the need to attempt to share what I’m experiencing. I don’t even know if it’s possible, but I feel like I’m finally getting at what this blog is meant to be about. <em>Who might we become?</em> <--I’m becoming that! Now how do I express it?Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-31040268076090256252010-06-06T06:25:00.005-06:002010-06-06T08:54:39.019-06:00Who's Domesticating Whom?Yesterday I spent the day out in the garden, trying to get a few new beds dug. The first part of the project involved getting the grass out of there. I had already dug up the clods of grass a few days ago, so all I still had to do in order to finish <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">de</span>-sodding was to shake loose the soil clinging to each clod and toss the grass into the wheelbarrow. I got into a nice work rhythm and was enjoying the gorgeous day, but quickly hit a snag. The patch of lawn I was working on was full of lawn grubs, and as I worked the soil loose from the grass, grubs would fall out periodically. This was a <em>huge</em> problem.<br /><br />[Warning: Creatures were harmed in the making of this garden.]<br /><br />I don't like killing things. I don't like it, yet I understand this is the nature of life. It's all about eating or being eaten, killing or being killed. Life springs from death. Death keeps the cycle of life turning. Bodies get cycled through other bodies and we're all continually digesting each other.<br /><br />I couldn't allow the grubs to live if I wanted to grow food for myself. Lawn grubs act as cutworms on tender new plantings, so getting them out of there was critical if I wanted to meet my own selfish need for food. And besides, I was destroying their habitat so they had little chance of survival anyway.<br /><br />Last year I dealt with the grubs by gifting them to the red ant colony that lives in the alley next to my garden. My son however pointed out this was a very cruel way for the grubs to die--being bitten by thousands of red ants--and after all, the grubs were just <em>innocent babies</em>. He wasn't against killing the grubs, or giving them to the ants. He just thought it should be done more humanely. So his solution was to first behead the grubs with a shovel before giving them to the ants.<br /><br />It was definitely more humane than my solution, but yesterday Collin was at his dad's house and I am no cutter-offer-of-heads--so what was I to do? If I just left the grubs exposed on the surface of the soil where they fell, they would slowly dehydrate and fry in the hot sun. Would that be any better than being bitten by a thousand red ants? I hardly think so. So my cowardly solution was to cover them with a thin layer of dirt. Just enough so I couldn't see them suffering. Not enough to save them from the sun. See, I have no problem being an accomplice in death. I'm just too cowardly to do the deed myself--so the end result is that I leave grubs to suffer needlessly.<br /><br />All of this was adding an element of stress to what should have been a very enjoyable day in the garden.<br /><br />Then something amazing happened.<br /><br />A robin showed up. He was hopping around on the ground about ten feet away from me and seemed to be saying, <em>Hey, I see you have a little problem here--I can help you with that! </em>Thus began an afternoon of fun and games.<br /><br />I started tossing grubs at him. I couldn't keep up. He would scoop up a grub, fly away to feed it to his kids, and be back for more before I could find the next one. Then he'd wait patiently on a branch or the back corner of my house until I found a new one, and the game would start all over again. He told his wife about me and she showed up--a far more reserved creature than he was. She'd sit on the fence and watch me, then flit away when I made a sudden move. By the end of the day however, she got over her fear enough to retrieve a grub I tossed to her. I watched her fly off to a tree in the opposite direction from the tree where her nestlings were tucked away. Then she waited half a minute or so before flying home, taking a path which looped far out beyond my yard.<br /><br />I got so engrossed with feeding the robins I wasn't focused on getting my own work done. In fact, I think I've created more work for myself. I was randomly digging holes looking for grubs, but I'll still need to go back over it all to double-dig it. I didn't care. It was fun. I was engrossed in the neat new relationship I was building. I even gave the male robin two of my earthworms (which I'd really rather keep) in an effort to show my friendship and to further build trust.<br /><br />So now I'm thinking about this--this amazing thing that happened in my yard yesterday. This connection which we forged between species. Can we say that I began taming the robins? Are they becoming domesticated?<br /><br />Or are the robins taming me?<br /><br />What is this thing that's happening between us?<br /><br />I think "domestication" may be the wrong way to frame this. If there's one thing I've been learning about lately it's how we need to become participants again in our own ecosystems. When we participate and claim a niche, it's inevitable that we will form relationships with the other members of the ecosystem. We don't exist in isolation from other species. Our niches rub up against each other and we meet and we negotiate relationships. Each ecosystem evolves from countless negotiated relationships. We don't <em>tame</em> or <em><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">domesticat</span>e</em> each other but rather we relate and cooperate. We find what works between us. If there's an opportunity to forge a symbiotic relationship between species, you can bet that we'll do it. It just makes sense.<br /><br />I love the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Gaia</span> hypothesis because it helps me see my local ecosystem as its own sort of organism. Together we members of this ecosystem create a functioning whole--we're like different organs of one body, dependent on one <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">another's</span> services to keep the whole body healthy.<br /><br />When robins and humans cooperate we get healthier gardens and healthier birds. Both of our species benefit (the grubs...not so much). I'm sure the grubs have entered into symbiotic relationships of their own. We're all working together in one way or another.<br /><br />A question I have is: when we enter into a relationship with another (be it another human or a member of some other species) do we automatically give up something of our own wildness? When we get tied down into relationships, however beneficial, aren't we giving up something of our own autonomy? Is all relationship a form of domestication? If so, I guess that's not a bad thing, is it? "Domestication" seems like such an evil word, but perhaps all species need a degree of domestication. Through domestication the individual self is subsumed by this larger entity which gets created through cooperation. What do you think? I'm still waffling back and forth on this. Would you call what's happening between me and the birds a form of domestication or would you call it something else?Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-10238350318852555142010-05-23T06:22:00.002-06:002010-05-23T08:43:54.956-06:00Things I Don't NeedWhen I was just getting serious about simple living a few years ago I read an article about self-reliance which really stuck with me. The author said that the biggest mistake people make when starting out is thinking that in order to become self-reliant they have to go out and buy a bunch of <em>stuff</em>. I remember thinking that was kind of funny--<em>what kind of self-reliance is that</em>? Self-reliance is really more about skill-building than it is about tool-getting, but in the early stages it's easy to believe all you need are the right tools (or at least to believe that the right tools will get you a very long way).<br /><br />Tools of course are important, and when we're first adopting a simpler and more resilient lifestyle it might become very obvious, very quickly that all the tools and gadgets and gizmos we've acquired over the years are precisely all the <em>wrong</em> tools and gadgets and gizmos needed for self-reliance. Riding lawn mowers, microwave ovens, GPS navigation, bread machines, rototillers, dishwashers...not so important. Root cellars, chicken coops, grain mills, spades, shovels, buckets, jars...very important tools.<br /><br />Part of the reason the article really stuck with me is that I've been guilty of this very thing (yeah, I know, I laughed but the joke was on me). All along I've maintained a long list of things I need to acquire in order to increase my self-reliance. Here's just the top part of my list: more canning jars and lids, grain mill, grain roller, auger juicer, meat grinder, pressure canner, carboys, herbal still, bottles, capper, bushel and peck baskets, sauerkraut and pickle crocks, jugs and gallon jars, food storage buckets, attachments for the food strainer (berry, salsa, pumpkin, and grape screens), more soaker hoses, camping stove and fuel, food dehydrator, yogurt maker, pasta roller...and the list goes on (and on). You may look at the list and think those are pretty reasonable needs. Few of us are interested in going back to a cave man existence and you have to admit many of the tools we've created over the ensuing millenia are legitimately very helpful. So what's the problem with me going out and getting all of this stuff in order to be more self-reliant?<br /><br />It's not a problem as long as I don't just mindlessly run out and buy it all. Making the list and thinking about what I legitimately need is a great first step. But the next step isn't running out to the store or placing a huge online order. The next step is sitting with that list as I continue to learn and as I continue to evolve out of the consumer paradigm and into this more self-reliant paradigm. Shifting from one paradigm to another is a huge process. Until you really delve into the process you don't realize how absolutely insidious the consumer culture is or how it has subconsciously affected your thoughts and beliefs and perceived "needs". It takes quite a while to be able to one-by-one recognize the ways you've been indoctrinated into that culture and to slowly shed those erroneous beliefs.<br /><br />I've been serious about this for five years now and it's still catching me by surprise when I realize--<em>oh, I don't need this after all</em>--about one thing or another. My <em>real</em> needs keep dwindling, and my <em>real</em> self-reliance keeps growing.<br /><br />My self-reliance is growing not because I made a list and bought a bunch of tools. My self-reliance is growing because I've gotten out there and started doing the work. I've started acquiring the skills. It's one thing initially to <em>think</em> about what you might need in order to be self-reliant, but it's another thing entirely to <em>learn-through-doing</em> what you <em>really</em> need. By getting out there and doing all I can, I see what works and what doesn't and I see what tools would be legitimately useful.<br /><br />For the longest time I've wanted a pressure canner, but now I've struck that off the list. <em>Not necessary</em>. How did I come to that realization? By growing a garden, by learning everything I could about food storage, by trying out different methods, and by figuring out that pressure canning is the most fuel-intensive, nutrient-destructive method of food preservation there is. It should be a technique of last resort, if even used at all. What can I do instead? Use the root cellar and in-ground storage for certain crops; extend the season in the garden using coldframes, hot beds, and rowcovers, so I can have fresh vegetables as long as possible each year; store dry beans and grains and only cook them as needed; use old-world techniques such as preserving with sugar, brines, alcohol, pickling, fermenting, dehydrating, etc. As a last resort I use my waterbath canner. It uses a lot of fuel and destroys nutrients but not to the extent that a pressure canner does. I find it indispensable for preserving the tomato harvest (although I do sun-dry some tomatoes as well).<br /><br />Another silly idea of mine was a pasta roller. I thought it was a reasonable desire, especially since I didn't want one of those fancy electric gizmos, just a lowly hand-cranked one--and my son loves pasta--so why not? Why not? Because there's an even more elegant solution. It's called a rolling pin, and it works beautifully. The rolling pin is also a wonderful device for making flour and corn tortillas so I don't need one of those tortilla presses either (that made it onto my list at one point too).<br /><br />And yogurt maker...what a ridiculous idea. Just pop it in a warm place...a preheated oven, a haybox, an insulated cooler. Why complicate life with all of these unnecessary gadgets? A camping stove? I wanted that in case the power goes out. But how about I build a rocket stove and a solar cooker instead? Then I won't be dependent on buying fuel canisters, but instead can rely on twigs and the sun, both of which are locally abundant. In my last post I mentioned that something as seemingly critical as a drilled well isn't even necessary--just catch and store rainwater.<br /><br />So bit by bit my list is dwindling. It's to the point now where the only electrically-operated wishes on the wish list are tools I would need to eventually build my cabin (plugged into a gas-powered generator--another item on the list). Well, there is the small matter of the heat mat for starting my pepper seedlings--that's electric too. But if I hold off on that until I move to the desert it won't even be necessary. <br /><br />I love this process. It's gratifying to find myself becoming increasingly skillful and at the same time less dependent on the system to provide for me. The gadgets I need from the system now are elegantly simple ones--a rolling pin, a shovel, a dutch oven, a jar, an ax. I love it.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-4201931024055837632010-05-18T08:46:00.006-06:002010-05-18T10:38:56.342-06:00Water, Deserts, and HomesteadingWell, this post is going to be full of irony, considering that in my last post I talked about how humans don't really belong in drought-prone areas--<em>and now I'm thinking I want to move to the desert.</em> I've been doing a lot of research lately and I'm starting to believe we can actually live sustainably in desert regions and perhaps even have a restorative impact on the land. Not, obviously, the way we currently live in deserts--gobbling up fossil-water, overgrazing the land (and otherwise exacerbating erosion), and living far more densely than the land can support. To live sustainably in arid regions requires us to live simply--most would claim primitively--by first and foremost practicing extreme water conservation.<br /><br />What do I mean by extreme? I mean not drilling wells. I mean surviving on rainfall--yes, in the desert, I know! All my calculations tell me this is actually quite reasonable as long as you build adequate water catchment systems. A 3000 square foot metal roof can capture almost 18,000 gallons of rain per year in a place where there's only 10 inches of annual precipitation. Okay, 18,000 gallons is nothing if you're living the standard resource-guzzling lifestyle. I'm sure there are families out there consuming 18,000 gallons of water <em>a month</em>, particularly if they have large lawns that are dependent on irrigation. But 18,000 gallons is a lot of water if you live simply. If you have a sawdust toilet. If you soap up before you turn on the water and (gasp!) if you don't necessarily shower everyday. If you drip irrigate and/or use <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">dryland</span> techniques on your gardens. If you only wash clothes when they're dirty. If you don't have a lawn. If you don't wash your car. If you filter your <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">graywater</span> to reuse on your orchard.<br /><br />I really like the idea of being so dependent on Mother Nature. Sure, it's incredibly risky. What if you get two or three years of <em>no rainfall whatsoever</em>? Desert precipitation is notoriously unpredictable. My current home is in what's considered high desert. Our region averages about 12 inches of precipitation per year. Yet that's not a consistent 12 inches. Last year we had 17.42 inches of rain. In '02 we had 3.74 inches. In '97 we had 18.18 inches. In '06 we had 6.32 inches. Fortunately here the bad years have tended to be surrounded on both ends by good years, but that won't be the case everywhere or always. To successfully live in the desert you need to be able to store several years' worth of water and still be prepared to move on if the rains never come. I like that! Something about that extreme dependency on nature thrills me. How much respect and reverence we would have for the natural world if we lived so dependently. And the truth is, we <em>are</em> dependent anyway, even those of us totally immersed in resource-guzzling lifestyles. We just cling to our various life-support systems and never acknowledge that the natural world even exists--so we certainly don't acknowledge our dependence on it. To allow ourselves to be utterly dependent on nature to provide our water--think how attuned we would become to the natural world. We would learn to pay attention--to the shifting clouds and winds, to the building thunderheads, to the peculiar smell of water. We would regain a sense of reverence and respect for nature and understand our puny place in the scheme of life. There would be no more hubris, but humility and awe instead. That kind of visceral existence is what I desperately crave.<br /><br />I'm not sure why I'm feeling so pulled to the desert lately (and by desert I mean true desert--like the <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">Sonoran</span> or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chihuahuan</span> desert). I guess I'm sensing the desert would have a lot to teach me. It would keep me on my toes. But another realization I've had in exploring this is just how much more sustainably we could be living <em>anywhere. </em>Shouldn't we all be harvesting rainwater wherever we are--even where precipitation is abundant--instead of drawing down the aquifers? Shouldn't we all be treating water with reverence? One-third of the land mass worldwide is desert and it continues to spread. Water is increasingly a major concern worldwide, yet we continue to use water extravagantly and wastefully. There aren't many of us who couldn't dramatically reduce our water usage even without adopting the primitive lifestyle I'm envisioning.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-53831161770331699932010-04-04T07:32:00.004-06:002010-04-04T08:52:47.920-06:00Limits As GuidanceWhat would it take to bring out the best in humans? Clearly what we're doing now is not working. We're on a path of self-destruction, and destruction of all that is good and beautiful. We can never live up to our full potential as a species as long as we live so destructively.<br /><br />I think we need to take a few steps back. We need to recognize that as a species we're a bunch of out-of-control adolescents. Adolescents love to challenge limits and that's exactly what we've been doing, whole-hilt. We fail to understand that limits represent a form of guidance. They constrain behavior, but constrain it in a constructive way. There is always wisdom and information encoded in the limits our environment presents to us, but as unruly children we love to pretend those limits don't even exist.<br /><br />The re-localization movement is on the right track. The problem with globalization is that all natural boundaries that should be constraining human affairs have been erased. We evolved in small tribes, in our own distinct ecological niches. We didn't evolve to conduct our affairs on a global scale. In our small niches we acted, and saw the results of our actions. If we over-hunted our favorite game, we had to live with the consequences--either by going hungry or having to move our community. If we located the village latrines above our drinking water, we experienced the dire consequences of disease. If we didn't live peacefully with our tribe members and were forced to leave, we learned a lesson about safety in numbers and the survival advantage that strong community bonds bestow. Our actions had tangible consequences. They gave immediate feedback, so we were able to learn from our mistakes and adjust our course of action.<br /><br />Living globally we don't see the results of our actions. And because our society is so over-sized and out-of-control we take lots and lots of actions each day, feeling absolutely none of the consequences of any of them.<br /><br />You're in a rush and stop at the closest grocery store, a Super Walmart, for milk. You don't have time to drive out to a dairy that will sell you raw milk. So you buy antibiotic-laced, pus-filled, dead milk from genetically weakened cows. All you see is a way to quench the thirst of your little ones and something to float your cereal in. You don't see the horrific conditions of the cows, you don't see what happens to their calves, you don't see what happens to the land and the water table.<br /><br />You check on how your mutual funds are doing, thinking only about the happy retirement you hope to enjoy one day. But you don't see that your investment profits are being formed out of the blood, sweat, and tears of men, women, and children who have hopes and dreams just like you do. You don't see the mountains of earth being ripped apart to create the products that will create the profits that fund your retirement.<br /><br />You leave your porch light on every night to discourage burglars and present a welcoming face to your community. You don't see the piles of coal, the oil, the refineries, the pollution, which fossil fuel-based energy production requires.<br /><br />Re-localization is necessary so we can begin to see the results of our actions again. We desperately need that kind of feedback. We need to live at a human-scale again. That means inhabiting a small patch of earth, forming tight communities able to meet the majority of their own needs, and never growing beyond what the land can sustain. It means not forming communities in places inhospitable to human affairs--where it's too hot, too cold, too drought-ridden. If you're dependent on air-conditioning or on water piped in from hundreds of miles away, you're not honoring the limits of the land. The land is saying, This is not a place for human settlement, you don't belong here.<br /><br />The land provides much guidance if we would only learn to listen again. A poisoned land creates fertility problems for the creatures living there. The message: This is no place for life. But what do we humans do? We stay there and have fertility treatments!<br /><br />We need to get back into our niches. This will only be possible if our population is drastically reduced. We've already exceeded the carrying capacity of the earth. We've infringed on the niches of too many Others. In a world so out of balance, I think the inevitable correction is coming. Whoever remains will hopefully be able to comprehend the implications of that huge correction: stay small, stay local, honor the guidance held here in the land.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-61118696800732058942010-03-20T13:48:00.003-06:002010-03-20T14:08:48.330-06:00Still Paring Down After Five Years<blockquote>A tourist from America paid a visit to a renowned Polish rabbi, Hafetz Chaim. He was astonished to see the rabbi's home was only a simple room filled with books, plus a table and bench.<br />"Rabbi," asked the tourist, "Where is your furniture?"<br />"Where is yours?" replied Hafetz Chaim.<br />"Mine?" asked the puzzled American. "But I'm only passing through."<br />"So am I," said the rabbi.</blockquote><div style="TEXT-ALIGN: right">(Martin Buber, <em>Tales of the Hassidim</em>)</div><br />There's not much that we really need when it comes to belongings. We can live perfectly rich and satisfying lives with remarkably few material possessions. I know this because more and more I live it. For the past five years I've been in the process of paring my life down to essentials. I'm still working at it, but one thing is clear to me--the less cluttered my life becomes materially, the richer it becomes in other ways.<br /><br />On the other hand, the more cluttered it becomes, the more unsettled and unfocused I become. This became painfully obvious to me in recent weeks when a problem with my water heater in the storm cellar beneath the house forced me to move all the contents of the cellar upstairs. The storm cellar is narrow, about three feet wide, and over time I had filled the space with boxes and bins of my belongings, stacked many high. There was nowhere else to put everything but up in the house while the water heater was being repaired.<br /><br />Now the house itself is very tiny, about 485 square feet, so there was not much space to absorb such a huge influx of stuff. It took over the living room. There was only a path from the front door leading into the other rooms. The sofa and chairs were completely covered--there was nowhere to sit. Every time you had to pass through the room it took effort to navigate the pathways without crashing into things. It's the sort of environment that makes me more than a little crazy. I could feel my nerves jangling and my ability to concentrate and focus seemed to evaporate into thin air.<br /><br />It was good however because I've been meaning to clean out the storm cellar. I had envisioned doing so on a bright sunny warm spring day, not tackling it in the snowy gloomy damp cold--but oh well. I've worked over the past five years to streamline my living space but this stuff stashed beneath the house was like a skeleton in my closet and the remnants of a former way of life. Laying it all out in the light of day was startling. Still so much work to do, obviously. More letting go. Will this process never end?<br /><br />Confronting all of this stuff I find find there are still things I'm not quite willing to surrender yet. I've let go of so much already, physically and emotionally...and yet I still cling to things. Why is that? Some of these things are sentimental--like old letters and mementos. Some seem like they could be useful some way, some how if only I could figure that out. None of these things would actually be missed if I lost them in a sudden way, like in a fire or a tornado. So why do I still hold onto them?<br /><br />My goal is to be completely done with this process by the time my son leaves home in little over four years--when my nest is empty and I prepare to embark on a new adventure. I want to leave here cleanly, streamlined, with next to nothing to carry. I know I have to be patient with myself. It takes time to let go. Things aren't just things after all, they represent aspects of ourselves--who we are or were or would like to have been. They hold memories and hopes. Letting go of stuff is quite a process. I would love to come out of this process knowing how to carry my identity, memories, hopes, etc fully inside of myself, not projected "out there" onto a bunch of lifeless things. Without so much clutter I would be freer, lighter, more fluid. What kind of life could I craft for myself, living so lightly? That's what I want to discover.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-71510899893173966992010-03-02T10:08:00.006-07:002010-03-02T12:08:20.976-07:00Of Microbes, Meals, and MindsNinety percent of the cells in our bodies are microbes. That amounts to about 50 percent of each of us by dry weight measure. And about 8 percent of our DNA actually belongs to foreign viruses, which inserted themselves into our DNA strands deep in our evolutionary past. Even the mitochondria inside each of our cells were once independent beings. So my question is, Who are we? Who am I? Who is it who thinks these thoughts and writes these words? Is it "me"--this seemingly autonomous being--or are my microbes writing this? If 90 percent of me isn't me then am I not actually writing this by committee?<br /><br />So little is understood about the nature of consciousness. Out of this improbable assortment of cells and genetic information arises thought and awareness...how? What I find tantalizing are various studies indicating that certain microbes inside of us can affect our moods, our health, whether we develop obesity or diabetes, etc. If microbes are so influential, couldn't it be possible that they might collectively be giving rise to this thing we call Mind, or consciousness?<br /><br />Last month I had a bout of food poisoning after eating some bad sushi. The first night, along with the usual misery, I had a really good fever going (I was not too happy to learn that fevers don't usually accompany food poisoning unless it's an issue of fecal contamination, but let's not dwell on that...). I poured buckets of sweat and had weird dreams all night long--dreams of places and events in my early childhood that I had forgotten, dreams containing bits of insight and advice, and many more that I couldn't remember but that left me feeling very positive and upbeat. For the next two nights, even though the fever had broken, I continued to have night sweats and vivid and very positive dreams. During the days I felt wonderfully renewed, like the world was brand new and anything was possible.<br /><br />Lynn <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Margulis</span>, in her book Symbiotic Planet, mentioned that once foreign microbes are incorporated into cells or bodies they behave symbiotically, but initially it's a brutal war for survival and domination. The food poisoning virus or bacteria that I tussled with wasn't entering into a symbiotic relationship with me--it sought to use me to reproduce itself and then move on. If it had become lodged in my body like the microbes I permanently host, it would have traded its mobility for a guarantee of continued existence within me. While it was with me though it seemed to be sharing it's unique personality. I got the distinct feeling that my unusual state of consciousness was not merely the fever talking, but actually the microbe talking. Whatever it was doing chemically inside of me was affecting my consciousness. And the weirdest thing of all was that it seemed to be a <em>good</em> microbe--it was contributing in a positive way to my state of mind. Of course it was also making me very sick, but that was only because our two species hadn't evolved a way to exist symbiotically. My body rejected it. All of the nasty symptoms were ways in which my body was trying to <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">expel</span> it. But that odd subtle shift in my consciousness, the upbeat mood, the access to long forgotten memories--I just have a feeling that was the microbe's contribution. If the human body ever enters into a symbiotic relationship with that particular microbe I bet it would result in an enhancement of human consciousness (regardless of its lowly, <span style="font-size:78%;">possibly fecal</span>, origins).<br /><br />We have all of these different species of microbes comprising us, each one subtly shifting our body's chemistry. Could the sum total of all of that <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">chemistry</span> be Mind? But of course it's not only microbes that shift chemistry--it's what we eat, what we inhale, what our senses draw in. Ultimately we <em>are</em> our environment.<br /><br />I've noticed as I've gotten more serious about growing things that each plant has its own unique energy. Herbs seem to have the most pronounced "personalities", but I even had an interesting experience with tomatoes.<br /><br />Last fall I grew 241 pounds of tomatoes. I had been busy for weeks canning tomato sauces, tomato pastes, tomato juices, etc., but hadn't eaten an <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">exorbitant</span> amount of them raw yet. Then one day, when they were really piling up on the counters and threatening to spoil, I ate like three or four gigantic tomatoes in one evening. That night, for the first 2/3 of the night, literally all I dreamed about were tomatoes. Tomatoes were behind my eyelids. Streams of red-gold <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">tomatoey</span> light were flowing through my veins, like rivers of sunlight. Tomatoes were the only reality. What I find interesting is I had been dealing with tomatoes for weeks, but it wasn't their overwhelming presence in my life "out there" that impacted my consciousness. I had to literally incorporate them into me first, as food. Then they spoke loud and clear.<br /><br />I'm beginning to believe <em>everything</em> we take into us shapes our consciousness. If true, then it becomes essential that we are mindful of what we allow in, especially if we care at all about our human potential. Having healthy microbes might be critical, so we should avoid all of the antimicrobial products now available. Herbs might have important things to contribute to consciousness, so we should incorporate them into our diets. Chemicals and preservatives might kill and distort microbes and beneficial enzymes, so we should seek only organic foods. And what about animals raised in horrific conditions, never able to reach their full genetic potentials? How might that kind of chemistry affect human consciousness if we ingest it? This is such an interesting line of inquiry. This year I'll be growing over fifty types of fruits, veggies, herbs, and grains, so I'm going to do some experiments. I particularly want to get acquainted with the properties and personalities of the herbs that I'll be growing since, as I've noticed, they seem to speak the loudest.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-60560857554991684122010-02-22T07:43:00.003-07:002010-02-22T09:08:55.288-07:00Death Will Come Knocking, So How Shall We Live?With all the dire situations facing us, I'm in the camp that believes we're about to face a massive human die-off. The earth can't sustain the numbers we have, particularly at our <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">destructive</span> level of consumption, so she'll restore balance--at the expense of many individual lives. If it happens or starts to happen this century, do you believe <em>your</em> life be spared? Will you be among the chosen few?<br /><br />I think we all tend to believe, automatically, that catastrophe will only strike someone else. We're so geared for survival we think we're invincible, so while we may accept there will be a massive die-off, we just assume <em>we</em> won't be among the dead. That's awfully presumptuous of us, isn't it?<br /><br />I decided a long time ago, when I first looked at this issue, that <em>my</em> survival just doesn't even matter. I guess I've always been able to see the bigger picture--that we're all part of a process of creation and unfolding, that consciousness is a collective phenomenon. My individual life doesn't matter except for the fact that it's part of an unfolding, evolving pattern. I participate in that process while I'm here in this particular form and then I surrender gracefully. When my life ends the process of creation continues. All of the elements of my body get returned to the larger community and continue to participate in the process of unfolding. Beyond the physical aspects of it, I believe that energetically I go on as well. Not <em>me</em> in this persona, but me nonetheless. Does it matter how long I wear this particular persona, this cloak that is and isn't me? Why is 78 years preferable to 40 years if I'm <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected">indestructible</span> anyway? Why cling to this form so desperately when I know it's ephemeral--a blossoming forth from the greater matrix which is here today and gone tomorrow? The question is really, how do we live knowing that we'll die?<br /><br />This past week I've had to come face to face with the issue of my own mortality. Fourteen years ago, when I was pregnant with my son, I was diagnosed with a congenital defect of the aortic valve, what's called a bicuspid valve. A normal aorta has a three-leafed or <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">tricuspid</span> valve and those flaps open and close to let the blood through. A bicuspid valve has only two flaps, creating more of a slit instead. I was told at the time that this wouldn't become an issue until old age, when in all likelihood I'd have to have the valve replaced because of a greater chance of calcification. But lately I've had more and more serious heart-related symptoms, so I figured it was time to do some research. Apparently, since '96 they've learned a lot more about this. It's not just a defect of the aortic valve, but a whole connective tissue disorder that affects many parts of the body. People with the disorder typically have hyper-flexible joints, flat feet, scoliosis, issues with the spinal discs, an increased risk of hernias and a host of other problems. The most serious issue is a weakness of the aorta and the arteries of the head (they form from the same tissue) leading to a high risk of aneurysms and dissections. If you remember a few years back, this is what caused the death of actor John <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">Ritter</span>. And then also, there's an increased likelihood of damage to the heart itself.<br /><br />I had decided years ago that I would forgo the valve surgery, for a host of reasons. For one I just despise hospitals. I would rather live fully out here and drop dead then spend any amount of time in there. Another thing is that I have no desire to be dependent on medications for the rest of my life. But beyond those reasons, I just frankly don't believe we should be going to crazy measures to extend human life. This isn't a belief I would ever impose on anyone else, but it's something I hold to sincerely. We've gone about eradicating all the ways that Mother Nature can control population growth. I was born with a genetic defect--how more clearly could Mother Nature speak? She was gracious enough to allow me to reproduce, but now she's saying, clear out. I designed your body to wear out early, now move along, transform into something else. And I accept that totally.<br /><br />Knowing that you will die--and I mean <em>knowing</em> it--is an enormous gift. If you know you will die then you can really live. You've got absolutely nothing to lose, so anything becomes possible. There's nothing to fear and nothing to lose, so you can live radically. Shouldn't we all be living that way? Shouldn't we all step out of our little <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">personae</span> and live largely? When you accept your own mortality, then you open up a world of possibilities for how to live. In these times, if more and more of us could get to that point of acceptance, I think we could transform the world. We'd be setting our egos and <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_5" class="blsp-spelling-error">personae</span> aside and acting from a higher place. We could reshape human culture and help to return the earth to balance.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-29994589106543843332010-01-31T08:42:00.005-07:002010-02-01T12:45:05.842-07:00Why Shorter Showers MatterI love to read anything that Derrick Jensen writes. The fact that he is so controversial is all the better. His Orion articles typically generate hundreds of comments ("<a href="http://www.orionmagazine.org/index.php/articles/article/4801/">Forget Shorter Showers</a>" has over 300 comments now) and they end up being as interesting to read as the articles themselves. He gets people riled up and <em>thinking</em>, and I <em>like</em> that.<br /><br />This past week I read Jensen's book, <em>What We Leave Behind</em> (co-authored with <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">Aric</span> <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">McBay</span>). The main premise running through the book is the same as the one in the essay "Forget Shorter Showers"--that our personal actions are inconsequential. We can take shorter showers and switch to compact fluorescent bulbs but we shouldn't deceive ourselves into thinking we've done anything of consequence for the planet. I wholeheartedly disagree. I believe our personal actions represent the single most effective means we have available for bringing about societal change.<br /><br />In <em>What We Leave Behind</em>, Jensen points out that even if we (in the US) were to reduce our personal waste to zero, we would each only be eliminating 1660 pounds per year. And meanwhile, our per <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">capita</span> share of industrial waste, nearly 26 tons, would be unchanged. So what would our personal actions have accomplished? Virtually nothing. The system would still be churning out literally tons upon tons of waste.<br /><br />However, there seems to be a naivete on Jensen's part in believing that the individual is not connected to the industrial system that churns out these monumental piles of waste. It's as if for Jensen, the personal is the personal and the industrial is the industrial and never the twain shall meet. But as I've pointed out previously, <a href="http://wheresimplicityleads.blogspot.com/2010/01/can-we-create-new-mythology.html">we <em>are</em> the Machine</a>. There's no separation between us and the Machine.<br /><br />If Company A manufactures a part for Company B, and Company B uses that part in a machine that it sells to Company C, and Company C uses that machine to make a product that it sells to us "consumers", then what happens when we stop buying that product? There's no demand for the product, therefore no demand for the machine, therefore no need for the parts. The industrial waste generated from that whole stream of manufacturing is eliminated because of the actions of the "consumers".<br /><br />Now, instead of talking about this in terms of waste, let's talk about it in terms of money. Why does industry exist in the first place? The fundamental reason is obviously the profit motive. Industry exists in order to profit.<br /><br />How best can we influence the actions of industry? Yes, we can stage protests and sit-ins and chain ourselves to trees, but wouldn't the more logical approach be attacking the very lifeblood of the industry--its profits? If it can't profit from what it does then it can't exist (I'm consciously choosing to ignore, for this post, the whole war machine as well as the current strategy of our government and the Fed to create money out of thin air). If we as "consumers" change our behaviors and stop consuming we destroy profits and an industry's viability. It filters all the way up.<br /><br />Now maybe shorter showers and compact <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">fluorescents</span> don't represent the best examples of this. How about we take some of the things from my list <a href="http://wheresimplicityleads.blogspot.com/2010/01/personal-ways-to-disengage-from-system.html">"Personal Ways to Disengage from the System"</a>: sell your car, don't buy processed foods, build passive solar homes, give up gadgets, use a clothesline, don't use airplanes, stay where you are. If you do any of those things you affect a whole stream of manufacturing practices. Granted, "you" the mere individual aren't going to make much of an impact, but collectively we can have an enormous impact.<br /><br />I find it so ironic that Jensen believes his fight for the neighborhood patch of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_4" class="blsp-spelling-error">rainforest</span> is more significant that the "shorter showers" approach, when he makes it very clear that so far their fight has been in vain. The only thing that has stopped the developer is, you guessed it, the economy. Nothing they have done (he and his neighbors) has stopped the guy. The only thing that has stopped him is that the venture has suddenly turned <em>unprofitable</em>. I'm not implying that activism is pointless--of course we have to stand up to these people. We have to try everything in our power to stop them. But perhaps the shorter showers approach is actually the more effective one. The developer stopped because <em>consumers weren't buying</em>.<br /><br />Maybe even two or three years ago the shorter showers approach didn't seem like a particularly viable one. But now, with the economy teetering on the brink, it should become apparent just how much power we "consumers" have. The power <em>not</em> to buy. The power <em>not</em> to consume. It doesn't sound like much at first blush, but seriously look around at what's happening as the economy continues down this slippery slope. "Not buying" is starting to reshape the world.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-7280576398615172460.post-30259063923973604982010-01-24T07:52:00.002-07:002010-01-24T09:18:26.066-07:00Is the Simple Life "Too Much Work"?This has been bugging me lately. I can't tell you the number of times I've gotten "Oh, but that sounds like so much work!" when I describe something I do to take back responsibility for my own affairs. And it happens when I'm talking about the simplest of things, like making my own laundry detergent or brewing a batch of <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-error">chai</span> tea.<br /><br /><span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-error">Chai</span> involves peeling and chopping some ginger and dumping it in a pot of simmering water along with whole cloves, cardamom seeds, and crushed cinnamon bark. You walk away for 15 minutes, come back and take it off the heat, add the tea, let it steep for five minutes. Add milk, add sugar, gently heat. That's it.<br /><br />Laundry detergent involves melting a bar of laundry soap in water on the stove, adding it to a five-gallon bucket, adding borax, washing soda, and water and stirring. That's it.<br /><br />For these people, apparently, it's far less "work" to hop in their cars, drive themselves to a coffee shop, find a spot, go in, stand in line and order their drink, forking over their four dollars in the process. Or to get in their car, drive to the store, find a spot, go in, grab a jug of detergent, pay, leave and drive back home. I don't get it.<br /><br />So I've been thinking about this. When people say "That sounds like so much work" what's really going on? What's really meant by that? Are people so averse to work that even the tiniest effort is seen as "too much"? Have people just become lazy? Or is something else going on?<br /><br />I suspect it's less about effort and laziness than it is about perceived time pressures and the fact that for most people for most of each day they don't actually own their own time. They spend their days working for "The Man" and only have a few hours left at the end of the day that they can call their own. Who would want to spend that precious time working to make a pot of tea? Why not just hit the drive-through so you can flop on the couch and enjoy your own time?<br /><br />When you don't work for "The Man" and you take responsibility for your own time then work becomes not work, but living. None of the things I do to be self-reliant ever feels like work to me. Yet all of the things I do for myself have economic value. They save me money that I don't need to go out and earn in the larger economy. The services I provide for myself represent thousands of hours per year that I don't need to spend working for someone else. And when I do those things for myself they just don't feel like work at all. <br /><br />It's the "chop wood, carry water" thing. When I do the work myself I am present and involved, actively and reciprocally engaged. That's called "living". When I leave it to someone else (or to a machine) the thing, whatever it is, becomes just a commodity and I not only fail to appreciate it but I become diminished as well. Growing my own food or brewing tea involves me in the material world. I get such pleasure when I make <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_2" class="blsp-spelling-error">chai</span>, combining roots, seeds, buds, bark, leaves and sometimes twigs to make a delicious drink. I appreciate the amazing gifts of nature and the synergy that results from this particular combination of plants and plant parts. I even get emotional sometimes when I'm making <span id="SPELLING_ERROR_3" class="blsp-spelling-error">chai</span>. Would that ever happen in the Starbucks drive-through? I don't think so.<br /><br />When people think that the simple life would be too much work, they're thinking from within a dysfunctional paradigm. I doubt that for much of our long history we even had a concept of "work". We simply lived. It's only in our recent history, once we created these things called "jobs", that life became oddly compartmentalized and we created the idea of "work". Work separated from the rest of life. How messed up is that?<br /><br />If people were relieved of their time pressures and owned their own time again I don't think I'd be hearing "That's too much work" anymore. And if people quit working and began living again, I have a feeling there would actually be far more innovation, inspiration, and creativity being expressed. So much of our human potential seems to get wasted these days, but I believe human culture can flourish again if we can just, once and for all, break out of this mad consumer paradigm.Melanie Williamshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06034189354730902887noreply@blogger.com4