I was having a hard time falling asleep two nights ago. Due to some minor strange omens, big engrossing good and bad dreams, the vibrating legacy of big bad trauma, and of course, some old school frenemies in the form of bad habits. Staying up late, mind vague and abuzz, I began reviewing some of the blog content I’ve posted so far on fractal axis. For a blog that unofficially turns three months old today, I am pleased with how much content I’ve put out in that time.
I’m also tenderly aware that my posts betray not only my lack of an editor, but how much I could benefit from one. Even the longest and most substantive contents (so far, that would be To Eradicate Oppression and Liberation of the Whole), I’ve rushed, banging them out in a few hours crammed between other commitments. I’m quite feral as a writer, having for years put faith and stock in stream of consciousness process to produce, and to refine, results. Yet such ways are only sufficient, not splendid, and are bound to their natural limits. I am daily dreaming, prayerfully conjuring, the hope of finding the right editor for EPIST, my book, or else there isn’t a chance in this descending hell of a world (or any of the worlds beyond this one) that EPIST will meet its fullest potential.
All is a matter of choices we make, bandwidth afforded. For this blog, I envisioned producing longer, thoroughly thought through posts. Essays, even, about my analysis from my years as a specialist in cooperative and collective (-ist) best practices, my deep studies into meanings of sustainability and patterns in sustainable systems, etc. I didn’t envision I would let see the light of day so much of my unedited, elliptical, “undercurrent” semi-poetry content here. Such stuff is plentiful, self-arising, on every other page of my notebook—I’ve no shortage of raw goods. It’s there, and when I’m squeezed for more thoughtful time, it is what I have to offer. I’ve lacked the capacities of spacious-time and unentangled-perspective to produce more polished, well-referenced, analytical, longer posts (I have equally abundant rough bodies languishing, unbeckoned, in the wings.) I’m aware I must be kind to the process—this blog is just starting out, and hopefully as more resources emerge for my work, so shall I be able to flesh out the longer, grander pieces. As it is, I cannot afford to invest too much time here, relative to my other responsibilities.
Still, it must be said, I deeply appreciate the building of the habit of putting even a little something, a meek offering, up here, posting it, letting it be out there. There is some magic to capturing whatever is in the moment, and having a chronological record of that accumulate over time. For too long I’ve kept my mind to myself. I’m happy to be taking up even a smidge more space in people’s hearts and discourses. I’m pleased to have even this humble fairy hovel of a home-blog, a spiffy pocket in a world-across web, where I putter, tinker, cook, prepare, craft, purge, soothe, sing and live unfiltered.
And here’s another little pittance in the altar bowl, sweet aromas wafting up and briefly.
TRAINING. …for what?
What are you entraining?
What company are you entertaining?
What are you wedding to your own
flesh, blood and bone?
There is only a little time
and a tension between
small little bodies, small little minds
in their habits of leisure and medicine,
and big mind’s demands to wake up
and take adaptive action.
In that order.
It is time.
Time to meet acceleration where it’s at.
Treat amplification with amplification.
We are the Minds
that will hold all the accurate/detailed memories of all beings.
In our Heart.Minds, extension of our technologies.
Because we can
(we are capacious, spacious)
Because we choose
(we follow blisses, curation)
Because we are Life
and we are God,
we shape change
We each do what we must
doing what we can
to enhance the Life signal
in this collapsing world
Somehow this anxious mind and body
that’s absorbed countless copious hours of television—
and consumed the stories of her own life in its experiential unfurling, embedding excruciating detail—
can hold a thousand thoughts deftly at once.
(Born to be a weaver,
forgotten by her kin,
The method recovered,
Is the one (one of multiple)
who can channel ideas
of dense order-concentration, too.
Much information, yet intact
in its relations. Pattern-true.
These are Wielding minds.
Wielding the way of being-with.
The causes. Of patterns.
while free, utterly free!
Free of movement,
compelled to stay.
In Love with Life.
There is no greater way.