Dancing in the Tao

Echoes and Ripples

If a poetic biologist could get a certain perspective of our solar system, she might see echoes of something she knows very well. She might see a presence in the center, let’s call him Sol, who is radiating tiny particles with wavy tails, swimming out in every direction.

She’d see that Sol has many jewel-like spheres circling him, and that the one at a somehow perfect distance is a very fertile sphere, indeed. His tiny particles with their wavy tails penetrate her, and she gives birth to every form of life we’ve ever known: to every thought, every relationship, to every symphony and soccer game, to every religion we’re killing ourselves over, every science and technology we’re killing ourselves with …  to everything we know and all our ways of knowing.

All of this, all of us, all living things and everything we’ve done … are born of a four-plus billion year love affair between our Mother and her brilliant Hero in the sky.

Our poetic biologist would recognize reproduction as it is echoed throughout Life, and she might begin to wonder … what these two amazing entities could possibly be reproducing …

And she might start singing out at the top of her lungs: “Stop! Stop everything dear, confused humans! We need a much better understanding of what’s going on here before we burn this place down! We need to understand the very Sources of our lives. I think we’re supposed to be helping them!”

If you can hear her singing,  please echo her song through your circles.

Ripples are wondrous … they get bigger and bigger, and interact in amazing ways … ways that can change everything.

Out of the Impossible

There is an ancient myth from Central Asia that describes how civilizations are born.

It was known to the early Avars, to the distant ancestors of Tibetans as well as Mongols. This is the myth of the impenetrable mountains.

The people are completely stuck, cornered, hemmed in, the path ahead blocked by insurmountable obstacles rising in front of and all around them. There is no way forward, no hope.

And then the impossible happens. In one version, a wild wolf finds them, feels compassion, shows them how to bore a hole through the solid rock into what will become their future. In another, the mysterious shaman shoots an arrow straight through the impenetrable mountains–creating what would come to be known as the arrow path.

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A new civilization, any civilization, including ours, is not only a miraculous gift. It always comes into existence out of the impossible.

And the impossible is impossible: is absolutely non-negotiable. … And there is no point trying to convince ourselves that we know what the impossible is, because even the things we like to think of as impossible are simply the possibilities that we decided to put aside.

: : :

As we are we will never, not in a thousand years, not in our wildest dreams, find our way into the future. We are trapped on every side by possibilities.

And here is where this story comes in.

- Peter Kingsley

A Story Waiting to Pierce You

Glimpsing a few everyday miracles

You’re in conversation with a close friend. A thought arises in your mind. Your diaphragm contracts, gently moving air up your esophagus and over your vocal cords, which subtly ‘shape’ the air current. Your tongue, teeth and lips put the finishing touches on the shape of the air moving out from you, which creates a vibration in the molecules between you and your friend – air molecule bumping against air molecule – until these vibrations reach your friend’s ear, where they enter a canal and gently reverberate on the drum of her ear. Three tiny bones pick up this vibration, and set in motion even tinier cilia, which translate these vibrations into electro-chemical signals that race through her brain like a tender lightning storm.

Given all these tiny miracles necessary for a thought to move, apparently, from one mind to another, how is it that she understands you immediately? how is it that she is sometimes able to finish your thought, in tandem with you?

Time, it seems, is not what we think it is… nor communication …

O, and where o where did that thought arise from ? I’ve looked and looked for the source … no luck yet …

Saving the Earth: A Role Playing Game for 7+ Billion People

Can you believe this is all going to become like one of your favorite episodes of Scooby-Do? Where no matter how scary things looked, it turned out the bad guys were just some dopes in masks who forgot they were part of a larger community, and got all stupid and selfish and started wrecking everything. Yep.

Go figure.

Game set up: The local planet, affectionately known as Mom, is being overrun with machines that are eating the very foundations of planetary life. The local humanoids, homo sapiens sapiens (humans knowing knowing) have been enslaved to the machines, forced to act as their living batteries and pour their life energy into creating, operating and maintaining them (as an ironic part of the storyline, they even made a movie trilogy about this … ) Most remain unaware that they are enslaved, having been told repeatedly by those that wear the masks, and ‘control’ the machines, that they are free. They’re subtly coerced into more and more isolation from one another, increasingly interacting only through … machines. They’ve even been convinced that continuously wearing the newest machines on their person is a necessity and a status symbol. When humans recognize any symptoms of slavery (impoverishment, lack of true liberty, &c.) they are made to believe these are “their own fault.”

Here’s the playing part: we all get to form pods of intrepid, meddling kids who suspect all is not what it seems, and then start searching for clues. There’ll be a lot of scared grown-up types around who don’t see the value of what we’re doing, but that works in our favor, because the ‘bad guys’ will underestimate us, too.  Members of each pod will be doing their own learning-growing-being for and with each other, and will discover things about themselves and their world undreamt of in their wildest imagination. Pod-to-pod communication will happen in all sorts of ways, increasing everyone’s game skills exponentially. It’ll be important to have at least one Scooby-type along in each pod, someone with good animal sense that can pull back the curtain at just the right moment. Also: Scooby snacks.

Clues are already planted (tee hee – and flying, walking and crawling, &c.) all around us, everywhere on the planet, so everyone can begin immediately.

At the end of this game, the ‘bad guys’ will be totally reined in, stripped of their masks, and serving the people, (once we’re all playing together, with and for each other, we’ll only need cartoon violence to accomplish this) and … the best part:

All the people, all the living beings, everywhere, will be freed from prisons and chains and rags of every sort.

And then … and then my intrepid friends … begins a whole new game.

Who’s in?

 

Begin to Remember

This is the story of how we begin to remember

This is the powerful pulsing of love in the vein

After the dream of falling and

calling your name out

These are the roots of rhythm

And the roots of rhythm remain

-Paul Simon

Under African Skies

 

A Conversation

Basking in the radiance of the morning sun, I overheard a conversation between two old-timers, sitting under a jacaranda tree …

“…. happens every couple-few thousand years around these parts…the snake gets out of control. People forget and forget they’ve forgotten. Wonder how our hero’s gonna show up this time…he’s sure had some wild ‘personalities.”  They laughed…

‘Ahhhh, yes. Remember when Ra … they called him the ‘Sun God,’ didn’t they …  turned up as a cat? And slew that snake with a knife? My young ones were giggling about that the other night.’

‘O yes,’ his friend, chuckling. ‘The Egyptians honored cats for millennia after that….nowadays people ‘think’ they’re stupid … forgetting… ’ He shook his head …  then chuckled again. ‘How about Shiva … they called him the ‘Being in the Sun.’ Now there was a snake-charmer … he had that great cobra so tame it would open its hood like an umbrella of protection right over his head.’ More chuckling in remembrance.

‘And Apollo, the God of the Power of the Sun they called him … he became a child to slay the snake in Greece, and buried it at Delphi, so that it would serve and protect the people. Apollo came again and again in those dangerous days. Pythagoras carried him while he was here, and worked all his life to teach humans to slay that snake for good, but now he’s only remembered for a theorem…cripes, that’s worse than remembering daVinci for inventing a paintbrush.’

His friend sighed. ‘The power of forgetting never fails to astound me. O, and then there was Jesus … the Son of God – ingenious double-meaning there … sweet kid… showing humans how they themselves had the power to slay the snake, and the time had come for them to do it. Tragic, what happened to his teachings once the Authorities got their hands on them. Turned them into killing machines…’

‘Excuse me…’ I finally said, bewildered. They smiled at me, knew I’d been listening the whole time. ‘Yes, child?’ I smiled, I love it when elders see me as young. ‘Well, these stories … none of us here take them seriously… but I’ve never heard them put together like this before. Can you tell me … who-what is the Sun? and who-what is the snake?’

‘Ah, child,’ said the elder on the left, with a gentle smile, ‘Now you’re asking the right questions. And actually, you already know all the answers, you’ve just forgotten. Go ask your mother … she’ll re-mind you. You’ll re-member. Then you and all the other children here can re-mind each other, and re-member together, with and for each other. The way it was always meant to be.’

‘My … mother?’ I asked. ‘Yes child,’ replied the elder, with a tenderness I’d never known. ‘You’re resting on her now. She’ll remind you. You’ll remember. Go tell the other children …’

All day I thought about what the grandfathers said, and, troubled by a question, I returned to the jacaranda tree as the sun was returning to his night home. The elders were quietly watching the colorlight changing the sky and smiled their welcome at my approach.‘Yes, child?’ With a very childlike panic, I blurted out, ‘Grandfathers, the Sun always wins, right?’ The grandfathers exchanged glances, and then looked on me again with their great tenderness. ‘No, child. Sometimes other things happen. There were times when your mother could send someone to reMind the people; your ancestors called them goddesses and such … but she may be too wounded, may not have the strength, to do that this time. Sometimes the waters rise … most of your peoples have stories that remember these times. Sometimes the horsemen come.’

‘This is a very dangerous time for your world, for your mother,’ the other grandfather added. ‘There is help at hand, but it’s up to you children to call in that help. They can’t help if you don’t turn to them. They are all around you, but can’t reach you, as much as they long to.  What has been forgotten can be remembered … more quickly than you could possibly imagine. Turn to your mother, and to each other. Don’t be afraid anymore. All of you children were born to be heroes and heroines, protectors of this beautiful Earth and all its living beings. Every one of you. Simply remember who you are, with and for each other. As it was always meant to be…’

 

‘Now,’ said the first grandfather, ‘Go tell the other children…’

 

Awe, in the Presence

Awe, in the presence of the living intelligence that creates and sustains all life, is the beginning of wisdom.

Early in the last century,  Ohiyesa, a Santee Dakota physician and author wrote:

“I know that our people possessed remarkable powers of concentration and abstraction, and I sometimes fancy that such nearness to nature as I have described keeps the spirit sensitive to impressions not commonly felt, and in touch with the unseen powers.”

Around the same time, Chief Luther Standing Bear wrote:

“The Lakota was a true naturist–a lover of nature. He loved the earth and all things of the earth, the attachment growing with age. The old people came literally to love the soil and they sat or reclined on the ground with a feeling of being close to a mothering power.

“This is why the old Indian still sits upon the earth instead of propping himself up and away from its life-giving forces. For him, to sit or lie upon the ground is to be able to think more deeply and feel more keenly; he can see more clearly into the mysteries of life and come closer in kinship to other lives about him . . .”

What if …

What if the stories we tell ourselves about what’s happening here on Earth, most of which seem, in the final, to boil down to: “O well, it’s too bad, but it doesn’t really matter what happens here on Earth” (life will go on without us, life’s just an illusion, we’re merely spirits having material experiences, &c.) … what if these stories are gravely, catastrophically wrong?

What if, in our frightened ignorance, we are destroying something of cosmic singularity, something ‘built’ over billions and billions of years of purposive intelligencing toward unimaginably majestic goals, something-ing utterly irreplaceable?

What if it matters, beyond all human knowing, to trillions upon trillions of living beings?

What if we could save it, even now, not with technology as we know it, or legislation, or any of the means currently at hand. What if we could miraculously transform our earth by playing, learning and growing together, as children? Just as we were always meant to.

We are children: As a species, we are incredibly young; we lost our way, got scared, and in our fear began telling horror stories and making monstrous toys to protect ourselves from …. something… And now those toys are viciously destroying the nursery of all local life, including our children and ourselves.

We are ancient: the ‘stuff’ we are made of was born in ancient suns, great-grandfathers of the sun who brings living to our lives here, every day. The fluids in our bodies are nearly identical to the waters in which life arose on this planet. And we carry, in each of our cells, living fossils of that first life. There is infinitely much more here than meets the inattentive eye.

Long, long ago we ancient children knew many other ways of knowing, and understood ourselves much differently than we currently do. We can find our way once again.

We can rescue ourselves and each other and all living things. We need to re-member this, together, now.

 

O, and get this: It’s gonna be fun … just as it was always meant to be … we were never meant to be grown ups. Truly mature humans being act very different from grown ups; the more quickly we develop our awareness of this distinction, the safer we’ll all be.

Beginning skills

As I began to face the reality on this planet, and the spinning insanity started to slow, the first thing I became aware of is that I had no idea what to do. People much more knowledgable than I had been shouting from the sidelines for a very long time, and everything was only getting worse. I had no maps for this place, and no one else seemed to have one either. This was absolutely terrifying.

I knew I needed to find a way to face the fear, or I’d just remain paralyzed and keep slipping back into the crazy, so I reworked the Litany Against Fear, from Dune, and learned to just sit, focused, with the fear until it passed.

Fear passes. Every time. And one is stronger. Every time.

The grief, also, could overwhelm me, and I would want to escape. But a Navajo friend told me something his people know: Cry your tears into the Earth. So I would lay down on the sweet grass and bawl, for my pain, for hers, for the pain of all living beings.

There could never be enough tears.

In these moments, though, I felt the pain and anguish flow out of my body like water emptying from a bathtub. I felt soothed and comforted, as in the presence of a perfect mom, who, no matter what you do, simply wants you to remember that you are whole, and wholly loved.

And that she’s so very glad to have you’ve come back to her, at last. She has much to tell you…

Imagine if you will …

You’re on a spaceship, lifetimes away from the nearest living planet, when suddenly the crew goes mad and begins destroying the life support systems.

They make a game of it, ‘earning’ little pieces of paper for each act of destruction. Certain ‘players’ even somehow get others to carry out the destruction while they amass the little pieces of paper. Apparently, the one with the most papers ‘wins.’

Any crew member who can’t or won’t participate, or tries to stop the ‘game,’ is sidelined or silenced in any number of ways.

What would you do?

Food, water and intelligence supplies dwindle, and all systems are poisoned, yet the ‘game’ rages on.

As for me, one day I’d finally stop pretending, even to myself, that I didn’t know what was happening.

Then I could begin to become aware of the insanity and the ignorance in my own self.

From this, things started to change…

: : :

Much to the shocked dismay of every being who’s paying attention, this little horror story is unfolding on The Mother Ship. And the operating crew, believing in their delusion that they are the highest form of intelligence in the known universe, long ago severed connection with all the deeper and higher intelligences that would guide them … so long ago that they’ve even mostly forgotten the stories of how it once was.

There is a slim ray of hope: That enough of the crew re-member the connection to these higher and deeper intelligences.

The trick, the nearly impossible challenge, is that this connection lies in the very last place most crew members think to look: deep within themselves.

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