Migrating Damsel and Dragon Flies

Migrating Damsel and Dragon Flies


Nationalism is Primitive*

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I question how our species finds it so necessary to operate inside geo-political boundaries ensconced in political cultural traps waving flags and being caught up in nationalism. My sensibility is until our ailing species releases itself from these artificialities fashioned to foster fear and oppression we are an unfree lot. Wars over turf are so primitive from a species capable of traveling into space I cannot begin to understand the dichotomy. 

If insects can fly in mass to a destiny our species does not know, is this not the mystery lesson? Barriers are devised by the human empire to foster control of the human population. 

Probably not in my lifetime, but maybe in yours, acceptance of the universal heart will become seated inside the unhallow spaces of the political arena in every human encampment on Earth? The willingness to know we are one species on a precious spinning orb whose species-bent-doom is suspended in a waiting cue of its own making, unless we lower our shields. 

Country defenses, personal defenses, continental defenses, corporate defenses, and the so forth of being defensive feeds the crawling monkey on the gold ring of fear. A society stuck in the mire of living for security measures (note: 30% of the American economy is currently held in demesne** within this bailiwick) is a culture neither moving forward nor organically transforming into a peaceful and pay it forward society of kindness and tolerance.

We either grow-up and put away our war machines, sectarianisms, and greedy desire to get over on each other or we continue to exist in a Homo sapiens nightmare of constant suffering. 

The flag I fly here at the finca is a whole Earth image on a dark blue spacious background. When I lived in America, I received two criminal summons from the Village of Westhampton Beach, Inc. for putting out four flags from the apartment’s veranda over the espresso cafe. We owned the building and the cafe. One was the whole earth flag, one was a traditional all yellow with snake icon Don’t Tread on Me flag (from the American Revolutionary War), one was a stars and stripes style flag with a peace symbol for the stars and the other the flag of my birth country. This last flag was given to me when a great friend died and the Marine Corps honor guard attended his internment because he was a war hero. In a ceremony known by every living American who has lost a loved one to war the flag is folded corner to corner. I flew this symbol of the United States of America to honor my friend who believed he protected his fellow Americans from insurgents.

After my second summons to appear in the local court for flying flags without a permit (my attorney went alone fearing I would act out in front of the judge) I decided such govt. oppressive madness was another valid reason to take the exit sign to the jungle. 

Watching and feeling the freedom of a massive movement of flying dragonflies and damselflies my heart yearns for the stupidity of our kind to learn the lesson these insects teach.

There are no artificial boundaries or false flag insanity in nature. Human contrived lines on a map have no relevance in the weave of real life. Wild creatures need no flags to know what lot they belong or which way the wind blows them to safety for their entire species. They fly through the atmosphere with neither fear nor colonialism as their goal. 

I stand with the damsel and dragon flies. Freedom, global freedom, is free and requires nothing but a human understanding that planetary human peace not chronic nationalism is the solution for our species survival. 

Today, I hoist to the cobalt blue ethers, in my imagination, the flag of the dragonfly. I leave for you to imagine the kingdom of dragon and damsel flies representative icon adorning a piece of cosmic cloth. Their liberty of identity with no restraints is freely held up by the airs, gravity, and geomagnetism – flapping, soaring, and dancing.


** held in demesne (of an estate) occupied by the owner, not by tenants.


The Washed-Up Mini-Minority

Every day humans make decisions about life from basic needs to sophisticated political intrigue elephant sized grunge. Putin made a decision and his motives are the talk talk of the never walk walk diplomacy corps, worldwide. When Snowden had his original inner attacks of ethics and values, I am positive he mulled over consequences of possible decisions regarding his remaining time on Earth. Bright people – cognizant, mindful, and usually fearlessly sober – do not jump to the swing without serious evaluations of possible scenarios. Snowden was trained to think and act with an exit strategy. Consideration is the task of intelligence driven by an open heart, and I am not speaking about the realm of spooks or the NSA or Bush Jr. treated for a blocked coronary artery.

In this tome, I am also not going to launch the O’Keefe pinky dirigible of my spiritual/soul over your distant heads. Further, my goal is not to swim beneath your greenie kayak on the rivers of spongy awareness. I am trying to keep myself clear of misty moments in this ongoing dirge of my caca. Please read on.

As our species proceeds in its karmic annulations, I have choices, as you do no matter what or whom the repressors try to shove down our throats or water board us to falsely confess. Those caught up in a lifestyle of more is never enough are not likely to suffer the Snowden epiphany, any time soon. Convenience, paranoia, and ego feed the machine. I do contend the empire is on its last three wobbling legs.

The advent of global communications via the Internet is the supreme game changer our peaking species is experiencing. If humanity had not been buried for 800 years during the dark ages, applied technology emanating from the silicon-based nerd people probably would have arrived not in the 20th century, but the 16th. All hoist our organic lattes for Steve Jobs taking LSD to become conscious of oneness.

George W. Bush, calling himself the decider, is, and was an asleep at the wheel idiot. A small souled man trying so hard to please his father, Bush Jr. is not unlike slick Willy Clinton, who wants Bush Sr. to recognize him, too. O-Bomb-O apparently also has serious father issues. I recognize this psychological profile where you give away your power of self-sentiency because I too succumbed to dreaming of a birth father that articulated how awesome I was. Luckily, I experienced a loving surrogate daddy image in a man who left this Earth 8/8/88. Moreover, in all truthfulness, my deceased husband Arthur was far more paternal to me than he, friends, and family would come clean about. My clan are by genetics and brain skills a pugnacious noisy, opinionated lot but too guarded.

Airing dirty human familial or societal laundry while paddling across the lake takes courage yet more importantly requires watchfulness and freedom from a whopping case of the what-ifs or Mr. Know-it-alls.

What is apparent to those willing to see, not merely look, is not limited to the good news proclaimed by Christianity, or the heavenly reward of Islam, or the cosmic incense burning devotion of the Hindi. Every nano-second the truth spits out its superlatives across an expanding matrix. We, the untouchables of the digital borderless society, beat the drum gathering breath and depth as we tumble up the hill, denying the gravity of ignorance its due.

Are we peerless? Can we be invincible? Are we going to surpass the washed-up mini- minority in the form of the unwashed masses holding cell phones and tweeting reality? Anonymous touts their stuff. Assange runs for office. Little Bradley Manning serves his time. Two billion of us have access to the Internet.

Indomitably so be it. Never giving up, never giving in, is my mantra. Some of us wheeling and others crawling and hopefully many are flying their hopes for rights and justice not into the burning sun. Bringing consciousness and light from one provincial section of the mothership to another has never been easier. How? By way of non-judgmental dialogue and cyber-chats linked via the ethers, Here is this venue our hearts learn tolerance and expand our minds. I probably will not live long enough this time around, but you may, to see human honesty digitally broadcast correspond to realizing global peace.

The glory of flexible resolution in the format of non-violent endeavors is the MLK basic operation of the universal heart. Gandhi in his homespun diaper manifested the simplicity of uncomplicating the system of oppression by consistently, simply standing up disarmed while smiling. Both asked the right questions without feeling less than.

Using weaponry of wakefulness, shared experiences, and mutual support for each other is akin to Avogadro’s law. A principle of physics this law contends equal volumes of different gases at the same temperature and pressure contain the same number of molecules. Members of all human cultures centered at the same place and time (read the Internet) contain the same number of concentrations of change for the greater good, exponentially supported.

Open your attaché case, or backpack, or despoiled medicine bag flinging out the unscrupulous laundry of insipid immature emotive constraints. Discard twisted excuses tar baby stuck to stupid myths initiated to keep us from accepting each other. These are props to keep the empire doing its destructo-derbies. Begin today to engage in chats (read interlink) with others who otherwise you would never encounter without the magic of this digital reality. Yet beware, if you are abusive and use this format for an agenda of dominance to feed your failing ego the universal heart is bound to whack your third-eye, if not your lower charkas, with eternal payback.

What forms of payback are possible? Only your karma knows. If you decide to continue in your mocus focus of subjugation your self-agreed repression (read denial) is a sword of your own making. It is waiting for you to fall on it. Be a right action warrior and step over the dead bodies of what is crooked and dissipated. Use the byways of the worldwide web for principled non-violent education harboring no ill toward any honorable human.

Further, karma is the littermate to being a bitch and do not interrupt this in a sexual context. Measly midnight to 3 AM lives addicted to the cement shoes we wear to sludge through today’s denial is a false cyberhell. Too many of us tie anchors around our hearts and construct shields because we lack loving encouragement by ourselves and by stretchy others. Rancid left-overs from a buried bruised childhood of wanting and needing appreciation make us stiffs, not lovers. Seeking any kind of audience (read charismatic leadership telling lies to be loved) is a distress we manifest by accepting mis-information as certainty. Buying into insanity by doing nothing to countermand the falsehoods is heartless treason. Happiness is based in truth. Joy is sharing the happiness.

To crap out because of a fear of intimacy with our selves, and others, is another con I am overly familiar with, yet blessed by grace I found the portal to getting real. The gate is not what we think. The opening in the hedge grove into the inner sanctum garden of jasmine is in the shape of the universal heart. Drinking from the fountain is extraordinary.

It is simple. Make friends with those living in the creative light on social media and then begin concerned intelligent chats/dialogues. You do not have to be gifted to understand their situation, or tell yours. To better comprehend how we can lift humanity out of wars directed by insecure bastards desperate to fill an ailing inner pit is not a trivial pursuit. Stopping power mongers trying to please an imaginary daddy and/or mommy may begin with sharing kitty kat photos and the latest mime. If we are to progress smartly and end suffering, multi-dimensional reflection must move beyond the visual of kittens sleeping with puppies. Jungian symbolic, or what?

Factual knowledge shared from being on the ground that is not filtered by corporate paid ‘reporters’ running-scared is precious to freedom, justice, and bread. Activist journalists live by the quality and reliability of their sources within a network protected and revered.

A noted exception, I am totally against armed rebellion. I am fully in favor of protecting the Internet’s privacy and freedom of use. Those who pervert its usage to prey on children, showoff their butts or dicks, or trample the rights of humanity and Earth can be easily thwarted by popular dis-use. Illegal disregard is another issue better left to its own un-monitored discussion. Personally, I launched a SCUD attack of real facts to those making a living spying on us in hopes these fellow humans get up from their workstations and never return to active duty inside the soldier-land of the empire.

What is not acceptable is leaving your aching heads (topknot one or small) in the mud and pretending what is happening ‘over there’ has no relevancy to your cranny-ridden orb of activity.

Egypt is the current events Petri-dish for our species. Those who are willing to watch with detachment (anyone not Egyptian and I put myself in this bag of the wannabe intelligentsia) while not contributing to the empire’s latest media lube job are those standing upright atop the pin of truth. Yep, prideful artsy balloon I am – floating above my own cyber-crannog. Plus-yep, I would like nothing better than to be unnumbered and unremembered standing with my social media friends and followers as a cadre of annoying pin-pricks of human rights and social justice.

Rising-up and forever twittering tweets to end the madness of the military industrial complex deploying context, content, and consciousness is soul food for our species. Bravery is painless in the medium of cyber smoke and mirrors. Who knows? You may be the creator of a new template of human social organization based on paying it forward.

News blast from the digitized weather underground: “Prevailing conditions inside the cyber milieu are conducive to fresh free-thinking. Wind is sustained at a livable breeze. Humidity is without posturing. Seven day forecast is looking viable for communications.”

We break from the weather report to bring you this live feed:
“Ah, OMG, wait a second, an odd shaped dirigible is hovering over the space needle. It is dragging a banner in stiff upper atmospheric winds. LOLs are going viral as the paisley besought battered streamer says, Make Love, Not War.”

Stuck in The Stone

Editing out the caca of humanity, our life, and civilization in general is a multi-dimensional edged excalibur sword. A mystical icon eon-perennially stuck, removed, and then re-stuck in the magical stone. A creative person’s mission is to get the damn thing out and use it to cut down the bullshit making room for innovation and invention. 

First, we need to accept shit, fresh or recycled, is not healthy and probably not going sweet any time soon inside our self-contained spin cycle of hyper-activity superseding quality. We are not in charge, positive or negative. 

Second, if you feel it is painful it could be the piercing of truth or the reliable revelation you are an arsehole, they are a bigger or smaller one, or karma is making our ego go puffy and our heart become stale. 

Third the mind plays tricks selling chemical made soap we smell as organically handmade herbal. Too subtle? Mis-conceptions/mis-perceptions twisted inside flowery vases actually built of sand are from the kingdom of mirage. Here is what I seem to keep forgetting, “IF it doesn’t nourish our souls, set it adrift.” Flotsam of the spirit is defined in various scriptures in a multitude of languages filtered by the few and believed by the billions, as is the definition of faith. Flash: Religiosity is NOT creating a planet of love and peace, in case you only know how to read cuneiforms – we (read you and me) screwed the pooch*.

If I remain with the universal heart thought form (read mindful not brain battered) and spit out the polluted froth of my over-engaged brain I may have a shot at living free and not bound by any pre-ordained m.o. I might also no longer paint by myself into a mirrored room of delusion. 

Currently, the hacking down of the pesticide ridden GMO grain fields of human caca takes up too much time. Although, I do adore crop circles. WE are running out of time. Ranting about this political stupidity or that one is the worm invested monkey chasing its thinning tail. What we need is to gather our collective mind-set and devise a global human society NOT yet considered. 

Come on. The train left the station for capitalism, socialism, communism, tea party-ism, liberalism, radicalism, anarchism, criticisms, idealism, imperialism, libertarianism, corporatism, Machiavellianism, the right, the left, the middle, the silent majority, the noisy whack-jobs, populism, progressivism, whiggism, omnilateralism and any combo of same or those I am too ignorant to name. Let us cut to the chase (read fish or cut bait). 

WE, humanity, must discover a wholistic global reality we semi-agree on where liberty and justice for all is not a country and western tune. To accomplish this small task requires a simple understanding. So far, nothing we conjure is working too swell. To emphasis my frustration as of this moment I trivially refuse to be named tagged into any operating political arena or Fedbook photo tagged. 

As a beleaguer free thinker I am no longer encumbered by historical in or out significance or futurist possibilities. Science Fiction? Maybe, yet time and space is of the essence, and not just because I am at this grand greying crinkle age. Time is melting and any chance our species has of divining a meta-answer while practiced at the local provincial geo-level is fading faster than Austrian god-particles. 

How do I know this? No president in the history of mankind would send a guy (McCain) who spent five years in a hole in the ground in South East Asia and has the facial cancer to prove it to The Land of The Nile. I meant it is hot in Egypt, and Ra, the sun god, keeps the country baked.


Ending the Trickster’s Fear

Fear is the second greatest motivator of human activity. Love being the first.


Now, when I write such a proclamation review your own life as regards where love and fear rank for getting you to act. Never take my word to heart unless it is true to your experiences. I am no guru, self-help teacher, or fancy ass youlube talking head giving you insight. Got it?


Poets for thousands of years send out messages about love, few write about fear. Artsy types prefer to not delve into the shadows for too long in trepidation of being swallowed by our own intrinsic pestering negativity. We throw-up and out verses to exalt love like archaic shamans of Sanskrit, even when we are deep in our emotional cups of blackness and fifty shades of gray. I suppose even in a death grip realizing we must alleviate the pain of self-loathing we are mostly unwilling to see our madness of dread let alone accept and change it.


We, the over sensitive ones, loudly weep for a longing to live in the light and feel the wonder of love – no matter how we slink around the issue or how we act or talk our goal is to live without unpleasantness or being upset or annoyed. Desire is not what I am alluding to, nor sexual pleasure although these are components operating in fear and love. Within any bubble of contentment, we contend joy with another, God, nature, visions, our inner selves, and our imaginations can capture us and heal our woes. Good vs. evil is a simplistic myth abused to get us to follow something other than our own intuition and inner voice. All us versus them societal games are in human attendance to frighten and repress our built-in need to be free of fear.


Occasionally, at the rare intersection of God being present or in a catharsis we surrender and discover the paradigm of paradoxes and have to decide the biggie. Are we ruled by our mindless fears or do we let our hearts lead the way and throw caution and stubbornness aside in favor of confidence and trust of our selves and others?


The love affair of human life is not exactly what they preached to you when you were ten year years old, or on your twenty-first birthday, is it? As intensely as Gollywood or Bollywood or Egyptian soap operas or the various tomes of God are speaking at us, each of us must get to the crossroads, on our own, and figure out what modality of being we prefer, fear-based or the foundation of love? Some label this reaching one’s bottom or coming to the foot of the cross or some other deciding moment so intense it changes one forever, or at least during the rest of one’s life span on Earth. I deploy the Dixie Cup metaphor. Once slid down to the bottom of the cup of our own making we drown in our mind fucks (read self imposed cons) or learn to swim on the rising tide.


Why we must fall over the cliff into the abyss is not important if you have been there and survived. Selecting to live in love over the insanity of daily repetition of going nowhere too fast only works if you keep it in the moment. Projecting what might happen, or could happen or did not happen is maya and the basis of existing not living.


Fear clings to our ego-bent weaponry with an offense being the best defense to fight and triumph over what? Why would any sentient being languish his or her spirit in dread of what is not known, or might be, or might not be? Ok, so I grew up with the echo of “oh yea, of little faith” yet self-reliance was in the equation. Being fearless spreads like wildfire across one’s personal landscape yet getting to this juncture is daunting if no one was a decent role model in your childhood or youth. Those who find mature humble enlightenment cannot go back to the cave or live in the box canyon, any longer. Once out in the open plain kneeling within the spiral enchanted by love we stand the course of time where liberty of our soul is realized.


I can no longer go back to childish days of being afraid of the boogey man living in my bedroom closet. I am free of this scary demonstration of my developing emotions ruling my perception. Being released from this symptom was not accomplished alone. My mother left the night light on and made sure the closet door was shut before I went off to sleep. She also read to me stories of wonder not fairy tales of fear at the side of my bed until I went off to dreamland. I know she kissed by brow and said a prayer even though my consciousness was in asleep. Once I reached the ripe age of five years old I stood, by myself, in front of the closet door, and used a faked princess wand to wave away the intruder I felt was messing with me. The experience is no different than standing up for love and saying to the inner demons of insecurity, fuck off.


If you truly love someone, there are no barriers to loving them, even if they cannot or will not reciprocate. What difference does it make if they ignore you because they are weak and full of fear? I see my role today as being here, in love, because loving is not about reciprocation from the other. The power of love is that it is. I have not got to the place where I can do the same for all of humanity. I am not the daughter of God. I am human. I get pissed off at the suffering delivered by other humans to other humans and precious Earth. Yet, I work on being neither a pawn to fear nor an agent of repression. Writing is the outlet for my inability to love humanity. As I have written recently, writing the truth is an expensive therapy as it requires a brutal self-honesty communicated without blame or shame.


Love ensconces us in fuzzy woozy vibes making us giggle with delight. Why would we prefer to muck around in depression and self-destruction? Freud, Jung, Laing, and so forth, our brethren of psychological understandings and psyche experimentation, put forth several realizations and paths to well being. Religiosity offers a conjunctive worldview. Swallowing mind-altering psycho-actives does too as does becoming a monk. There are various highways up the mountain. Yet, too many cannot even pickup the hiking stick let alone put one foot down on the trail.


Evil, the devil, and other voodoo rhythms of humankind are manifestations of fear. Those who seek to be rulers instill fear to gain faux higher ground, for what reason? We all know money and sitting in the catbird seat does not lead to immortality. Why would anyone sell out their ethics, their heart, and their inner vision to satisfy greed and power mongering? Terror of an empty tummy and/or bank account, dismay at how anxiety is knocking at the backdoor, falsely trying to fill up the emptiness within with more, waging war, sending out drones, lying to keep the con alive, and basically being stuck are excuses not reasons.


Depth, mettle, getting real, saying what you mean not what you think someone wants to hear, letting the universal heart step up to the plate, mindfulness, watchfulness, expressing creatively, connecting to the life forces of the cosmos, holding each other up, reaching across the divide and offering a cup of cool water, and riding a horse with no name across the desert while being present for one’s self and sharing love under every possible shitty circumstance is a mantra of peace.


Viable leadership in this century demands humans who practice this mantra otherwise dear ones, our species as a prototype of love conquering fear is useless.


I learned to love myself by ending the fearful acts of me hurting me, and subsequently others. Once I began to accept me as a gentle loudmouth who prefers being in love with life, beauty, and art while communing with nature I discovered a miracle. I am not alone. And, you are not either.


To you, my love, as me, as dumb and officious as it may sound – living in love is possible today. How blessed are we who smile and chuckle at our stupidities without judging. Awareness brings joy. Acceptance fosters kindness. Willingness to be soberly true is a feat of inner and outer tolerance and a positive sign. Personally, I see signs regularly how potent love is. I feel my heart gaining the weight of eternity. I realize my scrawny mission may never be revealed to me yet for these next twenty-four hours it makes absolutely no difference, one way, or the other, I live with being in love.


I am turning the night light on and getting out a book of wonder to read to you.