Follower of the Schmucks?

Moses with his iPads

The friends who are not friends, rather scammers or other uninteresting control freak weirdos, seem to to be dwindling in mass if not application of bullcorn. This is a good sigh (and sign). Yet, a whack job sent me an outreach on #Messenger that extols to accept his madness. The grammatical articulation is lame and lacking let alone the inside out logic of his assumptions. There are millions of lonely people seeking attention, recognition, and strokes (of any style), eh? Or, what a wise man #Egyptian i know says, “they are looking for a love story.”

In the real world, I work with facts, confirmed, and vetted. In my #creative neo-writing semi-pursuits i work along side #imagination but even this waning awareness stems from life experiences, enhanced, disclosed, leaked, and tweaked.

#Intuition and the general vibe of what to do next are not fixed quotients of #metaphysics. We each find our holy holed filed path depending on a showy treasure chest or buried trash heap of considerations. Ya know, stuff we drag around looking for the #Kahuna of emotive dumps or obsessively pushcart into every touchy circumstance when our hearts are bruised and are spirits delicate. I am for unloading the dysfunctional hollow crude and insuring the thickness of integration. I feel a similar way about rotten people who are users, abusers, too narcissistic, and basically a double drag (not as in queen). Let my people go, then has an adjunct meaning.

Luminosity of the brave #soul is no easy pickins’ and its guarded recipe is not written as a prologue to Moses’s burning bush tablets. My rickety world view is to firmly see we are ALL chosen, including every single hearty living or losing its luster entity in the universe.

Human beings trek along believing they are the utmost special prana consumers in the cosmos. I am unsure why this concentrated species-wide insecurity is afoot. Could be because we are basically bipeds with enervated senses driven by a large two part brain along with a powerful system induced body that is certainly a miracle. The adage you are what you eat has never been more pertinent as we continue to shit in our one nest and forget we are one. Although, there are many who mouth the words of #wholism, it is a disdained unnatural act according to the power lobbyists of gutty greed and wobbly wanabees.

When you blast out the old year and ring in the new, may you take a moment to look around your environs and consider the ramifications of how silly it is we are the only beings on the planet celebrating this passage. All other breathing or inanimate life forms are totally oblivious to our relentlessness to mark time passing and time futuristic with ritualized celebrations.

“For everything there is a season, and a time for every matter under heaven: a time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up what is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing . . .” Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

I do believe this is the first time i offered a #Biblical quote, publicly.

The Big Kahuna Reboot

no borders earthAfter a two-day on and off consultation with a wise man Egyptian poet and revolutionary politico, we did not solve the angst of humanity, yet, we did nail down relevant specifics. In semi-conclusion, I need to add Sherif and his wife to the list of soul traveling unions.

Poets are enamored with the succinct compared to my stream of consciousness therapy. Surely, those who are not compelled to write every day/night will barely be hip to the dreamy wrenching and potent editing we, the writers, must deliver as willing benign slaves to our own spirit master.

The style I bleat is a filtered rock ‘n roll stream typical of a West Coast higher education while growing up on the San Andreas. I continue to live in a place by the Pacific where earth burps are daily, if one counts those under 3.0. The number of butterflies in the garden and the perpetual cloud designs are infinite. Freedom and independence is a given. My personality is incapable of being led or yanked along on some other’s voyage unless signs are seen and vibes are concurred.

Creativity is a way of psyche survival. If one releases programmed allegiances and inbred constraints and stops buying into the us vs. them then class struggles and injustices are peeled down to their seeds. I have argued for decades those who fight centered in the class paradigm feed the empire’s agenda of victimization.

Being trapped in a social situation be it working, middle, or upper is the rigged game. You receive your seat in the arena and the games begin. My gig is to get off my duff and walk out of the forum built by the unsaid agreement between empire master and fear ridden slave.

It is no coincidence hefty socialists give no regard to a higher power because in reality their disenfranchisement role is not allowed to surrender to faith or connect to the holy linkage of life. Isolated from oneness their hard ass resignation stands still cemented to slick ego as any other resident of a status quo. Resentment and lack of self-esteem stokes the acceptance to play their role in the class struggle Olympics.

Freedom comes with a willingness let go and an acceptance that justice is inherent to ALL living things. Right action is implementing values and manifesting compassion but if you are pissed off (too much of the time) at the establishment you are being derailed.

Organized human society has yet to evolve beyond the same models we are slogging around in since the 1700s. I keep looking beyond the set of existing models for a higher way to organize ourselves.

Global citizenship where we release our constant pettiness of nationalism and being corralled by arbitrary geographic and/or cultural boundaries is where I currently hang my cowgirl hat.

Social media cuts across the artificiality of country nations. You and I are ending the world domination of us vs. them. We take corrective action every time we establish a friendship online with someone not from our milieu, home nation, heritage, or creed.

Clearly, it must be obvious attempting to resolve our global differences via the United Nation is an abyss of corruption where favored states are controlled by war mongers and inflated egos. This “leadership” is not only originating out of the Brahmin class but also from dirt poor tribal war lords who rose to power by murdering the ‘other side’. I would not place my faith or allegiance with such a band of narcissistic wannabes.

The street people’s Occupy Movement imploded because it was based on no leadership. Humans do not operate with positive forward motion in a civil society with a foundation of anarchy. Negotiation, compromise, compassion over enabling, the golden rule, equality, and human potentiality of the art of living is stifled when the mass reverts to herd instinct fed by fear and insecurity.

Intelligence, insight, wisdom, and respect is earned, yet without the focus of the best and the brightest it is buried inside the voices of the screaming chorus. Leadership demands ethics and truth disseminated with articulation based on fact not fiction.

What our species faces with global climatic change now has no meaning since weather and the environmental envelops of life this planet is one with do not recognize such captiousness.

Many foretell until the fiat monetary system is on the balls of its arse and the entire human race is nearly destroyed will we reboot how we socially and politically conduct ourselves. I am not a doomsayer.

It would seem common sense would yelp as a collective consciousness the way we are organized today (as nation states) is killing us and our fellow creatures on Earth. The New World Order is the greedy basturds attempt to drone us, surveil us, burn us up, and screw us up until we fully and finally surrender to their us vs. them paradigm. The current insanity (proxy wars) in MENA is an orchestration of a raft of various factions at each others throat – a mirror and a portend of human history.

It is no accident I reside in a country geared for peace refusing to arm itself. I can easily sustainably survive off the land here for generations, if necessary. The Internet I use is controlled by the govt controlled by the people. I do not live off the 100% green grid – but I could. My geo site-specific position is secure, yet my soapbox is tenuous but less so than most.

And while my family in America continue to excel at playing the game I do contend they like the secret idea I might become their rescue station if the entire ball of wax melted one futuristic blistering Earth-cooked afternoon.

Tearing down the pretend walls we erected as national lines on a make believe global map is what the lot I hang with are engaged in doing. What is our leverage to shift this stupidity? By using the world wide web to explain how the current establishment methodologies:
Divide and conquer;
Deploy proxy wars and weapons of mass fear campaigns;
Instill and fester religiosity phobias;
Use creed, color of skin, and class definitions as the psycho toolbox of cultural bias and apartheid;
Foster the piddle stream media as THE propaganda machine;
The corporate state’s lies by liars lying permeate the narrative;
Western inbred acceptance of violence via the cult of entertainment is the soft sell of pro-war hate speech;
and, so forth.
The incomplete list above are components to ill conceived models of human social organization.

If we continue to open governments, expose agendas, and use truth rather than arms you and I can jump over national boundaries and in solidarity detach from the prevailing madness.

Once we reach the 35% benchmark of no longer participating in the rigged game we better have our shit together to creatively and peacefully begin to live in peace and sustainability.

Personally, I am not into fixit Bandaides and running rescue wagons – politics and policy papers lined my former life. My here and now agenda is to shine light into the core of the rotting center and inform you of the systemic patterns. Once the intricacies are identified, the players revealed, and the shadows seen we must have a healing way to move forward otherwise the void will once again flood with false ego fed by fear.

There are various proposals for humankind to reach its societal well being. Yet, as long as these are defined using geo-political demarcations we are setting ourselves up for the redux of conflict and civil disorder.

One planet, one peace is no longer an utopian manifesto – it is the survival road map for Homo sapiens sapiens. Let’s get busy devising an outline. You begin, I have to go count birds, but BRB.

Changing Fantasies Part 99

A personal superior relationship standard is naturally and historically set and unless the latest champion on the field has his/her entire act together or at least most of it, why bother? We are creatures of habits and once we live inside an incredible connection with another, we expect nothing less. I am a ranting optimist – into fairness and justice for most – but I am also a practical human being. Time has shortened and is speeding up so why waste what remains musing around or quasi-involved with those who do not measure up?

Fedbook pals, Vickie and Jane (well, Jane and I are also friends in real life for the last 20+ years), get this because they too knew a mega-love. Prof A, another FB pal and neo-mentor, and his glorious life-long loved one are another truly special case of human love involvement. My bro and his wife of forty years qualify, as do my nieces and their marriages – as members of this unique lot. There are others, I pray. If the axiom – we marry one parent and become another is true – you can fill in the blanks. We parrot and practice mime what we see and hear as role models?

When i write about love between men and women (I am not gay, so I can’t write about their version, or other combos) it is not an illusion or a fantasy. What is mind blowing is how few folks actually experience solar system shaking love.

I knew within a short period if Arthur was the guy for moi and he knew if i was for him (although as a man it was his secret for years) long before he made his approach. His following from afar was not stalking, rather an intellectual’s period of evaluation and consideration for comparison and emotional cost-effectiveness. Witty articulate Capt. Arthur was a brilliant private attorney and superior human being who was communitarian compassionate by nature with a happy go lucky intimidating personality – not regular style in any regard. It may also have been his #recovery program at the time required him to not fall for a ‘slip under a skirt’.

Capt. Arthur waited for a jelled opportunity and the shifting and sifting in his life to then wing-in over my intersection and perform aerial loop-de-loops. His outfit was self-appointed. He dressed in a camel hair blazer, light wool designer dress slacks, a commercially pressed tattersall shirt, silk Argyle socks (paying homage to the Scottish lass thing) and suede boat shoes. I was oblivious as my goal at the time was to not remain on the edge of the #Hamptons, NY, but to return to my home place, the golden state of #California.

Love Hints #1 thru #8: Letting go is not about denial. It is the exact opposite. It is #freedom. It is #openness. It is #generosity grown and idee fixe shed to be packaged and presented with modernity and tradition.

As the play of amour unfolds it is a matter of the fearless #heart to NOT let the inhibited complex brain jump the gun or let the lug of baggage cargo f*ck it up by putting pedal to the metal or acting nonchalant – what I call ‘the get away closer syndrome’. Yet, potentiality must flow beyond maybe, might, and a #relationship composed of absentee pledges and being palish “walish” via tiny white electronic screens. Having a bee in one’s bonnet or a wild hair up your arse are phobias manifested to take the focus off hidden emotional problems. Standing naked in the luminescence with no projections, no judgment, and no phony filtration is naturally earned endearment not slanted infatuations on a string of changing fantasies.

#Love, the zesty, delightful, deep feeling radiant kind is also as far removed from co-dependency as one can paddle in front of a surging incoming tide. Appreciation, an in-love disposition, a soft spot, a weakness for, and so forth are best wishes and affections to convey garden variety love. What I am confessing is something in the grand arena of cosmic oneness and spiritual mutualism fulfilled. The luster and locale is not searchable on #Goggle Earth. It is a birdy place where dreams are not cajoled and confidence is not propped up with agendas and wobbly values.

To inveigle another (sweet-talk) is part of the glowy intro, yet to expect this chatter to forever be the exclusive underwriting to an epic relationship is maya. Further, never give-up on the sweet talk or spontaneous eruptions of subtle dazzle -directed at your s.o (significant other), or all becomes gaudy interpretation rather than classic world view.

Are you beginning to get the jest and the gist of this?

Long distance couplings are tough. Twenty-first century love affairs established #on-line are hampered and kickstarted by promises. These couplings at times degrade into mini-bouts of paranoia because the two want to be together as one then they don’t then they do. Many blaze out in a fresh form of no-go for man and woman – i call it reciprocal unrequited love.

Hundreds or thousands of miles apart is an empty desert with few oasis but aplenty with mine fields of what ifs and maybe nots. Then again, why spoil the luscious beginning by forgetting to relish each tantalizing moment. Yet, glued to this introductory joy is mutual hope for actualization or it flops faster than a Broadway play. The example I recall was with TV stars Mary Tyler Moore and Richard Chamberlain (December 1966). After four disastrous preview performances Bob Merrill, the mega-producer, pulled the clunker . . . to not, “subject the drama critics and the theater-going public – who invested one million dollars in advance sales – to an excruciatingly boring evening, I have decided to close.” The play? Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Some movies are better left in their original format and not reinvented in another medium, not unlike collector novels.

The wonder about #cyber-installed beginnings is how the pending coalition is without the full gamut of input pressure. Cyber-dating allows for untold testing with emails, video communications, and instant chats (IMs without any accountability) – along with vast swatches of downtime to consider, evaluate, and mentally masturbate about a bail out or a drop-in.

The horror about cyber affairs is how the coming together for many is based on one-sided changing fantasies (without accountability) – i.e., those constantly in love with being in love (read high). Again, these are shallow renditions and not even mirrors to what I know as true-blue love. People invest way too much via little electrified screens instead of figuring out how to meet in person and proceed normally in a full court press of potential merger or run the hell the other way. Personally, I find cyber-locus feigned alliances boring if not stupid, not unlike coal mining with a toothpick, sans a decent lantern.

The actual game plan to fit into each other’s lives is not a dramatic ordeal. Somehow, even between aging set-in-their-way brainiacs prone to project management and reams of options, the nerd bud pops open and the lotus flower of togetherness blooms. For the younger set, many choreographed couplings happened when #Anonymous took to the actual streets in protests. The vitual cyber masks were pulled down and the real Guy Fawkes plastic jobs held in place until eye locks were released.

Sterling moments of closeness originating with eye locks outweigh darkened aloneness. Two become conjoined by a golden thread. If you think a marvelous pairing ends due to eventual arse dragging familiarity you have neither experienced nor witnessed the quality of blended lives I speak from on this platform.

If you experience glimpses of eye locks and deny the authenticity you are a scared little rabbit seeking to hump, overly crusty- burned from a prior engagement, or your turpitude is beyond depraved (ex.=  seeking a western green card to escape the local horror show of drone wars; or surging the sex-trafficking channel).

It is a rarity – a communicative magical honest #union – and in my never humble opinion once accepted is the steadfast human finery of living on the blue marble. It requires fueled faith, kindly consistency, understanding loyalty, and spot on humor. Because, when Murphy’s Law steamrolls across the parallel pathways and other shit dumps on ya to test one’s guts and weigh one’s conviction and confidence the wisdom to laugh standing tall – holding hands in the wreckage – is a miracle. Togetherness wins the day, soothes the night, and pushes the hit of momentary joy back into the now.

There was a possible keeper on my horizon. He arrived on his paddle board out of the mist of the matrix. The cyber format is more ocean than conduit and too crowded with paddlers. Sincerity and enchantment will divulge themselves if any potential duo rating is high enough on the tenderness meter to meet or surpass what was . . .

Today, someone railed how can I act (read reject) based on such an old-fashioned comparative methodology, bla, bla? Aye, he is one of the truculent pretenders to the Arthur throne so his male ego is out of joint, but then again it is a valid question.

How can i apply a dearly nearly 20-year marriage to what is now a dead prince’s memory to evaluate and benchmark others in the living here and now? It is damn easy and getting more so. I can, and i do. I am not required to understand you, your predicaments, or empathize with same unless you exhibit a verifiable heart felt apodictic.

With no succulent assurances, we know. We intuitively recognize each other? Precious real gems sparkle and resonate different from artificially made or faked ones – not for a moment, but in perpetual display the tried-and-true ones are immortal. Vickie and Jane contend it is likely our ardent rich captains of love were the last of an extinct breed. I am holding out Capt. Arthur was the second to last of a dying breed.

If you sing for your soul, your family and friends, and the mothership (Earth), the drama-comedy of human life is never boring or riddled with fallacious accommodations. We each reside in a singular holy temple adorned with stark bareness for some and aesthetic jungle exuberance for others.

I prefer dependable orchestrations of honesty, allegiant ethics, Highlander honor, generosity, density of light, kindness of paying it forward, bigga brains, classy demeanor, political savvy, bravery, provocativeness, mystery, and ripe romantic events. And, no i do not need to open a space on airbnb.com to find interesting people. The expats of Costa Rica are already filtered by the country’s own reality of no military since 1948, no nukes, and a socialistic democracy’s gigantic commitment to environmental stewardship. The fact CR arrests and convicts its presidents for corruption is another portent plus.

Why is it so hard-core difficult for imaginative over-educated men to understand a woman of my rank is not looking for golden pots and inbred independence to steal? What prevents one from risking to uncover the profundity of improved wholeness?

Fear – fear of  . . . heartbreak, intimacy, death, illness, getting out of one’s comfort zone, commitment, exposure, success, performance (anxiety), failure, losing independence, and, the list bleats on. Sixty-six percent of single people admit to Fedbook-stalking their dates. Fear acting out in social media – a very new techno venue for a very ancient human core concern = love with another.

In my case, I spend the majority of time as related to men warding them off on-line and sending out this IM to overtures, “I am sorry. I do not do on-line relationships. I am a quasi-public figure and have little time.” But men are men, and most continue to send outreach wanting to be “friends” (certainly, some are romance scammers, this is a given). It is when they chat I am beautiful (read super shallow on their part) and ask ,”tell me about yourself,” my brain cross-wires with my internal female anti-match maker. Then the response from me is curt, “Ya, wanna know who I am? Read my work.” What is unwritten is me ending with “ya, dunderhead,” because i subscribe to civility in all instances. Yet, the balloon out of my head says this snotty sayonara.

Any man I spend ANY time emailing or having a vid chat with (other than political/work related) means i am on a mission of exploration not an adventure looking for sexting or on-line fun. Most of these scenarios morph into lasting friendships and for this I am grateful. I do not participate in the protracted adolescence of changing fantasies (read my first paragraph, again). If you are reading this and we shared good conversation, you made it through the first set of hurdles but have yet to reach the hoops. But, for God’s sake do not consider there is a finish line, because there isn’t a track built, yet, plus none to date are in a permit application.

Keepers? One was a possibility, but he is currently a poetic long shot, as he either never saw the gate or faded around the first turn (his own volition). It is difficult to tell from the Tule fog on the grassy course.

Consternation is intended sabotage or subliminal pent-up anger acting out. The region of bonded or unbounded love is an outlet and an inlet for a vast set of human complexities.

Now, if you care to, please go look up the difference between apodictic or apodicticity and assertoric and while you are at it read Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason and Dee Brown’s Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee. If you discern why these are linked in my brain and heart, then you entered an arena of Magna Moralia where I wander around – if you possess decent optics, you get points.

Good birding ?

 

 

Name Dropping?

In a former life i was surrounded by super wealth – not spiritual richness rather aplenty of designer lifestyles from homes, to parties, to clothes, to shoes, to spouses, to vehicles, to garden furniture. I never felt less than or envious. I am unsure if jealously is in my emotive vocabulary as by nature I am nearly fearless plus basically I think all humans are full of crap, including myself.

What I learned in this affluent milieu is how empty and disconnected were these human beings. They barely saw the wonders of nature and consequently were afraid of actual living things from creepy spiders to giant balls of bait fish.

Nearly every Saturday in the spring I would be outside in front of 41 Sunset Avenue, Westhampton Beach, NY, working in the perennials pulling weeds, replanting volunteers, or making room for a new variety of a beauty. The birds would be singing as they established nesting territorials. The maple trees would be sprouting fresh lime colored greenery, and the Earth would begin to warm-up and awake after a winter’s sleeping under a freezing blanket of ice and snow.

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41 Sunset Avenue, Westhampton Beach, NY, it’s cottage garden curb view,

A woman – tall, thin, over the top jogging like her life depended on it – would bolt by some Saturdays. I would watch her in motion wondering what she was running from with these bird legs of hers. Being a prankster at heart, I decided to foil her jaunt. Taking a chance, the next Saturday, i began to pull out the intrusive pineapple mint by the public sidewalk and pile their roots, stems, and leaves onto the cement. It was a mini-roadblock. As predicted the runner and her big nose came by but could not get by the pile of deliciously fragrant pineapple. Running in place, she yipped at me, “You can’t pile your garbage on the sidewalk.” I was bent over with my arse in her direction (on purpose).

I stood up (all five feet two inches to her height), turned around in her direction and said, “Aye, it is a wee bit of a mess, but it is not garbage. It is pineapple mint and makes a loverly bouquet.” She made a perfect toothed semi-smirky face. I smiled my normal charming grin showing off my dimples and flashing green peepers.

“Fine, but it is in my way.”

I slowly brushed off me muddy knees and with the drama of a Jane Austin scene in slo-mo removed my aqua leather gardening gloves. The die-heart Manhattanite continued to run in place.

“Ya know, the one about take time to smell the roses? Maybe ya might want to try it some time.” She stopped running in place. I was unsure if she was going to clock my mug or madly kick the mint off the sidewalk.

“You’re right. I am always getting ready to go somewhere or i am on my way going somewhere . . . . so I probably miss a lot.” Then to my surprise she plopped down on the pile of pineapple mint. The scent filled our little tete a tete. We both laughed. Me, I think, out of surprise and her because she needed to let go of stress stuck inside her like cornbread stuffing for a Thanksgiving turkey.

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View of 41 Sunset Ave, from the north west corner.

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My upstairs studio, 41 Sunset Ave.

From that Saturday forward, for the next five summers, once in awhile, she would stop during her runs. We would yak about flowers, the love of men, women with vision, birds, and relevancy in life on the planet Earth. When my husband and I opened Cafe HeBird SheBird she became a semi-regular customer like we were a drive-by? I only knew her by her first name as she always paid in cash.

One morning, standing at the espresso machine whipping up a diet syrup Amaretto latte to go for her, she said with a kinda snotty Queens accent, “Bonnie DiPietro, I do not think I ever introduced myself to you. My name is Donna Karan.” I did not flinch and turned on the steamer to make foam for the latte. When finished I cleverly added a latte art of a pair of swirly birds, as she watched. With a giant twinkle of a smile, I handed up the cup over the counter clad in Italian marble.

Beaming even more, I said, “On the house, and nice to meet ya.”

I am not a nice Jewish girl from Queens but i married a terrific guy from Brooklyn so maybe this is what broke the ice?

It is who we love and how we chose to live our lives that decides the authenticated quality of our three weeks on Earth – including horrific mistakes and intimate misbegotten happenings.

What we wear for hotsy rags to be trendy and look beautiful as a sensual woman is a simple feminine desire to feel good about ourselves. I have never worn a DK and probably never will. So far, I don’t need to – as my raging self-esteem is not defined by a brand or who by happenstance are illusive ‘friends’. I am a Californian. We prefer swinging colors to NYC sleek black and chic.

On Advertency

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Today’s one-liner, isn’t:

“Without perspective we become less than what we are and more of what we do not want to be.” Sam Richardson, California artist

My training in art was traditional. I learned perspective as a kid beginning with two-point perspective drawings. This limited artsy introduction was hobbled to looking at architecture in the sunshine and seeing the structure’s shadows (negative space) to define the perspective in reality and eventually in my mind’s eye. Then i expanded and tried to see perspective in flowers, birds, the sea, clouds, and the intricacy of spirals and finally within myself – as reflection. When I arrived at the destination of civil society in my quest, perspective took a protracted hiatus. This tipping point lingers.

Art is a pathway and it is a quiet guru-less way of living enmeshed in aesthetics and sensitivity. Art commissions one’s whole person to become healed by beautifying and connecting – inter and intra. I am grateful for awareness and for an innate ability to seek, to be forever curious, to imagine as many possibilities as my pea brain can hold and my corroding heart chambers can pulse. To live what I call, in the groove, on the beam, and at rare times in the real deal flow – such is the poetic here and now, and if this authenticity is not the enchantment of consciousness, then enlighten me.

I will be candid with you, I do not ‘get’ how people can operate without perception let alone be without compassionate, nor how they cannnot adore Earth, or not be willing to love and laugh without irreversible abandonment. Are they cursed with primitive-fed fear? Did their gene pool never experience the phenomenology of insight?

Okay, so I am inbred snotty and at times gratuitously romantic but is there not a moment when each of us realizes a bird’s eye view is without parallel? One world oneness is not an interpretation, it is the wholism of right impression, right action, and the height, width, depth, and position in relation to each other when viewed from any particular point. It is a global perspective.

Into the mix is stirred humility. Diffidence is a weird one – it can be a light bulb moment or a hammer falling on one’s big toe. Some feel it as humiliation, a questionable self-victimization?

The ego whispers or screams as it is seems with humanity it is unusual for ego to be barely even-keeled. Ego mediates between the conscious and the unconscious. It is responsible for realty testing and a sense of personal identity. In metaphysics ego is a conscious thinking subject.

In Jungian thought (where I reside) Carl Jung said, “The ego stands to the self as the moved to the mover, or the object to the subject, because the determining factors which radiate from the self surround the ego on all sides and are therefore supraordinate to it. The self, like the unconscious, is an a priori existent out which the ego evolves.” (Transformation Symbolism in the Mass,” CW 11, par. 391.)

When ego rules (know it too well) we manifest the nasty inequality of human organization and forget to be free beings. Our history belies we have been at this trough of angst for thousands of years unable to move beyond pettiness, turf wars, and built-in bias.

If you find a smiling humble person with a grand sense of humor as friend, lover, partner, associate, or cyber-hell passerby who is also deeply creative, wonderfully independent, and paying-it-forward kind you are damn lucky, blessed really . . . or both. Presumptions evaporate and mobilization brings the dream state into the rock n’ roll world of consciousness.

Perspective on paper, or in the sand, is a voiceless mirror on the perspective of one’s life? Disturbances we manifest in our personal interactions are micro to the macro of mass human behavior. I do not do well with drama queens or those who like to gossip or nitpick. My first case scenario with these folks is not to turn my cheek but to as soon as possible (but not rudely) split from the scene. Over the decades any tolerance with this pettifogging lexicon vanished along with any desire to fix the fuckers. “Move on, next . . . a mantra to edit the emotionally shabby divisionaries*.

The meanings of symbols, in poetry, dreams, art, story, myth and even literature and illustration fashioned within children’s books are how we move from defeat, pain and suffering (individually or as a collective) to melding a place of love – of adaptation and transformation.

*one of my made-up words, but you get its meaning, eh?

Jamie Harkins, sand art, a perspective.

#TheHamptons – More than a Faked Lifestyle, isn’t it?

I am reading this article on #TheGuardian website about the #Hamptons,NY, my former home space. The article is ridiculous. The obvious flubby fluffy ‘ad’ for a local realtor maybe the story’s singular value or stinky consequence – actually, it is nothing but more senseless noise on the #Net. Yet, what briefly blew me away was the Latina worker bee who washes the heads of hair of the rude and rich during the summer at a (is there anyone other kind) high tone spa/salon. She claims to be making over $650 per week in tips. Then she goes on to complain she has to live on nearly nothing during the winter.

Okay, so I have not lived in the Hamptons since July ’07, thus one can too easily conclude I am not up to date to debate details. But, I yammer a #Latina with zip education (an immigrant) to be hauling-in a crappy salary PLUS $650+ per in tips each week from late May until middle of Sept. is not shabby. Tip monies I am sure she does not pay income taxes on nor does she contribute to a local save the pet charity. Surely she supports her employed family. They appear to be living in a nice looking rental home in #Southampton, a truly classically beautiful and safe community. Yet, if par for the course, Western Union is visited regularly to forward bucks to those in her native land. I designed, built, and operated an organic espresso cafe at 49 Sunset Avenue, Westhampton Beach, and none of the staff ever made such tips. If they did, i never knew (probably a good thing, Martha). Can you confirm this Amanda Showers?

WTH? Most of those who inhabit the Hamptons during the summer season are either professional escapees from Manhattan looking to score with each other, lookie loos from Upwest cruising to see a celeb, or the revolving door mogul wealthy. There are the original blue bloods, but they are literally dying off in their chic dog-eared parlors and 2nd floor peeling paint verandas overlooking the field club, the #Atlantic, or #PeconicBay.

Now, as to the genre of locals, the dumb-nut who wrote this dribble for The Guardian quotes a couple of realtors (there is a giant herd of them and too many a greedy classless lot), a local elected official, and an immigrant Latino. This is a wearing and weak spread to draw conclusions, let alone tell a compelling story? There are in small numbers anglers, designers, builders, professionals, boaters, baymen, artists, writers, actors, gardeners, horse folks, teachers, neat family business owners, farmers, vintners, architects, retirees, and others of creative #BOHO-bent who reside on the East End of Long Island. These are the actual locals including those with familial ties hailing back to 1640 (right, Bill Pell ?). Yes, many of us bailed before the last real estate debacle – and fewer continue. Year-a-round folks who reside on the South Fork, North Fork, or Shelter Island are a special lot, no doubt about it, because the region is exceptionally historical, beautiful, and no lie isolated during the winter.

Occasionally, in a snarky mood, I pinned a button on my espresso apron, “Tell the Beautiful People I Won’t Miss Them.” The barely uttered benefit for the local world = the summer colony leaves, what my husband referred to as Tumbleweed Tuesday (day after #LaborDay). Nine months out of the year the East End is in a delightful state – no attacks of car alarms and no hotsy designer sales where sandals are half off at $2,000. Plus, most importantly, one can wet a line in the suds (surf cast) with the other five diehards along the Village of Quogue’s beach.

I truly miss boating the waterways, cozy autumn dinners with friends eating baked Striped Bass, writing commentary letters to the editor, and never sharing recipes for blueberry pies. Bags of Billy’s freshly harvested oysters waiting at the backdoor were like finding gold. Gardening perennial beds with ice crystals or sea salty sweat on my brow kept me semi-sane. Yet . . . life moves on. The status quo, even when dressed in cashmere and actual pearls, is the bane of fear.

Besides, I am positive God has new adventures in store for me in far away lands with more incredible birds in the company of classy gentle folks. Listen, living in #CostaRica, where I do, is neither boring nor stressful. Ya ‘all should be so lucky. I no longer have to keep three businesses afloat, nor pay out thousands of dollars in LIPA monthy bills (electricity), or have no mind space or heartfelt quiet time to write.

Finally (not too soon), my child-less artsy Auntie Bee, when bro and i as kids made faces into her overcooked veggies, would proffer, “Now, eat your greens, kids. Children are starving in India.” We actually took this to heart.

Photo: Summer “cottage”, #Westhampton, NY.

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