Stretching Wings, Shaking Tail Feathers

Screen shot 2015-06-10 at 1.56.39 PMIt is a delight to know creatives and activists and shit-disturbers and political outlaws who everyday roll out from under comfy covers or piles of rubble and begin again to paint beauty, research truth, write change, and share from their mobile hearts and inquisitive minds.

When ya live alone, in the jungle, there is an expanding and overwhelming sense of how fertile and omnipresent is a power greater than one’s self. To be geared for positive feedback, to offer a thumbs up, to make a quip, to have one’s breath stop for an instant because something is so remarkably simple and awesome is what solitude instills. . . yet, we are social beings, even in our introversion and contemporary fascinations.

Some wrinkle third eyes and blurb the matrix is make-believe. Yet, for me, over the years, i have connected with incredible human beings from every nook and cranny. These sparky connections are emotive, enduring, and sincere. Certainly, a few are overly intellectual and lack affection, yet the majority (including the cyber nerds) are spirit dancers – people I have no problem inviting onto the hut’s veranda for a spot of highland organic tea, or an iced cold tropical fruit juice.

The power of the unconsciousness is pulled into the collective if we are mindful and willing to regularly negotiate peace within ourselves. I am learning everyday and the roaring Scottish lion shares its soul food without prompting. Crap-ridden Netizens, are micro blips in the vanity of a dying twilight.

We only get three weeks on this glorious spinning orb. I am not a survivalist, or a nut job who ran off to the rainforest out of paranoia. We searched far and wide for a serene place of wonder and beauty. Alfombra was the winning ticket. Did I ever consider I would be the lone survivor of a fabulous marriage? No, actually I did not. I thought the robust shockingly astute, communitarian, totally pro lawyer, and way too witty man I was married to would far outlive me even if he was much older. Maybe he put a spell on me?

Anyhoo, it is not a wee challenge to live on Finca Vigia, it is a privilege. My family does not get it, although at times i prefer to believe my only bro (older) does – I mean he has known me all my life. The family are not nature freaks or garden obsessives or politicos. They relish art, music, beauty, decor, shopping for elegance, travel, sports, research, and pursuits of the mind but Finca Vigia never seems to come up on their cultural wheel. No idea why not.

Sure, at morose bent moments during the day, I lament it would be swell to once again share life with a sensitive bi-ped and then a flock of siren parrots go over, or an eagle screams, or I get buzzed by a pissed off hummingbird and the maudlin Bon passes into the ethers. I am a grateful former Maggie cat on a hot tin roof who today dozes in the bright light or rainy mists of latitude nine.

The grand scheme miraculously unfolds, with or without my radicalized 1,000 colones (more or less $2) comments – fortunately for revolutionary me, kindly you, and the big Kahuna in charge.

The Slaying of a Beautiful Mind – #Aaron Swartz

Over the last several years I report about #Anonymous, hacking, and cyber war events. Dissent in the information age is evolving faster than GMO dead bees. Here is an excellent documentary (see link below) on a brilliant superior brainiac – #AaronSwartz, a nonthreatening super being who became a victim for his belief in equal access to public documents.

Every high-end hacker – read a computer programmer/developer/innovator so quick and excellent at tasks at hand – I have been honored to interview is a millennial renaissance genius. They are unique personalities centered in info, introversion, creative system design, and compulsive passions – many are seen as paranoids (but, i see them as fear-based for authentic concerns). Many demonstrate what the cookie cutter education empire calls ‘recognizable learning disabilities’ – yet, as a political Jungian therapist I perceive these obsessives are our societal docents to question ALL authority.

They are BOHO pranksters to relieve the intensity of their advanced awareness about ruling institutions – they act out in ways the govt. cannot process totally rejecting the rigged game. Many are intolerably combative in nature, yet, by the time they were 11 or 12 years old they were the most adept hacker pirates on the planet. Each possess a self-awareness with a personalized extraordinary futuristic vision of what technology on the net can do – if free – for the greater good of all of humanity. They are the civil-disobedience role models of this century.

I implore you to watch this vid (see link below) for no other common sense reason but to comprehend why the security apparatus is hell-bent on taking out these wunderkind of the Brave New World.

Perfectionists, polite, inclusive, relevancy junkies, FREEDOM believers, and lovers of making the world just and right they daily impact our lives dramatically without the above ground world knowing same. Geeks, nerds, and organized chaos actors with no boundaries. Inter and intra communications via on-line discussion are taken to off-world levels.

Controversy on steroids with a human to human closeness unique to on-line contact is the norm. Outfits of slouchy jeans, dark t-shirts, and tacky non-haircuts, some with more body ink than Bradbury’s illustrated man is regular style. Totally denying consumerism, in reverse mode they are incredibly optimistic about life.

ENERGY AND FOCUS are exhibited beyond human endurance.

These are practicing master mind Netizens who have ZERO tolerance for the gatekeepers (Google, Fedbook, etc.). Thus, they are 24/7 watched by the NSA, FBI, CIA, Secret Service, and other covert operators. But, again they adore challenge and ego, be it collective or individualized, is far more fake than real.

The few I know (none in the Biblical sense) are blessed and cursed in equal proportion. Most live in crystallized fear.

If there is a subset of the techno best and brightest, they reside in Anonymous, WikiLeaks, and the deep deep net. Self-impregnation, political activism, and being a rat for the man is considered an outrageous option even if faced with jail time . . . It is a full press court from the corporate state to stop cyber warriors critical analysis and data basis collection to prove how corrosive and corrupt is the system.

America is Not Heaven

May I offer this to those who think moving to #America is finding #utopia. What you see in movies – where everyone lives in magnificence and designer surroundings driving the hottie car of the year while buying whatever their heart desires is mostly a cleverly staged falsehood. 30% of kids in America go to bed hungry. The largest jail population on the planet is in America. The Bill of Rights is under assault by the #1%, who control the means of production sprouting war after war. Not all is well in #Murica (America). Yet, I am positive compared to most circumstances in #MENA, it seems the answer to one’s prayers. It may well be, yet, seeker beware.

Now, if you can can live in a small #Murica town or cool urban neighborhood, surrounded by the countryside, and love family, community, integrity, and what you do for a living while not being swallowed up by overt consumerism – then America is wonderful in its ignorance is bliss-ness.

If your rising expectations are to live like a Hollywood star or starlet and forget the roots of your culture and faith, then you are deceiving yourself. This is the immaturity of a child dreaming of a world comprised of sugar plums, magic, and fairy dust where trees shed hundred dollar bills.

Professionals with serious skills will find an easier go living in America to raise their family and pursue their career goals – if one’s education is superior and sponsored for #immigration. Got that? This is the set of keys. Be the best you can be as a human being with peace in your heart and a destiny of paying it forward awaits you.

I prefer to live in #Costa Rica (since 2007) and visit America, mainly because we land banked our wherewithal here, on purpose (no capital gain taxes). Yet, for sure, I relish living in this amazing nature country with no military and CR is not at war with any other country. Ticos are kindly, polite, and HAPPY. Hopefully, Internet access will not screw them up into wannabees where more is never enough.

Last Thursday, I returned from Murica (America) so this is my re-entry assessment. Yes, i shopped and procured items I cannot get here in CR. Yes, i took advantage of a medical system I pay into in Murica and not available here in CR, Yep, my brother’s home and it’s decor is super in elegance and exceedingly larger than my jungle hut. We both have glorious views. In fact, he is adding on and renovating his first floor with superior products (copper clad wood windows, french doors, etc.) not available here in CR. Have you figured out the sibling competitive angle is inherent?

Yet, I am having hardwood floors (direct from the local mill) installed in my hut’s studio not available in Murica – neither in weight, quality, nor price. Retired Bro lives in a beautiful ranch countryside – the Texas Hill Country. One must drive at least 25 miles to shop for a toothbrush, plus the intrusion of development is faster than lightning hitting a prairie dog compound. I live in a decidedly gorgeous remote jungle, no friggin’ doubt about it. Yet, it is 25 minutes to the ‘city’ and it is 20 minutes the other direction to tropical beaches more wild and spectacular than you can imagine. There are no freeways, here. There are barely passable one way bridges instead of overpasses larger than Yankee Stadium (the olde one). And, of course there are no Buckee’s in CR.

Bro railed at me I need to manage my money better and my response was nearly spitting out my molars, but in quiet despair (mine, not his). Of the two of us, my simple, yet loverly pristine lifestyle is doable and exceedingly reasonable. He is the one with the $350 per month utility bill, and I am the one with the $22 per month (all hydro generated off the national CR grid) one. The utility bill for three businesses and my husband’s and our home in the Hamptons, NY, averaged $4 to $5.5 Gs per month without adding cost of propane fuel for heat (we had three 450 gallon tanks buried so we could buy at wholesale at NY docks prices during the summertime).

Bro’s generosity knows no bounds, but then again he is currently my only heir (and not vice a versa).

My cup ‘ranneth’ over with the high style of life. It did not make me measurably happier and generated stress upon stress to sustain; year after year. Not because i was hung up on the lifestyle did I continue, year after year, but because in my blindness and concern i though i could contribute to my community, my country, AND make a creative difference along with a decent living. We each subscribe to our personalized myth and then once entrenched look for exit signs?

Traveling, of course, is greatly appreciated except for the #TSA’s bull dung (see photo attached).

The overt and covert kindness to me by my smarty pants family, while in the states is remarkable. Yet, none come here to visit allowing me to return the favors so these could be divined as guilt gifts? But, probably not – they are too self-assured for such hidden emotive agendas?

My bro was last here at Finca Vigia right after my husband died, to help me. Bro was fantastic. No, Bro is fantastic, as to why he insists on telling me how to live my life is absurd – but i think this is his fear acting out. He is an older brother. His wife also attempts to manage me. They were success junkies who managed others and budgets. Somehow, they see me as someone I am not? I am a strong personality (as they are) with uncured opinions (as they are) who has been through enough pools of burning caca to flood California (as they have not). Most of the time I nod yep, and then not dwell on the fact I can’t stand being told what to do by them, or just about anyone else. God can testify to my inherited character defect.

All creatives ‘no likee’ unsolicited input. The rest of my family also cannot stand the advice rendering – yet, I think Bro and Mrs. Bro Managers have given up on them, so I am the lucky moving target since I arrive for brief interludes.

Each time i return to the homeland, I sense the civil society fear has notched up several more levels coupled to the secure apathy inherent in the upper middle class my family inhabit. In contrast, I operate in an earthy pungent flowery universe. I believe I treat everyone lovingly with a sense of humor – the same for my superior fancy arse cardiologists to the guy banging nails at my bro’s or Tony C working in my hut laying down a floor.

No one in my family is a phony, and for this I am filled with gratitude. Yet, their orientation to time and the here and now is far far different than my own. They fill their days and nights with projects I find counterproductive to Earth’s sustainability. But, then again I am the revolutionary thinker, the writer, the ‘ranter’, and the noisy introvert who lives in the moment, in mindfulness, watching birds, growing ideas, and stirring up shit in social media.

Do i want to spend the reminder of my life as a single in the rainforest with toucans, bugs larger than my face, howling monkeys, and German Shepherds? Nope. I would like to share a partnered life with one more version of a happy brilliant sexy man who possesses little worries and a deep-seated faith in himself, and his God. The ideal candidate loves family, independence, adventure, nature, dogs, and making difference. Ah shit, this sounds like a pity pot ad in a personal column. It is not meant as such.

This is my digital journal. I jot down stuff here, rather than an actual notebook. But, I keep a small real notebook to write down (yes, pens are still circulating as implements) important crap I forget too easily including web links, ideas for articles, rants, names, concepts, and possible dialogue for my latest tome. My birding journal is more scientific and artsy.

Writers write because they have no other choice. You do have a choice. You can read this banality tongue in cheek (as proffered) or pass on by to the next instant gratification feed.

TSA sheet one

My letter of Resignation

Going from Rigorous Ranting to Righteous Raging – I resign from Homo sapiens.Image

Dedicated to Mahmoud, Bobby, and Eraser, somewhere in #Iraq. 

Dateline: Global, June 22 or 23, 2014


“To the leaders of the world. Let the music play, play it loud, and make it clear, it is time to stand up, to a new world that is now yet so far . . . let there be, peace. All the walls are falling down, no more children of the war, all the suffering will be no more, let there be, peace.”


Faith, you bleat?


Pedaling this as exacting as my bent light can illuminate, my resolve continues to break into fractals and fragments. How can we keep up this mass murdering of ourselves and other living creatures? Games of daily damned drama and recreational torture flow with rivers of human suffering thicker and wider with increasing maniacal ego and sicker, deeper animosity.


We participate by AK-7 gloved hand or cultural ennui in such blatant senselessness, in the name of what?


We blowup, murder, hang, gut, sniper, and stab innocents – children, parents, grandparents, canines, donkeys, camels, cats, and rats – and our culpable selves to oblige whom?


We carry forward agendas so ungodly there seems no outflow except bulk psychosis.


Leadership inflames and détente evaporates.


Dressed in blue camo, army green camo, desert camo, suit camo, and hate camo we proceed with drugged craziness and within too many the drug is not Big Pharma’s latest, it is the poison of bias, self-righteousness and pure odium.


My religion is love, kindness, and compassion. It manifests with delight, joy, and serenity. It is anodyne yet never analgesic.


Wide-awake, powerless, and disgusted with my species I neither run away, nor tumble into the abyss of apathy. I cannot abandon, yet I also can no longer condone any fellow humans from family to friends. We are all useless in the quest for peace, in essence, NGO, or prayer.


Delaware Joe Biden, running for POTUS, wanted a three-part Iraq – a balkanization with an agreement how to split the resources. Assad wants what? Kerry wants what? Maliki wants what? Putin wants what? CIA wants what? Dirty oil wants what? What do you want? Kurd, Sunni, and Shite, want what? The lions of the desert winds want what? Iranians are in Iraq fighting for what? Turks are in Iraq fighting for what? Muslim Brits are in Iraq fighting for what? American Green Berets are in Iraq fighting for what?


Why do we call the insurgents ISIS and POTUS refers to them as ISIL?


We are so dysfunctional we cannot agree what to name 7,000 plus insurgents rushing headlong across Iraq to settle-in at the Arabian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea ?


I no longer acknowledge our species or refer to myself as a member of humanity, nadakind, and the human race, Homo sapiens, or of these times. Not for one breathe, have I been an adherent to shock and awe to do the bidding of human expediency in a paroxysm of evil tidings.


What about life? Do I account or you count for any accountable reprieve? There is barely seepage of light in deadly dreary darkness.


Where is ethos? As much as I crave to match the chafe of the heart with the empathy of our soul sickness, invisible forces block me. I can smell the stench of artificial self-assuredness. The soaking goo of human irrationality and human narcissism is more deadly than Ebola.


Why do the unnoticed slaughter fellowship in the phony appellation of opportuneness?


Standing stagnant, I am waiting for lightening to strike awfulness. Embittered hominid thunder rolls across an immovable bloodied human screwed world at an accelerating pace NSA’s fastest net connection cannot keep abreast of, as you and I Tor-struggle with 3G.


Do we now sacrifice our entire species at the ancient altar of the seven deadly sins?


Is it as No-Eyes portended the spirit Guardians of Earth have retired? Did the Caretakers take a well-deserved sabbatical so we can more quickly do ourselves in with wars stacked upon fresher insanities based in 1,400 old antediluvian hostilities? Earth regenerates, we pass into oblivion ?


My God is better than your God? My prophet said it is right, your idea of my prophet is wrong? You are wrong; I am right, bang, bang, bam, bam, scream, and scream.


Can you not see both sides do the work of the empire? Who gains in the elimination of slaves, taking of turf, and the destruction of hives? Not me, not you, not Iraqis, Syrians, Egyptians, or folks in the Costa Rican ghetto of Patterson, New Jersey – we serve the master of rampant greed and golden idols of the grotesque.


Is the crawling polluting collective unconscious beyond repair? Are we witnessing the final curtain? Why now? Can you not f*cking wait until I have crossed over to the over side? Why on my watch? I am refusing to be a victim to the wholesale retail destruction corruption of Earth, friend or foe.


Has the house of Saud and US Congress becomes so hate-infested, even the baying dogs that cannot hunt have fleas and their bitten bodies are sore with extra suffering saddled to bottomless box canyons of human misery.


The EOW virus is us. Is this news?


Have our psychic protectors gone away in dismay and disgust deeming 100% human species failure is the only option left on the table for tender you and exacerbated me?


The toucans yip, the monkeys howl, the waterfalls rush, the wrens sing, yet my ears buzz with vexation and my head with fool’s errand aloofness. The visual and audio contrast is too much. Mahmoud talks and we both hear nearby explosions and human shrieking – him in crazy Iraq, and me listening to nutso Iraq safe in my jungle sanctuary.


Enough. I no longer want to be a member of a clan, a sect, a group, a family of man, or labeled a human being. I have reached the outer limits of my tolerance and any understanding is null and void, canceled, invalid, and kaput. My membership has selfie-expired. I no longer seek renewal, or expect a possibility of restitution.


Condescension even if the Pope or Jesus or the Dalai or some greater faith magician gestures a magic wand to erase the blood, the abomination and the squealing woe of little children smiling evil has gained its own killing fields across the entire screeching planet.


Human madness curls through the wrecked dunes of MENA, the glowing forests of Chernobyl, the shady boulevards of Georgetown, the central parks of Guadalajara, the vast jungles of Guatemala, the 13,000 islands of Indonesia, the former wild plains of anywhere USA now corporate painted into the geography of nowhere – and on, and on, and on.


I am a friggin’ Godparent for Christ’s sake. You are a bawling father, mother, and grandparent for whoever’s sake.


You want a new paragraph in the US Constitution? Try this one:


We the people of this once semi-free nation refuse to work one more kvetching minute for the psychopath empire. We resign, in mass, with accumulated disdain for the empire’s insane mission in favor of the ultimate hope to save our human race, one and all, this date, July 4, 2014.



#Egyptians Prevail? One More Day to Go

Dateline: Somewhere in the Jungle, Costa Rica

A Western Woman’s Point of View

Thumper for Participatory Democracy is one of three lines on my business card. Today, I need new engraved cards made. Why? ‪#‎Egypt‬ has fashioned NON-Participatory Democracy.

By boycotting a faked election for a little man who has no relationship to a free society, the Egyptian people have done what many predicted. They have led the world down a different path of non-violent political activism. A new improved non-violent civil disobedience serving the greater good and slaying the corrupting evil.

By not voting, they send a blaring message to every #coup leader, every thief of #liberty, every #foreign policy advisor, and every #despot Egyptians prefer a democracy, and not some trumped-up psychopath junta murdering, arresting and spreading fear.

Those who refuse to vote stand taller than ever for #freedom, #justice and #bread. To say I am proud of Egyptian brothers and sisters does not come close to the respect I hold in my heart. I join with you in prayer to bring peace, not bloody revolution.

The Sea Eagle is the majestic bird symbolizing #Egypt. #El Sisi is a fallen crinkled star made of rotting Felucca sails and blood soaked Galibias of his own doing.

The world is watching while most ImageAmericans are sunk in an abyss of apathy. Egypt could well be the phoenix rising, the one holy men and women envision and billions of humans seek. God knows, not you, nor me.

Yet, honor yourself and your encompassing passion for your homeland by the Nile. In the years I have observed the body politic, Egyptians take the cake, the donuts, and the whole bakery for a culture die-heart in love with their remarkable land of ancient mysteries and mystical understandings.

Many healings, many joys, many strong hearts . . . and to the innocent, release them El Sisi – return them to mother Egypt and then go into exile with the rest of the power drunkards.

Smart Phone App for Peace?

One more tear in the ocean of no peace – No smart phone app for this, yet.

In answer to a query earlier today: Yes, every icon petard I post (see below) from birds to ancient art and contemporary graphics to lists of make believe political parties in #Egypt has meaning deeper than its honeymoon consideration. 

I am not a K-Mart blue light special blinking and blinging wisdom. Even those absorbed and infatuated with kitty kat photos are delivering a message of neo-import if one is willing to view the world through aging eyes. Be kind, allow me an admission you will not throw up in my mug at a later date – my energy axis is bent by a non-working thyroid melted down by nukes (and Owsley outlaw laboratories) providing an upside refraction (read not reflection) few understand or seek. Here take this bite of my apple. I am a small jungle tree on a wind swept slope. My fruit is in the shape of wings.

We each have our specific presence in civilization’s (your word Sherif El-Hakim, not mine) comedic drama. I prefer to stand near those with a humor bone and a creative light burning away deception, stupidity, and the suffering of others. Folks on my bucket list are those who intrinsically possess what my mother labeled, mettle. 

My teeth gnash away tearing through what is happening to help build an ark of awareness. Why? Dunno. Except for a preferred selection of our species, my general regard for fellow humans is lower than Exxon drilling off the west coast of Africa.

I hold nada counsel with the yogi, those who think killing yourself using smack makes you a cosmic wunderkind (thinking Alan Watts here) to dote on, or a cyber list serv of wannabes longer than various fake political parties of #Egypt or the two-headed monster ruling America. 

I am a humble scribe beamed in from a temple so long ago it apparently has no GPS coordinates. Birds are my teachers. Love is effusive and too illiterate unless it arrives in music or art or poetry or literature or cinema or faith or nature. My refuge in the rainforest is ideal. Golden war machines and fat greedy egos are better Swiss cheesed with words from a cyber-ized persona hiding under a remote canopy Google Earth has not uploaded since 2001. 

The total wormy pucks sitting in the hallows of injustices will never surrender to their insanity and stop war. Trust me on this one. We can post gorgeous pictures and conspiracy watches and pathways to the Buddha up our ying yangs in social media. It will be nothing but self-absorbed dribble to push off impending global madness. 

What must happen (again trust me on this one). If we actually seek to honor ourselves and Earth with enough mettle (there is that word again), to prefer peace and brotherhood and sisterhood and babyhood and animalhood and livinghood and planethood, the fix is easy. Stop picking up war machines and donning camo slavery duds. Simply walk away from the killing fields (including day trading) by going AWOL as the world army for the arseholes.

Social liberals go on inside way too many intellectual and social engineering venues about the holy significance of empowerment. How stakeholders need to empower themselves to accomplish their goals of justice, freedom and bread. I am veteran of these wars. So far, no go. The sea change is not happening. (See #Egypt, #Syria#Iraq#Detroit#Ukraine#Sudan, and so forth).

Without one single Peru vine vision, or prophetic pinch of my left butt cheek, I offer the opposite. Stop empowering the system of the status quo murderers. Ignore them by boycotting their products, their attitudes, their lies, their wars, their politics, their infestations, their media, their linkage to your brain, your hearts, and your shriveling pocketbooks. 

Reach across the micro-divide of the meta-matrix and become friends with persons who do not speak your language without acting out some asinine agenda. Emotionally and spiritually we are are the same helix. The miracle of the Internet is ours, not the jerks at the NSA or CIA.

If you want to believe in the divine pattern, okey dokey, yet for Earth’s and humankind’s precious sake, do not try and foist your religiosity on anyone. Be your own shaman. Pray your heart out but do not wage war against anyone who is not of your faith’s ilk, Follow the universal creed of the golden rule. Inside this universal genie of human compassion is the code to survival and redemption. 

In the meantime create smart phone apps for peace, for Occupy, for participatory democracy, for human rights, for love, for kindness, for paying it forward, for boycotting the war mongers, for incoming drones, for emergency medical assistance, for whistleblowing, for Earth watching, for life giving, for the oceans, for architecture, art, crafts, and music, for ancient wisdoms, and so forth, and for God, if this is your calling. 

The revolution is this simple. Trust me on this one. Your grand children and great grand children will be actualized in a peaceable kingdom where war no longer exists. 

Lay down your prejudice, your insecurities, your fears, your arms and turn away from the insanity of the nut job deviants who would sacrifice us, themselves, and Earth to meet their quarterly profit margin. Come on, you know who said this first (hint: give me your bla bla). I am rewriting it in reverse in contemporary vernacular in my normal whimper.

You wanna know what’s up with me Doc? I am a sappy ole fashioned American who believes in this:

Tick tock. Tick tock.