The Mighty Mighty Seed

     I get to live in green. When I drive home, I pass farms and oak groves. I wake up to a forest floating on an emerald green understory that will become ignited at sunset when the orange tipped leaves of the native Pajaro manzanita turn into a million dancing candles.
     I think living in green changes who I am. I behave differently because I'm swaddled in that blanket. I see you differently because of the greenness of my world. I think I might even see more of who you are.

     Its not hard to understand the power of seeds where I live. Everything that is green here comes from seeds. Our trees, grasses, flowers, vegetables etc etc etc etc - all of it. Our animal life depends on seeds as well. All the birds and mammals are either eating seeds, plants that grow from seeds, bugs that eat plants and seeds, or other mammals that eat seeds, plants, and bugs. No seeds = no life.
     The seed is one of the most extraordinary expressions of the magnificence of life. These tiny gifts are bundled for global travel, in the belly of birds, the pockets of adventures or the currents of the waters of the world. Infinitely unique, every evolving, life has been using them as a means of perpetuation for 350+ million years. The oldest seed known to still germinate was 2,000 years old (read more here). Any human community has survived and thrived only in as much as it managed to work well within the fabric of seeds that adorns our planet.
     Seeds are stored potential. Their precise form and content records, transmits and provides initial nourishment for a new generation of life. They are perfect in expressing only that which is essential for life to continue to unfold. If we were able to design a battery as easy to produce and fill with potential energy, efficient, durable and compostable as a seed, we would solve all the worlds energy problems. If we were able make a battery that was even 10% as effective as the seed we would probably still solve all the worlds energy problems. Many of them taste really good too. Wow!
     The symphony of seeds fills our lives with harvests, the bread on our table, livestock, beauty and even the air we breath. Its no surprise we've made contributions to the song over the centuries through breeding plants. I think you could make a good argument that civilization began when we started to learn how to cultivate new plant hybrids that still produced seeds. Seeds = civilization.
     In cultivating new varieties and trading them, we've become agents working for seeds. As Michael Pollan so eloquently detailed in his book "The Botany of Desire: A Plants-Eye View of the World", human kind has done much to excite and extend the power of seeds in our world. Its not always easy to create a hybrid that will reseed itself correctly and that can survive the competition of the natural world. It seems our honest failures are quickly forgotten.
     Today the rich tradition of seeds as the fabric of life on the planet is threatened by genetically modified hybrids. Combining non-plant genetic material in test farms that stretch for thousands of acres introduces a new participant, one that can ignore the usual rules of evolution. These new Frankenseeds don't serve the will of life, so much as the desire to produce massive volumes of food. They are in effect, hateful gossip in what was otherwise a delightful, inventive conversation stretching back for millions of years.
     They have already joined the global conversation, transforming private heirloom seed crops into fertile grounds for spreading their new language. This shouldn't be surprising - we are an industrializing people. We have to touch and test everything until we burn our fingers badly enough.
     We can fight this, we will fight this, but more importantly, we can increase our celebration of the mighty mighty seed in all its free glory. Seeds do not belong to me or you, they belong to the Earth herself. She wants us to save them, to share them, to preserve them, to love them, and most of all to celebrate them. Nothing can defeat a genuine appreciation of this wondrous gift life has give us all. Spread a few today. Remember the green of the world, the wine in your glass and all of the food on your table comes from them. Tonight I'm lovin' the mighty mighty seed.

The Path Home

     One of my favorite Monty Python moments is the meeting of the  Peoples Front of Judea (PFJ), from The Life of Brian.
 "What did the Romans ever do for us," their leader asks?
"They built the aquaduct." someone answers sheepishly.
"Its safe to walk the streets at night," people continue to chime in, making the list of Roman accomplishments embarrassingly long.

     There's a lot we can say about the good and the bad of our culture. We create toxic environments and invent cures for the diseases they cause. We've come to understand the Earth in some extraordinary ways, yet most of us live detached from the fundamental experiences the natural world has to offer. We create farming methods to feed the world while we diminish the nutritional value of said food and bankrupt the ecosystems that built our soil to begin with.
     We are the Romans AND the PFJ, at once the exploiters and the exploited. Some of us pick sides, others jump back and forth, most of us work endlessly trying to find a middle ground that still moves us towards a better way of life.

"Is this a recycle/reuse moment, or a Home Depot moment?"
"Do I journey to the spirits to ask them about removing this plant, or simply rip it from the ground like the gringo I am?"
Life is sometimes complicated.

     Terrence Mckenna coined the phrase "Archaic Revival" to describe an awakening of shamanic consciousness in the modern world.  Today, in sustainable homesteading circles, the concept of "high tech/low tech" as a path to a sacred and sustainable future serve as a similar banner under which many of us can happily gather.
     DIY videos on youtube help us build alternative water systerns. Chainsaws help us harvest timber when an ax would just take too long. Home grown ritual, and entheogenic tourism enhance our experience of the natural world. Are we developing an alternative lifestyle or just a 'kinder and gentler' exploitative way of life? Complicated.
     Its times like these that the Monty Pythons of the world really earn their keep as sacred clowns. I firmly believe life is a process of taking  yourself less seriously, I know I need all the help I can get in that department. Laughter may be the only real answer here.
     Terrence thought all of what we were going through, the horrors and graces of our way of life, were leading us towards a singular historical moment that would change everything. I'd like to think he's right, that we'll be catapulted forward into a world that shines with all the brilliance of modernity but vibrates with the powerful voice of this sacred Earth we all get to be a part of.
     I have, however, come to believe that the most ancient tool of all - laughter - will be the most important companion on this journey. The path back to a sacred way of life will be littered with many events, tragic, ecstatic and everything in between. The grace of laughter is perhaps the only force big enough to embrace it all.

My Ratatoullie

     You were born to journey, like some of us were born to cook. One of my favorite Pixar movies, "Ratatouille", covers this topic well. While not everyone will cook, anyone (even a rat) has the chance to. We may not all wake up with a new recipe for pumpkin gnocchi stuck in our heads (man, did that turn out good), but we can all follow a recipe - maybe even tweak it a bit, or at least slap together a sandwich.
     We can also change our consciousness and learn to work with spirit in a multitude of ways. It just comes with the pulse, eating and everything else that makes up 'human'. Though we may not know it, an awareness of the spirit world and our ability to immerse ourselves there, like happy rat chefs in a kitchen, is an essential ingredient in what makes us human.

Remy the Chef

     When you practice shamanic techniques, or like me, teach workshops on them, you wind up facing a lot of the same issues the rat Remy struggled with.

• "How can you be doing this work, what are you - the reincarnation of Pocahontas?" (You're delusional because you secretly think you're human - you're not!)
• "You can't learn this stuff, you're too white to be doing this." (You're a rat, not a person, you'll never learn to cook! AKA only the French can cook.)
•  "Thief! If you can do this its only because you've robbed oppressed people of something that was never yours to begin with!" (Maybe you can cook because you stole ideas for your cuisine from other cultures, but you don't deserve to cook because you're a thieving rat.)
• "OK so you CAN work with the spirits, but you only know enough to get yourself and other people into trouble." (Maybe you can cook, but I bet you'll poison someone because you're a rat.) 

Mental patient, fraud, thief, or spiritual pariah,  pick at least two and go back to being just a rat.

     It shouldn't be surprising that these issues surround this kind of spiritual work, after all we've robbed ourselves and every other peoples we've come across of their ability to journey for centuries. Its hard to control people (especially your own) if individual spiritual revelation is readily at hand. Where would fast food chains be if everyone cooked their own food?
      We know how to cook, we've just been taught so well how NOT to cook we can't even imagine boiling water. From the outside, a shamanic journey must look as alien as a spice rack looks to a generation raised on fast food. Spirit world, nah - just pass me the Xbox and a bigger helping of cheeze whiz.
     Much of the shamanic work I teach, spirit-wise peoples would probably consider to be basic spiritual self-care. Its the stuff your ancestors would have grown up around and taken for granted, like having a Mom who knew how to turn those leftovers into an incredible stew. While it represents a profound shift in perspective for us, for many others its what they had for lunch.
     In the end Remy broke into the culinary world based solely on the excellence of his rendition of a peasant stew - Ratatoullie. The word "Pagan" derives from "peasant", denoting the spiritual practices of country folk that included shamanic techniques we practice today. Like a peasant stew this work is deeply nourishing to many of us, awakening an Earth-bound love that can transform our world. The extra-ordinary is really the ordinary, the ordinary is extra-ordinary.
     My goal, and that of others like me, is to reintroduce a visionary practice into our modern culture that can save lives, ease suffering and guide us in many of the ecological challenges we face. So if you're ready to step out of the fast food line and back into the kitchen, check out the classes on the Foundation for Shamanic Studies website. The stove is hot, we're ready to teach practices that feed your soul.

My Mud Dancer

      They never tell you, when you get married, that part of your job is to inspire your spouse. I thought mostly about what I was getting out of the deal when I said 'I do,' not so much about what new things I'd have to give, and what old things I'd have to get rid of.
     My wife inspires me. She likely wouldn't agree with that statement, reading this her expression is probably something like a partially digested 'huh?' Its hard to describe, but she nourishes me every day.
     There are a lot of noble things I could say about her, about why she inspires me. They would all be true, but not true every day. Some days she's almost as hard to deal with as I am.

My Beautiful Mud Dancer

     When I say she inspires me, I mean her presences adds inspiration to every moment of my life. Its not that she tries to be kind to me when I'm being awful (she does), or that she makes sure to compliment me about things she knows I'm really insecure about (no I'm not going to say anything about THAT here). Its about the essence of who she is and how it guides me to make more of my own life.
     The best way I can describe it is to tell you a story about our wedding. That was a truly outstanding party. We planned it in May in the redwoods of the Santa Cruz mountains. We visited our site obsessively, picking up trash, tending the redwood circle we were to be married in with excited devotion.
     Even during the rainy months leading up to the wedding our circle was never too wet, always just perfect in the cool forest dampness. Which is why we were so surprised to find our idillic circle turned to a mud pit the day before our wedding.
     If you were to approach the scene that day you'd find me hunched over in the mud using an old soda can as a scoop as I tried to bail out the mud pit. You can't really bail out a mud pit, not with a soda can. My wife was surrounded by her many advisors (my Dad and Mom included) trying to talk some sense into me.
     She eventually did and it went something like this:
"We'll include it."
"Include it, are you sure?"
"Yes."
"But what about your dress. And we have a lot of guests sitting here."
"We'll move people back, and I'll take off my shoes."
"Really?"
"Yep."

Our Feet On Our Wedding Day

     And so it went. Surrounded by about a hundred friends and family, the next day we approached our mud pit from opposite sides. We both paused to take in each others presence, then I stepped into the mud pit. All eyes were on Terry as she hiked up her vintage silk gown and stepped gleefully into the mud. I can still remember the sound of the collective gasp from our audience as the hem touched down and the squishing sounds wafted up through the trees.
     Neither of us wore shoes for the rest of the day. We danced to marimba music across twigs and stones and more mud. The next day my feet felt like hamburger. I remember that feeling with pleasure.
     Years later we have a four year old son, and are hoping to adopt another. There are mud pits in the middle of our lives at least once a day. When I'm timid about what to do, I know Terry will be there, a lovely gown drawn up as she smiles and hops in with both feet.
     I can't say our life together is a party, but boy do we know how to have fun. Terry inspires me, I'm learning to follow her lead, take a breath and sink into that good mud.

New

     I wanted to do a year in review post, its such a no brainer for a blogger. Just copy and paste links for a half hour and you're done with this weeks post! As I started reading through my own year in posts (something I really actually enjoy and learn from), my plan fizzled when I hit the entries about the murder of Shaman in Peru. There really was only one story this year, that was it.

     The part of this story that sticks to me, that pops out when I least expect it, is how long it took for the world to hear about the murder of over a dozen indigenous shaman: 20 months. T W E N T Y    M O N T H S.
     As a citizen of the web I expect news, albeit news from a non-developed area, to reach me in about twenty minutes. To measure news of this magnitude in anything more than 24 hours is baffling, my DNA rejects the idea completely.
     I continue to 'follow' the story as paltry information dribbles out through the holes in the blanket of silence thrown over this event. I'm not really 'following' the story though, just echoing the whatif's published by experts on that region of the world. Progress is being made in the investigation, given the size of the loss it feels painfully slow. This should be a careful investigation, just not slow.
     As the new year dawns and I continue to gnaw on the gristle of this epic internet media failure, I'm realizing there is also an invitation in there, its about creativity, imagination and self-expression.

Geoffrey Canada from 'Waiting for Superman'

     Terry and I were watching a documentary ( Waiting for Superman )  on inner city education about the time I was trying to do my 'my alchemical year in review'. There are many challenges confronting students the show was studying: poverty, ineffective entrenched bureaucracies, and an extraordinary level of stress. There was something else impacting these children's futures that was omnipresent but really wasn't pinpointed, it was a crisis of imagination.
     They lived in communities that told them, in a million quiet ways, they would never know anything different than the poverty they'd grown up in. They couldn't imagine a life better than the one they were living right now, they weren't allowed to imagine such a thing.
     The most successful educators were those who told their children every day they were going to college, they were going to make a difference, they could achieve their wildest dreams, so long as they were willing to do the work. They were able to break through the walls built within these children's hearts and minds and create a path to a new way of seeing their own unique journey through life. Those programs not only shattered the bar for educating inner city kids, they topped the charts for all publicly educated children in the nation.
     These educators restored innovation, creativity and imagination to their communities. In our own culture the figure of the shaman inspires the same ideals. We see shamanic figures as those who contribute to the creative, innovative power of their communities. They destroy barriers to accessing the numinous dimension of life, revealing new possibilities where before there was only suffering.
     That shaman are being murdered, possibly by forces bent on occupying their lands and destroying their native culture, suddenly seemed an expression of the same illness these educators were addressing.  If you want to destroy a people, to enslave them, you must surely first destroy their imagination, their ability to create and innovate.
     All the better if you can hide your actions away from the world, of course keeping that information out of the hands of millions of creative people strung throughout the World Wide Web. Twenty months to destroy a culture beyond the view of the world, you can do a lot of damage in twenty months.
     I began to wonder what the spirits thought about a people's imaginal power. Where does it come from, how does a community lose its imagination? Can the spirits help a people restore its imagination? I wrote a piece on rethinking imagination which touched on some of this, but not from the perspective of a whole people. I decided to journey again to get more information from the spirits.
     I was shown that a community that has lost its imagination has lost its connection to life itself. Life innovates. Endlessly creative, it expresses diversity and change at every opportunity, it provides us with the creative power to transform our world. Without that connection, a dispiritedness prevails that stifles everyone. These educators had that deep connection to life, they were able to reawaken and restore it to some of the youngest members of their communities.
     This year I see before me an invitation. Its the same invitation life has offered me every moment of every day of every season. It is the invitation of the New offered by the extraordinary vitality of this Earth we are all a part of. When we as a culture are able to embrace this source as fundamental to our communities, we won't allow any of our children to be diminished, we won't allow the shaman's light to be extinguished anywhere in the world, no matter how distant from us. We won't allow twenty seconds to pass without addressing the loss of a single creative, healing light from our world.

Here's wishing you a year overflowing with the Earth's imagination. Here's wishing all our children the power to believe in their own dreams. Here's wishing the Shawi people peace, justice, healing and the room to pursue their own way of life.