Flowers are a most wondrous creation. They birth fruit, as stars birth galaxies. A field of explosion, as supernovas seed the universe.
Flowers are the fireworks of the soul. They burst with vibrations of color and smell, touch and taste, and if you take time to listen to the Roses, you will hear the reverberations of love from within.
Flowers are most fleeting in nature. They do not dwell in this realm for long. Their concentrated energy must be appreciated in the moment, they offer no guarantee of tomorrow.
Flowers are nature’s finest art. Their galleries attract both Birds and Bees, as their seeds are spread into the world. Inspirations of life dispersed, like prayers into the wind.
The flowers of the future are already packed for flight. When the time comes for action, the puzzles of their composition will bloom into their destined place among the stars. They are just one in a sea of complexity, though closer inspection reveals no shortage of miracle among their depth. This mosaic of life is composed by the most vibrant of light, and only through a unified vision of tomorrow, will we see our dreams manifest into reality.
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Speaking of flowers, I was on the hook to make frybread again, it’s not exactly the healthiest of snackatizers, but it’s just so darn good. Would certainly be nice to come up with a gluten-free edition, guess someone should probably get to work on the Dandelion alternative at some point.
Most of what we were eating wasn’t that good for us really, some world class salad, but nothing growing on the commune was in season yet, so it was all colonized calories, and not the top shelves of the elite either. And here I am writing a book about the destructions of cattle farms, and about eating as local as possible, and denouncing all of colonization, yet still swimming in its spoils.
Each day of writing developed my own food philosophies further. I was starting to feel conflicted about living this way, I’d felt it back in asheville too, and now it was creeping in again as dilemma occupied my mind. And I was feeling a little amiss that prayer was on the back burner here, it was still burning in me, but it was a bit upsetting to see a stronger focus on beer runs than the lodge. And I was craving more songs, and someone to sing with, I’d made a promise to Randy and I intended on keeping it.
And now this job thing, it was rough. I didn’t mind the work, I actually enjoyed the monotony as it gave me a chance to think about life. About what’s important to me. I already have a pretty good idea what’s what, including my beliefs on paying rent to sleep on my own planet, and although I might have had some less-than-lease deal worked out, that was just semantics, and I knew it. Any way I looked at it, at the very least, I was bending my morals to be able to live here, and that doesn’t sound like the me that I know.
And also not sounding like me, was when I’d return home tired and sore from backbreaking labor, and be too tired to play. No energy for stunts. No projects, maybe still a little food, and then barely enough gusto to squeak out a few pages. I feel in my heart that writing is how I can affect change in the world, one way at least, it is on my path, not becoming an unconscious cog in the capitalism machine. And the kid, this job was drastically affecting our relationship, and his mom’s sanity, and it was making me sick to see myself falling victim to the societal traps that I have dedicated my life to dismantling.
How can I tell you that there’s another way, when I can’t even find it at a commune full of water protectors? And even without money, I still had to be the ears for the venting of financial woes, you’re really talking to the wrong guy here, but we can go sweat if you want to. I even had a convo about, “Well, I really have to start thinking about retirement soon.” What? Dude, this world out here ain’t gonna last that long, I’d worry about armageddon before retirement. JK, don’t worry, it does no good, it’s going to be a beautiful time, definitely worth waking up for.
But the kicker was when Farmer wanted to change up the plan a bit, “Oh, what do you guys care what you’re doing, money’s money, right? And hell, you’re not even getting paid anyway.”
Why good sir, I do believe you’ve misconstrued the situation. My lack of selling out does not correlate to a worthlessness of my time, or in any way mean that I am willing to do "whatever." It is quite the opposite, in fact. You do not own my time, you have not purchased my lifeforce, I will only do what my heart wants of me and no amount of money will change that. The fact that you’re not paying me, does not mean that my energy has no value, it means that it has more value than you’ll ever be able to understand. My life is sacred, like the waters of the Earth, and the sacred is not for sale.
This situation wasn’t working. Sure, I’d be caught up on rent for a while, but it wasn’t even just that, though that was certainly a big one. I could leave whenever I wanted, I have no fear of hitchhiking and I can carry everything I own, I’d already received other invites, just one problem... It’d be too hard to leave the kid, though we’d hardly even seen each other this week. Obviously there was only one thing to do, so I did it, long and hard. I prayed for better food and more songs and a decolonized existence focused on prayer.
Unci Maka, please, help me, omakiya yo, please help me to find a deeper connection with you. As I write about these things and they grow inside me, I’m understanding the importance of the vibrations that I surround myself with. Please help me to support my family here, but please help me to evolve my own growth as well. I cannot continue to live a contradictory life of what I believe and how I behave, please help me to take the next step of my journey in a good way.
And the next day, a water protector stopped by on his way through the state, as he was heading directly to the small town in virginia where I began this journey, so many pages ago.
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Um, yeah, I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to hop in the car with you brother. He was all about it, and he was gonna end up staying a couple of days, so I had some time to decide. To pray on it. To scrape floors on it. And every time, I landed on the same conclusion, the farm would answer every single thing I’d been praying about. It would be tough to leave, but a day of praying convinced me that it was where the heart had me going, and I don’t question that one.
I can only assume that me leaving the commune, will somehow help my family to grow stronger. Maybe without me there, they will come together in a new way, become a tribe, maybe work together to build the lodge and find a more sacred connection through ceremony, remember my walk and decide to pray instead of drink, or learn a song, or get on the floor and share heart vibrations with the future of our planet.
Everyone who is in this movement, is here for a reason, and that is even more true for the children. I have been blessed to have built strong connections with tomorrow’s superheroes, and I do not hold this honor lightly. It makes me sad to leave, but I know with every vibration in my heart, that I will see you soon, and we will both be stronger versions of who we are now. And at dinner, I made the announcement, surprised but supportive, even those who might struggle the most. And later that night, I saw them come together and become a tribe in a new way, and then we left in the morning.
As we pulled away, I remembered a close sister’s comment about her own eastward travel, “You know, as good as it feels here, I bet we’re supposed to be out there when it happens. We know that we have an energetic magnetism to each other, so we’ll find us, no matter what, but if we are already together, then we might just stay here by ourselves. I think we’ll be spread all around, that way we can get the word out, and help along those who are ready when it’s time to bring the future back together.” Makes sense. It’s almost time. Find a water protector and don’t leave their side.
*******
This was gonna be such a great road trip, I could already tell, plus, in the toksa gift exchange, we were presented with some bacon, and John was a vegetarian, don’t mind if I do. And we were camping, for free, in national forests along the way. No extended driving days, and warm meals on the fire most nights and mornings. Neither of us was in a hurry, so we were free to live in the now. And the deepest philosophical conversations about food ethics and stuff, and fences, and plans to repair the future, and plans to resist the present, but not the now.
Within the first minute on the road, it was obvious that I had taken the right fork, and it only became more apparent with every passing day. Had I stayed, I would certainly have had many good times and continued to do good work, but looking back at the personal growth I’ve manifested in the short time since that moment, I am once again in awe of the mysteries of the universe. I could have fought this change, this unknown, as I clung onto a fleeting moment in time. I could have chosen to stay, against my heart’s will, but it’s a bit tougher to swim up river in the cosmic stream of consciousness. You gotta go with the flow, nothing lasts in this world, and once you’ve unlocked yourself from the concept of forever, you will be free to experience eternity with every breath you take.
Couldn’t get too caught up on the path ahead either, we’d loosely plan a target destination, and an idea of how to get there, but we’d generally end up off course and be pushed to adapt our trajectory. No turning around and forcing a route that wasn’t in the cards, there might have been a reason we bypassed the fast lane, and our symbiotic relationship of laid back attitudes, kept us from ever doubting our place in this world. We were never lost, didn’t know where we were sometimes, but we always reemerged at the most convenient of locations.
Like the first national forest we arrived in, snow covered camping and plenty of dry wood to gather, just like old times, except for the dry wood part. It’s not a highly publicized policy, but it’s free and clear to camp on the side of any access road in our national forest system. You may stay there for up to fourteen days after they find you, so get tucked in tight, and then you can simply move to a new spot and set back up. Only nomads need apply. Can’t have some permanent scar popping up next to our nice new paved road, that’d be absurd. The Wind Cave resistance camp was positioned off-site, but they had smaller teams set up for their two week tours of duty nearby the action, just vacationing, nothing to see here, but we see you.
We had a great first night, soup and quinoa on the fire, guitar and indian songs, and we were pretty sure that no one was around for miles as we filled the hills with love vibrations. Somehow I’d forgotten my cup again, and had no spoon, but we’re family, though I haven’t had all of my shots. We pulled out his weather radio, just to see how far out we were, and only found static as we monitored the FM frequencies permeating our dreams. Just because they’re invisible, doesn’t mean they’re not real, or that they’re not affecting your brain circuitry. Sure, radio waves have been circulating our planet for years, but those years have also seen some of the worst traumas of our time.
I can’t do too much to stop the radio chatter, except maybe invent the internet, but once it fizzles out on its own, people will once again remember the magic of making live music. It vibrates your soul, quite literally. In the complex harmonies of an intricate orchestration, you can truly feel the mechanics of universal fabrication. You can listen to a recording, a captured vibration of essence, a digitized reconstruction of something that used to be real, but when you are in the frequency field of a live performance, you are an active participant in the swells of energetic notation.
It happens at jam shows all the time, the improvising band plays to the crowd, they interact with the collective energy and feed into the audience’s vibrational state. Ask any deadhead, there is truly something cosmic going on between the players and the crowd, a ball of blue light as Garcia described it, and I’d imagine it’s even more intense when they’re both tapped into the same drop of inspiration. Music can heal, music can inspire, music can bring the people together, one great rock show can change the world. And just imagine if it was in-tune with the universe. 432 or bust.
And I’m thinking that festivals might be a good place to recruit for the movement. We don’t want to turn a resistance camp into a party, but those partiers are already outliers of the system, they already understand the energetic impact of vibration, and they like to camp. They are a community, and before Standing Rock, that’s where you would have found me. It seems a little worrisome to have a jobfair at a ragefest, but it’s the most concentrated band of dirt hippies you’re gonna find around. It’s worth a shot I think, plus, we can write it off as a business expense.
Good thing too, cause the next night brought us to a state park, who wanted to charge rent. But we are the rebel alliance, you can’t catch us that easily, plus, it was definitely the off-season. A foot of snow everywhere, no one around, it was already getting dark, I think we’ll chance it.
Postings about not collecting firewood, they didn’t want campers going off trail and disturbing the ecosystems between pavement, or they just wanted to sell bundles and tanks at the gate. I appreciate their sentiment of conservation, but with our personal commitments to traceless living, I felt pretty good about grabbing a few fallen limbs. And we had to have a fire, how else could we make fresh Corn tortillas for our Rice and Beans? Rolled them out right there on the picnic table, definitely a nice skill for the toolbox, not quite there yet, but by the end of the trip we had it pretty down.
*******
As we drove between cornfields and rerouted Cow creeks full of feces, I convinced John of the illegitimacy of fences. He was already anti-confinement of the animal nation, but now he was starting to see the true destruction of the blockades of natural flow. By the end of the day, he was signed up for my fence removal crew, so we went ahead and got a jump start on the planning of the future world. It’s gonna be a lot of cleanup, an unfathomable amount really, overwhelming to think about it all, so we just thought about it little bits at a time.
Humans are good at the division of labor, so we’ll all just have to do our own parts, and everything will work out just fine. Like the fence team, I’d been imagining a post-apocalyptic walking tour as we roll it up into piles along the decaying road, but if people wake up in time, maybe we could get a more efficient system of decivilization figured out.
We have an alternatively powered vehicle with a big reel to wind the fence up on, maybe even a manual transmission pump cart like the railroad used, but probably just a frybread oil conversion. As we move along, cutting the ties of agriculture, we just wind up the reusable metal, and leave it like hay bales along the way for the next crew to collect. Or to melt. Or even our nomadic convoy could include a foundry, we could just feed the wire directly into the melting pot and mold fancy new innovations, like more fence cutting equipment. The fences are turned into their own downfall of exponential deconstruction, and once we’re done, we can melt all of that down into some kind of revolutionary thingamabob. We already live inside a machine built to build machine building machines, so all we have to do is flip the switch and reverse the conveyor before we all fall into the fire.
And we’re picking up trash along the way, so let’s melt the aluminum cans on the spot, even a basic campfire can handle that one. In fact, we could put that plan into motion tonight. We’d collected some trash earlier in the day, so John melted the cans into a blob of twice baked raw material. If we’d have had a mold, we could have been making trinkets along the way.
Doodads are cool and all, but we really need something useful to come out of this resurgence, something that we could use a lot of, no matter where the crew is at, or that could be left with the wire reels for pick-up. I had a few ideas, but I liked his the best, arrowheads. With all the wild Cows running around, we’d always need them. Easy to mold, easy to sharpen, lightweight, I just wonder if that small amount of aluminum touching your food is as toxic as cooking with it. Doubt it.
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Aluminum is hazardous to your health. It’s categorized as a neurotoxin, just like its byproduct fluoride, and cooking in it is detrimental to your brain. The lightest of the heavy metals becomes permanently trapped in your system, at least until you begin to purge it through a strict Onion and Dandelion regiment. All of this is already scientifically known, though you can still purchase the poisons, just like the toxicity of the deodorant and baking powder that reynold’s wrapped up in some fancy marketing and called it good. They somehow claim that it is the top of the line for the top chef, when in actuality, it is the asbestos of cookware.
Well, actually that might be teflon, created by our old pals dupont. It causes polymer fume fever, has extensively been shown to kill birds, and once you ingest the defoliating particles, it remains forever trapped in 99.7% of america’s bloodstreams, where it will be passed on to the next 25 generations of offspring with progressively shorter lifespans. You are supposed to be what you eat, not what you cook on.
So we heated up the cast iron, this time in a national grassland, didn’t even know that was a thing, assumed we could stay rent free, and even if they gave us a hard time, I could always tell them it was my birthday. Cause it was. I mean, tomorrow was, but today was a good day to die. They’d been all excited about throwing me a party at the commune, but I’m more of an alone in the woods, drop on my knees birthday kinda guy, at least if a tipsy party scene is the alternative. But turns out I wouldn’t make it anyway, so I hope they had that little shindig after all.
We weren’t on a schedule or a particular route, but we knew we wanted to be somewhere spectacular for my birthday, and we knew that we were gonna camp at Standing Rock for John’s first visit back. I was a regular by this point, so it sure would be neat to camp in Rosebud for the big day. And make pizza.
That did it, he was sold, campfire pizza would be the ultimate deja vu, as frontline friends were becoming brothers. We drove through mobridge, SD, just like my very first trip to camp, stopped into the same farm supply store, and heard about the big snowstorm expected to hit tonight. Impending doom, get out while you still can, all hippies go home. Eh, we’d risk it. Now that would be the ultimate deja vu.
*******
Once we landed and he got through the surreal sensation of returning home, we took a walking tour up to Sacred Stone, where he’d spent a bit of time while I was pinned down in the kitchen. I tried calling mom from my elevated state, but no go, guess I’ll have to hike to facebook hill later on, woah, this really is a time loop. We figured we could camp where I had with the Erenbrooks, back in the cut a bit, so we gathered wood and I went to pray. Nowhere special, not anymore than everywhere else around, it was just where I happened to be when a wave of gratitude rolled over me, as I whispered prayer songs and carried wood. I pulled out some Tobacco, and offered it to the ground beneath a Cedar Tree. Even though I’d prayed at camp before, about the same old grateful gratitude thank you thank you thank yous, I still got taken to a different place.
Just another day maybe, but it being my birthday gave pause to reflect on the last year. It began on a droplet of ocean as I sat alone on a south carolina beach, reflecting then, about the previous year from LA to Standing Rock, and wondering what could possibly be next. I was beginning to feel this growing understanding of the Plant Nation, I could visualize the way the trees at the park were rooted in dualistic harmony, or maybe it was just a giant Carrot.
But as I write this, I now can see the transfer of energy taking place, as the Sun rays are captured above, and the vibrations of Earthly minerals below, and through the conduit of water, they manifest the DNA that composes the cell growth of life. It’s right there, plain as day, plants need three things to grow, two of them are vibrations, and the other is an excellent conductor of electricity, and the resulting product is a double-helixed spiral shooting up out of the ground as it reconvenes with unity.
Of course the Sun’s radiation affects our DNA, it is what propels it, even if it is just baby steps that you’d never notice from within the generation gap. And of course what we eat affects that, that’s the main way we take in solar rays, I can only absorb so many before I burn out here on the sand. Plants are connected to sky and Earth, we are physically disconnected from both, it is imperative to eat as pure as possible if you plan on getting the updated itinerary of tomorrow’s events.
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Doubt there'll be much of a public service announcement on the overcompressed radio dials of your local corporate affiliate, not when every major media conglomerate is represented in the Bilderburg Group, and their board members are all industry insiders. Not that we're still listening anyway, they've been systematically dumbing down our ability to play it by ear, and our hell-bound spiral of convenience over quality has flattened the heartbeat of our internal drum. The vibrational assault on our physical bodies, through the enclosing field of frequency disruption, is not limited to the barrage of disharmony broadcast in these wide nets of entanglement. They have simultaneously reduced our quality of life from a vibrant thing, to this flatlining dystopia, of which we can no longer perceive a way out.
This numbing of life vibration goes unnoticed across the board, even cheered on as it trades genuine experience for contrivial convenience. Let's tune the dial to the audio spectrum of universal vibration, it's a bit easier to visualize once you hear where I'm going with this, plus, I have enough sound advice to almost convince you that I know what I'm talking about. Once you begin to hear what I'm saying, you'll be able to see the same vibrational dampening in every aspect of your sensory perception. And... go.
So, a while back we discussed the subtraction of synthetic waveforms, and the enlightening parallels of darkening one's frequency reception. Another common model of modern synthesizer, is one that uses 'additive synthesis', and as the name would suggest, instead of removing elements from a pure sine wave, it builds a clear complexion by summing together a multitude of pure sine waves. And this is no new concept of convenience, this is literally the composure held by the entire known universe, but we'll stick with the sonic space of sound, for now.
Every sound in the entire known universe is composed by combinations of pure sine waves. Without exception. They interact with each other and create new elements of the cosmic wave. Your vocal cords produce a mouthful, which then collaborate to project your unique voice of change, and the entirety of your surrounding environmental impact culminates with the infinite intricacies of your perceivable present moment. All sine waves.
A visual representation of your audio streaming consciousness, will look nothing like a sine wave. It will still exhibit up and down cycles of energy, but instead of the smooth parabolas of complete symmetry, it will appear to be an erratic squiggly line. However, it is no randomly generated noise cannon, it is simply the complex totality of billions of simultaneous sine waves, as they morph together at their exact point of impact. Your eardrum. Who then rattles the order off to your brain, and then you are free to selectively block whatever nonsense I'm on about this time.
So we're all made of sine waves, or maybe we're made of stars, but they're made of sine waves too, so let's move on. And just like the swirls of fingerprints and DNA, this customized construct of sine waves is unique to you, a one-of-a-kind vibrating energy being, experiencing a personal perspective of the greater vibrational field of universal consciousness. And you are voice activated, at least until you decide to write it down instead.
Every piece of this greater cosmic song, is in itself an intricate squiggle, an infinitely detailed thread woven into the all-star ensemble of sonic space funk. So with such a mind-melting solo, you'd probably want to hear it in person, get your undistorted vibrations directly from the source. But wouldn't it sure be convenient to press our permanence onto the mass-marketed mainstream, to sell them a dumbed-down version of what they could already have at home for free, and now you can purchase your vibrations from a store who lets you order your prereleased input before it's even touring season. It won't be as high of quality as the original production, but it will still be palatable, and no one will even notice that it's not actually music, but just a wax coated impostor clogging the earwaves.
The commoditization of human vibrations didn't begin with the vinyl record, and those earliest days of colonial invention may not have been of pure malintent. Though, it was around the same time that the powers-that-be, elected to spread the grid of inefficient yet commoditizable AC electricity, instead of Tesla's freely given DC superpower system. Or how the future of energy conglomeration could see that alcohol-fueled roadrage and the acceleration of hemp oil, wouldn't fill anyone's pockets, so they prohibited their popularity at the pump. Or how essentially every 'advance' of techno music was a mere trade-off of quantity over quality, as they convinced us that we couldn't live without more, and now they're selling your weakened vibration by the pound.
I probably sound like a broken record though, so let's see if I can give you something that you haven't already heard, like maybe some ear-candy to refine your musical tastebuds. A vinyl disc is actually a fairly decent representation of what life is supposed to sound like, it remains an analog waveform as it is etched into a genuine piece of the material world, but it is far from spinning a complete web of vibratory connection. While it captures an actual soundwave out of thin air, instead of the ones and zeroes that zigzag us into the future, it can playback only a stationary perspective of a moving moment, and it contains only a fraction of the dynamic range experienced by those participating in the real world.
'Dynamic range' is a measure of musical depth, and describes the gamut of amplitudes experienced by our wavering vibration. The ups and downs from the fullest chorus to the slightest whisper, and every minuscule volume variation in-between, kinda like the moment-to-moment details of what it's all about. But the infinitely indescribable experience of this musical magic, cannot be contained in the material of limitation, so the engineer of manipulation must compress the clarity of universal audio, as they package it for the commercialization of convenience.
A rack-mounted 'compressor' is used to reduce the dynamic range of the incoming vibration. It squeezes the life out of the melody, forces compliance among the harmonic spectrum, and it locks the entire chorus into the border walls of the groove. The flattening of our frontline is a clear assault on the dynamics of diversity, the knobs of the machine clearly define the actions of 'attack' and 'release', the parameters that mark the time-based sentence of systematic suppression.
So now we've made a permanently printed record of a particular moment in time and space, some other 'now', except that now, the vibe simply isn't as vibrant as it once was. The squiggles of experience have been rounded to the least common denominator, as the curvy rollercoaster of Earthly emotion is straightened out and compressed into compliance, just like the life-numbing side-effects of phactory pharmaceuticals. And since the bayer drug cartel just bought the monsanto mafia, it should be easy to draw the parallels of genetic degradation, as we spiral through the downsizing of universal experience.
The