5
Miles didn’t sleep much that night, not that he slept all that good any other night. His head was swimming in an ocean of unshakable thought. The next synapse firing before he’d had a chance to wrap his mind around the last. Veils lifted from the hidden truths of his unclosed eyes. The curtain had been drawn back, or ripped away even, and he’d seen the clockworks of a bell that simply couldn’t be unrung.
His time now felt commoditized, his flesh only a funnel to pour his soul down the drain, and any lingering drops of life were destined to fuel the gears of a diabolical war machine. She’d given him so much hope in the moment, a promise of a brighter future and a roadmap of how to get there, but now he was stuck in the mud as his wheels only spun deeper into the merciless quagmire of the unknown.
How could someone be shown the way and given the keys, yet still somehow stall out before they’ve even turned the ignition? He was helplessly frozen. Pathetic, really. The thought of returning to the mundane made him sick, knowing that every step taken into the concrete jungle only fed the fire that was burning him alive, but what else could he do? He was ashamed to even think these forfeited thoughts of self-defeat. What would she think if she could see him now?
Well, he thought, she’d probably understand. And then she’d give him a swift kick wherever he needed it, tell him that the time for moping around was over, and inspire him to go out and become the person that he knew he was meant to be. And she’d probably say, “Remember Greta.”
Oh yeah, Greta, he’d nearly forgotten the hope he felt when he first heard of her triumph over the system. He spent half the morning digging into her story, and then Extinction Rebellion, refreshed his memory of Standing Rock, thought he might have seen his mystery woman among the frozen faces of the frontline, but then again, they were all wearing big puffy coats and scarves and stuff.
And there was an XR meeting tonight. He had a gut feeling she wouldn’t be there, but he knew that he had to be. He got coffee at the same spot, in the hope that she had circled back around, except this time he brought a cup from home. He milled around as long as he could, walked up a few blocks and back, but eventually gave up on the long shot of reunion, at least for now.
The day dragged on, but this time it was slowed by the tick tock of anticipation, not the paralysis of going nowhere fast, and it did finally wind its way around the clock to seven. He found a seat near the back as the gathering stirred into action, one foot in the door and the other holding open the escape hatch, maybe next time he’d fully commit to participating in his own life. Baby steps.
The first step of the program was to move past the denial. A handful of presenters shared the latest cues of catastrophe from the scientific community. Like our displaced water cycle and it’s accompanying wildfires, the rise of heatsinking ice water and oxygen-free dead zones, our chart-topping ocean acidification and poisoned aquifers full of nitrates from crop fertilization, or the crops themselves, which are failing at a record rate, and scheduled for much more devastating losses with just a couple of degrees added to our sphere.
And it’s easy to not draw the conclusion when our society’s erased any connection with the outside world. Unconvinced of our impact until a tidal wave wipes us away in a grand finale, or well aware, but embracing the disaster and going out with a bang. But it’s not going to be some instant flash of rapture, we’re going to experience a slow descent into chaos, and while the masses will still have no idea what got them there, they’ll very much understand the consequences of not caring.
At the moment, they’re too caught up enjoying the mildest winter they’ve ever known, but as calamity spreads throughout the landscape, and food scarcity spreads throughout the fields, and disease spreads throughout the population, and financial collapse spreads throughout the market, they may not realize that these are the connected results of our collective misconduct, but they’ll know full well, that they were in no way prepared to deal with the wrath of our ailing planet’s immune system.
So the presenters also talked about coping with grief, and how to deal with the overwhelming anxiety that comes with a realization of the upcoming ecological collapse. There’s those of a generation most affected, yet told that they hold the least authority to do anything about it. And then you have the more mature perspective, of having unknowingly contributed a lifetime’s worth of filth to the tattered hand-me-downs that’ll reek havoc long after they’re dead and gone.
It’s a lot to handle, the guilt, the shame, the worry, the helplessness, the uncontrollable urge to shut it all out and spiral into a sand trap of disbelief, but pretending that nothing’s wrong never did anything but make it worse. So it’s okay to grieve, to take the time to acknowledge and accept the weights of the world we live in, but you can’t let it tie you in knots, you’ve got to harness the frustrations of inaction and tighten your bootstraps for the work ahead.
And now you’re a member of a worldwide support group of people just like you, like-minded folks who have managed to climb out of the chemically induced brain fog once and for all, and this common unity of change is the key to evolving the way that our species walks upon the Earth.
After the grieving phase came the action sequence, a quick montage to recap the momentum that brought the movement to the global stage, and then a focus on possible acts of civil disobedience here in the states. Those blindly obedient to civilization view such acts of resistance simply as a nuisance, or an energy wasting joke, or even as criminal, but these organized demands of change are the proven tactics of providing the civil rights that we have all come to take for granted.
It is our constitutional duty to reshape the constitution into a weapon of mass protection for all. And public displays of unrest are one of the only ways to notify the public that it’s time to wake up. Or maybe we could just sit around and wait for the bureaucrats in charge to figure it out on their own, they did get us this far without adult supervision, didn’t they?
And that’s another demand of XR, that the government creates a citizen oversight assembly, a committee to hold our policy makers accountable to someone other than the pocket lobbies of corporate interests, like, maybe they should be interested in the well-being of the people they’ve sworn to protect. But alas, as we uncover a clear correlation between the rising rates of financial fraud, the bailouts of a corrupted waterbed, and the piranhas who feed off of those drowning in debt. And then as the banks offer a way out of the predatory waters, they somehow neglect to mention that they are the ones syphoning America’s life savings into the fuel tanks of the energy exportation machine.
Regardless of your stance on the legitimacy of our petroleum policy, only the most indoctored can refuse to believe that there’s something wrong with the endless extraction of indigenous sovereignty, as we deport our own nation’s vitality to foreign lands. And now even they are being forced to face the facts, as entitled white people are finding firsthand that their inherited privilege is no match for the emanating domain of the fossils attempting to claw their way out of obsoletehood.
Pipeline companies are racing the clock as they attempt to install the next fifty years of infrastructure, during a time that the world is calling for energy reform, so they’ve had to privately contract bullies to violently enforce the unlawful agenda of what is obviously a mafia run organization. And all of these pipes are headed directly to the docks, as our politicians quite proudly tout the increase to the bottom line, even if these privately owned profits did come at the cost of our own citizens’ livelihoods.
The future of our history is at stake, and the powers-that-be are gambling it away as they insist on chasing their losses, but all you really have to do is follow the paper trail to uncover the true source of their seemingly bottomless bankroll. Wells Fargo, Bank of America, Citigroup, JP Morgan Chase, Suntrust, and a bunch of other ones, all invest billions of American made dollars into the multinational corporations responsible for selling off America to the highest bidder. So whose responsibility is it to hold these financial institutions accountable when our elected officials have elected to remain complicit? Well, it’s ours.
So we can withdraw our individual incomes from these free markets of oppression, as the few conscious consumers have already done. And we can campaign for the finance reform of our municipal holdings, a fairly successful divestment strategy that has already rerouted billions of dollars from many major cities, like Seattle and New York. And even the naysayers have to pay attention, when the deep pockets of US Bank pledge to withhold future investments into pipeline projects, but perhaps it’s now time for a more localized accounting of our direct actions.
There’s always the old superglue on the doorknob routine. Or the demonstrators that have dressed up as our planet and sprawled on lobby floors, as their accomplices cover them in the same dirty oil that pumps through the corroded veins of capitalism. And there’s probably an infinite number of artistic flairs to personalize your own frontline, but the crucial element of igniting change, is to show up en masse. Just a couple of rogue disrupters are simply silly protesters bumming around the wishing well, but a stance of unified resistance, well, that’s what we like to call a revolution.
Miles was fired up and ready to burn some shit down, and he wasn’t the only one. Tonight’s congregation spanned the gamut of demographical analysis, old to young to black to white to men and women, and every unimaginable subgenre in-between. Even a pirate.
Well, he was really just an old school hippie, Dead family and stuff, but he did run a pirate radio station dedicated to rising wavelengths, and his gruff voice felt as if he could have just rolled up through the fog of the high seas.
“Arrg mate, this bank job sounds like the real deal, hit ‘em where it hurts and all, but I think it’d be best if we thought outside of downtown’s financial district.”
Miles heard the man behind him as the words crept past the corners of his preoccupation, but it wasn’t until the guy leaned forward with an earful of secreted whispers, that he realized who the intended target had been.
“See these banks around here? Well, they get a lot of foot traffic and all, but it’s mainly just the same old players caught up in the money market machine. Plus, these central banks just aren’t the most logistically sound locations to mobilize the forces. But out there in the real world, now that’s where we can spread our sails and fly.”
Still unsure of our mystery man’s pirate status, Miles finally shared a nod and a glance, as he subtly signaled for the captain to continue.
“You see, every tour kid knows that the real action happens in the lot scene. These lobbyists on market street may be the main stage, but you can only cram so many dirty hippies into the front row before the stench of the mosh pit consumes the life of the party, believe me, but outside in the fresh air is where we can really raise a stink. You follow me?”
The blank expression on Miles’ face elicited further explanation.
“Guess you’re not a jam kid, that’s okay though, I’ll put it in layman’s terms for you. Just imagine the commotion in the ocean when the entire Wells Fargo parking lot is packed with protest. Hundreds of us slowing the flow of the credit line, glued to the doors and locked down to the drive-thrus, and that big ass American flag and its patriotic duty of blinded nationalism have been flipped upside down as a symbol of a country in distress. But don’t stress, we’ll be grilling cheese and crunching tunes too, cause free spirits rising up still know how to throw down.”
“Alright,” said Miles, “I can actually see that being pretty effective. People are definitely gonna notice a flash mob of that proportion, though most of them aren’t going to like it too much when they can’t get through the crowd to cash their checks.”
“Hell no they ain’t, that’s for sure, and it’s kinda the point. People are scared of change, and unwilling to face the fact that in order to maintain their bubble of comfort, a much greater number of human beings must fall victim to the suffering of capitalism’s damaged collateral. It’s easy to ignore the blatant disregard for the rest of the planet, when everything you’ve ever known was designed to keep you trapped in this perpetual loop of struggling to survive, but once they’re forced to understand the real cost of doing business, the good hearted flocks will have no choice but to acknowledge the urgency with which we must all help those whose survival is truly a life or death situation.”
“All makes sense to me, but I live in a world where nothing else does. Still seems a tad ambitious to imagine those consumed with getting ahead, ever withdrawing from the race before they push us all off the cliff.”
“Yeah man, it’s heavy. There’s millennia of momentum behind the opposition of freedom, but all that dead weight is only going to slow them down once we unite against the institutionalization of our species.
It’s like Chris Hedges says in Wages of Rebellion: The Moral Imperative of Revolt, it reads, ‘I do not fight fascists because I will win, I fight fascists because they are fascists.’
So maybe we can’t fix the world with one bank job, though I’d feel quite accomplished to simply sway one follower towards a path of deliverance. But even if we couldn’t pull that off, I’d still be able to sleep at night knowing that I’d done everything in my power to do the right thing, and I’d much rather die trying, than to live another day among the lies of this captivated denial.”
“When you put it that way, it somehow seems less overwhelming, meeting an obligation not to change history, but to simply change my story. To live my truth, and to quite possibly compel others to follow suit by choosing a life of action over the inaction of defeat.”
“That’s it brother. Live your truth, cause nobody’s truth is to slave their life away constructing the mass incarceration of their own free will.
You know what though? That whole live your truth thing reminds me of this lass I met one time, man could she shimmy up a flagpole and flip the script in no time, would be real convenient to catch up with her before the plot thickens.”
Miles knew right away who he was talking about. Had to be. The last ten minutes of conversation had been the only reprieve he’d had to think of anything else, and now she was once again embedded in every thought, he could clearly picture her atop the mast of revolution.
“You didn’t happen to catch her name, did you?”
“Sure didn’t partner. Why, d’ya cross paths with little miss sparkle party along yer travels too?”
“I think I might’ve.” considered Miles, realizing that he was yet to put a name to the grizzled face of his new counterpart as well, he should really get better at this whole social anxiety thing. “Well, what about you then? You gotta name? Mine’s Miles.”
“Well Miles, good to meet you brother. I’m Sammy, but most folks just call me Cap.”
Cap, Miles wondered. Could the nickname be a reference to the tattered fedora that topped a headful of silver dreadlocks longer than his overalled torso, or had this greybeard actually received his nom de plume by commanding a real life pirate ship, even if it had been merely a pawn in the fleet of the largest naval cartel in the world? But before he could launch a full investigation into his story’s origin, he was hit with an offer that any sane person would most certainly refuse.
“Look here Miles, I know we just met and all, but I can feel your heart, and I can tell you’re a pretty good dude. Anyway, I have to confess that I actually came here tonight with an ulterior motive, I’m looking to recruit a first mate for this epic journey that I’m about to embark on.
I totally get it if you feel called to stick to the bank doors and fight the good fight, lord knows I was, but now I’m refocusing my energy on building a better way to live, instead of trying to tear down the one already crumbling all around us. So, I figured where better to find a like-minded crew than a gathering of minds that I actually like.”
Miles had just gotten here, he had only yesterday pried his eyes open, and barely crawled out of bed this morning, was he to possibly consider stepping back through the doorway and chasing yet another promise of escape? Though, he didn’t imagine that Cap’s mission would fall into any conventional classification of escape, or retreat, and definitely not defeat. But he’d only known him for ten minutes, then again, he’d been ready to follow his dream girl into oblivion after only five. And what was it that she had said? Something about giving into the journey and doing what felt right, and that if he walked with that in his heart, then the universe would line everything else up for him.
Well, he had definitely walked here with a heart intent on finding its way, and Cap had felt it as he was cosmically compelled to spark a brotherhood, one that even Miles could tell was already stronger than just friends. So, what could it hurt to at least hear about whatever uncharted cartography was unfolding itself before him?
Cap had given some space for Miles to work through all that, and he must have sensed where he landed, because he continued with the itinerary as though Miles was already boarded up.
“Dude, it’s gonna be one helluvan adventure. In a nutshell, we’re heading to New Mexico to build an off-grid community, and we’re doing it from the ground up, for dirt cheap. Literally. We’re constructing Earthbag homes, you know anything about ‘em?”
“Nope.”
“They’re kinda like adobe, and kinda like the rammed-Earth structures whose walls have stood strong for thousands of years, this is definitely not the disposable prefabs of our modern housing crisis. And we can do it all by hand, no petroleum, no power company, no problems, but I can guarantee that it’s gonna be a shit ton of work.
Basically, you shovel a mixture of wet sand and clay into these feed sacks, stack ‘em up like lego, then compact the bejesus out of them until they’re hard as a rock, and when it all dries out, they do essentially turn to stone. It’s super cheap, ecologically responsible, tornado proof, efficient to heat and cool, plus it looks even cooler if you finish it all off with the same modern amenities of any other building style.
And then as folks come and learn the elegantly simple techniques of monolithic construction, they can carry the blueprints of their heart to whichever underhoused community pulls on their strings. You can build these anywhere out of anything, and maybe even everywhere out of nothing. And then if we just plant a few gardens and harvest the wild abundance, we’ve pretty much cut the banks from our bottom line without the superglue companies getting rich in the process.”
Miles couldn’t help but smile as the gears of his mind unpuzzled themselves, revealing a surprisingly eloquent answer to a question that he didn’t even know how to ask. What in the world was he going to do? Where in the world was he going to do it? How in the world was he going to get there? And when?
Yesterday he was challenged to quit wallowing in his privilege and to share it with the world, to feed the people, or house the people, or to end the endless oppression of the people buried beneath the concrete rubble of the convenience war. And now today, with his head made up on change and his heart set out to make a difference, it just so happened that the very next person he talked to held the keys of unlocking a plan to do all three. A way to break free of the cage and a payment plan of reparations to the Earth, with the Earth, one scoop at a time.
He couldn’t not go. Not if he had any chance of believing that a better world was possible. And he already knew that there was nothing left for him in the empty shell of his stuffy apartment. So why not?
“I think I’m in. Like for real. So when do we leave?”
“Sweet. I knew I properly pegged you as a risk taker, and that’s good too, because I hadn’t gotten to the part about traveling in a 1973 Dodge Mahal, and towing an outdated trailer with an even older pickup. It’s a badass motorhome, a classic, and it’s for sure gonna break down at least three point five times along the way. No worries though, I’ve got a box full of spare parts and a Haynes manual. Plus, if we get stranded, we’ll already be parked at our own roadside motel.”
Again, any sane person would have taken the out and vacated destiny’s manifest, but for some reason, Miles was all about it. He’d already given himself over to the journey, committed to the ride, for the first time in his adult life he felt like a grownup, free of meaningless worry and filled with the confidence to brave the unknown. It actually excited him to think of it, and it would make for a way better story if he ever decided to write a book or something. Plus, he thought, sanity was starting to seem a tad overrated.
“So, I don’t know, it takes a car a couple days to get there, so probably five for this old beast, and another two or three for repairs and such, maybe a pit stop or two along the way if we run into a side mission of misadventure, would like to get there before it gets too hot out, so I don’t know, ummm, how ‘bout tomorrow?”
Tomorrow? Was that even possible? He still had to deal with his apartment, and job, and pack a lifetime’s worth of baggage into a knapsack or two, but then again, would he ever do it if he didn’t do it right now?
And what was it she had said about her own journey? That she operated on a two hour notice, ready to float away as soon as the next call came in. He knew that his internal compass was nowhere near as dialed in as hers, if it ever could be, but he knew that this felt more right than anything ever had, so if she could be ready to hit the trail before her hat had even hit the ground, then surely he could make it happen overnight.