image: the tadpole galaxy, a ‘disrupted’ galaxy — source: Hubble Legacy Archive, ESA, NASA, in the public domain, via wikipedia; Processing – Bill Snyder (Heavens Mirror Observatory)


when it awoke, it wasn’t quite clear who it was
or where it was, or even if it was at all.

there seemed to be something to it, or perhaps
that was just part of the dream it had awoken from.
there were these things that seemed to be part of it,
but then they seemed to have a life of their own,
so perhaps they weren’t part of it.

there were so many sensations,
but none of them made any sense.
it wasn’t even clear whether they were supposed to make sense,
or if they were just happening.

it wanted to return to sleep. this was too confusing.
to sleep, but not to go back to the dream it was having,
which was very troubling. in the dream
it had no control of anything, and it seemed there was a purpose
and that it had to do something,
though it didn’t know what.

there was a noise, close by. was it making that noise,
or was there something else making it? was there anything else?

everything was too bright. but bright compared to what?
was there anything before the dream and this awakening from it?

how could it go back to sleep? was there no way back
from this noisy, terribly bright place?

and then there was a warmth, a softness, a wetness,
enveloping it. that seemed right. was sleep back inside there?
it welcomed the warmth, trusted it. it seemed different
from the parts that were always nearby, separate somehow.
it didn’t want to be separate from the warmth. back please.

. . . . .

each time it awoke, the bewilderment returned. who was it?
what was it? what was it supposed to do? in the dream
there was something that had to be done. but done by whom?
was the dream real or was it real? or both? or neither?

the awakening was fine when the warmth was there,
but sometimes the warmth wasn’t there. it remembered when
it was the warmth, or part of it. it was very perplexing.

this was all a mistake. if it could only go back to sleep, the right way,
there would be no more awakening to this terrible place.
sometimes the sleep was right, and everything was right,
and sometimes there was the dream, and then the awakening.

please, no more dreams.

no more awakening.

Posted in Creative Works | 1 Comment

Third Composition

This is very different from my first two compositions — it’s largely freeform and improvisational, and entirely original, using no loops. It was inspired by watching the violet-green swallows soaring over my house; one pair is nesting in my powder room vent.

If you subscribe to my blog via feed, you probably won’t see the links to the music, in which case here is a link to all three compositions so far in this first ‘EP’:

Dave Pollard Untitled EP:

  1. What the Swallow Told Me
  2. The Silent Journey
  3. The Paraglider
Posted in Creative Works | Comments Off on Third Composition

First Compositions

I have been spending a lot of time this month composing music. While I don’t have anything new to share yet, I thought I would post a couple of my earlier compositions to give a flavour for what I am doing.

The Paraglider was my first GarageBand composition, and it made considerable use of loops, though most of the composition, and almost all the tracks, are original.

The Silent Journey is a mellower piece, and more original. I used Garageband loops only for some of the rhythm tracks, and the arpeggiator effects.

I have two more pieces I hope to post shortly, the first inspired by my passion for Haitian Zouk/Konpa music, and the second very experimental, using overlays of chord progressions. Lots more to follow after that. Stay tuned.

Posted in Creative Works | Comments Off on First Compositions

The Providence Ceremony

photos above and images below from pixabay CC0

conversation log: 6476 New Calendar
The Tsilga‘ Providence, our collective name for their rememberer-women, gather in a circle around the dais. It is time for their ceremony of word-sense, which the Providence have done four times each blossoming-cycle almost as far back as the Forgetting, the time of the Great Burning.

As has been explained, the Tsilga‘ have no ‘language’ as such; they seemingly have no need for it. Calls (with various nuances), whistles, gestures, eye-movements and body-language suffice to provide them with all they need to communicate. Though their songs are melodious and richly harmonic, their vocalizations are not words but rather inflections of voice that somehow go together, adding an additional dimension of compositional pattern, whose meaning, if any, is left to the listener, rather than being explicit. The songs are nameless and often improvisational, sung by a group only after a tune sung by an initiator is recognized. ‘The Providence’ is our log-keepers’ name for them; they apparently have no names themselves.

When the ancient tiles were found, the Tsilga‘ discoverers gave them to the Providence, and the women have since met regularly for what we have come to call the word-sense ceremony. The woven bag with thousands of tiles, each with a ‘word’ from the Forgetting time inscribed on it, is emptied onto the dais, and the ceremony begins.

Silently, they select from among the many tiles and begin to assemble collections of words that make sense, or would have done when words were used. It is a collective process, each woman scanning the work of the others and passing among them tiles that seem to fit. The circular dais is marked with icons at cardinal points and then at intermediate points dividing the dais into 128. The icons represent seasons, directions, times of day, totem creatures and other quaternities of the Tsilga‘ culture.

The ceremony is joyous, with much laughing, expressions of discovery and surprise, and singing and playing of instruments accompanying it. The sense-making collections, what the people of the Forgetting time would have called ‘phrases’, are identified by consensus, a collective acknowledgement that a phrase that has been assembled has an import of some kind. When this happens, there is silence for several moments, as the significance of the phrase is reflected upon by the Providence in what seems to be a type of meditation. And then the sense-making resumes. Somehow the women know when the ceremony is over, when enough sense has been made and enough joy and learning experienced by the sense-makers. The tiles are then put away and the women return to their other activities — the making of medicines, the teaching of songs, the adornment of the bodies and hair of the other Tsilga‘ members with designs, etc.

The tribe appears to live an idyllic lifestyle, with no mandatory work and an abundance of local food and water, but this was only achieved after the discovery of the permaculture methods left behind by the people of the Forgetting, and many years of work by the Providence to intervene in the local ecosystem to create the native gardens that now need no further nurturing to thrive and provide the Tsilga‘ with all they require. This skill was also taught, with great difficulty, to the much-suffering neighbouring tribes, and now these tribes live in a tenuous peaceful co-existence, though their cultures are so foreign to each other that there is limited interaction between them.

The Providence has women of all ages, from those alive fewer than 20 blossoming-cycles to the most ancient, and they are self-selected among the Tsilga‘ from the most quick-witted females of the tribe. Here is a description of some of what happened at a recent ceremony:

When the tiles were emptied, three of the younger remember-women who had been studying the words of the Forgetting time centred their work around one of the first words to be turned over, the word this. It was first attached to their icon for curiosity, and then, to considerable murmuring, one of the older women added the word not in front of it. What ensued was the addition of a number of tiles representing things that were not this, until one of the women removed the not tile and instead added the tiles better and than in front of the this tile.

At this point several other members of the Providence nodded encouragement, and work focused on deciding what might be better than this. A song of joy began, and the young women quickly found the remaining tiles they needed. One of the women mimicked the song of the chickadee and the tiles were moved to the bird icon on the dais, and then linked to another icon, so that it read:

There were cries of pleasure at the ambiguous cleverness of this phrase, and then a long moment of silence ensued during which the meaning of the phrase was meditated upon.

Then the sense-making resumed and soon one of the elder women had assembled a phrase beside another icon that attracted the admiration of others:

After some time contemplating this, the group continued, with several of the women creating a ‘cross-word’ joining two icons:

Nods of acknowledgement were followed by another few moments of silence. Several of the women were so moved by the apparent wisdom of this phrase that they cried quietly.

A short while later there was a spontaneous decision to merge together two phrases that were under development, combining them into the idea:

And soon thereafter, joining two other icons, another ambiguous phrase had been assembled:

After meditating a few moments in silence, there was a spontaneous decision to explore several words that had been put in a ‘discard’ pile, seemingly indicating that no one knew what they meant. This discarded word list included: lonely, atomowner, nation, selfishdigital, and private. The group turned to the oldest woman in the Providence. She simply smiled and shrugged as if to say either she didn’t know what these words meant, or wasn’t able to explain using other words.

As the ceremony ended, there was much laughter, tears, hugs, expressions of astonishment and appreciation, and some looks of awe and bewilderment by some of the onlookers at this mysterious work by the Providence. It was enough for them that the rememberer-women appeared to know what these ‘words’ meant. They were trusted to know what to do with this strange knowledge from the terrible time of the Forgetting, and how to use it to strive to ensure there was never again another time of Great Migration, another Great Burning.

And then, there was feasting, celebration, and a night evincing all the ways the Tsilga‘ expressed their love for all that is.


Posted in Creative Works | Comments Off on The Providence Ceremony

Community-Based Business Success Predictor

This poster, which you can also download in a larger size as a PDF, is a recap of some of the major findings in my book Finding the Sweet Spot. If you can’t even imagine starting your own community-based business, here’s a post that might hopefully alleviate some of your fears.

A note to readers and subscribers: I have again been thinking about the purpose and direction of this blog, and I am exploring whether to make How to Save the World exclusively a place to post my creative works going forward. Like many of my fellow bloggers, I’m not sure I still have anything important to say in the form of essays or expository writing that hasn’t been said better by others (though I do expect to continue posting my Links of the Quarter).

So look for more stories, poetry and music in the months to come.

Posted in Working Smarter | 4 Comments

Links of the Quarter: June 2017


Photo taken from my balcony last month

Approaching a Minsky Moment: Nicole & Ilargi update their primer on the financial collapse that is likely to precipitate the collapse of our industrial economy (and the end of affordable energy) long before runaway climate change weighs in full force.

The Costs of Disconnection: Derrick Jensen talks with Janaia at Peak Moment TV about our disconnection from nature, and from the real world.

The Methane Bomb: Will Denayer sums up the latest climate science on the dangers of runaway climate change due to methane release. Thanks to David Petraitis for the link. A more urgent threat from Russian methane is outlined by Climate Progress. Thanks to Erik Michaels for that link.


Diagram by EugThinks; thanks to Ben Collver for the link.

Loving Life on Bowen Island: Robbie Savoie provides a lovely and artistic view of Bowen Island, where I live.

Living Abundantly in the Sharing Economy: Tree Bressen talks with Janaia at Peak Moment TV (special appearance by yours truly) talking about how (with much effort and practice) you can make a comfortable living in the space between the current economy and the gift economy.

Your Drugs Will (Mostly) Work Far Past Their Expiry Dates: With a few notable exceptions mostly noted in the article, a Harvard study finds that most drugs will work perfectly well years, even a decade or more, after their expiry date. (And, by the way, most foods are perfectly healthy and nutritious well past their “best by” dates.)

How We Really Die: As many doctors and nutritionists have discovered, most of us will die from chronic, non-communicable diseases attributable directly and overwhelmingly to lifestyle, stress and nutrition. Instead, we pour billions into a greedy pharmaceutical industry (and the processed and GMO food industry) with a vested interest in these diseases continuing. Michael Bloomberg has volunteered to try to start dealing with the real health crisis. I wish him well. More, from the WHO.

Celebrating Life and the Gift of Death: A moving Canadian case study shows the good and bad in Canada’s new (better but woefully inadequate) right to die law. Thanks to Chris Corrigan for the link.

How To Make Decisions: An exhaustive (and long) survey of just about every theory and process on how decisions are made. Embedded in the article is this awesome wheel of 180 common biases in our thinking, categorized. Thanks to Tree Bressen for the link.


A real photo (original source unknown) taken during a certain leader’s visit to Saudi Arabia. I’ll leave it to you to caption it.

Does Shame Work on the Shameless?: In past, leaders (like Nixon) who were sufficiently shamed by a persistent focus on their actions, eventually (with some push from colleagues who also flinch from shame) resign, so work can begin rectifying the damage they have done. If we compiled a “body count” of the incremental deaths caused by the current US administration’s actions (and inactions), would that be enough to bring about a resignation? Or is this administration so brazen and so disconnected from feelings that shame doesn’t register?

Steve Bannon’s Turning: How the worldview of one of the most powerful (for now) Americans was transformed by reading the book The Fourth Turning.

The Finnish Sketch: How the Finns see the American First Family.

Petronas Builds Unauthorized Dams for BC Fracking: The corruption scandals of the disgraced and defeated (but refusing to resign) BC government continue with news that Petronas, the Malaysia-based LNG giant, built dozens of dams up to five stories high without permits. The corporation was a huge donor to the electoral campaign of the (now-outgoing, noisily) government.

Simon Fraser and the LNG Bomb: Research by Bob Bossin reveals the incredible threat to public safety of the massive Vancouver tanker farm to be expanded to accommodate the widened Kinder Morgan pipeline, which both the outgoing BC government and the fake-liberal federal government have approved, but which the incoming BC government wants stopped. Wonder how badly they want it stopped? Thanks to Jackie Bradley for the link.

Money Isn’t Real: Amusing thread that demonstrates how, if you don’t get it, you won’t get it.

Ending Gerrymandering: The atrocious and undemocratic process of fixing electoral boundaries to favour the party in power, known by proponents as “redistricting”, is now under scrutiny by the right wing US Supreme Court. This could be nasty.


New Zealand baby albatross cam. The baby above, born in NZ in January, will be flying by August, and can be seen live here. Another baby, in Kaua’i, born the same week, can be seen live here. Watch once and you’ll be hooked.

Jonathan Pie Cracks Up: Tom Walker, who does comedy as the fake-British-newscaster Jonathan Pie, is in brilliant form in this rant about the need for truly socialist alternatives, the UK elections and Labour’s lack of support of their leader, and the horrific tower fire. Definitely NSFW. Thanks to Jae Mather for the links.

The Piano Guys: The Piano Guys are four incredibly talented Mormons who do jaw-droppingly creative and accomplished mashups of classical and popular music. Some of my favourites: Taylor Swift’s Begin Again/ Bach’s Sheep May Safely GrazeLet It Go (Theme from movie Frozen)/ Vivaldi’s Four Seasons —Winter; and their own work Summer Jam.

John Cleese on Political Correctness: The need to allow good-natured humour about any group or subject, even beyond the bounds of comfort and political correctness: “All Comedy is Critical“.

We’ve Been Around a While: Two more studies push back the age of the first humans on another continent to back before 100,000 years ago, and the age of humans in the Mediterranean to before 300,000 years ago. The old theories of a single recent African origin and an even more recent ice-age migration to the Americas are starting to look more like creationism than science.

The Return of History: The 2016 Massey Lectures feature Jennifer Welsh describing how history is now repeating itself in alarming ways. Thanks to Jessica Mitts for the link.

Taking On the Bull: In case you haven’t seen it, the artist of Wall Street’s raging bull is trying to get the fearless girl statue erected in front of it, removed. Thanks to Darren Barefoot for the link.

Never Mind!: Great spoof of “relationship gurus” promotes passive aggressive behaviour as a means of control. Thanks to Paul Heft for the link.

Octopuses’ Strange Evolution: More scientific dogma is shattered as octopuses turn out to be even stranger than thought. Thanks to Sam Rose and David Bonta for the link.

The Vertical Oracle: A twist on Tarot readings. Thanks to reader Ilex for the link.

You’re Not Going to Believe This: An Oatmeal cartoon about our unwillingness to believe things that don’t fit with our worldview. Thanks to Tree Bressen for the link.

Vegan (W)rap: A hilarious song about veganism. Thanks to the Vegan Community House for the link.


Photo of Killarney Lake, Bowen Island, by Jason Wilde

From Derrick Jensen, in A Language Older Than Words:

In order for us to maintain our way of living, we must, in a broad sense tell lies to each other, and especially to ourselves. It is not necessary that the lies be particularly believable. The lies act as barriers to truth. These barriers to truth are necessary because without them many deplorable acts would become impossibilities.

As is true for most children, when I was young I heard the world speak… [Then] Like static on a radio, schooling and other forms of socialization began to interfere with my perception of the animate world, and for a number of years I almost believed that only humans spoke… It wasn’t until later that I began to understand the personal, political, social, ecological, and economic implications of living in a silenced world.

The silencing is central to the workings of our culture. The staunch refusal to hear the voices of those we exploit is crucial to our domination of them. Religion, science, philosophy, politics, education, psychology, medicine, literature, linguistics, and art have all been pressed into service as tools to rationalize the silencing and degradation of women, children, other races, other cultures, the natural world and its members, our emotions, our consciences, our experiences, and our cultural and personal histories.

From Buddha: “The trouble is, you think you have time.”


Posted in How the World Really Works, Preparing for Civilization's End | Comments Off on Links of the Quarter: June 2017

Limbo Pt. 2

So this is what it’s all come down to: a hopeless realization that this apparent person has no free will, no control or choice, no responsibility or agency — doesn’t exist at all in fact. That what we call ‘real life’ is apparently an ephemera, a dream, a tragic, totally-unnecessary and accidental consequence of the brain’s growth to the point it is able to create a model so sophisticated it can create an identity within it and then persuade that identity it is real.

This cannot of course be proved — a character in a dream cannot prove to the other characters that they are all dreamt. So why would ‘I’ want to believe such a thing? ‘I’ cannot help myself; it’s intuitive, it’s compelling (complete, internally consistent, and explains everything), and it resonates with some ‘glimpses’, some ‘memories’ of something other, something truer than what seems real the rest of the time. I certainly don’t want to believe something that creates such cognitive dissonance, makes navigating this world more difficult, annoys many of the people I care about, and leaves ‘me’ in a frustrating state of limbo. And achieving intellectual clarity about it is of no help whatsoever.

But this is for now what I believe, and I’m learning to deal with it. At some point in early childhood my brain created my self, and suddenly the world that had been obvious, perfect, awesomely complex and wondrous, became suddenly terribly complicated, bewildering and dangerous, in need of ‘navigation’ on behalf of this previously competent character, this organ-filled bag of skin. In pre-school years ‘I’ seemed to drop away and re-emerge quite frequently, I think (and have done so occasionally since then, in moments I call ‘glimpses’).

Right from the start, ‘I’ didn’t like this separation, this sudden responsibility. I sensed no reason for it, and it filled me, as ‘I’ grew more separate (with encouragement from everyone in ‘my’ culture, the other deluded selves) with fear and anxiety. During the glimpses there was (and is) immediate recall and recognition of previous glimpses and of what was before ‘I’ — what eternally is —  and a realization of the needlessness of anxiety, and indeed the needlessness of a self. But nonetheless my self has continued to grow stronger, unable to help its self but still foolishly sure of its self, and incidents of its falling away have become rarer.

Like most ‘people’, ‘I’ have (apparently) achieved some considerable successes in my (apparent) life, and these successes gave my self some solace and a sense that its struggle was ‘worth it’. And ‘I’ have also experienced the limerence of falling in love — that amazing chemical cocktail that obliterates the sense of self and separation and makes the body feel too good to be anxious, angry or sad. But they never lasted, these illusory moments of escape from the struggle, from the search, and sometimes from the self itself. There was always a let-down, a fading away of the good feelings, a disillusionment. And then it was back to the struggle, the sense that something very basic was not quite right about this life, and the search for that magic: “Yes — aha, that’s it, how could I not have seen, not remember?”

Achieving an intellectual understanding of all this has provided very little solace — usually ‘I’ find that even when learning something is saddening or upsetting, it is better to know. But knowing you’re in a dream is of no value if you can’t wake up. Getting clarity about why you’re in a prison serving a sentence of life without parole, when you did nothing to deserve it, doesn’t help make the harsh term or conditions more bearable.

And my study of radical non-duality has led me to understand that there is no path — that what all the well-meaning gurus and spiritual ‘teachers’ and ‘leaders’ do is convince the desperately seeking self that it can transcend its self, which is a tautological impossibility.

The best that the self (including the selves of gurus and spiritual ‘teachers’ and ‘leaders’) can hope to do is to find ways, with the help of others, to make the prison of the self more comfortable, and to help others do likewise. And of course the self cannot do so voluntarily, since it doesn’t really exist. If the inherent nature of the creature is to do this, with or without clarity, it will do that. This creature’s character is selfish and tired, and there are limits to what and how much it’s prepared to do to heal and comfort others (no limit on what it’s prepared to do to heal and comfort itself, however). But it’s doing what it must, and that, I’m told, has included doing things that have helped others.

And of course ‘I’ can’t help hoping, absurdly, that my self will fall away if only I create the right conditions for it. That is what selves do, in their coherent or incoherent endless search for what they cannot find — their own demise. In the meantime, my self still seeks escape in love, in sex, in accomplishment, and in learning new things, though it knows, now, that disappointment will surely follow.

Would the world be a better place if the self had not evolved to needlessly afflict us? Radical non-duality’s answer is probably not, and that we cannot know. The belief in the above description of reality (and my belief in it remains tentative) changes everything (in how I relate to the world and to my self) and nothing (since ‘I’ don’t exist). That’s why I can’t stop writing about it.

If my self were to ‘permanently’ fall away it is hard to guess what this character that ‘I’ have infected might do without ‘me’. Probably just drop out of public view, give up all ‘my’ possessions (including, I suspect, this blog), do joyous things with those it loves, and just wander the world, untethered, in wonder. That seems to have been the propensity of this character named Dave before ‘I’ intervened. I can only hope, fool that I am.

Posted in Our Culture / Ourselves | 9 Comments


Some things that used to be important no longer seem to matter.

image above from Gustave Doré’s illustration of Dante’s Inferno, in the public domain per wikimedia

The word limbo has a (convoluted) religious meaning, but I mean it here in its colloquial and etymological sense of being in no-one’s-land, caught between two places or forces. The image above, from the canto on the Virtuous Pagans, who are “punished only in that they are separated from divine love”, pretty much captures how I mean it.

Limbo is not a spiritual place.

It is hard to overestimate how a dramatic shift in your worldview messes with your mind, and colours everything you think, do, and believe. This is especially challenging when this new worldview differs sharply both from what you actually perceive to be true, and what everyone around you both perceives and presumes to be true.

So when my growing appreciation of how complex systems work persuaded me that all attempts to reform or sustain our industrial civilization were doomed to failure, and that this civilization will slowly unravel over the coming decades, with staggering consequences, I hardly dared share this new understanding with others. I was sure they would see this belief as nihilistic, unwarranted and unsubstantiated pessimism, and many did, and do. Aside from pointing to my reading list, I can’t even explain exactly how I came to this realization, which is in any case unprovable. It just makes sense to me, now, based on everything I’ve read and studied, hours of internal debate, and the weight of evidence available. It’s intuitive more than anything else. I don’t want to believe it, but I do.

That puts me in a kind of limbo when I’m talking with people who are embarking on or in the midst of long-term careers, or raising children, or involved in direct action to try to reform civilization’s systems — in short, anyone who’s invested in civilization’s continuance or improvement, including me. I often review friends’ business plans, as if I believed any new business has a long-term future. I talk to my kids about day-to-day matters, ignoring the elephant in the room. I encourage and celebrate the champions of change who are trying to make this world a better place. But somehow, from this limbo, it all rings hollow now.

So my latest realization, that there really is no ‘me’ or ‘you’, or any separate anyone or anything, and hence no self or mind or soul or free will or control or choice or purpose or meaning or responsibility or time or space or death of anyone, magnifies this cognitive dissonance many-fold. It is even less provable, even more out of alignment with my actual perceptions and with the worldview of everyone around me. I certainly seem to exist as a separate being with free will, yet I somehow now know I am not. Everything I think, now, everything I do, every old belief or idea I catch myself still acting as if it were true, is empty, meaningless, even preposterous. A modern-day Virtuous Pagan, I wander around in a fog behaving as if I still believed in a future for this planet only modestly different from how it is today, and as if I still believed I exist and have control over this strange body I always thought I inhabited. Living in limbo.

I am not complaining. As Dante explained, Limbo is not a half-bad place to be. It offers certain bragging rights, if only to myself. It’s pretty easy, quite peaceful, and surprisingly joyful. The cognitive dissonance is annoying, but hardly excruciating.

Probably what is most troubling about this particular limbo is that a lot of things that used to really matter to me, don’t seem to matter much anymore. Here are some of them:

  • Getting things accomplished. There is no me to accomplish anything. My character is going to do, or not do, the one precise thing it is inclined to do or not do each moment. I have no say in the matter. Things will be accomplished or they won’t.
  • What people think of me. There is no they either, and hence they have no choice in what they think, nor can I choose to change their perception of me.
  • The news, even in rare cases when it’s actionable. All events are just appearances in illusory time. A play that the players are reading and acting out, unrehearsed, from a script they had no part in writing.
  • People’s (and my own) successes, failures, advances, setbacks, ideas, feelings, fears, and futures. It’s not that I don’t care about them: I certainly don’t want them to be unhappy, or to suffer. I can be loving, kind, compassionate, and feel joy at their joy, and at the same time be equanimous about what apparently happens being the only thing that could have happened, and it not happening to any one anyway. Formed by its embodied and enculturated nature, this character may well try to do things to seemingly make others (and my self) feel better or do better, but these apparent actions have nothing to do with me.

Limbo is neither in, nor awakened from, the illusory dream of the self. It’s the demi-monde, the in-between, the empty pause, the eternal place of waiting by no one for no thing.

The non-existence of the self is the only thing that makes sense, or that, in hindsight, has ever really made sense. From early childhood there have been brief, astonishing glimpses of what was then obviously really real, moments of wonder and pure unseparated being when I disappeared. And from early childhood there has been this feeling, this intuition that what’s here in the world that everybody calls real, isn’t quite right, doesn’t ring true, can’t possibly be real. That intuition, I know finally, was right. But knowing that offers no solace.

There is no path from limbo to anywhere else.

To everyone I know and touch, I’m sorry I can’t be fully with you, if I ever was, in this seemingly real world filled with so much dissatisfaction, longing, suffering, anger, fear and sorrow (and some fleeting moments of joy). I am no longer quite in this world. I seemingly do what I can, the only thing I can do, waiting without hope for the other, truer world that no one here seems to know about, to have glimpsed, or to remember.

I remember it, and when/if I suddenly disappear nothing will really change, and you won’t notice a difference; you won’t miss me. The character known as Dave will continue to read his lines and play his part. But there will likely be a little less self-ishness, a little less personal suffering. A little shift out of limbo, to nothing and everything.

Posted in Our Culture / Ourselves | 10 Comments

Ten Things I Wish I’d Learned Earlier

 New Yorker cartoon by the late Charles Barsotti
I‘m such a slow learner. I am capable of learning, but it seems I need to be hit over the head before I recognize a truth, and to work twice as hard as others to acquire a capacity to do something. It’s not that I’m set in my ways and not open to change — it’s more that I just seem incapable of paying attention. Not paying attention, alas, has been one of my ways of coping with what I did not dare to see.

So here’s yet another list, in no particular order: I wish I had learned earlier…

  1. That unschooling and deschooling are essential prerequisites to learning. Not that my teachers and parents and others who presumed to tell me useful truths were lying — they were doing their best, and just didn’t know any better. They were passing along the myths that they’d learned. Only after being exposed to unschooling, and then deschooling myself, did I finally learn how to learn, how to make real sense of the world.
  2. That work is an abomination, unnecessary in any healthy society. When I first sensed this, I was called lazy, a coward, a parasite. Work is good for you, I was told. It’s an essential part of building character and of good relationships. But despite some joyous moments, work has mostly made me sick, angry, bitter, tired, and cynical. The people who benefit from the “work world” are those fortunate enough to be privileged with wealth and power, and as Trump has shown these have nothing to do with competence, character or capacity. We are meant to be wild, not to work. My greatest wish is that after the collapse of our industrial civilization, the concept of ‘work’ will not be reinvented.
  3. That our culture makes us utterly dependent on it, and that dependence prevents us from being who we really are. Complex systems evolve to self-perpetuate and resist change, and our culture — social, political, economic, financial, educational, technological, food and pharmaceutical — depends on us remaining dependent on it, and doing what we’re told no matter what the hardship. A global, complex, interdependent set of systems cannot allow people to walk away in significant numbers or it will fall apart. We can criticize the system, and play at the edges of it, but we are all caught up in it, and belief that we could survive long outside the system is fanciful thinking. We are all in thrall to what we have collectively created. Until it collapses.
  4. That there is nothing ‘natural’ about loving only one person. We romanticize couples who have stayed together for 50 years or more, and wild species which supposedly ‘mate for life’ (which very few actually do). The wedding business is just the pinnacle of a complex system that has evolved to venerate monogamy, because it makes us more dependent on all of our cultural systems, isolates us in ‘nuclear family’ units, and creates an artificial scarcity of love that is enormously profitable to exploit. It may require more self-knowledge and honesty than most of us have the time and fortune to be able to cultivate, but loving abundantly, without limit and without boundaries, was the prehistoric norm, and is our natural birthright.
  5. That most of us are biologically best suited to eating a varied whole-plant diet. Yes, when, after 30 million years in balance with the rest of the natural world, our tree-living simian ancestors left the abundant tropical forest only a million years ago, we had no choice but to alter our diets, and our bodies are, with some considerable struggle but reasonably successfully, adapting themselves to our changed diet. But most of us still thrive best on a varied whole-plant diet. And there are many other reasons to eat that way, mainly to thumb your nose at the horrific industrial food system.
  6. That every body is different, so we have to take responsibility for managing our own health. For those competent at research (don’t get me started on that), the internet finally allows each of us to partner with health care practitioners in diagnosing and treating what ails us. Ignorant doctors, with my complicity, did some severe if well-intentioned damage to my body when I was young. Since the internet, I’ve co-managed my back spasms, kidney stones, ulcerative colitis and shingles, and am now in the best health of my life. I use regression analysis to track what correlates, for me, with health (eg regular aerobic, core and upper-body exercise , working standing up, vitamin B12 and D3, anti-inflammatory foods, stress-reduction activities) and with illness (prednisone, stress, being cold, sudden weather changes). In this one area, at least, I am less dependent.
  7. That nobody knows anything. So much — our personal and professional reputation, our self-esteem, our perceived competence — depends on the pretence of knowing more than we really do. Humility generally doesn’t garner much reward. Once we realize that we’re all faking it, making it up as we go, suddenly we’re freed from expectations (and especially self-expectations), disappointment, and over-reliance. Forget the gurus, the ‘leaders’, the experts, the consultants — they’re just better than we are at persuading others (and themselves) that they know something. Realizing that no one knows anything is the most liberating thing that can happen to you.
  8. That we’re all healing. And no one is to blame. When I was young, you didn’t talk about mental illness. Sufferers of that sort had character weaknesses that they needed to work on. Awareness of childhood trauma was pretty much non-existent; it was ignored, as was the damage it did to abusers and victims alike. Only recently has the breadth and depth of trauma inflicted by one form or another of the emotional damage that is part of what I call Civilization Disease become apparent. Even now, acknowledging that we’re all victims of Civilization Disease can be taken as belittling the experiences of those most hurt by abuse, or even justifying the abuse. And saying no one is to blame is seen as letting the worst apparent perpetrators off the hook. A friend has a sign in her window saying “Be kind; everyone you meet is fighting a hard battle.” I think of this now whenever I hear or see anything that upsets me or makes me want to judge them.
  9. That we’re wise to trust our instincts. Several indigenous creeds refer to four ways of ‘knowing’ — intellectual (with our heads), emotional (with our hearts), sensual (with our senses), and instinctual (with our intuition). They describe the wisdom of ‘sleeping on’ a difficult decision to allow these four types of knowledge to be integrated subconsciously. As I’ve grown older I’ve come to be less trusting of my intellectual and emotional assessments and reactions — to some extent I sense they’re not really ‘mine’, and are instead entrained, enculturated, patterned behaviours. So now I trust my senses, and my instincts, more. They seem somehow more deep-rooted, and hence more reliable. And even in the rare cases when I conclude that my instincts were flawed, it’s immediately apparent to me why they were telling me what they were telling me.
  10. That you don’t approach predicaments the same way you approach problems. Problems may be complicated, but they can be solved. Predicaments cannot; we can only accept, appreciate, probe, and then adapt ourselves to them, work around them. Almost everything seen on the news, and dramatized in novels and films, are predicaments. On the news politicians and pundits are always quick to proffer their ludicrous “solutions” to them. In novels and films they always work out somehow to be soluble, usually thanks to some heroic effort. They do us a disservice and don’t prepare us well for the many monumental complex and interrelated predicaments that climate change and civilization’s collapse are going to present us with.

Of course, there is an 11th thing for the list, my newest and still most tenuous learning:

That we, separate individual ‘selves’, don’t exist.

I’ve written endlessly about this over the past three years. If you want a succinct explanation of this, here’s one. I don’t expect most readers will understand what I mean or why I believe it, because to the individual self, it just doesn’t — can’t possibly — make sense, unless and until the self momentarily drops away and there’s a glimpse of ‘this’ directly. After such a glimpse, the self lives in a kind of limbo. There’s a realization that the 10 things on this list aren’t so much a list of things to learn as a list of things the opposite of which are to be unlearned.

I can only hope that I am a faster unlearner than I am a learner.

Posted in How the World Really Works, Our Culture / Ourselves | 9 Comments

only this

only this

i walked along the ocean shore
and suddenly i was no more
my self had simply ceased to be
and for a while there was no ‘me’.

and at that moment all was clear —
a Cheshire grin from ear to ear,
a sense of calm, remembering
that there’s no time, no one, no thing

no doubt, despair or anxious fear,
no question: this is always here!
and all is wonder, life full on,
the veil that was the self was gone.

but soon the self reclaimed this skin;
the glimpse had passed, i was back in
the dream of what seems real, and then
i sadly was my self again.

so now i sit upon the sand
and try to deal with what’s at hand;
i seek in vain to simply be
and let my senses cut through ‘me’ —

a light, a whisper, taste of rain
i long to lose my self again;
out in the wild i feel so near,
so still that ‘i’ might disappear

yet i remain, afflicted still,
without control or choice or will
i seek the perfect lover’s kiss —
to see that all there is, is this.

Posted in Creative Works | 5 Comments