I cant say what it is: maybe its that I feel as though I am a tiny little heathen vying to be recognized for owning a status saved for people who don’t really care for it. I have this recurring vision that I’m a child sitting on my knees before an edge of a great abyss. I hear this voice and always she says ‘there you are child’; she smiles. I feel elated. Wow its powerful. She only smiles, and she doesn’t have a face or a form, but I seem to crawl into her arms anyways, an area as wide as space is deep and I feel so much relief, like what I experience when my mind forgives the germs and pardons my weakened feet from walking, sliding into a period open only for rest. Its pure forgiveness. Its peace. Its the reason I keep coming back.

But now I wonder why I even have the respect to write: my skin is heavy with filth and frowns, my mind is a steady torch growing tall in the articulated breeze that comes from the wicked west from where I hear my thoughts cheer ‘get real’ at a rally of long chins and gray faces. I react when I know I shouldn’t, I give in and give up and sulk on the bathroom floor; a cup of tea reminds me to work with something other than the mystery of my own mind. The vacancy sign is definitely on, waiting for ease to rent to room. Where is stillness now? I soak my head in chemicals to hide the markers of an aging crown and I frolic through the words that dump from me like an elephant takes a shit. I’m tempted to throw it all away, to burn the forest down before the wildfire devours his prize, to win the flow and to fuck it all, like an elephant takes a shit. God it must feel good to evacuate so much useless matter, to give it to the ground: I’ll give myself to the process, like an elephant takes a shit.

Where is the lesson in this?

Honesty.

I acted wrongly and perpetuated bastard energies. Time has asked me to stop yet now the mess is mercury hot, it begs to be removed from the nearness of the sun.

Run away tiny coyote! How many more forest friends will you consume before you belch the bones of your rancid ways?

Rain dance tonight! Ancient practice revives to cleanse the pollution of clumsy creations!

You say I’m so stubborn and cruel. Well then, I am so pleased to be yours and to have mine, let’s make more things to carry this crooked ship down the depths of uselessness.

But alas! A pirate with a pen, ravaging with words, a sentence he sharpens from the blade forged by many prophesying men: ‘death to things that make us feel weak, small and tired: that keep us on our feet! When what we require is a deep enough sleep, to drum a clear beat so the people can step dangerously in time with the ticking of the tides riding high on the moon’s backside and be free!’

Okay, I’m here. I am here! What spirit has called my attention at this place and at this hour and what must I do to appease your formless brew?

Listen you say, but instead I translate it as a condition of my diminishing physique; I nourish my bones with sweet and saucy, I lick my fingers when I should be licking the soles of Buddha’s feet; “don’t bother me! Pull the reigns of your fiery chariot and pierce your own heart; the arrow draws a string with which to pull the muscle from its nest, leave mine alone!.”

“Shut up and be still, this is why you were called, not for a culinary thrill, silly human.”

‘Okay!’ what now?!?!’ distractions arise from illusive shadows and thoughts generate to flush the intelligence of five senses: I ponder something besides my knowing of this realm. But the channel has been allowed by bundles of sage and narrow icicles of wax that beg for a chance to chase darkness away in a blaze.

Dear Journey,

Don’t write with confusion; write with clarity! Even poetry demands clarity, not in words and how they are presented, but poetry requires clarity of origin: this means not right nor wrong, but that the author is clear in representing confusion, sadness; what does this mean exactly? It means to be fully aware of yourself in the moment you grant for reflection and honesty (don’t worry, no one is watching) and be true to the experience as it is, raw and organic from your center, whatever it may be in the present moment. Be certain of the source and let the words form around them and align naturally in a march of syntax and prose; this is personal poetry, this is your gift, this is what you offer the world and it is beautiful because you made the space for it and it is authentically you.

Once the words are before you, these precious gems of absolute insight and depth, after you read them, separate from them: do not own them. You mustn’t feel responsible for their impact; disassociate from the words and they will inspire you in whatever way they do; your past self intended them as a guide, maybe for you, perhaps for another. The words are not yours; they belong to a greater source when they are born from clarity and consciousness. This way you can witness their power to unite and to change, phenomena which happens when and only when they are released.

You see, words are only sounds, particles, elements: they begin as a thought that forms from ingredients that interact in our minds, we send outward this energy in waves upon which we place words linearly, one word after the other, like our understanding of time, in a sequence like we see our own lives; but round is the actual order of things, infinity is the essence of higher planes of existence; our part is finite so we experience the beginning and the end of form and function, as we ourselves have a birth and death; but circularity is truth though ambiguous within the shallow measure of our immediate awareness.

To travel distances, to be said or written and heard and read, words must hitch a ride upon waves of energy that are continuous and infinite, floating and colliding and stemming from and branching off and bumping into other waves, like cellular waves, microwaves, brain waves, ocean waves, wind waves, emotional waves, static waves: with intention we send outwards our words like a message in a bottle atop a wave of energy that we have harnessed for the moment, attracted to us by the energies we have magnetically pulled and borrowed from this dimension (in conjunction with other dimensions?). The slower the wave the more direct from source, the more rapid the frequency the more momentum and force; these are the ones that require that the borrower use caution; they can cut and slice, they can tear and infiltrate and pass and influence, hurt and harm and devastate and destroy, much like ugly words with claws in waves whispered from the mouth of a conniving magician.

These high pitched waves are coming in at frequencies beyond which we can measure with our primary sense; we can neither see them nor predict them, therefore we can only cancel them by committing to impeccability; whole truths upon which we place words of a positive nature, honest and of the deepest blue; if you don’t make magic then magic is made upon you: saying love once invalidates the perpetuation of historic hatred and restores crystals to beauty and balance. Love yourself, love your energies, love the words as they are sent outwards and beyond the scope of control, let them surf the waves and purify the atmosphere of nonsense, chaos and confusion.

Be honest, source words from source, bow before your own energies, respect divine human potential; this is service of the highest self. Tentacles-waves are like wind; it carries dust that falls onto the lashes dropping center in a tear cried from the eyes of a weeping camel: it will find the earth and one day be carried again to grace the sky with its presence: every thing which is IS something which will connect to something else: nothing is ever truly free from belonging in the sense that it will inevitably serve as an influence or impression in this stage of reality. Even dust has a history, as do we, and so as wind drives sand so must we drive our words in a caravan towards LOVE.

I was at a cafe sipping my umpteenth cup of coffee, absorbed in the literature that has come to consume the entirety of my waking life and pondering a breath of sweet Indian smoke when I opened this letter. At first, my ego was satisfied with skimming the contents quickly and returning to the comfort of my toxic mind-space, but as I settled into his words I found a sort of calm, and in reading the message, in removing my attention from myself and onto the words I was inevitably enlightened; here, before me, is the truth that people have the power to heal themselves, that no matter where you come from and what your troubles are, the very thing you desire is entirely within your means to achieve; that, like Jason, in letting go and removing yourself from the insanities all around, you discover a sort of peace of mind that comes only when you no longer seek to grasp it.

His story, indeed, symbolizes the greatest ‘becoming’ of us all; it represents the most precious lOve story ever, that is, the lOve we fOrm with Ourselves as we re-fOrm Our lOve with essence, nature:

Shed old skin however best suits your desires; but do so soon and you will become wise beyond any level the best authority could grant. By removing yourself, relieving yourself of superficial duties and unnecessary attachments you allow yourself access to the highest source of infinite power, strength, hope, and love; be humbly and daringly open, accept that life is your challenge not to win but to surrender, and flow into it with the same respect you would offer the sea if you found yourself on a surf board, on a wave, powerless and in awe of the expanse of unity that could bring even the strongest warrior to his knees.

Jason Writes:

I know you would love this amazing California beach trip. I wish you could see this Shammy. I didn’t know who to write to I just had the urge to write, so I know you would appreciate this. Excuse my poor writing I am new to this. The peacefulness that this trip has granted me greatly triumphs every possession that I have and its “ability” to assist in my happiness. This is what being free truly feels.

Right now I am sitting lying in my car somewhere south of highway 1, which by the way is just as beautiful heading south as it is heading north. I got to Santa Cruz today early morning and surfed Pleasure point for high tide. You wouldn’t believe the seaweed there. I kept getting completely tangled in it and would be absolutely destroyed by the waves when I was there. This definitely wasn’t a rookie surfs spot. The hardest thing about surfing is getting actually out to where you wait patently for waves. When there are good swells it is near impossible. It takes every bit of strength you have to battle nature at its finest. So many times you just feel overwhelmed by the ocean. As soon as you overcome the wave another one instantly attacks you. The constant pounding makes it seem like it would be so much easier to just head back in.  I personally feel that it’s a sign of respect for the ocean, almost a test. You must past the pounding waves to be allowed to ride them.  The ocean is so unforgiving to those to don’t respect it.

After a few hours in the water the low tide set in. I took a break for lunch and started driving south through Capitola. I found the most amazing sandwich place ever. Had lunch there and ended up meeting some locals who guided me to Steamers Lane. Steamers lane is a cool surf spot south of Capitola that works well at low tide, so I went there and surfed for an hour or two. The ocean bottom was hard rock. Next to coral reefs this is the most unforgiving. The most amazing part of this spot is the inaccessibility of it. The water comes up all the way to the cliff; there is little to no beach left. Definitely somewhere you don’t want to get caught. There is a large lookout over the cliff filled with people watching in awe of the surfers completely shredding the wave or completely wiping out. There were also a few surfers that never surfed this spot. I started talking to them and we completely analyzed and planned our surf (all good surfers do this).  Time really doesn’t seem to matter right now. The only way I have been able to tell is by the sun. I went to take a post surf nap in the car (much earned) and ended up passing out for about 4 hours. I woke up and it was nighttime.

Heading back to the beach it was marked with the bright lights of the Saturday night bonfires. Here I met a bunch of people from Monterrey. We exchanged stories and danced the night away, cold sand beneath my feet. Ironically it was total surf hippie music. I wish you could see the stars here. It looks like they are neatly scattered across the sky. So bright and vibrant, they will keep me company tonight. I can hear the beautiful peaceful sound of the waves crashing down in harmony as I sit here in my car and write you. That’s it for tonight. Time to catch some shuteye.

I slept like crap last night. The only place I found that I could crash was right off the freeway. It got so cold at points too. It is strange to me that on a normal day that would completely bum me out. However I had some fruit for breakfast and was instantly put in a wonderful mood. I started driving to somewhere I could surf the sunrise. I put one of a few CD’s that my friend gave me for this trip and re-discovered Missy Higgins. (I went to the concert with Shereen.  Her voice could bring peace to war. Missy’s, not Shereen’s; haha) . She is amazing.

I ended up at Carmel Beach to surf the morning. The water is so clear and blue here its amazing, perfectly contrasted with pure white sand. It looks like it could be in a movie. The water here is ice cold though and the water was more of a rolling wave (good for long boards not short), so I was not able to surf long. Afterwards I started heading down south again and stopped by a Whole Foods to grab some grub. I ended up only buying fruit (apples, mangos, bananas, and a pineapple) and tons of water. I stopped somewhere on the coast to take a nap and relax for a while. It’s still crazy to me that I have nowhere to be and I can just go as I feel. That feeling is more amazing than anything.

Furthering in driving I came across Sand Dollar beach near Big Sur.  You couldn’t believe the price of everything down here. Gas and food is crazy. I think I will have enough gas to get me to my next destination tomorrow though. I think this is going to be my camp spot tonight and I will be heading down to Santa Barbra tomorrow. I started talking to these people and they even invited me to have dinner with them at their house. We skim boarded for a while and it was amazing.  I didn’t tell you that I love skim boarding too huh. However, I decided to get a head start on tomorrow. The further south I get the more breathtaking the beaches are and the more I wish that you were here with me. You would truly appreciate this more that ever. Highway 1 goes all the way down the California coast.

I started thinking about my life as sit here overlooking the Pacific Ocean. I think I am going to have a few goals before I decide to make drastic changes.

1.Eliminate liabilities. I have discovered that possessions mean nothing in comparison to experience. On my trip I instantly want to take every hour of TV watching and video game playing back. I have no memories of doing these things. Every memory of you and I sticks out in my head so vibrant and motivates me in life.

2.Improve my health. After a few days of surfing my arms and shoulders are torn. It is seriously wearing on me. My goal is to get mavericks water-ready by next year, not during competition mode but enough where I could be out there with the best. I have been out in the water where there were huge 15+ foot waves and it is so scary. Imagine looking up and there’s 15 feet of water above your head. Even when you duck, dive or turtle roll through the wave it feels like your are being hit by the force a bomb would create.  You dive in and it’s like a sonic boom.

3.Education. I have discovered that I think I am in need of a major change. I’m thinking communications (not mass communications, there is no money in that). I want to do something I love and communication is it. Everyone loves me; they cant help it.

I can’t believe I am writing you an essay.

I’m getting more towards So Cal and the water is getting much more warm and crowded.  Everyone seems so superficial here. They definitely don’t appreciate the little things. I did catch the most epic wave today though. I rode it all the way to its end. Flying past surfers and other swimmers, it was one of the greatest feelings that I have ever had. The feeling that you are completely in harmony with the wave is breath taking. You understand each other and you are working perfectly together to create something beautiful. My heart was beating so fast after. All I wanted to do was run and yell. You should have seen the smile on my face. I don’t think it’s ever been that big.

So my album for the day is ‘The Who’. It complements the drive so nicely. Tomorrow I will be driving back to the bay and for the first time in the trip there is somewhere…

I’m down as Pismo beach and it’s just littered with people. There is nothing inviting about this place. It is kind of neat that the surf breaks due to a large pier. However it doesn’t allow for a long ride. The last thing you want to want to be is stuck between a large wood beam and a crashing wave. I don’t think I caught one wave today. There was just way too many people. So I headed in to do some homework. It is amazing that I can sit in my car, perfectly angled so I cannot see the crowded beach; just ocean, sun and sky. I wish I could do homework here every day. I can just focus. Especially no internet and phone to give me any distractions. The only regret is that there is a small part of me that wants some pillow talk at night. I can only hint upon what I see and how I feel. I think I could do a better job verbally describing it to you. Talking about this experience probably wouldn’t give it any justice either. I think showing you may be the only way.

People down here do not appreciate what I am doing, unlike the people more north who thought it was amazing. A lot of people ask me where I’m from and what I am doing.

As soon as I was ready to give up on So Cal I met this old surfer. This man was the most peaceful person I have ever met in my life. He kind of reminded me of that guy from Surfer, Dude. I went and had lunch with him and he taught me so much. Its amazing how wise he is. Here are a few quotes from the old man.

“Surfing is much like love, it always feels good, no matter how many times you’ve done it.”

“Very few people life live anymore. Life lives them.”

“Listen brother, if there is one thing I am going to teach you today is that I have never stressed one day in my life. I have lived it more

 than any other person could say. I have nothing and only that reason alone gives me everything. Live peaceful young brother.”

CRAZY right. I asked him if he had a phone number or email to exchange and he said that he would always be somewhere by the beach if I wanted to ride with him. He has no phone or email. Amazing…

Well I am heading home tomorrow so I won’t bore you anymore with this.

Live Life Shammy, Be Peaceful.

Love,

Jason

What a rude awakening to awake to the news of nature’s ‘fury’ as we scramble to make sense of senseless acts of slaughter. In the media aftermath nature is portrayed as a problem because of repeat global episodes of unpredictability occurring in patterns of infrequency. Nature becomes our enemy, our oppressor, an obstacle to overcome, a detriment to our efforts of survival. Man vs. Nature, a concept that implies a duality, a distinct separation stressed between all things ‘man’, and all things ‘nature’.

We challenge nature, use our methods of containment, manipulation, modification, and domination. Every interaction we have with nature is one colored by this impression of it: that we see it as some devilish force pushing opposite our motives that go unquestioned and assured.

And when any such thing happens as a violent rain, a swarm of hungry microbes, an earthquake, a drought, oceanic shock waves, flooding, species endangerment, beached whales, dead dolphins, heat spells, rising water levels, melting ice, or an increase in the intensity of storms and surges we think of it as a natural dilemma, and we hang our heads and clean our messes and continue on as we have in the past. We spray the crops with contaminants, we poison the water with the byproducts of modern invention, we deplete the world of resources for our own stubborn use, we dispose of our garbage in the habitats of world’s creatures, we build fences and bridges and causeways and entire city structures across the landscapes of living nature, we suck and feed and leech the life from our planet like a virus from its host, believing that we must survive in this manner or perish, and shall anything attempt to demonstrate otherwise, should some earthly event consume our achievements and swallow our neighbors we only unite in remorse and fight the force of nature armed with the strength of 2400 years of misguided science and fueled by the false presumption that she threw the first punch.

Man vs. Nature: what a silly idea to think of man as separate from nature, as operating under a different set of principles from the very thing which spawned him! But it has been done, and now it must be undone: we are in desperate need of a revolution of thought, and our perspective of our relationship to our environment must be deconstructed and reconstructed so as to conform to the design of planet earth.

The green revolution is a disgraceful attempt to remedy this fallacy of human consciousness, targeting the sympathetic tendencies of the average person by overwhelming him with images of dying polar pups and apocalyptic repercussions of stringent denial. It has become the marketable face of corporations and policy, the hot new item on the shelf, the ‘must have’ and the ‘can’t do without’. The mission of this so called period of ‘going green’ has not the best interest of nature at heart. Rather the greedy lechery of business CEO’s and their monetary objectives are all that stand to profit. Nature is the exploited means to their end, where emotion is employed to produce empathy and regret; we are told to feel sorry for nature, to wrap our arms around her, to love her and protect her, to cuddle her creations and feel remorse for all we have done by complying with economically devious plans: heal the world by buying this product and that car, engage a quick fix to appease our justified feelings of guilt and daunting selfishness.

But this isn’t a probable solution at all, indeed there is no solution to the problem of nature because the problem isn’t nature, its mankind. And our destructive habits are but a symbol of our lack of reciprocity between man and his home planet. What must change is our way of thought. Man vs. Nature must become Man for Nature, we must revisit our history to understand the origins of our perpetual mistakes, we must identify as creatures of this planet no different than the ones perishing on our behalf, we must remember that nature is exactly that, something bigger, more powerful, and more universally profound than we. It is not to be subjected to our will and superiority but to be respected and trusted to restore its own inherent balance and beauty. We must understand that we can only truly be a positive contributor to earth by refusing to harmfully interfere, and instead vow to perform those acts which are in accordance to the laws of nature apart from our own self righteousness and egoist beliefs. Where before we have treated the symptoms of nature as though it is diseased and thus in need of a prescription remedy we need to understand the entirety of it, and in doing so we begin to see just how damaging our modern existence has become, and just how exactly to rectify our behavior.

Use the energy efficient light bubs, recycle your plastics, till your soil, treat yourself to organics: but know that these efforts are of but minimal impact in the grand scheme of it all. Nature will be fine, she may be changing, but it is mankind who needs to adapt to this change, and not nature which needs to be fixed. You cannot put a Band-Aid on the wounds of the world, though you can refuse to accept the idea that you can. All we have are our tools of submission to the truth of our parasitical collectiveness. Where most see a disaster in the current trends of nature’s explosive occurrences I see a wild animal bucking the pests from her back.

And then of course there is also the idea born from the mistrust of the supremely wealthy and the politically powerful players in the monopolistic structure of our society, where the forces of nature are in fact the forces of man; they have been harnessed, learned in laboratories in the world’s finest universities and government basements, where the most disturbing scientific research is conducted and released upon the most politically insignificant, monetarily poor, essentially helpless and morally dispensable civilizations of the world.

That we have the knowledgeable capacity to mimic and instigate natural disasters is unquestionable. Also unquestionable is the motivating consequence of such an action: to promote mass fear of our environment in an overwhelming consciousness, and subsequently urge the reliance upon those in power for answers and support who then guide the common majority in the engagement of investments in the marketable products of big business in return for security and protection from such events.

What is questionable is the audaciousness of men on earth: could they really be accountable for the deaths of thousands of innocent people and the consequent destruction of entire hometowns?

That question is not for me to answer, only to ask. My angle is not to sell or bargain information but to encourage the individual to conduct his own inquiry into the realities of his reality. In either case, whether nature be truly in and of herself reacting to years of human neglect and abuse, then she shall have her way and win her wars, and all we need do is sit back and watch our creations crumble in awe of the virtues of universal balance, and perhaps in our societies there will be born that personal humility that has been lacking for centuries on the western front. If on the contrary, the dramatic materialization of nature’s vivid episodes are purely a systemic effect of the active weapons of mankind intended to illustrate a false state of dire global circumstances, then so be it as well: in either case, again and again, from here and onward through time, let there be a light-bulb moment in the mind of every man, where he realizes either the poisonous essence of his own insignificance at the mercy of nature’s reprise, or accepts the unsettling potentials of man’s poisonous essence when the rulers of the world wield their wands and create from it the last day of life on earth.

Lessons in ‘thought’ or spirituality or cosmogony generally do not imply a financial return: it will not help me get a raise, nor a job for that matter, nor can I translate such studies into ‘class credits’.  And on the other hand (when you think as the Dohgon would have you think), it absolutely will.

A lesson in spirituality is never a waste, a lesson in unlearning the lessons which have made me so cynical and self-seeking is more important than the beating of my own heart. This is what it has come to: unlearning, deconstructing, demolishing so that we may re-learn, reconstruct, and reinforce new methods of thought; new ways of thinking which don’t produce such heinous individuals in a society full of poison and torture, of grief and hopelessness, of hurt and pain, of poverty and greed and degradation and ignorance.

We must return, retrace the light so we may find the darkness, as the Dohgon says. Though it is still unclear as to how this is meant to happen, believe me, it will be worth the effort, as the world around us continues to die and the demand for change is no longer an afterthought. As I sit here with a red, yellow and green band wrapped around my ankle and engaged in conversation with an African refugee, my spirits are assured, my mission is clear: fall into the arms of the universal science, and leave your western ways to rot.

Pure souls from some mother energy in this universe are granted to us for safekeeping and protection: it is the responsibility of parents, teachers, and communities to see that these foreign creatures are assimilated and taught to be one of the pack. They are excited, inquisitive, they ask questions that fire like rounds from an automatic weapon, one after another, never satisfied or complete. Nothing stops them, they have absolutely no hesitations when trying something new, and their curiosity is admirable: it is a beautiful process when any creature for the first time learns his limits in an infinite world.

So what does this mean, ‘children are the world’? We were all children, did we forget? And in our adulthood, we are reminded of our own beginnings on earth when we are in the presence of children: we envy them. It is no secret that we long to be like children, to be happy as they are, to have natural enthusiasm for simple things, to live outside of our daunting egos and selfish desires, to not need a cocktail at the end of the day to retire feelings of disgust and anguish. Love seems so tainted when you add a bit of greed and dishonesty; a child has no idea of these fallacies of human nature, of what it means to cheat, lie, steal; they only do when we teach them. They are never self-seeking, just needy of attention. And oh how we long to be like them! To have youthful skin, a carefree approach and a mannerism that lacks evidence of corruption and bitterness (which we blame on years of social survival in the ethical wilderness of our country).

And what do we do with these precious icons of purity and innocence? We ignore them. We sit them in front of televisions and video games which serve to impact their fragile brains and rot away their natural dispositions. We refuse to answer their questions: we have machines to do that now. We think they benefit from the latest in ‘Made in China’ toy technology, when all that is truly achieved is a temporary suspension of creativity, a brick wall inhibiting the potentials of their imaginations. The very things we love about children are the very things we unknowingly take from them: like how birds are admired for freedom in flight, we keep them clipped and caged, a flower adored for its blossom and scent, we take it for ourselves so that it may wilt and wither. Children are not meant for sitting and silence, so why do we prematurely expose them to such devastating forms of mental suppression?

 Bright lights, flashing illustrations, and rapidly moving displays of animated characters are intriguing to kids, you say. Kids learn from educational games and aids, they are better because of them. No. They are not. These robotic replacements for humanity tamper with a child’s development; they make for either an isolated-spaced-out-always-in-la-la land little girl, or a boy who moves throughout the day in the same way as a cartoon mouse; sporadic, unpredictable and destructive. We see these oddities in our children, and we diagnose them; she has a learning disorder and must be held back a grade, and he has ADHD and must therefore be prescribed a drug.

Our children become adults prematurely, by having such expectations imposed upon them by teachers and parents alike. When a child seems impatient while learning to read from a mechanical teddy bear we think there is something amiss: he must be punished. We think they should be calm, able to entertain themselves quietly while we tune into other social aspects of our lives. But they are children, and by nature of them being young they are incapable of such adult behaviors. And we subconsciously love them for it, we admire their free spirit and wide eyed view of the world, but we are usually without such visions having been conditioned to accept the value of ‘a dollar spent a dollar earned’. This becomes that which we value; we abandoned everything childlike about ourselves in order to perpetuate our survival. We project this upon our kids, making sure that they are appreciative of all we offer because it comes at a cost to us. Years and years of societal living, junk food and the evening news has resulted in a loss of nativity and naked intuition throughout our adulthood; we suffer from self inflicted conditions of our own diminishing existences. But young children are fresh and glowing with spiritual awareness, of connectedness between humanity and earth, which is sadly guaranteed to dwindle as they strive to be exactly like those adults whom they admire.  Questions regarding their environment are replaced by questions about the Disney Channel lineup, and the desire to learn about aquatic life at the local estuary is replaced by a desire to be like Miley Cyrus. It isn’t uncommon to come across an eight year old who suffers from the same demented conditions as we do: jealousy, laziness, and high cholesterol.

So yes, children are the world. They embody all which is good, honest, and pure in our eyes. It is a shame that we were entrusted to raise them, because truly we are given children, our gifts of bright light, and throughout the years (and due to problematic inherited methods of parenting) we mishandle it in such a way as to depress its glow long before it was ever intended to fade.

The East Bay prides itself on cultural and ethnic diversity, and racial discrimination is widely unaccepted. How is that I find myself a minority in a majority of minorities? Why was my pseudo-Anglo presence on this number 57 bus so startling that the driver assumed I had made a careless mistake?

Arriving at Eastmont Transit Center in the heart of East Oakland, the truth is no longer deniable: our cities are still racially divided, and are encouraged to be so. Minorities are offered section 8 and affordable housing within certain politically drawn boundaries, forming communities which are so neglected by civic patrol and service units they have become danger zones, boasting degradation and crime, drugs and gun wars. Public education is a disgrace, with cemented playgrounds and portable classrooms, significantly smaller and fewer in number than the encompassing graveyards and liquor stores. Public parks are littered and unkempt, as if the soil and the life spawned from the estuaries and ponds are as devalued as the members of society surviving within the forbidden land. Within the imaginary walls of east Oakland is a lurking enemy; the stereotypes associated with East Oakland are beginning to haunt me, and I quiver as I begin to accept the possibility that perhaps this isn’t a place I should be exploring. I take a moment and glance towards the hills, where mansions rest beautifully upon the golden hillsides, windows catching the last rays of the departing sun, sparkling as if to show off their extravagant construct. Money seems to flow upwards from the California Coastline, leaving the valley bleak and impoverished, perpetuating the human struggle to survive injustice and suffer on behalf of the inequalities of political representation.

And just as I have a thought to retreat to the embrace of my suburban dwelling, I see a mother pushing her small child who is sleeping comfortably in his stroller.  Despite the despair and isolation of this land, East Oakland is a place she knows as home, and that this child will forever call his hometown. I write about East Oakland not in rejection of its population, or in a manner of disgust and repudiation. I write about East Oakland because I want to tell the world that it is not a living horror fest featuring crack heads and gun slinging high schoolers. Perhaps these elements do exist in East Oakland, as they exist in other parts of the world. The Bay Area is advertised as one of many diversity epicenters of the United States, and it baffles me that such a blatant disregard for equality goes unnoticed and undocumented. Segregation is continuously practiced within the Minority Mecca of the world; the racial divide is very obvious, and very sad.

YOU SAY YOU WANT A REVOLUTION…

Our beachfronts are littered with armies of plastic byproducts, resting amongst the decaying carcasses of black feathered birds and mutilated sharks. How odd and yet slightly comedic that on this day I should find a battered American flag buried beneath bottle tops and cigarette butts, visible to only those who are searching for a moment of understanding in an otherwise unforgivable circumstance. America the beautiful is swarmed by herds of an invading threat: ignorance sold individually in separate, plastic containers.

I’ve struggled for what seems like an eternity to make sense of my earthbound existence, and I have yet to come to a satisfying conclusion. However I have formed what I believe to be a hypothesis worth mentioning in the least:

Modern American society is an intricate construct of a poor and struggling people, aimed at the achievement of short term pleasure and false senses of fulfillment and gratification. It is encouraged to be maintained as such on behalf of two known theories of truth:

1. that a large society of individuals is best maintained when the individuals themselves are isolated, being that unity amongst individuals is made almost impossible to achieve

2. that in addition to being isolated, the individual must also be maintained in an infinite realm of ignorance regarding the truth of his own existence, and thus the individual mind should be sculpted from an early age in government funded educational institutions which are designed to stunt the individual’s natural creative resources, and guide the individual as he grows into an inevitable process of absorption into the mediocrity of his surrounding environment without a mind capable of revoking or questioning his authorities.

I began writing this in response to the despicable amount of plastic responsible for most all of the waste on the shoreline of my home community. In pondering the why’s and how’s and from where’s which flooded my thoughts regarding the waste, I was led by my own consciousness into an abyss of confrontational and uncomfortable truth: in order to arrive at an end in thoughtful understanding of the problem of plastic pollution that currently haunts our health and livelihood, as well as the health and wellbeing of all organic life with whom we share this earth, I would have to start from the beginning, indeed, from the birth of European civilization. And what an undertaking that would be, although not impossible, as Jared Diamond has proven in his magnificent published works. I am not interested in launching my investigation from such a mark. I could just as easily beg you to believe me when I say that the most honest display of human parasitic behavior initially presents itself most clearly in history with the early European growth of civilization, where populations of people flourished in response to booming agriculture and consequent industrial revolutions. Where there is power, there is destruction at whatever cost in order to preserve and maintain that power, and history shows this to be true over and over again, and over and over again we see the suffering of ‘inferior’ populations of individuals and the environment caused by the development and instantiation of the concept ‘private property’, the ideal of wealth, and the misconstrued definition of the phrase ‘pursuit of happiness’.

Following the preservation of these aspects of humanity since their introduction, we find ourselves victims of our own blind obedience to the ever increasing demand for conformity, living in the materialistic mindset that the road to better living is made of plastic and lined with kiosks operated by corporate influence and money machines. Man’s potential to exhaust all his energies and resources in order that he may someday in the future hold in his hands the final result of his soul destructive and evolutionary disruptive patterns of behavior is greater than need be said. These patterns of behavior are deeply engrained in the fiber of the individual’s being, fortified by constant fear and the threat of humiliation and disrespect. Our modern world thus resembles an assembly line, where individuals are born as they are, and molded and constructed with consistency a key priority, punishing those who attempt to flee the monochromatic parade of identical methods of thought, and keeping the rest of the population in order by means of fear of punishment. Modern societies breed individuals, drill these individuals on the subjects of compliance and boundaries of action (via lessons plans of right and wrong), offer but an introductory course in moral responsibility and compassion (the bare minimum required to function as a productive member of society), and reward them for their cooperation with low, low prices and tickets to next week’s ball game.

Private property, wealth, and the pursuit of happiness: these abstract concepts form the base of our social construct, though we may be unaware of it.  We are informally promised that when we play by the rules in this game of life, when we are ‘good’, when we work hard at our jobs and pay our taxes and subscribe to the cable company and pray to our gods that these abstract concepts will somehow manifest into tangible forms of possession that will nourish our souls and warm our hearts.

But why? I believe there are two factors that describe the necessity for a world constructed as such:

1. for the politically powerful to maintain control of large populations of individuals, and

2. to promise the wealth to the wealthy.

What would happen if we no longer, as a collective entity, cared to drive our vehicles? If it didn’t matter to us what shoes we wore, or if fast food became suddenly repulsive? If everyone were to turn off their televisions and communicate effectively with one another? If, so to speak, everyone ‘woke up’, wrestled up from beneath the layers of fear, and learned the truth of their country’s operations and management, of the network within which they were intimately related, a small program in the larger scheme, mindlessly feeding the creator by continuing productivity? What would happen? Our society might fail, it might not. But herein lays the dilemma: is it possible to achieve a level of mass awareness?

Unfortunately, in order to undermine the actuality of our modern day society, a revolution of massive proportions would be necessary, and I am sad to say that the possibility of a revolt in our time no longer exists: the collective whole has built itself a magnificent web of protection and preservation, and beyond that, and most importantly, majority society is so unknowingly bound by fear that the idea of radical change is distasteful. You see, people like their ‘things’; they like that they can work an honest job, drive an honest car, attend honest meetings, and drink beer with their fellows. They like commiserating, caring for their personal wardrobes, shopping at bargain stores, enjoying dinner at a restaurant, smoking American brand cigarettes: although modern day society has its roots in spoiled values and egoistic ideals, it bears the fruit of ‘freedom’ ripe for the picking, a minimal reward disguised as a seductive well-deserved right to claim American citizenship, wherein the individual feels in debt to his country, continuing to sponsor and support its cause.

We have freedom, to a certain extent: we have the freedom to buy, freedom to sell, freedom to choose in which capacity we will best function in order to maximize profit, which is to be paid to the beast that rests easily in its golden castle adorned with rubies and gems.

The beast I speak of is the core of the web of power, those who sit at the head of the control panel and determine the course destined to be traveled by the collective whole of individuals within its boundaries. The beast I speak of is the class of peoples who act only within the extent of their personal self interest, and who guide certain aspects of civilized society in such a way as to increase and preserve their power and wealth. They are often unknown, hiding behind friendly marketing schemes and state emblems, carefully manipulated productions boasting colorful displays of patriotism and valor, or fancy language featuring religious references, to name a few. The beast I speak of, though seemingly a ghostly apparition of the paranoid conspiracy theorist’s mind, is very, very real, and very much kept alive by an all American diet of brainwashed citizenry, national and international productivity, and loyal consumerism.

All of which I have written thus far is by no means scientific evidence in support of a concrete theory of truth. It too, is a theory of truth, and as theories go it is incomplete and flawed in many respects. I do believe, however, that most of what I have expressed is as close to the truth regarding American modern society as it gets, and there are numerous other literary resources authored by accredited intellectuals that have in them similar underlying tones and concepts. In fact, to most individuals with whom I have had the privilege to become acquainted, these views are quite common and agreed upon.

I write based solely on my informal research and education learned by merely participating as a functioning member of modern American society.

My father is a materialist, expressing emotion through the giving and revoking of expensive tangible objects, satisfying the natural human instinct to provide for oneself the comforts necessary for happiness and fulfillment through the private ownership of material goods, big and small. My father offered me the best advice he could, repeating to me what I have discovered to be the tireless middle/low class American dream: go to school, get a good job, buy a house, start a family. Ahh indeed this advice is so appropriately linked to the grand scheme: the American design for living: create an individual, program that individual through institutionalized mandatory education, plug the individual into the workforce, have that individual become tied to the system through contracts of debt, and then repeat the cycle over again.

As I sit on the AC Transit, my worst fears for the fate of humanity are realized in thought: people operating like machines, without an ounce of creativity or awareness, completely self consumed, behaving in accordance with their false beliefs, no spark of wisdom or intellect, just pure nonsense: individuals who are nothing more than producers and consumers, whose lives are unknowingly devoted to the care of the beast.

“There must be something more”, I tell myself. Those spoken words are a reassuring wave of comfort, a hand that pulls me from the grave within which I have been resting. What is that something more? I have nearly exhausted all possible hypotheses through an extensive experiment of trial and error. I believed once that engaging in a revolt against the system to which I belonged was the road to enlightenment. It wasn’t. Many hours spent alone within the confines of a cell, and a white padded cubicle, and an institution designed for the treatment of mental disease are the societal consequences of my rebellious behavior. However degrading, lonely, spiritually devastating these real experiences proved to be, they are perhaps to what I owe my relentless inquiry into the nature of existence. Having been stripped of ‘freedom’, self-will, and all material possessions in those isolated instances of incarceration and institutionalization, I had only myself and my thoughts. For some, this would have led to an endless rampage of anger and thus further civil intervention. For others it would have meant a permanent installation of irrevocable nightmarish fear and subsequent submission to the demands of daily life. For me, it spawned a euphoric understanding of myself in relation to my environment. I survived, and was better for it.”

Of course, that which induced those divine moments of self realization was not divine in essence: I lived for a long time in a haze of alcohol induced consciousness and drug influenced interactions. Chemically altering my perceptions, I thought, would transcend me far away from the misery of modern living and down a sacred path studded with anointed truth and principles for a Zen existence. Of course, as such stories go, that path revealed itself at first as a mystical and adventurous alternative to the mundane and ordinary, but as I continued the stars began to slowly dim against an increasingly cold dark sky, and as the end drew upon me, a soft whisper of a permanent and absolute escape from it all was the only voice to be heard. No, this wasn’t it either.

Alcohol and drugs is a peculiar facet of our environment. People like getting high…but why? It is no wonder why alcohol is encouraged as a recreational outlet by the ‘beast’ and his corporate minions: it is not only taxable, but it has the incredible property of turning gloom into glee, of uniting the poor souls in song and spirit, however temporary and subtle; it is a magic wand gladly consumed to avoid facing oneself honestly and nakedly. For most its a form of reward, that the individual has successfully completed yet another work week and in accordance with the repetition of his schedule allows himself to ‘unwind and relax’ by ironically squandering his individuality, so that come Monday the reality of another workweek is made sweeter by the forbearing knowledge of the inevitable drunk weekend. Perhaps people drink and drug to destroy that internal spark of universal creativity that exists within us all but which is sadly neglected by the standards of our society, a phenomenon that causes wounds that are only temporarily mended by the use of drugs and alcohol. Maybe its to quiet that feeling of hopelessness one may experience when the spiritual void expanding in every fiber of his molecular being begins to cause him bouts of self pity and regret. Or perhaps one consumes drugs and alcohol in a self destructive protest of his sickening environment and the dying world around him, which brings him to his knees like a child crying to the man in the moon.

Whatever the reason for drink and drug may be, I had attempted to utilize these substances as tools in the desperate attempt to make sense of my existence, truly desiring a life of personal discovery, which led to the eventual painstaking abandonment of all outward expectations and of all earthly obsessions, including the abuse of poisonous consumables. The individuals who choose the path of discovery rather than the one of complacency are typically those social rejects and misfits, sometimes the perfectly lost and sensitive beings who decide consciously or unconsciously to devote their lives to the search of truth in spite of western societal standards of success and growth, that they may discover happiness in its most pure and basic incarnation in a realm of colorful creativity.

And so I stand on this waterfront, appalled at the catastrophic amount of plastic reminders strewn before me, reminders of the millions of people forever committed to vacant patterns of existence, reminders of the degradation of the human spirit which wanders the elaborate highways of the modern era, and reminders of all that is damaged and lost in the preservation of the American dream.

And in this bath of sadness and helplessness I soak, allowing the muddy waters to coat the vibrancy inherent in every man and woman who believes even for a moment that he can change the fate of humanity. Change the fate of humanity…and it is on this strand of thought that perhaps one of life’s most valuable teaching’s can be learned, simply and honestly: perhaps our society has become so incredibly obsessed with the material, so deeply misguided from the natural and harmonious design for living created by forces much greater than the wealthiest man. Even though we live in a place in time where productivity is valued over creativity, where the individual in order to achieve individuality must deny the sugar coated fruits born of the American ideologies and forever filter all that passes through his senses, even though a walk through a crowded metropolitan street reeks of foul odors and toxic waste, an odorous ode to the industrial empire, even so…the individual nonetheless retains within him that special aspect of his being which connects him to his natural world. It is this special aspect that allows the individual to form entirely unique relationships with all else that lives and breathes around him. We invite animals of differing types as members of our family, we are fascinated at the wildlife at the zoo, we attend to gardens and landscapes, and we quiet our mouths and our minds as a bird soars majestically over our heads. However, the most undeniable display of the sacred characteristic of every human being is an honest desire to escape the static chaos of modern societal rituals and find a place where the pace is as gradual as the rising of the sun and where no evidence of human settlement seems invading or disruptive to the balance which bleeds a soft melody into the eyes and ears of those spiritually awakened to the point of experience. A warm candlelit bath, a walk on the delicate sand illuminated by the reflection of the moon dancing on the water, scaling the cliffside of a magnificent mountain, quiet conversation beneath the grandeur of a twinkling sky: all activities that the individual, in an effort to name the energy vibrating through the channels of his body whilst engaging, might call heaven.

This particular connect between the individual and the external is ever so important in these modern times of environmental and moral need. Indeed, a mass revolution is unlikely to headline the evening news, and the American beast is ever too healthy to retire. However, the persistent efforts of selfless advocates and activists, committed individuals and ordinary comrades who have not their own interest at heart, but that of the collective greater good, are what bring the issues of global distress out from the archives and into the mainstream flow of information exchange, sparking the births of many organized coalitions directed at education and positive progressive change.  Acting with the knowledge of the history of real forces which have driven the modern state to these devastating circumstances, or simply acting in harmony with the basic laws of existence, these individuals offer aid when and where needed without any expectation of monetary or verbal praise or profit.  Truly we have entered a period in this chapter of our current existence characterized by tones of global awareness and an undeniable need for change. Even those who prowl the avenues at dusk in name brand shoes and electronic jewelry are not blind to the armies of sidewalk trash they must conquer in order to reach their destination, and now a day at the beach seems more accurately described as a visit to the museum of the byproducts of American imperialism, featuring the sea life graveyard and the exhibit of poisonous plastic products, sponsored in part by corporate expansion and funded by a history of neglect and ignorance. The finest technology and most recent scientific discoveries may not be able to reverse the effects of global pollution, specifically the problem of plastic, and American Big Business seems to have no primary interest in yielding their waste production in favor of typically more expensive but earth friendly alternatives. But not all hope is lost, as people begin to emerge from their cocoons dressed as warriors and voiced like true leaders, intent upon ending the cycle of negligence and passivism once and for all.

And it is here where the muddy waters of the bath of pitiful indulgence are washed away, and the vibrancy and enthusiasm is returned, as I take a moment to watch the girl, a garbage picker in one hand and a pail in the other, the tan of her skin glowing through the holes in her denim overalls, the youthfulness of her face barely visible beneath the bill of her ball cap, first picking up one piece of garbage ,and then another, a beautiful representation of the human potential to make a difference in one small corner of the world. I too bend my spine so that hands may greet the earth, and rid this beachfront of at first one piece of plastic, and I realize that change truly is possible however insignificant it may seem; it begins with the simple action manufactured on behalf of the ever so popular dream of a clean inhabitable earth, a dream in which every human operates under the philosophy that we should pay retribution to the universe that spawned us all.

When driving our vehicles, there is no greater crime committed against us than being cut off. It makes us feel as though we are invisible, as if a physical impediment is placed upon our right to progress; our right of way. Some of us become hostile, activating the annoying voice of our car horns to profess to the other driver the act of injustice which has been so wrongfully accomplished. Some of us seek revenge, operating our machines in an aggressive manner so as to make the original prosecutor feel threatened. And some of us shrink within the walls of our mobile cage, silently cursing the offender, but offering to let the matter slide easily into that deep abyss of our minds, joining other decayed memories rotting in the coffin entitled ‘awkward confrontations with assholes’.

There is no standard protocol dictating reactionary measures for traffic incidents of this sort. But I think we can all agree that being victimized in a classic case of roadway cut-off is an overall unpleasant experience.

In fact, we are taught the social importance of respecting personal space as our very first lessons in school. Standing in line for chocolate milk, all the little tykes are encouraged to practice discipline and patience, and are rewarded with gold stars for good behavior. This medieval practice of praising positive behavior by offering positive feedback educates little people about the significance of adhering to this social convention, and also teaches children to acknowledge the presence of their fellow little friends. In other words, we as children are taught that if you cut in line, play time will be cut in half.

As an adult, the conversational equivalent of cutting in the chocolate milk line is being cut off mid-speech. And, like the vehicular version of interruption, it is a serious violation of the principles under which every individual operates, that sacred code which says that every person be granted the freedom of expression and progression, and that that freedom be unrestricted and honored.

Nobody likes the playground bully, and the over aggressive drivers on the road are as equally unpopular. The habitual interrupter takes a seat amongst these social rebels, having in common that one characteristic which binds them: impudence. Once a man comes between a woman and her train of thought, the relationship is soured.  Bachelor blue eyes was funny, smart, and had a decent set of morals, but he came between me and my train of thought, and instead of continuing where I left off, I candidly said my peremptory goodbyes. After all, it takes courage to volunteer conversation on a date with someone with whom the potential of a future together is entertained. So ladies: be cautioned, be assertive, and unafraid; if you find yourself consistently cut off, stand up for your right of way, and move in another direction.