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.

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.

It’s difficult to explain the beauty of coffee and cigarettes to someone who has never experienced nicotine love. In fact, it’s impossible to explain the pleasure drawn from smoking to a non-smoker, a pleasure extending far beyond the chemically produced emotions of satiation, fulfillment and happiness. Smoking is an art, a modern form of active meditation, a social catalyst for conversation and a solitary ritual stimulating reflection and thought. Smoking is something to be shared in a group of a few or more, or something done in quiet secrecy. We smoke to pass time or to fill it in, smoke to prepare for a day or to put another evening to rest, smoke when we drink, or smoke as we wait for the bus. We smoke at a work break to hobnob with associates, or smoke barefoot on our doorsteps as we gaze upon the stars. However you define that wonderful relationship you’ve established with nicotine sticks, as a fellow member of the smoking club I think we can all agree that it is more than just a breath of sweet toxic air: it is a way of life.

And just like everything else in our tragic lives, it is a relationship that must, for some of us health curious folk, come to an end. I first noticed that Mr. Marlboro and I were having problems when having a cigarette became a chore: it was something I HAD TO DO. Whenever I was to be out for the entirety of a day, my schedule was planned around smoke breaks. I would find myself adopting sneaky behavior around family and friends in order to steal a cigarette during outings together. I tried to hide the fact that I smoked, as the embarrassment of admitting addiction was humiliating beyond belief, and usually opened the door for awkward discussions of intervention, treatment plans, and rehabilitation. The romantic appeal of smoking had faded along with the wisps of smoke from my umpteenth cigarette: it was becoming a burden, and I could no longer compromise my integrity for inhaling, so I decided to quit smoking. I quit as a result of a nagging mother and siblings. I quit smoking in compliance with ‘no smoking zones’, a recent phenomenon sweeping the downtown areas of my otherwise liberal hometown community of Berkeley, California. Most of all, I decided to quit smoking because I was no longer able to rationalize such harmful self destructive behavior. I was a liar and a hypocrite, sacrificing the effectiveness of all other attempts at a healthy lifestyle for those twenty cigarettes a day. I was a vegetarian limited to strictly organic options, cycling forty miles a week and ingesting supplemental vitamins to make my nails grow and hair shine. I visited a natural doctor for colon hydrotherapy and routine acupuncture treatments to ensure the maximization of energy flow throughout the channels of my body. All this time, money and energy was being spent in the search for balance and spiritual management: yet I was still smoking.

Finally, after eight years of lighting up, I owned up to my inner addict and did the unthinkable: I pulled the half empty box of yellow American Spirits from my purse and tore them into pieces, releasing the tobacco from the paper cocoon and into the wind. Yes, it had to be done, and it had to be done dramatically, as this was the end of the longest relationship of my life, and I needed to manifest my unspoken desire to quit in a scene of conviction and climactic intent. ‘I don’t need you anymore!’ I declared, and as my dismembered boyfriend crumbled into a thousand tiny pieces, I walked confidently into the office of Dr. Donner.

I had tried to prove to myself in the past that I smoked because I wanted to, and not for any reason associated with addiction. I could maintain my smoke-free mindset for hours, sometimes a day, but the temptation and craving for nicotine would consume me eventually, and I would reluctantly return to my old habits. Desperate, I experimented with aids to soften the effects of cold-turkey. I wore the patch until it made me nauseous, chewed the gum to appease oral fixation cravings, and became a happy pill popper, taking minimal doses of the antidepressant Wellbutrin at the recommendation of a western medical doctor. Despite all of the available options, I still couldn’t refuse a cigarette. Was I doomed to be a smoker forever?

Never! As I shook hands with the miracle man who had promised a treatment much more effective than anything offered at Wal-Mart, I knew that I had just taken my first steps as a non-smoker. Dr. Donner was a natural medicine specialist and an acupuncturist, and each time I had sat as a patient before him for ailments unrelated, he would say passively, “let me know when ya wanna quit, cause I can help you…”. One random day, as I impatiently suffered through an acupuncture session with a patch-induced upset stomach, I took him up on his offer.

And here I was, a single American Spirit in hand, (I had switched to Spirits because they are made from organic tobacco and without any additives, thereby relieving me of some of the guilt smoking induced), eager for the thirty minutes that were to inevitably reverse years of damage and harm. Dr. Donner had me lie on my back and relax, as he felt my pulse and measured my energy flow with his pocket quartz. Then, he began inserting needles in my right ear. I inhaled on his command, taking deep breaths accompanied by the scent of the cigarette held closely under my nose. With every individual breath, a needle pierced the skin of my ear, until all relative points had been stimulated. Dr. Donner took the cigarette from me, and had me close my eyes and meditate upon smoking and positive mantras of determination and the desire to quit. After thirty minutes, he returned, and removed all needles save one: this special acupuncture needle was to be a temporary earring for two weeks, as it was constantly distracting the hypothalamus, that area of the brain responsible for cravings and desires. He also gave me a root of black licorice, an imitation cancer stick. In addition, I received a magic wand: a tiny device made of magnetic strips that would react with the needle in my ear with a slight wave of circular motion, an act to be performed each time a craving was seriously intense. Armed and ready, I left the office a new and improved smoke-free woman.

I have been without a cigarette now for nearly six months, a milestone for anyone who has smoked for eight years. I think about smoking occasionally, the desire to smoke is still a haunting presence in my waking life. The first few smoke free days were powered by pure self-will. The weeks to follow were tough, but the price of admitting defeat seemed costly, and I found ways to cope with the intense emotional and physical urges to give up and take a drag. The alternative treatment was effective, as it did help diminish the terrible withdrawal systems of a nicotine strike. But there is no cure for smoking, only treatments to hold your hand when things get tough.

In addition to the acupuncture, the eastern approach to the cigarette condition involved other proven methods which complimented the success of the needles. Dr. Donner recommended breathing exercises, which would not only replenish my black lungs of oxygen, but also focus my attention away from a cigarette and onto the fact that I had quit smoking. He also recommended that I reward myself with healthy gifts: small inspiring incentives, like a ferry ride across the bay, or a nature walk in the woods. I was also encouraged to read books on eastern philosophy and meditation, which nourished my mind in ways no sip of bourbon and a smoke ever had. I changed many old habits: where I would have a smoke before bed I now have a soak in a candlelit bathtub. However simple or silly, all of these suggestions combined and altered to fit specific needs is the perfect recommendation for anyone who wants to be free from the chains of nicotine addiction. The American brand methods for quitting were futile, offering only substitutions for active lung combustion, still feeding the body and mind its daily doses of nicotine. Acupuncture and eastern therapy, however, treated the addiction at its core, weaning the system from its dependence upon a foreign toxin one day at a time. I learned a new way of life through the acceptance of Dr. Donner’s anti-smoking techniques which translate into all aspects of my existence. Because I was open to a vague unexplored alternative for smoking cessation, I profited from the adaptation to a freshly inspiring lifestyle by having been introduced to a better design for living.

And now, the alarm still rings even before the sun has risen, and as I still moan in protest of the noisy request, my lucid thoughts still awaken to the reality of the day. However, I don’t so much despise my existence purely because I must abandon the seductive wrath of warm satin sheets and prepare for the laborious events of my routine existence. As I rise up from the embrace of my bed a smile brands my once tired face, as I have something truly wonderful awaiting me in the kitchen of my apartment: a cup of loose leaf green tea, and a yoga mat for morning salutations.

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.