"Bread and bullets: Some Southern supermarkets now sell ammo out of vending machines."

Headline news in the good ol' U.S. of A. And we wonder why attempted assassinations occur.

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I wanted to write about joy this week. I struggle finding it. Which made me more motivated to investigate this curious human condition. It intrigues me. Even though my wife is the best human alive and my daughter is too. Even though I live a relatively peaceful life surrounded by kind people. Even though I don’t struggle too much financially or worry where my next meal is coming from. Even though I do not live in a place experiencing war. Even though my life is good, I have meaningful work, all the things, I still struggle to feel lasting happiness.

I wonder sometimes if happiness is even appropriate in days like these, when everyone knows we are killing our planet yet rare is it to find anyone genuinely taking the required steps to reverse this trend. In an era where everyone knows neither Biden or Trump are fit to lead yet few will have the courage come November to vote for anyone else, how can the conditions for hope and lasting joy surface? Year after year, the madness increases. As sea levels rise, we become numb. And we wonder why kids struggle with mental health. It’s hard enough for us adults.

Nonetheless, I am determined to focus more energy on cultivating joy. I feel it is my duty to do so. As a father, as a husband, as the eldest son of a friendly family. I owe it to them all to smile more, to laugh more, to not mope around and complain about all the animals going extinct, the depleting soil and polluted air, all the kids being murdered in the Middle East and elsewhere. Can’t I just enjoy one meal without criticizing how many chemicals went into producing the so-called “tomatoes”? Can’t I just have some fun for once?? Why do always have to be such a downer?

I use to have a lot of fun. I use to be a lot of fun to be with. I stuck my head in headphones all the time, listened only to music, never the news. I spent all my free time snowboarding, rock climbing, going to live concerts, and of course, smoking copious amounts of weed. Then for some reason I started paying attention. I stopped smoking, stopped drinking and started reading everything I could about, well, everything. I traveled, I picked up a daily meditation practice. I started doing yoga. I learned how to feel.

The jury is still out as to whether or not that was a wise decision. In some regard, knowledge seems to be a bit overrated. Hell, look at Joe Rogan. He knows a lot, but what a dumbass! There is much to be said about remaining ignorant. I see children playing around our farm, too young to know what it even means when they hear that kids are being shot in schools, too young to know that women’s’ rights are being stolen from them yet again. They don’t know about any of this crap. They just play. They are so happy! They see the chemical man drive by on the way to his orchard with his scary mask over his face and they think it is so cool! They love it!! They are like good old boys at a Trump rally. Poorly educated, they can’t speak good, and are blissed out by all the purty lights. I must confess, sometimes I envy them all. How nice it must be to not care about stuff. To just make up a story and have fun with it.

I try to not care. I really do. I use breathing techniques in an effort to stop thinking about what world we are handing over to my daughter. I try all kinds of meditative practices to help soothe the anxiety and anger I carry in response to how apathetic my fellow humans seem to have become. How lazy I too have become. How tired and uncreative my generation. There is little we can do after all. So what’s the point? How much of anything we do matters in the end, really?

And of course I wonder, why do I spend so much time writing? Does anyone even read any of this? Why would anyone spend time getting all bummed out by my musings when they could instead read a top selling author who offers weekly tips on the benefits of positive thinking. Or better yet, listen to a three hour podcast with Joe Rogan and Tucker Carlson. That would be way more fun.

It is hard to say what of our actions make real impact. Yet, I do think everything matters in some way. So I keep trudging along. I keep singing to the Sun at dawn, trying to keep alive what remains of our mythological anatomy. I keep offering cornmeal to the seeds before I bury them in the soil, hoping some force bigger than me will receive my little gift and smile somehow, for once being seen not as but a resource to be extracted but as a life giving goddess, whom I did not forget, if only for one brief moment before I forced Her again to grow me food. Even when no one joins me. Even when others laugh in my face, something keeps me believing that under all this sadness is still a Big Story and we can keep it alive.

Maybe next week I will feel more chipper. More able to write specifically of joy. I have to. It is my duty. There is too much sorrow in this world. And it’s up to us to bring the light regardless of how we feel. This is part of being a good adult, a good human. We must nourish more our capacity for being happy, hopeful, able to be kind. I will do this. I can and I will. This is not about me after all. And I feel you. I see you. Out there trying so hard. You aren’t alone friend. It is hard to be happy when you wake up and see not that a new law has been passed to end the production of nuclear warheads but instead what you see is that in the American South now, you can purchase bullets from a gum ball machine. A fucking vending machine is pumping out bullets, people. And strangely enough we are surprised when guns go off in schools. When guns go off at presidential rallies. When genocides occur and kids get murdered in hospitals.

A proud American happily exercises his god-given rights at a C-Mart in Oklahoma.

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I need to strengthen my ability to genuinely smile, even amidst the madness. This is post-activism in its purest form. To find peace is to come home, wherever we are. Yet the Buddha made it clear that in this life, suffering is unavoidable. Actually, he never used the word “suffering”, but the Pali word he did use doesn’t translate so well into english, which may incidentally offer a hint as to why so many in the english speaking world know so little about their emotions. Interesting. Regardless, there is an omnipresent unsatisfactoriness that walks with us through life and if we don’t explore it deeply, it will become a poison instead of a guide. Thus, just as we must learn how to cultivate joy, we must also develop again accurate responses to what’s going on around us if we are ever going to see things as they are. If you do not cry when you hear about hospitals being bombed, or you do not feel deep shame when you listen to either Trump or Biden attempt to speak. If you do not call in sick when you hear that another hundred people have died from climate change, to give yourself time to mourn their loss, than you need to develop your ability to grieve. We all do. As individuals, as nations, as a shared human race. We need to take time off, rest and feel deeply this strange zeitgeist.

So that is what I am going to do this week. I’m not writing now about anything other than what I feel at this moment, after hearing there was an assassination attempt. After learning that Americans can buy bullets from vending machines. After hearing that it is illegal to be homeless in the most expensive place to live in the world. I feel sad. I feel tired and confused. I am not sure how to react to the fact that angry people who are ok with killing others with guns can just zip right up to a vending machine and get what they need in order to do harm. When my wife and I were in Indiana a few years ago it took us several hours to find organic produce from which to make a simple, healthy meal for my parents. But if we want to get bullets? Easy peazy.

We aren’t connecting the dots. I guess we are all just too tired to think clearly. We are saturated with information but there is very little wisdom. We need to stop. We need to breathe deeply and do nothing. We need to feel. That’s it. We need to feel.

Dear friends. Whether you are rich or poor, republican, democrat, christian, hindu, atheist, or whatever, I encourage you all to simply feel. Don’t read. Don’t scroll. Don’t think. Don’t call your friends. Just listen to the silence, go deep into the places that scare you. And observe…

What is arising in us now? Who are we when we don’t allow the noise to get in the way? Maybe we aren’t ok with genocide after all? Maybe we actually don’t have a problem with so-called immigrants and “invasive species”? Maybe we aren’t as attracted to that stupid looking shirt after all. Maybe chemically grown food doesn’t actually taste that good. Maybe we don’t like the music the radio is playing. Maybe we don’t actually give a shit about Trump or Biden and all we really wanted to do today is cry. To sleep for ten days straight. To drink mineral water and deeply breathe. Please friends, do that…

My wish for you is that this coming week finds you all alone, with nothing to distract you from the deepest feelings rising in your heART. I pray you remain unseen and forgotten. May no one like you on facebook. May no new followers subscribe to any of your work. May you remain anonymous, with nothing to do, nothing to prove. May you be at peace, even as the terror of these times becomes all too clear. May you feel.

All blessings,

Gregory Pettys

Pun Pun Farm

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#maypeaceprevailonearth