How to Create More Places for our Children to Safely Play.

...The Way Out Is In...

At 42, I like to think that I have grown beyond that vile stage of life when we easily bicker with and judge others without taking the time to know their full story. I pride myself in making it a daily practice to deliberately put myself in the proverbial shoes of others, using myriad meditational efforts, hoping to gain a deeper understanding of the actual situations people other than me are in. The goal being a heightened sense of empathy. Yet, as none of us are in truth individuals but rather an extension of a greater collective puddle of changes, susceptible to all the unguarded winds swirling about this strange zeitgeists collective dialogue of which little seems to lead to anything genuinely wholesome, when we decide to engage with say, social media for example, we willingly hand over our attention to an unhinged realm, vulnerably entering into extremely dangerous terrain that can quickly damage our spirit, no matter how strong we think we are. Cyberspace is addictive and like any junky, we act within that curious space far differently than the way we normally do and unintended repercussions resulting from poor choices made in that space often spill over into our “normal” life, the one away from the glowing screens hypnotic, evil eye. Eager to sink into the numbing, who remembers to offer the appropriate offerings to the guardians of the unpredictable cyber realms, asking them to protect us from wrong view and any other negative energies than may seek to disrupt our progress? Not me.

Due to the typical overwhelm and occasional feelings of loneliness and isolation that plague so many of us in this modern era, I wasted more than what some might consider a healthy amount of time doomscrolling this past week. As such, the myriad fearful narratives of inevitable impending apocalypse resulting from another Trump presidency, ongoing genocide, school shootings, climate catastrophe, war and rumors of war, etc. crept their vicious soul-sucking imagery into my mind-space and resulted in, shall we say, me becoming a less than open-minded, well-grounded, happy-go-lucky farm host.

While I was out in our farms orchard helping trim some of our longan trees the other day with a volunteer who joined us recently from California, a young man by the name of Joey, who is eager to learn, rebellious, a bit naive and arrogant as all young men (and women) ought be, he mentioned how disgusted he is by the current state of affairs in the land currently referred to as the U.S.A. He shared with me that he felt his wealthy, left-leaning parents are as much a part of the problem as any of the right wingers he knew and eventually concluded that he believed the best course of action to help aid in finally dismantling the beastly, war-hungry empire from whence we both descend would be to vote for Trump for, he believed, the former POTUS is so terrible that he will definitely cause the entire system to collapse if he wins again.

When I heard this, it was as if some other force instantly took over me. Somehow his words opened a gateway for vicious spirits to enter into me and orchestrate all my words. It was as if the shadowy essence of the DNC suddenly transformed into some single-viewed, flesh-devouring monster and completely took over my discerning mind for what proceeded over the next 15 minutes or so, for who I was in that moment was far different than anything I typically regard as being in alignment with who I think I am. I immediately attacked this young truth-seeking man with a vicious tongue. I gave him zero room whatsoever for explanation, instantly jumping to the conclusion that Trump equates only to *fascism, that his woke, hipster-ass generation needs to wisen up and had better rethink such an ignorant stance immediately!

I can barely recall what baseless arguments I vomited over that nervous lad as I screamed arrogantly in a tone more akin to a tacky, finger-pointing ad on prime time television approved by Donald Trump and Co. I was so out of my body, so utterly possessed by the lefts collective narrative that can only accept one truth and has no room for any other opinion that I was literally nearly struck on the head by a large branch of the tree we were trimming for I did not hear my friends when they warned me it was about to fall! All I could see and hear and feel was how wrong Joey was. There was nothing in the world at that moment but my righteousness and his unacceptable ignorance.

As the branch hit the ground, mere inches in front of me, I snapped out of my trance. My fellow Thai community members stared at me in the kind of WTF man?! kind of way people not from America now regularly stare at us. Embarrassed, I finally came to. Feeling foolish, I quickly made up some lame excuse for why I needed to leave. And I went for a long walk.

Most of us are in a strange trance these days. Modernity has us all convinced we are seeing clearly, or not seeing clearly for that matter, but either way we believe its noise more than what actually is. Even the most humble and woke among us carry great conviction that they somehow know what’s best. Our attention span, arguably our most sacred possession of all, has been robbed from us by entities able to accumulate vast amounts of wealth and power from our overwhelm. The hypnotic glow of Instagram, Facebook, etc. The heightened intensity of seeing an endless stream of Palestinian children with missing limbs followed by nearly naked “influencers” selling us the illusion of eternal youth followed by Kamala’s camp convincing us Trump is evil incarnate followed by cats and pictures of peoples dinner and amazing vacations followed by Trumps camp telling us Kamala is evil incarnate followed by images of school kids with guns, evidence of climate chaos, plummeting bitcoin profits, more cats, failed educational systems, inaccessible housing markets, etc. now fills the holy inner chapel of our mind, that tender place within once dominated by the affairs of our immediate surroundings, the needs of our home and those we love most. With this space now fully occupied with matters we have little, if any control over, we are increasingly unable to tend properly to that which matters most, what we do have an impact on, those human and greater-than-human beings gazing towards us here, now.

This young man, this heartbroken seeker of a more beautiful world, had managed to find his way to our farm, on the other side of the planet, seeking answers to many of the same questions I too carry. I am considerably older than him, I could have used this as an opportunity to model good listening, to be a good adult in an era desperately lacking them. I could have demonstrated how not to place big matters into simple boxes, but to pause, look deeply and zoom out, to consider the larger, multi-generational plot lines now being played out and to breathe into it, mindfully, wisely. But instead I simply retorted to displaying for him the same overly emotional reactionary bullshit that his parents and so many of his countrymen, our countrymen have continuously presented him with. “My way is right godammit! Your way is wrong and there is no room for debate here!” Huh. Sounds a lot like… well, that “other” guy doesn’t it?

I was so ashamed after that morning. I hid from that young man for a solid day. But in our little eco-village we eat every meal together, cook together and work together. You can only ignore each other for so long in a village. And kids around these here parts won’t put up with any stupid adult bickering. Eventually we crossed paths. I noticed from a safe distance that that ignorant Trump supporting monster was very helpful around our farm and was especially good with my daughter. As the dining hall at our farm has only one large table, I did my best to sit as far away from this punk kid as I could for fear he might try and get me to change my mood, but as my daughter had taken a liking to this spirited lad, at one point she grabbed my hand and said loudly for all to hear, “Why are you sitting all the way over here daddy?! Come with me, let’s go sit with Joey!” And, well, I did as she demanded, as all decent fathers must.

I was mortified by all this. But my cold heart was determined not to melt. Yet lo and behold, as is always the case when we meet together, face to face over food and there is a third thing between us that is bigger than our individual wants, which in this case was a beautiful child’s desire to play, our differences quickly fell away and all we focused on was having fun.

After we finished our meal, and my daughter was done playing, Joey came up to me and apologized. Truly, he had nothing to apologize for. It wasn’t he who had acted out of line. Joey had merely, with great courage, voiced his opinion knowing full well I would not share his view. I was the one who should have apologized, which because of his courageous act, I eventually did. I am very grateful for Joey. I don’t agree with his political views, and I sure as hell am not going to vote for Trump, but I tip my hat to his bravery. Because of him I am determined to try and listen more deeply, to talk less and mostly, to stop allowing social medias narratives to impact my understanding of the world. He touched my heart very deeply. He leaves our farm tomorrow and not only will my daughter miss him. I will too.

Post Activism is found in the cracks between here and there. We don’t find it at the rally, the big protest or anywhere online. The way forward starts right here, in real time, in the actual breathing worlds of an uncertain reality, in the middle of the chaos, residing in between multiple valid truths. Progress begins when we sit face to face not only with what agrees with us but what doesn’t as well. We don’t do as New Age hippies or beings drunk on scrolling and break open our heart chakra so wide that every mindless post on IG is allowed into our headspace but we do remain committed to genuinely listening to those willing to truly engage, especially younger people looking for guidance and hope.

We have to be wise enough to admit that we have fed our sadness, insecurity and fear for far too long. We have been diligent with harming ourselves but have placed little effort into breaking the spell, thinking maybe some new leader was going to come along and do everything for us. We have handed our ability to listen and bravely co-create evolving views over to the sick stream of ungrounded chaos that is the underworld of social media, corporate interest and political consciousness. These modern monsters fight day and night to control our attention so completely that we seldom react with any semblance of sanity much less the compassion and creative vitality required of us to truly heal.

It is not certain that a world where Kamala Harris is the leader of the so-called “free world” would be any better than a world led by Donald Trump. As Caitlin Johnstone recently shared,

“Democrats saying the Green Party steals their votes makes as much sense as Republicans saying the Green Party steals their votes. The Democratic Party is not a left wing party. It’s a war mongering capitalist party that is presently engaged in genocide and nuclear brinkmanship.”

It is understandable that at this stage in our journey, exhausted and scared as most of us are, the idea of a new face can offer much needed hope. I like the thought of that! But is it true? Are we willing to genuinely listen to all narratives and hear everyones view deeply enough, without preemptively mocking them, convinced we already know to be sure? I clearly am not. I thought I was, but this recent interaction revealed to me that I still have a long way to go. I think we all do. The left is no better than the right in regards to this.

I’m not sure the best way forward. But I believe, as Thich Nhat Hanh often said, “The way out is in”. If we hand all our attention over to externally controlled narratives orchestrated by forces and entities that have vested interests in dominating our ability to think for ourselves, well, we stand little chance of ever knowing peace. But if each day we devote at least as much time as we do to mindlessly scrolling to actually sitting down with our neighbors, to playing with our children, to resting silently and allowing The Still Small Voice within us to offer a spark of authenticity not filtered through corporate/political/cultural agendas, we might miraculously begin creating again more places for our children to safely play.

The future is always uncertain. But today, I aspire to not walk through this world thinking that that guy walking on the other side of the road might be a Trump supporter and because of this he is dangerous and stupid. I aspire to not fear that everyone I meet is carrying a gun. I won’t fill my entire cup with considerations of dread. Neither will I be naive to what Josh Schrei of The Emerald Podcast refers to as the forest of dangers and wonders, but I will not only assume the worst in everyone. Instead I will bless. I will invite true dialogue. I will say hello. While sitting on the train, while walking through the store, I will remember what happened to me in the orchard the other day, how my mind, filled as it was with fear caused me to slip. I am determined now to do what I can to find again the beauty in me and in others and help bring it back to life. Beyond political affiliations and false illusions of national identity is a messy, well-composted field where mistakes are forgiven and vitality is restored. I’ll meet you there.

**Dedicated to all the young seekers out there trying to pave a new way forward in a world where good elders are hard to find.

May all the beauty that has died in you come back to life.

All blessings.

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Incredibly, as I took a break from writing this weeks offering, planting beans out in our garden, I listened to the new episode of The Emerald Podcast. (link below, Guardians and Protectors) So much of it resonated with what I was writing and have been experiencing. Have you been noticing similar things happen to you recently? Maybe it’s false hope, but I think we are slowly waking up. Enough of us are doing the work that what was not that long ago deemed “weird” to talk about is now commonplace. We are slowly starting to again view this world as animant and alive. Please, do yourself a favor and check out this episode of The Emerald, by Josh Schrei, featuring an interview with my good friend Dr. Ben Jofee (who himself has an excellent blog entitled A Perfumed Skull that is equally worth checking out and can be found here.

Gaurdians and Protectors

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*The term fascism is being tossed around a lot these days. It is important to know what fascism is. Clink the link below to learn more about what it actually is.

What is Fascism?

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#mayallbeingsbehappyandfree