The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place
:::a holiday letter from our family to yours:::
Well it’s that time of year again. That blessed time of year when no matter what filter we gaze through, whatever curious arrangement of neo-pagan myths, quasi-religious dogmas, and/or hipster atheist determinations to not believe a damn thing we burden our post-modern frameworks with, we all tend to, in one way or another, feel the pull of some kind of transitory rite. Being the Earth worshiping Buddhist I am I like to think it’s due to the powers of the Solstice. Yet I have found beautiful, equally powerful inspirations from other takes on this potent time of year as well, from all around the globe, pulsing from myriad spiritual traditions and seemingly all walks of life, from those who now experience a short day and those who now experience a long one. So, whatever it is that conjures up this shared auspicious feel, to This I now bow.
Growing up, my family, like so many other middle-class, white-bred families from Illinois, liked to send out a “Family Christmas Letter” every December. In turn, we received many ourselves! I liked getting all those letters in our mailbox. Long before the internet stole all our attention, I remember lying on the floor of my families home, basking in the glow of the Christmas trees lights, reading all the glittery letters hung on the walls from distant relatives and friends, most of whom I had never met. My parents led a pretty simple life back then. You might say we didn’t get out much. I don’t have many memories of my parents inviting their friends over or taking us out much to visit with their peers but every Christmas our house was filled with the Christmas ghosts of so many interesting people. I longed to meet them all! Sometimes these mysterious pals of my parental units included joyful pictures. Sometimes even a handful of dollar bills! It was exciting. The letters trailed the entirety of the hallway, occasionally even trailing all the way into the kitchen.
Well, now here we are, a few decades deep into the era of the internet, and all I have to offer you is this lousy Substack “newsletter” in your inbox. My sincere apologies for not doing better to keep alive what I feel to be a very important tradition, that of snail mail, but here goes nothing. With your kind permission, please receive our family’s Holiday Newsletter. Sip it down as you would a glass of egg nog enjoyed with a dash of necessary humor, as shrieking toddlers hang from your neck, drunk off too many candy canes and ginger bread cookies.
Dear friends and family, beloved strangers and fellow travelers….
We seem to have made it through another year! Contrary to the incessant suggestions piling up from all directions that the end of the world is nigh, and much to the chagrin of many an evangelical, The Apocalypse has not yet come. It is a mystery even to me how the systems running society are still functioning, but they are! I’m not sure if we should be celebrating this marvel or lamenting in despair, but capitalism keeps cranking along, business as usual and strangely enough, this may be the only thing keeping us from a truly authoritarian state. Praise the Lord! We’re still here!!
2023! What a year! This year found our family traveling back to Colorado again. We spent there a handful of lovely summer>Autumn months showing our daughter some of daddy’s favorite old high country hideouts. Many of the places I used to regularly visit however are now off limits to the public because developers managed to change local laws that once protected these wilderness areas from being developed. Now a very peculiar looking gated community dots a large chunk of Paradise. Such a blessing for these families! I am sure they are now having a wonderful holiday together with their loved ones in stunning multi-million dollar homes they will not visit again until next Christmas.
My parents (we call them “gramma” and “grampa” now!) were lucky enough this year to visit Jerusalem before the bombs started going off in the birthplace of Jesus. My mom was baptized in the Jordan River and my Dad was able to get it all caught on film. It was quite a sight! We all feel fortunate that they were able to see the land where He once walked before the genocide began.
Uncle Geoff and Aunt Megan are out there doing Gods work. As severely misinformed and heartbroken souls of what many now refer to as “The United States” spend an astonishing amount of energy on trying to intimidate teachers, librarians, and the like, they remain steadfast in their efforts to keep books from being burned and witches from being tossed into the sea.
Our little love bug Surya turned three this year. She is growing like a beanstalk! And not one of those creepy Monsanto sponsored, hormone enhanced kinds they sell at Safeway but a genuine, ancestral breed… a truly organic, wild kind that screams when asked to be silent and dances when asked to stand still. She shouts obscenities at those fu*kers spraying chemicals on the “fruit trees” next door to us but when they aren’t destroying her future she kindly asks them to stop by for a meal. It’s adorable! And when rich “well educated” students from fancy international schools come to our farm and don’t know how to cook or tend to a garden or save seeds or wipe their bottoms without using toilet paper she expresses deep empathy for them. She is getting really excited to be a big sister.
Ramphai is as strong and creative as ever and has a little sprout now budding in her beautiful brown belly. Under a rare annular-eclipsed sky that crossed over South Western Colorado this October, as we walked through the ruins of ancient pueblo homes, together pondering what it would be like to live in such an intact way as the original caretakers of that land seem to have lived, a new spirit entered her womb. When daddy gets overwhelmed by the state of the world, Ramphai reminds me, that in many ways, it’s always been like this. There is nothing new under the sun (Ecclesiastes 1:9). No mud, no lotus. She is the master seed keeper I aspire to be.
And as for daddy, well, I keep trudging along. Learning and unlearning. Falling down and getting back up. Trying to stay afloat in my adopted home, attempting to pick up a bit more of the Thai language everyday, how to read the trees and sing with the ants, how to feel the sound of the Sun and dream again in forgotten ways. I am trying to be lighter, to shed the tough skins modernity has forced me for so long to adorn. Trying to be less sarcastic and more in tune with the sounds of deep listening. I opted again this year to not invest in stocks, bitcoin or real estate but instead in seeds, some quality musical instruments and lots of books. Sometimes I wonder if I am not doing as much as I can to set my family up financially, but I find peace in a Bible verse I memorized long ago thanks to my humble, patient and loving parents. (Matthew 6:26-34 for anyone interested.).
The truth is, we are very blessed. We are surrounded by many genuinely good people visiting us from myriad amazing nations who generously share with us so much beautiful culture. They bring with them a thousand stories that strangely enough “the news” never speaks of relaying heroic tales of communities the world over building regenerative, life serving communities again, ones based in right livelihood, that follow natural law and honor, above all else, soil and diversity. It is all very hopeful indeed. Things are changing, and we believe, because we see it every day… for the better. Simple people, living in simple ways, far from the rulers mad story of division and fear. We are loved and well fed, comfy in our tiny little adobe home, deeply in love and in awe of the beauty around us. Our small organic gardens provide all we need. We do not live in a war zone (except for all the agrochemicals being sprayed by the modern “farmers” that surround our colorful quilt of flowers and grief). We do not feel lonely or without purpose. We may be payed very little, but we are indeed very rich.
a rare picture of us all together, taken in front of an old barn on Mackinac Island, Michigan
…
As I write these words from our friends coffee, where he is currently roasting organic coffee beans he grew himself right on site, I am listening to an album an ex of mine gave me many moonds ago called The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place. It’s a fantastic album. And I want to end my little holiday letter by offering you its sentiment as a loving reminder for all of you in these times that so often cause us to fret. Yes, we are all acting in insane ways. We have become so deeply apathetic that at times I am embarrassed to share humanity with my daughter. Magnificent skills and important muscles that we need now more than ever seem to have completely atrophied, to such a radical degree that I am all but certain we won’t be able to resurrect those very useful human traits again. But friends, the Earth is not a cold dead place. Yes, contrary to what some of my hipster friends whom have become so jaded they suggest we ought all wait until the whole system fails before investing any of our time into anything worthwhile, “the system” is actually clearly getting stronger than ever before and shows no true signs of slowing itself anytime soon. It may very well be that the system doesn’t crash until society itself is made obsolete. But my dear, dear friends… The Earth is not a cold dead place. And for me, that is what the Solstice is all about, about remembering that the warmth of Light will eventually return, that our temporary pointless human dramas will one day all be devoured by the unquestionable supremacy of Nature and feed a time of hope far, far, far beyond now.
From our family to yours,
May the New Year bring Peace to you, and everyone who doesn’t look or think like you as well.
Explosions In The Sky
The Earth Is Not A Cold Dead Place
#MAYPEACEPREVAILONEARTH
Nice to hear about you guys. Miss ya!
I thought I gave you that album! Oh well. Memory is weird. May this season bring you continued warmth and joy and good listens. <3