Discovered someday too distant for any of us to imagine in dunes of radioactive dust by curious interplanetary explorers on what once was Earth, a single stone monument broke the endless sands and piles of tangled synthetic artifacts. The monolith’s sun-bleached surface was scribed with a simple message in dozens of languages. From what could be pieced together out of faint subaspace echoes of electromagnetic communication and odd bits of print (mostly on yellowed drink containers), the visitors’ portable devices were able to get the gist of the inscription. 

“You had to be there.”


Stop Buying In

Capitalism is so entrenched that we honestly believe it’s a means of expressing love, which predates money and requires nothing but itself. Unconditional love is reserved for the gods and new mothers. We forgot that we can all do it.

We aren’t encouraged to remember.

In our collective fatigue under what amounts to elective mental slavery we are too spent to see past the trap into the world we left behind for false security. We have lost touch with the human connection to the point where we offer each other symbols of our affections instead of ourselves.

We sell our real time to chase semi-real money (a symbol itself)  to buy these hollow placeholders. Eventually, only the symbol is there and the meaning is lost. The symbols fade into the background and we forget them.

The yearning for the love they’re meant to represent haunts us, but we stop knowing what it is or how to satiate it.

We are lost, desperate, and frenetic beneath a veneer of false connection so convincing that we have sworn allegiance to it and have forgotten it was a charade.

But enough lamentation. What do we do?

Stop giving presents. Start giving presence. Allow yourself to see and feel your wounds and do what you must to heal them. You owe it to yourself and everyone you care about to let yourself out of the prison of habit.

In time and with work your capacity for real love will return and become natural again. This time it will be inexhaustible because it comes from you and you won’t need the hollow-gram or the people you’ve given authority to, who dole out conditional approval in exchange for your compliance.

Because you’re becoming a producer instead of a consumer, you’ll be able to give of yourself without giving yourself away. Your love will be renewable and free in every sense. As intended.

That’s the true gift. Try it this season. Try it this moment. If you need help, get help. You deserve it and the people who really love you won’t see you as less than a champion for fighting to empower yourself.

Never stop trying.

The infant dreams, the Tannoy screams*

When you’re a kid you can believe anything. You can create any world you want. Society calls that pretending, and it’s fine. We celebrate the imagination of children and their right to play, to dream. We pretend we think it’s sacred, and we know beneath thought that it is.

At our best maybe we even defend their right. We tend to let marketing entities creep into their imaginations via entertainment because we’re all trying to do everything always and sacrifices are made. Screens are the demons of the age. We know better, we pull back, we minimize exposure and put them in dirt and water and what passes for wilderness in the terrarium we call a planet now. But the point is to try, to let discovery exist and inspire.

Then a kid gets to a certain age, and society decides it’s time to commandeer the imagination. “Ok, kid, you’re a master of hallucination. Now pretend we’re right. Pretend we know more than you and you have to do what we do or else you’re crazy.” We do what was done to us, without knowing.

And the order goes on. “Pretend all this is normal and ideal and worth the pain. Pretend your worth comes from the degree to which you can normalize a way of life contrary to your needs and instincts. Now forget how to pretend anything else. And don’t ever stop believing in the story we tell you, or you’re cut off. Play our game or you don’t get to play at all.”

We’re in an abusive relationship with ourselves and each other. All of us. We sign up for this and we cooperate. We synchronize to the slave drum and we wait our turn at both ends of the whip, vigilant against weaknesses in the chains. We slowly acquiesce, giving away our magic and wonder and gratitude and power. We grey and wilt.

We have been told it’s necessary, that we’ll be safe if we go along to get along. Exhausted, we go to sleep under that trance and live out a nightmare punctuated by dreams we don’t allow ourselves to indulge. And some people realize they’re asleep, and learn to dream on purpose.

We need those people right now. The kids greeting the world in this moment and those to come need them so they’ll have something to grow into. You got this far, so I know you are one. So the question I have for you is: What’s it going to be? Will you keep polishing the nightmare with your tears or will you let a little of your blood rebuild the soil in which we once grew dreams?

If you feel invisible,

1. These feelings are normal and more common than they may appear when you are in the grip of them. Social isolation is one of the oldest and deepest fears, and it triggers a prolonged “fight or flight” response that diminishes physical and mental health.

2. Above all, the human being is capable of transforming experience via small choices that develop into big ones. Do something good for yourself, something simple. Then when you can, do something good and simple for someone else. You may be surprised what comes of this.

3. “Invisibility” can be fun, once you learn to modulate it. And you can, and you will. It’s mostly mental. The most powerful 3 words are:




..and then whatever you fill the blank with.

So be careful what you wish for. 

It ain’t rocket science, but it might help you escape gravity.


Life is crazy. This is A Strange Moment. A vital time of change as one world falls away under its own putrefaction and another rises (in potential) to replace it. Want to be part of the sequel instead of hating the endless remake? Work on you, and ripple out. Get your mind right so you aren’t flying blind or whistling past the graveyard.

Meditation doesn’t have to be a martial art or a a holy ordeal. Those are the tricks that keep us locked into obsession with the thoughts. It’s how ego keeps you on house arrest.

They aren’t evil, you aren’t crazy, you aren’t failing at being good. They’re just thoughts, mostly automatic. Ants after sugar, nothing more. You can spend your life at war with them or brush them away and keep 

You aren’t your tummy rumbles, your itches, your half asleep stumbling pisses or your sleep-farts. Likewise, you aren’t your thoughts.

It’s the reaction that counts, everywhere and always. Your relationship with life comes down to your choice of reaction. 

Carve out a slice of timespace for yourself. Sit down. Hush. And “watch the weather change.” Keep going until it doesn’t piss you off. It’ll take eventually. You’re never done. But you’ll get more ready, and you’ll start to duck before the bullets.

May you find peace, even if it’s just half a second today. It’s a start. The rest is just loving yourself enough to practice. I trust you to do that. For you, and the better world to come. 

Opposites Distract

You are on a path, moving toward truth. You see it peaking over the mountain, and begin to move swiftly toward it.


A peal of thunder deafens you, as a blinding strike of lightning hits ground not 20 feet from your face. You open your eyes, stunned. As attention retunes and vision returns, you now face a wall too high to see beyond, and as wide as the horizon. Your path stops here, flanked by two identical doors.

You hear the rattling of doorknobs and the creaking of hinges. Each door cracks open, and while the interiors are obscured you note what you can see.

The floor of each is tiled in checkerboard, and in each room, the silhouette of a figure tilts toward you. You hear two throats clearing, and then..

“This way! I’ll show you the way to a perfect future, all these corruptions undone. We welcome everyone, and soon everyone will be part of our unified system where all are the sa—I mean, equal! Just a bit of flexibility on your part, a few rights sacrificed, for the cause.”

“No, no, ignore that utopian fool and come this way! The old ways are best, and I can take you back to a time before all this corrosive progress. We can make this land great again. The way it was, before that one’s kind spoiled it for us. God’s on our side, kid. Right this way.”

You have to choose, and yet you hesitate. Something seems amiss. Can you remember what it was? What do you do? Are you bound to choose between the only two apparent options, or is there more beyond the facade?

Human minds are addicted to the assignment of all things to polarity. Order and chaos are no exception. People want security above all, and so they box the world up to try and own and run it, or shrug their shoulders and give up on personal responsibility in favor of moral relativism. Is it all chaos, or is it an intricate web of conspiracies and bureaucracy?

It seems to be both. Order is imposed on the perceived chaos of nature by man, who deems it wrong because it is uncomfortable. Nature perfected order before man, but it's too subtle for most of us to notice. So it goes also with autonomous societies existing in parallel with the Death Grid. Manmade order tends toward the pathological, and begets the hellscapes occasionally discussed here. The option (the Web or Life, in this case) waits, for aeons if necessary, for us to come around. And we will, in good time.

The frantic ones who say it's all planned down to the atom shrink life to the size of a panopticon prison cell, and in their fear offer no candle against the shadows. Trouble abounds, to be sure, but speak of solutions or get off the stage. The smug nihilist hipster tadpoles preaching no future and no agency of individual control leave the gate open for malevolence to operate with elbow room, and tend to help it along unconsciously or otherwise. Surprise, y’all. Complaint without contribution means you’re working for The Man.

The options as advertised are dead ends, and we do ourselves little favor when we take the shapes of someone else’s jars. If you haven’t figured it out yet, that Death Grid that chokes the earth is powered by the savage fight-or-flight emotions at the bottom of the brain (Hell) rather than the top shelf imagination and problem solving of the higher levels (Heaven). So be contrary to yourself now and then. Make a third way when there seems to be one. Ever wonder why so many religions, philosophies, artists, musicians, and architects are hung up on triples? Take a hint, and travel well.






Rope for Quicksand

Think of intersecting circles in empty space. Imagine one ablaze with light and complexity, and the other impossibly dark and bereft of detail. In the center, the overlap, the vesica piscis, is where the experience of life happens for you and me and everyone who is.

Now, activate that almond by zooming in mentally on the overlapped space. Bring it near, and rotate it until you can see the waveforms forming its surface. Uncountable layers are interwoven, yet each has a signature, a fingerprint.

Find yours. Let the others blur for now. Do you see it? Do you see a familiar loop of oscillations? Zoom out and you see childhood spike into adolescence and flatten into adulthood. Zoom in and you'll see this year, this month, this week. You'll notice the crests and troughs as your line meanders toward All and toward  Nothing.

Maybe the moments of proximity to All seem few and far between, and downright miraculous. Never let them lose the luster, even after you've seen them become the new standard. The closer you are, the more luminous the colors, the sweeter the sounds, the more gorgeous the patterns, the better the luck. "It's magic. You know. Never believe it's not so." You can go a little too far here in the gravity of astonishment, so keep a silver cord anchored back at center.

But there are those other moments, when you float into the Dark. The colors fade to grey, the music's out of tune, every face is the grimace of a ghost and every day is like Sunday. What grew is wilting, the senses assault you, and your legs and bedsheets weigh a thousand pounds. Your hell has frozen over and you're hollow, hopeless, mute.

Don't worry, you can modulate this.

Zoom in until you can see the ripples from individual actions and their echoes. That's the dataset you need, Programmer. Now call up the controls. Put all your strength into turning that first dial: contrast. Now you can really see those lines of force. Follow them through the fog of doubt into the light of possibility, wherein you may engineer solutions.

People may tell you to turn Brightness instead. It can wait. Do your work and the lights will come on just fine without you forcing them. There, see that? Each step reveals the next with clarity. But hang on. Maybe you couldn't find the Control Panel. Maybe it's covered in dust and dog hair and spent burrito paper. The system has provided a workaround. Look around for that blinking yellow light and listen for that overly polite squeaking siren.

Summon your strength and punch that button. Hit it like it gives you oxygen, because it will. Don't be alarmed when the emergency lights come on. It's all to help. You have taken the first step and you will not walk alone.

Please hold while we connect you with Technical Support. We're so glad you called.