Seems like this started with ‘might makes right,’ like the strongest caveman controlled the wealth. Then eventually the smartest controlled the strongest. That is the game now. The ones in charge are not only highly educated, but educated in the right way, meaning they are privy to the info that allows them be in the best position to run things and stay out of sight. Until the Tao rules again it will be this way.
But the real treasure holders, of any age, will always be the ones with the most intuition, because that is reward in itself. Unlike might or intelligence, which are tethered with responsibility and pride, intuition has the potential to bring us freedom.
[photo: flickr creative commons by Orin Zebest]
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The idea that anarchy equals chaos and violence is the strangest thing to me, because it seems to me that civilization, no matter what form it takes, is nothing other than a variable state of anarchy.
Let’s say we start with a typical vision of anarchy; everyone just does whatever the hell they want. Well, in a situation like that you start to get people teaming up in order to defend themselves, assert their wills and stake their claims. Soon you have groups of groups, organizations, orders. Each group will find some set of ideals that they bond over as a guiding truth for their endeavors. Before long you have groups within groups vying for power over the whole group. Sound familiar?
At what point does a mess like that stop being anarchy? If anarchy is just everyone doing whatever they want, I say we cannot have anything but anarchy. No matter why we say we do things, we are still deciding what we will do, within the limits of our capabilities. There are always limits.
For me the question then is not “anarchy or order?” Because I feel that any order is just a style of anarchy, the question becomes “what style of anarchy?” My answer is something like Zenarchy.
Some define Zenarchy as the society that arises from meditation. That is a fine vision, but I not only disagree with the definition but I also would not really want to live in a world where it is just people sitting around in meditation all the time. That sounds like a world of psychic self-manipulation.
I say that Zen has little to nothing to do with meditation. Zen is the point beyond meditation, a point that does not require meditation to arrive at. Zen is something we cannot actually describe, only experience. It is a point that is both ultimately destructive and ultimately creative.
In this light, a Zenarchy is what I have in mind. I see a world of silent sorcerers, passionately dancing with the infinite, wildly in love with each other. But we could not choose this world, for if we did it would be a lie. No, my vision of utopia could only arise of its own accord, out of the nothing. All we can do is turn to face it, and say hi.
Of course, at this point in my rant I must admit that this is the world we already live in, the only world we can live in. Except for the love. Oh this ineffable, self-arising love…
(photo courtesy flickr creative commons, by elfon)
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What follows is a retelling of a rather epic dream I had some time ago. I decided to play with the medium a bit, and created a series of serial tweets to relay the tale. The goal here was to not only express the dynamic flow and scope of the dream, but to also encapsulate each little moment, each pass of focus, into a single tweet worth reading on its own.
I originally planned to release 3 tweets a day for 8 days. But on the 5th day I got tired of holding it back and released the rest in one go. Besides, I only have 12 followers (on Twitter.com) at present, so what does it matter? I am obviously doing this for myself, lol.
Overall I would say I am very happy with the results. As I recently posted, about dream tweeting, I find this approach in connecting with dreams both fun and useful. So allowing for a little more space, 24 tweets in total, gave me a chance to see that this format has a lot to offer.
05.10.2011
A rumbling in the desert; the land ripples like the sea. Thunder rolls in from all directions. & then, silence… as the first arrive.1/24
On the edge a small group of autos sit still, their occupants standing by in awe of not just what they see, but more so what they feel.2/24
A newborn crevice, a mile long & wide, reveals what ages kept hidden. From the broken open chamber’s floor rises a lost city of stone.3/24
06.10.2011
From around the world we are called. Visions of the desert stir in us & we cannot resist. Lives are left behind without a thought.4/24
By the time the military arrive we are already so many down in the city that all they can do is fence the newcomers out.5/24
A caravan of military approach; the presumed reinforcements. They do not stop at the boundary. They enter, & join in the discovery.6/24
07.10.2011
Nightfall is quiet. People make camp & explore. There is a common sense of connection, purpose. The stars seem alive in the sky.7/24
She walks with Him through the old stone buildings. No remnants of culture remain. Just walls, portals, stairs. Dawn dimly approaches.8/24
“I don’t like it here, I want to leave,” He whines for the hundredth time. Fed up, She says “fine” & they walk to the boundary.9/24
08.10.2011
From concealed in the sand soldiers rise, just inside the fence, blocking their path. Fear courses through Him, but She is knowing.10/24
“These soldiers guard us,” She speaks her realization aloud. Then they all know, but only the soldier speaks, “Somebody’s been killed.”11/24
In the city center, now a parking lot campground, all gather to see a single figure hanging. He betrayed his gang, & paid the price.12/24
09.10.2011
The bikers sit about in vile smugness, feeling they own the place already. But all eyes are on them now, drawing close about.13/24
“You are going to have to leave now.” The Big Guy faces off with the biker’s Leader, who’s only reply is, “make me.”14/24
The action is over fast, with Leader on the ground. The connection deepens between the gathered. The rest feel even farther away.15/24
“Those who do not understand: you may remain. But none will be allowed to get in our way.” Big Guy’s voice is heard by all.16/24
The gates open & some depart with backwards looks of mixed fear & envy. Most remain, including a surprising one, now alone.17/24
A lone biker stays behind. “I have no idea what is going on here, but I will be damned if I miss out on whatever it is.” People smile.18/24
Stairs are followed into the depths of the city. A vast chamber, with a 3D, luminescent map of the stars, is explored & recorded.19/24
The work goes on for days as they take in the skymap, none knowing or caring why. All at once, all faces turn to the sky.20/24
Outside, the flying saucers at last arrive. But what steps out is nothing other than human. The Genius Underground have arrived.21/24
“We have been in hiding in South America,” explains the old professor, with wild, white hair. “We built our ships & waited for a sign.”22/24
We stand on the edge of the ship’s ramp as it lifts off into the sky. The clouds part & we leave behind our world, to find others.23/24
“Don’t worry,” consoles the professor to his daughter, who looks longingly back at Earth as it grows distant in space. “We’ll be back.”24/24
(photo courtesy creative commons, by ian.plumb)
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I am not sure what to think about dreams, but I am addicted. Many years back I undertook it to try and connect more deeply with my dreams, with my dreaming self. I studied and practiced all sorts of the techniques that are out there; journalling, revisiting, sharing, deconstructing. They were all very interesting and definitely brought a deeper access to these enigmatic realms. But overall I would say that it was a hell of a lot of work (on many levels), and that by connecting to my dreams through such effort, I felt I was creating a relationship quality with them that I did not want.
I tried then to just let the techniques go, tried to just let the dreams come to me. Of course, that didn’t work as well. Somehow the energy invested in dream practices is what creates the stronger connection, and by just sitting and waiting for dreams, no draw is created to bring them to shore.
So I have been striving not to strive, hoping to one day find a way to feel a simple, organic connection with the morphaic. On one side of this I know that the dreamers of old needed no techniques, no journals, no discussion groups, to reach their other half. But then on the other side, our world is so pathologically opposed to what we are that it seems to take an equally pathological level of action (ie, dream journalling for hours every day) to establish and maintain what seems to me would be a natural state.
For now my experiment continues, trying to find a happy medium. Lately I have begun tweeting my dreams. I rather like this. It is similar to the practices where one tries to give each dream a name that distills the essence of it down to a simple statement. With a tweet (140 characters) I have a bit more space to define the energy of each dream, but certainly not enough to go into the vast details that regular journalling usually entails. This has, so far, allowed me to engender an intentional movement towards a deepening connection, without allowing the compulsive and obsessive mind a place to enter in and ruin it all.
I touch, I sample, and I journey on.
(photo used under the creative commons license, by a little tune)
]]>The story is called Genius Underground. It is from an epic dream I had, the details of which I simply cannot forget. So this qualifies as micro fiction, twitter serial, and a dream I suppose. Way to bring it all together.
The story beginnings of the story can be found now @wildharmonic. I will be posting 3 tweets a each morning for 8 days, starting today, for a total of 24 tweets to complete the epic tale 
You can always wait until I have posted the entire serial, which will then be brought over here to my blog for easy reading. But if you are a Twitter micro fiction fiend, then get over there now!
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I think the pagans are right. I think the monotheists are right. I think the atheists are right. I only say this because this has been my undeniable first hand experience through inquiry. From where I sit, all views are right in their essence. Not just in a tolerance sort of way either. I mean, I get each one, and feel that I am authentically experiencing each one from time to time. But what do I do with this information (other than blog about it, lol)?
Well, I could start preaching it. Trying to pry minds away from having just one view. The problem though is that this ends up being just one more view, the “all and everything” view. One form of fundamentalism replaces the many.
“I’ve learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel.”
If I think that everyone should see things the way I do, I am trying to establish a way. If I think everyone should see things the way they do, again, I am establishing a way, even if it is a way of no way. The whole thing is a mess in the mind. I really can’t come up with a solution within the mind. I really can’t put in to words what I wish I could celebrate with everyone I meet.
“Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don’t matter and those who matter don’t mind.”
Both And. Neither Neither. Being not inside nor outside, not somewhere nor nowhere. It’s a gamble. See you here. 
(image courtesy flickr creative commons)
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The mythic being Kokopelli has become an icon representing a wild passion for life, the playful fertility of creativity and the sly character of trickery that brings forth beauty through opposites. The origins of this being are quite sketchy. According to the scholarly research (see Kokopelli – The Magic, Mirth, and Mischief of an Ancient Symbol, by Dennis Slifer) he is most likely a modern invention, being a composite, a reworking of ancients symbols and various aspects of different beings from different traditions. But even if this being is the result of a contemporary spin on old ideas, I do not think that invalidates the potential authenticity of the teachings he has to offer. That this being’s stories have taken root and blossomed is a sign to me that there is life and magic at hand.
Most often Kokopelli is the flutist. One story I have read (from Sacred Path Cards, by Jamie Samms) tells it that Kokopelli was from the ancient city of Teotihuacán, a civilization of powerful mystics and creators. It is said that Kokopelli was a musician and flute maker, and that he would travel throughout the distant lands bringing his music and craft to the peoples he found. It is also said that he was of the blood of the gods, and so in each village he visited he would have sex with the young women so that the blood lines of the tribes would be infused with that of the gods. Sounds like a good gig. Definitely something one could only get away with in myth. But I think there is something more to be learned from the stories of Kokopelli than just what we would see on the surface.
“All Magick is sexual. Indeed, all life is sexual. It is either overt or implied, invoked or directed, stored or released. The Mass of the Roman Catholic Church is every bit as much a pantomime of the sex act as the “Great Rite” of the witches. The real question is “what is sex symbolic of?”
~ Lon Milo Duquette,
The Magick of Aleister Crowley: A Handbook of the Rituals of Thelema
It could be said that existence in its basic duality is the play of the something within the infinite field of the nothing. Everything that exists (the something) does so in space (the nothing). Many teachings point to the space as the essential ground of our being, that which we truly, unchangeably are. If you are feeling like you are falling backwards down a waterfall, then you understand what I am talking about.
The two create each other. It is not something I or anyone else can prove to another, but it is undeniably so to all who would dare to skrye into their own beingness deep enough to find the empty core. From this breaking free, certain truths unfold themselves in such a way that to grasp them one has to continuously let go.
There are a great number of methods, both modern and ancient, proposed to help one into this space of direct apprehension of their ineffable selves. They range from dynamic magical acts to absolutely still meditative disciplines. Something for everyone. And somewhere in the middle I find Kokopelli telling me the story of the rout he offers: Silence and Creation.
Kokopelli’s flute is symbolic of the male energies, the material, the seed. It is often called the fertility flute. It is also called the courtship flute. On one level, to play it is to invoke forth the creative urge of procreation, the blessing of bountiful harvest, the grace of prosperous fortune for the people. But it also has this deeper potential. Listening to the sounds of the flute, or rather, listening to the silence between the sounds of the flute is a means of allowing the mind to relax enough to tune into the ebb and flow of the energies of life. When this relaxation sets in what is revealed is what is behind the sounds; the silence, the space. This emptiness is the great womb of life, and Kokopelli’s musical notes are the seeds to fertilize it. He plays to court the love of this silence, the embrace of this space into our lives. It is a seduction of the presence by the will. It is not easily invocable, but when it does occur it is the revelation of the sublime interwoveness of all reality, an awakening to the stillness and play that is the very fabric of all.
(digital illustration of kokopelli by me)
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