Dear Family

The table is set.

The turkey is carved, the bread is broken, and the wine is poured. The windows are slightly cracked and fresh, new life air is streaming in, carrying the waves of rich fulfillment with every oscillation. There is nothing here at this banquet that is withheld from you. You are invited and there is enough for everyone. But, oh, the things we tangle ourselves with. Though the fragrance pass just now and again through the nostrils of the family quarreling in the living room, the chef and servers stand ready to bless your weary, aching hearts with the most healing fruits and rich desserts and belly warmth, if only we would end the scalping, the stabbing, the unholy spray of spit and searing speech. A banquet room of refreshment and grace is waiting around the corner just as soon as we drop our blades and purge our poison.

* * *

To those of color:

I hear your cries. I see that you're hurting. I see that you are desperate for your soul to be heard and I see that you want to be seen by the rest of us. I see that you long for a society that bestows your dignity as it does its founders. Regardless of media sensation or the vengeful narratives spray painted on city streets, our country's history has not proven kind to you. Wickedness of the father carries on through the generations and we don't realize just how young we are. We claim "all men are equal" yet too often, our true beliefs, our actions, do not match that claim. How many more decades must pass for us to learn? You are not simply an individual. You're a member of a family whose past is sacred and marked with scars and pain and injustice. What wisdom do you have to share to the rest of us? What profundity could come of your sure suffering inflicted by ancient sin?

We need to hear your voice.

To those sworn to serve and protect:

You've sacrificed so much to be our nation's sheepdogs, volunteering for a line of work that sees you bear so much responsibility for the reprehensible. You worked so hard for your badge and desire so deeply to uphold an ideal, an ideal that says our streets should be a welcome, secure place for children and pets and families of any shape and size. You patrol our corridors late at night while the world slumbers. You've prevented more dark unrest than we know to thank you for. You're terribly taken for granted. But you continue to volunteer your services for the sake of what you uphold. Your family knows the sincerity of your work and adapts to your incredibly demanding schedule. Your organization may not be perfect - it shares that trait with any institution conjured by humans - but every day, you take a risk on others' behalf. What can you tell us about protecting our own homes?

We need your dedication.  

To the LGBTQ community:

You have traveled a road many of us cannot relate to. To engage in the greater community, to find your place in our tribe, has presented barriers I cannot imagine. In your heart, you do not wish ill on anyone and only want to make sense of your life and where you can find meaning there. And there is certainly meaning there. You have more to contribute to our country's well-being than most of us realize. Your struggle is not in vain, even if it is largely misunderstood. You don't deserve labels other than a human being that carries a divine spark just like the rest of us. You are loved. What can you teach us about love?

We need your story. 

To the Veteran:

You did not volunteer to go to war to come home to an America that was at war with itself. You freely choose to risk the ultimate sacrifice so that a mostly ungrateful people could continue to thrive. You know better than any of us the price of peace and freedom. You know that these virtues do not come without a bitter fight. You know the nature of that battle. You look around and see so many taking that for granted. It is all of our responsibilities to pitch in to that fight, to make sacrifices to buttress that peace. You happen to be the one that carries an M4. As you trained to disarm IEDs, engage in close quarters combat, jump out of airplanes, maintain our aircraft, submarines, tanks, hovercrafts, and aircraft carriers, you keep the fabric of this country's pillars maintained. Downrange, you experienced the brutal end results of racial and cultural unrest. What a tremendous amount you must have to tell us about in our own.

We need your leadership. 

To the young women: 

How much incredible potential you have to breathe life into our world. You face a challenge this author never will. In many ways, this may seem like a man's world you have to navigate. You may well have experienced inequality rooted in our ancient sins and it stings. You're compelled to fight back, to make a stand, to engage in good work and show the world just how strong you are, just how capable you are, just how much you matter. But men are not your enemy. You may feel objectified, taken for granted, and suppressed by the opposite sex. And those things happen and it's not okay. But most of your brothers want what's best for you. They want to see you succeed. It's just that the amplitude of hatred issuing from those that do not have a terrible tenancy to drown out those that do. The energy you have to overcome can change the world. How much more are you capable of?

We need your tenderheartedness. 

To the young men:

You face a modern challenge that many of your ancestors did not. America has lost its healthy initiation rites it needs to launch its young kings and princes into their God-given roles. You may have felt forgotten, left out in the wake of a backlash against wrongs not your own, and hope may feel lost. You're having trouble finding your place in a tribe that so desperately needs you to take up your cross and carry us into the next generation. You are a load-bearing creature, designed to do good work and carry a burden. And we have plenty of burden that needs carrying. While it may sound daunting, it is through this suffering that you will come to know who you are, and there's nothing better than that. You will receive scars, be pierced by thorns and wrapped with thistles. You'll learn betrayal and the high value of trust and it will come at a very high cost. But this is the way. No one else can show us that way but you. While you're on that journey, remember just how immensely valuable the female spirit of our world is, regardless of what surface stories may or may not tell. What boundless ideas do you have that are yet to be discovered?

We need your diligent spirit. 

To those of other minorities: 

Your family chose to find posterity in this crazy human experiment emblazoned on a statue near Ellis Island. We opened our arms to peoples of many tongues, faiths, colors, and ethnicities but weren't prepared to receive you as we should have. This land's original native founders can attest to this. But this was a beautiful experiment, for many tribes to collectively join as one like no other country every has. God only knows what we can accomplish when the Indian, native and eastern alike, have a place at the negotiation table. Your particularities that some of us find odd are the very thing that give our colorful nation its attractive light on our hilltops. For over 200 years we've tried to understand how to give you a voice, too, and we're continuing to figure that out. What can you teach us about patience and long suffering?

We need your courage. 

To the God-fearing:

You were raised with your eyes set on the stars. You've been taught that there's such a thing as real good and evil and you want nothing more than to see God's goodness triumph over the devil's evil. As you engage in this holy calling, remember that the dividing line between good and evil runs right down the center of your heart. The most radical and powerful change you will see in this world is within yourself. The spirit is far more mysterious than we could ever understand. Whenever you see anything across our chaotic landscape that resonates authentic love, peace, and hope, that spirit can only have one source. That Source moves in such unsearchable, hidden ways. When you encounter what you deem wrong and you are compelled to do something about it, remember that a hand of compassion and a mind of humility are your models. God joins in His creation in its suffering and so, too, do you. How much can you teach us about compassion?

We need your prayers. 

To the politician:

You've chosen a profession more rife with danger and traitorism than most could ever imagine. Change was your cause and public service was your station. None of us realize how complex a job it is to keep a Government on its feet. The mystery isn't why our State doesn't collapse into ruin. The mystery is how it is upheld at all. You volunteered to represent us. You are us. You have an office that enables the rest of us to pursue life, liberty, and property. What do you receive in return for your efforts? Mostly pitchforks and torches. But you are us. You've answered a call to participate in democracy, a revolutionary ideal millions of years in the making, and it couldn't happen without you. Where on Earth is our sympathy?

We need your service. 

To the skeptic: 

You are a student of history. You know the capacity for human gullibility and you're not going to join a mass that follows an ideology. You have so much to offer. Humans have fallen for so much, making decisions not on rational, inclusive dialogue but on the charisma of nefarious leadership. Today our country cries out for action. What action appeals to you? What are you compelled to do now? You cannot find your meaning in questioning alone. As the last sun sets on your life, you'll say you were only on a quest for truth. You'll contend that your criticisms weren't to burn the world around you down but to discern what is truly good and what is seriously harmful. What have you found to be truly good?

We need your discretion.

To those with prejudice in their hearts:

You have been hurt. Someone has wronged you or your family or your family before you. In your effort to protect those you love from harm, you've erected walls to keep out those things you've deemed a threat. And boundaries are good and healthy and everyone needs to learn to sort the wheat from the chaff. But we must also remember that keeping bad things out is only half of the job. We must also let good things in. Sometimes those good things come in a package that we're not familiar with, wrapped in a color seemingly unsavory. But just because something is unfamiliar doesn't make it bad. The caveman had to venture from the fire if he ever wanted to discover anything new and wonderful and vital to the thriving of his tribe.

We need your swords to plowshares. 

* * *

The table is set. 

Custard and Ontology

One of my favorite TV shows in early high school was Braniac: Science Abuse. Hosted by Richard Hammond, they endeavored to answer such questions as how many liquor-filled chocolates would you have to eat before your BAC is too high to drive? What temperature must a sausage reach before it bursts into flames? How long a line can you draw with a pin before it runs out of ink? And so on. On one fateful episode, they attempted to walk across a pool filled with custard, a corn starch-based egg colored dessert. What's special about custard is that it's considered a "non Newtonian fluid," meaning it doesn't behave by Newtons' classic viscosity laws. When custard is at rest or has very little outside influence, it flows like a liquid. The moment you put it under stress, it suddenly resists movement and  essentially becomes solid. Little did the TV hosts know, they just created a miniature universe in a fun-sized pool.

Adam's Potential

If you recall your days in early science classes, you'll no doubt remember the solar-system looking structure that depicted an atom: a nucleus in the middle surrounded by electrons at different energy levels. Well, as we've discovered more and more about atoms, we found out that atoms are further reducible to elementary particles. Deeper still. What are these particles? Energy. So far as we can reduce down what matter is made of, it collapses down to measuring wavelengths. The Universe is a collection of wavelengths, literally nothing but energy. Stop and think about that. We used to think that atoms were like those vortexes we see in the desert, an interaction of wind energy and sand particles. But, no, atoms, as we zoom in on them and measure them from the quantum perspective, are nothing but energy.  As soon as we try and measure, for example, the location of an electron our data collapses and either we can know its momentum or its location, but not both. This is the uncertainty principle. And yet here you are, reading these words with that matter that constitutes your eyeballs and optic nerves.

Since we are all energy, we all radiate wavelengths. Plants, and all living things, give off their own frequency of energy. Depending on the states of those wavelengths the moment a photon from the sun interacts with the cell walls, the photon will find some points of entry that have less disturbance than others. When a photon from the sun strikes a leaf to initiate photosynthesis, each individual photon has a mysterious capability to experience all possible pathways at a single point in time as it's taken up into the plant to be converted to usable energy. If we were to come along and measure with our Newtonian-based tools, the path that photon takes collapses down and before our very eyes, picks one or the other. Something about interacting with the quantum realm makes things behave as if it were in the Newtonian realm.

This phenomena was discovered in the famous double slit experiment. We discovered that light and electrons travel and behave as both waves and particles, energy and matter, potential and actual. But what was it that made something behave as a wave suddenly behave as an individual particle? It was the measuring itself. All other things being equal, when the human being contended with the space between potential and actual, that action was what brought about something mysterious into something concrete.

In classic physics, we can know how objects behave when we know its starting point. If we know its position in space, mass, velocity and its resistance, we can, with 100% certainty know where it's going to go. Newtonian physics uses the term "potential energy" to describe the energy contained in an object with a particular mass at a particular height above the ground or the "potential" in a coiled spring. Knowing the force of gravity and air resistance, we can plot an object's trajectory without fail.

But I would suggest that "potential" is not the correct word here. If we know exactly how it will behave given these parameters, it's not potential, it's completely known. The action of releasing the spring or dropping an object is of no consequence because the outcome has zero Mystery attached to it. The turning of "potential" into kinetics has already been "done" in the equation so acting it out with concrete objects is no different. It's equally as concrete to mathematically describe the behavior of falling rocks as it is to observe falling rocks under identical conditions described in the numbers. Converting the numbers into objects with properties is not an act of converting something unknown into something known. At best, it is a lateral shift in description of being. If all the world were fully governed by Newtonian physics, free will collapses. We could theoretically reduce human behavior down to Newtonian "potential" and plug him into an equation and out pops deterministic philosophy. All human behavior is nothing more than a lateral transfer of inconsequential action, vanilla entropy. There is no meaning because everything may as well already be known. There is no true conversion of unknown into know, it is merely an alteration in types, from paper equation to falling rocks. To find meaning, we must traverse the Ontological Triangles (pictured below) up and down, not left to right.

Something with potential, as I define it here, is something that is not fully known and has an element of Mystery and that Mystery, from the perspective of Adam (which here refers to all humankind as the Hebrew Bible defines it), can be converted from something with greater uncertainty into something with less uncertainty. Our Dreams turn to Poetry. Our Poetry turns to Action. We metamorph disorder and unknowing into order and knowing. The unknown of the electron as a wave becomes the known of an electron as a particle the instant Adam contends and interacts with the quantum Mystery. Simply by existing and having consciousness, Adam's atoms transmute into concrete matter from potential wavelengths. Observation from an agent collapses the Universe's energy fields from potential into actual.

The quantum realm is so mysterious to us because it's that realm where nothing but potential exists. It's what is prior to the action of Adam converting a Dream into an Action.  The deeper we gaze into the nature of what we're made of, as we peel back the layers of Mystery, that Mystery collapses into a singular concrete thing in the event of an Action. The coalescence of Dream converting to Action or true potential converting to actual is the moment Richard Hammond steps onto a miniature lake of custard and so long as he keeps moving, he won't sink. The Action of engaging with what was once liquid, unknown, chaos, converts that essence into something you can walk on, concrete, ordered. Adam cannot grasp both at once (uncertainty principle) in exactly the same manner as Adam cannot dream of something in the same instant as he acts that same something out into existence.

We are energy but the moment, called the present, Adam contends with that energy it becomes matter. Slap that custard. We cannot contend with all things at all times, thus the vast majority of the Universe is glorious potential. Most of what is is a Dream and our lives are the beautiful enactment of Dreams to Actions mediated through Poetry.

Dreams, Poetry, Action

If we want to know what someone is up to, what their story is, what they're doing in their life to turn potential into actual, we look at what they're doing right now, right this instant. We find someone stacking brinks, which means they're taking action on a Dream to build a cathedral. There are intermediates to this process that I refer to here as Poetry, or art if you like. Poetry is the first pass at articulating a Dream into reality. It's an in between step from Adam's Dreams and ambition to Adam's acting things out in the world.

The closer we get to concrete Action, the higher resolution we can describe that Action and the Mystery of what you're up to collapses into bricklaying, typing on a keyboard, or oration. Those are the fine tipped points at the bottom of the red triangle pictured below. The moment a child is born, you can see right there in the delivery room Dreams coming into reality and Mystery falls away. The moment you embrace your spouse in a pure, loving kiss, all time concentrates in that space and there is no question about your connection, about your being. Your trajectory as parents or lovers on this Earth is the most real thing there is. Action following a Dream articulated through Poetry in an instant of time is our truest reality of what is.

The moment the Christ was born, there could be no greater Mystery. A fine tipped point in time for God maximized the Mystery of what He was up to, represented by the bottom of the purple triangle. It's the exact reverse of Adam's contention with existence. If we want to see what God is up to, we look to history and the more history that encompasses our view, the clearer the picture. God's story is a photographic mosaic, understood best at a distance. Why else would most of the New Testament tie itself in with a story that was thousands of years in the making? "This was done to fulfill what the prophets said," is basically saying, take about 10 steps back and look at the picture now. The highest resolution of what God is up to is seen across the greatest span of time possible, His Dreams.

For Elohim - which here refers to the spiritual nature of existence: God, the divine counsel, and the image of God in man - the least amount of Mystery resides in Dreams themselves. Before the beginning, everything that existed was a Dream. "We declare God’s wisdom, a mystery that has been hidden and that God destined for our glory before time began" -2 Corinthians 2:7. To Elohim, the most real thing, or perhaps, least Mysterious thing or the thing with the greatest amount of articulation and definition, is a Dream. With time in the equation, to know what Elohim is up to, we look to that Dream as the spirit's greatest level of instantiation over all history. The more time is considered, the further we step back from the mosaic, the more of Elohim that is instantiated, represented by the purple triangle below. For Adam, the closer he is to the present moment, the more instantiated he becomes, represented by the red triangle in the diagram.

To "instantiate" across all time may seem to you incomprehensible - how can spirit be the most fully articulated across all instances? But I would argue that to instantiate, or to be maximally articulate into a singular moment is equally as unknowable. As soon as it's here, it's gone. How much time exists in the "present"? At least we can attempt to write all history down across the world's libraries and take a crack at a collective understanding of the fullness of Creation's Dreams. It's the present moment that's slippery. The present is represented in the Ontological Triangles where the red triangle's point meet's the purple triangles' bottom. "All History" is represented by the reverse of that, or the top portion of the red triangle.

A Holy Echo: Ontological Triangles

Connection with the Word

There seem to be three articulated divisions that move us from Dream to Action. If that is true of reality, we should see this pattern everywhere. I see it right there in the trinity: The Father, the Dreamer, the Holy Spirit, the Poet, and the Christ, the Actor.

Consider how the Father Dreams and the Christ acts out those Dreams in a submissive manner. "It is only for the Father to know." As the Christ was acting out the Dream of the Father during his time on earth, even this person of the trinity didn't have full knowing of the Dreams of his Father. It was Christ's role to demonstrate what it looks like to transmute Dreams into form. At creation, the Elohim of Elohim took what was ostensibly full order and form and breathed it into something that was formless and void. He created Adam to contend with the task of turning formless things into those things that are formed and He sent Christ to show us how it's done. A holy echo.

What about the Holy Spirit as Poet? Poetry rings with the truth with something akin to articulation bred with song and flow. I think the artistic nature of the Holy Spirit allows us to experience the bridge not so much between Elohim and Adam, but between Dreams and Action. Where Christ is the door to knowing the Father, the Holy Spirit is the chaperone. Why else is music, dance, or simply, worship so universally recognized as an innate magnet that draws us to something beyond ourselves? Poetry is the rhythmic ceremony that marries Action to Dream. Poetry tells us that our bricklaying has meaning, that there is a Dream of a cathedral that we are actively participating in. A symphony orchestra is so evocative because it's frequency speaks to our hearts.

Humans are energy that create matter out of meaningful contention. Our very heart space emits an electromagnetic frequency that speaks to other people. We can tell others have a good or bad vibe based on the frequencies emanating from their hearts. Every cell in our body has a membrane coated in receptor proteins that serve as antenna and send messages through the cytoplasm via effector proteins and speaks to its organelles. Some of these proteins pick up on invisible environmental energy wavelengths and once received, send messages out to the rest of the body for an appropriate response. A holy echo. A relationship is formed out of a sounding through of one another flowing into a deeper knowing over time. Modern living has numbed us to these supposed superpowers that humans have always possessed. Phones replace our microscopic sensory abilities in large part.

Our hearts are covered in these receptors and its very own nervous system sends messages to the brain in the forms of positive or negative emotions following our sensory cells picking up subtle messages found in the environment, from someone's vibration to their micro-expressions on their faces. The heart space is the intermediary between something Mysterious, like the first reaction to interacting with another human, and the Action we take following. That's why it's written, if you seek me you will find me if you seek me with all your heart. (Jeremiah 29:13) Descriptions of the heart and emotions should not all be written off as merely word play. The process of seeking is done right there at the center between high and low resolution. Poetry is the art of nesting with the divine. That's were we seem to find the Holy Spirit.

To engage with the trinity, I think addressing each person at each level of Time and Mystery can open up the way we relate to the divine. The Christ is there to be a lamp to our feet, showing the very next Action but nothing more. The breath of life fills a room when we worship by uttering melodic Poetry as we adjust our heart frequencies. The Father is who we go to when our Dreams are too small. When in doubt, rest in the Holy Spirit, where meditations are born, a portal to peace.

As we zoom in on our atomic nature, it's almost as if we're taking a trip starting with the Christ holding the electron microscope, appreciating the structure and physics of seeing and receiving as we peer into the lens with the breath of the Spirit, and as we break down Newtonian laws and the Mystery of energy and matter reach their maximum point, there's the Father smiling right back.

A holy echo.

The Center

In my diagram one triangle lies above and separated from the other but they are still part of the same Being. What is it that connects Adam's being with Elohim's being? What meshes these two things together? It's something like the same thing that wove Eden with Heaven. The Genesis story is one that tells of mankind spreading order throughout the world. Eden itself did not cover the entire Earth. That became man's job. From the beginning, we turn the Dream of an "Earth filled with His glory" into the high resolution Actions that spring from our individual talents. As we resonate with our talents, there we find heightened meaning.

But we're not in the Garden anymore. What meshes these two planes of being now? It's intercourse. It's a merging of hearts. There is no better description than that that I can find. It's marriage. It's precisely marriage, a covenant. That union between the nature of God and the God-nature of man is manifest in something like "spiritual intercourse." Why else is the church described as Christ's bride? I don't think that's a metaphor. When we engage in "spiritual intercourse" we're joining in the flow that takes a Dream and forms it into meaningful work based off each person's talents. Finding meaning in the work you dream about is precisely what it means to nest your divine nature with Elohim.

Why should we be scared to call that a spiritually erotic relationship? To enact in tune with a God-given purpose is to be as intimate as can be with your creator. When we're engaged with meaningful work, we can't help but fall into what's known as flow state, where all other sensory input falls away and we're putting our full effort into transforming Dreams into Action and it's a type of ecstasy. The chemical cocktail released through your veins during flow is not dissimilar to our onboard love potions released during sex. The union of Elohim and Adam is played out in the fractal pattern of the covenant between man and woman. That point where they meet is precisely the point where new life is created. Intercourse is that place where unimaginable potential meets with actuality, where a Dream is fully realized in the birth of something beautiful, where wavelengths become material atoms, where the things humanity Dreams about become living cathedrals.

Would you like whipped cream with your egg custard?

By the River

Pink pedals of a cherry blossom sauntered along the coffee-brown river.
I planted my walk-worn feet at its edge. Quiet. Secure.
Palms to sky, sensing rhythms through lash and nostril.
Breath, deep as the pedals made their way and I sought release.
The silence spoke and I pressed my fingers to spring-wet earth.

At water calm, I lay my heavy straps on a tiny track.
Sun and shimmer from unfiltered water  boundary reflected from my fresh canopy.
The Sunday stillness was as opposite the Saturday crescendo strength of the falls.
But all from the Source.
I breathed again, and the wind listened.

"God, will you yet show? I've longed to know, that sacred Source, that power of life and love and deed remorse. Plains or hills or valley or dell, where, pray tell, does its future flow?"

The breeze kicked up, the windy part of the day.
Those blanket maple leaves that shadowed me from instant blindness of sharpest rays parted ever so, a beam hitting face, that I should know.

"How much, child, do you want to see? How much of me," beseeched He then, "how much of me, should now you see?
The river twines and travels where it ought,
But for you to know, that's not your lot.
You're here on Earth, planted still.
You're free of shame and guilt and grief,
Is that enough for this hour's relief?"

"God, I know that you are here.
It's just, this thing I hold so dear.
A thing I thought I needed most,
A thing that seems to've turned to ghost.
A thing, thought I, that brought delight.
A thing I prayed for day and night.
A thing 'twas meant to rest my plight,
A thing, I thought, that was my right."

A snap, a crack, a sudden crash,
A forest tree, time-strong and old,
Lost a limb and shed its mold,
To add a ring to a hundred stash.

On alert, I gaze around my patch of river forest with sudden sound.
The loss of limb was feet away.
Why, wise guardian, should you loose your limb without so much ceremony as soft splitting of knotty trunk?
Yet there it stood, in Sunday best.
Lending strength to osprey nest.
Its newer limbs flexed certain, more able to carry a better burden.
In seconds, had I witnessed all life itself?

A limb may fall and case a stir,
But rooted trunk sends fresh life pure,
To freshest buds waiting there,
Another bloom, a fig? A pear?

My heart turns back around.
That river slow. It's still again.
And I sit and listen and allow being in time to be all there is.
Observing. Noticing.
And mallard glides content along, its wake brushing the shore as my fingers brush the strands of wildflower in spring, just beneath the maple tree.
The sky-flyer and water-glider, well equipped.
A season for swimming and a season for flying and days for both.
He never sheds his royal, green crown, through water and air. 
What happens when feet are confused for flight?
Perhaps a sullen, silent song, under sunlit roof of maple.

"See, the ground," God called again.
"See how dust and dirt become once more that life and love you so adore.
From that you came and that return, but time today is yours to turn from void to form, that is your task, and I'll be there when you need to ask, if path you're on is yours secure.
I'll say today, the road you tread, it is the way, so rest your head.
Though river twines round Bend and Land, and pasture green seems gone again,
Let branch lie down and settle there.
Through tears you've grown, I see my son,
I see you there, you're not alone.
The scar you shoulder, the hope you hold,
It's all the truth, as sure as gold."

The flocks are gone now, and dried crystals stick to the edges of my mouth.
Wet dirt is between my finger tips and I sit there and continue to hear into the silence.
And that voice is hushed but no less sure.
The waters edge tipped its hat.
I've been trying to swim along that earthy vein with wings meant for heavenly futures.
I rose and fractal rays pierced my heart and completed their operation,
And the maple bid me farewell. 

Arboreal Contemplations

Living things are difficult to describe. At what point can we detect intuitively that a thing falls into the category of "alive"? What do we do with things that fall in between life and non-life like a virus? I don't know strict, scientific definition of that answer, but what I do know is that as a human, I tend to know it when I see it. If we're frightened by the silhouette of something static, we can usually calm down pretty quickly because our deeper minds register that it contains no life. There is nothing enlivening the object, to give it any agency whatsoever in the world around it. It does not have a rising and falling chest, it doesn't have that vibrancy you can see in microbes and meerkats. 

As I consider the trees in my neighborhood, while they don't have the same sort of rhythmic breathing undulations creatures with lungs and gills have, they do bear a profound resemblance that we take for granted. The more I think about this similarity, the more the reflection in the pond transforms as the waves die down and it becomes something like a mirror.

A tree gets its durability from its roots. We can't see the roots but without them, without a proper attachments to a part of the tree that slips out of view, the life would fall. Roots draw out nutrients from a compost of worm, fungi, and terra, a curious milieu but nonetheless vital. It's tough to see down into the root structure and it's vastly complex, but we at least know that they serve an incredible function. Mysterious, but necessary. The soul.

Next is the trunk. The truck of the tree tells us its history. It stands still under pressure and reminds the rest of the tree how long it's been around and why it was there in the first place. The trunk needs to stay steady for the rest of the tree to do its job. Each year brings a new ring and those rings tell a story of drought or rain, growing slowly each year and containing with itself a record of its past. The body and its scars.

The branches from the tree shed some of the constriction from the strict trunk and are allowed to sway and bow. they can try new forms, each different from one another in shape and size, and are allowed to bend and even break sometimes. But this is good. The tree needs a part of it that can reach out into the world and explore. The network of branches allows the tree to dance in the time of the wind. Its life is seen in the rocking of the branches as it catches on to the Spirit blown by the wind.

Finally, the most exciting part, are the buds at the end of the branches. For a child to grow, she must be allowed a place to play and take small risks. A pond would turn rancid if it did not have fresh water always and constantly coming and going. A young human needs experience where boundaries are steadily expanding outward. Otherwise, total shelter leads to total rancidity. The child needs one step in the home and one out in the world. The mother strokes and the father pokes. That's precisely the right balance when it's working well. The tree needs roots at one end, embedded in known truth and buds at the other end reaching out for the newness that can only be taken in one season at a time. It needs part of itself to stay steady through the season and another part that changes and refreshes on a yearly basis. It's a 1 to 1 analogue to a good system of government as I see it.

The tips of the branches are where the tree moves the most, enlivened by the wind, but held firm by the trunk and roots. The buds are the tree's threshold space between the known and the unknown. It's where the maximum amount of growth and renewal happen, but it's also the place where there's the most uncertainty and movement.

But that's where the fruit is.

Dawn Approach

Ocean bade me dawn approach, awake from sleep the time encroach,
But something now, somewhere again, a wind that blows no longer kin,
Tilt sail and boom, swing wide around, new gusts subvert our sacred sound,
And chart and guide no longer carry, a fate we thought which drove our ferry,
To shores assured, to harbors safe, to futures bright, with easy faith.

Oh, settle, dear, oh come what may, do not you know how winds do play?
Your ship, your sail, that oak worn vessel, made just for you, a goodly wrestle.
The ropes you hoist, the deck you tend, did you forget I'd come again?

I cling to breath, my ship undone, a storm cast chart and guide asund.
Once, thought I, a plan we made, but ocean wind did send us then,
From tangent did we once affix, to be our guide, our azimuth true.
Now all that's left is ocean blue, a sea of doubt and fear and sin. 
What distant shores may e'er await, lost and gone and out of view.

A spirit star, you seek for self, to plant your doubt, to quench your health.
Yon eyes, ye sailor, to where they flee, when death be now that all you see, 
And fog and cloud and storm of night, does cast your doubt to darkened fright?

The way is shut, no shelter here, the weathered kegs store last of beer,
Drowning can wait when this remains, a night or two forgetting pains,
But drown did I in ocean depths, no act of Sea but numbing woe.
And ocean bade me dawn approach, that I should fight that bitter foe,
That blew my heart up from the flow, of fiercest love that all should know.

A murky shadow does always stalk, from bow to stern it seeks to mock,
A craft, a trade as old as time, I set you there to make it shine,
To capture true the water murk, to spring forth life and love and work.

Through sky shadows water pours, but I be Captain, my task afore,
To tend my vessel, my lot, to shore, is all a gift, come waters more.
A hatch I open, behold the dawn! A ray of gods splits here and yon,
Avast! I fix the knotted ropes, with hands my own, as dawn approach,
And sails anew in winds unknown, my ship alight from body sore.

To each I give a burden pure, not to harm but settle sure,
The hope and age which only thrive, in winds and storms and ocean eye,
And come what may, I challenge thee, to fetch your faith, to love your sea. 

Truth Exchange

“Transformation is often more about unlearning than learning.”
-Richard Rohr.

The accelerated progress humanity has seen in technology and population growth has given us access to wonders heretofore unimaginable by our predecessors. The breadth of scientific knowledge in this 21st century information age is doubling about every 12 months. According to Systems Theorist and American architect, designer, and inventor Buckminseter Fuller’s Knowledge Curve, in 1945 that time span was 25 years and back in 1900, it was 100 years. Your smartphone has over 100,000 times the processing power of the flight computer onboard Apollo 11 after just five decades of research and development. 

In our excited hastening towards a brave new world connected by an internet of things, our coattails are often caught aflame from the friction we create. We’re tapping into Prometheus’ fire without tempering it with the respect it deserves. 

We forget that we are ancient creatures, designed to thrive in Earth’s pure garden state, with atomic power in our pockets. Fire, when contained within a stove, brings a pleasant warmth on cool evenings, eases us into our nights of rest, and makes our food more desirable after rotisserie cooking. But when the blaze hops its borders, our garden burns wildly out of control; it becomes inflamed. While innovation has given us the greatest quality of life ever known to our species, in many cases, it has come at the cost of exponentially increased rates of isolation, chronic disease, depression, mindlessness, feelings of meaninglessness, detachment from our sense of spirit, and ultimately, suicide.  

We, as the human animal, have innate, inescapable needs. Ultimately, those needs can be summed up thusly: to know and be known. There are good paths to pursuing that need and there are substitutes. As we’ve made our rapid advancements, we tend to forget about the most fundamental needs, or at least, we forget how to fulfill them. We think our cleaver inventions, which have helped fight bacteria breakouts, expanded our understanding of the galaxies, and given us life-saving medical apparatus, can also fulfill the need to know and be known by others. 

Without a doubt, some problems in this world need rapid solutions: the devastation to our oceans and rainforest from pollution, the lack of clean drinking water in many developing nations, accessibility to education and so on. But we create more problems than we started with if we appropriate our fire to the wrong things. 

Won’t You be My Neighbor?

We were designed to be in groups of about 150 people. This number correlates to our neocortex size and was deemed “Dunbar’s number” based on the researcher who made these observations in various groups of primates. This area of the brain is responsible for healthy social interactions, among other things, and other primates band in numbers that respond to their own neocortex size. 

Our online “friend” group inappropriately assigns the name “friend” to groups of people that fall outside your ability to have a meaningful, reciprocal relationship with. We are wired to only be able to handle so many and we forget ourselves when we think otherwise. Chronic social networking breaks down the very thing it was originally designed to improve: our social networks. The more “friends” we have online, the fewer and fewer people we end up interacting with in a real way. A 2009 study published in the Economist found that individuals with over 500 Facebook friends only interacted with 10-16 of them. 

On average, humans tend to have about five people in an inner circle, or “support clique.” These are people in your life you contact on a weekly basis. The next ring is composed of about 12-15 people, or your “sympathy group,” those who would be devastated if you were to die or be severely injured. Following that ring is a group of about 50 whom you can have meaningful relationships with. Outside of that is the ring of 150, individuals with whom you could truly call friends, those you’ve shared some meaningful history with but don’t necessarily talk to very often. While 150 isn’t a hard and fast number for everyone, that’s the number we trend towards.

This number pops up in some intriguing contexts. Ancient tribal sizes averaged about 153. A study done in the UK found that the average number of Christmas cards people sent out was 153.5. An ancient Roman fighting unit, called a maniple, was composed of between 130-140 soldiers. The list goes on. Just because we have space-age tools that allow us to be technically connected to other people, it has not expanded Dunbar’s number. Friendships require ongoing mutual connections and each of us have a fixed amount of emotional capital to spread. We cannot substitute weak internet bonds with real exchange of intentional social bonding. Social networks have expanded the number of people we can include in our 150, but it has not expanded how much of our hearts we have to give.

When we trade “won’t you be my neighbor” for “add as friend,” we feed on speed and fall into social isolation. Over the past few decades, as knowledge is doubling and 4G turns to 5G, occasional feelings of loneliness have become chronic. When someone returning from war or who feels alone in their struggle with any past trauma tries to interact with a social structure that has an inflamed view of friendship, isolation begins to reign. While being alone once in a while can be refreshing, becoming isolated is poisonous.  

Isolation during tribal times would have been equally disastrous to our survival as a broken femur. We are designed to be members of a whole so when we are cast out, whether by choice or force, our physiology breaks down as well. Numerous studies demonstrate the staggering impacts of isolation on physical health. Those who score lower in social connectedness tests have a weakened immune system, compromised memory preservation, impaired sleeping, declines in motor skill retention, and a higher risk of all cause mortality, other factors being equal. Weak social connectedness is as bad for our health as smoking 15 cigarettes per day.

Tongues of our garden fire have scorched our abilities to interact with each other like we once used to. Two-day delivery means we can go for indefinite periods without needing to make eye contact even once. But we are hardwired for human contact. We even have pressure receptors in areas on our backs, you know, that spot you can’t reach, that positively respond whenever someone else hugs us. Stress symptoms across the board are improved by a simple (appropriate) touch from another human as we become awash in a healthy dose of feel good, healing hormones.

Monkey with a Wristwatch

Digital stimulation has been substituted for real connection. Our phones provide us with an incredible ability to contact practically whomever we want, whenever we want, a veritable Library of Alexander at our fingertips. But we confuse contact with connection. We confuse seeing a feed of others highlight reels with genuine interaction. 

Cues from our apps were actually designed to take advantage of the brain’s reward pathways. Out in nature, we would have realized a survival advantage by paying attention to novelty. A rustling in the bushes demands our attention. By responding to a new noise, we can make better decisions about what to do about it. However, as with sugar, the ding’s from our phones, the little red circle with a number in it, are cheap substitutions of the real thing. The software developers (and food manufacturers) take advantage of this and can literally get us addicted to screen time. 

The reward pathway in our heads is largely activated with the neurotransmitter dopamine. As we scroll on our phones, the dopamine actually rises in anticipation of an interesting post, not as a result of it. Social media algorithms are programmed to show you things it thinks you will find uninteresting followed ever so often by things that intrigue you. Your brain’s desire for novelty is hijacked by the novelty machine that is the internet. All it takes is a thumb swipe to signal to your brain, “there’s novelty here! Activate the reward pathway!” How many times have you found yourself scrolling without even cognitively recognizing you even picked up your phone? How hard is it to resist looking at a text the moment you feel the buzz in your pocket or on your wrist? 

Overtime, this reactivation of the dopamine pathway leads to our brains’ down regulation of dopamine receptors. Our wiring changes as a result of using novelty apps. Funny how a “user” can refer both to someone online and someone on heroin. This is pathologic to addiction. In other words, exposure to constant novelty, far in excess to what we were designed to see, leads to real addiction. We see this with processed food consumption, excessive social media use, and internet porn. Addiction to cheap substitutes leads to a decreased ability for us to use our prefrontal cortex, the brain region involved in motivation and decision making. 

We lose our self control in every aspect of our lives whenever we replace the good paths towards knowing and being known with the bad paths of rapid gratification.

* * *

Individual addiction is a societal symptom of choosing an unwise road to fulfill a genuine need. Some of us are addicted to the internet, sugar, caffeine, nicotine, pornography, alcohol, likes on social media posts, grains, and even our own, short lived relief we get from choosing to avoid social interactions. It’s not that we want to expose ourselves to toxic substances. Rather, we want the reward from them. In the 21st century, it’s easier than ever to access the initial sip of satisfaction, but the true value in that desire only comes when we consume the full can, as it were. 

Coca-Cola found this out the hard way in the depths of the cola wars with Pepsi. Pepsi routinely out performed Coke in blind taste tests, and though team Coke were loath to tamper with an old recipe, the men in lab coats reformulated a classic. They reasoned that people prefer Pepsi in blind taste tests because Pepsi had a sweeter initial impact than Coke. Coke’s flavor was more edgy at first sip and, so the thinking went, was turning people off to the product. After tons of research on what they thought their consumer wanted, they released New Coke in 1985. The launch was a disaster and shortly thereafter, they backpedaled and re-released Coke as Coca-Cola Classic.

So why were the sip tests so wrong? It turns out, there is a difference between enjoying an entire can of Coke in the comfort of one’s home environment versus a single sip taken out in public. What they should have researched is which product a consumer preferred to have in their house as a casual drinking experience rather than a gut reaction during a street test.  

When it comes to meeting the deepest desires of our species, we simply cannot substitute. The statistics bear witness to what happens when we exchange the truth of the good path with the lie of the bad one. Meals are meant to be shared and eaten with gratitude. Friendships are meant to last through adversity and prosperity. Intimacy was meant to grow over a long period of time in order to fully know and be known by the other person. Evolution never selected out a good night’s sleep, but the majority of American’s simply live with chronic fatigue as a fact of life, pathing its symptoms with energy in a can. 

The truth is, we’re all in this journey towards better wisdom together, regardless of your religious framework. At a minimum, most major world religions acknowledge that humanity is broken and detached from our real nature and wisdom involves finding our path back towards that first, unblemished seed.  As we unlearn, we break down any idea of self-righteousness and dogmatism. We can still fall back on a few holy convictions yet allow space for new operating systems to gently guide us to a better reality. Our individual house of cards must fall that we can rebuild a foundation based on humility and a hunger for accessing the full can rather than a cheap sip.