Solstice 2012

This year’s theme …Solstice Gone Wild

alfa driven

Flying home on hwy one at midnight. Top down, hoodie up ..bomber jacket and goggles against cold night air. Hendrix on. Dialed in to my transport vehicle. Cashed in my chips earlier and ducked out of Newport Beach so I could be in Santa Barbara by midnight.  No traffic now ..just white lines and yellow flashing lights to guide me on the dark twisty roads of Malibu. Ocean moving to my left. I dunno ..just don’t have the fortitude for weekends in LA / OC anymore. While passing through Summerland the air turns fragrant ..like incense. Feels like home.

 

transport vehicle

Solstice 2011

branching streams

branching streams
flowing in darkness
somewhere inside
an uncharted mind.

 

I follow a trail
of present experience
flickering scenes
arriving each instance.

 

swirling mist clears
a landscape appears
I see rocky cliffs receding
giant boulders looming
and careening water splashes
like laughter as it passes.

 

swirling mist clears
pine trees appear
a grassy meadow
can be seen
when I look in-between.

 

swirling mist clears
ancient redwoods appear
I follow a switch-back trail
earth passes underneath

 

swirling mist clears
a mountain peak rises
above the fogginess below
into vibrant sunny glow.

 

swirling mist clears
a calm pool appears.
I stop to consider
the wandering mind
thoughts arriving
thoughts dissolving,
narrating the story
of passing existence.

Summertime

Watching rehearsals for Solstice ..(w00t)

Visions of Kālī

April last year Serena ingested Ayahuasca blended in a smoothie. A guide was present during the session but Serena was only aware of her during ‘re-animation’. She experienced a disassociation so complete; she lost awareness of her body and even what it meant to be human. She describes drifting like a crumpled paper bag through portals of ‘cellular and molecular’ space. “I just felt like an essence floating through space. Then ( i ) merged with a much larger entity that was all-encompassing and I recognized (the Hindu Goddess) Kali in her incarnation as consort to Lord Vishnu (the creative power of the universe). We spoke telepathically, without words, just knowing. Kali conveyed to me that I was on the right path.” Serena came away with the feeling that she is a present day ‘incarnation’ of Kali. One of many. The feeling persists even now. It has definitely strengthened her commitment to spiritual practice.

a portrait of ecstatic experience by Serena Kali Devi

Cosmic consciousness

Esalen Institute, Big Sur

Monday October 31, 2011  Lyle is a work scholar. Says he’s a recovering addict ".. but not the way you think." I'm suspicious. He’s on a mission to give voice to his experience with ayahuasca. We’re sitting in the lodge at Esalen. He seems genuinely grateful that I’m willing to listen. Even blows off a  female admirer. Says he’ll see her in the baths later on and she takes off. He continues. “I completely left my body ..I could see it lying crumpled on the floor but I didn’t feel any attachment to it. Then I lost complete sense of myself. I felt like vapor with no trace of ‘Lyle’. I entered a hole ..some people call it a ‘K-hole’ but whatever ..it took me out of this world ..where I flew weightless and untethered ..but still connected somehow to my buddies ..we entered a cosmic realm where speaking wasn’t necessary.” Lyle gives me a look like 'the intellect isn't of much value here'. He goes on to say “We encountered beings from other parts of the cosmos ..unfortunately I have little memory of them ..that’s why I want to go back so badly ..that's the addiction.” Now his fists are clenched and he looks like he’s chomping at the bit. He goes on to say “Coming back to this plane was a slow process ..I had to struggle to re-unite with my body ..then I gradually became aware of my surroundings ..and my buddies. Honestly, I’m not really sure how long it took but it seemed like hours. I struggled to regain my speech. But anything we tried to say about the experience fell short and sounded cheap.” He slumped back. “The only thing addictive about it is how curious I am to go back there and explore some more ..plus regain the feeling of weightlessness.” He leaves me with an interesting anecdote. They use ayahuasca, along with pain relievers, to treat soldiers injured in battle. It wipes out the memory of their traumatic experience.

Expectation

The journal Nature reports that expectation of a sensory event can increase the speed and accuracy we perceive it [ link ]. “Animals are not passive spectators of the sensory world in which they live. In natural conditions they often sense objects on the bases of expectations initiated by predictive cues. Expectation profoundly modulates neural activity by altering the background state of cortical networks and modulating sensory processing” [ link ].

Expectations alter perception ..I know this from my own practice. Expectations amplify and channel speech perception. Listeners have to take a moment to adjust when speakers say something that defies expectation. This study shows that the same holds true for taste. In one sense experiences arrive one by one, always fresh and new, but over time they become familiar re-enactments of prior experience. For instance I like yogurt for breakfast ..so I say it’s good and look forward to it when I get up in the morning. Good is a property I supply as something I experienced so long ago I don’t remember. It’s no longer fresh and new but an experience that my expectations enhance.

Take my pulse

I tremble   /  They’re gonna’ eat me alive   /  If I stumble   /  They’re gonna eat me alive   /  My heart keeps beating like a hammer  /  Beating like a hammer  /  And why shouldn’t it  /  Gotta’ get where I'm going  /  Get whatever I need   /   While my blood’s still flowing   /  And my heart’s still  /  Beating like a hammer   ~~> Metric

 

Borderline

There’s an electric fence blocking my way today. It’s not much of a fence; the kind you’d unfold to keep a baby safe. Not hard to collapse and walk over. The sign says ‘animal enclosure’. Sure enough, goats are grazing on the other side. I get the picture but I’m still pissed. Where’s the herdsman, I’d like a word with him. There are too many fences around here already. I have every right to pass through without fear of getting my nuts zapped stepping over another one. I climb to Franceschi where I sit and plan my next move. Should I contact the planning commission, city council or the coastal commission ..? I tromp back down thinking “another fucking ambush on the way to sanctuary ..just when I was starting to feel safe again. I don’t know where the boundaries are anymore but I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some son-of-a bitch goat farmer get in my way.” I reach bottom where I run into my neighbors Matt and Richelle. I explain the situation. They tell me not to worry ..it’s a temporary thing. The County rents goats from farms in the Santa Ynez valley. They eat the underbrush from the canyons. They’ll be movin’ on in a day or so. I experience a sudden drop in blood pressure and begin to feel my grip loosening from around the neck of an imaginary goat farmer.

Butterfly beach

Take me disappearing through the smoke rings of my mind / Down the foggy ruins of time / far past the frozen leaves / far from the twisted reach / through the haunted, frightened trees / out to the windy beach /  With all memory and fate / driven deep beneath the waves /  Let me forget about today until tomorrow ~ Bob Dylan

 

Butterfly Beach, Santa Barbara, California

Arana Gulch

Santa Cruz,  California  ~  Coral Fish reporting from the field (or from a tree)

Loaded questions

Hard to be neutral without coming across as partial and perhaps even disloyal. I remember in 2008 my father asking me “Bill, who do you think will be the next president ..?” I interpreted this as a request for information and, thinking back to some poll results, replied “Looks like Obama” He reacted with disgust and terminated our conversation. Since then he looks at me with suspicion and considers me an Obama fan with liberal views. He swiftly ends our discussions with “I know exactly where you’re coming from, Bill” and calls me a “behaviorist” ..which is a polite way of calling me a “socialist”. I’ve been an independent all my life. I think I see where I went wrong though. He wasn’t asking for an independent assessment ..so my answer appeared more like a preference than an forecast. He’s been that way all his life. When he asks me which team I think will win a football game ..he’s never looking for the answer that an odds-maker would give. Today I’m reading where Obama’s adversaries are accusing him of “appeasement to Iran” in response to his handling of Israel’s saber rattling. I may be going out on a limb here but I think I’m beginning to see a built-in tendency to interpret straightforward answers as prejudice bordering on disloyalty.

Resurrection of Eve

She met him during her senior year in drama club. Roger was a recent graduate of theater arts from UCLA. He'd been asked to help them put on a production of ‘The Mikado’. I remember her going around singing: “You are the reason I've been waiting all these years” She was a fine soprano but a future Hollywood starlet ..probably not. She wouldn't stop talking about him like he was some kinda' golden boy and I could tell she was way beyond being just into him. He lived in the in-law quarters of a Malibu estate where he worked as a caretaker. She joined him after graduation and they spend what she describes as the most blissful summer of her life together. In September he left to take a position with a theater company in New York. Devastation ensued. At college, she was like a zombie. I don't know why she couldn't go with him but I figured maybe she didn't feel like it was her destiny or something (!?) I suppose I really didn't give it much thought. I ran into her in town a little while ago. There still seemed to be a lingering fog but I could sense some clearing. Then there was a breakthrough. It went something like this:

 

“I couldn’t get beyond the idea that I’d been abandoned by Roger.”
“In my mind I was like the victim because I wasn’t able to get him to stay.”
“I seriously believed I was the best I could be with him - I was nothing without him.”
“When he left, I felt like a failure ..like I wasn’t good enough ..he wanted someone better.”
“I realize now that he wanted to better himself.”
“Now I’m like, what the fuck …who’s to say I didn’t abandoned him?”
“I got a lot of things wrong back then.”

 

So did I, I told her ..I still don’t get it right.

Sensory integration

This garden universe vibrates complete. Some we get a sound so sweet. Vibrations reach on up to become light, and then thru gamma, out of sight. Between the eyes and ears there lay, the sounds of color and the light of a sigh   [ cont.. ]

Wicked messenger

“Each person is capable of perceiving infinitely more. The universe is funneled through the reducing valve of the brain and nervous system ..what comes out at the other end is a measly trickle.”   The Doors of Perception by Aldous Huxley

I began taking psychoactive substances when I was 14 years old. At first, they gave me a release from the conditioned-fear I was under (living in the custody of a brutal guardian). They made me feel euphoric ..free to fly during rock concerts or while tripping in the desert. After a while however, they started to turn on me. I began receiving a torrent of messages revealing the horror of my circumstances. I felt like a cornered rat. Next they bombarded me with messages telling me what a defective, punk-ass, shit-for-brains adolescent freak I’d become. I felt defeated. However, there was a saving grace. I noticed that these messages went away the next day and I had a choice whether to accept or reject them. I struggled. I chose to study the field of psychology. I wanted to learn more about the nature of this ‘messenger-service’. My senior thesis had to do with the neurological-basis of hallucinogens [ link ]. It helped me understand a little more about the substances I was taking during high school and how they produced the phenomena I experienced. I learned that the ‘indole alkaloids’, which make up mescaline, psilocybin and LSD, work by reducing levels of serotonin in the brain. When this happens, the barriers to sensory-input drop ..and the scope-of-interpretation widens. This accounts for the initial release I experienced ..and the subsequent dread I encountered. Flights of imagination can turn ugly given the freedom to interpret them wildly, and the latitude to plunge my ass into a nightmare abyss. But no matter how euphoric or horrifying, the flight was temporary and I began to accept just how insubstantial mental phenomena can be. I guess that’s why they tell me I’m resilient to depression now. I had an opportunity early in life to experience just what a ‘wicked messenger’ the mind can be.

Obama’s War on Pot

Photo courtesy of Coral Reefer [ link ]

In a shocking about-face, the administration has launched a 
government-wide crackdown on medical marijuana

Oaksterdam, a marijuana dispensary owned by activist Richard Lee, was raided Monday morning by DEA agents. Lee began using marijuana to ease his back pain after suffering a spinal injury at age 27. He and others like him have revolutionized the industry by developing hydroponic techniques to grow marijuana safely, onsite, and in compliance with state law. The Justice Department has been cracking down on California’s dispensaries and growers since October. Over the past year, the Obama administration has unleashed a multiagency crackdown on medical cannabis that goes far beyond anything like it in the past. The feds are busting growers who operate in full compliance with state laws, vowing to seize the property of anyone who dares to even rent to legal pot dispensaries, and threatening to imprison state employees responsible for regulating medical marijuana. It’s true that California has no shortage of illegal pot growers and the statute that allows for medical marijuana was poorly written. However, the state still has the right to pass laws and the power of jurisdiction. The Federal Government is overstepping it’s bounds and violating the sovereignty of the state when it repeals these laws and imposes it’s own jurisdiction.

Irreconcilable narrative

“The man who lets a leader prescribe his course is a wreck being towed to the scrap heap. It is the innovators, outside the status quo, who carry mankind forward.”   Read more ~> [ link ]

The curious case of Nathan Fletcher

 

Today I read the curious case of Assemblyman Nathan Fletcher (R-San Diego). He co-sponsored a bill with Governor Jerry Brown that even Republican lawmakers thought was a good idea. He wasn’t prepared for what happened next. Read on ~> [ link ]

Heartbreak beat

       

Heartbreak Beat~Psychedelic Furs

Most children I see with dyslexia don’t have problems with vision. What they have is a slight gap somewhere in their auditory system, or sense of hearing. They cannot translate the word they see on the page to the sound of a word in memory. Until they can do that .. it’s hard for them to recognize the word as something they’ve heard before. I have a theory. I believe that the first language we learn is the sound of our mother’s heart beat. It serves as an internal metronome ..setting the tempo that helps us follow the sound of speech. It marks the onset of phonemes and syllables, which then helps us identify words and sentences. Dr Oliver tells me that his stroke patients who lose their ability to speak can still sing. When they begin putting their words into a melody ..they can express themselves fluently. My friend Levi has MS. He uses music as a prosthesis. He my not be able to walk the same as he used to, but he can dance every bit as good. He thanks his early years spent at Grateful Dead concerts for that. What this suggests to me is that ‘keeping the beat’ may be a more fundamental process than learning to read or understand speech. So I’ve been pushing the envelope of my heartbeat theory ..to the annoyance of those around me. I’ve come to believe that the heartbeat we hear in the womb sets up an internal rhythm that helps us follow events for the rest of our lives. Without it ..everything we hear and see would simply appear as though they were coming out of nowhere ..then vanish into nowhere ..without coherence ..nothing helping us string them together.

Anti-anxiety

The complaint I most frequently hear from former pot smokers of my generation (those who came-of-age during the 60’s and 70’s) ..is that smoking marijuana makes them feel nervous. Some describe it as so intense, it borders on paranoia. Consequently they quit and never came back. In the day, little was known about cultivating for the psychoactive effects of marijuana.

The times they are a’ changing. A new breed of cultivator has revolutionized the field. They can grow sophisticated varietals with a range of psychoactive properties. “The THC component is the same ..it is the mixture of other elements that play a vital role in changing the psychoactive effect.” Two decades ago, most marijuana smokers bought whatever their dealer had. It was illegal even for research purposes. Consequently nothing was known about marijuana other than its THC content.

One of these newly found elements is a compound called Cannabidoil or CBD. It’s responsible for the calming and pain relieving effects found in medicinal marijuana. Takes the buzz off THC so to speak. CBD is also helpful in treating a range of problems, including arthritis, the side effects of chemotherapy, asthma, sleep disorders and post-traumatic stress disorder [ link ]. CBD is measured in grams. Your local dispensary should carry varieties containing different amounts of CBD .. 0.35 grams being considered ‘good’.

A way out

The trail that goes into the canyon where I live has become impassable. Where shrub oak and other vegetation aren’t blocking it ..new fences are. I feel trapped and a little panicky. It was always comforting to know I had a way out. I have to find another. I try one bordering the canyon by the County Bowl, but about three-quarters of the way up I run into another barrier. They’ve expanded the bowl out to the edge of that canyon. The only way I can go any farther is by sliding back to where I started. Now I’m on Lowena Road where I see Levi waxing his Harley. Lucy charges me to lick my face and see if I’ve got any dog treats. I sit and chat while Levi works. After listening to tales of the next apocalypse ..he tells me where I can find another trail that’s more serviceable than the one I was just on. After a few false starts, I come to the end of a steep winding road where I find a clearly marked trailhead. A few steps in and I’m climbing a steep, tightly-wrapped switch-back trail, marked by stones piled like stupas. I arrive where the two canyons meet up top. I’ve been here before and know where I can catch a flat dirt road that loops around a hillside and takes me to Sylvan Park ..where the trail to Franceschi begins. I’m stoked and start howling like a madman ..just to listen to my voice echo through the canyons. Then I hear a voice inside my head scream “shut the fuck up” because I’m inside the perimeter of bobcat territory where calling attention to myself could be a life-shortening act. I follow the road to Sylvan Park and climb the ancient stone steps that take me to the trail that takes me to Franceschi park. Now I’m sitting on the ruins of a wall surrounding a botanical garden where I can look out and watch boats sail passed the islands on their way to China, and I’m like “Yes! I have found a way out. Yes ..!!!” 

View from Franceschi

Sgt Bales vs War

Recent information blows my PTSD theory. Sgt Bales wasn’t suffering the effects of multiple deployments. He re-up’d and saw the military as his calling. It sounds like a deliberate attack. I have a new theory. The only sane response to an irrational and life-threatening situation is to act in an equally irrational manner. U.S. soldiers are trained to fight with ‘discrimination’ and regard for civilian life. However, they’re constantly put into battle with an enemy that fights without such civility. The Taliban are known to place little value on the lives of civilians. The Afghan people live in fear of the Taliban, but the Taliban are there all the time and they know they’ll continue being there after we’re gone. They side with them out of necessity. As a result, U.S. soldiers are operating in a region “..riddled with mistrust and hostility.” In an effort to deprive Taliban fighters of cover, U.S. soldiers routinely bulldoze houses, orchards, and farms. This fuels more hostility. As a result, residents regularly assist the Taliban. They help plant IED’s and U.S. soldiers often find bomb-making material in their homes. The war in Afghanistan has put our troops in an un-winnable situation. I deplore the killing of innocent women and children (any killing for that matter) ..but the civilian population is harbouring and assisting the enemy and the Taliban have no problem getting their compliance out of the barrel of a gun. This is no doubt the case in the Panjwayi district where Sgt Bales and his squad were operating. Perhaps the only way Sgt Bales felt he could deliver a message of strength was to act with equal ruthlessness. It’s been seen before. During the My Lai Massacre in Vietnam, orders were given to shoot civilians  “They're all V.C., now go and get them” [ link ]. Instead of prosecuting Sgt Bales, perhaps it’s the U.S. war in Afghanistan that should stand trial.

Halfway house

I tremble I tremble I tremble I tremble 
They're gonna eat me alive alive alive
If I stumble stumble stumble stumble 
They're gonna eat me alive alive alive 

I’m sitting on some old stone steps about halfway up to Franceschi when the rain comes. I hike back to APS .. slide down the muddy hillside by the County Bowl ..and surprise Ron and his dog Murphy at the bottom. It’s not raining down here. We go up and down Figueroa Street to the high school. I see some pathways I haven’t seen before. Ron looks like a man on a mission so I make a mental note to explore them on my own next time around. I hose down my overalls and parka ..throw them in the dryer ..wrap myself in a cotton bathrobe ..sit down with a cup of tea and watch my hands tremble while I try and hit the right letters on the keyboard of my PC. This may take a while.

Little boxes

Little boxes on the hillside, little boxes made of ticky tacky. Little boxes, little boxes, little boxes all the same. There’s a green one and a pink one and a blue one and a yellow one. And they’re all made out of ticky tacky and they all look just the same.

Thoughts and impressions are arriving in packages that are way too small today. I need a bigger picture. I put on my Merrells and find the shortest path up to Franceschi. I start on residential streets because the canyon would be too tortuous today. I pass by stately homes and funky California cottages. I concentrate on loosening the suspension joints in my hips ..and experience a more cushiony ride. The street gives way to a woodsy trail bordered by pine, oak and eucalyptus. Feels spongy. I reach the top of Franceschi where I get a panoramic view of the coast ..from Rincon to Gaviota ..then out to sea where white clouds are beginning to roll over the tops of the islands. South of me the fog has already breached the coastline and filled Sycamore Canyon. I inhale .. like a wave crashing ..and exhale .. washing away the debris. No quarrels or nagging doubts here. Like water seeking it’s own level ..I listen to the narrative in my head expand to fill the space available ..both inside and out. Calm and undisturbed. I throw the packaging material over the edge and watch it sail away.

Little Boxes by losttimeblues