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Isaac

international permaculture report:

Reflection on foreign permiculture article, “The Great Turning” (Maddy Harland interviewing Joanna Macy)

In this case the “turning” refers to the turning of political systems from self destructive to self helping and natural systems. Joanna Macy brings up some good points in terms of dealing with the pain and rage that often accompany research into how we treat our environment, our people, and how we got to were we are. “Well, I don’t preach at them or assault them...”

Macy encourages working with a group of people, rather than solo, to give support were it is needed. This helps in dealing with painful issues, and following through on projects via peer support.

Macy states, as many people do, that a huge change is inevitable. One might almost say cataclysmic, yet, in my personal opinion, the world is such a big place, that a cataclysm will almost never affect the whole planet at once. We are blissfully unaware of many events that could rightfully be called cataclysms or impending cataclysms all around the world. I sit pretty in my heated room in front of my computer, while New Orleans picks up the pieces and genocide progresses across the world. I am reminded of the part from the Beatles song: “but when you talk about destruction ooh/ well don’t you know that you can count me out/ because everything is gonna be... all right”

Not necessarily true, except in the most sophomorically pedantic sense, when you are being killed and/or tortured.

Some other appealing points: Follow your joy (Joseph Campbell: follow your bliss). Grace is everywhere. “Once you have made this shift, once you are working on behalf of the planet and all beings, then nothing can stop you. you are no longer dependant on how successful you think you’re being.” (Buckminster Fuller said: the larger the range of people and life I focused on helping, the more successful I became, so I decided to work for the benefit of entire Universe, in order to be maximally effective.)

“I don’t think we have been given any guarantee that conscious life on Earth will continue. It might. It might not. In either case, this is a most extraordinary and beautiful moment.” -Macy

Bioneers Blog

Friday

The weekend started out with thirteen indigenous grandmothers giving their blessings in native languages or English or both. It was touching. It reminded me of the wisdom and power of our woman elders. It is a great loss that we treat them with so little respect.

The general theme for this bioneers conference seemed to be that we must fix our internal environment as much as our external environment. That’s what my biased ears picked up, anyway. That’s one of my main interests: the madness of humanity, and how to return it to balance. War’s home is in the hearts of men. Our indifference, fear, and hatred, are reflected onto the environment, and reshape it in our image. We can not help doing this, so we had better learn how the mechanics work.

An excerpt from someone’s talk, regarding the Mayan predictions for America at this time, called: The Time of No Time.

We must pass through a wall of mirrors. To do so requires a strong heart, because the mirrors reflect back thousands of images of our hate, fear, violence, and hopelessness. Pass beyond it and we will come to a very small door. We must make ourselves very small and humble, to pass through it. Then we must burrow down through the earth, till we reach a lake where we will see our true reflection. Then comes the growing of a new skin.

The first day is intense. I have gotten about three hours of sleep the night before, and after the main speakers, slip off with a friend to their grandmothers house and take another two hour nap, leaving me very disoriented, and with a bad case of zombie mouth.

We make lunch, and share it inadvertently with a bunch of random bioneers members, which is fun and funny, and tonight’s dinner is catered and locally grown. The church basement we sleep in is about as comfortable as sleeping on concrete with a thin rug can be. I’m just happy we have access to showers across the street.

Saturday

Lots of talking. Lots of passion, and hope, and despair. The very worst and very best of humanity is presented. The pain and fear and hate still outweigh the good in the world a hundred fold in sheer quantity, but the potential for good outweighs the bad a thousand fold, in quality of solutions.

There seems to be four main points for us here in America:

• Respect all forms of life.
• Learn to listen. To other people, to yourself, and to Nature. Look unabashedly at the Truth. Open your eyes.
• Humble yourself. Which means: investigate your ego honestly.

And for everyone:

• The knowledge to create an amazing world is here. Find it.
• Act on it.
• Don’t expect anything from anyone else. Do what you want done.
• Don’t devalue the present for an imagined future. Now is the only future we have. Make use of it.

Saturday Night. (this is a piece I wrote this night, and it is lovingly dedicated to Darren Falkner and his plight)

I thought the butterfly looked innocent. I was wrong. Three foot wing tip to wing tip. Bright orange yellow green navy blue, streamers of neon trailing its meteoric rise. In the day time, it was a children’s kite. At night, it was an acid trip specter coming an inch closer every time I closed my eyes or looked away. always hovering over me. Rainbow neon sparkle trail electrifying my brain. Killing my soul with its electric death ray.

Midnight. Drifted off. awoken by rustling. Eyes opened a crack, disoriented. Where was I? Physically jolted as the giant moth resolves above my head. An uncontrollable sound comes out as my diaphragm contracts and draws air through my constricted throat. -“yeeeih!”

I see it floating slowly down and drift into dark waters. Shadow visions of the huge moth landing softy on my chest, unfurling its long, spiraled mouthparts, sticking its proboscis down my thought, the tip touching my heart, my chest filling with icy water as it sucks away my humanity.

Gasp. Awake from the nightmare. And yet still in it. The moth is two inches closer. Will I make it to sunrise? The moth laughs silently and bits of wing dust fall on me, slowly burying me alive. Fitful madness. Madness.

Technicolor rescue –rangers crawl around inside the butterfly’s torso and I am paralyzed with half-thoughts of dread.

I understand now. Puppets. They’re all puppets. And clock tails. A half murmured thought that is the key to it all—but it’s fading, fading. Daylight. Covered in swat. Or urine. Thousands of tiny Red veins have come to the surface of my eyeball giving it a red tint, and the muscles under my eye sockets are exhausted and sag revealing more purple capillaries. It is day.

The butterfly sails over my head in freedom exactly where I left it. Something is too harsh about the sunlight. Unfriendly.

I realize with a cold shudder that butterflies have no mouth and thus cannot smile. It is the third morning.

Sunday

The conference is winding down. Attrition has taken its toll. The auditorium is less full than the other two days.

There have been so many inspiring speakers, so much new information. It’s going to take a while to integrate it all. The cutting edge of biomimicry, the leaders in social justice of all kinds; job equality, local economy, woman’s rights, racial rights, human rights. Horror stories and Success stories. That’s what makes these speakers so much more powerful than your average person philosophizing about the environment: they have been right in the center of tremendous positive change, acting as the catalyst. To understand the dynamics of successful change is one of the necessities, if we are to remake the world. Let us all learn first hand what the term ‘co-creation’ means. Let us not run from pain, but face it with courage.

-I Out

Biosphere project

Oct 7: specimen collected at edge of Shooks pond. Water taken from edge of lake. Some grass included spontaneously in sample.

Oct 8: Light green specks have risen to the surface of the jar. Some tiny water bugs got trapped between the surface tension and the jar edge. I guess grass is easier to crawl down than glass.

Oct 9: one of the water beetles (there are two I think) which were swimming around frantically, found the peice of straw, and slept or rested. There are tiny water bugs that look like colorless particles of debris, but they move in jerking motions, so they must be alive. Also, something of a similar size, which moves more smoothly.

Oct 10th: The tiny jerking bugs, that remind me a bit of jellyfish in there motion, are congregating around the surface of the jar. Small shrimp-like things have appeared.

Oct 11: More shrimp. Some bigger, some smaller.

Oct 12: water beetles seem to have died.

Oct 13: should have put more organic matter in. No algae or water plants are growing. Nothing is happening...

Oct 24: conclusion: if you want a bio-sphere to change and grow, you need a starter culture of dirt and water plants. Otherwise, nothing seems to happen. The shrimp are doing ok, and the micro-jellyfish are still there, but that's about it.

I'm a Lumberjack and I'm OK: Local Lumber in Fairfield

Laverne Roush has been sawing local lumber on his mill as a hobby since 1990. approaching the barn that houses the sawmill, I am greeted by a pack of friendly dogs that don't seem to be afraid of cars at all. There are hundreds of tractors, used for spare parts to fix other tractors (another thing vern does.) Behind the building housing the saw, are huge piles of logs and sticks.

"Lumber needs to be dried for a year before use, or it will warp." He says. "If you use a heating box, you can cut that time down to a month."

"If you lay wood boards down flat on the ground, they'll warp, but for some reason, if you lean them up against a wall, they don't." A heard of goats runs by. "Oh yeah, those are my lawn mowers." he says.

Generally He checks for nails carefully, before putting the logs into the machine, because they could damage the blade. Vern is saving good wood from the dumps by sawing it, because normal saw mills designed for mass production will not take city trees. The machine has a series of pneumatic pumps designed to position and turn the wood, and when that doesn't work, a contraption like a baseball bat with a metal hook attached is used to muscle it into position.

"If you need some lumber sawed, just call Roush Lumber Service." phone# (641) 472-4729. Address: 2149 257th St.

Local Lumber, check.