On Tuesday, August 25, 2015, Martin Law
<martin.rainbowmaker@gmail.com> wrote:
Waking
from an early morning dream with the recall that, we were quickly
opening up the bolted tall iron double doors and going through, to
the outside.
Flying
out beyond infrastructure, in soft sunlight over breeze blown bushy
neighbourhoods with a feel of California.
A
dream version, unlike the place shown on newscasts, currently being
deprived of water as if to herd human animals off that land and on to
some sort of reservation.
But
in this scenario we sail out over a rise, unencumbered by any sense
of social self, and towards a scattering of people standing on the
ground below, as we gravitate naturally to our affinity groups. When
i seamlessly wake, to blue sky and nodding leaf silhouettes, visible
through bedroom window curtain gap.
Sit
calm and contemplative over morning coffee in uncanny quiet. It’s
a welcome fine day just right for a walk in the woods. The only clue
for a lead out of a lull between inspirations, something about water
running over stones.
While
jotting down salient dream notes before they fade, and with the inner
soulful ‘not knowing’ that typically comes before creativity, the
phrase ‘in the human zoo’ arises in my train of thought.
A
potent phrase, and perhaps a catalyst. Along with the distinct
feeling that we do in fact all live in a human zoo. Perhaps rarely
seriously questioning how accurate or otherwise that metaphor may be.
The
question arises and is worthy of serious consideration: In what ways
exactly, if at all, does what we call society, differ from a kind of
zoo? A free range zoo of course. To make any suspect notion of
captivity less apparent.
We
can choose to cruise between zoos, in metal vehicles designed to
collectively finance and support perpetual wars between zoo keepers,
waged for oil, by fracking, drilling, and mining.
The
world-wide thunder of billions of infernal congestion engines made of
nothing but planetary plunder. Made of mined metal, plastic, and
rubber. Propelled by outmoded, explosive, prehistoric pollution.
Which we pay for in more ways than money.
While
being collectively proud of the illusion of personal freedom (of
movement only), zooming from zoo to zoo. The convenience of service
to self, snared in a vicious circle, serving the self-same system.
If that’s not a captive market, then i’m a donkey.
In
the big picture of overall planetary health and freedom, convenience
could be the number one addiction. Not noticed when your eyes are on
the road and everything else is called ‘scenery.’
The
push on the pedals a vote with the feet for the zoo keepers. So
familiar we call it normal. File under ‘Stockholm Syndrome’ and
follow the dotted line.
Addictive
convenience apart, and collectively, cars cause wars. Nothing
personal. Just that zoo keepers are greedy and stuck in their ways,
wanting to own the whole zoo. An intrusive inorganic affliction
henceforth to be called, anti-mammalian megalomania.
It’s
not the only way to go and doesn’t have to be. Since freedom of
movement doesn’t require oil, unless you’re a rusty robot and not
human.
So
i greet the day, and hop on a bus. Gladly get off where
infrastructure blends into an area of remnant ancient forest. Where
water rushes down over rocks and boulders. Breathe the spray-filled
air, fresh under beech trees along the banks.
Within
the process of seeing, listening, taking thirty photos as an aid to
creation. A further article may be needed to present another select
few.
Wishing
to share, hopefully, at least an essence which eludes language. With
regard to our original consciousness, as one with the heart of the
living planet, with appreciation of the subtle beauty of nature.
Often,
when in a certain proximity to the sound of running water, i
distinctly hear otherworldly music within it and internally. Many
voices singing, chanting in unison continuously.
You
may freely choose to dismiss as fanciful, imagined, or an aspect of
white noise, but it remains, an undeniable faculty of consciousness,
clearly astonishing and discernible. Ethereal, yet, as real as the
leaves of the trees.
Yet
it’s there to be found in the water sound, listening attentively
within in right relationship, suspending sub-vocal thoughts. More
profound than much of what we refer to as music, endlessly ongoing
and as ambient as it gets, and always joyful.
We
are reminded to revere water as a living liquid crystal which
embodies memory, and being in earthly body we are largely water too,
and that is our bond which is not a bondage.
There
is a Celtic saying which i recall approximately. Along the lines of,
‘where the land and waters meet, is where magic happens.’ ~
~~~
~~~ ~~~ ~~~
Martin
Rainbowmaker.
