Sitting soaking in the "Hippie Pots" upstream from Glenwood Springs, CO. Chanted a bit, intoning Sanskrit mantras and incantations to dispell ills and shake off and rinse off da "road funk" that seems to be stickin to me like flies on honey. Got a ride from Frisco to Gypsum with a fella fishes in Alaska and outfits here in CO, then another ride with a couple of fellas run a salvage yard hereabouts, another hitchhiker jumped in as well. A rather scattered fellow who'd been nervously pacing back and forth between the liquor store and convenience store doors, spaced only a few yards apart, and in front of my venue on a bench for the latter part of my wait posting a sign: "Glenwood Springs." Went to bed last night to rain falling on my impromptu lean-to after a kind couple payed for my meal at the Village Inn, and awoke before sunrise to a bowl and to set out in search of these pools I've not visited for a number of years. So here I sit and soak in said healing hot mineral waters, still wandering the west with a briefcase worth more than its weight in gold and only $11 cash, not from a fossil sale but from a passerby unrequested. Indeed the road magic on this misadventure of a business trip has been mixed, though as life doth usually present itself, more a rainbow with varying degrees of tint and hue and brilliance than merely black and white.

Dharma and Social Justice

In India, millions and millions of sadhu and brahmachari and other renunciates are fed and respected by householders despite so much abject poverty. Jeshua ben Joseph, aka Jesus, taught in the parable of the sheep and goats that those who help those in need, are hungry or otherwise in need, are to be blessed, and those who have ample means and do not help the least on the social strata are bound for hell, naraka loka or whatever appropriate hell realm. This concept is extant in nigh every religious system and system of ethics worldwide. Atman: love thy neighbor as thy Self.

Snow Still Lingers Heavy on The Snowy Range Peaks

Snakes, Fishes, Little Rats, and Pasupati . . .

So in the process of dredging to deepen some channels for my little fish friends in my meditation garden, my waterfeature without a house, I ended up with a rather unsightly pile of mud to one side of the primary fish pools. Having quite a few excess dinosaur bones and such just sitting around, the ones less than showcase material, I decided to make a little mosaic, Art brut styles sculpture of said pile of mud, an abstract Pasupati (Lord of Animals and Protector of Souls) overlooking the orange and white and darkly pigmented little carp. I guess I forgot about the snake often accompanies this figure . . .





Just previous, a little rat (big mouse?) showed up to say hi whilst I sipped last night's leftover coffee and smoked chillum and an organically grown tobacco with weed cigarette. Didn't have the camera handy, nor on the occasion when a whole family of these little rodents streamed out of the garden once at my approach, having found a pastry or sice of pizza I left as an offering. This adorable little beastie stared at me from beneath the AUM symbol I penned on a tiny wooden monument, twitching whiskers and blinking tiny black eyes, head cocked a bit to the right.



So now I'm playing "Wild Kingdom" or some such, transporting my friend the garter snake to the Laramie River, assuming and hoping that's far enough away to prevent another attempt at raiding the fish pool. Walked over the tracks with a snake in my pocket (hee hee) and past Depot Park to the sound of bagpipes bein' played, people riding by on bikes, and a high plains thunderstorm rollin' in from the mountains. Ah, a Laramie summer day, hooray. S'pose I shall have to let my new friend go soon, after the rain stops and maybe once I've finished my coffee. In the meantime, said serpent is sitting beside me on the couch at the coffeehouse, chillin' whilst the thunderstorm rolls over and the farmer's market gets rollin'.

Second snake, a tad smaller and thus probably the male of the pair, caught whilst lunging at a pair of goldfish, taken with me to coffee, then released.

A Crazy Divine Tale That Is Our Story, You And Me . . .

Storylines roll through mind with faces and figures and figurations intertwined, storylines told me either by sage or muse or memory of ancient knowledges or dreams I dreamt sometime in years past or last night, prescient peices of a puzzle, plot, Grand narrative seems to involve nigh each of you and many others, too, I've known or heard or read about.

This is the substance of the saying "As above, so below; as below, so above," as I suppose I receive it. We are the Divine at play, lila. As I imagine, this is each in due time becoming the fullness of their given form, personality and person, each a vessel and expression in some guise or other of Divine Self. We are the Gods at play, and the more succinct a person's understanding of their self and role, the more close to home, to transcendent potential.

Not unlike "Find your bliss," if I understand Campbell's meaning right. Find and become your Superhero self. This is karma-yoga, and bhakti-yoga too. Becoming in actions small and large, life lived, as One with that expression of the Divine, God or Goddess, Deva-Devi, your given form matches best. Be Divine and Be Blessed. Namaste

Chillin' With Da' Chillum in the Garden in the Mornin'

I Drink My Own Pee, Hee Hee !!!

Sivambu, "nectar of Siva," elixor tauted to do miracles for a body, cure cancer, prolong life greatly, according to some sutras or shastra or Kalpa section of the Damara Tantra or somethin' and to Western scientific research, too.



I have been practicing this rather odd seeming self-generated tonic off and on for a number of years, and have been daily drinking of the morning draining of the previous day's coffee with cream and water and occasionally beer or shot of whiskey in my morning cup of back brew, mixed in for good measure. Usually drink a few tablespoons at most, though can speak well of the apparent results, a certain lift to vitality and general feelings of health and well being.

According to the sutra which describes the proper process and diet for this ancient cure, a particular diet is proscribed, I ought to caution, and an analogy says to drink only the midstream, for like a serpent both the head and the tail are toxic (not sure why the tail of a serpent's considered poison, unless 'cuz of the butt). I must admit, though following the latter advise well, I'm rather poor at following the strictures of the dietary suggestions. Nonetheless, I must say just a sip of the first piss of the day does make a body feel good.
In India, a land at least commensurate in my endearments to this land in which I abide, cow pee is consumed, sometimes now in soda pop form with flavors like gooseberry and aloe (true). I think I'll stick to my own lingam juice for now, thanks.



Minerals and vitamins not utilized the first time through and normally lost in the urine stream are retrieved and recycled thus, and shed, dead bacterial and viral shells go to the stomach where the abundance of antibody receptors then multiply to attack whatever's ailin' ya' (the stomach lining has the most antibody receptors of any organ in the body). Uric acid is good for ya' too, but forgot how, and feeling disinclined to do the research, except to say it smooths skin and at least reduces acne if applied, say, in the shower or whatever.

So indeed, pissin' it away ain't all a waste, if you sip the sometimes bitter brew of the midstream of your first morning pee stream. Hee hee !!!

Slight Refuge and Fleeting Habitat

My little refuge from the hustle and bustle of the big town of Laramie (or is it a little city?). Got a visit from a rather polite policeman who informed me that the Union Pacific people called on me, and said I'd need to move my camp. So next day I moved my camp a short distance and discovered this lovely little spring (though my designation appied to this little seap of water might be incorrect, as their may be a different source for this water flowing from the ground than the deep earth). Had set a granite lingum stone and a poplar branch trishul up in the circle of trees where I was camped, so only placed a small lingum in the "Swamp" as I've come to call this little haven. Built a two-person bench out of some scrap wood I found, and a meditation seat out of three granite rocks as legs and a larger trianguar/diamond shaped rock for a seat, complete with custom woven cattail mat to make lotus (or half-) a more pleasant sit. Though I haven't seen any frogs yet, I have heard them croaking--an encouraging sign considering the toll pesticides have had on amphibians here (nearly wiped out the Wyoming Toad). Haven't seen any faeries yet either, but that doesn't mean they haven't discovered this magical little spot. Did spy a male yellow warbler sipping from the upper pool, and of course the mosquitoes just love the place--thank goodness for dhoop (incense) and citronella!! Thinking about getting some citronella grass to plant by the spring, as well. Though it seems I'll likely not be making it to the National Rainbow Gathering out in Pennsylvania this year, at the least I got a spot to meditate in the meantime, and some semblance of natural beauty to behold whilst I linger in Laramie a bit longer. May my brothers and sisters and friends at the Gathering be blessed, and the rest of ya' not fortunate enough to make it to the Gathering of the Rainbow Tribe be blessed too. Please keep in mind (or perhaps join in from where you are) that at sometime around noon EST on the Fourth of July, upwards of fourty thousand souls will be intoning the sacred syllable ॐ (pronouned "AUM," from whence are derived both "amen" and "amin") with a wish for world peace and justice. (btw, if any locals or people passing through wanna know the whereabouts of this secret meditation garden, just ask . . . is there for respectful use by all and any so far as I'm concerned)

Of Clouds and Brick

Contemplating quilted patches of clouds calmly drifting by over the Grand Avenue downtown storefront facades, gray undersides with dull silver to white-shimmering fringes above the red to brown bricks and carved stone or wood crowns and ornamented windows sills and door frames and plaques denoting antique dates of construction, contrasting orders emerge: ice crystals forming fractals forming amorphous massings of percipitatious possibilities casually hanging out in limbo between unseen layers of atmosphere and between floating and falling, indeed responsive and harmonious to the most intricate patterns of molecular bonding and movements of air and vapor and heat and cold flowing 'round the globe, quite complex sequences intrinsic to the very nature of matter; to stacks of fabricated rectangular blocks staggered evenly along established lines, embellished with carved crowns of stone and wood to break the monotony of bricks and mortar.

Though indeed natural patterns yet prevail in the face of synthetic intentions and the most seemingly unnatural of human contrivances, amidst angular and measured constructions and divisions and delineations of downtown buildings and human experiences, these provide at least a clear aesthetic contrast (if they don't actually conflict) to the seeming random yet indeed intricately and ornately ordered and eternal patterns of elements interacting, whether four or five or a hundred and eighteen.

Human order, to a degree and insofar as not instinctual or intuitive or truly spiritual, is subject to fashion as much as to physics, and is much more concerned with maintaining control and appearances than are the clouds and sky, earth and water, fires above and below, wild animals and plants and other things that live and grow.

Indeed, despite human presumptions of power over nature and pretense of being somehow separate from the natural world's sometimes chaotic symmetries, when all appearance of stacked brick and grid patterned neighborhood streets of asphalt and concrete have been erased by actions of wind and water, earth and fire, we shall realize patterns of Nature are those which abide, like those that form crystals in the sky or underground, which order seasons and orbital dances of planets and stars and electrons and make molecules to build cells and bodies and life to live, and which order the consciousness we already know as ourselves, and behind the scenes our Self, most true.

Then we shall surely see the absurdity of so many sacrosanct and subjective hierarchies and constructs, classes and caste as these compared to those eternal patterns and natural frameworks which abide beyond culture or fashion or nigh any and every mere human device or devisement. When this cycle of illusions built upon illusion is o'er and we each and eventually all come to a recollection of that which is lasting, pure, natural and knowing, those arbitrary taxonomies and blueprints and artifices we felt so seminal to our lives and sanity will be but the proverbial 'dust in the wind,' or perhaps remembered as of little more importance than a wisp of cloud temporarily interrupting the pleasant warmth of the sunshine, a likewise pleasant experiencing.

Danced With A Hawk Today

Danced with a hawk this morning. White winged with brown fringes (from the view below), this great bird of prey soared above me and flew closer as I began to run around with my arms spread wide, calling in kind to the sweet and sorrowful seeming cries this bird issued from floating high above my absurd figure and form, dancing foolishly and free.


(video from another day's communiques with my fine feathered neighbors--both of the pair in this video)

Why don't regular people run around with their arms spread to at least figuratively fly with the birds in the sky? or perhaps I should say, why do they feel obliged to hide what's wild and free, pure and playful that abides within? Why hide that which is no shame?

Used to be I felt obliged to grow old, and rather too quickly, too. A pastor of a church by age twenty-one, a teacher to those over twice my age. Then somewhere along the way, in most serious contemplations, questionings and questings, I found that to be mature does not mean to cease to play, innocently and sometimes quite silly.

Certainly I had some assistance in finding this freedom--a simple liberty intrinsic if temporarily forgotten: respectful use of sacred mushrooms, marijuana, meditation (if not necessarily in that order), and to a lesser extent and with reservations to a degree, LSD, mescaline and DMT, as well as via encouragements, examples and reassurance offered by other crazy mystic hippie freaks on a like path to moksha, to a liberation not licentious, a freedom from the fetters of illusions found even whilst still living life, in fact so life might be truly lived and joyfully savoured as it was unequivocally meant to be.

S'pose what I'm saying is please, my friends, do spread your wings and fly with the great birds of the sky, soar to your potentials most beautiful and high, and not merely by standards of supposed propriety and sanity, but instead by those eternally true. Lovely lila!!!

To Hell With Original Sin, Yo!!

My most significant issue with the Judeo-Christian-Islamic perspective on the state of the individual as intrinsically containing some seed of sin is that this scarcely meets with my experiences with real people of whatever religio-philosophical persuasion. Indeed, I must contend that in my extensive wanderings 'round this land and some in others people far and away display the far stronger and more true seed is Atman, good Self, expression of brahman in each being from inception (if sometimes stifled by disharmonic factors in many), not requiring an invitation and a bath to attend, and is extant from the start.

My intrinsic understanding of the nature of separation and union is that 'tis a natural and healthy flow looks rather not unlike the Big Bang Theory, expansions and contractions of the Universe in a cycle earlier understood by tantric teachings as Siva-Shakti in loveplay, Divine nata (dance) best described. Ancient tantra teaches Siva-Shakti/Parvati/Kali as not-separate, as like bindu ("dot") from which all proceeds to make up Time-Space, which is these Divine Two who are not-two. Indeed these concepts come upon by contemplation, meditation and illumination are Self-same notions as certain theories of modern quantum physics.

Indeed these cycles of expansion away and return to this Eternal Love that is not-not all of us and all that is, these cycles of forgetting and remembering that we are already--to whatever degree of realization--'One with God' at the level of True Self, Atman . . . these cycles are intrinsically good, and playful so long as not mean. Seems still ill-tuned vibrations prove sometimes resulting from the uneven flow of sound and other sense vibrations issue from primal AUM (from whence, a bit forgetful of original pronunciation, cometh the Judeo-Christian Amen and somewhat more precisely pronounced Amin of Islamic tradition). Sounds bouncing round that sometimes make a chalkboard scraping sound. These less than ideal and sometimes abhorrent byproducts are also like the terrible poison produced when the ocean was churned by an alliance of devas and asuras to bring forth the nectar of immortality, and also beautiful apsaras (divine flying nymphs, magical maritime maidens). This poison was then drank down by the Destroyer to save the earth from otherwise immanent demise (though ever-devoted Parvati helped too, as She caused the brew to stick in Her Fella's throat, as She feared for the effect of the dark drink).

With appropriate perspective, though, the dance through these disharmonies is indeed what yoga (root of the English word, "yoke") does to tune the song of the Great Musical, to alter the pitch and tone to create a pure vibration resounding, and to create a harmonious flow to the show. Breath-in, breath-out; expansion and contraction. Yoga, yo! When let to go naturally (as truly natural, brahman, always manifests as pure), though seeming separate, there is no sin.

"Long-Hair Holds Fire . . ." Hippies in the Oldest Book in the World

Rig Veda 10.136

1  Long-hair holds fire, holds the drug, holds sky and earth.  Long-hair reveals everything, so that everyone can see the sun.  Long-hair declares the light.
2  These ascetics, swathed in wind [naked], put dirty red rags on.  When gods entered them, they ride with the rush of the wind.
3  'Crazy with asceticism, we have mounted the wind.  Our bodies are all you mere mortals can see.'
4  He sails through the air, looking down an all shapes below.  The ascetic is friend to this god and that god, devoted to what is well done.
5  The stallion of the wind, friend of gales, lashed on by gods--the ascetic lives in the two seas, on the east and on the west.
6  He moves with the motion of heavenly women and young men [Apsarases--sexy flying nymphs, and Ghandarvas--the elevated fellas they hang out with], of wild beasts.  Long-hair, reading their minds, is their sweet, their most exciting friend.
7  The wind has churned it up; Kunamnama prepared it for him.  Long-hair drinks from the cup, sharing the drug with Rudra.

(from Wendy Doniger's translation, with a slight alteration or two)

Modern Paraphrased Version

1  So like, this hippy was holding a cup of psychedelic brew, spacin' out to the sky and the pretty patterns in the dirt.  He was talking about how bright it was, and started staring at the sun, pointing at it with wild gesticulations.
2  Dirty hippies!!  How their farts do stink!!
3  "Hey dude, I'm really trippin' balls now, I think we're flyin!!  Weeeeeee!!!!  Now you can't see me:  I'm invisible!!!"
4  That hippy's now running around in circles with his arms extended like wings, looking around at the pretty patterns.  This dude thinks everybody loves him, and he thinks he loves everybody, and he digs good music.
5  Dude thinks he's quite a stud (farts again), and starts talking to himself.  He jumps into a puddle of water, then one on the other side of the sidewalk.
6  This trippin' hippie starts walking like a girl, then gets on all four and starts barking.  This hippie approaches random people and turns his head sideways, contorts his face and says, "I know what you're thinking!!"  People think he's kinda funny.
7  Dude shakes up the shrooms that have settled to the bottom of the cup and takes a big ol' shwill, then hands the cup to his bro.

(note:  prob'ly wasn't actually shroom tea, 'cuz Rudra wasn't s'pose to drink of Soma)

Please don't don't mistake, I hold nothing but respect and reverence for the Rig Veda, and the Vedas generally.  'Tis fun to be playful with what is revered (with certain restraints, of course).  It is quite interesting to note the antiquity of the practices of "long-hairs," those perennial seekers who often utilize psychetropic substances to alter perception in order to better understand self and the nature of reality.  Indeed, the hippies of today are but a continuation of a longstanding spiritual tradition that has unbroken lineages of practice in the Himalayas and Indian subcontinent from time immemorial, as well as being reflection of other indigenous traditions of asceticism and a renunciation of the materialism of society in general in order to seek those things more primal and intrinsic to being human and to human interactions with the Divine.

I am both a hippie and a sadhu (if sorta a dilettante of one), and find it refreshing and healthy to be able to make fun of oneself and one's own "kind," for lack of a better term.  Humor is Divine (when appropriate and appropriately measured, of course), and can prove cathartic as well as even reifying the very thing laughed at.  I have certainly appeared as silly as the creative modernized description of trippin' I've penned above, and almost certainly shall again . . .

Namaste and good journeys!!

Laramie Spring's Finally Arrived !!! (!?!?)

After a few hopeful false starts, the wind and cold seem abated, the forecast finally seems to agree with my sensibilities--perhaps spoiled a bit by the milder winters I've seen here of late.  Likely at least the only snow likely to fall from here to the mountains be a flurry or two.  Hooray for Springtime!!!  Crabapple blossoms and lilacs should come on soon, and in that order, and soon should be leaves on the big trees.  Wouldn't mind bein' busy with planting and such right about now, but alas, land I've none to till and toil o'er, organically of course.

Yeah, I realize this is high country, not the tropics.  Spent my years growing up mostly in this town at somewhere around 7200 ft. above the big waters and between three-sides of mountains, and full well know the range of summer and winter and spring and fall, dichotomies or presumed opposites which here don't necessarily meet with the truth of the matter, where July can see fractaled flakes fall under a sunny sky--or leastwise up in the mountains east or west, thick pines or alpine tundra, rocks of Vedawoo or Eagle Rock, or down south towards the Never Summer Mountains.  Still I long for warmth and green growing things to flourish.

There are plum trees grow here and are full of luscious lustrous red to black fruit come fall, and smallish to midsized apples too, as well as the ubiquitous crabapples.  I know of a few apricots bear fruit here in Laramie, though a peach tree probably oughtn't be subjected to this climate and altitude.  Currents here are bounteous, and grapes of the hardiest sort should turn a harvest if you're lucky and choose the right spot. There is even a varietal of kiwi fruit's supposed to grow in this grow region that's called Arctic Gold--and you can eat the skin, no less!!!

Tomatoes here require a hothouse, no doubt.  Zucchinis and other like squash do fine, though, and in fact flourish, and plants like broccoli, too.  Also I've wondered about wild rice if the soil and water are just right.  Ah, I'm just dreamin' of diggin' in the funky soil for now (not to mention carving sandstone dwellings and sacred space), as a manuscript little closer to publication means my focus is play as much I must the role of writer, or perhaps better, aspiring author. 

I suppose of many role into which I might be cast in any given schema of those venues I've chanced to happen through, from hippie, hobo or vagabond and mostly yogi mystic freak these days, to of history of once upon a time having been a cowboy and a preacher, and a grad student, too . . . presenting myself for my immediate public face a "writer" or "aspiring author" is not a bad role to portray or receive, if those I meet and onlookers as well might be so kind.  Of course "soon to be published author" would be better still . . .

(NYC trip to find an agent/publisher still pending, I s'pose . . . I 'magine spring's already in full swing there)

Lovely Devi Dharma

Lovely Devi dharma, devotions done in intonations, privations, yogic alterations of sense vibrations (though sometimes that's for my own comfort and for righteousness sake, too), even in casual admiration of the beauty of women I happen to see or remember fondly, and by nigh constant wishes for the victory of Mahadevi, "Great Goddess" and devi generally manifest in so many forms to whatever degree of emanation, avatar or reflection of Divine Feminine grace and sexy pure perfection, wisdom and wonderous charms might reside in any given lovely form of Her I see and consider in these pleasant reveries.

Watching Life's Play as I Sit and Sip . . .

Sitting and sipping coffee and gazing 'round at faces "just out of focus" (for one, as I no longer wear corrective lenses), and likewise considering faces afar, I wonder when and where I might have seen Her, Devi Durga, Shakti manifest, Uma Himavati, Parvati or Laksmi or some other form of Feminine Divine incarnate.

One woman nigh certainly danced a dance I watched more than once wherein this dancer (Dancer?) was clearly animated by Devi, whether Parvati (my first guess) or some other close form, avatar or emanation of TriDevi, Durga, Laksmi or Saraswati.  Shakti-Parvati is more well known for dance, and likewise my first meeting with her (Her? the dancer, that is) coincided with the introductory stages of my tantric practices manifesting unconsciously in my personal behavior--unconsciously insofar as having an historically based understanding of the practices rather obtrusively manifesting in my life.  If you are curious, look up pics of the sort of stuff sadhus do . . . or look up the Pine Forest myth (mine hasn't and shant fall off, btw), ehem!!
This well adored divine dancer disappeared from the scene before I had the confidence and wherewithall to approach her, though we later became fairly close friends for a time in a not so faraway foreign land.

Perhaps some of the attraction to this particular locus (loka, the Sanskrit root for the English word), i.e., Coal Creek coffeehouse in downtown Laramie, is the prominence of the place in terms of earlier acts of the lila ("divine play/playfulness").  And indeed, the people who appear here at this venue and on this particular stage are generally obliging insofar as a willingness or a penchant to play on cue, roles seeming fitted to a taut aesthetic, complete with clues as to the purport of the play being played (if only I were a better reader . . .), to what the cycle or metaphoric message might be, i.e., in terms of myth, stories and songs might come to mind.  Though I ought to note, some myths more than others are writ in more than imaginings or musings and as more than a particular culture's malfeasance, neurosis, malady or wish-fulfillment wantings, and convey more precisely a universal aesthetic.  I suppose there is a show wherever I go, though, and Mahamaya is ever playful--though seems sometimes plays of maya can be rather . . . twisted.

Reading the lila, between and oft as not in the lines recited (however consciously) by actors and conversants, almost (if not) scripted conversations and transcendental communications manifested in even mundane exchanges.  Else imagine a flash-mob synchrony manifest unconsciously (to whatever degree) by bystanders and passersbye, seen as a dance or (super-) naturally choreographed scene as I watch and sometimes interact whilst sipping my cup of coffee, and less often these days, a beer or a glass of wine whilst contemplating and sometimes responding to actors and actresses acting.  Lila, oh lila.

PARVATI DEVI

Oil Disaster in the Gulf and the Alternatives to Destroying Our Environment for Energy

As the consequences of the oil seeping from the ocean floor in the Gulf of Mexico becomes apparent, it should become quite obvious even to the dullest fool and least informed of the opiated masses that drilling for oil off the coasts of our beautiful land--or any other land for that matter, is a bad idea.  With the fragile marshlands of the Gulf Coast imperiled by a disaster that seems likely to be greater in scope and effect than the Exxon spill in Alaska's once pristine waters, the livelihood of fishermen and those reliant on tourism severely threatened, and the irresponsible practices of the petroleum industry as seemingly endemic, as wide scale extraction of toxic minerals that were meant to be left under the ground is always prone towards either immediate disaster or continued negative impacts on the environment generally, it is clearly time to mobilize a major shift in the energy economy of this nation and the world.

The alternatives are viable and minimally impactive:

Biodiesel and ethanol from algae can and should replace petroleum consumption almost entirely within a span of ten to twenty years.  Utilizing an area of only 15% of the area of the Sonoran Desert (18,000 sq. miles, or approximately 134x134 miles), spread across the southwest United States and perhaps into Mexico (assuming equitable trade practices), biodiesel and ethanol production utilizing algae (likely grown in salt water so as to minimize freshwater use) could completely replace the current transportation fuel needs of this nation.  These plants can be made to be minimally impactive, and in fact if placed in such places as dry lake beds where little to no species of animals already maintain homes, the shade from the algae growing containers could provide at least temporary habitat for many desert-dwelling species.

Insofar as electricity production, solar mirror generating stations utilizing the heat produced to spin turbines could power the entire Unites States electrical grid utilizing an are of 92x92 miles, likewise spread throughout the southwest and into Mexico, and likewise not only scarcely impacting the environment but also providing shade for life to inhabit where was formerly uninhabitable, such as dry lake beds or other spans of hot desert land without any natural vegetation.  Wind turbines, home-based solar and wind power, and perhaps some form of tidal energy harvesting combined with the aforementioned would certainly suffice, and these all combined would impact less land area far less detrimentally than current areas currently being impacted by coal mining.

 

The answers are right there in front of our noses, so what the fuck are we waiting for?!?!

It's time to start to let the sun and wind provide the energy our society needs, NOW!!!

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/05/02/us/02spill.html?exprod=myyahoo

http://www.popularmechanics.com/science/energy/biofuel/4213775

Whirling visions of self and other and Self . . .

Whirling visions of self and other and Self (and Other ?) in juxtaposed and manifold madness of a nata (dance) that is both in vision and manifest in life lived:  either consideration of revelation of reincarnations possible, probable or actual, proceeding before me as a collage of faces, places and bodies, voices and choices, memories mixed with wonderings and wanderings and seems sometimes elses . . . thought, and what not.

This is (or at least is best) seen as lila, perceived as play divine, perfected when one might see oneness, yoga seen as kleem, relationships and relationship and fractals like dancers viewed from above, swirling and weaving each of us, in concert and consort with earth and sky and fire and air, solar and planetary bodies and the earth's features, from mountains to oceans and each other.  We both remember and forget, at any given moment, this unity, this beatific dance, romance, transformation through cycles of matter and mind, expand and contract:  big bang boom, ya' know?  Siva-Sakti, as is often bespoken, that through endless and beatiful cycles through dark and light, always to return, in a proper lila, to a point where we all remember in such a way to cycle us back to the purity we truly are at our core!!!!! 

धर्मात्मन् ब्रह्मन् सनातन धर्म भक्ति

dharmAtman, brahman, sanAtana dharma, bhakti; Self particular, Self Universal, eternal teachings/justice, devotion/love.

Loving Your Self

Then Yajnavalkya said: "Verily, not for the sake of the husband, my dear, is the husband loved, but he is loved for the sake of the self which, in its true nature, is one with the Supreme Self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the wife, my dear, is the wife loved, but she is loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the sons, my dear, are the sons loved, hut they are loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of wealth, my dear, is wealth loved, but it is loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the brahmin, my dear, is the brahmin loved, but he is loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the kshatriya, my dear, is the kshatriya loved, but he is loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the worlds, my dear, are the worlds loved, but they are loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the gods, my dear, are the gods loved, but they are loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the beings, my dear, are the beings loved, but they are loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, not for the sake of the All, my dear, is the All loved, but it is loved for the sake of the self.
"Verily, my dear Maitreyi, it is the Self that should be realized—should be heard of, reflected on, and meditated upon. By the realization of the Self, my dear—through hearing, reflection, and meditation—all this is known."  (Brihadaranyaka Upanishad, Part II, 4:4)

Not selfishness, exactly. Atman is not "ego." Love, but not love comes out of fear nor lack nor jealousy--rather, a love comes from a recognition of the nature of one's Self. I just explained it to a friend this way: love of Self is not selfishness, it is a recognition that that "other" you encounter is not not you (dble. negative intended, in case you were wondering). Understanding reincarnation, i.e., taking rebirth through a mama's sweet yoni, one can see how in some guise the possibility you may have been or perhaps shall be, that other.

So Buddha comes up to Brahma in a heaven realm, and notices that Brahma is surrounded by others sitting and listening as Brahma is teaching. So like, Buddha say, "Yo Brahma!! W's up? Why you still teaching if this be heaven?!"

At that moment, Buddha is taken in a reverie, and nigh faints. Brahma looks up from his thought, and ask the Buddha, "Why are you crying?" To which Buddha responds, "I saw all the lives I have lived, as every other, and I saw much suffering."

Point being, compassion and Self-interest are not disparate. To recognize others' suffering, by some degree of seperation or other, as one's own suffering (give or take however many cycles of lives lived) is one way to recognize Atman, the Eternal Self that is the manifestation of brahman (the Universal Divine Being, not to be mistaken with Lord Brahma, Creator aspect of the Trimurti) that is "in the world."  Oh, and another point be:  the journey of becoming don't end just 'cuz you get to heaven,  'cuz there's ages worth of dharma to be and do.

420: The Real History . . .

It's April 20

Two days before Earth Day



Eleven days till May Day



One day before the Ani Difranco show here at 7200 ft. high in the sky.
And a date celebrated by many a hippie, head, stoner, and cancer patient across this land and overseas . . .



This year as opposed to last when a slightly different version of this post was posted, I have sweet tasty nuggets to celebrate (for the moment), but still am given pause to think of the origins of this unique subcultural celebration, the only widely recognized day devoted to the consumption of a plant. There's no big day where people gather worldwide to celebrate tobacco, nor even roses, nor kumquats.



One rumor (promoted by High Times) is that some dudes in California decided to meet every day after school at 4:20 to puff. Various other proposals have been made as to the origins of this now internationally recognized code for smoking herb.

I believe, however, that the truth of this symbolic referent originated (as have so many things in this world) in India, on the Hippie Trail of days of somewhat yore (some sections not so safe these days). In India and Pakistan, the term "420" has long been synonomous with "corruption" or "graft," as section 420 of the Indian Penal Code, established in 1860, covers this area of offense.



The exceedingly popular 1950's Indian film "Shri 420" ("Mr. 420") is about a fella falsely thought to be a con-man. In my assessment, the American use of "420" as slang for smoking herb likely derived from hippies travelling the Hippie Trail through Asia, who likely picked up on the term from the Indian/Pakistany usage, and decided smoking herb to be symbolic of burnin' "the Man," else otherwise symbolically burning the corruptions they viewed at home in America and abroad, and perhaps within themselves.

Regardless of the precise mode by which "420" was transmitted from India to America, and specifically pot smokin' culture, I am rather well convinced that India's usage of the term is whence derives the American usage.



Happy 420, regardless!!

Reading the Map Like Constellations: The Trishul I Live Amidst . . .

What is the meaning of the trishul, and the figure holding said made of mountains trishul ("trident" is the familiar English term for said ancient weapon of God), outlined on these maps?

You can click on an image for a closer view.

One day as I was walking through downtown Laramie, Wyoming gazing at the mountains to the east, south and west, and then considered the Platte River Valley to the west of the Laramie Valley as also surrounded by mountains on three sides, I wondered how succinctly these mountains would appear as a trishul, or at least a nice "W" for Wyoming, perhaps.  I had had a sense that the three mountain ranges that extend from Colorado into southeast Wyoming formed something of a trishul for some time, though I had no idea how accurate a presentation of this symbol of the presence of Mahadeva, Siva, Hara, Shankara, Great God, Mahakala ("Big Time") was formed millions and millions of years ago by processes geologic and Divine. I did not imagine that this trishul even has a danda (staff), which is the Front Range of Colorado and the string of mountain ranges extending down to about Santa Fe, New Mexico.



The satellite photos above shows rather clearly that I was not mistaken about the trishul, sign of the presence of Siva, formed by the Laramie, Snowy, and Sierra Madre Ranges, with the Front Range as the danda. I did not conceive of the figure holding this auspicious weapon until I looked at the trishul via satellite photos.  A Trishul is "the Presence of Shiva.  "Shambala" means "the abiding place of Shiva." The Buddhist Shambala Center is located on the easternmost blade of the Rocky Mountain Trishul...Hindus believe Shambala to be the place where Kalki will come as the return of Vishnu to planet Earth, perhaps somewhere in Southeast Wyoming or North Central Colorado?

Mahakala is Shiva in His most terrible form, described as massive and covered in ash,a as rising from or out of the earth and destroying with fire and smoke and ash.

"According to Shaktisamgama Tantra, the spouse of Mahakali is extremely frightening. Mahakala has four arms, three eyes and is of the brilliance of 10 million black fires of dissolution,"
(https://www.revolvy.com/page/Mahakala)

Mahakala also has a two-armed form, and is covered in ash.
UPDATE 2/24/20
...to further correlate to my interpretation of the Grand lotus-seated earth-made pictograph, that to my view appears to be cloaked, from the Buddhist tradition:

The two-armed "Black-Cloaked Mahakala" (Wylie: mgon po ber nag chen) is a protector of the Karma Kagyu school clad in the cloak of a māntrika "warlock".

 If you would notice where the head and third-eye of the lotus-seated figure would be if said figure stood:  YELLOWSTONE !!!  The earthen Murti writ as the better part of the Rocky Mountains is Maha Kala, "Big Time" !!!  When Maha Kala stands up (every 600,000 years or so), Yellowstone blows !!

 If this is not proof enough of the truth of the Divine, writ large through the landscape and manifest long before humans were supposed to exist on this planet and before humans were supposed to be making up myths about Gods with Divine Weapons, then I s'pose death and a visit with Yama may be what's required for the skeptics amongst, or some such...

Just noticed that the Sandia Mountains make for an interesting and obvious earthen pictogram, a person with hands raised and seemingly offering adoration to the Presence of Shiva as the adri trishul that starts just above the figure as the Sangre de Cristo mountains...

Namaste !!

http://western-hindu.org/2009/10/14/shaivite-hindu-symbols-the-trishula/