The Last Ones

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Who were the last ones? How did they feel?
The last of the European monolith builders, those
Gentle women who built the round stone houses,
Knew the herbs, nursed the villagers to health with
Full and wondrous breasts full of life and love for their people…
Who were the Last Ones?

Or the Hopi people, watching the exodus from the cliffs, leaving
Behind the dwellings carved by the fathers of tens of generations.
Deserted by the animals and the grasses that had
Been their hope and the Gods that had been their life.

Or the followers of the Pharaoh Amenhotep IV - those gentle believers of only one great and good and omnipotent God who was the source of love and grace and beauty and peace. And when the vulgar hordes took over, and the last devotee turned his eyes to the likeness of Nefertiti in despair, what did he say to his children?

Or how about the Essenes, so pure of heart and intention that all the women were called virgins and all the men were brothers. So smart and visionary that they called for the Son of God Himself to teach once again that we are all one.

What were the arguments used against them? That their messages were impractical? That their methods were ineffective? That their leaders must be replaced with those who were more effective, more ruthless, more efficient, more sophisticated, better financed?

Suppose we consult the few remaining Children of the Earth who still keep in touch with the Great Spirit, or the Aboriginal people or the American Transcendentalists. What do we say to our children and neighbors? That we have never been good at defending ourselves? That these staggeringly vulgar and dense morons just don’t “get it”? That we’ll come back someday – born again in a new land and repeat the message in a new language and that maybe next time they’ll listen?

I know that if I were to ask the Dali lama, “How do you live with the despair and failure?” he’d advise me to calm down, take a breath, turn within, and contemplate the nature of Impermanence.

But, I cannot live with this happening again. The darkness must be kept back this time. I must sit down between the battle lines and inform each warring faction that the At-one-ment is at hand.

This time, let’s make our sense of separation from the Earth and from each other impermanent. I do not want to walk this path again.

I wrote that piece a good ten years ago while I was a practitioner in the Carson City Church of Religious Science. Happily, they were able to support me despite my variance with the usual metaphysical happy talk. I will always be grateful to those lovely people.

I hearken back to it now because once again, this seems like the End of Days. We anticipated the real estate crash, and the depletion of resources. We have mitigated these events by getting out of debt, reducing our expenditures, stocking up on food and supplies, raising vegetables, chickens, and rabbits. We have reached out to our local community, joined the Grange, got very involved with local politics, and created our cyber campfire. The tribe of people that have gathered here provides each other with good information and emotional support in this challenging time. Once again, I am grateful for the people who have opened their hearts and minds to us and to each other.

But, I have to admit, that I did not imagine the cascade of disasters that seem to be hitting us all at once. The Oil Catastrophe, the “Sun Sickness,” the death of the fisheries, the ruination of the corral reefs, real possibility of nuclear exchange, and the dire predictions of Patrick Geryl regarding 2012, have got me identifying with that woolly mammoth found frozen in the ice with a mouthful of petrified grass.

Mike Ruppert told the secessionists in Vermont that it is prudent to make plans to do without the federal government because it is about to fall apart anyway and we cannot count on help from it at any rate. Go to his website and view the video of his address to them. He pulls no punches. (Act II From the Wilderness)

It seems to me that almost all the countries of the world are falling victim to the malfeasance of the Central Banks and financiers much as the turtles, fish, and wetlands are about to be snuffed by the oil spreading out in the waters and onto the shores. God only knows what the natural gas that accompanies the oil will do to the air. There is very little information on it anywhere.

Can it get any worse? Well, yeah…. It seems that tremendously large magnetic filament that we’ve been watching on the sun has just erupted, and a large coronal mass ejection should be arriving on earth Wednesday or Thursday. Don’t actually know if it will just be a super light show in the sky over Canada, or whether it will disrupt the electrical grid. Better fill up the gas tank, just in case the pumps don’t work at the end of the week. Oi vey…. Just in time for the beginning of hurricane season.

So, I guess it’s little wonder that my mind is turning to saying goodby to all that I know and love, even as I plant marigolds, basil, lavender, yellow pear tomatoes, Easter Egg radishes, and my new Trail of Tears beans, to name just a few.

Thank Heavens for gardens. Their very nature demands that you envision that there is a future and that these amazing plant people are going to take their place in it. The little chicks are running around outside now while the older ones are digging holes and taking luxurious dust baths. The rabbits seem content to munch grasses and watch the goings on around them. The rooster, Big Red, continues to escort each of his ladies into the hen house to lay her egg and celebrate with her when the deed has been accomplished.

Murph is stacking wood (got eight cords so far) and tanning hides. I’m sitting here roasting meat for the dog and trying to come to terms with it all. I guess some things don’t change.

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