Ingenious Series of Code

When I began writing it seemed to me to be an ingenious series of code, meant to convey information. As I developed “sophistication” with the language, I discovered that to be adept with the written word, sometimes what was left unsaid had more power than the words themselves. In my usual stubborn manner, I still tend to say much more about what I mean and leave little to the imagination or more subtle factors in my message. This method of blurting out the truth rather than leading people to it has a power of it’s own, but frequently I fear, there is too much of a jump for the casual reader to absorb new images, ideas and icons that I have understood for most of my life. As a child, I wondered at the inhumanity of man (mostly the men I might add) toward other men (but mostly to the “fairer sex”. I hesitate to even use this language because it is seated in centuries of male domination and subjugation of women. So many of the words we use are carrying the baggage of this sexual slavery and exploitation that it is hard to write for long without bumping in to one or two.

It is high time that our civilization renounces the old way of thinking about the females who make up a slight majority of most natural populations. In cultures that select for men, inevitably society will have unmarried men who live shorter and sicker lives without the care of mates. Rather than getting bogged down in the aberrant sex selection practices that have been favored by some forms of state controlled childbirth policy, I want to qualify this statement partially. Although it is true, mated pairs may not be exclusively bi-sexual, the vast majority are. The very cultures that select for sex usually have taboos about same sex marriages as well, creating undue stress for the loving couples who stray outside social morays.  When America stole the concept of the Iroquois confederacy, they failed to utilize the most important factor in selection of representatives; the grandmothers were the only people who could vote. Imagine our culture if the cultural memories of the grandmothers were unleashed in policy making.

At once, those who were given flags instead of their children back from the war, those whose children have been damaged by drugs or environmental contamination would finally have a cohesive voice. Those who had lost children to violence, or poverty or the ravages of bad food and overwork, would have a say in how we treat the corporations (mostly men, and women who act like them) who currently receive the lion’s share of welfare in our country. The direct subsidy of allowing public air, water and soils to be contaminated for profit of a tiny few would end overnight. I say, if you are ever considering action of any kind, consult the grandmothers. The messages that I have chosen to send throughout my life have been in defense of the tribal cultures that we can all trace our roots back to. Their cultural intelligence has been lost, along with the power of the grandmothers. To regain any semblance of hope for the future we need to establish sustainable systems that have been proven over time through a long, handed-down chain of events that needs cultivation, not stigma.

We are, after all, tribal by nature. If we had a lick of sense, we would honor those who have seen the most, respect those who have given us life, endeavor to hold sacred the rejuvenating forces of Mother Earth and revel in our power to guide the coming generations. Until we get the intestinal fortitude, good sense or gumption to make the decisions that need to be made, we must resign ourselves to ever decreasing quality of life, more insidious poisoning of our environment, and ever dwindling rights at the hands of the most behemoth of corporate entities. Take time this Thanksgiving to appreciate the cornucopia of giving that belies the Earth’s Spirit and reflect abundance in all of your actions. If you feel run down, empty or depressed, realize that you have the right and the responsibility to change the world for the better.