Chpt Five

Chpt five is published, of my novel Progress Interrupted. A few days late, but that’s ok, ’cause there’s only a few paying attention. You’ll have to forgive me, those dear readers who are paying attention. I’ve been busy looking for a job, which is exhausting.

I hope you enjoy it.


Chpt 3

A note to readers: I published the third chapter of Progress Interrupted. I apologize for the scrolling required – I’m working with my webmaster to make it more user friendly. Blessings  –  WHD


I ate my first new potato from the garden, June 07. That has to be a record, in Minneapolis. I was glad for it, as my primary veggies of late have been weeds. Good weeds, tasty weeds, the lambs quarter and the sorrel, fit for any fancy restaurant in this city, sorrel like a sweet/tart apple, and the meaty lambs quarter with bright, glistening silver and burgundy crystals, clinging to the leaves. I some times eat the dandelion green, but it’s hit and miss bitterness with those (though I’m conscious such a bitterness could be like salvation too, in times of trouble.)

In the spring of 2008, with a new job at the world headquarters of a Fortune 100, I went on a grow, gather or kill diet, anticipating a probable weight gain at my first corporate job (I wrote about it in the first chapter of my first book.) I’ve been drifting back that way (to the diet, not the cubicle.) Low on cash, wondering about imminent global economic meltdown, I’m trying to establish as many relationships as I can with the plants in my vicinity, that provide sustenance. I’ve eaten little the past two weeks that I didn’t grow or gather. I’ve lost about eight pounds. The time has also been characterized by a shift in consciousness.

I haven’t just been eating weeds. Cilantro, radishes, arugula, and a light green leaf lettuce have naturalized in the garden like weeds, popping up spontaneously every spring. The carrots are the same way; I leave a few in the ground, they set seeds the following year, the seeds scatter, and sprout the year after that. I could eat a carrot, but I’m waiting another week. I’ve planted several rows, with another 200 perhaps, in the wild patch; I’ll be planting as I pick, for storage. The spinach is bolting, the rouge de hiver is about to bolt, and I’ve been eating the stems and leaves of the beets as I thin them. The strawberries have been ripe for more than a week, the raspberries and the blackberries are almost ready, and I was picking serviceberries in the park today. I have wild strawberries on the boulevard. If you’ve never had a wild strawberry, you should plant some. They even smell aromatic, for an extra and more lingering treat, drifting around the garden – here, mixing with the tea rose. I’m experimenting with drying wild strawberries in the sun. These days, that seems like a practice worth embracing, on a number of levels.

I’ve stalled out, too, in the remodeling of my house. For three weeks I worked 8-14 hr days, earlier this spring. I’ve done little since, but work in the garden and write. That, and I’ve been enthralled, mystified, perplexed, enraged, with the decline of Western, industrial civilization, my culture. Which decline is becoming ever more apparent, high oil prices destroying demand, at the same time lower prices make most of that fracking and tar-sands removal uneconomic, which activity also happens to be the only thing staving off a decline in available supply: aka Peak Oil. You might think a responsible statesman would point this out. Most seem content instead to flame the various ideological misapprehensions, the prejudices, of an increasingly irrational, hostile, confused people; the very word responsibility, left bereft of any and all meaning, in the onslaught of consumer and political manipulation. The language of violence is leaking out, particularly it seems, on the Right. Lest you think I support the Left, let me say that I think the West is crippled by it’s false dualism, demanding always a hostile relationship between opposites, when opposites are always and only necessary to the other inherently, and I think you’re both nuts.

I’ve stalled on the remodeling, which remodeling is necessary to sell the house, to get out of the mortgage and release my father from having to pay for it, as I am down to less than $200 (close to zero again for the ? twelfth, twentieth time the past four years,) not working outside the house and garden because I have work to do in the house, which I’m not doing. Gardening instead, and writing blog posts, about gardening, about institutional hierarchy, Thomas Aquinas and Catholicism and Christianity, peak resources, the decline of Western Civilization, the origins and progression of that paradigm, which informs our every moment here in the West; trying to encourage in my way, my readers to expand their consciousness, in a way that broadens their understanding of the world they inhabit, in preparation for the changes they are likely to face, in the continued decline of the civilization that has been heretofore necessary to their very being.

In some ways, I’m almost perfectly situated for global economic collapse, or at least I’m one hell of a lot better positioned than most. I have the makings of a vegetable harvest that could sustain me for the winter. I have fruit trees in the ground that could sustain me for years to come. I have grape vines that could get me drunk for years to come. I have building skills and wild plant knowledge that would be considerably more valuable in a post-collapse economy than they are lucrative now. At the same time, if I don’t pay my bills and even one utility-service is cut off, the city will condemn my house and forceably remove me from it. There are the taxes. Then there is the mortgage, which my father continues to pay. And at this point, if he walked away, the bank would probably raid his accounts and take the house, with penalties.

He, like most Americans, can only conceive, that as bad as the economic situation is, it is sure to be back to “normal” with time. I’ve always been inclined to think, and I’ve never been more certain, commerce could grind to a halt at any time. A run on everything, and that will be all anyone has, for awhile. $100 billion bailout for Spain? What, so you can add to the debt that can’t be paid now? China is authorized to monetize American debt? I sense a quickening in the destruction of the dollar. When I told my father that I’ve been pre-occupied with the seemingly imminent collapse of the global economy, his angry response was, “What the hell difference does that make to you?” “I live on planet earth,” I replied. But he’s right, in a way. I don’t stand to lose a dollar.

I sort of feel like the shaman at the edge of the village, the one who will tell you what you need to hear when you need to hear it most, bringing order to the universe, stability in times of trouble, who otherwise just gardens, and dances and sings with the kids – and is apt to disappear into the wilderness, for extended periods of time. But shaman’s not a paid profession, and I don’t care to make it one. I’m mostly content to just be, particularly when I’m dancing, gardening and writing.

But there’s also an agreement with my father, and one way or another, this house has to go on the market, or it and I will continue to be a drain on his finances, or I have to get more creative about bringing money in – and remain tied to the mortgage? If the global economy goes into free fall, I don’t want to be forced into some kind of military-security misadventure on threat of gulag like treatment, because I can’t pay, some last imperial grasp for distant, dwindling resources. Or, taking them from the people in my own country. And besides, there are two aging nuclear facilities on either side of the Twin Cities, that could easily do a Fukushima, vesica pisces like, right over the greater metro, in the event of commerce grinding to a halt. Which makes a legacy garden like this one feel like maybe just practice for somewhere else. Anyway, I have to somehow spur myself out of the heady-esotere intensity of this consciousness shift, and back into construction mode, so tomorrow, in the spirit of doing useful, mundane things that are important, I’m going to replace the compromised floor drain in my sister’s basement. How appropriate.


Recently, so bright, visible from the back step of my house in the evening, city skyline, on the West horizon. Close to the earth, exceptionally bright, unmistakable as a planet. One night, with Jupiter directly below on the horizon, the crescent moon nearby, I called out to you, in service, asking for the ability to write female characters. In ten days, I wrote 40,000 words. You are gone now, Venus, no longer visible as the Evening Star, as you revolve, on your cycle, to become the Morning Star.

But before that, today, you will transit the sun, passing between us. It won’t happen again for 105 years. I will never have another opportunity to see it, and hundreds of thousands of people, millions, will be watching. That’s a lot of people focused on something not of this world. I remember, you were a goddess to the Romans, the goddess of beauty and love. Still are, like a goddess, to some.

I’m hoping for a global infusion, of sacred, nurturing, sensual feminine energy, to pacify the violent. That would be nice. Or maybe it will be something like a 45x-class solar flare, at the moment of conjunction, a few megatons to the Nth degree, solar plasma hurtling toward the earth at a few hundred thousand miles a second, carrying something of Venus with it? That would not be so nice. Or maybe it would, depending on how one feels about seven billion people embracing consumer capitalism. A cosmic humbling for the species might be in order, and, as a humbling is probably coming one way or another, what with peak oil and water, this insolvent economy, schizoid weather, I wouldn’t mind so much if it got done in one fell swoop.

Or maybe it will just be like any other day, and 99.9% of humanity will be oblivious to it, and everything will go on exactly as it is, day by day, on the downward trend of the collapse of Western, industrial civilization.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about the first 195,000 years of Homo sapien, before we went on our little command, control, dominate detour. We are told from an early age, those “early” years were harsh, miserable, brutal. The stone age, ya know. That, or they never existed. I’ve always been inclined to think that time was eden. I’m also inclined to think, it wasn’t Eve who got Adam kicked out, at all. It was Adam’s betrayal, his refusal to see. Or maybe they just both got greedy.

I know I’m sitting on my back step now, looking at the garden, my fruit trees, my grape vines, knowing I can grow most of the food I need for the year, that I could gather and hunt the rest, that I can grow and ferment my own grapes, that I could hire out occasionally, my skills building things, and gardening, to buy a few necessities (like beer), and I’m sort of like, why do I have to pay a mortgage? Or rather, the estimated $468,000 in interest and payments, on a $153,900 loan? Whose lifestyle am I working to support? Why am I working to pay for your lifestyle, when I can take care of myself?

I’m on a bike. Why am I working to pay for your miserable roads? Most of them in my neighborhood should be gardens.

But it looks like I’m going to have to give it up, my house and garden, because I signed that devil’s bargain, and I’d rather float down the proverbial river than maintain it, if I have to continue to sell my soul.

I recommend, dear readers, figuring out a way to watch, directly, the transit of Venus. Reflect on the feminine, on what you might do to bring the masculine and feminine in balance, in you, that you might reflect that, in a world deeply out of balance. Call out, if you feel compelled to. I hope you get laid today. And who knows? Perhaps you’ll wake up tomorrow, and your world will be changed.


In the comments section of a recent post on my blog, called Requiem, kids came up, sort of. Basically, a few readers spoke about their reluctance or refusal to procreate, in the face of the enormity of the collapse of industrial civilization. Why bring a kid into this world, if resources are peaking and population with it?

I’m thirty eight years old, and have no kids of my own. There are many reasons for that, not least that I have never believed in the inevitability of progress. Most of my friends though, have kids, fun, intelligent, happy kids, like my niece and nephew, who live only a mile away. If I don’t get some kid time every once in a while, I retreat into myself and get dreary. Mostly when I’m with kids, we dance, or we chase each other around. I was dancing for a three year old the other day, when he beat out a rhythm with his hands on the dining room table in perfect time, rapping in his own tongue, letting out a scream at the crescendo – to his mother’s astonishment.

When was the last time you danced with your kids, Dads? Not very manly? I’d say you aren’t much of a man if you can’t, or won’t get a little goofy once in a while.

My reply to the discussion about procreation was, any true community revolves around the kids. And then it occurred to me, how rarely I hear about kids, in the peak-resources community.

Sharon Astyk talks about kids. That’s because she has, like eight of them in the house at any given time, her own and foster kids, and she grows their food, and does their laundry, and she writes books and blogs. No doubt, the most oft-asked question she hears is, how do you manage? Other than her, though, about the only one that comes to mind is Joel Salatin, who isn’t so much about peak as about food. You may not like his religion, but he’s modeling a post-petroleum lifestyle as well as anyone I know. He knows something about family, and how the family is core to any healthy community. When I hear about community in the peak dialogue, mostly I hear about meetings, to discuss logistics and such, food politics etc, in the activist style. I think it would be a lot healthier if we just got together with the kids running around, with an abundance of food, with music, and let it go where it will go. Smart people peak aware will figure it out.

As to whether it makes sense or not to have kids in the face of the enormity of the collapse of industrial civilization, having more kids isn’t going to make one bit of difference to the fate of the culture. It will make a big difference in your life, bringing much joy, and much responsibility, and you won’t have so much time for yourself anymore, particularly if you are tied to the debt machine, but I don’t know a dad among my friends who hasn’t told me that he wasn’t sure about having kids until he did, and now he can’t imagine not having them. If you are peak aware and concerned about community, and kids are central to any healthy community, then you might consider having kids, or/and paying more attention to those kids you know, and their families.

My niece helped me plant her mother’s garden recently. She is nine, and she knows how to plant tomatoes in a trench, and she knows that the weeds, lambs-quarter and sorrel, that grow pervasively in the garden, are as tasty and healthy as anything else that grows there. That’s community building, teaching useful post-petroleum skills to the kids you know – and dancing with them too.


The peak oil crowd graduated to peak everything, and then the full on despair of the awareness, of the reckoning to come, about which nothing on the macro-level can be done. People like to believe there is a powerful elite somewhere in control of everything, that we might believe elites somewhere will lift us out of our predicament; but no one is in control, there is only the looting of the nation and nature left, before the full onslaught of economic, ecological unraveling begins irrevocably. It is going to be more horrifying than anyone can imagine, because horror is always more intense in the midst of it, rather than bathing in the imaginary, and humanity has never pushed it’s numbers to their ecological limit to this degree before.

There’s also the fact that those who are awakening to the reality, are necessarily physically distant, scattered across the globe, almost nowhere concentrated. Knowing that industrial civilization is collapsing is a lonely place, the vast majority of so-called thinking adults, inclined to believe in the inevitability of progress, any lie to support it, the evil of the other, contradicting conspiracy theories, or messiahs, than they are in the very simple, mundane reality of the exponential function, humanity consuming beyond the ability of the earth to sustain us.

And in the despair, is the contempt, that people could be so willfully ignorant. That we believe there are no limits to what we consume, that we blissfully consume away, as the foundation of our children’s and grand-children’s future is ground into money, garbage and toxins. Is there any middle ground between the collapse of civilization, and the death of the biosphere? What if collapse is our only salvation, the only answer to the question, how to prevent humanity from destroying the very ability of the earth to produce life? Our contempt is misplaced then, and not very productive to begin with. In the despair though, there is a kind of salvation.

The old alchemists talked about the negredo, the mire, the difficulty, the challenge that brings forth the albedo, the light. That is, it’s the shit, the darkness, the confusing, rage inducing misery, where the real gold of transformation is. When you’re in it, it certainly doesn’t feel like it. But only in looking clearly at the difficulty, is one able to ascertain a pathway through it; and what lightness there is when one has passed through a difficulty, with a greater understanding (as opposed to obliviously, so that one goes through the same difficulties, again and again.) That would make this an alchemically fertile time, there being a great many difficulties we are about to face as a species.

On the other side of despair is joy. Joy, I take to mean, in fierce love with this life. If one is fiercely in love with this life, one is more likely to find ways to transform despair into love, and joy, fiercely. I think it is accurate to say, those who have the evolutionary advantage in the predicament of declining resources, who are most likely to survive and even thrive, are those who are most fiercely in love with this life. No guarantee, for sure, but better than the shame that masks itself unconsciously as cynicism, or obsession with the evil Other, or just your common variety obliviousness.

Sky gods

In my first book, The Dream That Must Be Interpreted, I wrote about sky gods. Not literal gods, but human men (mostly) working in glass towers who believe themselves above it all, who prop themselves up as such. David Korten used the name in his 2008 book The Great Turning, though in my defense, I started using the phrase in writing my book before I knew about Korten. Another writer I admire very much, John Michael Greer, has called Korten’s book, “profoundly undemocratic,” on at least two occasions. The charge is accurate, if a little harsh. I don’t know David Korten, but my understanding is, he has done some good work extolling the virtue of resilient local economies.

That said, a recent piece appeared on the front page of the New York Times magazine, “The Purpose of Spectacular Wealth, From a Spectacularly Wealthy Guy,” Adam Davidson writing about Edward Conrad, Mitt Romney’s former partner at Bain Capital. Conrad has written a book, Unintended Consequences: Why Everything You Know About the Economy is Wrong, to be released sometime later this month, or early next. I’m not privy to an early copy, so I can’t judge a book I haven’t read, but the Davidson piece is sufficient to know where Conrad is coming from, a small window into what kind of man he is, which he doesn’t care to hide at all.*

Basically, Edward Conrad believes that investors are the great risk takers who drive the economy, and therefore should be the ones who benefit most from the economy, even more than they do. That’s right – despite all the talk about income inequality, and billionaires multiplying like flies, he believes they aren’t compensated enough. If that strikes you as a little odd, then you are an “Art History Major,” a pejorative he uses against all those lazy asses who are not multi-millionaire investors, at least. But this is not a critique about Conrad’s apologia for the absurdly wealthy, as on the face of it, it is true, that such investors do a great deal in driving the economy. Nor is this any kind of neo-Marxist call for the expropriation of personal wealth, as such policies only ever lead to increasing enmity, and a different kind of tyranny.

What this is, is an assessment of the core of Conrad’s world view. In Conrad’s perfect world, we would all be assholes competing to defile the biosphere, most efficiently. In Conrad’s view, as example, industrial agriculture is an unmitigated benefit, and that is an idea not at all open to question. Never mind that industrial agriculture is ruinous to the health of the land and water, and the health of people, if the health of America’s Health Care industry is any measure (just as people do not benefit over a lifespan by consuming cheap soda pop, another of Conrad’s great social goods). Industrial agriculture is even open to the charge of exacerbating population growth that cannot be sustained and will inevitably lead to massive global famine. But industrial agriculture causes people to spend less on food, so they have more money to pay for throw-away industrial products, which contributes to an increasing GDP, which is to Conrad, and most economists, the only true, or at least the preeminent measure of social good.

Conrad has never considered peak oil, or peak resources, clearly. In his fairy land of perfect laissez faire capitalism, natural resources are unlimited, and all millionaire+ investors are evolutionarily advanced proto beings of perfect judgment who we should all aspire to be, or serve. There is no potential crisis of decreasing energy or material, apparently, that can not be met by the heroic acts of investors generating capital. Never mind that capital is only natural capital and human capital transformed into money, which once transformed is primarily illusion, as derivatives, securitized loan values, and the digitized 1’s and 0’s that comprise about 95%+ of all money, and really, most of the global debt. That money itself is a fiction, has apparently never been contemplated by this man, who has made the management of it the core of all moral obligations, the very essence of being human.

Yves over at Naked Capitalism was sufficiently reviled by Conrad, and Adam Davidson, tilting toward the lionization of the man. Commenters all around will be falling over themselves, to put Conrad’s book in disrepute – for all the wrong reasons. Meanwhile, the sky gods of Wall Street will be adding more framework to their internal justification of their behavior, in private esteem. Not a one of them hardly, the sky gods or their critics, questioning the nut at the center of the modern economy, the mythology of progress and the imperative of growth. Few seem to grasp, the fallibility of a system dependent on debt, and the transformation of the earth into garbage, toxins, and money. Last I heard, the only true necessities were water, food and shelter, and companionship – preferably the kind that cultivates beauty, joy, wonder and humility, four words that would likely make Edward Conrad’s hair stand on end, in righteous fury. Work yourself to death or be damned, to paraphrase the nitwit.

Which is all very curious, as this is the former business partner of one of the two men running for president. I don’t happen to believe that Mitt Romney is as repulsive a thinker as Conrad, but I suspect he quietly holds many of the same core principles. Being a politician, he isn’t going to tell you that, except couching it in various incantations revolving at a distance, around the concept of liberty. Mitt would likely privatize as much of the nation as he could, while setting up a vast data collection, surveillance infrastructure to keep tabs on all those “Art History Majors” wasting time enjoying and embracing this life. Not that Obama’s policies are significantly different, only his rhetoric occasionally more populist, which is itself a thing to be wary of, a Constitutional scholar of a President so easily disposed to setting new precedent in Constitutional disregard. What is choice, when two choices have effectively the same ending?

Sky gods as described in this post, and in my book are only men (and a few women), though we live in a world ruled by them, catering to human insatiability, for material wealth and violence. The only thing to do about it, is assess our own attitudes toward wealth and violence, asking how we are perpetuating more of the same mass delusions. And if one really cares to contemplate such men as Edward Conrad, more than to acknowledge the grossly exaggerated attitudes that we all share to some degree, just remember and let it suffice, to prop oneself up as a sky god is to have a very long way to fall, and money ain’t wings.

* (except for that bit part about setting up a shell company to funnel money to Romney’s election effort.)


Hello. Welcome to my new blog, and website. I also blog @

The species Homo sapien sapien is in a state of profound transformation. That cannot truly be denied, though there is much dissonance, in the discussion about what that transformation is, or involves. Here in the United States, most people believe in the idea, basically, that history is a progression out of darkness, that economic growth is imperative and inevitable, that resources are essentially unlimited, and technology will prevent humanity from ever facing any truly great difficulty ever again. A very few are waking up to the reality, that the species has reached a very hard, very real, inevitable limit to growth in the traditional sense, and faces increasing resource constraints that are going to prove the death of existing Nation-States and possibly the biosphere, and a regression at least in the energy available to maintain anything like the lifestyle we have grown accustomed to. This latter is a very unsettling perspective, which is why so few will acknowledge it. Notice, how many people are ready to be engrossed in whatever conspiracy theory, and whatever notions of the evil Other, and yet are incapable of acknowledging the very real limits to fossil fuels, or the absurdity of a debt based economy, or rising global temperatures and toxicity, and thousands of off-shore oil wells, and 800+ world-wide nuclear facilities and untold nuclear warheads, and all the peril that implies.

The ultimate question seems to be, if you awaken to the reality that there are limits to economic growth, and consequently the growth of humanity and even our ability to sustain the numbers we have, what does one do about it? Once one comes to that place, it is very hard not to acknowledge that almost everything we do in this modern age is detrimental to the earth in some fundamental way that cannot be sustained, that is only perpetuating and so exacerbating the predicament we are in. It is a very real existential dilemma, which makes it no wonder that the majority of people either descend into cynicism, succumbing to that very seductive and fashionable idea that nothing really matters, or accepting whatever they are told that will allow them to continue to think that everything will continue to progress, more or less as it is, forever and always, or at least until sometime after I and everyone I care about is dead, after having lived a long and otherwise untroubled life.

I’m of the opinion that the species and the biosphere is deeply in need of healing. I’m equally convinced, there is no healing the earth, or the culture, or anyone else, if we cannot heal ourselves first.

In 2006, I was at what I now consider the nadir of my life, a point at which I could no longer conceive of any point to my existence. Outwardly, there wasn’t any reason that I should have been in such a state. Really, I was living what many consider an enviable life; I owned my own house, I drove a nice new truck, I ran my own business, I was 34 and single. But it was a life dependent  on credit, growing ever more unsustainable, and it was a life I was living mostly to please someone else. I was living and working alone. I remember the day clearly, after a three or four day funk, in my bed, I wrote my name in my journal, William Hunter Duncan, and what each of those names mean: William, protector; Hunter, a hunter; Duncan, dark skinned warrior. I did not feel in any way that I filled that name, I felt that I had lost, or I had no voice, and I despaired.

I knew then, that if I did not make some fundamental change, i would either be dead sooner rather than later, or I would grow bitter and deformed, and die later, miserably. I put myself on a path of healing then, not having any idea how, and not trusting that my culture, which I have always considered to be mostly crazy, would have very many real answers for me, but more likely could only addict me to some new delusion about myself.

I found Jung, and considered the archetypes, and Joseph Campbell and Riane Eisler, and various others, exploring the concept of gods and goddesses, and then I found The Mankind Project, and men who showed me some tools to get clear about my purpose, and then I saw a picture of a painting in a book, a painting by a 19th century Japanese artist, a depiction of a goddess, and a comment by that painter that if you call out to the Goddess she will answer, and sometime shortly after that, I called out to the Goddess and offered myself up in service – not having any concept what that might mean. I was working as a copywriter for a Fortune 100 company at the time – the coziest, and weirdest job I have ever had, paying more than any job I’d ever had, for doing less work than I had ever done at any other job. Shortly thereafter, I met an extraordinary woman, fell in love, and I walked away from my house and my life in Minneapolis.

I’m back in that house now, with the help of my father, on the verge of having to sell the house, but having written two books the last four years, with two more books in progress. I’m remodeling that house, and I’ve already transformed my city lot into a permaculture garden, part veggie and flower beds, part orchard, part vineyard. I have 11 fruit trees, 16 grape vines, raspberries and black caps, asparagus, strawberries, western sand cherries. There is hardly a blade of grass in my front yard, in defiance of the tyranny of consensus; my immediate neighbors like me. I’ve been managing Monster Halloween in Minneapolis the last two years, for some old friends. I was for a time the Creative Director of HD Masks, working for those same friends. I continue to do some remodeling of other people’s houses, I do some landscaping in other people’s yards and gardens. But all my employment options have recently come to an end, I haven’t had a vehicle in four years and I don’t really want one (except maybe an old diesel), and I’m risking this house and this garden, on the dream of being a working writer, a thing I have wanted to be since I remember writing.

The mystic Terrence Mckenna once said, in reference to the question, what to do about the madness of the species heading inexorably toward economic and ecological collapse, that the only thing to do is to flood the world with Art. I take that to mean, to find whatever it is I am called to do in this life, whatever it is that resonates with the core of my being, to embrace it, nurture it, and share whatever comes of that with the world; to be, in the way I feel called to be. I’m inclined to think, it is time to embrace one’s joy. I love to garden, sing, dance, write, and build things, and I do that every day.

Just about everything that is conventional is about separation; separating us from the earth, separating us from each other, separating us from our very selves. Being truly alive is about being connected. Not in the digital sense necessarily, but with all things, everything. Quantum Physics has helped re-inject mystery into our consciousness, after a 5000 year attempt at least to control, define, and make absolute. All is energy, just as Easterners have long been saying. And this life is very real, what ever those eastern mystics and the new age types want to say about this life being an illusion. It is all divine, everything, everywhere – what can, and what cannot be seen. And we only happen to be living in a period of a cycle when illusion and disconnection reign.

Or so I have come to believe. To riff on a comment Terrence Mckenna was fond of making, this universe is vastly more mysterious than we can know, far more mysterious than anyone has led us to believe. That means, you are the only one who can truly know what is right for you. So my books, my words, are only a reflection of my own experience, my own perspective. If you read my books, my hope is, if they are of any use to you at all, they encourage you to be true to your self. Because if you are as I suspect, divine, then you are vastly more deep and profound than you have been lead to believe, and the Universe and the Goddess are calling to you now, to wake up to the whole of your being.

Joy and wonder is to be yours, if you are open to it. And that doesn’t require anything but that.