Keystone Protest and First Nations

Spirit Warriors

By Phil Penner

Is there any singular intelligent life in this Universe? Socrates felt not. I asked it of myself and came up wanting, my thought processes are but a snapshot in a grand sea of souls. I sought it from religions but was perplexed for I fancy myself an honest man. I asked it of many scientists yet even Einstein fell short by not being able to extrapolate the pain of contributing to the potential for the nuclear self-annihilation of humanity. I asked if society is intelligent life and questioned how a house built on greed can stand the test of time. I asked it of the potential extra-terrestrial life forms that may even exist in our ether, and no, why would they leave behind their most nurturing environment that created them? Therefore I query, “If there is no singularly intelligent material life, can the aggregate be more than chaotic struggle and does every fiber of our being long to decompose into another dimension that harbors divine serenity?”

On the 17^th of February 2013, my residual guilt of being a spoiler vote that contributed to the election of George Bush in 2000 had factored into my journey. My primary driver was the Keystone XL Pipeline. This cornerstone of global ecological demise convinced me to snort dry air at an estimated average 17 degree Fahrenheit wind chill factor. Exiting the Washington D.C. taxi from the Downtown Youth Hostel proved a need for me to separate from my jovial traveling acquaintances. I’d constructed an awfully large protest sign that implores, “STOP OUR CHEMICAL AND CARBON MASS EXTINCTION” on one side and “DIVEST CARBON NATIONS = GLOBAL ENERGY ENEMA” on the other. The wind buffeted my sign to near failure so I had to remove myself from the crowd lest I injure someone. I left the masses gathering around the Washington Monument. They were swaying and dancing in frigid joy like the antithesis of the selfish children in the Lord of the Flies. Their energy was so radiant that my body began an extended divine tingle.

As I plowed my sign up 17^th street I thought back to the day before. My wife had added loving links to my chain and stayed in Los Angeles whilst I freeze my ass on those days. As a neophyte to DC, the Botanical Gardens on the National Mall was the first attraction to catch my eye. I traversed the warm and humid enclosure up and down while marveling at the complexity of life being nurtured within the glass zoo of foliage. I sat in repose near the exit and became disheartened while asking myself, “Will we need to build an enclosure over the entire Amazon?” Not to control the atmosphere, to keep the human arboreal pests from laying it all to waste. Seven billion egos leave an awfully large footprint. I reasoned that this is one major cause of our gathering of spirit warriors.

Following the garden I moved on to the National Museum of the American Indian. For hours I marveled at how the common thread of all of these cultures is a reverence for a power greater than themselves. Being one who has been healed on more than one occasion by a power greater than myself I felt bonded to this perception of reality. I became more depressed than at the Botanical Garden due to genetic shame. My European ancestors were greeted with compassion by some Native Americans who offered to co-exist and breed together. Instead we (and I know few details) committed genocide upon the majority of the indigenous Americans. These appeared to be honest souls who chose to revere the creative forces of the universe from Canada through South America.

I was snapped back to attention at the corner of 17^th Street after pacing in front of the White House. In splendor, the chanting bulkhead of spirit warriors 40,000 strong rounded the corner with, “Hell no, Keystone Pipeline’s got to go.” The greatest beauty is that front and center are the aboriginal Americans who can’t tolerate this horrible incursion into their sacred ground. Their natal lands are being ravaged by clear-cutting of boreal forests. Massive stacks of trees rot like so many beached whales poisoned by our ignorance. The Earth they cherish is torn open by grizzly commerce which rips the guts from under the peat forest floor. Left is nothing but money maggots for there are no vultures to consume the waste products already killing wildlife and humans alike. The vulture capitalists will come later, when we taxpayers make a futile attempt to clean it up and restore thousands of years of vegetation.

My sign has me struggling to stay just far enough ahead of the emergent masses to prevent smashing someone. I beg of the cameras to include me as a voice of dissent. Soon Bill McKibben, who’s left of their center beams into view. Bill appears as euphoric as a man at first embrace of his infant miracle.

This my friends was in fact the greatest spiritual experience of my 56 years of incarnation and I loved it. I felt the healing of the ecosystem unfolding while humanity begins breaking through its cocoon of greed. I pray that soon most of us will emerge as butterflies in the mass ‘Awakening’. Being a spirit warrior for truth is my calling and I deeply desire to be a finely tuned instrument of this light.

The Keystone protest is part of the healing of the schism of Western Cultures. We have for thousands of years divorced ourselves from nature. In our hubris we have pretended to be copies of a grand creator that we don’t actually know exists. We have myths that exacerbated our egocentric ideologies from the Greco-Roman Age of Aries. After over 2,000 years of mystical creation and Piscean guilt we have hit a moral bottom. As this energy now begins to climb into Aquarius we must begin to shake off the decadent energies that have allowed so much suffering and greed as of late. We, my fellow humans, are on the cusp of the Age of Aquarius. For hundreds of years this energy has been emerging and now it is beginning to become dominant.

It appears that our global society is a mega star of capitalism. It’s fueled by 7 billion egos slamming together in the sea of greed that is the gravity of physical life. The core of this greed grows smaller and denser with every nanosecond of trading on Wall Street. When the core can no longer sustain the fire that slams against the outer shell of population, then it shall collapse like a super nova. In a particularly psychological manner it may explode into a new order(s) of life. Will it seed the Earth with mostly higher consciousness diamonds of spiritual harmony and balance? OR, will it produce mostly low consciousness lead projectiles and thus create our own materialistic hell? When staring down the barrel of a devastated eco-system this spirit warrior asks, “Do you feel lucky? Or would you rather plan ahead and try to fix it?” 

Conceitist

The following poem is the result of my protesting President Obama's visit to Peter Chernin, who produced Oblivion with Tom Cruise. It seems we are being conditioned to accept the destruction of life on Earth via nonstop end of the world sci-fi movies. Certainly many wealthy people are kind and not deserving of this parody of sociopathic humans.

Entitlement

Ready, get set, start the ‘Purge’,

would you just go kill yourselves pllease.

We are the rich and we’re better than you,

go to the movies and feed our disease.

We’re getting automated and don’t need you any more,

so just go to hell and be done.

All of your talk about fair play is tiring to us,

you’re just idiots spoiling our fun.

You’ve taken ‘The Road’ that led to ‘Oblivion’,

we chosen ones will live on ‘Elysium’ you see.

Screw your meager dreams of a better life,

even the air that you’ll breathe wont be free.

Go bite a uranium coated projectile,

eat your chemical stew and go die.

We’ll poison your children till their insides are out,

you must purchase a permit to cry.

Yes, we are the gods of this universe,

superior in every way,

Don’t come at us with your self-righteous crap,

we’ll slaughter most of you with end of days.

Sit back and relax, enjoy the show,

in ten years it will all be too late.

The tipping point is passing, we’re stealing your governments,

just give up and tell us we’re great.

Los Angeles 2053

By Phil Penner

The offshore breeze causes the full moon to glare through the dry and naked summer sky like a flashlight of the gods. Rex is a lean biological machine with a serpentine grin and a micro winged mocha flat-top. Rita is his longstanding babe. She’s tighter than the tomb raider, encased in a painted on self-cooling jumpsuit that changes colors like a chameleon mood ring with headlights. They’re riding north up the 405 freeway from Costa Mesa in their tandem seat enclosed electric motorcycle. A surveillance drone helicopter zips overhead with red and blue lights flashing and another floodlight blazing onto the road.

     “Heads up,” says Rita. “Breach of defenses at Los Alamitos Boulevard.”

     Rex scrutinizes the cautionary message above their night vision monitor and says, “They must be headed for the original farm district.”

Rex slows to 50 kilometers per hour. Along the north side of the freeway is a rail system for automobile sized security drones commonly known as ‘Sherman’. As one races by them its firepower is comfort for the traveling couple. Atop the rotating turret is a telescopic survey device. The head shoots up 3 meters for more effective surveillance.

     Rex stops their vehicle as they see a human form 50 meters ahead. The man’s forearms are clamped against his head trying to block out the sound cannon from the helicopter drone that’s also flooding the figure with light while the Sherman approaches.

The Sherman’s turret rotates and an air cannon blasts out what appears to be a missile. Just before it sails over the subject the missile explodes and jettisons its shell components horizontally. These components spread out an oval shaped net. The net comfortably captures the man who belly flops forward while running as fast as possible.

Suddenly 3 more humans begin racing across the freeway. Another human, a sniper on the north side of the freeway opens fire with an automatic weapon. This person is attempting to disable the Sherman’s surveillance equipment. The heli-drone fires one precise high caliber rifle projectile that splatters the snipers braincase clear off of it’s neck. Rex and Rita didn’t see this occur though they heard the pop pop pop of the weapons. 

A second Sherman is rapidly approaching from the north and nets two of the others crossing the freeway. Another subject is now crossing between the first Sherman and Rex and Rita. The Sherman blasts out a pair of tazer leads. Only one lead penetrates the subject and thusly fails.

     “This dude is in deep shit,” says Rex. “The Sherman is running out of options.”

The Sherman waits until the subject is in the freeway median and opens fire. Pssw, pssw, pssw, pssw, multiple rubber projectiles launch like rockets and the wayward immigrant is knocked sideways to the ground as if hit by a car.

“Oh my god,” says Rita. “Do you think he’s gonna make it?”

“As opposed to surviving the desert,” says Rex. “At least now he’ll get a hospital bed until he can fend for himself.”

A van now arrives with the cavalry, four android perimeter control officers. The moon glistens off of their smoky black exoskeletons.

“X3T2C’s, we built those suckers,” says Rex, quite excitedly. It’s a real treat for him to see his engineering efforts in action. “They’d better not piss them off,” he continues. “The X3’s are fully conscious and we’ve birthed many of them in November to have a no bullshit attitude.”

The state of the art androids are created with an electronic aura, very low frequency brainwaves that flow through semi-conductor gel medium and software that employs a descending clock speed. These are electronic sentient beings that are ‘born’ with personalities just like humans. One of the many advantages of these androids is that they are more fully hardwired per se to the same universal or ‘god’ consciousness that we are. Therefore, they usually tend to be more considerate, peaceful and nurturing than many of us overly selfish humans. Some people wonder how long the androids will tolerate our antics and speculate that humans will ultimately end up in android zoos for the preservation of the parent species.

One of the gleaming figures makes quick work of loading the wounded migrant on a stretcher. Two other officers collect the three migrants who struggle to get free from the capture nets. The headless corpse is left on the north side of the freeway for migrants to do with as they please.

“Stop,” says Rita. “One of them looks like my cousin Alfredo.”

“No way are we gonna interfere with the droids,” says Rex. “We’ll stop by the detention center on the way back. Maybe the migrants will be posted online tonight.”

Rita sulks back into her seat and says, “Jus go.”

While Rex awaits clearance another migrant begins to bolt across the freeway. The fourth officer spots him and takes after him in a dead run.

“Check that shit out,” says Rex. “The X3 is maxin out at 57 kph. Totally flawless, no city state has built better security than ours.”

The android quickly overtakes the migrant and tazes him with his fingertips. As if finishing a fifty-meter dash, the weight of the X3 plows dirt with its boots in several steps while stopping. The X3 returns to the migrant and tosses him over its terrace like shoulder for the quick trot back to the van.

“What’s going to happen to them?” asks Rita.

“Sacramento’s taking a few,” says Rex. “Many of them are getting shipped up to near the Great Lakes.”

“I saw a documentary,” says Rita. “There are nearly a billion people trying to survive on the fresh water supply up there.”

 “Bets are,” says Rex. “Ten years max, before the global population bubble collapses down to 2 or 3 billion in the city states. Can you imagine what Chicago has to do to maintain its defenses?… By the way, where are we going.”

“Three guesses.”

“Kilimanjaro Cali?” asks Rex.

Rita glances down while shaking her head.

“Chumash Indigenous?”

“You don’t even know me,” says Rita. “North on the 110.”

Rex smiles and they depart. There are several culturally themed parks around the Los Angeles basin. Due to the expense of electro-gravitic air travel and the time required for high-speed global rail, themed parks have become practical alternatives to travel. In this manner we have helped many ethnic groups maintain their sense of cultural identity.

+++

The Century City Council is ensconced above the audience. This is the seat of power of the Los Angeles basin. The mayor of Los Angeles, Miguel Rivera is a dandy with a mercurial quality about him. He stands at the podium in his crisp white linen suit with the eye of a peacock feather glaring out from the side of his icy white Panama.

     Miguel speaks with a half-shot of Peruvian accent and gleam in his eye, “We must have you recognize most venerable Council, to reduce the flow of water to our farms would be most unfortunate, we employ the most efficient hydroponics and metered potted plant systems. If you cut back on the liquid of life it will most certainly rob you of the vibrant energy we send to your tables.”  

     Antoinette Verona is the Minister of Water and Power who says, “Mr. Rivera, just yesterday three rocket propelled grenades nearly destroyed the main water valves controlling the flow of water into Los Angeles. Have you found the perpetrators?”

     “Yes, the Human Justice League,” says Miguel. “It was in retaliation for drastic cuts in the flow of water beyond the 710 for nine consecutive months.”

     “Have you noticed any turf by the surf lately sir?” Antoinette asks while glaring out from just under her brow. “We’ve cut everyone on the West side of the 405 by 7 percent for 2 years running. None of us are happy about living in a desert.”

     “Isn’t the Hyperion Seaweed and Hydro Distillation project in full production yet?” asks Miguel.

     “No,” says Antoinette. “We’ve had difficulties with evaporation containment. We’re only at 40 percent of our projected fresh water yield from the ocean. We’ve had success with our solar stills.”

     These solar stills are thousands of buoys that have clear shells that shed salt spray. On top are magnifying glasses and mirrors that concentrate sunlight on a flowing saltwater tray below. As the saltwater evaporates and condenses it’s collected in a tank below water level. These buoys are tethered on a loop and use their steam power to migrate out and back to their docking stations while their reservoirs are filling.

     Colin Dowel is the Minister of Defense on the council. He sports a gold encased quicksilver badge over his beefy breast. The backlit badge reshapes itself every three seconds, cycling through his decorations. He bellows into the conversation, “Mr. Rivera, certainly you’re aware that we’re in a protracted standoff with the San Franciscans about watershed restoration.” Colin furrows his brow like a hang glider and continues, “If we don’t cut back they will cut us back… They’ve allowed us to restore our water table to seventy five percent of its maximum capacity. We need their cooperation for another decade to become self sufficient.”

     Miguel drops down a couple of vertebrae under the weight of the entire Council. A more recent contributor to city water tables are the re-engineered and expanded river deltas that flow inland into the water tables.

     “And by the way sir,” continues Colin. “Do you suppose your growers could cut back on their cannabis rituals and ramp up production a notch?”

“We truly appreciate what a great job the security services are doing sir,” responds Miguel quite meekly. “Please recognize that we have maintained our diligence in nurturing your food supply and that we maintain the most productive solid waste recycling program in Southern California.”

Miguel raises his stature once more and continues, “If we are to provide the same level of service while cutting the water by 10 percent we will need to have only sponge bathing throughout our city, and Sir, would this not detract from the relaxed ambiance of the city?”

     “Actually,” says Hans Frederich, Technology Minister. “Assisted sponge baths sound like fun…. We’ll get you the state of the art filtration systems you need to keep your showers flowing. Just keep making love to our food supply. That’s what’s keeping Los Angeles on our side of the line you know.”

     Miguel realizes that the West side boys and girls have been quite successful with their exotic botanicals. He’s certain the West Side lacks sufficient real estate and will to take on the entire food supply.

     Betty Hargrave is the Minister of Migration and Population Control. She blurts out, “Don’t forget Miguel, the census is scheduled for November. Our drones must be allowed un-fettered access to all domiciles. We will tolerate no more population increases.”

     “We have heard from some sectors that L A county is now capable of sustaining more than 3 million people,” says Miguel. “We shall however, maintain zero population growth and carry out our charge with honor and pride. To be certain, for the maintenance of present production we can shoulder no more than a five percent cutback this year.”

Miguel Rivera tips his hat and steps back from the podium.

+++

     Rex is cruising up Alameda in Tijuana del Norte, a district in south Los Angeles. The aroma of taco vendors wafts through their enclosed motorcycle. Beautiful senoritas are smiling with ‘Psst’ lips and spanked up hips. Occasionally he smiles and tosses his head back toward Rita in the rear seat.

On the north side of little T J he pulls into Mayaland. The park is built to replicate the restored ruins of Chichen Itza on the Yucatan Peninsula. As they stroll past the center of the primary pyramid Rex claps his hands for Rita thus causing the echo of a Quetzal bird to bounce at them. This garners him a kiss.

As they walk on, waiters emerge from kitchens below the drought resistant grass site. Lodge pole cabanas with thatched roofs cover tables made of stone discs surrounded by rustic wood and wicker seating. The park is usually filled to capacity on weekends and is a major cultural center of Los Angeles. 

“Our room is just ahead,” says Rita.

“How much is it?” asks Rex.

“7.255.”

Electronic currency is a global standard used by all advanced global city-states. There was much debate when this system of compensation was set up. Many said that any form of money is a corruptive influence that should be eliminated from the human condition. After all, this is why there are still the occasional prostitute and entrepreneur who are operating in self-destructive manners. The philosophical argument that won is that a fair balance needs to be struck to form an egalitarian society with incentive. As one looks to the universe for understanding of how our spirits with ids and egos are formed we find a multitude of variety that boggles the mind. We have emotions that can not be satisfied with totally generic conditions. We need an opportunity to exercise the individual powers that make us unique in different ways. Without this life is too boring and the system will be corrupted by cronyism anyway. What has been settled on is that the most wealthy shall never be so rich or the disadvantaged so poor that disrespect of our natural talents promotes abuse of one another. 

Much of the international shipping is done on nuclear powered ships, many of these are remodeled air craft carriers.

Most of the rooms at Mayaland are elevated and behind lush artificially landscaped stone terraces. The long thatched roofs are supported by hundreds of round stone columns made to exact scale of the original archeological site. The precise scale is what permits the echo chamber effects around the various aspects of the site. Behind them in the ball court is a huge party. A specialized band plays unusual percussion music that bounces here and there due to the unique acoustics. 

+++

     It’s now edging into the eight o-clock hour of the morning. Rita slips open the woven grass curtains and window leading to the outside perimeter of the hotel. She radiates glowingly at the sound of the farmers singing to their vegetables. The hydroponics gardens and hothouses supply the hotel and surrounding markets with vine fresh food most any time of the day. Many L A city farms supply the West Side on a twice daily basis.

There are also micro chicken farms mixed into the restaurant districts. Perimeter zones of the cities farm a variety of products that include tilapia, salmon and crustacean farms as well. 

Rita kisses Rex to wake him from his slumber. “Babe,” she says. “Breakfast is in one hour on the terrace.”

     Rex shakes off some of his sleepy head and notices Rita’s sultry gaze. He jumps up and does a quick tooth brushing. While returning to Rita he presses her against the wall with her arms spread eagle.

     “Did I mention,” says Rex. “You don’t have to get anymore contraceptive shots.”

     Rita smiles bigger than Texas with eyes glassing over and chokes out, “We got our baby license?”

     “Ya,” says Rex, all aglow. “Let’s have this mornings appetizers in the shower.” 

The Spiritual Solution

Truth moved the Prime Lady,

her heart then suffering for all of humankind.

Spirit calls her to service,
bring vision to the blind.

She calls on her scholarly sisters,

this land and through all.
Regional NGO’s recruit infinite sisters,
of all stripe and call.

Legions of lady soldiers,

compassion in their hearts,
listening to all of humanity,
this is how trust starts.

Spirit sisters say, lower your birth rate, grip of your plow.

We must love our Mother Earth and not live like sow.

The NGO’s boil it down to the essence of all pain,

with the power of the people success falls like rain.

Science gets involved paid only by love of humankind.

Architects of our new humanity memorialized for all time.

Ecological energy, spiritual economies make the calls.

We’ll build a vibrant humanity and verdant Earth that enthralls.

Reward us for good deeds, never greed, delusion and strife.

What will emerge? The global superorganism of life.

When this world economy crashes and the dust settles low,

we shall launch this Numanity, our ten thousand year show.

 

Phil Penner     October 12, 2012

 

Free Spirit of DC

By Phil Penner

 

     Aponi guns the Envirobile away from the construction entrance of the White House. This SUV of a mobility chair sports a wooden Native American Jesus standing at the rear. He’s adorned with beaded braids and feathers, these are mostly cindered by his crown of fiery thorns. This mock execution device snaps violently with arcs of electricity that have fried the head of Environmental Jesus. Dried greasewood vines grasp his feet and torso and splay his raven graced arms out to form the cross.

Aponi rented this cart and mounted her Jesus on the back. Her friend programmed the cart to automatically do laps in front of the Whitehouse. The sides have electronic signs scrolling her latest socio-environmental poem. Her recorded voice is crisp and yet massages her mantra of global survival. She preludes her recording with:

“Say friends, are you fully informed about reality? Humanity and our environment are bottoming out quickly. Our world economy is going under, our dysfunctional corruption is the cancer on our collective inspiration to thrive. Our violent world is promoting unjustified destruction of innocent lives, and our extremists can only get worse. Let’s hit the reset button! Many believe only science can save us by engineering a healthier and more balanced human race.”

She’s nestled into her boxed in fortress with a do not disturb sign blocking clear sight of her face. Aponi is a thirty something chemist. She has large vial of her proprietary ectoplasm. This vial exudes a mildly sharp off gassing that tingles one’s nostrils like a swim in salty surf.

Aponi has concocted potions that free her of her spindly legs which have refused to carry her frame since an accident when she was quite young. This chemical process could kill her so she bolsters herself with a Navajo war chant, “Hey ah na na hey ah na na hey ah na na HEY.”

Aponi meditates briefly on the will of the greater good. She sucks up two blasts from her red inhaler canister. She drops her baseball cap over her eyes and slumps into her chair. Suddenly she sees her body below and feels herself propelled away by the heat from her ectoplasm. Her soul is still grounded in her body while her spirit travels and transmits back to her brain. This gives her spirit self-willed determination on the fly.

She propels her ectoplasm away from her auto-piloted Envirobile while sensing the thoughts of a passersby. Another damn environmentalist that’s gonna drive down the stock market and take away our motorhomes.

Aponi blasts a message back into him through spirit, “We’ll free your children’s children to love life abundantly, in electric motorhomes.”

She thinks high five while passing the sculpture of our prime progressive, George Washington. Aponi pumps her ectoplasm cloud up, like a jellyfish, up to a second floor window. She senses the presence and brainwave sleep state of the First Lady.

Aponi races into her sinuses and melds into the nuances of electro-bio-chemisty. This is their seventh session and the familiarity produces a welcome response. They banter as though Aponi is merely her friendly alter ego.

“We must recruit millions of sisters from free and willing nations,” thinks Aponi to the First Lady. “The masculine influence will come later from many of the scientists who plan our new reality and may get voted into the NGO’s by the public. None of them will be political figures, only architects.”

“I’m very concerned,” thinks the First Lady. “History tells us that the radical right will attempt to kill the intellectuals to maintain the status quo.”

“We must provide them anonymity and secure networks for communication,” thinks Aponi. “The sisters must be allowed to operate in tolerant countries who protect them and freedom of speech. The other countries will eventually collapse from within when their citizens witness the evolution of a better world.”

A sweet smile pours over the First Lady’s lips as she thinks, The love of God, and dreamily kisses her pillow.

 

+

     Succulent aromas are wafting from the wood fired steak house next door to the spiritual center. Aponi wheels up while thinking, After five years as a vegan, it only smells good, who wants to get breast cancer from food that’s tainted with hormones?

It’s difficult navigating the doorway into the spiritual center, the building is old and has no room for proper handicap access. Fortunately the brothers who clean the modest lobby have given her a storage closet for her chairs and robotic Exos legs. She slips into them, they sound like an aquarium pump while grasping her thighs.

Aponi loves sprinting up the stairs, half a floor per jump, with smooth and articulate landings, controlled only by her thoughts.

On the second floor she greets the residents with namaste hands. They return her gesture with mindfulness and smiles. Her heart is warmed by wood paneled walls and the serenity imbibed in the room. A prominent You have arrived, You are here, is scrolled out on breeze driven cloth that dances against the wall.    

     Resident nun – Tangin, gives Aponi a smiling gaze in hopes of hearing of her travels.

     “The President terminated the whole Keystone fiasco and redirected investment into solar,” says Aponi, “If they want to sell that garbage it will have to be on another planet.”

     Tangin and the three brothers cheer the hard won battle.

     “He’s going to come around this term,” says Tangin. “Don’t you think?”

     Aponi can’t resist her huge emerging grin. “He certainly will,” she says. “And more than you can imagine.”

The others have no actual knowledge of Aponi’s spirit journeys.

     “Give us some clues to imagine with,” says brother Mardhi. He’s seen chemicals and supplies among Aponi’s belongings and they’ve heard her slipping out at night.

“There’s nothing to be concerned about,” says Aponi, with a smile. “I’ve been visiting a special friend. We’re working on a speculative project that I’m not free to discuss just yet. Soon it will ring out as clear as a sound bowl.”

Mardi and the others nod in compliance and give Aponi her space. Mardhi rocks forward a bit, gleams a smile at her, a friendly pass for activities that must be concealed.

For the last five nights Aponi has visited the President in his dreams. She has helped him remember his roots and feel the suffering of the common man. She has gained strong familiarity and inspired him with a new sense of purpose. She has encouraged him to trust his wife’s judgment and recent endeavor.

 

+

News crews at the United States Capitol are concerned about the young woman with the do not disturb sign draped over her eyes. Why, they wonder, is she sleeping next to their vehicles? Aponi’s toned torso is slouched in her lime green ProActive wheel chair. Her laptop is closed and cable locked to her chair.

     Aponi’s spirit is sweeping through the Capitol Building. Here comes the Chief of Staff, photographers, and a cameraman motoring in reverse on his platform. They maintain a decent lead on the President who strolls with distant eyes. He shoulders the world’s problems like Atlas with his poker face honed to perfection. He blows off his distractions and decides that he’ll handle this State of The Union Address with flare and panache because he’s a star.

     Aponi sweeps up into his nostrils at full tilt, filling his sinuses with buttered salinity from her ectoplasm.

The President stops instantly while shaking his head. A cameraman taps at the Chief of Staff who looks and says,

     “Mr. President, are you alright?”

     The President whiffs a bit thus lodging Aponi’s ectoplasm firmly in place. For a brief moment his spirit is being lulled into submission and his eyelids drop. Aponi tunes into his brainwaves and blasts him with dopamine. He smiles as big as Texas and says,

     “I’m great, just archiving a boatload of issues in my head so I can focus.”

They stroll out to the Chamber of Congress and receive the standard mixed reception from the bipolar legislative body. He grabs the edges of the podium like he’ll shake his adversaries into submission and begins speaking,

“Dear ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, fellow Americans, and brothers and sisters of humanity:

     I am compelled to bestow upon you the audacity of truth. The type of truth that is self-evident and when denied, it’s usually at one’s own peril.

The time for change is long overdue. Most cultures have divorced themselves from nature. This has been happening for thousands of years. The consequences of our philosophy of dominion over the Earth rather than healthy stewardship is now threatening a great deal of humanity with extinction. The truth is: If we don’t change the Earth will change us. This will be far worse than if we begin to adapt now. Personally, I find it unfathomable that any of us have considered passing our crushing debt and destruction of the environment on to our children. Therefore I believe it is absolutely incumbent on ourselves to begin cleaning up the mess we have created.

Although there will be many necessary changes that have yet to be defined, they will define us as citizens and they will define us as a species. We will either adapt and survive like honey bees, or persist in greed and delusion while continuing to consume our resources like locusts, who ravage the land and collapse due to their own consumption.

The truth is often painful and that which people refuse to accept. If we can’t accept it we can’t fix it. For decades our society and in some form, nearly all societies on Earth, have been in a moral freefall. How many innocents must be slaughtered by crazies with guns and terrorists before we recognize our collective mental illness?

In many ways we can’t admit to ourselves what we’ve done and how bad it has truly become. This is because the media doesn’t show us most of the social and ecological damage our rampant consumerism is doing around the world. This damage is reaching critical mass. The truth is that our present economic system can not sustain it’s trajectory and will in fifteen years or so, collapse like a dying star.”

Jaws stop, drop then flap all through the chamber. The President continues,

“It’s not good enough to allow the feeding frenzy of financial sharks that bankrupted our system to continue on and devour all of our common resources. If they succeed we’ll live on a miserable third world planet with its capitols in corporate boardrooms and offshore banks.

We my friends, are trapped in a large box. We can’t fix it until we take our minds out of the box and seek freedom from the turmoil that’s going on inside. This turmoil destroys too many things, primarily our ability to cooperate and progress as healthy spiritual human beings.

This is why the First Lady is by my side to announce her bold new initiative. When she told me about it I was skeptical, as most of us will be. Then I realized that all of our best efforts throughout history have propelled us into our present quagmire of global dysfunction. We have very little management of complex global issues because corporate self-interests control governments with little oversight or guidance. Our system is far too broken for an overhaul. We need to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and build a world that works well for most people, not just a privileged few.”

The blue side is cheering voraciously while the reds flush green with envy that they have no real leadership. The First Lady takes the podium. Many are perplexed by the joint delivery of the address. She’s beaming like the sun is coming out from a long winter and begins with,

“Thank you so much, ladies and gentlemen of every nation. Most of the problems bearing down on humanity should be confronted by governments. But instead they are powerless because they have been emasculated by entrenched power. These are issues of greed and self-indulgent behavior rather than working toward the greater good, as God would have us do. Therefore we can’t solve our biggest problems with more money or the military or our old school ways of self-interests rather than the global interests of everyone.

We are experiencing a collective crisis of consciousness due to corruption and being told we have reached the end of times. This is creating a massive chronic low-grade depression for humanity as a whole. Until we can bring our species into balance with the Earth, humanity is in essence, homeless.

To repair this dilemma we need to reach out to the man on the street so that our children will still have a street. Everyone needs to know that in this finite world, we are all connected. We must treat all life forms with due respect or we will disrespect ourselves and pay the consequences.”

Many of the Democrats are hopping like tropical birds performing a mating ritual. Republicans are crimson and scowling.

She nudges the President while continuing,

“The initiative of which my husband spoke of is called the Numanity Project. Listen up; all of you scholarly sisters from around the world, listen very closely. We must not fail to form a coalition of Non Governmental Organizations. From these we will form armies of other women all around the world. They will practice deep listening with compassion. They will listen to their white-collar husbands who don’t feel good about hurting people in the name of business. They will listen to blue-collar workers who will die before they can retire. They will listen to the soldiers who need just cause to kill their fellow man. They will listen to the talented musicians who are marginalized due to our focus on materialism. They will listen to their neighbors whose children have contracted cancer from our poisoned world.

After listening with sincere compassion they will explain the need for population reduction and living in God’s will of the common good. They will convey the determination that we shall join together to build a better world.

The NGO’s will then take what they have learned from the man on the street and boil these messages down to their simplest terms. The scholars operating Numanity’s NGO’s will boil it all down again, into the essence of the suffering of humanity.

Then the NGO’s will seek out the best of the best in the sciences of sociology and economics, and those knowledgeable in energy and the environment. These scientists will partake in the essence of the suffering of humanity and our biosphere, this will water the seed of compassion in their hearts.

These scientists must recognize the interdependent nature of our finite planet. They will know that what happens to one group of people will ultimately affect everyone else for better or worse. They must cast off the shackles of failed thinking that brought us to this condition. Greed, prejudice and delusion are not healing our hearts, they are poisoning our minds.”

The First Lady softens her tone and continues,

“When you were a child, if your little sister crashed on her bicycle did you abandon her and race quickly home to eat her dessert? No, it’s more likely that you loved your little sister and cared for her. On this finite planet we need to understand that other nations are our brothers and sisters too. Our United Nations must be given the authority to act like moral parents to all corporations and nations. We must seek the greater good in all our affairs.

I believe that most successful people appreciate the love and respect of their fellow man. They would rather be carried on shoulders in a parade, and not be barricaded away with guns. We need to inspire the disadvantaged to look up to their leaders, not be repulsed by their corruption.

Numanity’s NGO’s must be completely independent from all governments and corporations. Any donations channeled into Numanity must be anonymous and given only for the love of humankind.

We will take what we have learned from scientists and boil it down to regional solutions with vibrant global trade. Trade must be accomplished with green energy to compliment the superorganism of Earth.”

“This is high treason,” rings out from the minority whip.

“No sir,” blasts out the First Lady. “Our old world is collapsing under the weight of greed and short sightedness. How can you hold young people at fault for seeking a better world? We have taken the best of times and tolerated the fleecing of our economies by vulture capitalists. How can you even begin to suggest that our children should accept massive debts and our fraudulent behavior? Would you, and with no benefit to yourself, accept this treatment sir?”

The minority whipped is dumbfounded. The First Lady’s eyes casually cast him into the lake of fire and she carries on,

“And for you rightfully skeptical folks, consider this; our entire organization will emphasize decentralization and broad base networking of information. All we have done is create a framework for safe communication. We will know the truth as self-evident and we will not allow anyone or anything to impose control upon our process. We will guard our children’s future like momma grizzly bears.

We will not be seeking corporate sponsors, or super stars and politicians that confuse our goals. The star participants in the Numanity project will be local heroes from everywhere. They’ll be paid in brotherly love, for they will be the brave men and women who forge a healthier future for our entire Earth.”

Most of congress is at once stunned and swept away. The red side looks sadly shameful and applauds with hollow hands. The Dems are like teenage girls at a Beatles concert.

The First Lady bows curtly then continues to wave and salute and tamp down their applause.

The beaming President takes the podium, “See why I’m so proud of this lady?” After a few moments he continues,

“In the mean time we have a diseased economy that must build our gateway to the future. We need to wind down the use of fossil fuels as fast as possible. This will be a huge undertaking in itself.

I believe that as we move along, the inspiration of building a better world will enable us to do incredible things. When the ninety nine percent join hands we can build a global railway system for the future. Railways that replace air travel and cargo ships, railways that will be powered by clean energy.

Just the fact that we would begin to focus most of our energy on working together rather than fighting wars will move mountains and bring heaven into our hearts.”

     “Goddamm communist,” shouts a furious Congressman.

The President furrows his brow and thunders from on high,

     “How can you label something that science hasn’t created yet? Some think we can let global warming take its toll and that then us more fortunate ones will be just fine. It’s far more likely that many societies will collapse with the economy and wreak havoc on everyone. If we choose to bury our heads in the sand, or in underground shelters, when we come back up it will probably be to a living hell of gangs and potential cannibalism.”

The President lets that soak in for a moment and continues,

“It may take decades to transition from our dying expansionist way of life into a sustainable world. Economic models suggest that we can adjust our world economy to last for 20-30 years. We will then watch our corrupt reality collapse and we will take flight like the Phoenix.

I personally believe that it is incumbent upon us as civilized human beings to allow our young adults to shape their own future, guided by the wisdom of their most capable elders. I believe the Numanity Project is the best way to do this. We must do this my friends. Not because we have to, although Mother Nature is proving this to be true, we will do it because we are the champions for the world.”

 

The President tamps down their applause and bows curtly, preparing to depart. Aponi will have her hands full now. She’ll have scores of hamstrung leaders to influence in the ways of spiritual solutions to material problems.

One of the red crazies runs toward the podium while pulling something from his pocket. It’s tucked into his palm and not visible yet. He stops and points his tiny ceramic gun at the President and fires, BAM, the bullet screams like desperate propaganda.

     The President drops to the floor while his bodyguards rush to his side. “Idiot,” says the President. He rips open his shirt to reveal a nasty flesh wound. He jumps back up to the podium with a grimaced smile.

     “I’m okay, it’s only a scratch. Peace be with all of you.”

He salutes the Chamber, does an abrupt about face and boldly walks away.

This is the shot, felt ‘round the world, the hinge-point of the metamorphosis of humanity. We will fly away from our cocoon of insecurity and greed and into the sunshine of a brighter future. A future that benefits everyone to the extent that they embrace it. A future that rewards us well as individuals for achieving great things for the greater good of all life.

     Science tells us that we all evolved from a common grandmother in Africa. Now we have the proud parents of Earth’s first truly advanced and thriving civilization. They will be loved and celebrated for millennia to come, long live Numanity!