who's your daddy

part one

A few years ago, I went out into the pasture to move our cattle and found one of my beloved milk cows, Clementine, quite sick. Her ears drooped to the side of her head. Her neck hung low and her breath moved out in great, forced huffs from her dry nose. Such sinking moments, one minute we are fine, trudging along, the next, our hearts sink, adrenaline surges, and we are called upon to start making important decisions that have serious consequences. 

I couldn’t figure it out. The livestock vet came and told us to give her some vitamins and watch her. My cow 911 calls to my dairy farmer friends returned various ideas, but nobody was able to see what I could see. I could describe it, but what I was describing was a sick cow. Not that helpful. What I couldn’t describe was the air around her that was different than it had been. I didn’t have words for how her energy was contracting, how I could sense that she was moving into a different place from the physical one we shared. I knew she was gravely ill. My gut told me so.

I ended up calling on a neighbour near us, Gary the farmer and jack of all trades. He works the same dairy farm he was born on. As a roaming vagabond throughout most of my life, I look at that phenomenon, growing in place, with such affection. He knows every stone and every hollow in his fields. He knows the signs of impending weather and the moisture in the soil by chewing on a blade of grass. He is calm and steady, quick to smile, and gracious in times of trouble. He’s also sprinkled with enough grit to keep him real. I like him.

So, when it was him that I finally turned to for help, he said “I will be there in ten minutes”. Of course he came, he had to come. What good would it be to only ask for her temperature or what she’s eating or how long she’d been down? It tells you some things, sure, but what does it tell us about her, now, in this moment? She, there, Ms. Clementine of the wild and wooly clan, suddenly lying despondent on the grass, has a story of her own to share if we can be patient enough to listen. Isn’t that a wisdom in its own right? Not the shouting bravado of ‘knowing’, but the judgment to recognise when you don’t, using our talents of observation to aid our understanding, and being present to what comes. It requires humility and experience to escort the unknowing through the threshold of “I think I know what’s happening here”, but it is infinitely more honest than the proclamations of the ego. 

And that’s exactly what Gary did, he listened with all of his senses. He went to the field, walked up to Clementine, still lying on the grass, and stood before her for a long while. I watched him as he watched her, looking at her eyes, her body as it breathed in and out. He crouched down by her face and spoke to her quietly while he looked and touched and smelled. He moved along her body, feeling with his hands, watching with his eyes. He felt her feet. Looked at her hooves. Asked me questions. The two of us humans we’re encapsulated by a bubble of energy around this lowly beast, something that could not be quantified or measured in the way of instruments, but could be deeply felt by way of the most powerful, highly sensitive, vibrationally tuned instrument we have - ourselves.

“She’s in a bad way” he said.

Gary was able to get that sick cow up by heaving where she needs to be heaved and hoeing where she needed to be hoed. Then he got her to stand up. Then, to  to take a few steps, all while he watched her.  She stood with a spine curled in like a hoop. She shuffled, nose inches above the earth. Finally, he spoke, “I have a sneaking suspicion….”

One mighty magnet down the gullet of a cow and “hardware disease” can be thwarted. Funny that they call swallowing a piece of metal that can rip up or perforate a cow’s rumen a “disease”, but they do.  If you’re lucky, the magnet finds the offending piece of metal causing mayhem and the union of the two is buffered by a further walling off of the materials by the cow’s own body. A matrix of of mucus-like wrapping around metal. We were lucky. When I went into the barn the next morning, Clementine was up, bright eyed, standing straight and strong. She pushed her pushy head into me as a healthy cow would, demanding I speed up the delivery of the hay I was placing before her.

She was solidly in her body again, present and purposeful. She was fully cow again. Fully member of the herd that she bellowed at me to return her to. Ready to own her position again, return to the grass again, be what she was here to be again. That, she told me. How do I prove that to you? Can I use a machine to measure sound waves or energy transmission? Can I put some sort of sensor between her and I to prove the receiving of messages? 

Is it any less real because I cannot provide you with those numbers?

We’ll say goodbye to Clementine now, leaving her where we found her, in that field, but this time content and well. She went on to live a long and fruitful life. I introduced her to you all because she was one of my teachers and such a lovely and benevolent teacher she was. The story of Clementine and Gary exemplifies a way of thinking that is being lost, or outright disregarded, in our modern day world of science-as-king.

Science is a tool, but its ego has lost its way and it has been corrupted. I feel bad for science. I don’t think even science likes what’s happening to it. I suspect it’s there under the garbage heap of stinky manipulations and lies yelling, “it’s not me, it’s not me, I didn’t say that!” Poor science, it just wants to be known as itself, but instead, it gets tarred and feathered with slogans and propaganda masquerading as something of substance.

Is my experience meaningless in this time of the new collective religion of scientism? Is my knowledge, my lifetime of gathering and learning, just a silly thing, easily nullified because our society has determined there’s a new god in town? Is a whole life, with all of its collected bits, now just whimsy unless sci-god can measure and quantify it all?

And if so, who says? Science? Did science say to listen to science? Well, if that’s the case, we better be able to determine who this science fella is. But we can’t because it’s hard to nail him down. Depending on what company he keeps, he tends to be a bit of a shape shifter. And who was it that determined and then agreed to using science as our one and only arbiter of truth? Really, let’s stay here for a second. Who agreed to it all? And if I didn’t agree, if I am not a faithful and adherent follower of this new religion, who has the right to demand that I bow down to its proclamations and offer up the sacrifice of the gifts I have been bestowed by my Creator simply because it ‘says so’. 

I like science. I find it fascinating to learn about processes in the body, obscure little creatures on some foreign land far away, about the stars and galaxies I can only see twinkles of from my backyard. But science, as all observations and examinations, should be a humble practice with built in curiosity and awe. A practice of unknowing, an endless enquiry into the vast mysteries of life with the presumption that we might find crumbs, but we will never have all of the answers. How could we? Why would we want to? There are stories and traditions, mysterious fables, theology and philosophy, our own god-given intelligence and instinct, to round off and fill in what science can never give. There are the whispers of our creator in our hearts to find. Don’t miss that part. It’s the most important of all.

Science, real science, the one that lay under that rotting garbage heap I mentioned earlier, wants to play in that world of storytelling. Science says, I think I have something to say here, something to add. There is never ego, not with science, not with story, not with knowledge that has been garnered through the bones and passed down through the lips of our ancestors. There is no oxygen for ego in this type of world, a world of reverence. A world where wonder trumps answers, where we hope we have it right, but have learned through experience that we might just be terribly wrong. With genuine science, questions are sacred. Unknowing, as it is in all parts of life, is a holy union with the divine, an invitation to explore the magical universe of this planet in this short time we have in it. And sometimes, when we are blessed, particles of answers fall upon us, but wisdom teaches us that ‘parts’ are not wholes, they are just open doors to further our journey. Answers today will not be the same as the answers for tomorrow. The universe is not static, it must change and evolve. What may be true  for now, here at this moment, may not be true for another, in a different place, in a different community, living in a different body under a sun and earth that offers itself differently to her. 

And that is why we are called to be in union with each other, with mother earth, with our loves and ourselves. There is nothing that can be beyond questioning, questions breathe life into ideas, shaping and evolving them into deeper understanding.  If we think we know, we have lost the plot. There is nothing that we know, not really, not as in a grand finale, drop the curtain,  dust the dirt off your hands, and proclaim “that’s it then, the end” kind of way. Never. The purpose, our purpose, is our holy matrimony with the great mysteries of this world, this life, these creatures and plants that exist along with us. We ask and remain inquisitive and we ask again.

The framework of our society has been corrupted. The we became the I. The whole became the parts. Mystery is quaint instead of sacred. Fables and stories have lost their place. Value is determined only by measure. Ego has replaced humility. And our mighty leaders kneel at the gilded god of science  which sits on its wobbly throne built by pharmaceutical giants and financial investors. “Ye shall have no other god before me” says the banner at its feet. But look close and you can see, that’s not science at all. The mask is cheap and plastic. The robe is made of polyester. The crown, just a cheap dollar store trinket. Behind the throne, the heavy, red velvet curtain is closed but the bustling forms of bodies, scattering like cockroaches, are evident if you are able to take your eyes off the glittering demigod meant to distract you.

Who then, are we following exactly? Who have we suspended our gifts for in exchange for their concrete, final answers? And why would we want to? What contract is it that requires the sacrifice of our senses, of our wonder and union, in return for the only thing this machine can cough up: safety. Why safety? What of it? To keep us from death? Why do you want to be kept from death? Because science tells you it’s the end. It’s the big, black hole of nothingness? And why do you default to science? Because science has told us, trained us, groomed us, from long ago. Because science replaced that which fils us, nourishes us in our totality, with McDonald’s apple pies and screens that show us the simulations of adventures and relationships we will never participate in.

The collective, then, hollowed out by their zoo lives in this human zoo world, march to the internet to find gurus and quippy articles to figure out how to be happy. The collective finds its traditions in Starbucks line-ups for their “regular” chemical brew. The collective chase distraction like rabid raccoons, hungry for the next shiny thing. The collective numbs itself with those aforementioned distractions and then adds a side of drugs, or booze, or plastic processed food, or porn, any addictions to pull us out of our lives. That’s what we settle for? And then, of course, they are told that the dysfunction is with them. Their failure. Their weakness. And would you look at that, our faux-gold king has answers for that, too - sweet little pills to bring us back to that smooth mellow place far, far away. 

“Ding, ding, there’s a problem here” says the subconscious.

“Shut up” we reply.

What happens to the collective when the end is nigh? Well, it’s the end of those distractions, I guess. Its the fessing up that they never really lived at all.

“Shit, you mean this death thing is real? I thought I could ignore it and it would go away. Ok, wait, let me have another kick at it, I have a few things I want to do differently.” 

“No,” says death “it doesn’t work that way.”

So, safety. Keep us as far away from death for as long as humanly possible. The quality of life, that immeasurable stuff traded in for the quantity. We’ll extend life, tubes and medications and dementia, sure, but it’s longer so - success! That trustworthy god, the only one made and shaped by the hands of man, offers us that. Safety. And all of those people living all of those lives bite the worm on the end of that hook with gusto.

Now in 2021, the sell is more tempting than ever. “Folks, have we got an offer for you! Right now, for an unlimited time only, trade responsibility for your life for this incredible, brand new, fully loaded life of safety! That’s right! Stay where you are, hide and obey, and in return, we will give you the life we think you should have, no questions asked! As a free bonus, for loyal watchers of this show, we will throw in a side of righteousness! Impress yourself with your sense of duty and valour while doing absolutely nothing at all! You heard me right, do nothing at all, and in return you will be spoon-fed what you need to know while riding the wild wave of propaganda. We will bring you to places you have never been, show you what you need to see, and make you feel what we want you to feel. How easy is that? Hop on board, folks, the train is getting full and you don’t want to miss out! Hurry! Now, for the next few hundred million callers, we will be giving away an absolutely free new shiny app that will assure your passage into the Kingdom of Goodness. Call now, operators are standing by!”

Ultimately, it comes down to the questions we ask over the positions we argue within the illusory framework presented to us as “reality’. Charles Eisenstein, a brilliant philosopher of our time, that I have long admired, puts it succinctly:

“Yes, we can return medicine to the people. The power to heal ourselves and each other has, like so much of modern life, been professionalized, turned into yet another set of goods and services. We can reclaim that power. The future of medicine is not high-tech. Technology has its place (for example in emergency medicine), but it has usurped the place of other powers: the hand, the herb, the mind, the water, the soil, the sound, and the light. Can we imagine a healthcare system that fulfilled the promise of the medical alternatives that have touched millions of lives in the shadow of the conventional system? These alternatives should stop being alternative. Come on people, these actually work. They have gained momentum over the last half-century despite ridicule, marginalization, lack of funding, and persecution from mainstream institutions. They work. Let’s take them seriously. We know how to be healthy. We remake society around that knowledge.

No authority during Covid has said, “People are sick, they need more time outdoors. People are sick, they need more touch. People are sick, they need healthy gut flora. People are sick, they need pure water. People are sick, they need less electromagnetic pollution. People are sick, they need less chemicals in food. People are sick, let’s put diabetes warnings on soda pop. People are sick, let’s encourage them to meditate and pray more. People are sick, let’s get them in the garden. People are sick, let’s make our cities walkable. People are sick, let’s clean the air. People are sick, let’s provide free mold remediation on all dwellings. People are sick, let’s promote education about local herbs. People are sick, let’s make the best supplements and practices of the biohackers and health gurus available to all. People are sick, let’s heal our agricultural soils.” None of these are as hard as keeping every human being six feet apart from every other. So let’s do these things. Let’s remake society in their image with as much zeal as we remade society in the year of Covid.

Am I saying not to talk about vaccines and focus only the bigger picture? No. Vaccines, their dangers, their shortcomings, and the measures needed to coerce the unwilling are the visible tip of an iceberg, showing us starkly the system they represent. They are a window into a future of technological dependency where we put into our bodies whatever the authorities tell us to, and wonder why the promise of health, freedom, and a return to “normal” is always on the horizon but never here.”

I highly recommend reading the full essay by Charles, “beyond industrial medicine”. He is a man of nuance, brilliance, and deep thought. More of what’s needed in this time. I respect him immensely.

They have found the carrot and the donkeys are chasing it fervently. Why would they ever return them to the barn when the response has been so productive?

To be continued…

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