I guess she found the notes early this morning. She always works early morning in the garden, and usually we have summer’s abundance to share with neighbors.

Here’s what’s there now, by the road. Likely be gone by this evening.

Seeing that first photo she sent flipped my crotchety mood instantly.

Suddenly (thanks ,Uranus!) I was returned to my much more customary state, radiating a penumbra of intense gratitude for all that life continues to shower upon me, including this tiny three home village inside a suburban neighborhood in Bloomington, IN.

greenacresvillage.org

I post on that site once a week, tracking both weekly Sunday morning Work Parties (I document, but do not join) and twice a month Thursday Community Dinners (which I host, alternating with Elisha, either on the patio or in one of our houses). Both regular occasions are open to one and all, not just those who live here (seven total, currently), and I send out an email notice to a still-growing list the Tuesday beforehand.

This tiny, potent place, and these already long-standing traditions (15 years now, one half of a Saturn cycle!) that have gradually seeded, grew, continue to blossom after I moved to this town, this neighborhood, this street corner, in 2003, to nourish both me and others (natal Jupiter 23° Cancer, being currently crossed by transit Jupiter!) feels wonderfully dynamic, alive: like a tree, my welcoming home base centers me, spine rooted into earth and lifting to the sky, branches waving, welcoming one and all.

And yet, as usual, I see what I have created in in Bloomington over the last 23 years, as an experiment, just as my life is itself an experiment. This one, not just abstract and philosophical (Sun, Ascendant, Mars in Sagittarius), but located in the material world (natal Moon in steady, grounded Taurus), its dynamic pulsing center encouraging both individuals and community in a psychic and sociological blending of both as a polarized pair. Lean too much one way, and the result is competition, anarchy, even chaos. Lean too much the other way, and the result is hive mind, commune, collectivism.

And, for  this extremely energetic double Sagittarian, who gets easily bored without ongoing challenges, of course I’ve enjoyed/endured other experiments. You might say experimentation is my middle name!

Experimentation with ignition and nourishment of all sorts of structures and processes, and these include living in many different kinds of communities inhabited by other contrarians like myself!

Example: “Munchkin House,” back in Twin Falls Idaho, my home town, where I returned to marry my high school boyfriend in my very early 30s, and then divorced, lovingly, two years later. “Munchkin House” was owned by a rich boy friend, gifted to me for my use. I quickly gathered lonely contrarians in that conservative town and started a volunteer local magazine, Open Space, which soon took over both living room and basement. (Sorry. Lousy picture. Took it just now on the fly. You get the gist.!)

OPENSPACE IS A VERB

In any case, I’m aware today that my crotchety attitude of the past two days stemmed mostly from being pissed that my thumbs no longer work the way they used to; that I now have to make sure I hold on to railing with both hands when descending steep basement stairs; that my sleep is even more sporadic the older I get (oops, I mean the older I grow). In short, I’ve had to pay attention! Slow down lest I fall! Damn it!

Rather than going gently into this good night, I instinctively rage at the first discernible traces of the inevitable dying of the light inside me. My fiery spirit wants to just continue on, forever, here on this beautiful planet, doing what I’ve always done, stirring up all sorts of attitudes, blessings, controversies, both inside me and out.

Of course, they say, “growing old is not for sissies.” — Though that phrase really annoys me. . . Of course it does! Probably because I was NOT the one who invented it. Ego still rules, way too much of the time. And ego wants what it wants, now. And when that nut butter jar is just too much for me to open, requiring me to ask someone else to do it — well, I get pissed, rather than empathize with my dear body, and how it has carried me through all sorts of perils and panaceas, for going on 84 years.

Here’s an interview that reviews another one of my ignitions, again a community formed through a magazine, that one to unite and celebrate older women (1989-2001) as individuals.

THE CRONE CHRONICLES EXPERIMENT

Let’s face it, Ann.

YOU are the one who needs to live up to the intense, archetypal value of the Crone stage of a woman’s life that you helped to introduce to this culture when you were only 46 years old.

Getting ahead of myself back then?

And now, looking back at myself?

But still here, still kicking

(though with less force)

— and usually,

intensely grateful

for every single risky adventure

I’ve had the temerity to,

or had been forced to,

undertake.

The post (Suddenly) GRATEFUL CRONE! and here’s why appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

(Why? In case hungry souls, even desperately hungry souls with starving children, are outside, waiting to grab my food.)

This selfish, and yet, thoroughly understandable attitude, I’m sure, is shared, at least on an unconscious level, by the 87.7% of people in the United States who do not depend on food stamps.

So yes, the past few days I’ve been pondering what may be a stand-off, by the U.S. Congress, as they lie in wait for . . . for what?

For the collective fear to spark civil unrest and more on November 1 if one of our two basic bodily needs, for food and shelter, is in fact denied? Denied by the federal government? I imagine plenty of Democrats (and covertly, RINO Republications) would welcome this, so that they, of course, can “blame Trump.”

Here is where I feel it becomes very obvious that depending on the centralized federal government for any of our human needs is exposed as tyranny.

We humans need to return home, return to our roots, and especially in the realm of growing and sharing food with neighbors and those in need.

I’ve been all too aware of this obvious fact for decades, and view decentralization, localization, as key to solving most of the issues that have spun out of control with the obese, constantly expanding federal government.

And of course it continues to expand. That’s the nature of hierarchical human organizations. At any level, people within it seek to climb the ladder, and they do so by creating more programs that hire more people! So no blame: the geometry of the situation is the issue.

In America, after nearly 200 years of cancerous growth, DOGE started the rollback. And of course, human suffering cannot help but attend the sometimes ruthless shakedown/takedown of people’s jobs that depend in any way, upon the now shrinking federal government. As the DOGE shakedown continues, it expands to include other jobs within our densely interconnected human web. Truckers, farmers, post office workers, small stores, national parks, etc. etc., all suffer.

My own efforts to demonstrate a transformational template for human flourishing in a typical suburban neighborhood have been ongoing for nearly 20 years, starting with buying the house next door (using inheritance from father) and converting its huge side yard into a community garden. At this point, Green Acres Village inside Green Acres Neighborhood includes three homes (the third one I bought eight years ago, using inheritance from mother, and then sold a year ago to Elisha, a community member for many years who then outed herself as an extraordinary garden manager!); so three homes, plus attendant gardens, greenhouse, a common patio for gatherings, and so on.

At this point, Green Acres Permaculture Village is known across Bloomington as a tiny paradise inside Green Acres Neighborhood, attracting visitors from far and wide, with especially its gardens as The Great Attractor. Our bi-weekly Community Dinners are open to all, and include, for newcomers, “the tour,” hoping to inspire others to follow our example, both in Bloomington and beyond. Just imagine: suburbs all over America transforming into food-growing/sharing villages! Why not? What’s stopping us, except for a lack of will and imagination?

See my blog on greenacresvillage.org.

For example this recent post. 50 POUNDS OF PEPPERS, so far, from only 15 plants!

Meanwhile, what this federal standoff has done is expose all sorts of malfeasance, including people “who have no memory of ever paying for food.”

Some who are on food stamps shell out money to get their nails done and other luxuries, or, they actually use their EBT cards to pay for getting nails done! That is no longer allowed. Boo hoo!

Moreover, supposedly 54% of immigrants depend on at least one welfare program. Does that count include illegals? I saw somewhere else, can’t remember where, that only 18% of people receiving food stamps are actually American citizens.

And how’s this for interesting:

And guess what? Walmart depends on its employees being  on food stamps.

Some people who get food stamps then trade part of what they get for drugs, on and on. It’s one big hand-out to not just people who truly need it for a certain amount of time, but for all those who desire not to work for their own sustenance on this planet, but instead to rip off U.S. taxpayers to pay for their scam forever.

How’s this for disgusting?

Lots of tiktokers weighing in now; lots who realize that others are too lazy to contribute and so depend on the federal government to keep them alive and parasitic. Here’s a great takedown of lazy folks.

Doomers Michael Snyder and Mike Adams both see the same scenario I’m trying hard not to see.

Meanwhile:

Practical advice.

Low cost alternatives.

And meanwhile, locally, thanks to Danielle West on facebook:

In sum:

Let’s face it.

The post Is the US about to experience its own (version of) “Hunger Games”? appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

Later that day, we both happened to be in Aldi, at the place where five people can check out electronically all at once. Seeing her there, and when our eyes met, I greeted her, “Hello Sarah! How are you doing?”

“I’m doing fine . . . Actually I’m NOT; just so upset about what’s happening to this country.” Said with great emphasis.

“Well, I’m still a Trumper,” I replied, loud enough for those around us to hear (dangerous, in this academic town).

“I know.” She replied. “And that’s why I don’t come to your Community Dinners.” (She used to come, years ago.)

Before she could get going on the rant that I could feel was coming, I told her “Actually, I’m both.”

While I realize that without shrinking the bloat in the federal government the entire country will soon go broke, I also very much appreciate how some of DOGE’s efforts are resulting in many thousands of people having great difficulties. As an example, I told her about noticing clearly immigrant little kids dressed up for school with backpacks, waiting at the bus stop with shy parents who don’t speak English, knowing that they all live in the “project” behind. “Who knows,” I thought at the time, as I passed them on the sidewalk, “what would happen to them if money to to fund that project gets axed. Or if their parents get deported.”

At this, my felt appreciation of both sides of the current political polarity, she looked puzzled, taken aback. But then when I mentioned Elon Musk, she turned suddenly rabid. “Oh, he’s just an African nazi,” she shouted, red-faced, as if the devil himself had suddenly climbed inside her and was spewing fire.

At this, I just put up my hands, shook my head in wonder, turned and walked away.

How I wish I had stayed, to tell her how we here in Green Acres Permaculture Village work with the inevitable political differences that arise between us. It’s been a necessity that we learn to do this, ever since what I still call the covid con— and what nearly everybody else around here still sees as a real epidemic, requiring masks, distancing, etc. etc, — cleaved us in two.  In fact, during that strange time, the fear virus coursing through culture was so very virulent, that we stopped Community Dinners entirely for about a year.

Here’s how we do it: we just “stay with what we have in common.” And inevitably, what we have in common is much greater than what divides us. What divides us is merely ideas, those usually instilled into our brains on screens by outside sources, rather than gained through real lived experience, on the ground, where we live and breathe and relate to one another as equal, sovereign souls.

I’m reminded of Mattias Desmet, who introduced the idea of “mass formation” to us back during the covid con. Remember this? from 2022:

The Psychology of Totalitarianism

This man is showing us, with his language, how to bridge the gap between opposites; to live in the spacious presence between them, rather than condemning either pole as “the other.”

I subscribe to his substack. Here’s his subtly argued, both/and post from 4/19/25.

The Snitch Line of the Minister of Health

As a kid who grew up in the 40s and 50s, I can’t help but feel nostalgic now, and I wonder about Sarah, who also grew up then. How she must be suffering, to have succumbed to the cultural MK Ultra GOVERN-MENT (govern the mind) social divide, to having “picked a side,” and is now battling it out. I know full well, that as she pedaled back to her lonely apartment, while the ego part of her was still hot, underneath she did not feel good about either herself or the world. Hate does not heal.

Daily, hourly, minute by minute, I pray that I shall be one of those who help heal the divisions most people alive today are so immersed in that they do not realize it is possible to both dive below them to what we have in common, and to allow ourselves to rise above them, above all the quarreling, to look down with compassion upon sufffering humanity.

How did we allow ourselves to get to this point?

How did we allow ourselves to succumb to the (required, designed) madness that pits us against one another while the totalitarian state gradually, seemingly inevitably, clamps down?

Let’s stop.

Center, re-group.

Love ourselves.

Love one another.

Love unceasingly.

BTW: just as I turned from Sarah, one man turned from elecronically making his own purchases. He looked at me, knowing, appreciating.

It’s time we speak Truth, unceasingly . . .

. . . with Love.

The post A Personal Encounter with the Demonic appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.

When we live from the inside out, we are integrated. Logical left brain with oceanic right brain, right brain to heart. When both sides of the brain are integrated, the heart is open and the soul shines through.

The soul shines through the eyes; and when the soul shines through the eyes, it magnetizes other souls, through their eyes. The result? On daily errands I share an endless, near silent, joyful dance of connection, communion, union.

I assume that the obvious differential between me and my elderly cohorts is mostly due to the fact that my way of life differs so profoundly from theirs. First of all, I do not live alone, but with others; in fact, this year, with two very young, intense, and wonderful women. My home is connected to two others, also with intergenerational occupants, in Green Acres Permaculture Village. We not only get along, we help each other out when needed, enjoy regular bi-weekly community dinners open to neighbors and friends, work the land, share tasks, dream and accomplish common goals.

Likewise, the eating habits I have refined over a lifetime likely differ profoundly from most others my age. Whole foods, home cooked, no seed oils, high protein, low carb, gluten-free, no sugar. Plus eight different supplements I began during the covid con, to rev up my immune system and keep it there. Plus, as of six months ago, intermittent fasting, 18/6. And, just two days ago, I ordered a “weighted vest”!

Then there’s my long-term physical exercise routine: three to four miles a day fast walk, plus yoga, chi kung tai chi. Two hours altogether, of what I call “physical culture.”

Not surprisingly, I am very much the one in charge of my own health. No doctors, no drugs, no medical appointments, no blood tests, nada. Exceptions made if I break a bone, which happened twice in the past 12 years: both wrists; one falling on black ice, the other stumbling on a hidden root on a forest path. (Usually, I stumble, but don’t fall; long-term chi kung renders every cell alive and interconnected.)

I have long been aware that the body is the temple of the soul; and that I must maintain the body in prime condition for as long as possible, if I wish to continue to share the mental/emotional/spiritual  harvest I have gleaned from more than eight decades of living fully, and well, including outrageous risks and adventures, all the while continuously processing my own shadow stuff as it emerges from the murky depths. The result: I don’t just “get older”; I grow older.

However, and here’s where I differ profoundly from many who are similarly focused on the body to the point of near-obsession. Namely:  I do not fear Death. In fact, I welcome Death, as the parting gift to a long life well lived.

So though I am very focused on the body, for without its well-being I cannot be of service to others, my values, attitudes and assumptions are wildly different from the so many many others who are, more and more, not just focused on, but actually identified with this mortal coil and terrified of dying and Death! So much they are actually determined to avoid Death and achieve immortality, transform into gods!

Come on, folks. Death is but entrance to larger life!

Don’t try to limit your mysterious open-sourced aliveness

to this 3D material realm!

Forget about cleverly mapping, synthesizing, digitizing;

why would you want to transmogrify

into a transhumanist bot?

that “lives” forever?

Huh? You call that living?

Joe Allen spells it out and sums it up quite nicely, not to mention precisely.

Healthy Body, Sick Soul

The post ALIVENESS: real or faked? Choose. appeared first on A Conscious Journey Through End Times | Exopermaculture Legacy.