Cicada
(Fabrizo and I witnessed a Cicada molt before our eyes in real time. It began as a heavy, slow moving pupa that had landed on my beer until eventually it emerged with beautiful wings and no spots.)
Local Realism and Ancestry
The South Yuba River brought me back home to myself. With its movement the ripples of aquamarine looked like ribbons of time. Ancient ancestors and water sprites danced in the current like ghosts celebrating life. To the naked eye the river was simply the river. This is locally true. According to physicists John Clauser, Alain Aspect, and Anton Zeilinger, it (the universe) is in fact not locally “real”. The object which is not being actively observed has the potential to lack definite properties…contrary to what Albert Einstein once proved and had us collectively agreeing upon. In Daniel Garisto’s article, The Universe Is Not Locally Real, a publication analyzing the 2022 Nobel prize study stated: “Einstein once bemoaned to a friend, ‘Do you really believe the moon is not there when you are not looking at it?” To adapt a phrase from author Douglas Adams, the demise of local realism has made a lot of people very angry because it challenges what they know. What was once a philosophical observation has become confirmed by quantum physics.
Does it matter? That’s rhetorical.
Do I feel validated? I can’t say that I don’t.
I am an idealist who enjoys being a visionary. I enjoy philosophizing about concepts that might already have answers. Now I finally have science to back up my romantic and idealistic beliefs.
Fuck a cynic. Realists can suck my metaphoric dickkkk!.
If the Yuba River were to be reduced to its most finite form, atoms and molecules, it would give voice to the unmentioned. The spirits which live within each microorganism are what create the energy which is felt. An energy that has been collected over thousands of years as the northern tributary turns into channels and canyons, all the way to the southern mouth which may connect to lakes and oceans. If life (and by life I mean sentience, as opposed to being inanimate) weren’t immortal, why then does Earth feel so ancient? Why then is its wisdom so palpable? We are just compost and fungi, connected effervescently remembering a journey that is not our own, stuck in the redundant cycle of samsara.
My mouth had been parched for stillness, and remembrance, a flavor I’d so long forgotten, the river quenched my thirst.
In the blink of an eye, I am back in San Francisco falling into step with the herd of people desperately attacking the light like mindless moths. They have no sense of self preservation. I don’t want to be a moth anymore. I want to be a cicada. I want to take my time and emerge when I’m ready…in 10 years.
Needless to say I’ve been feeling the existential tug. Questioning, denying, rejecting all forms of reality, but I have no answers. I have nothing but sand slipping through my fingers to try and cement together a strong foundation of my values and beliefs.
I am too young to have strong values.
I am too inexperienced to have my own opinions and beliefs.
It feels as though all I know is all everyone else has taught me and nothing I’ve defined or decided for myself.
Maybe I’m too hard on myself…
I wish I could tell you, reader, that my tone can be hyperbolic. My pendulum must swing all the way in one direction before it can return back to another extreme. For the sake of expression I must write as organically as I can. It does not mean, however, that I do not have the capacity to rationalize, project myself into the future, or think more logically. Less…emotional. Lately, I have realized that everything I have been taught by my role models I have had to unlearn. When that happens, and there is no one left to turn to for guidance, it can leave someone feeling very empty.
I have been reluctant to ground myself because that would mean delving deeper into my roots. All my ancestors have done is lead me astray. Some say that due to generational trauma, some people don’t have elders. They have people in their family who have grown older, but not wiser. Because of this I have been floating just above the pavement, like a ghost of myself trying to find my footing in the heavens. My family has not done the work to heal their toxic patterns and behaviors because frankly, they won’t admit to having them. I can attest to being seen as the young, naive, granddaughter (not just by blood but by life). In many cases I can be naive– I embrace it. I choose to no longer react to life in such a volatile way. I have no reason to go to war with someone for contradicting my beliefs. I am not my grandmother's daughter. I am not my grandmother.
I feel…a l o n e.
By rejecting my ancestry I may be blocking the blessings meant for me. I am learning to trust the world again. I understand that the only way out is through. Facing the bad and the ugly, reminding it that I am not afraid. Like a warrior, I must fight the ancestors that might want to teach me ill doings. The only war I have left to fight is against myself and the parts which don’t serve me. I welcome positive wisdom. I am ready for loving guidance.
It is important to value people in any setting, even in the workplace, but to show appreciation is to be considerate and compassionate. It is unkind to kid ourselves into believing that we do not need external validation. How else can one show themselves internal validation if not modeled by the peers and role models around them? I keep asking myself: ‘why is it so hard to accept my own truth?’ Well, for one, the examples of self validation I received were very mean and confusing during the formative years of my life. I overlooked success as an expectation of myself and focused solely on my downfalls as the epitome of what defined me. Now I have trust issues and I don’t believe in people’s uplifting honesty because I have been emotionally abused. In my life, kind loving words never matched the malice and insensitivity I would be shown when I made a mistake. Now I have learned what abusive language can look like as I am healing. If someone says to you: ‘Don’t take it personally,’ when they are being unkind, they should not be surprised when their kind words hold no value either.
Adhere to the social norm. Adhere to the social norm! Read all about it!
People say:
“Don’t talk about work, it is small talk.”
I love what I do, so my job doesn’t feel like work. I could spend hours talking about the things I’ve learned from the people I mentor and the volunteers I meet. I get to be involved as I want to be with humans and I cannot interact at all. I am guaranteed to have my hands in some soil with a plant at all times. I have worked in botany, horticulture, and landscaping for the last 4 years and counting (five in April) and I have never had any damn clue what I am doing or where I am going until right before I make a decision. I have had the privilege to stumble through my career without ever having gone to official schooling for it. I have worked my ass off to research and learn on my own all things plant related (i.e. taxonomy, botanical names, ecology, biology, etc). I fucking hated science in school, but once applied it all makes so much sense. The entropy of the universe began to seem less chaotic, the noise inside quieted down, it all began to make sense the longer I spent outside in the soil.
(Do NOT call it dirt. Dirt is what is beneath your fingernails. Soil is what we walk upon. It is rich with nutrients and life.)
For the first two years of my career I spent many hours with ‘new life’. Planting small seedlings and collecting seeds on hikes in the wild. Guerilla gardening and only taking from the land what I deserved. I was mindful of ecosystems and dispersing my collections.
From the moment I arrived at the nursery, to the moment I would leave, I would be propagating cuttings, transplanting, or sowing seeds. I had other tasks, “chicken tending” (taking care of my chickens), watering , cleaning, inventory (which required me to know plant identification because our point of sale system was from the land before time–actually it was not a system, it was a website that was coded by my boss in 2012, or earlier, and it never was going to change. He made sure of it. Plant identification was no small feat in this context. I would be looking at plants with 3 leaves on them using my skills to correctly catalog them). I learned that winnowing seeds is quite adjacent to hand grinding weed. I learned that the potting bench served as a pseudo therapy session. I learned that seedlings could only be watered gently with a hand pail. I had to remember to check my garden, both metaphoric and literal. I learned to mourn the loss of my chickens that would pass. I learned how to excite people with my newest plant obsession. I learned how to visualize a garden before it was even built. I found myself in the future, protecting my plants, ensuring they had room to grow. I learned how hard it was to hear that people did not care if they neglected their plant. I learned that it upset me even, to think that to some people my plants were experiments. The plants I had spent years watching grow, leaf out, abscise, flourish, flower, teeter on life and death…I learned to trust. I learned to let go and have faith. I learned that roots could not be left out in the sun, so if I had to step away to help customers, I had to be very mindful of how quickly I expected myself to get through all of my plants. I had to limit myself. I had to be realistically ambitious because I was responsible for so many individual little lives. I would bless each one with a mantra.
“Om Mani Padme Hum…”
(Praise to the jewel in the lotus)
Over and over again. Sometimes one hundred twenty-eight times. Sometimes only 6. Every day I remembered I was alive because of all the spirit around me. The new life. I thought differently. Like a plant. I awoke into myself. I awoke into the world. I thought I was jaded, but in reality I let the judgment of a judgmental spirit sweep me away from reality. Trust can be a dangerous thing. I was, maybe even still am, a person who trusted blindly. I accept people as they are and allow each person to show me who I should define them as. I understand that people have the capacity to change, and therefore, no perception of mine is so sound. Every individual should be seen only as they present, not as we perceive. I really don’t understand people who pass judgment on people they have met once, twice even.
Nonetheless, I do believe that with experience, interpersonal relationships season us to become wiser and more intuitive with age. Brief interactions may tickle our senses making us aware of the negative patterns and the familiar ones. How we act upon that life-experience determines whether we are crossing the line into judgment versus acceptance and compassion. I value those that can simultaneously have strong opinions and not hold judgment towards others who have opposing ones.
Now I work for a different organization, and I have learned so many other things. About leadership and mentorship in a professional setting and outside. How to stay organized. How to keep my mind on track.
One day, my crew and I, (2F: Tamia and Caty,1M: Stanley) were in NoPa, or on McAllister. I can’t remember the details, but I immediately got to work. My body was craving movement and a release. The basin we were planting at had hard clay and I therefore had to use the pickaxe. I am perfectly equipped to operate and effectively use a pickaxe. The one male in our group was fairly new to our staff at the time. I did not trust his strength, or skills, to not hurt himself swinging around the pickaxe, nor did I trust the other girl to not hurt herself either. A stranger, a man a few yards away, began to yell at my crew member.
“You really gonna let the girls do all the work by themselves?”
My crew member did not know how to respond. He was immediately embarrassed. The stranger did not know that Stanley was new to the position, he suffered from chronic anxiety, and I had been the one to volunteer myself. I told Stanley not to listen and gave him a specific task to work on. The heckler persisted. I eventually spoke up saying that I could do it all myself perfectly well.
What the heckler did not acknowledge is that this type of thinking perpetuates the oppression that women face. The archetype of men being more physically capable is true; and physiologically they can be stronger, however, in the modern era it insinuates that women must adhere to the society which men built. It shifts the responsibility onto men, setting the archetypal expectation that women have become reliant on men’s physical strength in order to succeed, or in this case, to proceed.
If I had given the job to Stanley we would have taken twice as long to complete the task at hand. He was going to have other opportunities to learn this skill, I did not see that day as the right time. The heckler on the street did not understand that not only was he implying I needed the assistance, but perpetuating a male dominated culture where the masculine is only coveted for their strength over the feminine.
Whatever the extrapolation was, I absolutely despise when I am attempting to do something and someone tells me that I am either doing it wrong or wants to take over for me. The answer is no. The answer is: let me make my mistakes on my own. Fuck off, and take your useless opinions somewhere else damnit.
My spirit hangs heavy but I am strong. I keep reaching out into “the gap” , the negative space within the universe. The gap is the same place that exists in our mind when we meditate. It’s the weightlessness which I can only equate to outer space, and the galaxy. Zero gravity. I’ve lived a life that to most is very hard, and to some appears to be a cakewalk. I am learning to not compare suffering and only noticing how similar types of suffering might bring us closer to certain people. The river brought me back home to myself; and reminded me that life on Earth can be weightless as well. We must try very hard to find the small spaces it exists in. As I write that down I notice that it is untrue, because the places which hold peace are vast and sublime, if from within you comes peace.
Inner peace.
Inner peace.
Inner peace.
Inner peace.
Moksha Moksha Namaha
