Normally I write my blog entry on Sunday. This is Wednesday. This morning I was walking down Blvd Pasteur in Paris at 5 AM, headed for the bus that would take me to the airport and the plane that would take me home. Now it’s nearly 5 PM California time, but still the same day. Never mind that my body is in 2 AM tomorrow, the sun is golden here and the moss in our front yard is glowing green.
The word disorienting enters the mind, but what feels right is orienting. During this past week, with CB in one hemisphere and me in another, I have felt more keenly than ever how connection is immediate, instant, and constant. I feel we will only survive if this goes viral.
I vist the stones at Carnac again and remember when my dowsing rods were nearly torn from my hands by the energy of the ley-lines. That was only a confirmation of what I’d always felt there, that there’s an energetic webwork girdling the earth, and Carnac is one of the “hot points.” We have another one here, at Portuguese Beach, and when I visit the ocean here I’m also greeting Carnac.
Science acknowledges that mycelium are the internet of the forest, that redwoods shift resources to others who are in need, that there is a vast and caring intelligence in the plant world that we would do well to acknowledge and emulate. It makes me smile to think of trains as human mycelium, that my frequent experience of deep vivid conversation with someone in the next seat, someone I will never see again but whose personhood has touched mine, that these sparks are part of a network.
These two weeks have been dense, fragrant, lively, exhausting, invigorating, and essential for me. A long time ago I wrote this song lyric, and I think I still mean it:
I don’t wanna leave the train, Mama, I really think I wanna ride
And you can change my station and my destination,
And I’ll cope on the other side
‘Cause I’m listening to the weaver, singing in my head
And I don’t want no rebuttal, ‘cause I know I’m a shuttle,
And I’m carrying a sacred thread.