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Worlds take their time to end and be born.

So much was born into my life in 2012, the year I turned 30. I rediscovered an expressive and capable body for sharing our sacred planet. Music, movement, education, ceremony, all participatory and present and ready to be shared just as fast as I could make space for them. Genuinely being able to say I love myself. Big changes!

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Of all the deeply memorable experiences from this year – from a cave in the Quabbin to the canyon at Esalen, from a log cabin in the Great Smokies to a tarp above the tree line in the Cascades – a week ago Friday, Dec 21 2012, will undoubtedly remain one of the most profound and proudest experiences of my life.

Events occurred all over the planet. Our local weather forecast called for rain. Shows you can’t predict the weather anymore. The skies were perfect.

A group of loved ones – family, friends, and classmates from the school where I study Integral Ecology – spiraled to sacred sites around the entire San Francisco Bay Area to mark the special solstice. Our sunrise ceremony at Sibley Volcanic Park in the Oakland Hills caught the first ray of light that hit the West Coast, mixed it with our love and gratitude, then spread it over the whole bay below us and through the Golden Gate to the Big Ocean. A rainbow thanked us.

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We then had the honor of breakfast at Joanna Macy’s house, one of our community’s most beloved elders. She explored with us the significance of this threshold moment for all our work of helping each other through the despairs and regenerations of the Great Turning, and she gave us warm cider.

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We then drove up into the clouds, halfway up Mt. Tamalpais on the north side of the bay, dropping into a moist valley to hold council with the oldest, largest being around – old growth redwoods. Our offerings involved liminal time, deep cycles, huge ranges of scales, and soft comfy mossy spots.

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Emerging back into the late December world, we made our way to Ocean Beach to catch the solstice sunset, which appeared in the last five minutes of the shortest day of the year through two fingers worth of horizon sliver, a miraculous ending to our spiral solstice pilgrimage.

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Our Sacred Site Scouting Album:here!
The Full 12.21.12 Album: here!

We feasted, danced, and slept for a long time. What a magical opportunity to honor our beginnings and endings.

For those of us who study the places where ecological and cosmological science, political and social justice, and spiritual and mystical experience interweave together, 12.21.12 was a huge deal. A chance to be present to the sun’s alignment with the center of the galaxy. Present to a sense of reverence for our place in time and space. Present to historical scales of myth and storytelling. Present to the power of our apocalyptic desires today.

I see my work as helping to grow thrilling and wonderful new ways of relating with each other and the Earth – which includes honoring all the ways of life that truly are ending right now in our generation on this planet, even if they don’t all change on one day in December.

Because they include some big ones:

Worlds That Ended in 2012 (Approximately)

The Cenezoic Era – 65 Million Years Old: We are fast moving towards a mass extinction of animal and plant species. The last time a dying off of this magnitude occurred was when a meteor wiped out the dinosaurs. The most beautifully biodiverse period in the planet’s history, and it is ending right now, because of the actions of one overshot species.
The Era of Homosapiens – 200,000 Years Old: Through a combination of changes – biologically through our exposure to toxins, biomechanically through the internet implants we’re all about to want, on a level of consciousness with exponentially rising global awareness, and just because the label homosapien or “wise man” can’t really be what we call ourselves anymore – we are mutating into a new species.
The Holocene – 12,000 Years Old: The period of stable climate since the last ice age has ended. This balance is what allowed for agriculture. A rise of 2 degrees interferes with pollination. At 104 F photosynthesis ceases.
The Historical Period – 5,000 Years Old: If you define history as narratives of warring men, which is what most of our early written history consists of, then this is (thankfully) no longer the only script with which we work.
The Mayan Long Count – 5,000 Years Old: On the morning of the Winter Solstice 2012, the Sun (our first Father) traces a direct elliptical path through the exact center of our Milky Way Galaxy (our first Mother.) This happens every 26,000 years. The Mayan calendar was divided into periods called B’aktu’ns, of which this was the 12th, entering the 13th on this solstice morning. Not the end of the world, but certainly the end of an era, and somewhat of a homecoming.
The Piscean/Christian Aeon – 2,000 Years Old: The astrological Age of Pisces coinciding with the arising of the great religions and religious wars, though it’s associated most closely with Christianity and its water and fish symbology. Somewhere in this current couple hundred years we’re moving into the Age of Aquarius. This could signify a move away from monotheistic spirituality and towards lives experienced through freedom, equality, and awakening.
The Modern/Western/Capitalist Era – 500 Years Old: This is the world we know. The one we think is so real, so solid. It’s been defined by progress! individual autonomy! commodification of everything, mechanical reductionism, genocidal expansion, blind ambition, limitless greed-based growth, you know what I’m saying. Thankfully, this too is going. As we bare witness to one another in all our unique human and more-than-human incarnations and voices, as we finally recognize our interdependence with all of life around us, and as we begin to know ourselves as unbelievably greater together – a knowledge it’s taken us almost 14 billion years to discover, forget, and discover again – even those forms that seem most fundamental and foundational will begin to peel back.
The Era of Cheap Oil – 120 Years Old: Oil is dead. Long live migratory birds.

This is drawn from Sean Kelly’s lecture during my first semester at CIIS in 2010. His list of eschatons has stuck with me, resonating ever stronger as we’ve approached and now passed through this great 2012 transition.

2012 will be the year it all changed. It has to be. The ecological and technological tipping points that will transform our world forever are upon us.

There is real work to do in 2013 and beyond. Midwifing between shifting worlds will take generations, and we also don’t have that long to wait. But – critically, magically – for the first time in history, billions of people around the globe participated in some kind of Dec 21 prayer together. That’s a huge deal. And it looks like Dec 22 will become an annual Earth Birthday celebration. If just enough people fall in love with Earth again, right now, we have a chance.

Tonight that silver light through the fog – our final full moon of 2012 – expands our cells and calls us forward.

Filled with gratitude and love for all of our ages and beings,

Josh

New Songs!

Deeply grateful for all the new music, movement, and all out creative community emerging. I’m calling the project Home Howls. It also has, of course, a facebook page you can like. Next Show: Dec 21, 2012 Special Sacred Solstice Sunrise Ceremony

WHERE THE EARTH COMES OUT OF

UNTIL

KERRI’S RANCH

WORKER BEE

A tour of sacred sites around the world where communities have woven the cycles of life and death into the body of the land.

All images © Joshua Halpern 1997-2012
Music: “Feeling Good” by Nina Simone

Sacred places include: Varanasi, Manikarnika, Jodhpur, Jageshwar, Sagada, Kabayan, Chitina, Ka Lae, Papakolea, Esalen, Alcatraz, Petra, Giza, Karnak, Denali, Yosemite, Mesa Verde, Pai, and Princeton.

Joshua Halpern discusses climate-based migration through an Integral Ecology lens. (30 mins)

He also drew the poster for the Grounding Terrestrial Wisdom Culture Event:

Through the stories we carry and share, the futures we co-create, and the presence of each moment, we learn to nuture growth and transformation above all through our loving relationships.

(20 mins) From the 2012 Cosmology of Love Conference.

In this 2 hour presentation/workshop, Joshua Halpern explores the FIGHT to save the planet. At several points the whole room gets out of their chairs and acts out ecological cataclysms.

See description below:

Friends from the Philosophy, Cosmology, and Consciousness Department at CIIS peacefully shut down a Wells Fargo during the Occupy Oakland General Strike November 2, 2011.

images, words, and editing: Joshua Halpern
music: “Hatari” by tUnE yArDs

Josh recently helped his mother move out of the house his father built in Princeton, NJ in 1960. Breathing life into family artifacts dating back to the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the 1860s, engaging the land where he was born one more time, contending with numerous old and often difficult stories calling out for attention, and capturing over 3500 photos, (only 350 of which are found below) Josh found creative ways to transform the experiences of loss into those of rebirth.
When Josh presented this work at The Esalen Institute and the Landscapes/Soulscapes Symposium in San Francisco in the Fall of 2011, he began by initiating somatic explorations with the group, attempting to presence home in the room and in the bodies of the participants. Then, after taking the audience through his personal explorations, Josh connected his final encounters at home with the larger experience of solastalgia, a feeling which accompanies the loss of an individual or community’s home, losses which often occur in much more devastating ways.
For climate migrants and the increasing number of displaced peoples around the world, the questions of how to transform these relationships to home are critical. More on this can be found in Josh’s more recent talk Climate Migrants and Solastalgia: Transforming Homes of the Displaced and Disconnected.

at the window
the temperature plummets, rockets
subjects of dread
duck and dart in darkness,
shimmers of shadows
outside the house
on the other side
of the old pane.

wait.
please.

i have stuff.
to do.
to offer.
so much stuff.

we drift and grip
draw lines
forget our songs
lulled, lonely and lecherous
we wait.

i can’t possibly learn all of your names.
ruin, resilience, rhinoceros,
posterity’s pronunciations are too pure
for my throat.

i linger in liminal time
savoring the lie of
saving the earth
before the knowledge of loss
becomes the language
in which my choices are cursed.

i’ll blind monsters
with my screens.
and when my screens
die or come alive
i’ll have recourse to streams,
rivers of relatives
we’ll hold fast our tribe
through the floods,
and for a while
nourish, lament, and touch each other.

shatterers, scatter your fragments.
i see through wholes,
i merge the holy abyss.
when our lights fail
we’ll count stars.
when our aquifers empty
we’ll drink love.

it’ll probably be tomorrow morning.
i would wake up early just in case.

swallowed by the superstorms of gas giants
sea and sky coming at the same moment
moving from taupe to mauve to maroon over eons.
seeking sexual encounters
with similarly experienced
storm eyes.
we’ll time this too.

doesn’t it feel good to grow peaceful?
responsibility slides
like oil through a pipe.

Soulstices

We emerged from heat, two hydrogen atoms, attracting an other, sensing love across the flurry and joining forces to become more.

We swirled slowly slowly coalescing and coagulating into harbors of heavy elements, galaxies of gummy, godly glory.

We moved like molasses, gurgling in such thick dark I could only feel the thrumming of your tentacles. You persisted and I listened.

We burst forth, breaching Balugas, journeying between endless poles, pursuing lonely scrapes of shoreline with only our celestial compass and friendly tale flips for reassurance.

We laid low, tucked in turtle shells, proud of our patterned protections, our itty bitty claws scraping pebble’d sludge, and discovering delightful green shoots that burst with juice.

We stand! We dance! We sing! All are Mother Goddess Mother Goddess Mother Goddess!

We fight, so often for so long, falling under fury and ferocity and fear, over and over and it seems Hell is born alive among us.

We summon our wolves, Alpha’s ahead of the pack, here we come – one last raid on human camp before the humans drive us from our home forever.

We nestle in our woven nest. Our parents, so broad and so keen, feed us seeds from their beaks. They nudge us out before we’re ready and we tumble, flutter, soar on gusts.

We root and reach and drink and absorb and watch for ages and ages. You are down the hill a bit, by the arrow rock. I wave, many times. Creatures come and go.

We, the bride and child of a Nile scribe, encourage our father to meet Pharoah’s deadlines.

We, Zazen friends, contemplate also moss and ponds and the bristling winds between the bamboo.

We succumb to coughs, hang our heads and cringe before our masters, we rend our tattered clothes in ruin. We lose each other too quickly.

We float along currents, lay on cushions under smoky domes, rise to sample figs and fruit. I splash you with warm water as you shuffle by.

We can hear the clop clop on cobblestones through the window. I am on the loom as you burst in the room with your scrolls and your excited eyes.

We command the waves, brisk, blistering, intrepid explorers, a lotta rope, a lotta fish. On my night shift I spot the new world. From then on we are nervous.

We cut fast through the cane, le Plaine du Nord au Saint Dominique. Come my brothers, to the big white house, then down the road – Port Au Prince – we’ll take the town. Tonight will mark our holiday.

We stayed on the move, our band of mysterious eyelashes, Romas along the road, pausing only that time I was thrown in prison. But you rescued me, and never let me forget it.

We thought we had a good thing going. Onward and upward. But it was all gone by ’29. You threatened to jump like our acquaintances, but I knew you didn’t mean it.

We survived a jalopy crash. We regenerated limbs from stem cells. We assisted breakthroughs and then retired from public view.

We transformed again and again and again and during the Great Turning we supported transformation in everyone we met. During the Great Turning, we were great.

We peacefully strolled down to the river, drawing up clean water. Then back up the hill to our earthen homes, pausing to enjoy a breath, grazing bright greens by our side, collecting eggs from warm cob, sharing smiles with passing loves. You nodded at me and I knew.

We are mother and child, our last winter in this old house. We continue.

Rescue Our Rabbit

In our 9 years since you were a baby in Brooklyn,
You’ve explored many corners, hopped beneath many persons.

We’ve lived in some states and we’ve followed our fears.
From you I’ve learned calm, peaceful watching, cocked ears,
readiness for bounce, safety under things,
good scrubbing technique, and softening.

From me you’ve learned trust, touch, care, coughs and impatience,
freshness and sweetness, Aretha Franklin and raisins,
and at least the words poop, breakfast, love, hay and Bridget.

When we’re apart, which we must be, I visit
such far away places and do things unsound
for a critter who likes to have paws on the ground.
I think of you often, tell all I adore
a person who looks like a shoe on the floor.

When I nuzzle your nose and know I’ll be away
I trust that I’ll see you some not distant day.
And on return there you are! Bouncing ’bout like a bee!
Pissed off at arrival, then so happy to see me.

This time, without a parent or partner to watch you,
I thought some substitute sitters I got you,
Some subletters set up, shook hands, but they sucked.
And I thought for a second we were totally fucked!

I thought agreeing to keep a rabbit okay
was the kind of commitment a person maintains.
But for the first time, my arrangements break down
away ‘cross the country, and the snow’s closing town!

I thought you were in trouble, thought I might have to catch flight
If I had one wish for Santa (after a long talk about capitalism) it’d be to get you some hay on this dark winter night.

But Ho! A Christmas miracle! 20 CIISers!
Offers of help! Arrangements! Reassurances!
A few “Why didn’t you set this up better buddy?”s,
A tribe that rallies ’round it’s community’s bunnies!

We all can be sometimes the most needy of creatures.
It’s the difficult times that are truly our teachers.
But you’re such a tough queen, I know you’ll be great, bun.
With such a smart papa to seek integration.

I’m so grateful for friends colleagues comrades and neighbors.
I hope they call me next time they need a favor.
Bridge, we’ve finally found a real web of support!
A home for myself and my sweet lagomorph.

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