If the world knew how hungry it would become, all homeowners would have to plant pecan trees.
Don’t expect this prose poetry hybrid to make sense. Dreams often come as a montage. Feel free to add your own soundtrack. “For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky” is not my favorite Star Trek episode, but it is my favorite title. ‘Hollow’ means fake. Being a ‘true man’ means ramming your boat into the sky and climbing out to walk the edge, bowing, and departing through an unseen door. In my world, my space-i-ness and lack of grammatical sense is celebrated as a quirk of being a Shaman, and I go there hand in hand with Sacagawea. I am never alone. I am guided and I guide.
In my world, there are no roads. Squirrels are safe. They aid in the maintenance, extension, and renewal of the pecan orchard. A home is an oasis. There are paths for walking, biking. Cars can fly. Due to some peculiar truths about human nature, childhood has been extended to the age of 80. There is no work. There is action during times of need, and there is joy in passion.
There are farmer’s markets, but there are no more stores, or malls, or brand names. If you have a need, there is a 3D printer that can manufacture it. When your need is complete, you may recycle it into your next best thing. There are no patents and no copy rights. Just try and keep a shared song out of someone’s head! As if Webster owned our entire vocabulary. We celebrate the originators. We celebrate the variations. We celebrate a plethora of pathways.
And we deal with our stuff, we don’t just flush it. Who would have thought human poop is just as good as pig fertilizer and that everything that goes down our drains could turn the desert around our homes and lives into an oasis, eliminate our dependence on petroleum, pun intended, reduce water shortage, and feed the world! It’s time to stop passing the stuff downstream. Taking responsibility for our stuff does not include bagging it and putting it on the street corner waiting for someone else to shift it out of sight. Crises are not happenstance; they are nurtured.
I’m not preaching. Hunger will catch you up to me. When you can see the ocean floor because the seas have been picked clean, you will have clarity. Crystal clear, like the one I carry, literally and metaphorically. I am satiated because I can cross worlds. I converse with squirrels and they have shared their wisdom. "Plant some pecan trees. We will help."
I know. This is weird. I am weird. My dreams are weird. But if you are even a little weird, feel free to share this. The insightfulness of squirrels is squandered when not shared.