White Fella Dreaming

 We thought we were making something beautiful.

Some more than others. The slaves always grumbled. The elite always won. The cities grew. The light shone out of the windows.

What were we chasing? That light. The way it made us feel. Filled with love, power, ecstasy. Overcoming. Transcendence.

But to make this all happen, we had to tap nature. Tap it, transform it, bank it, roll it up and smoke it.

And somehow we convinced ourselves we were going to get away with this.

 

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Next come the lightning storms.

And we remember we need to find those things we always wanted – lover, power, ecstasy, overcoming, transcendence – here at home, on earth; without breaking the bank.

We might have already broken the bank – we’ve poisoned the soil, acidified the oceans, razed the forests, choked the skies – but we are still going to try and find those old things, those drives that rise spontaneously from within and without. So now we need to try and find them in a new way. While we still can.

With more of a feeling of being at home, here, without needing more stuff. Singing the song of the land and of the sea, of the fresh water and air and soil, with all the other creatures and the ancestors and the blood in our veins and the electricity of our thoughts and nervous system endings and the breath of life coming through us all the time like it always did.

And hopefully will keep coming.

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