I attended my first meditation retreat in 1974. I was a young woman, twenty-six years old, and still living in the psychedelic phantasmagoria of the late 60s and early 70s. Up until then, minus a couple of years of sobriety when I was pregnant and a new mom, I’d had a weekend habit of psychedelics and daily habit of weed, which back then we called “pot.”

Ironically, in the year leading up to this retreat, weed had been flowing toward me without my even asking. I’d come home from somewhere and find an ounce, once even a kilo, sitting on the dining room table. It was like a mysterious cosmic gift, although I later came to suspect that if the cosmos had anything to do with it, it was more a cosmic burning up of my karma with the mind-expanding drugs that were about to make a forever exit from my life.

It was a three-day retreat led by a senior disciple of the Sufi teacher Pir Vilayat Khan. Three days of spiritual practice that included teachings, guided meditations, the Sufi mantra called zikr, and a vow of silence. The idea of a three-day vow of silence had given me anticipatory dread. Much to my amazement, however, by the end of Day 1, I realized I quite liked it; by the end of Day 2, realized I was as intoxicated from the practices as I’d ever been on psychedelics and weed; by the end of Day 3, felt more alive inside myself than I ever had before; and back home again on Day 4, realized I’d lost all interest in mind-expanding drugs.

That loss was one of the great gains of my life. That loss allowed me to wake up to something at once sweet, powerful, profound, devastating, and sublime. That loss woke me up to reality.

I was talking with a friend the other day whose partner is an AI engineer at a startup in Silicon Valley. We got onto the topic of the psychedelic-drenched, micro dosing culture so many people building our techno future buy into. Which got me thinking about my own psychedelic-drenched history. About how I was seeking expanded consciousness, believing I was waking up long before “woke” became a buzzword. Back when waking up referred to spiritual enlightenment. Back when waking up referred to waking up from the illusion of separation. Back when waking up referred to seeing the interconnectedness of all life.

I suspect many people working in the substance-driven mind-expanding culture of Silicon Valley also believe they’re waking up. Which raises the question: what exactly do they believe they’re waking up to, when the economic system driving their work is scarcity-infused neoliberal, the political system partnering with them is lurching toward fascism, and underneath both runs the death-cult sleep of patriarchy.

For the record, when I use the term “patriarchy,” I’m not referring to the tip-of-the-iceberg system of male domination most of us associate with this word. I’m talking about a system defined by dissociation from reality, from what actually is, from the undeniable fact that no matter how many billions we accrue, no matter how many underground bunkers we build, no matter how much bio-hacking we pursue, no matter how many psychedelics we ingest, no matter how many people and countries we rape, until we face into the fact of our own mortality, our own traumas, our own self-loathing, we are doomed to be stalked by despair, hidden though it may be by layers of arrogance, grandiosity, denial, and pride.

Psychedelics can open a door. They can offer a glimpse, a breathtaking, life-altering glimpse, of something vast and luminous beyond the ordinary walls of perception. I don’t dismiss this. I lived it. I was in Haight Ashbury during the 1967 Summer of Love. We ate mescaline for breakfast, psilocybin for lunch, LSD for dinner, and smoked a few joints for dessert.

But a glimpse is just a glimpse. And opening a door is not the same as walking through and building a life on the other side.

One of the great 20th century scholars of eastern and western religion was a man named Huston Smith. Along with being an ordained Methodist minister, Smith devoted a decade to practicing the Indian wisdom system Vedanta, a second decade to practicing Zen Buddhism, and a third to practicing Sufism. He often spoke about the difference between a casual spiritual tourist and authentic practitioner. And he had clearly walked that talk. Early in my own journey I heard him speak. He said something I really took to heart: in your early years of seeking, visit as many teachers and explore as many traditions as you can. But at a certain point, you must choose, and devote at least ten years to that practice. Stay, he said, until your character has changed. In his view, that was the only metric by which to judge a wisdom path and its teacher: whether or not our character has actually changed.

That first retreat I attended, and the many years of practice that followed, gave me something my love affair with psychedelics never could: a container. A practice. A structure through which the glimpse became something real, something sustainable, something that was—ironically—already right there inside me. The discipline of attention. The daily returning to the spaciousness below my thinking mind. The wrestling with all the messy stuff of clinging ego, desperation, and fear. And that returning, day after day, week after week, year after year, is what actually changes a person. Is what actually changed me. Not the peak experiences. Not the endorphin-driven dopamine highs. Not the illusions of deep insight and power. The mundane daily practice of facing myself and the world without turning away from what I didn’t want to see.

We live in a time when people building a technology that may be as revolutionary as the discovery of fire and invention of the wheel, are confusing the insight that comes from peak experience with the insight that comes from many years of deep inner work. A ceremony in the desert, however genuine, however powerful, does not transform consciousness. It may illuminate it briefly. It may illuminate it brilliantly. But it hands us back that consciousness, temporarily expanded, but basically unchanged, to do with as we will.

And if what we will is to build more efficient engines of extraction and domination, more powerful systems that maintain the divisive compulsions of the patriarchal project, no ceremony will stop us. Our ego, our conditioning, our unexamined traumas and wounds will still be there on Monday morning, waiting patiently for our return.

The patriarchal project is an equal-opportunity employer. It does not spare the ceremony-goers. It does not exempt the meditators. It does not release its grip simply because we’ve had a peak experience or can speak fluently about trauma release, energetic re-patterning, interconnectedness, and love. What releases its grip, slowly, imperfectly, over many years, is the unglamorous, uninstagrammable work of genuine inner transformation. Chop wood, carry water, as the Zen tradition so perfectly puts it. Before enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. After enlightenment: chop wood, carry water. The ordinary. The daily. The mundane.

So what does that look like in daily life? What does it give us that the psychedelic ritual cannot? I can only speak from my own experience, which now spans fifty years of daily practice. Of mantra, meditation, study, service, and most of all the quiet work of paying attention, of truly listening, and carefully tending the complex demands of daily life: of home, family, friendship, workplace, community, larger world — and everything in between. Of embracing whatever is arising inside and around me, and meeting myself exactly as I am, in my bumbling imperfection and sublime perfection, with no clinging to either end of that spectrum.

What this has given me is not transcendence. Although that is what I once believed was the final goal. What this has given me is its opposite: immanence. A connection to my own presence that gives me the capacity to hear the cries of the world, to feel the heartbreak and terror of this time without losing heart, without giving up, without descending into paralysis and withdrawal. The capacity to act from a place deeper than fear, deeper than rage, deeper than a sense of powerlessness. It has given me, in other words, reality. Which turns out to be the most precious and radical thing available to a human being. It has given me myself.

Turning within is an act of power that shows us the world as it actually is: interconnected, interdependent, all one. There is no separation. There is no us and them. There is only the long inhalation of a life well lived and the sweet exhalation of our final breath. Nothing terrifies the patriarchal project aka the broligarchy, Epstein class, 1%, Trump regime—call it by any of its names—more than this awareness. Because once we truly recognize our interconnectedness, we have eliminated its most favored weapon: divide, distract, confuse, and conquer.

This is why spirituality and politics are not separate for me. They never have been and never will be. They are two halves of a whole, and the inner holds the outer. The more deeply rooted we are in that inner, the stronger and more effective we are in the outer.

We live in a moment of almost incomprehensible stakes. The tools being built right now, by people who may have touched some insight, but have not partnered that deep seeing with the slow, unglamorous, daily work of character transformation, may well shape human consciousness for generations. It is happening now. We see the way AI moves into every area of our lives. We see the effects of social media and screen culture on our bodies, hearts, and minds. I think of our children, and the promise given to them. I fear that promise of future abundance is less a promise, more a drive to steal so much that is precious from them: the ability to think and live freely, creatively, and without fear. The ability to be wholly themselves. The ability to sit calmly and do nothing.

So, from where I sit, the quality of the inner life of the people building our future is not a soft concern, not a secondary consideration, not something we can afford to leave unexamined. Because the antidote to a broligarchy drunk on peak experience and blind to its own shadow is not more technology, not better regulation, not even the right people in power.

Although all of that matters…

The antidote is what it has always been. Ordinary people doing the ordinary, unglamorous, daily work of waking up. Not waking up in a ceremony. Not waking up on a screen. Waking up in the kitchen, in the difficult conversation, in the grief that won’t resolve, in the diaper that needs to be changed, on the meditation cushion at six in the morning when you’d rather be asleep.

Chop wood. Carry water. Chop wood. Carry water. And then, from that ground, from that rootedness, from that hard-won noble clarity, we can shape human consciousness and the consciousness of the world in the beauty, grandeur, wonder, and awe it is meant to be.

This is the revolutionary act. This has always been the revolutionary act.

And this is the one thing they will never be able to monetize, package, or corrupt.

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Image credit: Guan Yin Holding a Child, by Lou Xinyun.

By the time this posts, it will be two weeks since I wrote my response to Graham Platner being forced out of his Senate campaign. I did hope wiser hearts would prevail. I did hope the powers that be would not throw him under the bus. I understand that Maine’s Democratic Party did not have all the time in the world and that the allegations against him were serious. I also believe in habeas corpus. And that time would have stretched open had Platner remained, if not as the candidate, at least actively involved in the race.

Instead, it’s like his campaign never happened.

Which when I think about the marvel of his candidacy, the movement that grew around him, the joy his platform and presence engendered, it does give me pause…

I started working on this piece several days after I posted my initial thoughts. I was struggling to articulate what I wanted to say and realized I needed more time to work through my complex mix of feelings.

In the meantime, the news moved on. Between apocalyptic wild fires, searing heat wave, torrential rains, back-to-back ICE murders, horrifying escalation of the war with Iran, collapsing economy, legionnaires disease in NYC, parasite-infested lettuce all over the country, Trump’s prime time threat to cancel the midterms, Pete Hegseth’s announcement re testosterone testing for men in the military (which I need not point out will turn US soldiers into men who behave the same ways that disqualified Platner), and speaking of that behavior, the news that DJT finally paid E. Jean Carroll damages for sexual abuse and defamation of character, — it did seem that anything I had left to say about Graham Platner was no longer relevant. Plus the juxtaposition of these events in a 2-week frame gave me a case of energetic whiplash that made it hard to settle down and write.

Then I had a chat with a friend who lives in Maine. He told me he’s still grieving the Platner debacle, and that a friend who worked for the campaign is, his words, “a mess.” Had I not had that chat I would probably have let this piece rot in the compost of my consciousness. But for their sake, and for everyone who shares even a flicker of their feelings, I’ve decided to chime in one last time.

I believe Graham Platner was an extraordinary candidate. His personal issues aside, he had the magic that wins. And we are in a fight for our lives. Winning back the House and Senate means accountability for all the depravity, grift and betrayal of the current administration. And now the Democratic Party, in its staggering ability to grab defeat from the jaws of victory has thrown an incredible talent out the door. And I include Bernie Sanders and Ro Khanna, two politicians I deeply respect, in what I think was a flawed decision. In those early days, when I read they’d both withdrawn their support, I figured there must be some serious there there. As I’ve watched things unfold however, I find myself feeling disappointed even with them. I just think things could have gone very differently.

I write this fully aware that what I’m saying may enrage, annoy, or upset some people. All I can say is I’ve been wrestling with this since the whole thing blew open and much as I’ve tried to convince myself otherwise, keep landing in the same place.

I may also be setting myself up to be branded a political hypocrite. Which I may well be. It’s not like I believe the ends justify the means, or that it’s ok when the dems do it, just not the republicans.

I don’t.

All I know for sure is that this whole process leaves me feeling really uncomfortable. Like there’s something not right at its core. And that’s the reason I’m pushing to finish this piece, hit publish, and see how people respond.

I’m a boomer who’s been fighting the good fight for my entire life. That means I’ve watched our side lose many battles we should have won. I’m also a woman who came of age during Second Wave Feminism. That means I’ve stood (and fought) for women’s rights for 50+ years. While I myself have never been raped, I’ve certainly been the victim of unwanted sexual advances and of sexual abuse. Yet even with this history, I’m uncomfortable with the way Graham Platner has been cast aside.

I keep asking myself, wasn’t there a way to move forward with respect for Platner and the movement that coalesced around him. Call me a hopeless idealist. Call me all aspiration and no reality. But to me, it just makes no sense to discard a political talent like his.

Imagine how it might have looked had Platner been treated with public dignity rather than public shaming? How it would have felt if along with the decision that he step down, there was also real commitment to finding a working role for him in the campaign.

Maybe I have this all wrong. Maybe Platner is a chauvinistic grifter who hates women and would have come into the Senate as Fetterman 2.0. Maybe the powers that be begged him to stay engaged and he demurred. Maybe everything I write here is delusional. If that turns out to be so, I’ll be the first to say, “I was wrong…”

Right now however, I have questions. Starting with the allegations, credible as they may be. I said in my first writing that they needed to be taken seriously. In my understanding, that means careful examination, not public flaying in the media.

I think things moved way too quickly. While I understand the reasons they did, I fear those reasons were rooted less in steady wisdom, more in reactive desperation.

And here’s the part I can’t get past. Democrats, to their credit, hold their own to a real standard. But it’s a standard the other side doesn’t apply to itself. I don’t think we can pretend this asymmetry doesn’t matter.

Republicans nominated a man found liable in civil court for sexual abuse, and he became president. Twice. They confirmed a Supreme Court justice over credible allegations that would have ended a Democrat’s career in a week. They are, right now, standing behind candidates for governor and Senate with far worse history than what’s been alleged against Platner. Meanwhile, we drop a rising star within days of an allegation surfacing, no investigation, no interim step, nothing between full-throated support and total exile.

I’m not saying we should lower our standard to meet theirs. I don’t think that’s the solution. However, when only one side disarms, the other side wins. Yes, character matters, but so does knowing how to hold that line without handing away every advantage we have.

I’m not knowledgeable enough to litigate any of this. I can only offer my vision of how things could be. For the knowledge piece I rely on people more informed than I. If you still have the energy to sit with this sad story, you might read David Sirota and Susan Zakin here on Substack, and have a look at this video from Charles Blow. There’s plenty more excellent reporting and opining out there. These three happened to especially jump out at me.

As I write these words I keep hearing two lines from Gerard Manley Hopkins’ poem, God’s Grandeur:

And for all this, nature is never spent;

There lives the dearest freshness deep down things…

Yes. For all this, something new is on the rise. Leaders are emerging from the ashes of our crumbling empire. Leaders aligned with a recognition of the interconnection of all of life; leaders who cherish this planet and want to see it thrive; leaders who believe that everyone deserves to have what they need; leaders who have no interest in power over and stand instead for power with. Leaders who are driven by love.

I have no doubt that had the democratic establishment stood behind Graham Platner, they would have given us the gift of something truly profound. Call it forgiveness. Call it redemption. Call it compassion and loving kindness. And in that they would have role modeled how to take this country back, how to get it on a proper course, how to turn back the doomsday climate crisis clock. They would have role modeled how it looks to embody true power.

Platner was a rare talent who deserved to be treated with care. Yes, the vetting process was a mess. In spite of that they could have made it work. Had there been giants in the room, giants grounded in wisdom and clarity, with a little Machiavelli thrown in, they could have made it work.

I hope the people of Maine, the democratic establishment, and Graham Platner himself can find a way to come together. I fear without him in the mix, as a strategist, advisor, even just a cheerleader, the Senate race is lost. And while I’m sure he’s angry, shocked, hurting, and licking his wounds, I think forgiveness is always possible. I think truth and reconciliation are always possible. I think love is always more powerful than hate. And speaking of love, I sure would love to see Susan Collins lose in a landslide.

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This week’s eruption of Graham Platner’s political campaign leaves me feeling so uncomfortable I need to write about it. I rarely process my unresolved feelings publicly. And my feelings here are still very unresolved. So please forgive me for sharing what is still forming and rather messy…

Platner may be finished as a candidate. The allegations against him are serious and I’m not here to relitigate or explain them away. Any account of coercion or violence needs to be taken seriously, not weighed against a man’s talent or usefulness to a cause.

But I have to say I’m truly grieving what’s being lost here.

I only knew Platner from the many interviews I heard with him. And in every one of those conversations I saw something rare: a person who could talk about class, about war, about history, about the hollowing out of working people’s lives, with great power and depth, and with more clarity and less cynicism than almost anyone in national politics right now. I watched him build something real in Maine. I watched him have a shot at taking out Susan Collins. And seeing that unravel, even for reasons that may be entirely legitimate, breaks my heart.

And I get it. These allegations are serious enough that his earliest and most loyal supporters, people like Bernie Sanders and Ro Khanna, people who stood by him through the earlier controversies, looked at what came out this week and said, step aside. That’s not the establishment discarding a charismatic, threatening progressive — that’s people who believed in him reaching a limit. Though I’ll admit, when I heard Schumer and Gillibrand threatening to pull DNC funding, my suspicions did flicker: how convenient for the people who were never on his side.

But I don’t think the seriousness of these allegations requires a public flaying. There’s a way this can unfold with dignity, for the women involved, for Platner and his family, for the movement that formed around him. And there’s a way it can unfold as spectacle, with everyone performing their outrage for an audience. I think we all know which option serves healing and which feeds the machine.

I keep coming back to something I’ve written about for years: patriarchy isn’t just “out there” in bad men. It’s an internal pattern of dissociation, a way of relating that splits people into good or ruined, useful or disposable, without much room for the messy, human space in between. I don’t think that pattern disappears just because the people enacting it are furious on behalf of the right cause. A takedown can be righteous and still be soaked in the same toxic energy it claims to be fighting. I’d love for us to be capable of something else: real accountability that doesn’t require humiliation as proof of seriousness.

If Platner steps aside — and it’s quite possible that is happening as I write — I hope it happens with dignity and grace. I hope the women who came forward are met with care. I hope Platner does the inner work of reckoning, rather than just managing his exit. And I hope that whoever steps in to face Susan Collins carries the parts of this movement that were never about him: the hunger for someone who’ll talk honestly about power, about class, about what it takes to build something real and lasting for everyone, something that recognizes the inherent beauty of this complex, messy thing called human life. Who, most of all, will be a warrior for the people, and win the election, and serve in the Senate with great dignity, wisdom, and love.

I don’t have a tidy conclusion here. I just know that the people charged with moving this campaign forward (and I hope Platner is in that room) need to seriously consider the consequences of their actions. There can be nothing impulsive or short-sighted here. And there is no room for grievance, desperation, deceit, or greed. We need giants in this room. Giants who can take a horrendous situation and turn it into something meaningful, something profound, something that embodies humanity at its absolute best, and something that is absolutely triumphant in the end.

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I’ve never been a flag-waving patriot or fan of fireworks, and can’t remember the last time I went to a July 4th barbecue. For me, July 4th has mostly been a long weekend entree into summer. Truth is I’ve never been all that proud to be an American. I find it near impossible to sing the Star Spangled Banner, can never hit those high notes, and even when I was in elementary school and innocent of America’s long shadow, the cult-like ritual of reciting the Pledge of Allegiance always creeped me out. All this to say that throughout my life I’ve found it very hard to hold the hypocrisy of the American dream and brutality of America’s footprint, both here and around the world.

So I certainly never thought a July 4th political address would bring me to tears. But Zoran Mamdani’s did. Stopped me in my tracks. Broke my heart wide open. And much to my amazement, once the tears stopped, got me thinking about what I actually love about America.

Which turns out to be quite a lot…

First and foremost, I love the mid-atlantic, which is where I grew up and after a long time away, came back to. I love the feel of this particular place, the earth in my hands, its rocks, rivers, and streams, the flora and fauna I’ve known all my life — all of these old dear friends. I love the mountains and forests. I love the way the Atlantic hugs the coast. I love the incredible people I’ve known: friends, loved ones, mentors, students — and so many more who’ve touched me, if only for a moment that I never forgot.

I love all the incredible people I’ve not known personally, but read or listened to or seen. I love the art and music created here — the experimental, the cutting edge, its wide open expansiveness and depth. I love the writers, thinkers, and dreamers who came before me and paved the way. I love the power of the progressive movement and of independent media, so much of which is rooted in this place.

I love our public libraries and amazing farmer’s markets and inspired American cuisine. I love the extraordinary melting pot that we are. I love that when I walk downtown I see people of every size, shape, gender, age, and color, and that right here in the small town where I live, can find food from China, France, Greece, Guatemala, India, Italy, Japan, Korea, Mexico, Pakistan, Palestine, Spain, Turkey, and Vietnam. I love that even now, in the midst of an authoritarian takeover of this country, we are fighting back. And that the wind is at our backs. And that the American spirit, compromised though it has been, is still strong and unwilling to bend to the forces of hatred, stupidity, delusion, and greed.

I love that the longer I sit with this list the longer it gets and how much this surprises and delights me and shows me that, yes, there is still something here of which I can be proud.

And maybe this is enough. Maybe love doesn’t require a perfect object. Maybe it just requires the courage to keep reaching….

The image of the flag is from the Forever Brooke Art Company

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I’ve lately been seeing a wave of people on Instagram suggesting matriarchy as the counterbalance to patriarchy. While I understand this thinking, (and once held the same opinion myself), I’ve come to question this language.

The moment we attach the suffix “-archy” to any word — patriarchy, matriarchy, oligarchy, broligarchy, monarchy — we’re inside a system built on domination and control. The “-archy” is the tell, pointing straight up to whoever or whatever sits at the top of the hierarchy.

From my perspective, patriarchy reached its expiration date a long time ago. At this point, it’s so rotten to the core, it needs to be tossed into the compost heap of history. But replacing it with matriarchy? I’m not convinced. I suspect that’s ultimately recreating the same essential problem with a softer face. Maybe a bit more compassionate. Maybe a touch wiser. But still vulnerable to the oldest human corruptions: greed, fear, jealousy, and the hunger for power.

Lest anyone think my perspective on patriarchy is anti-men, absolutely not! Patriarchy damages men as much as it damages women. Possibly more. Look at the current crisis among young men. This is not an accident. This is patriarchy eating its own. And will not be solved by matriarchy.

Here’s why...

Patriarchy and matriarchy are two ends of a spectrum, with qualities we associate with the masculine — action, analysis, linear thinking, goal-orientation, independence, the drive to achieve and produce—at one end, and qualities we associate with the feminine— receptivity, intuition, circular and relational thinking, process-orientation, interdependence, and the capacity to nurture, to feel, to simply be—at the other.

Neither end of this spectrum is better. Both are essential. Feminine being needs masculine doing and masculine doing needs feminine being. Together they form what is actually a seamless whole with gender terminology no longer necessary or even relevant.

Under patriarchy however, the masculine end is considered superior. And we all know what that looks like. Economies that reward profit over people. Blatant disregard for the environmental and societal consequences of these profit-driven policies. Children and teens pathologized for out-of-the-box behavior. Labeling intuition “soft” and analysis “rigorous.” Teaching our children — girls and boys — to mistrust the very inner life that makes them human.

And matriarchy? Simply slide to the other end of the spectrum. Now the feminine is declared superior. Inner being trumps outer doing. Intuition overrules reason. It sounds appealing. Until you realize you’ve just moved the wound to the other side. Hierarchy remains. Domination remains. And the dangerous split between our two essential halves remains.

I suspect most people imagining a matriarchal society don’t realize that what they’re actually visioning is an integrated one. Because if matriarchy is the true counter to patriarchy, then we’re looking at a society where being trumps doing. And there’s a problem with this paradigm.

Because being doesn’t actually do anything. And in order to keep our lives flowing, we really do have to do something. It’s the quality of our doing however, the energies that drive it, that make the difference. We want a doing function animated by dynamic integration, not by the pulls of patriarchal or matriarchal opinions and beliefs.

I experienced this viscerally many years ago. I was at an expressive arts conference and the final day was designed as a creative free-for-all: open, unstructured, anything goes. Being in that space I felt a strange combination of bored, annoyed, and slightly uncomfortable. I’d been working as an improvisational artist for over a decade so was very comfortable in wide open creative space. But not in this one. Later on I realized I hadn’t felt safe. Not because anything threatening was happening. On the contrary. Nothing was happening. That was the problem. There was no container for all that creative energy. No structure. No leadership. Just pure unbound expression going nowhere in particular. Which turned it into a big mush of narcissistic nothingness where creativity became chaos and freedom became anxiety.

That was the first time I truly understood the necessity of a container, the necessity of structure, the necessity of leadership. But there’s an important distinction here. We don’t want patriarchal leadership. We don’t want leadership (or structures or containers or paradigms or systems) severed from their feminine ground, cut off from receptivity, intuition, relatedness, wisdom, and care. We don’t want leadership that has forgotten how to be while it does its doing thing. This is important and bears repeating: we don’t want leadership that has forgotten how to be while it does its doing thing.

What we actually want, and what I believe most people in the matriarchy camp are longing for, is not a reversal of the hierarchy. It’s a healing of the split. Doing infused with being. Structure animated by soul. Leadership that serves life rather than consuming it.

That’s not matriarchy. That’s integration.

So what does integration actually look like?

It looks like being completely comfortable in our own skin. Like being genuinely at home in ourself. It looks like no longer needing to reach outside ourself for validation, for meaning, for proof that we belong here.

It looks like bringing our full self to everything we do: our clarity and our tenderness, our strength and our vulnerability, our capacity to act and our willingness to receive. Doing and being no longer at war, but in conversation. Each making the other more fully itself.

Integration doesn’t slow us down or make us smaller. It makes us more alive. More creative. More capable of real love, real leadership, real change. Because we’re no longer wasting essential energy managing the split, suppressing the parts of ourselves the “archy” has tricked us into believing are less than or too much or simply without value.

And here’s the most radical thing about integration: we don’t have to build it from scratch, find it somewhere outside ourselves, or spend a fortune seeking it. It already exists within us. Where it always has been. Waiting for us to stop choosing sides. Waiting for us to simply come home to the whole that we actually are.

The above snapshot is the artwork from the June page of my 2026 Zen Cat Wall Calendar. I love this calendar and buy it every year. This month’s message struck me as so in tune with the message of this post, I simply had to include it. With many thanks (and apologies for my sub par photography) to the artist, Nicholas Kirsten-Honshin, whose art, poetry, and appreciation of feline consciousness is for me a daily source of wonder and delight. If you’d like to learn more about his work, please click here to visit his website.

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As I’ve watched the war with Iran unfold, I find myself struck by an irony so strange, I’m reticent to write about it. Not because I don’t stand by what I’m about to say. Just that I know how easily my words can be misunderstood.

So let me say from the outset. I hate war. I think it’s a terrible solution to human conflict that creates more problems than it solves, costs a fortune to everyone but the war profiteers, and leaves unfathomable suffering, destruction, and environmental catastrophe in its wake. I’m a big fan of conversation. We are human beings after all. We have the capacity to speak, reflect, consider, imagine, and most of all, listen. I think we should use these gifts to resolve our differences. I’m also not an apologist for the Islamic Republic of Iran. I’m not naive about its theocratic brutality, suppression of women, and troubling history of human rights violations. I hold all of this.

And yet there is an irony unfolding in this war that is so striking in its paradox, I have to write about it.

Let’s start with the concept of patriarchy. I know you know this. I know I’ve written and spoken about it ad nauseam. I’m laying it out again here because what I’m about to say requires this frame.

I’ve been a student of the patriarchal paradigm for many years. My focus however is not patriarchy as an external organizing system. My interest is in the ways patriarchy’s ranking systems and values of domination and control plant themselves in the structures of human consciousness, and from that hidden vantage point assert much more control over our bodies, hearts, and minds than many of us realize.

This internalized patriarchy, what I think of as the “inner patriarch,” replicates the outer patriarchal system inside of us. This fosters the mind/body split that places action over stillness, masculine over feminine, intellect over intuition, and doing over being. This arbitrary (and incorrect) organizing system then fosters the sense of disequilibrium—the current buzzword is dis-regulation—that along with a long list of physical, psychological, and emotional symptoms, tricks us into projecting our power (i.e. sense of self, autonomy, and ability to discern truth from deception) onto people and belief systems outside of ourselves.

Needless to say this is never a good idea. I’ve written extensively about it in my book The Goddess Remedy. (If these ideas intrigue you, please do get a copy.) I’m writing about it here to lay a groundwork for this post. I want to be sure we’re speaking the same language, and underline the point that it is the inner patriarch that keeps us wedded to the outer patriarchy. The inner patriarch is patriarchy’s pawn. Dismantle its architecture within our mind/body system and the outer forms of patriarchy—which let’s be real, cause untold suffering from the individual to the planetary level—will erode.

One more very important point here: when I critique the patriarchy, inner or outer, I’m not speaking against men. In many ways, I’m speaking for them since men are as victimized by the patriarchal paradigm as women. Patriarchy is a distortion of the masculine (which is, in essence, our doing function). Patriarchy rips the masculine from its essential balance with the feminine (which is, in essence, our inner being). Regardless of gender ID, we’re all made of both. Which is why everything functions best when our doing and being, masculine and feminine, live in balance.

A helpful way to visualize the patriarchal masculine is through its geometry. Like a straight line moving forward, it never looks back. Its stance is always vertical, its perspective top-down, a single point of command moving through a rigid hierarchy. This is how it organizes and understands power. The line strikes. The line conquers. The line decapitates. For the patriarchal mind, this is the only shape that power can take.

When teaching these ideas, I often suggest that those who want a potent image of the inner patriarch do well to study Donald Trump. The one value he offers is as a mirror of this patriarchal implant in all its lying, blustering, truth-silencing, gaslighting toxicity. The inner patriarch is a hideously broken doing function, severed from connection and compulsively driven by a dangerous combination of greed, fear, self-absorption, and rage. It is incapable of inner stillness, cannot tolerate not-acting, not-controlling, not-dominating. Instead it plows ahead with no thought to consequences. And DJT, our mad king American president, embodies this patriarchal distortion of the masculine at warp speed.

And then there’s the goddess, aka the feminine ground or realm of being. Horizontal in outlook, circle rather than line. Power distributed equally through relationship, through the whole, through every point on the circumference. This is the world I have always believed in, the world I have nurtured where it exists and worked toward restoring where it’s been crushed.

I named this newsletter The Being Project precisely because I see being—aka the feminine ground—as the antidote to the patriarchal project. And strangely, unexpectedly, it is this war with Iran, this catastrophic war of choice, that is illustrating the point more vividly than anything I could have invented.

Because here is the paradox in all its stunning irony:

Iran’s leaders are embodying a healthy masculine, a masculine that is integrated with its feminine whole. And this is something to wrap one’s mind around…

This country, battered and demonized for decades, associated in the Western mind with theocratic and misogynistic brutality, appears to be the integrated adult in the room. This may strike you as simplistic. I don’t disagree with that stance. I’m speaking from a metaphorical perspective. Nevertheless, when I hear interviews with Iran’s spokespeople—and shoutout to Jeremy Scahill, Ryan Grim, Chris Hedges, and the team at Breaking Points—I’m often struck by their wisdom, clarity, patience, and discipline.

And here’s where the geometry of it all truly blows my mind. Iran’s leadership structure is horizontal. Circular. Distributed. So that no matter how many key people we may assassinate, the circle closes around itself and keeps moving. There is no single head to cut off because power is not organized around a single head.

Our military establishment defines this strategy as “asymmetrical warfare.” Let’s pause for a moment to reflect on this term. The arrogance embedded in this language is a perfect expression of the patriarchal worldview. We are the symmetrical. We are the standard, the norm, the definition of how power properly organizes itself. They are the deviation, the asymmetry, the irregularity to be managed.

It never occurs to the patriarchal mind that what it’s actually encountering is a different—and arguably far more sophisticated—form of symmetry. The symmetry of the circle. The symmetry that sees the whole. The symmetry of the goddess.

Meanwhile the so-called mighty are bringing down the hammer, believing in the old trope that might makes right. Except it doesn’t. Might most often makes stupid.

So here we are…

The so-called mighty, organized around the vertical line of patriarchal command, are being humbled, not through superior firepower, but through the patient, distributed, circular intelligence of a people who have learned, through necessity and perhaps through something deeper, to organize themselves around the whole. Around the circle. Around the notion that power shared is power multiplied, and that no single point of the circumference need bear the full weight alone. This is the consciousness of the goddess!

I’m not saying that Iran is all wise and benevolent. I’m saying that in this moment, on this particular stage, we are watching a living demonstration of the patriarchal paradigm in love with itself, racing ahead with eyes wide shut, running unchecked with the most weapons and theoretically at least, the most power, losing ground, losing stature, losing respect, losing allies, wasting $1–$2 billion dollars a day, spiking inflation, crashing the world economy, and leaving a HUGE MESS for the rest of us to clean up.

While the enemy it attacked, strategically patient, clear seeing, and embodying the horizontal intelligence of the circle, is quietly prevailing. The consciousness of the goddess on view for all to see. And the irony that we see this exemplified by people associated with world class misogyny is truly something to behold…

I think every good morality tale should end with a spark of uplift. I'm going to leave you with three. The first spark is one of my favorite teachings from the yogic tradition. If you're looking for a spiritual practice, this one can change your life. If we could get everyone to practice it, and include not just speech but also thought and action in its suggestion, we would see the end of war. We would see the patriarchy forever transformed. We would see our beautiful planet become the paradise for all life that is so clearly encoded in its DNA.

The second spark is Burt Bacharach and Hal David’s 1965 song, What The World Needs Now is Love. Here’s video of the great Dionne Warwick singing it. No commentary necessary. It’s all there in the title and she sings with the only might that does make right. The might of the loving heart.

Finally, a friend sent this quote from Bruce Springsteen opening his recent show in Los Angeles. Reading it I thought, here’s the third spark, offering the perfect way to end this piece.

Thanks so much for reading this newsletter. I truly value your presence and support. Please subscribe, leave a comment, forward it to a friend. Most of all, give the Dharma of Speech a try in your daily life. And along with speaking only that which is kind, true, necessary, and at the appropriate time, you might add thinking and acting only that which is kind, true, necessary, and at the appropriate time. Not easy. Requires great discipline, attention, and love. But oh, what fruits it does deliver. Try it for an hour or a day or a week or a month. See how it feels. And if you are so moved, tell us about your experience in the comments section.

Image credit: Dreamstime.com: Irinayeryominam

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The more I learn about this war with Iran, the more I read and listen to recent and long-buried history, the more convinced I am that this international disaster, brought to us by Israel and the United States, with far too many (so-called) world leaders contributing their complicity, collusion, and appeasement, is, at the end of the day, all for NOTHING.

I write these words knowing that the “bomb Iran” hawks in Israel and America will disagree. That war profiteers will disagree. And perhaps most terrifying of all, that the Amalek/Third Temple/End Times believers will disagree.

To all of you I say: you need to get over yourselves. You need a major time out. You need to work through your own internal struggles and stop inflicting your unresolved traumas and destructive belief systems on the rest of us.

Have we learned nothing from history?

This planet is so extraordinary. There is so much beauty here — so much that is utterly sublime, so much magnificence, wisdom, goodness, kindness, and love. And so much plenty. More than enough for everyone. These scarcity myths are so delusional — an excuse to steal what is meant to be shared, claim what is precious and belongs to everyone, defile what we’re given to care for…

How dare they…

Sometimes I think I hear the earth weeping and raging, raging and weeping. I know this is my own projection. But it feels so much bigger than me. It feels as big as the earth itself.

When I was in my twenties — now half a century ago — I wrote a song that went: “I am helping the earth bring herself back into balance, I do this by keeping still…”

Words as true today as they were those many years ago…

I have always been against war. Even though I was raised in the shadow of WW II. Even though I’m named after my grandmother’s youngest sister, who was murdered along with her entire family in Lithuania’s Kovno Ghetto.

War has simply never made sense to me…

Yes, Hitler’s regime had to be toppled. But had there not been so much denial, avoidance, and appeasement from the (so-called) world leaders of that time, he would have been stopped before he got going. The photograph at the top of this post says it all. Chamberlain shaking Hitler’s hand in 1938: a glaring definition of appeasement.

Here’s today’s email from my friend in the Gulf…

Ten days ago I left home to finish a project I’ve been working on with a colleague at NYU Abu Dhabi. The NYUAD campus is one of my favorite places in the Gulf. The NYU students are so hip and global and the place has a great vibe. For the first few days my colleague and I were making good progress.

Then on Saturday morning, alerts started coming in about the US-Israel attack on Iran. We kind of all knew what this portended— it has been clear for some time that if Iran was attacked, it would lash out at its Gulf neighbors. For several moments after seeing the alerts, I was kind of frozen and didn’t know what to do. I was just staring at my phone trying to process everything. But, after seeing the alerts, I got in touch with my colleague who told me to come to his place right away. He was sure my flight would be cancelled and sure enough, in a few hours, it was. He said, you’d better move in here, because campus is going to be locked down. Which it ultimately was. By mid-week, NYU had cleared the campus and moved people into hotels. By then I’d already decamped to his apartment.

The next few days were surreal. You need to stay put while missiles are flying, but you’re also trying to calculate your next move and constantly reading social media and news, trying to get a sense of what’s going on. It’s very hard to wait and stay put, but that is what you must do until you get an all clear. It takes all your concentration, even though you’re doing nothing.

On Sunday, Iran started retaliating, firing missiles and drones at UAE, Qatar, Bahrain, etc. That was the first time in my life I heard bombs. They sound like thunder, or like a ton of bricks hitting dirt. Once you hear it, it’s kind of unmistakable. On Sunday I could see smoke rising from the port. We felt the impact of that one. Even the windows were rattling. Needless to say, it was extremely difficult to focus on anything while hearing the bangs of missiles being intercepted outside. Our sleep was disrupted too, as on Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday mornings we were awakened by alarms blaring at 2AM. They jolt you awake for a minute and your stomach does a flip-flop.

As for evacuation: I’ve been urged by many people to GET THE HELL OUT OF THERE. Let me start by saying, I’m working on it. Let me continue by saying, it is something that is much easier said than done. I’ve registered with the US Embassy and Department of State. My US Senator’s office helped me with some information. I have heard that people are driving to Saudi Arabia and Oman to catch flights. In Doha, Georgetown University drove a bus load of students to Riyadh. However, I’m just not in a position to do this. I don’t have a car, you can’t take rental cars out of the country, and I don’t have friends here planning to leave. Moreover, it’s hard to find trustworthy people to link up with. The bus and taxi companies running overland travel are charging an arm and a leg . I was quoted nearly $3000 for what would be a 6-hour drive.

All this to say I’m trying my best to leave, but it takes time. For now, please know I’m safe, sheltering in place when the bombs are flying and meandering around in times of all clear.

Please keep calling your senators and reps and participate in whatever anti-war actions you can. This war and this president have got to be stopped…

#1

If you want to go deeper into the history and politics behind this war, I think these three podcasts are essential listening. This first one, with Jeremy Scahill and Ryan Grim, is an excellent intro. In my opinion, Jeremy and Ryan are two of the greatest journalists working today.

#2

I think Chris Hedges is an American treasure. His conversation here with Alastair Crooke is both terrifying and enlightening. If Jeremy and Ryan are two of the great journalists of our time, I think it’s fair to say they learned the trade from Chris. He is amazing.

The Chris Hedges Report

Can Israel & the U.S. Sustain Iran's Military Power? (w/ Alastair Crooke) | The Chris Hedges Report

Read more

6 months ago · 538 likes · 50 comments · Chris Hedges

#3

And finally, much to my amazement, this week’s Tucker Carlson Show. I have never listened to Tucker before and only listened to this one because he had one of my favorite podcast hosts, Saagar Enjeti on to talk about the war. Saagar and I don’t agree on everything. In fact I take issue with any number of his positions. But OMG, he is on fire here, does not mince words, and is channeling some serious Kali aka Fierce Truth in this conversation. I have to say, Tucker surprised me. I tend to avoid the right wing media-sphere so my opinion of him has always been based on progressive slamming of his MAGA ideology. And I’m sure he and I have serious policy disagreements. But I respect his stance on this war and his courage for saying it out loud.

🌎 ☮️ 🌏 ☯️ 🌍

And yet, in the midst of it all, in my rage, grief, and disbelief, this poem from Kabir, keeps singing from deep inside me. I love this poem. It’s been with me forever and it never gets old. This week especially, it’s been the best medicine, reminding me to keep showing up, never forget, refuse to normalize what is not normal, and always remember that love is stronger than hatred…

The darkness of night is coming along fast,
and the shadows of love close in the body and the mind.
Open the window to the west, and disappear into the air inside you.

Near your breastbone there is an open flower.
Drink the honey that is all around that flower.
Waves are coming in: there is so much magnificence near the ocean!
Listen: Sound of big seashells! Sounds of bells!

Kabir says: Friend, listen, this is what I have to say:
the Guest I love is inside me

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Thanks for reading and sharing this post. I so appreciate your being here on The Being Project. And reticent as I am to indulge in self-promotion, I do want to say that if you’re having a hard time with everything going on in the world right now, my new book, The Goddess Remedy, might give you some much needed medicine. Here’s an excerpt from Chapter 16:

GODDESS RULE #3

Get Over Yourself

Let’s pause for a moment to reflect on a world where everyone whose actions cause harm would just get over themselves. You know, work through their psycho-emotional wounding, feel what they’re actually feeling, zip up their projections, assumptions, and the need to be right, and, well, just get over themselves….

Think of the warrior goddess in the great battle between the gods and demons. She demolishes the entire demon army without breaking a sweat, pausing for that poignant moment at the end to nurse the crying infant, and then, voila, she is gone. No fuss, no muss, no transactional quid pro quo or accolades required…

This is how we want to live. It really is so much simpler. Yogis refer to the spaciousness of mind embodied in the archetype we personify as the goddess Kali as sthita prajna, steady wisdom. Steady wisdom is the epitome of getting over ourselves, the antithesis of the drama queen mode so many of us live in. There’s a tremendous sense of freedom here, a profound embrace of the way things actually are. There is no praise, no blame. There is simply what is. Which begs the question: Why live in drama when we can live in what is?

Excerpted from The Goddess Remedy: Unleash Your Power, Embody Your Truth, and Love Without Limits © 2026 Suzin Green

So much for a respite from the news.

I woke up yesterday to Trump and Netanyahu’s obscene war and did something I’ve never done before: called my senators and representative and ranted hard and furious. I tend toward polite collegiality. Not this time. I think I’ll be calling most every day with the same furious message until this war is ended.

I’m so sick of being held hostage by narcissistic monsters consumed by self-hatred and unresolved trauma. Sick of the way they discharge and project their internal garbage onto the rest of us. The world is NOT their toxic waste dump.

And where are the Democrats? Where is the opposition party? I’m so sick of their cowardice, their AIPAC allegiance, their complicity.

Okay, enough of my rant. Bernie Sanders says it all — and way better than I can. If you missed it:

The U.S. Senate Must be Clear: No War with Iran

WASHINGTON, Feb. 28 – Sen. Bernie Sanders (I-Vt.) today released the following statement after the United States and Israel launched strikes on Iran.

President Trump, along with his right-wing extremist Israeli ally Benjamin Netanyahu, has begun an illegal, premeditated and unconstitutional war. Tragically, Trump is gambling with American lives and treasure to fulfill Netanyahu’s decades-long ambition of dragging the United States into armed conflict with Iran.

The U.S. Constitution is clear. It is the Congress that declares war, not a president acting unilaterally. The Senate must reconvene immediately and vote on a pending War Powers Resolution, which I will strongly support.

Further, this attack against Iran is a clear violation of international law and will create increased instability in an already dangerous world. If the United States and Israel can launch an attack against a sovereign nation, so can any other country. Might does not make right. It creates international anarchy, death, destruction and human misery.

The American people were lied to about Vietnam. The American people were lied to about Iraq. The American people are being lied to again today — and once again, it is ordinary people who will pay the price.

The people of our country, no matter what their political persuasion, do not want endless war. They want decent-paying jobs, and health care and housing that they can afford. They want their kids to have an excellent education.

We must not allow Trump to force us into another senseless war. No war with Iran.

And just now, as I sat down to write this post, received this text from a dear friend stuck in the Gulf…

Hey guys.

The second day of war was ok (but intolerable, obviously), cooped up in the apartment, listening to bombs being intercepted or hitting their targets, all the while trying to focus on a zoom class. The port was hit and I could see the smoke from my window. It was a long, drawn out day. Emergency alerts came through on our phones about every four hours, including just now. Things are very quiet outside, nobody is moving around. We just hear the sounds of planes and every now and then a dull thud. I’m all right with my friend in his apartment. We have plenty of food, water, and drinks. But we want this to end as soon as possible.

I know none of you would hesitate to organize my rescue op, but it isn’t advisable at this time. What you can do is call your senators and representatives and remind them that the American people did not agree to this war and that this is being done without our consent. They need to put pressure on the fucking administration to end this as soon as possible, safely and responsibly. Fucking Trump has upended lives and destabilized this entire region, which will suffer the consequences for weeks, just because he views the world as his plaything. This has to STOP. He must be stopped. He needs to actually negotiate with the Iranians and clean up this mess quickly. That is his job, he owns this now. Don’t let him forget it.

If you need some help with calling your senators and reps, 5 CALLS is a fantastic tool. Check it out.

And also, lest you need a reminder:

Remember to exhale.

Remember the power in your righteous rage.

Remember profound stillness sits right underneath your righteous rage.

Remember that love is way stronger than hatred.

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My original vision for this newsletter was to create a resting place, a space where being could stretch deeper into itself amidst the hyper doing of the world. At the same time, while I may be a writer musician seeker mystic therapist teacher, I’m also, full disclosure, a political junkie who does not shy away from living in this messy messy world and doing what I can to, well, hopefully, foster a lot more being, a lot more wisdom, a lot more loving kindness. Which at the end of the day is I believe, the only antidote.

Last week I wrote about the Epstein files. Given the revelations coming fast and furious, to write about anything else struck me as dishonest. But I had to view them through a Jungian lens. I couldn’t just opine. I had to put that whole mess into a larger context.

This week, especially after the madness of the State of the Union spectacle, I want to shift into respite. I want to shift into spaciousness. I want to give you a poem by Yeshe Tsogyal, a woman, seeker, mystic, dakini, teacher, who lived in 8th century Tibet. This is a poem that’s way more than a poem. It’s a living transmission. It’s the awesome possibility we can be. It’s the deep song singing from the heart of the world. And oh my it sings, it truly sings…

Read it slowly, several times at least, out loud for sure. I’ve lived with this poem for over 30 years and it’s always new…

Listen,

O brothers and sisters,

you who have mastered the teaching --

If you recognize me,

Queen of the Lake of Awareness,

who encompasses

both emptiness and form,

know that I live in the minds

of all beings who live.

Know that I live

in the body of mind

and the field of the senses,

that the twelve kinds of matter

are only my bones and my skin.

We are not two,

yet you look for me outside;

when you find me within yourself,

your own naked mind,

that Single Awareness

will fill all worlds.

Then the joy of the One

will hold you like a lake --

its fish with gold-seeing eyes

will grow many and fat.

Hold to that knowledge and pleasure,

and the Creative will be your wings.

You will leap through green meadows of earthly appearance,

enter the sky-fields, and vanish.

–Yeshe Tsogyel

Yeshe Tsogyal was a dakini, a Tibetan word that translates roughly as “sky dancer” or “wisdom keeper.” One of the most beloved figures in Tibetan Buddhism, she’s revered not only as a symbol or mythic figure, but as a woman who achieved full realization and then spent her life teaching others how to do the same.

She also did something extraordinary with her knowledge. Understanding that the world would have seasons of tremendous darkness, seasons when truth would be buried under avalanches of distraction, power-seeking, and lies, she hid her deepest teachings in the earth itself. In rocks, in mountains, in places where future wisdom keepers would find them when they were most needed. These concealed teachings are called termas. Treasures.

I keep thinking: we need armies of terma-finders right now. People willing to climb into the mountains of willfull ignorance and cruelty, and pull the truth back out.

Yeshe Tsogyal’s poem however is not pointing outward. At its core, it’s pointing inward. The treasure isn’t hidden in a rock. It’s hidden in you. It’s hidden in me. She says it better than I ever could:

We are not two, yet you look for me outside; when you find me within yourself, your own naked mind, that Single Awareness will fill all worlds.

In this moment, when we’re constantly pulled outside of ourselves, this teaching is essential: everything we seek is inside ourselves. And when we find it, she reminds us,

then the joy of the One will hold you like a lake.

The joy of the One. It’s not happiness or relief. It doesn’t depend on conditions. The joy of the One is the lake that holds us even when we’re swimming in troubled waters.

Yes.

This poem has been reverberating inside me all week. Probably because I’m still down with this cold, feeling tired, listless, and so sick of winter, so longing for spring. Perhaps that’s why it’s stayed with me. My soul feeding my body the medicine that always sustains…

Hold to that knowledge and pleasure, and the Creative will be your wings.

Yeshe Tsogyal is not suggesting we renounce the world. Not for a moment. She’s reminding us the ground is always right here, holding us strong and firm, so we never need fear making the leap. Even when we’re still down with whatever, even when we feel tired and listless, even when we’re so sick of winter and spring seems light years away. Because whatever may be arising outside us, we are always held.

What terma are you carrying? What buried wisdom have you been protecting, waiting for the right moment to bring forward?

I’d love to know.

With love, Suzin

This version of Yeshe Tsogyal’s poem can be found in Jane Hirshfield’s luminous collection, Women in Praise of the Sacred, 43 Centuries of Spiritual Poetry by Women, Harper Collins, 1994 and the image is a plate from Mother of Knowledge: The Enlightenment of Ye-shes mTsho-rgyal, by Nam-mkh’i snying-po, tr. Tarthang Tulku, Dharma Publishing, 1983.

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As the revelations in the Epstein Files keep on coming and the White House and its lackeys keep on denying, I keep thinking of that scene from The Wizard of Oz when Toto pulls back the curtain to reveal the great and powerful Oz as a wimpy old dude shouting, “Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!”

Well, ladies and gentlemen, the curtain is up, cover is blown, and this genie is NOT going back into the bottle. The patriarchal mindset in all its vile depravity, desperation, hunger, and lust for power is now on full display.

While the facts alone are more than enough—and huge shoutout to Ro Khanna, Thomas Massie, and the journalists and podcasters who refuse to let this story die—I thought it worthwhile to add a Jungian perspective to the conversation. And for the record, I want to say that while getting justice for the victims of the pedophilia and sexual abuse is, first and foremost, top necessity, I think we also need to take a long hard look at what the files also show: patriarchal circles of power that are all about class, transcend political party, ideology, and country, and have one thing in mind: the accumulation of unfathomable wealth that is never taxed and buys dominion over all of life on planet earth.

By way of introduction, and for those unfamiliar with my work, I write at the intersection of politics, spirituality, and archetypal psychology with a focus on patriarchy as a disease of mind and soul, and the archetypal goddess as the remedy that heals it. From where I sit, what we see in the Epstein files is a textbook case of what Jung called the shadow, of patriarchy’s projection of that shadow, and of its unconscious identification with the archetype of the Sovereign.

I assume most everyone reading this has some familiarity with Jung’s mapping of the psyche. For those who don’t, I’m including a handful of definitions at the end of this piece.

I. What Remains Unconscious Does Not Disappear

Jung’s foundational insight is devastatingly simple: what remains unconscious does not disappear. Repressed and isolated from consciousness, it grows darker, denser, and more powerful. This is the “shadow.” In his Little Book on the Human Shadow, Robert Bly put it succinctly: “Every part of our personality we do not love will become hostile to us.” More than hostile even, it will possess us.

This is the mechanism that drives the Epstein class: a wholesale repression of the shadow behind carefully constructed masks—what Jung called personas—of success, philanthropy, cultural refinement, and institutional respectability. The wider the gap between persona and shadow, the more violent the eventual eruption.

II. The Mask and the Abyss

The persona is a two-faced mask, designed to show a carefully crafted face to the world, while at the same time concealing the discarded (and generally very messy) shadow that lurks below the surface. In a healthy system, a person gradually brings the shadow into consciousness, transforming the persona into an authentic and integrated expression of the full human being. In the Epstein class we see the opposite: empires of persona, dazzling surfaces of wealth, intellectual prestige, and social access, while the shadow beneath grows monstrous with neglect.

And patriarchal culture rewards this split. We see it in the files. We see it in the Trump White House. We see it in the hideous Project 2025. We see it in corporate culture. We see it all over the influencer class on social media. People who appear powerful, controlled, and successful, but underneath are raging storms of hypocrisy, deceit, and self-loathing.

III. Ego Inflation and the Sovereign Archetype

In the Epstein class, what Jung called “ego inflation” manifests as identification with the sovereign archetype. Like the predatory gods of Greek mythology, who rape mortals and goddesses with no thought to the consequences, members of the Epstein class, inflated by wealth and institutional immunity, act out this archetypal entitlement. Believing they are no different from those gods, that they have become those gods, they see other human beings, institutions, and the earth itself, as objects for their own use.

The pathetic little secret is that beneath this inflation sits its opposite: a fragile ego desperately pushing back against the terror of its own emptiness. The predator is, in this sense, the most impoverished of beings, an empty self driven to consume others in a futile attempt to feel alive.

IV. The Split Archetype: How Violation Becomes Systematized

Every archetype contains a polarity: healer and wounded, teacher and student, dominator and dominated. In a healthy psyche, these poles balance each other in dynamic tension. When the archetype is split however, one person claims the “superior” pole and projects the “inferior” pole onto the other. The Jungian analyst Adolf Guggenbühl-Craig called this “splitting the archetype,” and in the Epstein class we see it operating on steroids.

The young, the vulnerable, the mostly female are made to carry the projected worthlessness of the Epstein men (and select women) so that the perpetrators can maintain their identification with the sovereign. Each act of violation is a ritual assertion: I am the subject. You are the object. I am the subject. You are the object. I am the subject. You are the object. Repeated over and over until both sides believe it. This is how these circles sustain themselves. Everyone inside the circle is sovereign. Everyone outside is expendable. And anyone, insider or outsider who dares to tell the secrets of the inner circle will be cast out, ghosted, threatened, and vilified.

V. The Collective Shadow: Patriarchy as Unconscious Possession

The Epstein files are a glaring example of the “collective shadow,” the reservoir where all the cruelty and awfulness of which we humans are capable, combined with the agony, shame, and rage of all our unresolved historical traumas continues to fester because we are either caught up in it, immune to it, or able to look away. The collective shadow has been busily at work from time immemorial. From Zeus, to Nero to Himmler to Epstein, in men (and women) gripped by a sovereign archetype they never make conscious. And it deforms both sides of the equation: the violator and the violated.

The collective shadow goes way beyond producing individual predators. It produces systems of complicity where the perpetrator projects his or her guilt onto the victim, who is then punished (and gaslit) for carrying it.

This is how the Epstein class grew into a networked system. The institutions that enabled Epstein, the universities, financial world, legal system, and social circles, were not merely failing to act. They were participating in the collective shadow’s project of splitting: maintaining the fiction that certain (mostly) men are above reproach while certain (mostly) girls and women are beneath concern. The circles of power exposed in the files are the collective shadow made organizational, with class, wealth, and access functioning as the glue that holds the ugly infrastructure together.

VI. Bringing the Darkness to the Light

Jung believed that society, like the individual, can only become whole when archetypes are brought into cultural awareness, when people stop being susceptible to forces that possess them from the unconscious. The Epstein class persists not because evil is stronger than good, but because the collective has refused (or simply not known how) to do its shadow work.

This is not comfortable news. This means the problem won’t be solved by locking up the predators, though they must be locked up; by releasing the files, though the files must be released; by our collective outrage, though outrage is the sane response to what we’re seeing. These are all necessary, but not sufficient. Because the pattern that produced Epstein is not Epstein. The pattern is a structure of consciousness, a collective refusal to integrate the shadow, and it will regenerate itself in new bodies, new networks, new institutions, until it is faced at the root.

The goddess tradition, which is the ground I have worked for forty years, offers a framework for that root-level work. It’s not a soft framework. It’s not an affirmation-whispering, feel-good framework. It’s a framework that begins with the energy field personified as the goddess Kālī: the fierce feminine that tears away every mask and pretense, every comfortable lie we tell ourselves. Kālī does not negotiate with the inflated ego. Kālī incinerates it.

And then—only then—comes the restoration. The recognition, as Bly so keenly understood, that every part of ourselves we have refused to love must be reclaimed, not indulged, reclaimed, seen, and held. This is the actual work. It is unglamorous. It is lifelong. It will not trend on social media. But it is the only thing that has ever actually changed the deepest patterns of human cruelty: the willingness to descend into one’s own darkness and come back, not innocent, but whole.

The Epstein files have torn down the curtain. What we do now, whether we keep staring at the spectacle or turn to face the deeper structures it reveals, this is the question of our time.

* * * * * * *

A Short Glossary of Key Terms in Jungian Psychology

Ego: the center of consciousness we experience as the sense of “I am” that drives much of our thinking and action.

The Shadow and Projection: The shadow is the black hole of the unconscious, the place where we stash everything we’ve repressed or split off from, everything we dislike or ignore, everything we’re trained to deny. Somewhat akin to a pressure cooker in the mind/body system, the shadow requires tremendous energy to keep all its contents under wraps. One of the ways the ego relieves the pressure (but still keeps it in the unconscious) is through the process of projection. Rather than recognizing and working to integrate the repressed material, it projects it onto the “screen” of other people and the world. Jung summed it up beautifully when he wrote: “Projections change the world into the replica of one’s own unknown face.”

Archetypes and the Collective Unconscious: Archetypes are ancient patterns that live beneath the surface of all human experience. Some of the well-known ones are: the Maiden, the Hero, the Trickster, the Sovereign, the Lover. Archetypes are psychic blueprints we’re born with, inherited from the full span of human history. Jung called the reservoir where they live the collective unconscious. Collective because it belongs not to any individual, but to all of us. Archetypes live within us whether we know them or not. And when we don’t recognize them for what they are, they tend to run the show, aka to possess us.

Identification (Ego Inflation): Identification is what happens when the ego starts believing it IS the archetype. Jung called this ego inflation, a state in which the conscious personality is swallowed by an unconscious force it mistakes for itself. This is the psychological mechanism behind every religious leader who crosses the line, every billionaire or politician who believes the rules don’t apply to them, every person who acts with narcissistic impunity. It is the inner architecture of the Epstein class.

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Been felled by a bad winter cold. But do want to post something for this week. With so much coming at us in every direction, on every level, I thought a little Mary Oliver might offer excellent medicine. I know of no poet who puts everything into perspective the way she does…

So with love to everyone who visits this space, (and apologies for the messed up formatting I don’t know how to control), a Mary Oliver poem gift for you…

MESSENGER

My work is loving the world.

Here the sunflowers, there the hummingbird –

equal seekers of sweetness.

Here the quickening yeast; there the blue plums.

Here the clam deep in the speckled sand.

Are my boots old? Is my coat torn?

Am I no longer young, and still not half-perfect? Let me

keep my mind on what matters,

which is my work,

which is mostly standing still and learning to be

astonished.

The phoebe, the delphinium.

The sheep in the pasture, and the pasture.

Which is mostly rejoicing, since all the ingredients are here,

which is gratitude, to be given a mind and a heart

and these body-clothes,

a mouth with which to give shouts of joy

to the moth and the wren, to the sleepy dug-up clam,

telling them all, over and over, how it is

that we live forever

-Mary Oliver, from Thirst, page 1.

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For me personally, last week was great. On Tuesday my new book, The Goddess Remedy launched. By Wednesday it made it into Amazon’s top 100 sales ranking in its category. By Thursday it actually hit #1 in that category.

So much to celebrate.

And then on Sunday, we learned of ICE’s brutal murder of Alex Pretti, on the heels of the brutal murders of Renee Good, Keith Porter Jr., and Silverio Villegas González. How does one write about this. The horror, the chaos, the suffering brought by ICE and DHS unleashed in the Twin Cities; in Los Angeles, Chicago, NYC, and Denver; in Texas, Arizona, Georgia, Florida, Maine, Ohio, Oregon, and counting.

So yes, I celebrate my book and truly hope it adds a glimmer of light to the world. But more than that, I celebrate the people in the streets fighting long and hard, fighting strong and fearless, fighting for humanity. They are that light…

And for the record, let me say: “Yes, abolish ICE. Yes, abolish DHS. Yes, impeach Kristi Noem and Pam Bondi. Yes, fire Stephen Miller. Yes, let us bring this depraved regime to its knees.”

It’s good to see the rot at its core begin to erode the edifice. And if ever we’ve needed to do all we can: call our legislators every day; organize and mobilize; take part in tomorrow’s IceOut National Shutdown; stand up and for love. There is so much we can and must do.

People see the title of my book and assume it’s a new age goddess tome for women. I promise you it is not. My book is a battle cry for love, an unpacking of the disease that is patriarchy and an evocation of the goddess as the medicine that heals it.

Here’s what I mean:

…the patriarchal paradigm destroying our planet also lives within our mind/body system as the voice of the inner patriarch… This psychic distortion has been deforming the true masculine for thousands of years, forcing it to dissociate from the feminine ground. This denial of its other half fosters patriarchy in all its brutal, dissociative forms….

Lest anyone … thinks that by patriarchy I’m referring only to men, let me be clear that while [patriarchy] has historically been composed mostly of men, there are growing numbers of women among its ranks. Patriarchy is not an illness confined to people of the male gender. An equal-opportunity virus, it rots the minds of everyone.

Excerpted from THE GODDESS REMEDY: Copyright Suzin Green, 2026

Yes! We are living in a time of patriarchy on steroids. Never, when I started writing my book in 2019, did I imagine it would be as relevant as it turns out to be.

So with many thanks to everyone who’s been pushing my book into that top 100 sales ranking, and to everyone who follows me here on Substack, I’m posting an abridged excerpt of Chapter 10, which is on the goddess Lakṣmī. If you’re unfamiliar with her resume, she’s considered a personification of abundance.

And since that word “abundance” is so ubiquitous these days, I thought it worthwhile to set the record straight on what abundance actually is and what is required to build it. While right now, defunding ICE and defanging DHS are paramount for many of us, I think there’s a strong connection between that worthy goal and what this goddess is really about. I welcome your comments.

10. Lakṣmī

We live in a system that wants us to believe that financial wealth is the key to happiness. This is a ridiculous notion, but it does keep the wheels of global capitalism spinning. However, I digress. We’re here to talk about Lakṣmī, an aspect of the goddess often associated with this wrongheaded notion that financial wealth = happiness. I therefore begin her chapter with a small diatribe to make the point that equating wealth with happiness and bundling Lakṣmī into the equation is yet another lie of the patriarchal project. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Here’s what Lakṣmī is: an energy field of infinite possibility infused with love. Love. Not greed, ambition, or desire. Love. The way she’s commonly drawn, with gold coins flowing from her hands, really does create the wrong impression. This is not to say there’s anything wrong with having a stash of gold coins (sustainably mined and minted of course). The problem is equating those coins with long-term happiness. The truth is, we can lose them in an instant. Which is why all the world’s wisdom traditions agree that it’s better to find happiness at its source: inside ourselves....

Lakṣmī and the Hummingbirds

Lakṣmī is the joy we feel on a beautiful day. We can also say that Lakṣmī is the beautiful day. This is an energy field that animates everything it touches with that shimmering sense of grace we experience in those “life doesn’t get any better” moments. Whatever Lakṣmī touches does get better, becoming finer, truer, deeper, more beautiful. Some of the words associated with this archetypal field are auspiciousness, beauty, magnificence, grace, expansion, fertility, vitality, and serenity.

I had a sublime Lakṣmī moment the other day. It was early evening, and I was sitting outside. After a long summer with no respite from the heat, finally it was cool. Soft breeze. Leaves gently stirring. Setting sun casting everything in golden light. It was one of those “life doesn’t get any better” moments.

And then it did.

Two hummingbirds landed on the feeder that hangs on a tree near my deck, a blue jay landed on a nearby limb, and the four of us sat there in holy communion: the hummingbirds sipping their nectar, the blue jay nibbling on a chunk of bread, and me sipping a glass of iced rosé. I felt such wonder and delight, such awe in the presence in and around us, and then thought, Ah, this is Lakṣmī.

Over the many years I’ve taught about the goddess, whenever I offer Lakṣmī workshops, they always sell out. This is because of the association with material abundance. Far too many people believe that if they just chant enough Lakṣmī mantras, financial wealth will accrue. Would that it were so easy. In order for Lakṣmī to take a seat at our table, we need to seriously clean house, inner and outer, and then invite everyone to the feast.

The Birth of Lakṣmī: The Great Churning

Lakṣmī’s creation myth offers a step-by-step guide for how to do this. The myth has multiple sources. The one most often cited is found in Srimad Bhagavatam. Although there are numerous tellings and retellings, the basic gist remains the same. Here’s a pared-down version:

The war between the gods and demons had been going on for many years when the gods, greatly weakened by the fighting, sought Lord Viṣṇu’s counsel. Listening to their plight, he told them that in order to win this war, they needed the ambrosial dew of life—it’s called amrita—which could only be obtained by churning the Ocean of Milk. There was a catch, though. They couldn’t churn alone. They had to churn together with the demons. “When there is a great task ahead,” Viṣṇu added, “one should befriend even enemies. One’s object is more easily achieved by kindness than by anger.”

And so, as an audience of thousands looked on, the gods and demons took their places and the great churning began. At first, a wondrous array of divine and celestial beings arose, filling everyone with delight. But then, a cloud of poison pushed through. Fortunately Lord Śiva was watching the spectacle. Realizing that if he didn’t act quickly the toxic vapors would kill all they touched, he reached into the foaming milk, scooped up the poison, and drank it. This sacrificial act saved the assembled multitudes but nearly killed him.

Seeing her supreme lord’s throat turning blue, Pārvatī (who is a gentler form of Kālī) took him onto her lap and rocked him back to life. Only then did the miracle happen. Lakṣmī arose, seated on a lotus flower, its long stem rooted in the mud of the ocean floor. Holding an urn filled with the precious dew of life, she walked out of the milky sea, beautiful and serene, and as she took her place beside Viṣṇu, a great stillness was everywhere.

We can say that Lakṣmī lives in abundance but not all abundance is Lakṣmī, that Lakṣmī lives in beauty but not all beauty is Lakṣmī, that Lakṣmī lives in gracefulness but not all gracefulness is Lakṣmī. The myth is very clear about this. In order to realize our Lakṣmī possibility, we have to be willing to wrestle with (aka churn) all the stuff inside us: what we like and what we don’t, what we see and what we look away from, what we know and what lurks deep in the unconscious. We have to drink the poisons of hatred, unworthiness, shame, and greed, always knowing that if we drink too much, we can sit in the lap of being and be restored. Only then can we meet ourselves (and the world) in all our richness and power.....

Where Lakṣmī Lives

Lakṣmī lives in the spaciousness of kindness and generosity, in the welcoming embrace of life. Lakṣmī lives in beauty, inner and outer, and in the calling from deep within of the very best we are. We could say that Lakṣmī is the best we are. Inside, outside, and all around us.

Ultimately, Lakṣmī lives in the love that binds us together, the love that is so much wiser than our binary categories of black and white, right and wrong, nectar and dung, my way or the highway. To live in the energy field of Lakṣmī is to move through life with a sense that even on the hardest days, even during the most difficult times, we know that we are held....

Albert Woodfox and Lakṣmī

In 1965 Woodfox, a member of the Black Panther Party, was tried and found guilty of a murder he did not commit. Even though that faulty conviction was overturned multiple times, he remained incarcerated for five decades, spending nearly forty-four of those years in solitary confinement. Woodfox was finally released from prison in 2016. Here’s a quote from an interview he gave three years later.

“You know, throughout all this, I developed an unbelievable love for humanity and dedicated myself to doing whatever I can to better humanity. I remember reading something from Mr. Mandela, and he said, ‘If a cause is noble, you can carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.’ And I thought what we were doing was a noble cause. So we were prepared. And so the beatings and the gassings and the decades of solitary confinement, you know, was really—although painful and difficult, it never got to the point where they were able to break us.”

For a man to walk out of prison, having spent fifty-plus years there, forty-four of them in solitary confinement, and say that through it all he developed an unbelievable love for humanity, is, in my opinion, an extraordinary expression of the nobility of soul that so embodies Lakṣmī. We may not live into or up to it, we may besmirch and turn away from it, we may die having never experienced a glimpse of its radiance. But nobility of soul is part of our birthright. Even in the most challenging circumstances, we can rest there. And beauty, nobility, and love are primary colors of the archetypal power that is Lakṣmī....

Setting Lakṣmī’s Table

I’ve worked with many couples in my private practice and was married myself for thirty years. Over and over, in my own life and in the lives of clients, loved ones, and friends, I’ve seen that most of the time, when we’re having relationship problems, the root has to do with a contraction and stifling—I would go so far as to call it an oppression—of Lakṣmī’s presence in the house….

This kind of contracted inner space is fertile nurturing ground for the projections, assumptions, expectations, and narratives that are the wounding/wounded masculine’s stock-in-trade. Every trigger and reaction to that trigger comes from the projection of something inside ourselves we have not recognized, befriended, and integrated, aka churned, into our sense of self….

Feeling jealousy, judgment, or dislike for another? Take a good hard look at yourself and see what they’re mirroring in you. This is how we welcome Lakṣmī, set the table, and invite everyone to the feast....

Our Projections Are Such a Bore

Living under the influence of our projections is such a bore. So much better to follow Śiva’s playbook and drink the poison. Although when it comes to projections, I always have the idea we should eat, not drink them. Eat, drink, whichever you prefer. Everyone is invited to this feast. What matters is hosting the meal….

I know it can seem terrifying to look at all the inner stuff we think we’d rather not see. Turns out, it’s way more dangerous not to look. Leaning into what actually is, even when we dread going down that rabbit hole, turns out to be the way we open up more space inside. It’s in this ever-widening spaciousness that we discover, recover, and ultimately rest in the shimmering luminosity and fertile darkness, in the impeccable splendor, of our inner ground.

Why would we ever want to cut ourselves off from that?

Lakṣmī personifies the force that sustains all creation. This is a stance that requires undivided attention. Look away for a moment and the whole world may disappear. Which is why Lakṣmī never closes her eyes. The essence of Lakṣmī is about living with eyes wide open. It’s about opening to the world, about cherishing all life, about embodying the nobility that rises from the mud. It is limitless possibility. It is unconditional love. It is the impeccable splendor.

Abridged and Excerpted from THE GODDESS REMEDY: Copyright Suzin Green, 2026

After reading this, I hope you’ll agree that true abundance—what Lakṣmī embodies—has nothing to do with the accumulation of wealth and power so often associated with this term. True abundance is about wholeness, generosity, and the recognition that we’re all connected. True abundance requires deep and profound wrestling with all the messy, not-so-lovely stuff inside us. When we embody this understanding, systems that thrive on cruelty and scarcity, on domination and control, on othering and hatred, simply cannot be sustained.

This is the work of the goddess and this is the remedy for these times.

The painting of the goddess Lakṣmī is by the artist Vishal Misra.

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If you’ve noticed I’ve been MIA from this space, it’s because we’ve been preparing for the January 20 launch of my new book, The Goddess Remedy, and the to-do list has been enormous. Looking forward to resuming more regular posting here…

When I got the January 20 date from my publisher, I found it slightly ironic that my book would be coming into the world on the day associated with the inauguration of the American president.

This year however, and far more in keeping with what my book is actually about, January 20 is also the day for the FREE AMERICA WALKOUT. And oh my, do we ever need to free America.

But I digress…

My book wrestles with the notion of patriarchy, though I’m less focused on the outer paradigm of domination and control, and more on the distortion of mind—what I call the “inner patriarch”—that afflicts each and every one of us regardless of our gender ID. The book unpacks how, once we become aware of its insidious presence, the best remedy for unraveling its toxic grasp is awareness of the deep feminine, aka the goddess. Hence the title, The Goddess Remedy.

At its core, what I’m exploring is the relationship between doing and being. Ultimately, my work is about the integration of these two essential aspects of being human—we can call them doing and being, we can call them masculine and feminine, we can call them mind and heart.

Here’s one of my favorite quotes from the book:

“This is how we transform the patriarch into a strong and healthy masculine, a vibrant and vital masculine, a masculine that stands for and stands in love. And a loving masculine in partnership with the deep feminine is the human possibility that can restore, redeem, and reenchant our world.”
[The Goddess Remedy, p. 77]

If this sounds like medicine you need—for yourself, for your relationships, for the world, do check out my book (and if you like it, please help us spread the word).

Please stay tuned for updates about special programs and events in the works.

Most of all, with deep gratitude for your presence in this community, and with hope for all we can restore together…

Suzin

Image: Kuan Yin in Lakeview Garden

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The Winter Solstice arrives on Sunday morning, December 21, making December 20 the Longest Night of 2025.

These days leading up to the Longest Night are always bittersweet for me. I like the night just fine, its quiet stillness, fertile darkness, invitation to rest, to sleep, to dream… And yet, as I watch the long days of summer grow shorter and long nights of late fall take center stage, I find myself longing for the light…

Which is why I always chant Gāyatrī-Mantra this time of year…

For those unfamiliar with the world of mantra, let me tell you a bit about myself. I stumbled onto the yogic path in the mid-70s. For me, a young musician interested in the healing power of sound, discovering Sanskrit mantras was revelatory. I loved the meditation practice and teachings, but the chanting stole my heart.

One of the fascinating things about the Sanskrit language is its emphasis on sonic vibration. So that with mantra, it’s less about the meaning and more about the sound. The way a mantra works inside us, opening places we didn’t realize were closed, feeding places we didn’t know were hungry, strengthening, balancing, revitalizing, regenerating, and regulating our entire mind/body system.

Anyone can chant. Sanskrit mantras cut across all boundaries of belief and supposition. They simply are. And Gāyatrī-Mantra, which is a beauty, is considered the sound form of light. Which is why, as I said above, I especially like to chant it in these days leading up to the Longest Night.

I first introduced Gāyatrī-Mantra to my meditation class in the late 90s. In those days Yoga was just beginning to go mainstream. Mantra and chanting were still in the “weird” category. When I told my class we were going to chant Gāyatrī-Mantra 108 times, there was an audible gasp in the room. Nevertheless, they were willing to try. Tentative at first, quiet and stumbling over the Sanskrit words, but then that moment when everyone got it and the room exploded in sound. Luminous sound. Watching that roomful of people that night, I could both see and feel that light, filling the room with joy.

This was many years ago. Some of those same people still chant with me every week. And we have the same experience today that we had all those many years ago.

Here it is, spelled out in its transliterated form:

Om Bhūr Bhuvaḥ Svaḥa
Tat Savitur Varen’yam
Bhargo Devasya Dhīmahī
Dhiyo Yonaḥ Pracodayāt

You can read many commentaries on this mantra, but it’s always a good idea to read between the lines. There’s a lot of jargon, doublespeak, and grandiosity out there masquerading as spiritual insight. Always best to get to know this (or any mantra) as you get to know a friend. Building relationship with a mantra is how we penetrate its meaning and receive its gifts. Which can be numerous and truly the gifts that keep on giving…

Here’s a version of Gāyatrī-Mantra from Daughter of the Mountain, an album I recorded with the great Daniel Johnson several years ago. Feel free to download it. My December gift to you.

If you’ve never done mantra practice, you might simply listen to this track, letting the mantra flow into you. If you’d like to learn it, you’ll hear us chanting Gāyatrī at the core. Just copy out those words and sing along.

Here’s a simple translation:

Let the blazing light of creation infuse my being.

May that Light break open inside me.

I heard a quote a long time ago, attributed to Plato. It goes something like this: “Children are afraid of the dark, but adults are afraid of the light….”

What Plato (or whomever) alludes to here is the light that requires us to drop all preconception, identification, projection, assumption, and belief system. The light that wants us to see what is actually here. The light that wants us to see what hides in the darkness.

Which raises the question of the difference between what I think of as the “fertile darkness” and its evil twin, the “infernal darkness.” The fertile darkness is the womb of all creation. The more we learn to rest here, to understand its language, to navigate its terrain, the more we discover that light blazes in its primordial spaciousness.

This is the beautiful darkness. This is nothing for anyone, child or adult, to fear.

The infernal darkness however, that we should all fear. We witness it daily in the news: the cruelty justified by those in power, violence they promote, suffering they impose, their unfathomable greed with no thought to its consequences, all of this rationalized in a sociopathic dream of eternal domination. This is what lives in the infernal darkness. This is a darkness that needs serious illumination…

But I digress.

If you love the light, long for the light, want to nourish the light, spread the light, become a potent beacon of that light, try chanting Gāyatrī-Mantra for yourself, for everyone you love, for everyone you don’t love, for the world.

Start with five minutes a day. Let it grow. Take your time. Learn to rest there. See what happens.

And let us celebrate the Winter Solstice and its Longest Night, remembering that the Longest Night also marks the beginning of the Light’s return.

Where all splendors are in the light
and all darknesses in the dark
brilliant light and fertile darkness!
I praise the transcendent light.

[from The Short Gloss on the Supreme Queen]

With Love to you All.

[Image: Winter Light Burst by AngelzTears]

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Can’t think of a better poem to end this week of poems for the week of giving thanks. It certainly gets right down to it. Raw, honest, and utterly present. So if, like me, you get tired of words and just want breathing space, this one’s for you.

From my heart to yours…

Lord Whoever, thank you for this air
I’m about to in- and exhale, this hutch
in the woods, the wood for fire,
the light–––both lamp and the natural stuff
of leaf-black fern, and wing.
For the piano, the shovel
for ashes, the moth-gnawed
blankets, the stone-cold water
stone-cold: thank you.
Thank you, Lord, coming for
to carry me here–––where I’ll gnash
it out, Lord, where I’ll calm
and work, Lord, thank you
for the goddamn birds singing!

Image credit: Ezequiel Jimenez, Bird and moon.

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There are so many expressions of gratitude flying around this week, I can’t let the actual day pass without noting what I am NOT grateful for: which is the problematic history of today.

And also articulating what I long to live long enough to witness: a worldwide revolution built on the foundations of giving and thanks, sharing and gratitude, generosity and loving kindness. A world that recognizes every sentient being (and the non-sentients too) as part of one huge family that may not always get along, but always makes up, loving each other, caring about each other, and sharing all that we have with each other, no matter and in spite of our myriad differences…

Since today tends to constellate around food, thought I’d offer a poem in the form of my much prized (and sort of secret) recipe for chai. ❤️ (If you make it, please drop a note in the comments to let us know how it came out.)

With all my love to you.

SG’s Recipe for Great Chai

This recipe makes approximately 2 quarts of a chai concentrate that can be stored in a jar in the refrigerator for 7-10 days. To make a cup of chai, simply fill your mug with concentrate and milk and heat in microwave or on stove.

1 TBS whole cardamom pods

1 TBS whole black peppercorns

1 tsp cloves

2-5 inch piece of ginger root, grated, depending on how gingery you like your chai

Black tea

Good chai requires a strong black tea. Assam is best. Orange pekoe is almost as good. PG Tips tea bags are great. If you can’t find loose assam, I tend to order from Vadham or Organic India. If you prefer decaf, PG Tips decaf is my go-to.

Ground cardamom and ground Ceylon cinnamon for more flavor

Milk

I prefer 2% organic lactose free; not a fan of plant-based milks in chai but if you prefer that route, you’ll need to experiment until you find one that tastes right to you. If you prefer totally non-dairy, add water instead of milk.

Honey

I prefer local raw honey. If you’re vegan, use your preferred sweetener.

2 1/4 quarts of water

A covered pot that holds at least 3 quarts of liquid for boiling water

A second pot, ideally one with a wide top and a spout (like a carafe from a coffee maker) that is easy to pour from

A strainer than fits over second pot

A half gallon jar to store finished concentrate

Bring 2 1/4 quarts of water to a boil. Add whole cardamom, peppercorns, cloves, and ginger. Then cover pot, reduce heat to lowest setting, and gently simmer for at least 30 minutes. Longer is fine; mine often simmers for a few hours. Be sure to keep the pot covered to prevent evaporation.

Remove from heat and let cool for a minute or so. Then add black tea. Depending on how strong you like your chai—and you’ll have to experiment to find your ideal amount of tea— add 6-8 heaping tsp. of tea or 6-8 PG Tips bags. (I use 8.) Cover and let steep for 4 minutes.

Do not allow to steep longer than 5 minutes. This develops tannic acid which undoes all chai’s health benefits and has some very concerning health risks. This is why I don’t follow traditional recipes that call for boiling the tea and the milk. I fear this raises the levels of tannic acid.

When steeping time is done, strain the chai into the carafe. Add honey (or your preferred sweetener) to taste. Stir well and taste. Add more sweetener if you’re not tasting the full body of the chai. The honey brings out the flavor. But be careful, too much sweetener makes it cloying.

You now have your chai concentrate. Let it cool a bit before pouring into storage jar. Now, if you’re using the ground spices, put about 1/2 tsp of ground cardamom and 1/4 tsp of ground ceylon cinnamon into the straining jar. The ground cardamom is the secret ingredient. I don’t think you can overdo it!

Carefully pour the cooled concentrate into the jar. Start with just a cup and then give it a good shake to dissolve the ground spices. Then add the rest of the concentrate and voila!

You probably want a cup right now. Some people like more milk, others less. I prefer about ½ and ½; some people prefer 2/3 chai, and 1/3 milk. Experiment to find your ideal proportions. Heat (or ice) as you prefer.

Enjoy!

Some Notes About Chai’s Health Benefits

Black tea offers numerous health benefits, including improved heart health from antioxidants, better gut health, and a lower risk of stroke and type 2 diabetes. It may also boost focus and energy due to caffeine and l-theanine, and its antioxidants can help protect cells from damage.

Cardamom offers numerous health benefits due to its antioxidant and anti-inflammatory properties, including improved heart and liver health, better digestion, and potential blood sugar regulation. It may also have antibacterial effects, boost the immune system, and protect against certain cancers.

Black pepper offers health benefits such as aiding digestion, boosting nutrient absorption, and providing antioxidants that fight cell damage. Its active compound, piperine, has potential anti-inflammatory effects and can help regulate blood sugar and cholesterol. Black pepper also contains vitamins and minerals like manganese and Vitamin K.

Cloves offer numerous health benefits, including antioxidant and anti-inflammatory effects due to compounds like eugenol, which may protect against certain diseases. They also support digestive health, oral hygiene, and blood sugar management, while providing essential nutrients like manganese and vitamin K for bone density and blood clotting.

Ceylon cinnamon offers numerous health benefits, including antioxidant and anti-inflammatory effects, which help fight chronic disease. It supports heart health by potentially lowering blood pressure and cholesterol. Ceylon cinnamon may also help manage blood sugar levels, has antimicrobial properties, and is a source of important nutrients like fiber and manganese.

Honey provides numerous health benefits, including acting as a cough suppressant and wound healer, and is rich in antioxidants. It has antibacterial properties, can support heart health by improving blood markers, and may aid in managing blood sugar levels. Using high-quality local and ideally raw honey ensures the most beneficial compounds are retained.

Image: “Tea Time” by Joanne Osband

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I first heard this one on Krista Tippett’s On Being nearly ten years ago. Been part of my Thanksgiving week rituals ever since. Beautiful celebration of the wonder and mystery of everyday life.

Every night before I go to sleep
I say out loud
Three things that I’m grateful for,
All the significant, insignificant
Extraordinary, ordinary stuff of my life.
It’s a small practice and humble,
And yet, I find I sleep better
Holding what lightens and softens my life
Ever so briefly at the end of the day.
Sunlight, and blueberries,
Good dogs and wool socks,
A fine rain,
A good friend,
Fresh basil and wild phlox,
My father’s good health,
My daughter’s new job,
The song that always makes me cry,
Always at the same part,
No matter how many times I hear it.
Decent coffee at the airport,
And your quiet breathing,
The stories you told me,
The frost patterns on the windows,
English horns and banjos,
Wood Thrush and June bugs,
The smooth glassy calm of the morning pond,
An old coat,
A new poem,
My library card,
And that my car keeps running
Despite all the miles.

And after three things,
More often than not,
I get on a roll and I just keep on going,
I keep naming and listing,

Until I lie grinning,
Blankets pulled up to my chin,
Awash with wonder
At the sweetness of it all.

from A Permeable Life: Poems & Essays, by Carrie Newcomer; Image credit: Seabolt Originals

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I have a large collection of poems I love, all kept in my “Sacred Poetry” Documents folder. Each one has been typed into its own Word doc so when I want to share it, it’s easy to copy, paste, and send. All this to say, I generally only type these out one time. But when I pasted this one in just now, Substack’s program refused to honor the formatting, adding spaces where there are none. I tried typing it in manually to override the algorithm but that actually made it worse. So I’m surrendering to the laws that govern this template.

I tell you this story for two reasons. First of all, with apologies to the poet, there should be NO spaces between the lines (though Substack has other ideas). Second, what a joy it was to copy this poem out here. I have read it so many times I think I know it, yet writing it out just now was like reading it for the first time.

Speaking of which, if you want to feed your brain great medicine, try memorizing poetry you love. Want to sharpen your focus and attention span, memorize a poem. Want to fill your mind with more interesting thoughts than it usually dwells on, memorize a poem. Want a great weekly challenge, memorize a poem.

But back to this beautiful poem—it’s gorgeous, deceptively simple yet profound in its depth, with waves of loving kindness pouring from every word. Read it slowly. Let it settle. Maybe copy it out too. Notice how giving and receiving become one.

One river gives
Its journey to the next.

We give because someone gave to us.
We give because nobody gave to us.

We give because giving has changed us.
We give because giving could have changed us.

We have been better for it,
We have been wounded by it—

Giving has many faces: It is loud and quiet,
Big, though small, diamond in wood-nails.

Its story is old, the plot worn and the pages too,
But we read this book, anyway, over and again:

Giving is, first and every time, hand to hand,
Mine to yours, yours to mine.

You gave me blue and I gave you yellow.
Together we are simple green. You gave me

What you did not have, and I gave you
What I had to give—together, we made

Something greater from the difference.

“When Giving is All We Have” from A Small Story About the Sky, by Alberto Ríos. Image generated by AI.

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I love this Richard Blanco poem. I read it every year at this time. Thought I’d share my small ritual with you—a poem a day this week.

If you’re not a poetry person, try reading this one a few times, at least once out loud. Remember: this is the mighty Rio Grande speaking. And oh my, does it have something to say……

Complaint of El Río Grande

I was meant for all things to meet:
to make the clouds pause in the mirror
of my waters, to be home to fallen rain
that finds its way to me, to turn eons
of loveless rock into lovesick pebbles
and carry them as humble gifts back
to the sea which brings life back to me.

I felt the sun flare, praised each star
flocked about the moon long before
you did. I’ve breathed air you’ll never
breathe, listened to songbirds before
you could speak their names, before
you dug your oars in me, before you
created the gods that created you.

Then countries—your invention—maps
jig sawing the world into colored shapes
caged in bold lines to say: you’re here,
not there, you’re this, not that, to say:
yellow isn’t red, red isn’t black, black is
not white, to say: mine, not ours, to say
war, and believe life’s worth is relative.

You named me big river, drew me—blue,
thick to divide, to say: spic and Yankee,
to say: wetback and gringo. You split me
in two—half of me us, the rest them. But
I wasn’t meant to drown children, hear
mothers’ cries, never meant to be your
geography: a line, a border, a murderer.

I was meant for all things to meet:
the mirrored clouds and sun’s tingle,
birdsongs and the quiet moon, the wind
and its dust, the rush of mountain rain—
and us. Blood that runs in you is water
flowing in me, both life, the truth we
know we know: be one in one another.

Copyright © 2019 Richard Blanco, from How to Love a CountryThe painting is Under the Boquillas Moon, by James Mangum

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Let me start with the confession. I’m a boomer who has, until recently, felt majorly annoyed by the disdain in which my generation is held…

I mean really, so my reasoning went, we were at the forefront of the great social movements of the 60s and 70s. And many of us never sold out on the values that defined those times. Did that count for nothing, I wondered.

And so, although aging boomers holding onto power long past their expiration date often annoyed and sometimes enraged me (e.g. RBG), it was Chuck Schumer’s capitulation re the recent government shutdown that finally sent me into the anti-boomer camp. And got me thinking about what is the deal with these aging boomers still sitting in positions of power they have no business owning or skill set for managing.

What I’ve come to realize—and I’m embarrassed to admit I’ve never thought this through before—is that we boomers are an extremely narcissistic generation. It’s something about growing up in an era when belief in the future was part of the social contract. Large numbers of us reaped tremendous benefit from the enormous privilege we were handed and never truly understood the luck of birth that enabled us to land as we did. This made us believe in our own importance and gave us this weird sense of immortality. We walked through life thinking we were the coolest kids in the room. Which once upon a time we were. Problem is, no more. Problem is, we are, most of us now, irrelevant.

And that is a tough pill for my entitled generation to swallow…

Hence the geriatric brigade in the halls of power.

We actually believe that no one can do the job but us. Problem is our narcissism blinds us to seeing the extraordinary generations coming up behind. So when what we should be doing is joyously handing over the keys, we cling to them with all the might of our age-spotted hands…

Yes, statins, blood thinners, and healthy lifestyles have given us longevity. But they haven’t taken away self-absorption and grandiosity.

Which brings me to the topic of irrelevance.

I listen to an hour or two of mostly political talk on my daily podcast feed, conversations with extraordinary people doing extraordinary work, mostly all under the age of 40, and am always awed by the depth of their clarity and wisdom, by their intuitive embodying of the understanding I’ve spent a lifetime cultivating. It’s both exhilarating and humbling, making me sometimes wonder, what can I possibly offer to them?

This is a question we boomers are wise to ponder…

Which brings me to an experience I had the other night. It was around 6:30 pm on the first cold night of Autumn. We’re back to eastern standard time so it was also dark. I had people coming over and realized I’d forgotten to buy fresh flowers. So grabbed my scissors and went down to see what was left in my mostly gone-by garden. It was really dark. I could barely see, but there they were: 3 bright orange calendulas, 3 sprigs of red and orange lantana, and 3 spikes of scarlet sage. I cut the stems, brought them inside, trimmed off the leaves, and set them into 2 vases.

That’s them in the photo up above…

They looked so beautiful. Faded, but beautiful. The end of their season. Absolutely. But a splendor of red and orange, shining like the sun on this cold dark night.

That’s when I realized, this is my generation. Or at least handfuls of us. We are faded, for sure. At the end of our season, definitely, but there’s still some beauty here. Still some luminosity.

And gazing at those flowers, I understood that this is what we owe to you. To whom we have handed a really messed up world. This was never our intention. We truly believed we were ushering in age of peace and love, of freedom, justice, and abundance for all. Needless to say, we majorly missed that boat. And then, instead of partnering with you, mentoring you, believing in you, too many of us clog your space with our inability to see that the world that’s formed you is very different from the one that formed us.

You of course, like every generation, have persevered, often in spite of our obstruction. And while there are terrifying possibilities on the horizon—I’m thinking of unfettered AI and its bubble, along with authoritarian oligarchs and presidents, their endless wars, rapacious appetites, and of course, the ever present climate catastrophe—I truly believe in the huge numbers of you working to build a world that works for everyone.

I know there are monsters in your midst. I know there are many with too much power and seriously compromised souls. But I have to believe their days are numbered. I simply do not believe hatred and revenge is a sustainable model for growth…

Call me old-fashioned, but hey, I’m a boomer. I still believe in the power of love.

I hope you don’t get co-opted like too many of us did. I hope you don’t allow the forces of greed to consume your idealism and vision. I hope you never become disillusioned.

The world needs you in all your clarity, passion, insight, and generosity.

And if ever you need a helping hand from those of us who’ve come before, from those of us who have always cared, please know that we are here. We see you. We believe in you. We are listening. We are honored to give you what we can.

Which is the wisdom of long life. Which is the wisdom that knows nothing is forever so cherish every moment. The wisdom that knows to take nothing for granted. Not youth. Not beauty. Not passion. Not insight. Not power. Because like it or not, our time in the sun is limited. So please, create the world we only dreamed of. Re-enchant it as we longed to do. Live the truth we couldn’t sustain. Make it just. Make it whole. Make it soar.

With All My Love To You…

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P.S. Reading this in your inbox? Head over to Substack to join the conversation, leave a comment, or simply click the ❤️ if this resonated with you. I’d love to hear your thoughts!