Coffee Contemplations – Vol. X : Going Supernova

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I don’t always know what to say in the face of social upheaval. I generally don’t say anything, but in the face of the Ferguson protests and riots destroying families, cities, communities, and my twitter feed, I know I have to say something now.

There is no aftermath, there is no meantime.

Over the past week, I’ve been inundated with the problems we face not as black (or brown or white or insert race here), not as women, not as Californians, not as Americans, not as people, not even as a planet, but as stars. It’s as though all these little bits of star dust that have morphed over time into roses and children, salamanders and throw blankets, cats and cars are all about to go supernova. There’s an energy of abundant devastation sweeping from one living thing to another. From one source of energy to the next, creating a pipeline of chaos and muddled thinking. The planet is breaking under the weight of the life it supports and the heat we create, the animals are disappearing from view and play, the air grows thick and dark as our bodies become heavy and slow. The depth of our dumb can only be measured in pudding and Facebook relevance. We’re only moving as fast as our thumbs and forgetting to look up. We’re raped and raping. Plundered and plundering. We’re watching ourselves get lost. This hopelessness is palpable and contagious. The anger and fight is infectious and spreading.

I think we’re dying to wake up.


This is our dream – realized and pure in it’s deranged logic. The natural course of our evolution has steered us so far into the weeds for so long, we’re not even sure what the road looks like. The path is legend, wives-tale. An unattainable potential for symbiotic and conscious coexistence with the other facets of our beings. We don’t remember what it’s like to be human but for short instances of clarity, temporary touches of awe and grace, and a few brief moments of beauty. And how could we? We’re too busy being machines. Our nature is now to touch keyboards, not grass. To stare fully into a screen, not each others eyes. To observe with voyeur privilege and enjoy silent judgement. Anonymity clouding Self to the point that Self has all but forgotten it’s no longer seen. And some of us can live our whole lives this way. But many of us, yes we’re dying to wake up.

And those that seek to awaken see the buckling, the bend and expansion of space and time, the instability of the entire house of cards and understand that this collection of star dust that we call the human race will not die silently, but violently. As explosively and cataclysmically as every star that has ever died before. If we are but star dust, our destiny is shared with the reflections of us we only witness far from other humans in a clear night sky. But before we die, individually, culturally, or globally, we must be feeling this need to make amends. This desire to see what the entire point has been and see, if only for a moment, if we got anything right. If in the history of our turn to run free on this planet, we were able to do some of the right stuff. If we were able to connect the dots. If we are ever able to forgive ourselves and each other for never knowing what the fuck we were doing in the first place. If somehow, we’ll look at anyone else and love them, for they are a part of the whole thing as we are a part of them and they us and this mess wouldn’t be here if any single one expression of the universe didn’t land the way it had.

This is not defeatist. With so many catastrophes, so many broken systems and back rooms deals, with so much emphasis put on so much imaginary human made properties, it’s really quite overwhelming to wake up. How do you pick what to fight for? How do you start? Where do you start? How can you possibly see it all? We need the fire starters and the riot leaders. We need people to go up to bat for the rest of the species and for some people to stay asleep. We have to have those that fight fire with fire, and some who fight fire with water. We are born to fight for our place here – which is so short, so precious. We are born to love for our place here, as short and as precious as it is. There is no shame in following your path to awakening.

I am water to the fire. I am not here to fight with fire, and though my anger may grow and my light my dim, I am here to heal the wounds we are destined to have. Wounds we are fated to feel. As any cycle in the forest, any eruption of the the earth, we are born of fire. We are born of the burning off for the new to take root and learn from the truths, nutrients, and realities left to us by the devastation. As any star, we will supernova. Our collapse, just as confounding and spectacular. Our black hole, as pure and empty as any death you have taken time to contemplate and understand. But this is certain. How will you fight for your right to pass with grace? How will you wake up?

May we, you, I wake up and see the energy that links us all so we may pass in peace.

I believe in beauty.

I still believe in beauty.


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