One of the things I’ve discovered in dropping Hanging Gardens in some different locations around town is that there are a whole lot of different ceiling situations to deal with. Some are more difficult than others, and the hope is that I can come up with a few standardized approaches that fit most, as in say 95% of mounting situations. Honestly, I’m excited about the challenge, as solving the mounting challenges is beginning to reveal other opportunities that will help flush out the full potential of the Hanging Garden and will enhance its potential as a kit system usable to anyone who wants to turn that dead corner, porch or balcony into an ecological garden.
Here’s the latest. I had the good fortune of a temporary install at the Hummingbird Nest Ranch in Simi Valley over Winter Solstice evening, when Evonne Heyning, Tirza Hollenhorst and friends put together a fabulous Dance to Freedom event. Already exhausted from the two week treehouse adventure, I had about six hours before the party started to figure out how to mount the Hanging Garden under a huge beam to which I could not attach any screws, except along the hidden top, and over which it was impossible to run any ropes or cables. I had to “side mount,” and wasn’t sure how to pull it off.
When I finally did pull it off, managing to keep the bad and the ugly from view, I joined the party, spread the biz cards and then as often happens, got the better, cleaner, more elegant and not to mention cheaper, design solution in meditation a few days after it was all over and at the most inconvenient hour… 🙂
The exciting point is that in this solution however is the beginning of an idea of how to quietly integrate water/nutrient delivery that can be flushed out as needed with future installations. The exploration contines and stay tuned, and I must say thanks to Evo, Brent, Pardox, Ed, Lance, Geisty, Tea Faerie, Fuzzy and a lot of others (pardon me if I didn’t include your name…) for sharing yourselves and an amazing evening under the stars and in the cushest horse stables this side of Appalachia…
The last few weeks have been a great learning and a great challenge. Remember the date of my last blog post? December 3. That was right after LAPD came down from Dodger Stadium and did their best to put the idea of open society, at least on the steps of City Hall, into indefinite detention. Not that it was their doing entirely, and not that it was necessarily their personal will to do so.
I was there, very much a part of it, playing cat and mouse with the best of the Boys in Blue. I had just wanted to attend the General Assembly after the Philip Horvath install but fate had an encore performance waiting in the wings.
The whole ordeal left me grieving, looking within, feeling at times heartbroken, betrayed, liberated, uncertain, helpless, compelled to act, even as I worked on a two week, weekend-less tear, building in the interim a tree house with the O2 Treehouse crew (pics coming soon), recovering from a computer virus and dropping a pair of hanging gardens at the Dance to Freedom Winter Solstice event while running all night on fumes, finally catching my breath here on the Sugar Shack rooftop on Christmas Day. Whew!
You might think of it this way; last night I had a dream in which I was driving with a friend in a pickup truck that had no brake pedal, and whose gear stops were marked all wrong – think “Drive” meaning “Neutral” – maybe. As I found myself in the truck, I was in the backseat, him “driving” from the passenger seat, his left hand occasionally adjusting the steering wheel and nobody in the driver’s seat at all. Somehow he was making it work, somehow getting us up the highway, and it seemed an incomprehensible magic.
Once upon a time I would have been content to sit there in the backseat, admiring his … what? Genius? Charisma? Balls? … and wondering what was wrong with me that I didn’t have the same. But this time I had to taste the experience of driving. I was afraid of course but it was a matter of my manhood. It was a matter of laying on my deathbed someday and saying “I don’t have any regrets.” It was a matter of getting to learn what there was to learn, of getting to fulfill my promise as a human being in this lifetime.
So I offered to drive at our first stop and took the wheel. I managed to get the vehicle out of the driveway and onto the street. Except when I pressed where the brake should be, the vehicle would accelerate backwards.
I had no control, yet I discovered there was help. The help too was confusing, but there were people suddenly about, offering some sort of guidance about how to control the vehicle and pushing from outside so that it would stop or steer in the right direction. I sensed that I might be able to control the vehicle when I did the incomprehensible: trust, practice discipline and pay attention while sitting in that moving deathtrap… and I even felt a little sad that I hadn’t taken the chance earlier.
And wasn’t it a bit obvious how out of practice I was, that I was just getting it now? But then maybe that moment of shame was really the price of admission, the sign that I had for the first time truly committed to the drive. This is perhaps, what it is to be alive.
So what does the dream have to do with the promise behind Occupy, or with getting Vertecology to full-throttle? Maybe lots.
I spent quite a bit of time after the Occupy raid thinking about how it might have gone had I been more prepared and thus not been totally out of my head for the first hour after the cops showed up. I saw with some bitterness the excuses and paradigms that we free Americans have bought all our lives about how life goes: that punishment, outcomes and the monolithic power of “the system” are inevitable and saviors are on the way when they aren’t. And I began to see that perhaps it has been those assumptions that have kept us from trusting, practicing, paying attention… and growing in our abilities long before Occupy was a glimmer the media chose to ignore.
What if the Occupiers had met the LAPD with utter silence throughout the raid, those on the front lines calmly looking into the eyes of the police with the same discipline that the police themselves held? Or what might have happened had a contingent of Occupiers realized that there is only one road out of Dodger Stadium and simply parked five vehicles across the already police-barricaded lanes and lay down in the road when the scanners got busy? Maybe they might have stalled the raid long enough for the sun to rise and rush hour to begin. What if I personally had planned in advance to get arrested and effectively gain a microphone thereby, preparing my community, setting it up the way one plans a two week vacation and returning to a world that planted gardens in the streets just because I asked? Why hadn’t I thought of these things in time, or been able to communicate them effectively to the thousands of others there with me? I had had the sense to meditate through my fear and dispel it and have a liberating personal experience, and yet, why hadn’t I become clear enough to change the outcome that night rather than maybe at some indefinite point in the future?
What has begun to release me from the grief is the understanding that the what-if scenarios would have been second grade responses, though we were effectively in the first grade. We can be expected in the first grade to add and subtract but not to do calculus; to effectively show the general public that they are not alone, and to reveal the bitterness we have all been tasting as a Great Betrayal and not our own failure for not being marketable commodities. We cannot yet be expected to create an open society so compelling that the LAPD forgets its lines, though as long as we keep our eyes on the road and not what we did wrong, calculus and an “A” on the exam are coming. We all have a much richer understanding of the game than we did three months ago and my what-if scenarios, once they’re uncoupled from beating myself up, point clearly in the direction of my commitment.
In the dream of the pickup truck I got a gentle reminder that the knowledge of how to do anything, whether it’s building an open society that makes its opposition forget their lines or building a brand capable of helping ease that open society into being… comes with a lot of practice on the field of play and a lot of patience with ourselves. It’s actually good news that I’m feeling lost on how to drive the truck, for now I’m testing the controls rather than living the illusion that it’s obvious or obviously magic, and that either way I “should” already know. I’m actually more empowered though I may feel less so.
And so we sit here sandwiched between the Dawn of the Age of Aquarius and the dawn of 2012, and to some of you that may mean everything, and to some of you nothing at all, nevertheless, it’s a great time to be sharing this insight with you. I am humbled and yet more than ever noticing the texture of the gravel under my feet on the road to greatness (or whatever it is). Everything from a new mounting system for the Hanging Garden dreamed up as a matter of necessity on Solstice night to building an open society worthy of who we are, and everything in between, is a challenge worth taking on. Let it be a year of evolving our way home. (It can be no other way of course, just sayin’ 🙂 ).