Addressing the Tiki Bros of Willful Ignorance Within Myself

Addressing the Tiki Bros of Willful Ignorance Within Myself

Hey University of Nevada, Reno friends, one of the tiki-terrorist guys in Charlotte is from UNR. Do you know him? If so, please find him and talk to him, or direct him to me, before he gets any more people killed. Three have already died in Charlotte. Countless others have been terrorized by him and his friends around the world now. Let’s shut it down, Wolfpack. Now.

***

Hello, tiki-wielding white guys. From here, this march of yours in Charlotte isn’t freedom of speech. It isn’t adulthood or manhood. It’s not a revolution. And it damn sure isn’t being patriotic. This is intentional violence against the spirit, heart, and soul of this country. Against all of us who work and play together to make this country better for ourselves and future generations. This isn’t 1930. You look ridiculous and pathetic so trapped in a delusional past. And, this country as a whole now looks ridiculous and pathetic and trapped in the past in the eyes of the watching world. I, for one, am not ashamed to be out in the light. The world should see this. If for no other reason, to feel better about themselves. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. And, because our need for each other now spans country borders as if they don’t actually exist at all except in our imaginations.

This need to wield torches and march with a small group of other angry white guys intent on striking terror into the hearts of everyone else–from my perspective–is about you not having the truly strong community that you need. You likely have been raised to blame yourself and other individual selves for the problems of the world. The lift-yourself-up-by-your-own-bootstraps shtick. I was, too. I get it. And, its possible to grow fully into that and beyond that. I’ve been helped to grow into recognizing that close, diverse, and tight-knit communities are what most of us need to thrive in the hyper-connected, chaotic world now. The kind of rich community that helps us learn to own our own pain (there’s honoring the bootstraps idea–hear it?), learn how to move with it more fluidly (this was new for me), and how to move through life lifting everyone around me up instead of blaming myself and others, carrying torches, and mowing other people down with my car (this is fully owning the shadow side of bootstraps, which in the past were also seen as useful for beating children into submission–ah, the good old days?).

We all need people who call us on our bullshit while simultaneously loving us and not giving up on us. When we don’t get that we wither, flail, and lash out. To keep growing, we need more people and different people in our lives. Growing means regularly hearing that you don’t have all the answers (damn it), that you’re valuable and loved regardless (thank God), and it also means periodically walking away from those who believe it’s their job to hurt us. Learning often hurts but love doesn’t. We can trust our tender hearts on this one. And here in adulthood we know full well: the people we often need the most next–to mature and grow–very often don’t look at all like us on the outside. The people we need next can only be identified by how they make us feel. They stretch us. Make us more curious about the world. They also make us feel more free to be ourselves: the fearless, learning, growing selves we were at our core when we came into this world. This means we’re more playful in their presence. And more free to reveal our shadow sides. Our hatreds and deep fears.

There are a lot of us in the world suffering from a lack of true community now. In the white world in the U.S., many of us live in isolated bubbles because of our wealth or our long-ago-divided neighborhoods/towns/cities or our failing local economy and job loss or the deep fears and persistent assumptions and biases of our families, and for some of us it’s all of the above. I agree with you that our ancestors were amazing. Both of my grandmothers left their rural homes as children so that they could attend more school. One grandmother defied her own mother after she pulled her out of school because she wanted more help at home with all the younger children. At just 12, my grandmother snuck onto her father’s wagon as it left the farm yard, convinced him to take her hours away to a Catholic school and let her live there indefinitely, and then on the fly convinced a group of nuns and a priest to let her move into the school’s attic because all their student rooms were full. Just so she could keep learning. At 12 years old. That was back in the days when many in the U.S. didn’t count Irish immigrants as white people. I have ancestors who hid their accents and changed their names to get bank loans (this explains a lot about my family’s persistent belief in trying to just fit in). That grandmother became a teacher, then a farmer, then a mother, grandmother, great grandmother, and sustainable gardening and living guru. She died just two-weeks short of her 100th birthday. For decades she was considered nutty by many neighbors because she believed that sugar in American diets was our true enemy…

And.

The shadow side of what our ancestors did here, and still do here, is long. Very long. It’s a gaping wound that generations of people have been traumatized and that many of us have spent trying to heal by denying others’ truths, looking the other way, or by throwing Band-Aids at poorly understood problems from a safe, intellectually cold distance. This isn’t a conservative or a progressive issue. It’s an American issue. A human issue. We need to heal generational trauma and we can’t do it separately or only with people who look a lot like us. We’ve tried that. It doesn’t work.

And, we’ve made a lot of progress. In this country today, Nazis intent on spreading pain, terror, destruction, and violence across communities lose the respect of grown women and men, lose the respect of most of their peers, and, more and more, they lose their jobs. Hatred as a constant state of being isn’t sustainable, it eats away at us like a cancer, and life-loving humans won’t stand for it. We’ve already fought several wars about this (start by Googling U.S. Civil War or World War II). The fear-mongering, wall-building folks always lose eventually. Always. Because connecting to more of life–not walling yourself off from it–is the approach that actually heals and actually works. How do more casualties to a dying cause help anyone at all?

There are billions of better ways to vent your frustrations, pain, and anger. Connect to someone new, someone outside your bubble, and find another way.

***

Friends, may we loudly and persistently demand BETTER of ourselves all the way up to the highest elected offices, until all the tiki bros hear our message, even while they’re golfing. Or tweeting.

Looking the other way doesn’t work anymore. Not that it ever did.

***

We do not fear you, tiki bros. Frankly, we can’t anymore.

We (well, empaths like me anyway) are sorry for your pain. I’m sorry for all pain, because I can often feel others’ pain in my chest until I can’t breathe. And, I am one of billions of humans who won’t allow you to spread terror across this world until you burn it to the ground. Because that’s where unexamined, unchecked, stuck and festering hatred–the deliberate cutting yourself off from all life–ends. It burns everyone near it. We won’t build walls. We won’t allow you to spread fear to those we hold dear–which, hello, its 2017, means a whole lot of people of color, people in the LGBTQ+ community, people with disabilities, people of all ages, people with life-altering diseases, people in other countries, women, and some animals, plants, and trees who comfort us on the days when humanity’s pain is too much. We will play together. Dance together. Learn together. Laugh and weep. Together.

Those of us connected to all of life can’t fear you anymore. We can fear for our lives and our communities, sure, but we can’t fear you. Not anymore. You just look small and sad and highly unlikely to ever get laid again there locked inside a fading 1930s-era fear bubble of isolation with a bunch of other angry white dudes. Even with your guy in the white house. Your faces shine out from Twitter and Facebook in torch light looking like the saddest, most lonely and lost little boys in the world trying to find their way home having stolen their parents’ old party torches. You look like the little boys in Lord of the Flies with not a single playful spirit and true elder among you. The entire rest of the world does not want to be in that fading fear bubble with you.

We want you to come out here. Come out and play with life.

Come out here and truly be with us–learning, wandering, working, playing, struggling, eating, and laughing together. Don’t mistake the people knocking on your door, asking you to come outside to play, for torch-wielding villagers. We may be hurting. But the torch-wielding villagers are only in your mirror.

***

Friends, those of us connected to the wider world–those of us who love life as a result–must speak out. Let’s not let homegrown white terrorists create yet another new and ridiculous hate-elevating flag, maybe this time with a Fox News logo and a tiki torch on it, imagining themselves as the next ISIS (minus the fake Islam, and adding a fake Jesus, of course), and showing up to march in more towns. Let’s not let these guys be the face of white America. This is the face of unchecked arrogance and ignorance run amok. This is not me! Or is it? This is also the face of kind and open and listening and loving white people not calling their own family and friends on pure bullshit every time they hear it. Not being aware of each other’s pain, let alone helping each other out, when we’re at our most angry, vulnerable, or terrified. We used to be afraid to do so–trapped behind our own walls.

Then we saw the tiki bros and something clicked within us–at least, within this white woman. Wait. These guys? We were afraid of these guys. The farm boys and frat boys we grew up with? Those who needed a lot more kindness than they ever got at home? Those who hated themselves. What were we thinking fearing these guys?!

Let’s commit, Gen Xers and Millennials and all kick-ass Boomers not inclined to give up despite years of struggle. Let’s commit to connecting to more of life. To tapping into her full resources and growing and changing like healthy, living, life-loving beings. Its up to us. If you haven’t already, educate yourself about how to build community and how to approach hatred like this. The world is full of leaders and hard-won wisdom about how to do this, and you’ll make many new friends in the process. Start here if you’re wondering where to start: start here with ten ways to fight hate in your community. Or start here if you’re most curious about how to build a new or stronger community.

Let’s talk to friends and make agreements to support each other in having difficult conversations. I will not be afraid of difficult conversations–with family, neighbors, coworkers–with anyone who I could imagine showing up in Charlotte to cause terror and reopen generational trauma and wounds in communities of color. The love, listening, and willingness to learn and laugh at our core are protection enough for humanity as a whole.

I’m going to speak up more. Every time I feel strong enough to do so, which will be more often, not less so, in the future. My close-knit diverse community of lovely humans, yoga classes and gym membership, and tree advisors will see to that. I’ve dedicated myself to learning and to doing what it takes to become strong enough so that I can speak out against bullshit bigotry and trapped/stuck/spinning-in-our-own-hatred every single time.

We are stronger than we know.

Let’s take back what it means to be human, and what it means to be white (if that’s a label you carry), from the utterly ridiculous, embarrassing, and horrifying Tiki Bros of Willful Ignorance. Because the world doesn’t need another terrorist organization. The world doesn’t have to burn to bring forth massive change–these are the illusions of young people who cannot find truly playful and strong elders to lean on when they need to lean.

Playful elders live a wider truth: the world herself heals us when we set our torches down.

Shattering

Shattering

I wrote this three years ago and somehow forgot to publish it. Its about to become an essay in my new book Unshaken Wonder, which will reach others in October 2017. I’m posting it here now for my friend Clay Forsberg. In part, in response to his lovely new essay Staying Strong. Stay strong, Clay! You’ve got this…

Shattering

I shattered this year as my family shattered.

My mother has Alzheimer’s disease. My father’s been caregiving for 9 years and his own health and well-being and attitude have taken a hit. My sister and I are care partners for both of them now. My extended family has been in a court battle over my grandparents’ estate for a year and a half. Too many of my once-close family can’t stand each other now. So much anger. Some days I choke on it.

Many in my family won’t speak to each other at all now. Some quietly drifted away. Some cut ties with us because they can’t handle our pain on top of their own. One I cut ties with because after a year of inflexible rage I realized that I was actually talking to a wall, not a person, and so was she. I’ve been told my poetry is experienced by some as bashing the family and that my immediate family is no longer experienced as part of the larger family. Some are certain that their ties are broken forever. Some cry for weeks on end. Those not speaking to each other tend to make wild assumptions about the motives and stories being told by the other side. There are apparently “sides” now and a lot of us don’t recognize that taking sides and creating sides are the same thing. Several of the people who spent decades teaching me to love tried—and failed—to teach me to hate. Game changer! It’s bizarre. They rage at each other. Rage to anyone who’ll listen, actually. Sometimes they appear to enjoy imagining and saying the worst. Many feel torn in half. Betrayed. I know I do.

If you want to remain in the Keep Calm and Carry On world forever, by all means, don’t come here. Don’t enter the space between.

Here we rage. We fail. We scream. We yell. We weep. We make huge, unforgiveable mistakes. We fight. We flee. We watch our hands become axes as we cut ties with those we love/hate/must move away from just to survive. Wonder if those sharp axes will ever be reimagined into poet’s hands again.

Here we shatter.

We shatter.

From Keep Calm and Carry On Land, we may appear crazy. Out of control. Scary. Broken. Dangerous.

Oh but we aren’t. We are living a different kind of life is all: a wilder, wider, always-moving-now life.

One life is a pond. It is calm and serene on the surface. Its danger is stagnation and limited self-reflection pointing only at the sky. In humans this can show up as stability. Without shatter, though, it can also show up as rigidity, self-righteousness, losing touch with beyond-self reality, and choking on a festering stew of your own judgments and imagined monsters. I don’t have to imagine this. I live it.

Life within the shatter is more like a river. Its danger is flooding and overwhelm. In humans, this can show up as flexibility, empathy, and exploring the nature of things far beyond the self/pond. Without some stability, though, it can also show up as being so far out of control that you visibly cause harm to yourself and anyone in your path. I don’t have to imagine this life either. I live with shatter every day now.

Shattering is not easy. The shattering of my mom‘s former self and memory is heartbreaking some days: wonder-filled and awe-inspiring and beyond amazing other days. This past year, the shattering of my entire family was so heartbreaking it felt like I was going to die. In case you’re wondering, I didn’t.

Instead, I became a family elder. Cut ties with some relatives (and some cut ties with me) to have more energy for supporting my parents, sister, aunt, cousins, husband, and self.

I became sillier. I binge watched all 153 episodes of Gilmore Girls on Netflix to mend my broken heart. A show that I’d never watched before and written off in passing as ridiculous, harmful, sexist, girly pop-culture brainless fluff. (Gosh, I’m not judgmental at all, am I?). The show mended a little girl’s broken heart. This little girl, age 44. My sister and I then reimagined ourselves as an improv comedy caregiving troupe: Team Jinda.

I became a dragon. I spoke my truth in person, in poetry, and in essays and drew the wrath of extended family, who screamed “You know that’s not true!” at me for sharing my perspective. It worked. Those previously inclined to rage at my exhausted father and my pregnant sister turned their eyes and their rage on me. Or tried to anyway. It’s remarkably hard to fuck with a dragon: especially a poet dragon who works part time as part of an improv comedy troupe. I am a person now comfortable in the presence of pure rage. Yours and mine.

Those who appear crazy, out of control, dangerous, scary, or broken don’t scare me as much now. Those who rage, scream, flail, yell, weep, fight, flee, or make unforgiveable mistakes don’t scare me either.

That’s just my people.

People who shattered. Survived. And got remarkably fluid, powerful, and silly in the process. We got stronger.

We move together like a river now. More powerful, and broken, than before.

We mix metaphors like fancy cocktails with little umbrellas.

Here within the shatter, the sign in the window always glows Open. Wide Open, actually.

Except for the brief moments it glows Get the Fuck Out and Let’s Try Again Next Year.

That’s what staying strong looks like for us now.

Stay strong, my friend!

Playing Giant Free-Range Rubber Chicken Idea Ping Pong in the Field of Imagination

Playing Giant Free-Range Rubber Chicken Idea Ping Pong in the Field of Imagination

In late February 2017 before the gray skies here on Whidbey became blue, I looked out the window and saw a poem, about a dead tree, in the middle of the just-barely-beginning-to-bud forest. I called the poem Life 101. I eventually saw it for what it was: a poem for my friend Bernie DeKoven.

Six weeks later, in still-gray early April, my long-time friend and mentor Bernie DeKoven—the very friend who I was dedicating my new and most playful book to—shared with us that he has been diagnosed with the kind of cancer that ends your body’s time on earth, no matter how ridiculously cool and very much needed by everyone you are. He has a year to live, at most, the doctors’ say. The moment I heard, I got so angry. I cursed the universe, and life herself, as I wept and wondered how I would manage to honor his request. This request:

What I need is for you to continue your play/work however you can. Play games. Play the kind of games I like to teach – you know, those “funny games” – harmlessly intimate, vaguely physical games of the semi-planned, spontaneous, just-for-fun ilk, basically without equipment, or goal, or score or reason, even.

Teach those games to everyone. Play them outside, these games. In public. With friends. And strangers. As many as want to play with you.

Make up your own games. Make them up together with the people who play them. Play. Teach. Invent. Play some more.

Also especially – look into this playfulness thing too. Deeply. Because we’re not talking just games here. We’re talking about how you can let yourself be as playful as you’ve always been, how you can be playful almost anywhere with almost anyone, how you can invite people to be playful with you, in school and office and in the checkout line: all kinds of people with all kinds of abilities from all kinds of backgrounds.

Maybe download a free copy of A Playful Path, even.

But I wasn’t quite done being angry.

Jesus, Bernie, I thought. Really?

Be playful? Right here in this moment? In THIS year?! In this terrible, horrible, pain-in-the-ass, this-totally-sucks, you-give-us-f#$&ing-Trump-but-take-our-beloved-Bernie year? The year my mom’s Alzheimer’s disease will likely land my father in the hospital and her in a memory care facility? It’s like 2017 was specifically designed to make me give up, defeated, shouting “Screw you, universe!” from under the bed.

But then, there you are my dear, wonderful, stupid-head Bernie.

There you are: already being playful.

Still doing your daily play/work in the world, plus bringing in more playful swings to your local park. Still being my playful muse/mentor/friend. And doing the same for so many, many others, too. You’re just, just… what?

You’re just so damn beautiful.

The love and kindness that you share with Rocky, your kids and grandkids, neighbors, old friends, and new friends? The play/work you share with us? The videos. The talks. The games. The websites. The blog posts. All of it.

It’s just so beautiful.

God dammit, Bernie. How am I supposed to be the playful being that I want to be without you here?

Without you around, who am I going to bounce ideas across our country to as if the country is just a giant ping-pong table, with a Rocky Mountains net, and our ideas just giant bouncing balls to play with?

Or wait, no. Rubber chickens.

Ooo, yeah! Giant Free-Range Rubber Chicken Idea Ping Pong.

How fun would that be? No. That’s not quite right, is it?

How fun it’s been! How lucky we have been. You and I have been playing Giant Free-Range Rubber Chicken Idea Ping Pong for more than six years now. I remember the first time that you commented on my blog. Remember blushing to my roots when I realized who you were. It was like Elvis giving advice to his most star-struck, teenage fan (well, an older Elvis and a very old teenage fan). 😉

And I remember the day you told us that you’d turned down a professorship so that you could just keep on doing what you do–the writing and the playing and the speaking and the wandering. I did that once too, about 8 years back. I didn’t fully know why then, but now, my friend, I do. It was saying no to them that allowed me to play this game with you. What a gift. What a solid choice based on nothing much more than intuition. Hmmm…

Bernie, wherever you go and whenever you go, I’ll still come meet you in the warm evening sun. Right here, within the field of imagination, on our country-sized ping-pong table with our playful ideas flying in directions both silly and profound, and sometimes going in wholly unexpected directions like so many rubber chicken balls. Just ask Mahatma Gandhi. I’ve been playing ping pong with him since I was 11 years old. He’s been dead the whole time, and he still kicks my ass regularly.

I suspect that you and I will be playing Giant Free-Range Rubber Chicken Idea Ping Pong as long as it’s fun for us. Which—given our skill level, general love of play, and abiding love and faith in each other—will be long after both of our bodies are gone.

We may have to give up the body when the body says it’s done, but we don’t have to give up playing, player.

Not now. Not ever.

Because you and I—playing together—are what the universe herself wants to be.

Reclaiming Inimitable Joy

Reclaiming Inimitable Joy

I was contacted this week by a lovely Canadian gentleman who runs a coworking space in Alberta who wants to talk to me next week about coworking, community, play, and collaboration. Fun! And how lovely to be reminded that not everyone on earth is bogged down by the political cluster-F happening in our country this week (or should I say month? year? maybe decade? I can’t decide).
 
Anyway, this lovely young gentleman told me he’d found my name in a blog post on Bernie DeKoven‘s website. Geez. That Bernie. He’s a peach even when he’s not trying. So, I typed my name into the deepfun.com search engine to find the post and—low and behold—there I was! Mentioned! By my friend/mentor/play guru/elder! Not just the once (which I remembered), and not just twice even, but NINE times do I show up in this treasured database of connection and fun and play and games. Bernie’s quite a writer, and, I must admit, not only when he’s writing about me. Heh heh. But I digress…
 
In doing this search, I came across a post called “Inimitable Joy” that includes this 2013 video of Natalie Kinsey (aka Pinky), Bernie (aka Blue), and me (aka Batman’s mama) having a playful, thinky, silly, meandering, apparently purposeless, and yet visibly getting more and more fun conversation. The last third of this video is so fun for me to watch that it made gratitude tears slide down my cheeks. I looked down to my lap during the last third of the video and found that Batman the cat had even shown up. He was curled in my lap, purring, and watching the video, too. Yes, Bernie, Nat, and I become so adorable together—so in love with each other and playing together—that cats watch us on the Internet!
Its been a rough week/month/year here. And yet thanks to this video, I remembered myself. 
Oh yes, Inimitable Joy! Unique, unrepeatable, bone-deep-for-me joy. I do know how to do that. That’s what inimitable joy that feels like. I do have that inside me! 
And that’s what these two have given me for years now, longer than even they know. From decades back when they were my childhood imaginary friends, to four years back when we played together via a Google+ hangout, to just this week, when I read their latest blog posts, and beyond. There are no limits to who I can be when I’m with them. No limits to who we are when we’re together. When I’m with them, I am my river self. My ocean self. My bad-ass-beyond-all-logic-and-reason self. I hold unshaken wonder and inimitable joy within me!
Once we humans taste inimitable joy like this, I suspect that it’s flat out impossible to settle for anything less for very long. Actually, I know this fully. Know it in my bones. As a poet. As a community and self-organizing groups researcher. As a community story wrangler. Coworking space holder. Neighborhood event co-inventor. Work re-inventor. Small business human. Alzheimer’s care partner. Editor. Daughter. Spouse. Friend. Cat mom.
I know that once we humans taste inimitable joy, it becomes flat out impossible to settle for anything less for very long. Because we’re bigger—and part of something bigger—than we were before. But the word suspect makes me sound so much more flexible and cool and open, don’t you think? So I’m sticking with “suspect” here…

Once we humans taste inimitable joy, I suspect it’s flat out impossible to settle for anything less for very long.

And the cool thing about humans is that we’re such connected and intuitive beings that just witnessing inimitable joy–like we demonstrate in the last third of the video in particular–is all it takes to make us stubborn as shit about claiming and reclaiming joy for ourselves and those we love.
So the politicians can fling their mud today. And their attorneys can spin their spin and go in for the win again, today. And the media can fight over who gets to show the most silencing and violence. That’s such a tiny part of the human experience: why imagine it as a bigger part of us than it is? That part of us is like a handful of sand tossed into an ocean, I think my buddy Gandhi said.
I still sit with that part of us now and then. It’s part of us too. But I know that violence and silencing is not why I’m here. I’m here to be dreaming, wandering, reflecting, welcoming, and wondering:
  • How do we reclaim our inimitable joy? The deep, unique joy of living? Our birthright as earthlings?
  • How do we become a whole beautiful world again of kind, laughing, and playing elders? With sparkles in our eyes? Worthy of the kind, laughing, playing beings that we bring into the world? And
  • How do we become so adorable again together that cats want to watch silly human videos on the Internet instead of vice versa?
When I forget, I’ll return to these humans, this silliness, and this video, and I’ll remember.
My dearest Bernie. My tree-haired, kindred wanderer Natalie.
I will remember.
So will Batman.
A Creators’ Bill of Rights and Responsibilities

A Creators’ Bill of Rights and Responsibilities

  1. Right to lose our way often. Creators have the right to wander, wend, and get lost as often as possible. To support each other in being lost, we listen first and at least as twice as long as we speak, and we share each other’s work and stories with the world. If we are asked to speak by another creator or world citizen who is struggling with being lost (not all do), we offer clues—not answers—as gifts for each other to find. Answers aren’t as interesting or useful as clues. Most days. We deeply love getting lost, finding our way, and offering clues for other wanders to find.
  2. Right to play. Creators can play whenever, wherever, however, and with whomever we choose, as long as we accept the responsibility to 1) invite all those that we impact to join us and 2) change the game together, on the fly, to suit the players and neighbors present with us.[1] As Bernie says, “The players are more important than the game.” Earthlings deeply love play and improvisation and imagination and experimenting. All our children know this.
  3. Right to bask within difference. Creators are encouraged and supported in celebrating the different, the odd, the strange, the weird, the curious, the queer, the unexplainable, the horrible, the unshaken wonder within, and the outcast within ourselves and each other. We creators succeed in life in direct proportion to our ever-expanding and contracting ability to do this, and most of us set up daily and weekly rituals to practice doing just this. We deeply love curiosity and difference and outcasts and oddness, because we are all of that. As we stay with it, together, we come to love all of it. All of us.
  4. Right to trust humanity. Creators assume the best of humans and offer the benefit of the doubt to other humans without fear of being lied to, injured, taken advantage of, or killed. When we find that we cannot do this on our own, then we ask for help, accept help, and we help each other find people among whom we can try again. And we keep on practicing. We deeply love feeling safe in the presence of other human beings—particularly with those remarkably different from us—because this helps us feel safe when we’re alone and when we create and more confident and humble wherever we go.
  5. Right to be yourself and be celebrated. Earthlings are celebrated for being here, and being exactly who we are, from birth to death and in all the spaces in between. This is true whether we can see it and feel it yet or not and whether the humans physically present around us opt to participate or not. Trees, birds, soil, wind, stars, ancestors, and elders, for example, celebrate us all. When we aren’t able to be ourselves and feel celebrated, we tend to move and go get lost for a while. Or, to celebrate others to learn celebration skills. We deeply love to celebrate and be celebrated. Celebration eases the pain of loss, loneliness, illness, and death that are part of this beautiful life too. We deeply love all forms of celebration, even those that look and sound nothing like our own, and we love finding new holidays and learning new ways to celebrate.
  6. Right to receive an almost overwhelming amount of help from the place you live. Creators listen to the voice of a whole place before taking action. This means listening to the sounds and beings that your ears can hear when you’re outside, ideally walking or sitting on the ground, or inside with several windows open. For example, to change your part of town, listen to the people who show up; the birds, insects, and animals that show up; the sounds of the wind, plants, buildings, bodies of water, stars, vehicles, music, and any other sounds present; the ancestors now part of the ground and the sky; and then listen to the interactions between these things. Strive to be connected enough to learn from other whole places and beings taking or considering similar action. We deeply love this place we call home. She loves us back: which we can only figure out fully when we slow down and listen fully.
  7. Right to be a complete mess. It is not uncommon to see creators making complete fools of ourselves. We learn to proudly, openly share our works in progress, work that didn’t quite work, work that REALLY didn’t work, and work we’re stuck on and cannot proceed further on without help. We visibly ask for forgiveness when our fear accidentally hurts others. Proudly, openly ask for other perspectives and help. Proudly, openly share our difficulties, and our gifts, with our world, no matter how different or painful or odd they seem to ourselves or others. Proudly, openly weep and laugh. We deeply love earthlings, being earthlings, and all the messiness that attends us. Feeling broken? Emotional? Completely lost? Bring it on, baby! Creators can handle the mess because we love the mess and share the load as friends and community. We learn young here: there is so much art within the mess!
  8. Right to forgiveness. Creators make mistakes, try again, make amends, and receive forgiveness everywhere we go. We love spending time with new people and trying new things: both result in mistakes being made. Mistakes are part of our process. We learn to love being wrong or partly wrong as much as we love being right, because we—and those touched by our work and our selves—learn more (or perhaps we just remember better and longer?) when we’re wrong than when we’re right. This wouldn’t be possible without forgiveness and strong, generous, connected, wise, and wildly different communities. We deeply love living in a world so committed to experimenting, learning, growing, community, celebration of difference, and forgiveness.
  9. Right to not feel the need to receive apologies. Creators rarely expect others to apologize for being themselves, because we have the ability to move away (and we love to move), to imagine ourselves as others (and we love to imagine), and to create and believe rich, complex back stories (and we love to create). See #5. Creators prefer to focus on our creations and ourselves—looking inward to ourselves, our muses, our work, our nature (hello tree, my old friend), and our creator groups for solace and sense-making most days. We also know that we’ll mess up on this one because we’re human (fortunately, see #6, #7, and #8). Humans have expectations of others, and it often takes much of an individual lifetime of practice to let go of that need. Plants, animals, birds, insects, plants, stars, and soil are all far better at this one. Watch and listen to them to learn this.[2] To show our respect for world citizens who differ from us on this, we apologize to those who need our apologies to feel whole. We seek to learn from those who differ from us on this.
  10. Right of shared space and home space. Creators respect our shared spaces, including the field of imagination, by treating them as our home: welcoming, comfortable, natural, and sacred within their messiness. Over time, we tend to blend what we believe to be shared (what citizens call public) space—blurring boundaries every chance we get—and what we believe to be home (what citizens call private) space for ourselves. And even when they overlap entirely, we honor both. We respect other people’s private space as private and our own need sometimes to return home. Just because we often experience this whole planet and universe as shared, and also as home, doesn’t mean all other earthlings can, or do, or want to, or even that we want to all the time. See #16 and #17. We deeply love our shared space and home spaces.
  11. Right to pilot your own friend ship. Creator friendships cross all imagined boundaries and last beyond individual lifetimes. Creators don’t attempt to be whole on their own (most days) and instead draw friends to them whose ways of being and skills and talents and lifestyles and struggles complement and stretch/expand their own. With certain people, our mutual energy expands exponentially. These are the friends we typically create with. Creation requires ample energy, so we move away from people when an energy drain is felt—even away from people we love, aware that movement back is always a possibility. Today, many of us are accustomed to being told that this way of being is wrong, so it’s become a right of passage into maturity for a creator to find peace with being who they are and contentment within being considered wrong by many world citizens. Friendships teach us to honor all energy. We deeply love friendships.
  12. Responsibility to own and evolve our own labels and titles. Creators have a right to experience ourselves as creators and co-creators instead of as a consumer, user, customer, planet destroyer, deplorable, snowflake, troll, wuss, woo woo, or any other lame-ass label human fear tries to force onto us. And. We have the responsibility to visibly live the labels and titles that we create. For example, creators create, barter, trade, swap, repurpose, recycle, grow, make, share, patch, mend, fix, gift, learn to love the old and the broken, forage, find, and live without what we don’t really need anyway, first. Then, we create some more for good measure. Only then do we buy. When we buy, we respect the seasons, respect the place we live, respect the earthlings around us, respect our bodies, and give thanks for what we’ve purchased and to all the makers who made it possible. As we can, we buy and sell with people who live nearby, with kind people, and directly with other creators, makers, artists, neighbors, small farmers, and other close community members who could use our support. Before we buy physical goods from a long distance, creators get a second opinion: we talk to an old tree or old animal first. We listen. If the tree/animal thinks it’s a good idea, then we proceed. Sometimes we get a second tree or animal’s opinion, but usually just for the fun of it. When our labels and titles lose energy, we have the responsibility to experiment, change, and create new ones as visibly as possible. Because we can, and so many others can’t, we accept this responsibility gratefully and we take it seriously in the way a two-year-old takes a toy seriously.
  13. Responsibility to walk in wonder, silliness, and gratitude. Earthlings are living, breathing, adorable, fluffy balls of gratitude, wonder, and silliness when we’re are born. Creators become more so as we gain experience and as we age. We are utterly surrounded by these things as we enter, as we walk in, and as we leave this world. We deeply love gratitude, wonder, and silliness—at all stages of life. Our responsibility is to learn how to stay with these core earthling traits no matter what (animals, creator ancestors, children, and true human elders are the ones to watch) and then to demonstrate them to others, particularly when people’s lives and worlds are falling apart.
  14. Responsibility of bees to make honey. Creators make things, grow things, and create their art or craft as if the whole world depended on it and as if their whole self does. We have the right to create/make/grow without explanation or apology for who we are, when we listen to the whole place we’re in and feel at our core that being who we really are is vitally important—even when we don’t know why yet (which, frankly, is most of the time). Deeply listening humans can trust their intuition. We are allowed to tell anyone who questions our value, including ourselves, to walk out into a field or the woods, find a bee hive, and talk directly to the bees about why they make honey. The bees will explain it better. We deeply love to make, grow, and create and to share our creations with others. That deep love of creation, and others, is enough. As with all these rights, to fully claim this right as our own, creators must experience this right as an innate right of all earthlings, not just humans. And of all world citizens, not just creators.
  15. Responsibility to work on your own—and walk away from others’—total bullshit. We stay present, listen, fight fairly, and fight for each other, instead of against one another. If this is our thing to work on, this is what we do. We are far too connected, and practical, for that work-against-each-other bullshit that some world citizen humans try. For creators, fighting against each other means fighting against ourselves—this flat out doesn’t work for creators. Ask literally any creator ancestor living or dead, human, plant, insect, or animal. Fighting yourself can be a teacher, yes. And still it’s one that you have to let go of to create interesting, new, or curiosity peaking work. Becoming a creator means letting go of the violence and the silencing within us in favor of creating. Again and again and again: this is a life-long daily practice. Humans who believe and do otherwise—who believe in violence and silencing as useful answers—are free to leave our presence as they wish: with our blessings. And we are free to leave their presence: as groups and as individuals. We commit to staying when we can stay—when it is our fight to fight—and to moving away or asking for more help before contempt builds a nest and sets up home within us. We move to regroup and rest and learn and grow and often because we see that it’s not our fight to fight to fight anymore or that with the help of others a fight can be reimagined into a spark and into flow. Those who allow violence and silencing of others to grow and fester within themselves cannot be recognized as leaders by creators. The violence and the silencing plugs their ears so they can’t hear the whole place that they’re in. Cut off from the world herself, they become isolated, predictable, and unable to move in interesting new ways, let alone in wise old ways, with others. Don’t be that guy. 😉 And when you are, forgive yourself, ask for forgiveness, and move on together.
  16. Right to cede your power to a government or organization and still be respected and loved. At the moment, world citizens who don’t claim these inalienable creators’ rights for themselves and their closest others—and who don’t own the responsibilities that attend this much freedom—cede their innate power to their national and state government constitutions and to their employers’ Human Resources policies. Creators who do accept these rights have the responsibility to treat world citizens with kindness and respect even when we don’t receive it in return. Especially when we don’t receive it in return. Because we don’t need to receive kindness and respect to have it—it lives within our communities, our work, our selves, and our home neighborhood, planet, and universe. Some believe that our art is for world citizens more than it is for ourselves. Whether that’s true for you or not (it doesn’t have to be), respecting the place we live means respecting those around us who don’t live, love, work, move, act, think, and worship like we do. We deeply love this place we live, which means loving all people here with us, even those who piss us off to no end, and not just other creators. Respect and kindness is how we demonstrate our love of this place. Many of us most enjoy the presence of other creators, because they allow us to be our whole weird and wild selves. The freest creators among us—elder creators—learn how to learn as much from world citizens who aren’t creators as those who are. Fully free creators can find the creator, and the citizen, in all earthlings. And love us all.
  17. Right to impact the whole world in a positive, lasting way. When we fully enjoy these rights ourselves, we dedicate our lives and our work to supporting those who want to, but can’t, fully enjoy them yet. We deeply love unleashing new creators and new work on the world. If we seek to impact the whole world in a positive way, then this is the direction we creators take. It’s not just about creating new work. Creators create more creators. Creator groups create more creator groups. Creator communities create more creator communities. Now try saying or singing that fast three times. 😉
  18. Responsibility to learn from everyone. This doesn’t mean you have to listen to everyone: we learn a lot by reflecting on who we listen to, who we don’t listen to, and why. This instead reflects the fact that creators can cross more imagined boundaries than other world citizens because of our deep love of doing so. We know that we are as likely to make our next vital connection and breakthrough talking with the woman driving the bus in The Netherlands or dancing with the man who washes dishes in Nigeria or playing with the local street musician on the road side as we are by talking to the tuxedo-wearing keynote speaker at a prestigious event or putting a resume into the hands of “the right people.” Those who can cross old, imagined boundaries to learn have a responsibility to do so. When we do, we open new possibility doors in our world. Creators deeply love the possibility of learning something new, or finding nuance within the known, from everyone.
  19. Right to receive what we need. From ourselves. Creators don’t require others’ minds to be open, for example, before moving forward. The question we typically ask ourselves is this: “Is my mind open?” We don’t require others to be creative, for example, either. Instead we ask ourselves: “Am I being as creative as I can be right now?” This tendency of ours supports internally felt freedom regardless of where we are or who we are or what is happening. That said, our experience of “self” is fluid. We are co-creators. Our self might be an individual, a small group, a community, a forest, flock of birds, or an ocean, for example, at any given point. Because the limits of our imagination rarely stop at our individual selves, our rights—and the responsibilities of deep listening, deep kindness, deep fun, and deep respect—rarely stop at our individual selves. Huh. Wow. This is so cool! Damn it feels good to be a creator.
  20. Responsibility to move through ideas and beliefs as a community and to let go of things—including our old ideas and selves—when they no longer serve the greater good. Without our creators’ love of doing this, and our love of continuing to learn to do this better with friends and community members, future humanity will be uniform, dry, depressed, and dull as shit. Not that I believe that will happen. Not with Mother Earth at our backs and more people waking up every day now. Just be aware that doing this work often pisses off other creators, not only other world citizens. Evolving beliefs and ideas and selves isn’t easy for most humans. At this moment. But that’s going to change in this century. Watch for it. Practice it. Dance it. Paint it. Draw it. Play it. And you’ll see.

After 20. This space has been intentionally blank for the purposes of creation. Please finish this list for your community, as often as is needed by the community as a whole…

 

 

 

 

 

[1] This is known as the Bernie DeKoven Principle.

[2] If you’re a creator committed to a particular human, social justice, or environmental cause, partner with a few world citizens who you create energy with and who don’t define themselves primarily as creators like you do—people interested in (and who are dedicating their lives and careers to) social amends, conflict resolution, pulling forth awareness or heart-felt apologies, and social or environmental justice. Creators aren’t experts on justice: we’re experts at falling deeply in love with the world/ourselves/simply what is. So we need to partner with world citizens such as wonderful and open-minded attorneys, judges, social workers, cops, activists, educators, conflict specialists, librarians, community-center employees, scientists, government employees, spiritual directors, and even the best politicians—not just animals, birds, fish, and trees—to foster change in human culture if we want to witness culture changes in our lifetimes. Well-informed citizens like these tend to have strong answers and cross-community connections. Creators tend to ask new and forgotten questions and arrive with a presence, and with work, that helps citizens imagine themselves as part of something larger than they previously imagined. Partnering with these people is a good match, because we teach each other and help each other not take ourselves too seriously. We remind each other of our core-deep curiosity and core-deep abilities to shift, reimagine, and play.