Consensus

I am at Eastwind today, preparing to leave for the Communities Conference at Twin Oaks. I will be having four passengers, so there has been a lot of discussion about when to leave and how to spend the 16 hours from Tecumseh, Missouri to Louisa, Virginia. I was thinking about staying at a motel, since I didn’t want to drive for 16 hours and I wasn’t sure about someone else driving. Besides, I want to talk with these people and it is hard to talk when someone is sleeping in the back seat.

So, one of the cos (that’s community speak for designation of an individual without specifying gender), wasn’t to be dropped of in Tennessee at his grandparents. His name is Loki or Aries or Matt. I’m not really sure, but for obvious reasons, I favor Loki. It turns out that we can spend the night at his grandparents house and leave for Louisa in the morning. Now what time we leave in the morning depends on Wren. She lives at Twin Oaks and has a shift there that afternoon. Sabrina thought we would be leaving late tonight, like around midnight and has not packed yet or finished a presentation for a job interview on Monday, so she has been lobbying for a later departure.

So this has been an exercise in consensus.

Eastwind is very different from the communities I have visited so far. I am preparing an in-depth analysis. I feel kind of like Alexis de Tocqueville. He spent 10 months in the US and wrote almost 700 pages. So, by extrapolation, my 3 weeks should turn into about 50 pages.

Page one. I am born.

A New Earth

Terra Nova is unlike Sandhill in several ways.  It is urban, being four side-by-side rambler houses in Columbia, MO.  The average age is its members is at least double that of Sandhill.  And there are many signs of political activism.  A sign in the front yard says “Neighbors for Peace”, there is a “War is Not the Answer” bumper sticker in the window and there are Occupy placards in the living room, waiting for action. 

I turned onto their street, looking for their houses.  A big cement truck was right in from, repairing the street, so I moved past it to park.  I saw a man walking toward me hauling a couple of bags of groceries.  He hailed me with “You must be looking for Terra Nova.  I can tell by your van.”  He said is name was Howard and that I should turn around and park back up on the other side of the street and that everybody knew everybody here.  He left before I could say anything, continuing on his way, away from Terra Nova.

It turns out that Howard did live at Terra Nova for a while, then, because of something about squash soup (or was it lentils?) bought the house two doors down.  He couldn’t buy the house next door because two other friends of Terra Nova had already purchased it.  At the rate they are going, they will take over the whole block.  There are 4 current residents in the copper-roofed houses, and they all came from Eastwind.  They also know the people at Sandhill and Dancing Rabbit, the eco-village where Skyhouse is.  In fact, one of the residents of Dancing Rabbit, Bobbi, was also staying the night, since she had a class in Columbia that day.  We had a lovely dinner and an even lovelier conversation.  Howard joined us after dinner and I got an earful about Eastwind.  Lots of good stuff along with some juicy gossip.  Then, the conversation got interesting. 

I remarked about the difference in ages and activism in the communities.  Bobbi had a good explanation for this.  The older people came from the activism of the Sixties and had seen some changes, including ending the Viet Nam war.  The young saw no future for them in this society and believed in creating a new society.  By engaging in activism, even by voting, they would give power to a system they did not believe in.  That may be the reason I have not mentioned Claire McCaskill during this trip.  The younger people at Sandhill and Skyhouse just did not seem interested.  When I bemoaned the fact that most Americans were not involved, a fellow asked, “You mean, they are just living their lives?”  I think he thought I meant that everyone should be out protesting something.  “No, “ I replied, “they are just glued to the TV and not connecting with others in a meaningful way.  No one talks about important stuff.  They seem to be more involved with other people’s lives, even fictional people, than their own.”

I have heard this debate before.  “My vote doesn’t count.”  “I only vote in the big elections.”  “I can’t vote for anyone.  They’re all bought by corporations.”  Lots of reasons not to vote, but there is only one of the above I can kind of agree with.

Every vote DOES count, especially when there are attempts to suppress the vote.  And look at the close race between Gregoire and Rossi.  And it is the local elections that are really most important.  More on that when I start quoting Tocqueville.

I do believe that most federal politicians ARE arms of corporate interests.  And that is something we need to work on.  At least I need to work on.  Maybe, if I play my cards right, I can get you to work on it, too.

The debate among the elders at Terra Nova is not whether or not to vote, but whether to vote for the Democratic Party or the Green Party.  My feeling is that the Green Party is good, but it is throwing your vote away.  I don’t think they are on the ballot in all states.  And I still remember how it cost Gore the election.

A Break and Some Background

I am taking a people break.  I am in a motel in Rolla, MO, about 2 hours drive from my next egalitarian destination.  I stayed at Terra Nova last might, and had a wonderful conversation, but now need some time to process all of this and have some down time.  Particularly since I will be having riders with me to Virginia and will be staying in a dorm when I get there.  Even though I am studying community, I value my alone time.  I may not get any time until I get to Charlotte.

Skyhouse was beautiful.  It is a two story, six bedroom house made of timber and straw bales.  I loved the curved lines inside with little nooks formed from the clay plaster.  They are still doing some work on it, but I think that the bucket and sawdust toilet are there to stay.

I suppose I should give some background on some of these communities.  I wanted to go to the Communities Conference at Twin Oaks, not just because it was in Louisa, VA.  I also wanted to explore how people live in an egalitarian community.  Before I get to that, let me talk a bit about the Federation of Intentional Communities, which is a broad umbrella that the FEC (not the Federal Election Commission) works under.  Intentional Communities are, well, intentional.  People make a decision to form a household, a village, a cohousing or other planned living arrangement.  As opposed to an unplanned community, which much of urban and suburban housing are, as well as many families.  There are over 1700 of these intentional communities listed in the FIC directory, over 100 in Washington State.

http://fic.ic.org/

But my focus is on egalitarian communities, so I contacted the ones on the FEC site that were on my way to Virginia.

http://thefec.org/taxonomy/term/3

All the ones I found on the way are in Missouri.  Cheap land and no rural zoning.

So, what is an egalitarian community?  Here is what is on the website:

Principles of the Federation of Egalitarian Communities

Each of the FEC communities:

• Holds its land, labor, income
and other resources in common.
• Assumes responsibility for the needs of its members, receiving
the products of their labor and distributing these and all other
goods equally, or according to need.
• Practices non-violence.
• Uses a form of decision making in which members have an equal
opportunity to participate, either through consensus, direct vote,
or right of appeal or overrule.
• Actively works to establish the equality of all people and
does not permit discrimination on the basis of race, class, creed,
ethnic origin, age, sex, sexual orientation, or gender identity.
• Acts to conserve natural resources for present and future
generations while striving to continually improve ecological
awareness and practice.
• Creates processes for group communication and participation
and provides an environment which supports people's development.

I found it interesting that no one has used the term ‘commune’ for any of these communities.  Tony, at Skyhouse, talked to me about the living arrangements in their income-sharing community.  Any income you earn while there is put into the common treasury.  You can keep assets you had before, but can’t use any of them.  For example, if you wanted to buy a zippy new bike and had the money for it, the house would not let you buy it.  What they would do is to buy the bike, so that everyone would have access to that.  At first, you might think “Well, that’s MY bike,” but that is the beauty of this type of community.  There doesn’t need to be 6 bikes or 6 stereos or 6 mixers.  It cuts down on each person’s outlay by sharing these resources.  And that is just the beginning of the benefits to this kind of life.  More later…

Comments?

I have had several emails from friends who have tried to post a comment, but couldn't do it.  Apparently, you need some kind of account.  Odd... and not very egalitarian.

I can post, since I have a Google account.  Maybe The Suz or Earth Lotus can chime in and let us know how they posted a comment.  I thank them for the comments already posted, since now I know it can be done.  And it would be so nice to turn this into a conversation.

If you can't post and want to comment, email me, and I will put it up for you, with or without your name, as you request.

Apologies

Sorry my last post was such a downer.  But you need to know that bleak background to see why I am on this trip.  The other reason for this trip is to connect with those who have created a different kind of life in this nation.

The first stop on my itinerary was Sandhill Farm.  I had failed to note on my printed schedule that there was no address for the farm, just a Box number in Rutledge.  I was further dismayed when the woman at the Missouri Welcome Center had never heard of Rutledge.  So, I trusted my GPS to get me there.  It got me to Edina, where there was construction on a bridge and the highway was closed.  I tried going left and it led to what looked like a driveway.  I turned around and went right and that road ended up in a field.  My GPS was going NUTS!  “Recalculating.  When possible, make a U-turn.  Recalculating.  Turn right, then turn right.  Recalculating.”    So, I turned it off and found a convenience store, which was no small feat in rural Missouri.  They told me which gravel road to take.

Sara met me at Sandhill and gave me a short tour, which included where I would sleep, where to defecate and where the sawdust was to cover said elimination.  She said to listen for the dinner bell and we would gather and stand in circle before eating. 

We also talked about a behavior problem that they were having with their dogs.  The house is only about 20 feet from the county road, and their dogs chase cars.  Two dogs have already been hit.  Hmm…  Maybe I can help with that.   So we had a good conversation about egalitarianism in dog training as well as living with people.  I gave her my copy of Kathy Sdao’s book, Plenty in Life is Free.  An excellent book.  I highly recommend it.

There are about 10 members of Sandhill.  It has been around since 1974 and there is one original member there.  His name is Laird and I did not meet him, since he is traveling to the Communities Conference and will be presenting there.  Since Sandhill is so small, decision making is very loose.  They have a weekly meeting with check-in before the agenda. 

Most of the people here seem very young to me.  There is one (besides Laird) who is in his 60s, but most are in their 20s or early 30s at the most.  This is good, since there is a lot of energy needed to run an income-producing farm. 

I brought up the subject of politics, hesitantly, but they were willing to discuss how they felt.  Most of the issues are very local and concern farming practices.  They are surrounded by a lot of big ag land.   We also discussed how each came to be living this lifestyle.  Most of them knew someone who knew someone. 

The four egalitarian communities I will visit on my way to Louisa, are all in Missouri.  I asked someone why that is so, and they said, “The land is cheap.”  It is rolling hills and not very conducive to large agricultural machinery.  It is beautiful country.  It is also hot.  Today has cooled considerably, down to the mid 70s.  But humid.  That is what is draining me of my energy.  I brought a battery-operated fan, and have already gone through one set of batteries.  I am such a wuss…

Here's to Bohemian Rhapsody

I am a child of the Sixties.  Not that I remember any of it.  I just experienced it.  I was against the war, for Eugene McCarthy (not Joe McCarthy), into recycling, love and peace. I went to San Francisco and wore flowers in my hair.  I worked at a draft counseling center in Tacoma.  I worked on a recycling hotline in Portland.  I wanted to change the world.

When we pulled out of Viet Nam, and the movement got bad press from a few violent apples, the energy also left.  I, like many others who were not badly damaged by war and drugs, went on to continue our lives.  I felt I could not change the world, but I could change my own world.  So I buried my self in my studies, my friends and building a business.  I was only slightly aware of the situation in Nicaragua, South Africa and the Iran-Contra scandal.  I only paid attention to Reagan when he cut student loan programs and I almost couldn’t finish vet school.  Oh, yeah, and when he broke the PATCO strike.  That ticked me off, but what could I do about it?

So for almost 30 years, I was asleep.  Politics was merely a matter of choosing Tweedle-Dum over Tweedle-Dee.  Then, in 2001, I woke up.  It wasn’t 9/11 that did it.  It was when congress passed The Patriot Act.  That’s when I woke up into a nightmare.  Each morning, the lyrics from Bohemian Rhapsody would run through my head:

“Is this the real life?

Is this just fantasy?

Caught in a landslide,

No escape from reality.”

I could not believe that people weren’t up in arms about this attack on the Bill of Rights.  So, I tried to read it for myself.  All 242 pages of it.  Legalese, obfuscation and lots of stuff I couldn’t interpret.  This was passed and signed into law on Oct. 26, 2001, about 45 days after the attack on the WTC.  Forty-five days to come up with the idea, write it up, and pass it through both houses of Congress.  How many people do you suppose really read it?  It sounded like hysteria to me.  Then, the more I read the more outraged I became.  You can read about it, if you wish in my prior blog, which I can’t access to post on since I changed email since then and am so techno-challenged that I couldn’t figure out how to continue that one.

http://wormjourney.blogspot.com/

Parker Palmer has written a book called Healing the Heart of Democracy, published in 2011.  The Tacoma Friends Meeting is having a discussion group to go through it chapter by chapter.  The prelude is called The Politics of the Broken-hearted.  I read it, and it is as though he followed me around for the past decade.  Looking back now, I can see how my response was of someone with a broken heart.  I can see that I went through a grief response.  Denial, bargaining, anger – lots of anger – and depression.  Again from Bohemian Rapsody:

Nothing really matters, Anyone can see,

Nothing really matters,

Nothing really matters to me...

And this is where I am today.  On the ledge.  There was a lot of hope for change 4 years ago.  Now?  Well, I am still in this system for at least another 3 months or so.  I guess the next place is acceptance.  But acceptance of what?  That our country is broken?  That one person can’t make a difference?  Accept that I keep beating my head against the wall?  Will that mean living outside of what one person at Sandhill Farms calls ‘Babylon’?

The Ledge

I like to multi-task.  It gives me a feeling of efficiency.  You know how it goes.  Listen to books on tape while driving, eat breakfast while answering emails, read a book while my nails dry.  Well, this trip is also a multi-task trip.  Besides the Democratic National Convention, I am also going to a conference on community.  Here is the link:

http://www.communitiesconference.org/

It is being held at Twin Oaks, a community in Louisa, Virginia.  How could I not go?  But it is not just because of my name.  I have even been to Louisa before on a prior trip.  No, my main reason in going is to learn about how to build community.  This is an imminent need.  Before I left town, I signed papers to buy forest acreage on the Olympic Peninsula.  And if the other people funding this come through, we will have formed an official community by the time I return. 

This is my ledge.

The questions that face me right now are whether I will remain engage in the political process or even remain living in our toxic culture.  Or will I jump ship, boogie on out and go live in the woods.  This is what this trip is about for me.  I am scrutinizing the political process in the US, as well as examining the pitfalls of going to live in a hippie commune.

Sometimes, the thought of just sitting in a tree and not multi-tasking looks pretty good.

My First Conversation

It may come as a surprise to many of you, but I am really quite shy.  I don’t generally engage strangers in conversation.  That is why I covered my van with bumper stickers.  That way, I can get my point of view across without have to talk to anybody.

But this trip, I want to do it differently.  And I got a chance in Hermiston, Oregon.  It wasn’t actually my first conversation of this trip, but I don’t really count the one at the fruit stand, which was just “oh-yeah-it’s-hot-will-those-peaches-make-it-to-Missouri.”

So, I stopped at the Hermiston welcome center, knowing there would be a good bathroom there.  On the entrance door and in the bathroom were signs that said “Even if you are just here to use the bathroom, please sign our guest book.”  It seemed directed at me, so I went to the desk and put my name and city in the book.  It also asked where I was going.  I thought about this, since I have several destinations, and ended up writing, Democratic National Convention.  The woman attendant came out from behind the desk and asked if I needed anything.  Well, I love maps and took ones for Oregon, Idaho, Utah and Montana. 

She was pretty funny.  One of the maps had a picture of Bear Grass.  She told me about the first time she saw Bear Grass.  She was with her husband and pointed to it and said to him, “It looks like…you know.”  Yes, it does look like “you know”.  Here is a link to a photo of it:

http://www.digital-photography-tips.net/bear-grass.html

We had a good laugh over that and I turned to leave, still perusing some of the information racks.  Before I reached the door, she hurried over to me and exclaimed, “You are going to the Convention!?”   I grinned and nodded.  She was so excited and started talking about how the republicans were going overboard on so many issues, citing the comment about “legitimate rape”.  I took the opportunity to campaign for the 28^th Amendment, saying that corporations are not people.  She sort of guiltily said that she worked for a corporation, and I replied that corporations aren’t bad, they just aren’t people and should be regulated.  She agreed with that and started talking about WalMart.  Her husband works for WalMart and she says they treat their employees like crap.  She also said that when WalMart came into town, the local business knew they couldn’t stop it, but instead banded together to provide something that WalMart couldn’t.  That would be personal service. 

A 20 minute delay in my trip, but so worth it.  Thank you, Karen.  You have given me courage to talk to others.  I have been afraid of people in rural areas, putting them all into the “red-neck” box and avoiding them.  It is not just unfair of me, it is non-productive.   We really need to start building bridges.

Basically, we all want the same things.  Look at Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs: 

http://changingminds.org/explanations/needs/maslow.htm

It is in the areas of belonging and self esteem that I think may underlie people’s political views.  If something is scary, then we react, avoid and close down.  So I am trying to be kinder and gentler.  I even took off some of the more in-your-face bumper stickers and replaced them with things like “Where are we going, and why are we in this handbasket?” and “If you are having fun, then you are doing it right.”  I left the big print “TV is a Drug” on the hood, but added the sticker “Heavily Medicated for Your Safety”.  I put that in front of the passenger seat, so folks wouldn’t think I was DUI. 

One source of entertainment is my traveling companion.  I have a life-size stuffed German Shepherd belted into the passenger seat.  I guess he is the one that is heavily medicated.  He sure looks stoned.

I Am That Goose

 This particular journey started April 15, 2012.  It had nothing to do with tax day. 

Uncharacteristically, I had nothing to do that Sunday.  I heard that the Democratic precinct caucuses were meeting, so thought I would go and just watch.  I was not sure, precisely, what a caucus was.  The first I ever heard of a caucus was in Alice in Wonderland, when the Dodo called for a Caucus-race to dry everyone off after swimming in a pool of tears.  I didn’t expect that, but I did expect something fairly dry.  I didn’t expect what I found.

Out of the thousand or so voters in my precinct, I was the only one to show up.  Huh?  Have people stopped caring?  Are they distracted?  Are they too busy?  Are there no Democrats in my precinct?  What has happened to our public political conversation?

The facilitator asked for delegates to the Legislative District caucus.  I raised my hand and asked what the responsibilities of a delegate were.  He said, “Well, you need to know the candidates,” and proceeded to outline just who was running in this election.  I still didn’t know what I needed to do, but hated to interrupt him since he obviously needed to get out what he was saying.  Finally, someone who had a lot more experience than I, stopped the facilitator and let him know, gently, that he hadn’t answered my question.  I finally learned that a delegate votes on the party platform and endorsement of candidates.

Needless to say, I was unanimously elected delegate to the Legislative District caucus.  At the district caucus, about 40 people showed up.  They needed to elect 22 delegates.  Twenty-three people raised their hand.  So, I was also a delegate to the Congressional District caucus, the County convention and the State convention.    Just because I showed up.

The County Convention was first.  There were about 400 people there.  The Party Platform was about 10 pages long and had planks on agriculture, economic development, education, environment, fair elections, foreign policy, health care, human rights, human services, immigration, labor, justice, the military, social security and resolutions on overturning unconstitutional laws on due process, updating the mining law of 1872 and preventing drunk driving.  If you want the final version, here is the link:

http://www.piercecountydems.org/platform/pcdcc_platform.htm

I was pretty quiet during this, except for one discussion on foreign policy.   Someone suggested striking the following sentence:  “We believe the invasion of Iraq was an unjustified act based on false and misleading statements and fallacious thinking that has caused the deaths and life-altering injury of thousands of U.S. servicemen and women and tens of thousands of innocent, non-combatant men, women, and children.”

Their feeling was that this was in the past and shouldn’t be brought up.  I got up and stood in line for the microphone.  My two cents worth said that we cannot forget the past or we will be condemned to repeat it.  The motion to strike that sentence didn’t carry.  Just that was worth sitting through the 3 hours of the convention.

At the Congressional District caucus, we elected delegates to the Democratic National Convention.  This was a big deal.  There were positions available for 3 men and 4 women and there was a lot of campaigning going on.  As I walked into the room, there were 3-4 people right there who handed me flyers on why they should be elected a delegate.  Some even had made buttons.  When I sat down, several more came by to hand me their flyers.  Then there was time fore each one to make their statement of ‘vote for me’.

I knew I was in no position to campaign to be a delegate, even if I had been aware of the deadline for filing.  I didn’t want to take anything away from those who had been working for this for years.  So, I voted, based on the two minutes I had known each candidate. 

I was not a delegate, but I did want to follow the process through.  After the State Convention, I decided to go to Charlotte, NC.  The biggest hurdle was finding a place to stay.  All the hotels and motels in Charlotte were booked, probably as soon as Charlotte was announced as the convention site.  After two days of searching the web, I found a hotel about 20 miles out of the city.  Then I found the convention website and signed up to volunteer.  At least I could get the feel of the place, even if I couldn’t get into the arena.  I was going anyway, especially since I had registered for a conference that took place the weekend before the Convention.  More on that later…

Then, I got a phone call on Sunday.  I was offered a ticket to Obama’s acceptance speech on Thursday.  It fell into my lap. It completes the progression of this journey.

So, because I showed up and because I wanted to follow the political process through to the end, I feel that I am the eyes and ears of those in my precinct.  It is a great responsibility.

I Am That Goose

Warm summer day with a soft breeze.

Perfect day for meditation, introspection and siesta.

I sit in a lawn chair, wide-awake, neck stretched, listening.

My love is inside, dozing.

My dogs are laid out in the shade.

My cats are catnapping.

Our nation is asleep.

Somewhere, in a park or a field, there are geese,

Also asleep on this warm day.

All but the sentry goose.

Awake, watching.

I am that goose.

Paxil-less road trip

My dog’s name is Paxil Zeitgeist.  Paxil, because she is my anti-depressant.  Zeitgeist, because that is the spirit of our times.  She will not be going with me on this trip.  Sigh...

She is 13 ½ years old.  In dog years, that makes her about the same age as my 96-year-old father.  She is not doing as well as my father right now.  Last week, she had a vestibular episode, which means that her inner ear isn’t working right.  Her sense of balance is out of whack and she couldn’t stand up for two days.  Now, she has a head tilt and still falls occasionally.  She is walking better now can even come up the stairs, slowly.  You can tell she is my dog, since she leans to the left.

Left, right, liberal, conservative?  Do these labels mean anything? 

There are areas where I am very conservative.  I want to conserve our natural resources.  I want to conserve my bank account.  I want to be fiscally responsible.

There are areas where I am very liberal.  I want liberal amounts of love, hope and compassion.  I don’t mind paying taxes to help people in need of food, shelter, health care and other things that can give them a safety net.  I am liberal in my view of freedom.  “Harm no one and do as you will.”

Part of my journey is to explore just this.  What is separating us in this country?  Is our nation doomed to be divided into left and right?  Are we unable to talk with each other about important issues anymore?  Are politics, religion and sex topics that are off the table? 

We often just agree to disagree.  While this may keep the peace, it is so damaging.  It is damaging to our relationships, because we can then only talk on a superficial level, smile and nod, and never connect in a deeper way.  I know, because this has happened with several of my family members.

It is also damaging to our country.  We have become so divided and often just hear fear and talking points, never really listening to what our friends and family are saying.  We avoid these subjects, and never reach out to heal what we have lost.  If we can’t talk about our differences, we are doomed to remain separate.

This road trip is unabashedly political.  I am attending the Democratic National Convention in Charlotte, North Carolina.  I will be volunteering to help there.  I will also be attending a conference on creating community in Louisa, Virginia.  How could I not go?

Why am I going?  Tune in next time…

Is this it?

OK.  This year is my last ditch effort to remain in this society.  As you will see, I am ready to jump ship, boogie on out, bolt and just give up.

My last journey begins in five days....