Biology of Change or The “other” side of the mirror

At this time, I’ll turn my back on the surface of the lake and look straight at you, Life. Water is always there, here, when she gets my back, my front is clear, present. I have looked and looked, across, through, inside, attempting to pierce the depth of our mother Water, a.k.a us. I have asked her why she moves away with the tide, and down with the tears. I have cried her when she dries. I have asked her why she travels in and out of me like a snake, passing on a message I can never quite grasp. Around the rocks, along the path, she finds her way. I shifted, just 180 degrees. Now I look toward you. Toward it all. It’s simple at the end, because nothing or nobody really reflects who we are, the inventive mirrors might be playing a fascinating game, such do movies, stories, your mother’s smile, your lovers eyes, a face across the table in a café, but I think that reflections don’t really exist outside of us. They are very tangible, like a photography, a chemical effect of millions of argentum cells swimming through water to transfer your paper self, millions of electromagnetic pixels to make you round, out of little squares. Ammonia, copper and water make your computer, your digital self. All sounds, all waves, matter. So turn your back and let the mirror be in you at all time. Not like a simple reflection of the self, but like the magical spiral of water communicating from skin to eyes, from bones to heart. I’m now in the present time of my non-image, in the concrete space of water. Swimming around the rocks to know you. Fluid. Grounded.

Biology of Change or Inside Out

For the past fifteen years, I’ve lived my life with the strong belief that the twenty first century's major focus of our planet was going to be women and water. As my instinct pushed me to start a quite thorough research on my region’s history and geography, Southern California, to write a script, I saw that concern deepening into an emergency. Around me, the water issue was at best ignored, but more often totally dismissed. Water was known to be needed but not always known to be precious. In a vast desert covered with golf courses, I would hear: “We’re okay, we have a huge aquifer.” That made me jump. Moreover, I’d notice that kind of reaction applied to every aspect of our ecological disaster. “We’re okay, water is always going to be there”. “There’s nothing you can do, we’ll just have to stop eating fish”. “Well, we only need to learn how to desalinized the ocean”.”We’re figuring out how to live on Mars!” Wow. Dumbfounding.

How can we be in such denial that the solution stands outside of us, somewhere in a magic reserve of a new nature, in a life bank account that we think we can pull from? The denial seems to be covered by endless political disagreements and administrative delays. What’s hard to deal with might as well be drained in elected people’s little catfights. The problem is the huge ignorance we live in. Each part of ourselves and of our planet has a specific function, those functions are completely related, for the simple fact that we are ALL product of Nature. Call it God, Source, or Biology, but there’s a system, a process which despite his phenomenal flexibility and resilience, needs a minimum of respect to thrive. To respect is to know. To respect is to listen, understand and care. Our bodies, and more specifically for its special ability to develop new life, women’s body is the very image of the earth. Our DNA are such as those of trees, cats, let alone bonobos. Our uterus is a body of water, and mirrors all other bodies of water.

I have developed this theory in my script and intend to claim high and loud: "Until the day we start to open inward, we are not going to act well outward"! To relay on the water underground reserve, is like saying we should live on Mars. Underground water is set underground for a reason, same is for oil, or diamonds. You don’t take up what’s down, or you mind as well digging holes under your feet until you fall. Humans, we are falling, we are drying, we are drilling, we are cutting the earth. But mostly, we are cutting our feet, our tails, the very roots of who we really are. The Native Indians, Cahuillas, that I’ve worked with, said the same thing, in the 1920's about the pioneers “they took our waters”. Respect your waters, love your waters, and love the phenomenal temples that your body and your mother’s body Gaïa is. Stay wet to thrive .

 Thank you, Native tribes for standing for your grounds and waters in North Dakota, this is a phenomenal event..

Ode to a One Night Stander

Aaaaannnnd scene! It's sad to witness the irony of it all... I was waiting a few days to see if you'd manifest anything. Niente. Bottom line, I don't really want to hang out again and I'm not really attracted to you, but I did have a great night, so I was curious to see how the aftermath would play. Well, the contrast between our date and its aftermath is striking. It all feels fake now, and those soft words in my ears, the "smittening", I mind as well toss them in the trash. I mean, do guys really have no balls these days? Please, tell me. One says one has been thinking about a lady for a while, really thought she was special, at first sight, and after one finally gets in bed with her, years later, the charm is gone? Why? Did one change his mind about the lady because one got to ejaculate once? Tristesse! First time sex is exciting sex but hardly ever deep. A man should know so much. Or, are we dealing with the stereotypical case of hunter got the prey, hunter is sated, hunter goes home?

I thought you were above average Lalaland Joe. But apparently, no. The trick with the One-Night Stander is that he barely ever reveals his profile at first sight. The very fact that he's not communicating is giving away his true identity. Hence my reason to only mention sex above. If there was any real feelings to follow up on, they would already be shared. Women don't mind One-Night Stander, but they hate disguised ones. Keep you woo-woos, be a proud one night lover and let's all have a wonderful time. Too easy... The LA One-Night stander is a trickster and a coward. Is your "busy" Hollywood life has given you a not-so-rare case of amnesia and you forgot that I even spent the night with you? Do they think we're stupid? It's offensive. No one is too busy for me. Like my friend Dana says: "Busy is another word for asshole!" She's right. 

Most L.A. guys just don't call anymore, they text at best when their genitals are too full or they don't even text at all. No matter how much they appreciated the woman they spent an evening with, she's not even granted the courtesy of a: "It was nice but I don't want to see you again." That would be too courageous to do for average Lalaland Joe. Here, lots of men make women feel unappreciated, un-courted. And lots of women play overly sexualized power trips to control men, I'm aware. But the real tango, the feminine/masculine dance is doomed, fated. It's tragic. 

Sadness colors that tragedy, a little. The bloodless story of modern relationships. The irony lays in the very events of our movie night. You know... "Her"... It was a really a promising title tough, but life shows itself before it even happens, sometimes in front of our eyes, on the big screen. It's Hollywood after all. Up to us to take note. And that's kind of poetic, or at least good material for reflection. We were not going to be a good story, but your silence gives me a great space to say what I think and probably make it a decent post for my blog. I still really appreciated our evening, yet it just lost half its life juice. C'est la vie!