Fresh Air Anger

angry art Medicine

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I remember a time, not all that long ago, when I could open a window or step outside and smell fresh air, as in - you know - air.

Call me crazy (many people do), but our fossil fuel addictions have moved beyond ludicrous.

Do y'all think that fragrance shit actually smells good? Are you aware of the endocrine disrupting, immune disrupting (etc.) actions of these fragrant poisons? Do you imagine their creation, from people displacement, to extraction, to manufacturing, to packaging, shipping, use that expels its essence into the air, water, earth... your skin, et al... to the waste disposal of it all?

I don't hug most people anymore. Sure, I'm still COVID (and otherwise) cautious, but that's not the main reason. These days, if I hug folx, their Petrochemical stink gets on me and lingers... and lingers... and fucking lingers (making me - and all of us sick) until I can air out ‘n’ wash the contact ick off my clothing.

And supermarkets spray that ick on food. Not just packaged food, on exposed food. WTAF?

I fucking hate it on a personal level, on a earth level (I apologize every GDMF day to our once-beloved Gaia), and on a future level. And then some.

In short: Don't you miss fresh air?

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🕊️justice

Hominy Harmony

 

Frolic is my current Moonshine focus, and given this world we share, it’s a mighty challenge. Yet, there it is. So tenacious me accepts it.

Yesterday I experienced an alignment of motivation, will, physical energy and opportunity, so I leveraged that uncanny blessing by frolicking with some hominy I’ve been meaning to can since the cold months; amazing, small batch, hardwood ash washed hominy from Dave Smoke-McCluskey. In the present tense, this is a practical activity of kitchen witchery, yet one that will, in a future tense, yield opportunity for frolic. How, you ask? Well, at some point in the future I’ll be able to pop open a can of ready-to-eat, heat-n-serve hominy, to add to soups, stews, salads, casseroles, pazole, and more - for us, and for others. But my point is, cooking hominy is a long, slow, simmer process, like cooking dried beans. So the magick - canned magick - is held in the freed-up time ‘n’ space in that future tense. Make sense?

I frolic in the present with my kitchen witchery. I’ll frolic in the future with the promise of freed-up time. And in these actions I acknowledge the ancestors with an honor of frolic in the food I create in the kitchen; food I know and understand, food that is unadulterated by a system that prefers to poison life for profit. And yes, I see and acknowledge the privilege in my capacity to frolic in this way, and I offer the gesture in prayer to Nona Gaia and all her kin… that we may all live and act in honorable, sustainable, healthful, and loving ways that may nourish all life - past present, future, and then some. And it's in this prayer that so much of the challenge resides; the challenge to frolic.

Challenge, or folic, or both, and more... we have twelve pints of Dave Smoke-McCluskey’s Becky Blanca Hominy, and four pints of Fat Red Hominy ready to go. Canned blessings, y'all. *nods*

Today it looks like the alignment is holding, so I’ll do the same with some cannellini beans that I likewise intended to can months ago. So today shall be filled with more honor ‘n’ frolic to all the times and beings that support us all - past, present, future, and then some.

🕊Justice.