Large and heartfelt thanks to the ~100 retreatants that allowed me to access this remarkably large-scale-and-intimate experience — despite the clackety-clack of 53,000 shutter snaps. I’ve done my best & hope it suffices.
These Posse-run retreats are powerful experiences; it’s little wonder that Posse has grown to become the juggernaut it is. Thanks to Rico Blancaflor, I’ve covered three retreats as storyteller, and the space they occupy is rarified, intoxicating. The facilitators are luminous beings, and by way of group activities, thought exercises, and subtle conductions of energy a mass of individuals are brought to higher ground.
It’s a marvel to witness… But particularly intense. Everyone works with heart wide open for 18 hours/day; I swim through the last night to create a live slideshow presentation of what I’ve seen. Meaning: I edit tens of thousands of images down to a few thousand and manually advance the frames to a soundtrack of my choice, live on a large-scale projection. No matter how often I rehearse the performance through the night, the live presentation is unique, flawed, and oh-so-nerve-jangling.
The next one I’m booked to cover for Posse will be in DC this June — OSSE’s Breakpoint.
Ben Más recently turned 6, and when I was asked what he likes best by the parents planning to come to his birthday party with a gift, I offered that their company was the gift. But if that’s too far-out, then a book would be lovely, thank you very much.
Ben and I read together frequently, and I do my part to get into the readings with as much fun and performance as I can. It’s helped him get into words from an early age, and it is an ancient practice, to entertain one’s child with stories. It frames their relationship to the world in terms as deep as the stories we apply to our adult lives.
I took the time this past Saturday to preview the stack of new books and consider how I’ll read them to him. One in particular had gotten a bit lost in the mix, despite the lovely illustration style. It seemed, at a glance, to be for smaller children. The words were simple, the sentences short, and the characters engaged the viewer’s attention with the basic mechanism of reader-facing eye contact. You see this mechanic at work in books for babies.
The book is Jon Klassen’sI Want My Hat Back. He’s an accomplished illustrator, and this is the first book he’s written and illustrated. It can be found in the children’s section of bookstores and is marketed to parents as appropriate to children ages 4 through 8.
I will not read this book to my son.
It was given with the very best intentions, and at some point down the line I’ll use it to help illustrate the programming at work in Western culture – when Ben and I get to discussing that (FUN!). But he’ll have to read it for himself.
I did a bit of research around the book, and found something particularly interesting. It turns out that Candlewick Press, Jon’s publisher, had created a trailer to promote the book. Definitely a novel concept for a children’s book, but hey, it’s the future.
The trailer embedded above, and watched on YouTube 48,483 times as of this typing, did not describe the book in my hands. What I’d read was a story of materialism, deceit, revenge, murder, and apartness. All played out in the animal kingdom — a sphere that includes none of these properties by design.
Told and sold to adults, this could be a great parable with much value. But this is packaged as fare for the minds of children. Has childhood really changed so much since Ezra Jack Keats?
No, of course not. But our expectations have been dragged into the mud with pervasive, ruthless efficiency. One good exercise is to count the representations of guns embedded in the landscape around you the next time you venture out. There weren’t so many before; a sick society excretes. (Hat tip: Dania.)
We can make a new story – for ourselves, for our society – the moment we choose to. The world around us will gladly conspire to assist. That’s what the fabric of reality does. So let’s start with something simple, and see where it goes from there.
Below, my response to the trailer.
Bears need hats as much as you need flowers, dear world; know that my love will take other forms. Be my Valentine.
As part of the ongoing reorganization of my personal practice of being, I’ve been observing one primary rule above all others: go where you’re needed.
My senses are always alert for requests for help and I jump at every opportunity to serve. Living this way for the past 6 months has shown this to be the fastest path to genuinely exotic, beautiful and transformative experiences. And the experience points are what I’m here for, after all.
A key player within The Vanderbilt Republic is moving on. Jeffrey Woldan (our Technologist since 2010) has been a dreamlike collaborator, and the distance we’ve covered in almost two years staggers me. What he joined and what he leaves bear resemblance in name only. VR’s sharpening of purpose and consistent successes have at their root Jeff’s constancy, capability, and heart.
As VR has matured, so have we all, and this is the right time for flow.
It’s not quite a goodbye—once VR, always VR—and it’s a natural progression that I’m embracing fully. But a certain wistfulness lingers. The early days, they carry a beauty all their own. And this is another sign that they’re over.
Thank you, Jeff. So much.
The content of our current Agency page represents the zenith of VR’s 2011 incarnation. It was (and remains) a glorious creation. But it’s also the rearview mirror.
The Vanderbilt Republic is right now transforming from the inside out, from deep within. This is an extremely purposeful time. Our next Technologist is going to join a team right now working at the next level, and her/his contribution will shape the future of this young movement for years to come.
See the ad on Craigslist – TECHNOLOGISTSOUGHT – and please share it (or this post, or both) with the right folks.
You, dear reader, have my future in your hands, and that’s okay with me.
