Dune, Spice and Crisis

What the Fremen can teach about the End Times

#originalspicegirl

#dustyspice

Just watched Dune Part 2 and was blown away by the cinematic power and themes, from political control to religious fundamentalism to messianic prophecies to psychedelic initiations–it’s all in there. One of the most potent films of the last decade, IMO!

While it was written in the 60’s and attained a cult following back then for its mystical anti-imperial critique, it’s more relevant than ever.

In the midst of a global meaning crisis, with our back up against the wall of existential consequences, it’s looking like more and more fundamentalism and nihilism on the path ahead.

And since nihilism is a little bit Emo, and hard to organize, (after all, what’s the fucking point?) we’re likely to see more of the former than the latter.

Within the next few years, we’re gonna be up to our ears in false prophets and fundamentalist armies (online and off). It would behoove us to brush up on the core dynamics and hard bargains involved.

And for anyone who attempted to watch Dune Part 1 a couple years back and was a little underwhelmed (or skipped it altogether), Part 2 is the real deal.

Better to consider Part 1 as the prequel origin story, watched after you’ve seen the second one. It’ll make a ton more sense and won’t feel so anticlimactic (but def check a refresher of what’s in Part 1 before peeping the second or you’ll be a bit lost)

Note: so this week’s a brief departure from our series on information and meaning, will come back to it next. But let’s dive into the desert Dune as a reflection of our current predicament and see what it might have to teach us.

Ecstatic Conservationism

Beyond the big themes rolling through the film, there’s another, subtler point that inspired me to write this: the scarcity and preciousness of water in that desert world and its metaphorical lesson for us today.

A few examples for those that haven’t seen/read it:

when one of the desert Fremen leaders is called into the hall of the ruling duke he spits on the ground. The courtiers initially perceive it as an insult, but the ever hunky Jason Momoa character who’s lived with the Fremen intercedes “this is one of their greatest honors, to give up moisture from their body.”

Even shedding tears is considered frivolous. When someone dies they suck all the moisture out of their body and return that “water” to giant sacred lakes inside their cliff sanctuaries.

And then there’s the “still suits” the Fremen wear with that tell tale little nasal canula you might have glimpsed on all the movie posters. They literally recycle their own sweat and piss to drink, expending no more than a thimble full of water each day, despite the harsh conditions.

So what does that have to do with us?

Well, substitute ecstatic experience for water, and you could make a case that, when it comes to our seeking (and wasting) the gift of peak states, we need to learn to be more like the Fremen.

And less like those human beanbags slurping Big Gulps in Wall-E.

Since the Aquarian 60’s, we’ve been wasteful in our ways. Guzzling bliss, spilling ecstasy, slopping around in our ooey-gooey feelings-first search for endlessly entitled enlightenment.

Self-absorbed cogs in the neo-liberal consumer machine. Convinced that our own Hungry Ghost consumption in the spiritual marketplace will be enough to save the world.

The current explosion in Instagram festival culture (from Coachella to Burning Man), combined with the “psychedelic renaissance” has basically enabled a fresh generation of indulgence and decadence, all in the name of science and healing.

Treating Aqua Vitae–the mystical Water of Life, as if hard times and drought would never come. As if the Party at the End of Time would never end.

It’s past to time we learn to revere the "Water of Life" all the more because of its scarcity. It might be time to sip and not guzzle the bliss that remains accessible to us.

Intermittent fasting. It’s not just for biohackers anymore.

Feed the Holy

As we’re trying to remember what we’re supposed to do in times of crisis, when it feels like we're choking on our undigested grief. When there's just too much unraveling too fast to process, we can turn to Mayan elder Martin Prechtel’s gorgeous phrase, Feed the holy!

Acknowledge the timeless beauty of this world and do our bit to make it a little more beautiful still.

Pursue peak experiences of awe that remind us of the good things, so we can come back down the mountain with the inspiration to deal with the hard things.

In Recapture the Rapture, I even quoted EB White, the Charlotte's Web author, "I wake up in the morning," he said, "torn between savoring the world and saving it!"

But for writerly reasons, I couldn't fit his punchline in, which I'll fix now.

"Then I realized,” he said, “that in fact the savoring has to come first, because if there was nothing left to savor, there would be nothing worth saving!"‍

Boom!

That's a pithy breakdown of how to keep our heads when all about us are losing theirs, etc.  

Cultivate the ecstasy so we can endure the agony.

It's deep and timeless wisdom.

We have to keep savoring all that's good, true and beautiful, to galvanize our efforts to preserve and protect those very same things.‍

But here's the problem with that, and why Dune inspired me today.‍

The Holy is getting hammered.‍

It's getting harder and harder to find those moments of respite and renewal, precisely at a time when we need them more than ever. War torn regions are obvious examples, but it's happening at all the ends of the earth.

To all of us. 

Over the last couple of years, many families have seen otherwise wonderful, life affirming rites of passage, from weddings and graduations to adventures and anniversaries scrambled.

Folks in less stable parts of the world have been dealing with much worse–from political coups to migrant crises to weather disasters to ecosystem collapse.‍

It's on us all to get more resourceful and resilient in our hunt for the Holy. Or when the easy stuff runs out, we’ll collapse and forget what we’re supposed to be saving.‍

Recalibrate the Savoring

We’re bearing witness in real time to what Zen elder and grandmother ecologist Joanna Macy calls The Great Unraveling. And there's boatloads of grief in that experience.

But here's the thing: just because things might be unraveling faster than expected doesn't make EB White wrong!

It's not the "savor the world-before-saving it" approach that's insufficient.

It's just that as we savor the world and feed the Holy going forward, we might need to wrap our heads around a calorie-restricted Still Suit version.

Suck the marrow out of life while you still can. But do it with the deep and certain knowledge of the blessing and burden it entails.

To hold that fleeting and increasingly vulnerable beauty in our minds and hearts, to galvanize our commitment to protecting what remains.

From this point on, the banquet of life is a perpetual Last Supper. 

But don’t sulk. Raise a glass (and really mean it). 

L’Chaim!‍

We’re gonna have to get a whole lot more efficient in what counts as an encounter with the Sacred, with the Natural Sublime. We are going to have to get better and better at finding the Holy before we even attempt to feed it.

We all know stories of this kind of thing, right?

The holocaust survivor who made it through the concentration camps by befriending (and sharing food with) a mouse.

The child soldier moved to tears of joy at the flower growing in the rubble of their bombed out township.

The political prisoner who strained to catch a brief moment of sunshine through their cell window each day.

All of them found lifelines to Life. All of them led back to the Holy, in however modest or fleeting form.

***

Two quotes that can help:

William Blake famously penned the line, "To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower." 

Gandhi advised "If you do not see God in the eyes of the next person you seek, look no further!"

We can challenge ourselves with a mashup of them both:

"if we do not see Heaven in the next wild flower we seek, look no further!"

‍

How to Savor It All Now

Simple. Build practices that sanctify the mundane.

Ritualize and emphasize the tiny flames, the modest embers of light, rather than waiting for the next bonfire to dance around.

That can start with something super simple–like grace at dinner.

As Ukraine, "the breadbasket of Europe" edges closer to spring planting season, every grain of wheat, and all our supermarket plenty is all the more precious. Let's give thanks for what's on our plates, and actually mean it, sharpened by a newfound sense of its uncertain path to get there. (and sympathy for those whose plates aren’t as full)

As we conclude each week, take a Saturday or Sunday morning as a contemporary Sabbath to turn off the wifi, make love, get outside, play with our kids (instead of hyperscheduling them).

Devote the other half day and tithe to some community project––the library, the homeless, youth coaching, a CSA, highway cleanup (4 hours of a 40 hour workweek = a "tithing" tenth).‍

Adopt Your Spot. I was standup paddling one day and found myself drawn to a beautiful little side creek off our river––only to recoil as it was littered with bottles and broken old folding chairs from kids parties. My first instinct was to keep paddling and look for a "better" more worthy place to chill. But then I realized that the partiers who'd trashed the spot were drawn to it for the same reasons I was. They'd just lapsed in looking after it.  

So find a gnarled old tree, a pond, a lake, a hilltop lookout, a creek turned into a storm culvert––and bring a trash bag. And a book. Or some tunes. A bottle of wine, or some smoke. Or a candle.  Stack some stones. Make a sculpture of sticks and found objects.

Let it grow into an altar. Revisit that spot through the seasons. Give thanks to it. Feed it.‍

Take the tiniest, most humble Charlie Brown Christmas tree glimpse of nature you've got, and will it back to wholeness, to holiness.‍

That way, if and when full scale Grace revisits us, we’re no longer so greedy or wasteful with it. 

We can recalibrate our bliss-mileage and can get much further with far less.  And the leftovers that we might have slurped and spilled in headier times?  We can share it with those who are struggling to find it at all. 

#increasethepeace

‍The time is long gone for Leave No Trace, where we tiptoe through the tulips trying desperately to erase our place in the scheme of things.‍

It's time to Make Our Marks. Leave it better than we found it.  

Because, as Joanna Macy reminds us, "This life and love is the only terra firma in time of collapse. It is the only clear path for We People of the Passage."

We, the People of the Passage.

From the Shire to the darkest depths of Mordor.

There and Back Again, if we can make it. 

We, the People of the Passage. ‍

Cherishing and conserving the Water of Life so we can make it through the deserts and droughts to come. Savoring it to mend our hearts, and stiffen our spines, and return us to “the real work, to what is to be done.”

In a world of shifting sands under our feet, it’s the only terra firma, the only solid ground we’ve got. 

This life. ‍

This love. 

When all else is shattered, and we're choking on our undigested grief, it's learning to Feed the Holy that bring us Home.

Let’s not waste it.

J