Juan era una mosca. Sólo era una mosca joven. Aún no había comprendido lo que era realmente arriba, y lo que era realmente abajo. Algunas moscas mayores muy religiosas insistían en que tal comprensión era imposible. Algunas incluso decían que decir que el suelo estaba por debajo del cielo era una herejía. Pero todo eso importaba poco ahora, porque Juan estaba atrapado en una tela de araña. Por más que luchara, Juan no podía liberarse. Tirar hacia la derecha y una voz extremadamente alta y miserable gemiría "no puedes escapar, no tienes permiso 123 punto 4". Tirar hacia la izquierda y esa misma voz aburrida y hambrienta gemiría "el apartado cuatro de la ordenanza 89diez prohíbe escapar forcejeando hacia la izquierda". Tirar hacia arriba (o hacia abajo, o como quieras llamarlo) y Juan oiría "la ley es la ley, pequeña mosca, yo sólo hago mi trabajo. ¡Incluso pensar en escapar es ilegal!" Tirar hacia arriba, tirar hacia abajo; tirar hacia dentro, tirar hacia fuera - no había diferencia: la misma voz ensordecedora y resonante insistía en que no se le permitiría escapar - lo que a Juan le parecía extraño, porque sentía que no podría, aunque se le permitiera. Y entonces Juan empezó a llorar suaves lagrimitas de mosca. "Nunca envejeceré. Nunca viviré para bailar en un enjambre, ni para darme un festín de estiércol de vaca en invierno. Nunca viviré para posarme, repetidamente, en las narices de los meditadores, ni para zumbar con las chicas en la primavera". Abajo, abajo, abajo por los hilos de la tela de araña rodaron las lágrimas de mosca de Juan. Por los hilos magníficamente hilados, rectos pero flexibles, metálicamente fuertes, rodaron - hasta que, hasta que... tocaron la mejilla de otra mosca - una joven mosca bastante atractiva - una mosca tímida, dócil y excepcionalmente educada llamada Fátima, a la que se había informado de todos sus derechos, y de los procedimientos de denuncia, e incluso se le había ofrecido un abogado defensor gratuito - pero que había perdido toda esperanza al ser informada por la araña-a-cargo de que miles de miles de moscas habían solicitado asistencia legal, pero que en realidad la asistencia legal era ilegal y, de todos modos, se las había comido a todas... La suave lágrima de mosca de Juan tocó tiernamente la suave mejilla de Fátima, lo que fue una sorpresa tan grande para Fátima que, aunque no sabía de dónde había venido aquella lágrima de mosca, y aunque hasta entonces había sido un tanto atea, exclamó "Alá sea alabado" - y de sus delicados ojos brotaron sus propias lágrimas suaves - lágrimas de alegría que se deslizaron, una tras otra, por otro hilo magnífico, recto pero flexible y metálicamente fuerte - hasta que, sí - se encontraron con la mejilla de otra joven mosca atrapada sin remedio en la red de la legalidad. Goteaban, goteaban, goteaban las lágrimas de Fátima, como besos en la mejilla de Frodo. Frodo no era en realidad el nombre de nacimiento de aquella pequeña mosca, pero lo había adoptado después de ver El Señor de los Anillos. "Si Frodo puede vencer a todo un ejército de Orcos, ¿Qué no es posible?", había declarado audazmente a sus padres mosca. "¡Llevaré con orgullo el nombre de ese Hobbit como si fuera el mío!", había afirmado, y sus padres habían sucumbido a la pasión de su entusiasmo juvenil. Y así fue que Frodo también sollozó de alivio. "¡Los Dioses están con nosotros!", gritó con su vocecita de mosca, que nadie oyó. Pero no importaba. Él también lloró lágrimas de alegría, que se deslizaron y besaron la mejilla de otra mosca, provocando más lagrimitas de mosca, que se deslizaron a lo largo de otro magnífico hilo metálico. Y así sucesivamente. Y así sucesivamente... Y así, lágrima a lágrima, mejilla a mejilla, beso a beso - todas las pequeñas moscas de la tela de araña se unieron en un coraje ilegal, en una esperanza no autorizada, en una felicidad incontrolable, y en un desafío a su destino como cena de una araña vieja y aburrida. Y fue entonces cuando ocurrió lo inesperado. Llámalo un milagro si quieres. Llámalo como quieras. De todos modos ¿Qué supone un nombre? Como por gracia divina, o por alguna capacidad química de la biología de las moscas todavía no descubierta - la alegría combinada de tantas pequeñas moscas soltó cantidades tan enormes de DmX42 en el aire que la Oliocloropotsimina latente, común en las lágrimas de las moscas, se cristalizó para crear un feroz ácido corrosivo de telaraña - que derritió los magníficos hilos metálicos de la araña, y liberó a todas las pequeñas moscas. "Disculpen, pero eso no está permitido", les gritó la araña gigante de cabeza hueca, pero ya bastante hambrienta, mientras todas salían zumbando. "¡Que te jodan!", gritaron alegremente - sintiéndose bendecidas - como si volvieran de una E.C.M. - renacidas, resucitadas - ¡y listas para mucha vida más! Mark the Mystic Activist. Huesca, Aragón, Enero 2024 www.markthemysticactivist.com ¡COMPARTE POR FAVOR!

John was a fly. He was only a young fly. He still hadn´t worked out what was truly up, and what was truly down. Some older, very religious flies insisted such an understanding was impossible. Some even said that to say the ground was below the sky was heresy. But all of that mattered little now, because John was stuck in a spider´s web. Struggle as he may, John could not get free. Tug to the right and an extremely loud and miserble voice would groan “you cannot escape, you don´t have permit 123 point 4”. Tug to the left and that same bored, hungry voice would groan “subsection four of bylaw 89ten prohibits escape by struggle to the left”. Tug up (or down, or whatever you might like to call it) and John would hear “the law is the law, little fly, I´m just doing my job. Even thinking about escaping is illegal!” Tug up, tug down; tug in, tug out – it made no difference: the same deafening, echoing voice insisted he would not be allowed to escape – which seemed odd to John, because he felt he couldn´t, even if he was allowed to. And so John began to cry soft little fly tears. “I will never grow old. I will never live to dance in a swarm, or feast on cow dung in winter. I will never live to land, repeatedly, on meditators´ noses, or buzz with the girls in sping!” Down, down, down the threads of the spider´s web rolled John´s fly tears. Down the magnificently spun, straight yet flexible, metalically strong threads they rolled – until, until... they touched the cheek of another fly – a rather attractive young girl fly, as it happens – a shy and dicreet and exceptionally well-mannered girl fly named Fatima who had been fully informed of her rights, and complaint proceedures, and even offered a pro bono defence lawyer – but given up hope, having been informed by the spider-in-charge that thousands of thousands of flies had applied for legal assistance, but that actually legal assistance was illegal, and anyway, he´d eaten them all. John´s soft fly tear touched Fatima´s soft cheek tenderly, which was such a surprise to Fatima that although she knew not from whence that fly tear had come, and although until then she had been somewhat atheistic, she called out “Allah be praised” - and soft tears of her own gushed from her delicate eyes – tears of joy that skidded off, bumpily, one after another, along another magnificent, straight yet flexible, metalically strong thread – until, yes – they met the cheek of yet another young fly caught hopelessly in the spider web of legality. Drip, drip, drip went Fatima´s tears, like kisses on Frodo´s cheek. Frodo wasn´t actually that little fly´s birth name, but he had adopted it after seeing The Lord of the Rings. “If Frodo can beat a whole army of Orcs – then what´s not possible?” he had declared boldly to his fly parents. “I shall carry that Hobbit´s name proudly as my own!” he had asserted – and his parents had succumbed to the passion of his youthful enthusiasm. And so it was that Frodo also sobbed with relief. “The Gods are with us!” he yelled in his tiny fly voice, which no one heard. But no matter! He too cried tears of joy, which slid away and kissed another fly cheek, eliciting further little fly tears, which slid away along another magnificent metallic thread. And so on. And so on... And so it was that tear by tear, and cheek by cheek, and kiss by kiss – all of the little flies in the spider´s web were united in an illegal courage, in an unauthorized hope, in an uncontrollable happiness - and in defiance of their destiny as a bored, old spider´s supper. Which is when the unexpected happended. Call it a miracle if you will. Call it what you will. What´s in a name anyway? As if by divine grace, or some hitherto undiscoverd chemical capacity of fly biology – the combined joy of so many little flies released such enormous amouts of DmX42 into the air that the latent Oliochloropotsimine common in fly tears crystalized to create a fierce spider web corosive acid – melting the magnificent, metalic spider threads, and setting all of the little flies free. “Excuse me, but that is not allowed” the dull headed, but by now rather peckish giant spider called out after them as they all buzzed off. “Fuck you!” they shouted back, joyfully – feeling blessed - as if returning from an N.D.E. - reborn, resurrected, and ready for lots more life! Mark the Mystic Activist. Huesca, Aragon, January 2024 www.markthemysticactivist.com PLEASE SHARE!

Breaking news: yesterday Justin Trudeau, Prime Minister of Canada, Graduate of the World Economic Forum’s Young Tyrants Programme, and winner of the 2022 Trophy for Sickeningly Insincere Smiles, announced that Canada would be instituting an innovative educational initiative designed to help coming generations of Canadians be more loving. "What's the point of turning Canadians into Cyborgs" Justin asked (referencing his government’s recommendations on Bio-Digital Convergence), “if we can't even love each other?” The world's media is in shock. News channels are struggling to accommodate this suspiciously sudden and radical character shift in the formerly heartless politician. As one BBC commentator succinctly remarked, "What the Fuck?!" “Are Cyborgs at-war-with-each-other really any better than unmodified, genetically unenhanced humans at-war-with-each-other?" he challenged the Canadian public, rhetorically. "We have been bombing the shit out of other countries in order to rip off their resources for long enough!" Mr Trudeau exclaimed passionately, "we don’t need sexless transhumans with USB ports for ears, we need generations capable of grasping-intellectually and, more importantly, capable of feeling-empathically - that everyone is equally worthy of love and respect!" Jim Grin, executive chairman of SMILE, the organisation responsible for the coveted Sickeningly Insincere Smiles award has said SMILE is considering revoking Mr Trudeau’s prestigious trophy. Genetically modified billionaires capable of superhuman feats of hypocrisy have also questioned Mr Trudeau’s worthiness. Meanwhile Truck Drivers who under Mr Trudeau’s astonishingly liberal ‘open access’ laws are now able to spend their own money, are being quoted as saying “let’s give him a chance – Mao loved gardening, Hitler was a vegetarian, Henry Kissinger loved his mum – sociopaths are only almost-completely incapable of feeling”. And I agree! I know there is a conspiracy theory in circulation claiming an extraterrestrial ‘walk in’ has taken possession of Mr Trudeau’s body, but in my opinion – who cares! If Prime Minister Trudeau is advocating educational reforms that will not inculcate emotional illiteracy, devotion to The Machine God, addiction to superficiality, and information, information, information... If he is advocating education that encourages existential honesty, sensitivity to The Great Mystery, the capacity for intimacy, and delight in pointless creativity – who cares if he is not himself... who cares if his artificiality has cracked, his smile softened, and his right to the 2022 SMILE Trophy about to be revoked? II And anyway, and furthermore - documents have been leaked which go far beyond Mr 'walk in' Trudeau’s plans for Canada – documents containing similar plans for love-oriented educational reforms proposed by, yes, King Klaus - Kong of the Forum, in Europe; by Xi Jinping, about whom humour is not funny, in China; by Putin the Terrible, in Russia; by Wobbly Joe, president of the USA - and by endless other bloated, petty presidents, monarchs, sultans and tzars in hundreds of other countries - documents oddly punctuated with words in Sirian - and yes, I mean Sirian from Sirius, not Syrian from Syria. Documents that read thus... "We have been educating our children to believe, not just that gender is fluid, but that they are intrinsically sexless – innately, biologically neither male nor female; that we are all born neutral; that - as with machines - any organ can be unscrewed, screwed on - unplugged, plugged in, plugged on... Lips, tits, cocks, fingers, bums, brains - everyone should have drawers full of them, we tell them – like we all have drawers full of old plugs and cables and gadgets. Well, trangkewktsopluntipoolik – enough! We have been educating our children to believe their bodies are upgradable hardware - technologically and genetically upgradable - or, best of all, upgradable by some freak bio-nuclear accident that converts them into superheroes who inhabit a comic book cosmos in which they can kazoom and wham and zap and woosh and kapow to their upgraded hearts' content. We must stop manipulating their imaginations in this way. What kind of kazoom-kapow-splat world do we think such manipulated minds will grow up to co-create? Shringfotplin! Isn't it obvious? Superkali! Frajelistik! If we really wanted techo-genetic human enhancement to superhero-save the world, then why are we not filling their innocent heads and hearts with the adventures of Loveman, and Lovewoman, The Healer, The Forgiver and The Enlightener? Expialidoshus?! Where are the modern myths of Loveman zipping through the sky to where armies are poised to do battle - emitting a supersound that opens everyone's mind; and letting the supposedly-opposed soldiers see they are all just like each other? Where are such great, tense, gripping tales that end up with everyone going happily home for supper? Where are the epic accounts of the deeds of The Healer who lets nations and religions SEE their emotions - and undo the trauma-knots in their energy-spaghettis? Why aren't we cheering-on The Healer as she superheroically diffuses mass, wounded acting-out in pandemics, eugenisist sterilisation programmes, and genocides? Why are our children not told tales of The Forgiver whose tear-jerking magic brings repentant bankers to their knees - where they sign papers releasing nations from generations of debt? Why - if the aim of this mass media Hollywood, Bollywood, Chinawood barrage of indoctrination was truly Peace on Earth - why are we not queuing at cinemas to see The Enlightener awaken the ego-bound neurotic world to the Inexplicable Undefinable Sacred Mystery we are all already in? No! Krypslop and dringi! We are insidiously educating our children to replace human inflated-ego, fear, ignorance and violence with digital, mechanical and genetically-modified superhuman inflated-ego, fear, ignorance and violence. The time has come to stop paying billions of dollars and yen to the worldwide media to distort our beloved young-ones' minds. The time has come to invest that money in education that shows them how to honour themselves, and stand their ground, and not be afraid of their vulnerability, and see each other's beauty, and know they are an inseparable part of everything." III Breaking news: Messrs Trudeau, Schwab, Jinping, Putin and Biden - and endless other bloated, petty presidents, monarchs, sultans and tzars - have been found wandering zapped and bewildered along the corridors of power - uncertain as to where they have been, or what they might have said, over the past twenty four hours. Mr Trudeau denies having stated that ""we don’t need sexless transhumans with USB ports for ears, we need generations capable of grasping-intellectually and, more importantly, capable of feeling-empathically - that everyone is equally worthy of love and respect!" despite having been seen uttering these exact words on prime time Canadian TV. "It wasn't me!" he continues to protest - lending possible credibility to the global conspiracy theory of an extraterrestrial Sirian temporary takeover of the minds of humanity's incompetent, emotionally corrupt and spiritually bankrupt leadership. I personally have no idea. But if it was the Sirians I say "thank you! I'm with you - whoever or whatever you are. And do come again!" Mark the Mystic Activist London, Summer 2023 www.markthemysticactivist.com

“¡No se trata sólo de autosuficiencia y regresar a la tierra!” 1. Sociedad & Comunicación ¿Qué define a una sociedad? La forma en que su gente se comunica, los unos con los otros. ¿Por qué? Porque una sociedad es un sistema de comunicación. Diferentes sociedades tienen diferentes valores compartidos y códigos complejos de interacción que definen su propio sistema de comunicación. Pero sean como sean, todos son sistemas de comunicación. Es por eso que la forma en que nos comunicamos en este momento, es decir, la calidad de nuestra comunicación mientras estamos en el proceso de dar a luz a nuevas sociedades en todo el mundo (unas sociedades conscientes, conectadas, basadas en la comunidad local, e integradas con la naturaleza) es realmente lo que definirá estas sociedades que logremos co-crear. 2. Comunicación & Auto-Conocimiento Sin embargo, una comunicación plenamente honesta, auténtica, vulnerable, valiente, sentida y consciente sólo es posible cuando nos conocemos a nosotros mismos más allá de nuestra personalidad. Llámalo conocimiento de uno mismo, o esencia, o fuerza vital, o espíritu, o familiaridad con el epifenómeno neurológico llamado ´consciencia´ - llamémoslo como queramos - pero sólo el conocimiento sentido de nosotros mismos como algo que va más allá de nuestra individualidad, de nuestros 'avatares', lo que nos hace únicos - sólo este conocimiento nos permite dejarnos ser vistos... Ser vistos con nuestra culpa, con nuestra rabia, incluso con aquello de lo que más nos avergonzamos. Podemos comunicar abiertamente las verdades de nuestra personalidad, precisamente porque sabemos que no somos sólo nuestra personalidad. Por lo tanto, si queremos co-crear nuestras propias sociedades locales, conscientes y co-cuidadoras, la forma en que nos relacionemos - o el sistema de comunicación que evolucionemos entre todos - debe de incluir al auto-conocimiento que va más allá de nuestras propias personalidades individuales. 3. Por Lo Tanto, Tribu Sin embargo (¡otro sin embargo!), la mayoría de nosotros, la mayor parte del tiempo, no tendemos a comunicarnos con tanta auto-conciencia y apertura. Es algo que tenemos que practicar. Tenemos que auto-educarnos. Pero, lógicamente - no podemos auto-educarnos solos: ¡no podemos aprender a comunicarnos solos! Nos necesitamos los unos a los otros. Necesitamos a otros que también quieran aprender a comunicarse con humildad, con gracia, con pasión, con apertura... ¡¿Cómo podríamos practicar con personas que no estén interesadas?! Pues así nace la tribu. Nace con una intención común no sólo la de co-crear una nueva sociedad, sino poniendo atención en la calidad de la propia forma de relacionarse, de su propio sistema de comunicación. Por todos es sabido ya que “el medio ES el fin”. Ya han comprendido que la propia comunicación ES en realidad la sociedad que están creando (tanto para nosotros como para nuestros descendientes). 4. El Acuerdo Clave Hay muchas técnicas entre las que elegir para que una tribu aprenda a relacionarse de manera consciente, íntima y auténtica. ¡Yo recomiendo la técnica que yo he desarrollado! Pero hay una verdad-aparente subyacente que todos reconocen: que lo único con lo que podemos contar en cualquier momento es con nuestra propia experiencia limitada, subjetiva, única y directa de aquel momento. Es importante que todos los que formen la tribu naciente estén de acuerdo en esto. ¿Por qué? Porque entonces nadie puede pretender tener ´La Verdad´; ni siquiera saber lo que es ´bueno´ y lo que es ´malo´, y todos nos vemos como iguales. ¡Juntos, aquí, en el mismo barco de la existencia! Este acuerdo no sólo servirá de base de cualquier camino compartido de auto-educación en comunicación consciente que la tribu elija, sino que sostendrá la unidad de la tribu. Y la unidad de esa sociedad que-ama-la-vida que la tribu llegue a co-crear. 5. Otras Notas En conclusión, mi argumento es el siguiente: 1. Las sociedades son principalmente sistemas de comunicación. 2. La comunicación consciente requiere de auto-conocimiento. 3. Si queremos co-crear sociedades (comunidades) conscientes tenemos que auto-educarnos. Y para auto-educarnos nos necesitamos los unos a los otros (tribu). 4. La unidad de la tribu se sustenta a largo plazo en la aceptación compartida de nuestra subjetividad. Como digo más arriba, “¡no se trata sólo de autosuficiencia y de regresar a la tierra!” La mayoría de nuestros antepasados vivieron un estilo de vida más rural y más autosuficiente - y eso no impidió que fueran absorbidos por la misoginia, el racismo, las persecuciones crueles de todo tipo, o invasiones, batallas y masacres ideológicas llenas de odio. Finalmente, por si “sólo hablar desde la experiencia propia, única y directa” sonara restrictivo, me gustaría añadir que, personalmente, encuentro que cuanto más VIVO sintiendo la experiencia propia, limitada, subjetiva, única y directa del momento, más siento el misterio del momento, ¡el milagro del momento! Para mí, permanecer en la experiencia propia, limitada, subjetiva, única y directa del momento, y comunicarme desde ella, se ha convertido en un camino - un camino de revelación, un camino de regreso a casa. Y finalmente-finalmente, es posible que estés de acuerdo o en desacuerdo con mi argumento. Eso no me molesta, estoy abierto; me gusta escuchar tus opiniones, me gusta que mis propias opiniones evolucionen. Lo que es importante para mí, por encima de todas las cosas, es que hagamos este proceso de pensar cómo queremos participar en la evolución colectiva humana con mucho cuidado y con mucho corazón. Porque, nos guste o no, con nuestra acción o inacción, todos estamos participando ya. Mark el Activista Místico, Cataluña, Samhain 2023. www.markthemysticactivist.com

“It´s not just about self-sufficiency and returning to the land!” 1. Society & Communication What defines a society? How its people communicate. Why? Because a society is a system of communication. Different societies have different overarching values, and different, complex codes of interaction that define their particular system of communication – but they are all systems of communication. Therefore: how we now communicate - the quality of our communication - as we attempt to birth new societies across the globe – societies that are aware, connected, local-community-based and nature-embedded - will define the societies we co-create. 2. Communication & Self Knowledge However, fully honest, authentic, vulnerable, courageous, felt, conscious communication is only possible when we know ourselves beyond our personalities. Call it knowing one´s self, or essence, or life force, or spirit, or familiarity with a neurological epiphenomenon called ´consciousness´ - call it whatever we like – but only the felt-knowledge of ourselves as somehow-larger than our individuality, our ´avatars´, our uniqueness – only this knowedge enables us to let ourselves be seen – to be seen in our guilt, in our rage, even in that of which we are most ashamed. We can communicate the truths of our personality openly - precisely because we know we´re not only it. Therefore (if we want to co-create our own, conscious, caring, local societies): the way we relate to each other, the system of communication we co-evolve, must include self knowledge beyond our individual personalities. 3. Therefore Tribe However (again!), most of us, most of the time, do not tend to communicate in such self-awareness and openness. It´s something we need to practice. We need to self-educate. But, obviously, we can´t self-educate alone - we can´t learn to communcate by ourselves! We need each other. We need others who also want to learn to communicate beautifully, gracefully, passionately, openly... How could we practice with people who weren´t interested?! And so the tribe is born. It is born with a united intention: to not only co-create a new society, but to attend to the quality of its own relating, it´s own system of communcation. Everyone has understood ´the means IS the end´. Everyone has understood that their communcation IS the society they are shaping (for themselves and their descendents). 4. The Crucial Agreement There are many techniques for learning to relate consciously and intimately and authentically - that a tribe could choose from. (I recommend the technique I have developed!) But there is one underlying apparent-truth they all acknowledge: that all anyone ever has, in any given moment, is their own, limited, subjective, unique, direct experience of that moment. It is important that everyone in the nascent tribe agrees on this. Why? Because then no one makes any pretence to knowing “The Truth”, or even what´s ´right´ and what´s ´wrong´ - and we all see each other as equals. (Together, here, in the same existential boat!) This agreement will not only support whatever shared path of self-education in conscious communication the tribe chooses, it will sustain the unity of the tribe. And the unity of the life-loving society the tribe comes to co-create. 5. Endnotes So my argument is: 1. Societies are primarily Systems of Communication. 2. Conscious Communication requires Self Knowledge. 3. If we want to co-create Conscious Societies (Communities) we have to Self Educate. And in order to Self Educate we need each other (Tribe). 4. The longterm Unity of the Tribe is sustained by the Shared Recognition of our Subjectivity. As I said above, “it´s not just about self-sufficiency and returning to the land!” Most of our ancestors lived a more self-sufficient, rural lifestyle - and that didn´t prevent them from being sucked into misogyny, racism, cruel persecutions of all sorts, and hate-filled, ideological invasions, battles and massacres. Finally – in case “only ever speaking from one´s own, unique, direct experience” sounds restrictive - I would like to add that I find that the more I actually LIVE feeling my own, limited, subjective, unique, direct experience of the moment, the more I feel the mystery of the moment – the miracle of the moment! For me, staying in, and communicating from, my own, limited, subjective, unique, direct experience of the moment has become a path – a path of unveiling, a path of homecoming. And finally, finally - you might agree or disagree with my argument here – I´m OK with that. I am open. I am happy to hear your opinions. I am happy for my own opinions to evolve. What is important to me, above all, is that we consider how we want to take part in The Big Picture of our collective evolution - very carefully, and very heartfully. Because we are, already, all of us, whether we like it or not, in action and in inaction, already taking part. Mark the Mystic Activist, Catalunya, Samhain 2023. www.markthemysticactivist.com

meditations on fear and control “Once upon a time there was a sailor who was controlled by the need to control. He controlled his boat very well. He was an excellent sailor. The Sea Gods were so impressed by his sailing they granted him the boon to be able to control the Seas of the Earth. Of this too he did an excellent job. The Gods of Outer Space who watch over the Gods of the Elements of the Earth, were so impressed they awarded him a further boon. “What shall be thy boon?” they asked of the excellent sailor and contoller of the Seas of the Earth. “To control you!” he replied. “So it shall be!” said the Gods of Outer Space. The Sailor was now the Supreme Controller of Space and Time. “Ha, ha!” he shouted proudly across the galaxies, “who controls me now?!” Yet although he had thought his question to be rhetorical, an answer came back through the stars “I, the Need to Control, I control you, most excellent sailor!” Yolol, Prophet of The Tribes of Od. “In the air be as a bird. In the water as a fish. In the mind as innocence.” The Trigal, unwritten doctrine of The Tribes of Od. I Once upon a time, in the promised land, even before it had been promised, in the years immediately preceeding The Great Flood, when it was still only drizzling - when Noah and his team of carpenters could still hammer and saw outside, under the open sky; when everywhere you went was not yet one big ocean, and it was common to see people slip and trip and skid along the milk and honey and rainwater soaked city streets and country lanes - there lived a humanoid race known as The Tribes of Od. Some say mention of The Tribes of Od was erased from all antedeluvian literature, even the Five Books of Moses, by the censors, by the pens of those whose bloody swords slashed and stabbed most successfully – those who later proclaimed themselves rulers of the visible world, and sought to mould and control the memory of humankind – much as today our legally imposed school books exploit the plasticity of the brains of the children we love. Others say The Tribes of Od - aware of the cruelty of which the human arm and mind are capable - themselves elected to vanish from human history, and human awareness - and that being masters and mistresses of physical transmutation, grew gills and fins and tails, and swam away, and swim on to this day, happily, at depths to which humans don´t go. But exist they did, alongside us, once upon a time, in those drizzly days of misty winters and steamy summers... although, even then, most of them kept their distance from us. “The Momo Crogs” they called us – meaning “those who are afraid of life, of existence - and of each other, and themselves”. The Tribes of Od lived in the forests, or with the forests, or as the forests - away from the cities and towns, away from the worlds of buildings and streets our Momo Crog Ancestors erected around themselves so that the unpredictability of the natural world would not feel so challenging, or uncomfortable, or humbling. At night The Tribes of Od would transmute into trees – and sleep peacefully as Yew, Juniper, Carob and Cedar; Oak, Jujube, Cypress and Mulberry, each according to their predilection - until they awoke renewed, each new dawn. When the children of The Tribes of Od reached adolescence leaves would sprout from their ankles and elbows and knees. They wore no clothes. They ate sand and moss. They had no pens or paper, and didn´t read or write – but the music they made with sticks and stones could break and heal a weary heart. And just as we had our Noahs - our Prophets of Morality and Codes and Control – The Tribes of Od had their prophets too. Radiating kindness, they would wander through the ever-wetter cities and towns of the foolish and numb Momo Crogs, preaching The Trigal. That was the name of their doctrine. It is a difficult doctrine to explain, but in essence, it avowed this: that everything perceivable is relative, even up and down, even in and out – that the only Absolute is Grace. "Where is your holy book?" the damp, intellectually-challenged Momo Crogs of the cities and towns would heckle - frightened, somehow, by the leafy flesh of the Prophets of The Tribes of Od. "Where is your written proof?" our ancestors would demand, as-if-reasonably. "This is our book" the Prophets of the Forests would reply, upturning the palms of their hands, upon which raindrops would scatter, sparkling with self-evident argument. "Well, here then - here´s a whole lot more of your book!" the mobs of the cities and town would mock - and they would chuck buckets of rainwater at them with hilarity. (Yes, it can be embarrassing for us to hear this - to be reminded of the behaviour of those from whom we are descended - those who once breathed, and walked about, and had strong opinions, as we do now). II As the intellectually-challenged, on-edge, interminably dripping and ostentatiously-compensatory mobs congratulated themselves loudly, one man - a nasty, little, autistic man named Yui Tong, a devout city dweller, a firm believer in pavements and crossroads and walls, a man who could recite the Jerusalem Traffic Manual by heart, a man with a particular fondness for one-way streets, a fanatical moralist, an idealist driven by visions of centralized control of the multi-directional flow of life - did not laugh with the mob. "Who do they think they are - these tree-mutant hybrids?" Yui mumbled to himself, spitefully - and spat. "I´ll show them! There is nowhere that cannot be controlled! The Trigal indeed!" he muttered scornfully, and stamped his right foot decisively in a nearby puddle. Yui was fifty five now - and nearing retirement after a frustrating career at The Ministry of Milk and Honey in downtown Jerusalem - a career that had begun with high hopes, but which had led nowhere. "One day we shall plug every leak of milk and honey through every orifice in the Earth´s surface! We will all walk safely, sliplessly, forever!" he had declared ambitiously, impressively, at his initial interview at The Ministry. But after decades as a Milk and Honey Leak Plugging Clerk his visions of a dry and slip-free Earth had faded. Milk and Honey was still leaking unplugged everywhere, and now - as if to dilute his dreams still further - it didn´t stop raining! Young Yui had quickly become something of a leak plugging protocols protégé – The Ministry´s go-to-beaurocrat for detailed information on regional milk and honey ´leak and slip´ bylaws. It all came easily to Yui. He was a natural. But because his autistic fingers could furl and file papyri, unfurl and unfile papyri, and refurl and refile papyri without the need for thought - both nightmares and dreams could wander freely around the judgmental corridors of his mean, but tidy mind. On his darker days Yui would be tormented by images of faraway forests where milky waterfalls splashed freely, and cork oaks and strawberry trees and prickly pear cacti dripped heavenly honey. The unclothed, unsupervised children of The Tribes of Od would be laughing irresponsibly. And worst of all - leaves would be falling everywhere, over everything. These were terrifying, turbulent daytime-nightmares of chaos, of uncontrolled liquids, and wild, stirring winds. On lighter days Yui´s mind would waft through well-pruned, charming, homely gardens where birds sat still, politely; where, because there was no wind, leaves, when they fell, would fall into neat piles; where the tusked boar were born with muzzles; where riverbeds were peacefully empty; and where, above all, the unpredictable, irrepressible Tribes of Od were nowhere to be seen – having, he hoped, been overrun by plagues of ravenous lotuses or small, squeaky frogs. Today, as Yui strode across the marble floor of the imposing vestibule of The Ministry of Milk and Honey, his right sandal soaked, his mood was neither fearful and wet, nor peaceful and dry - it was fiery, red, determined and decisive. “While the foolish crowds dump buckets of water on the heads of the sub-human, superstitious Prophets of The Tribes of Od, and our own pessimistic prophets predict storms and doom and build rafts and arks and canoes, I – I, Yui, Son of Temo, Grandson of Not, descendant of the house of Tong Stik; I – Yui the most renowned of Leak Plugging Clerks at The Ministry of Milk and Honey; I will preach a different doctrine, a different destiny – a powerful, defiant, glorious destiny for humankind!” he said - uncharacteristically loudly – and his voice echoed, yes, somewhat prophetically, around the venerable Ministry vestibule walls. Into the office of the Chief of Leak Plugging he strode, stormily – unstoppably. “I, the once-promising Yui Tong, resign!” he asserted, hotly. The Chief was gobsmacked. “We were going to plug the milk and honey leaks that were flooding the countryside and ruining our harvests; we were going to tie balloons filled with silver and potassium iodide to flocks of pigeons, and geoengineer the weather; we were going to spray the sky with vile, evil, sulphuric curses – and clog up the stratosphere and block out the sun - we were going to make life safe! Safe – at last! But what have we done? Nothing! Nothing, I tell you! I have been furling and unfurling papyri for years – to what end? None! None!” And with these blazing, utterly unforeseen, final, departing words - Yui span around haughtily, and left The Ministry forever. The Chief of Leaks, still in shock, mumbled something about antediluvian pension papyrus BC1000, even though Yui had gone. “Life CAN be controlled! Life CAN be controlled! ALL life can be controlled!” Yui hummed to himself, over and over, like a mantra or a marching song, as he picked up the items he felt he´d need from his apartment, so conveniently situated, all those years, just around the corner from the Ministry... A hemp canvas for shelter, his cotton hammock, some flax rope, a knife, a clay pot, a fire flint, his favourite ox hoof toothpaste, a fishing hook, papyri, a reed stylus and ochre ink, a few clothes – Yui was off to the forest! It was a daring lifestyle choice. But someone had to make it! He was going to show them all! It COULD be done! “Damn the primitive Tribes of Od! Damn Noah and The Prophets of Guilt! Damn the flooding streets! Damn the drunken, idiotic mobs! Damn the Ministry of Milk and Honey! I will be the man who tidied the forests! I will be the man who made the forests safe - for everyone, forever! Me, me, I, Me, Yui...” he insisted to himself, manically. III And so it was that Yui Tong, Son of Temo, Grandson of Not, descendant of the house of Tong Stik; Yui the famously gifted yet unexpectedly-resigned, autistic Milk and Honey Leak Plugging Clerk, became Yui the Leaf Piler, Tidier of Forests, Herald of a Tidy Earth, Prophet of Total Control... A walking stick in his left hand, a cloth bag with his select possessions slung over his right shoulder, pilgrim-like - witnessed only by destiny, by the impenetrable sky, and by time –Yui set out through the irritating rain, upon his grand and ominous quest. Day after day, night after night, Yui walked on. Here he saw a milk leak, there he saw a honey leak – and everywhere he walked he was disgusted. Were there subterranean bee-farms and bovine-farms tended by The Tribes of Od, he wondered. It wouldn´t have surprised him! Were there great underground caverns where gravity was reversed, and cows grazed upside-down on cave ceilings, and liquids flowed upwards, seeping out into the above-ground world – deliberately designed to make life messy? He wouldn´t have put anything past the disruptive, anarchic Tribes of Od! Finally, and most awfully, Yui entered the pine-forested hills where, unlike the perfectly flat, obstacle-free, refreshingly lemony-clean, well-mopped marble Ministry floors – so mathematically reassuring to the eye – underfoot, everything was mulchy and mushy and mouldy and stank - and clumps of leaves and twigs and god-knows-what rotting organic matter hid dips in the path where a less cautious, less resentful human being (or their child, or their donkey, or their dog) could easily trip and fall, and if not crack a bone, at the very least get splattered in dirt. “Here it is! This is my nightmare! Here I shall set up camp. Here I shall preach! Here I shall pile leaves into piles. I will make this forest habitably safe for decent, careful human beings. I will set the example for the generations to come! We will not regress into the incoherent mysticism of The Tribes of Od! We shall not succumb to the rights and wrongs, and guilt and shame and masochism of Noah and his Rain God! Nor shall we numb ourselves with wine and fight in the mud like swine! We, the Human Race, shall establish our dominion - our domination! All things shall know their place! And we shall put them there! The atom itself shall do our bidding!” he declared, presciently, brilliantly - to the pines and oaks and ivy and wild, fruitless grape vines. And Yui did set up camp, there in the soggy forest. And his camp became his home. The days passed, the nights passed – and the rain fell incessantly upon his canvas, beneath which his hammock hung dry. And there he would sleep. The rain would fall, conveniently, straight into his cooking pot – upon the nettles and borage and mallow and dandelions he´d forage – and this he would heat and eat. And so it was that Yui survived - physically. But emotionally, all was not well... Yui would spend his days pushing leaves into tidy piles. Sometimes he would push with the palms of his hands until they were filthy and swollen and blistered. Sometimes he would push with rakes he´d fabricate with branches and twigs and vine. But morning after morning, when Yui would awake to inspect his previous day´s pushing - he´d find that his piles were gone. Sometimes it was foxes, sometimes it was boar, sometimes it was the wind – but mostly it was the rain. Night after relentless night it washed Yui´s perfect little leaf pyramids, his offerings to the God of Tidiness, desecratingly – back into the undifferentiated carpet of rot and rebirth that overlay the forest floor. Throughout this time the children of The Tribes of Od spied on Yui through the undergrowth - watching in confused amazement as he pursued his evidently-unattainable goal. Mostly they felt sorry for him, but sometimes they would giggle, and sometimes Yui would suspect he heard them. “He´s not the Grandson of Not, he´s the Grandson of Nut! Because he´s as nutty as a fruitcake!” they would joke. (Such is the antiquity of that unlikely expression: an association between madness and baked dry fruits that we have inherited from our antediluvian ancestors – ancestors who picked walnuts and almonds and dates from trees that were the ancestors of the trees from which we pick our walnuts and almonds and dates, to bake our fruitcakes, today.) At night the children of The Tribes of Od would recount Yui´s antics to the Elders of the Tribes, who were beginning to feel not only sorry for Yui, but concerned. They became especially concerned when Yui fell ill. IV Perhaps it was the damp. Perhaps it was the diet. Perhaps it was the suddenness of change of lifestyle. Perhaps Yui was being eaten away from the inside by his own insanity. Perhaps it was the fire of his rage that was burning him up. The Elders of The Tribes of Od began to visit Yui at night, while he slept, and watch over the odd Momo Crog plaintively. They would place calming hands upon his fevered limbs as he tossed and rocked in his hammock. “We can ease his suffering, but he will die unless he lets go of his frantic battle with reality” they agreed, learnedly. The Elders would discuss Yui the Leaf Piler, Prophet of Total Control - whom they saw as an extreme example of the addiction to fear that so afflicted his species. “Even if they could control reality, they would still be controlled by the need to control!” remarked one Elder, disbelievingly. “They´d still be controlled by Crog!” another Elder concurred. Then the eyes of one of the most venerable Prophets of the Tribes of Od began to spin, and as if in trance, he predicted “there shall come a time when the Momo Crogs shall all be numbered, and their numbers written in a great, invisible book. They shall be permitted to change their names, but not their numbers. They shall be unable to travel unnumbered. They shall consider it the mark of civilization to be numbered. Even their dogs shall be numbered - their numbers written beneath their fur!” The children gasped. The adults gathered closer. “They shall build their houses upon each other´s houses. Their cities shall be like ant hills, or beehives” the Prophet declared, “they shall study the mechanics of things, yet know not the things themselves; they shall measure and weigh and time all things, yet feel not the mystery or sacredness of anything.” The children gasped. The adults gathered closer still. The eyes of the Prophet rolled on. “All shall be watched; every doing shall be written down, though not by hand; and every doing shall be remembered, though not by mind. Numbered, and forced to work every daylight hour, they shall nevertheless consider themselves free – so enamoured of control shall they be! And so enamoured of the mechanics of things shall they become, they shall dream of becoming things themselves!” The children gasped again and again. Some of the toddlers cried. “I think Yui would like their future” said one toddler, gently. The adults were somber. Of course - this was the future towards which their fear was leading them. “But what about Yui?” the children called out – having grown fond of him while spying on him, day after day. Eventually it was decided that a gnarly old Shaman would present a medicinal question to the fevered Yui – a mercurial question which, if received without resistance, would glide through his blood and mind – and perhaps, potentially, as-if-by-grace, apparently-magically heal and transform Yui – saving him from his mission, saving him from the fires in his body, and even saving him from the Great Coming Flood. Did Yui know he was no longer cooking for himself - that he was being fed a soothing broth prepared by the cooks of The Tribes of Od? Did Yui even know where he was any more? No, he didn´t. Yui was now in a psychological land, a dreamland, beyond leaves, beyond forests, beyond Ministries, beyond Prophets - the land known to The Tribes of Od as “Yoolooloo” - an inner landscape, a psychedelic land beyond time and space, a land beyond rights and wrongs – a land of music and vibrations, resonances and possibilities - a land where grace wandered idly. And there in Yoolooloo, the Land of Questions - though he knew not that the voice he heard was the voice of an elderly Shaman of The Tribes of Od, Yui heard these words: “Yui, Yui – it rained and it rained. It rained until the ocean came. It rained until there was only ocean – until everywhere was ocean. Yet upon that ocean there was an arc. And aboard that arc there was a master sailor, an expert navigator named Noah. To survive the ocean´s storms no human, nor animal, nor bird could have wished for a better captain than he. Yui - can you see the ocean? Can you see the good captain steering his arc?” Yui could, indeed, see an ocean, and waves as high as the sky - and a confident captain smiling broadly, riding great waves - and he wasn´t sure, but it seemed to him that the person who was speaking to him was a fish. “Good. Very good, Yui” said the fish-like Shaman of the Tribes of Od, “now Yui, tell me this – if the good Captain Noah can navigate his arc through the ocean´s storms – does that mean he is therefore in control of the ocean?” To Yui everything looked blurry... the ocean seethed... it was pouring in Yoolooloo... had it been raining forever?... there was a storm at sea... and that storm was inside him... and the neck of the head with the mouth that was speaking to him had gills... was he underwater?... perhaps he had drowned. And, and, and... there was a question – he knew there was. What was it? It was a question about the ocean, and Noah, and navigation, and control... “Noah can navigate, not control” Yui blurted, conclusively – not understanding, in that instant, the consequences of his statement; not understanding the passage it had opened in his psyche – not understanding its consequences for his mission, his prophethood, his mental health, his body, his consciousness, his universe... In that instant, despite Yui´s lack of cognition, the shaman´s question slid all the way down into Yui´s belly, and Yui experienced an unprecedented joy. It was as if he had swallowed trust. It was as if trust was dissolving a lifetime of emotional indigestion. He saw images of himself as an autistic infant trying to pile dewdrops on top of dewdrops, which, of course, would just slip and melt in his tiny hands. He saw images of himself in rags in the forest, piling leaves on top of leaves, which, of course, the wind would sweep up mischievously, delightedly, into the air – laughing. But now Yui laughed too! Yui laughed with the wind! And he looked upon his selves - and laughed and cried and gave thanks for this fresh, new freedom from obsession. “Momo Crog, you are a bit less croggy now” said the Shaman of The Tribes of Od, wryly. And as the Shaman leaned over him, Yui was sure he could see the Shaman had fins. “Are you a fish?” he asked. “Take your time. You´ve been in Yoolooloo, the Land of Questions. Now you´re coming back from that dreamland” the old Shaman explained, gently. Yui felt... something new, something unfamiliar... it was happiness. It was surprising it was so easy to let go of years of tightness and nastiness and pain. It was surprising it was so simple, light and easy to let go of his vision and mission and ambition. “I feel such a sweetness in my belly and chest - it´s so oddly easy to let go” he told the Shaman, curiously. “But where have I come back to? Where am I?” Yui asked, with uncharacteristic calm. “You couldn´t pile leaves anymore, you were too ill - you were lying on your back on your hammock, day after day, night after night – dying”, said the Shaman. Yes, he remembered. Yui blinked and squinted, and stretched his eyes, and looked around. It seemed he was surrounded by fish! Was he... could he be... was he underwater?! He was. And once again, Yui was surprised. He was surprised he wasn´t shocked - or afraid. He was surprised by his own immediate acceptance of this new, alternate, aquatic reality. And feeling an itch under his chin, Yui raised a nail to his neck, and recoiled – though only slightly. He had grown gills. And fins. And a tail - like a merman. He´d been right about the Shaman! “You´ve been in Yoolooloo for weeks. The Great Flood has come. Yesterday Noah´s Ark broke its moorings. We ourselves had already decided to transmute, and swim far away - to where the Momo Crog don´t go. It was transmute-you too - or leave you to die” the Shaman explained. Perhaps this explanation should have mattered. Yui had once loved explanations. Explanations had given him a sense of intellectual dominance, and importance. But what seemed to matter more to Yui now was the kindness in the eyes of the shoal around him. He had never really liked anyone before, or been-liked-by anyone before. And although he was a fish now, he had friends. That felt new, and nice. He flipped his tail about a bit – and that felt nice too... As Yui wriggled in ways he now could, a huge shadow passed overhead. It was the shadow of Noah´s Ark! As it passed above, the newly-marine Yui and the newly-marine Tribes of Od could hear the chirping and growling and hooting and howling of the many species Noah the Guilty had saved - and that happy cacophony made Yui and The Tribes of Od smile, and wriggle and leap... Possessed by their new marine instincts, Yui and the Tribes of Od found themselves leaping, dolphin-like, in arches over the Ark! The animals on the Ark looked up, and laughed and jeered, and sung and danced - each according to their nature. Even Noah and the Faithful smiled – hesitantly though, as there were no clear scriptural directives for such an occurrence. Mark the Mystic Activist. Catalunya, Summer 2023. www.markthemysticactivist.com Picture by Chris Bennett www.chrisbenn.com

Últimas noticias: ayer Justin Trudeau, Primer Ministro de Canadá, Graduado del Programa de Jóvenes Tiranos del Foro Económico Mundial, y ganador del Trofeo Sonrisas Enfermizamente Insinceras 2022, anunció que Canadá instituiría una iniciativa educativa innovadora diseñada para ayudar a las próximas generaciones de canadienses a ser más amorosos. "¿Para qué convertir a los canadienses en Cíborgs", preguntó Justin (haciendo referencia a las recomendaciones de su gobierno sobre la Convergencia Bio-Digital), "si ni siquiera podemos amarnos unos a otros?" Los medios de comunicación del mundo están en estado de shock. Los canales de noticias están luchando para adaptarse a este cambio de carácter sospechosamente repentino y radical en el político anteriormente sin corazón. Como comentó sucintamente un comentarista de la BBC: "¡¿Qué diablos?!" "¿Son los Cíborgs en-guerra-entre-sí realmente mejores que los humanos no-modificados y genéticamente no-mejorados en-guerra-entre-sí?", desafió retóricamente al público canadiense. "¡Hemos estado bombardeando a otros países para robarles sus recursos durante el tiempo suficiente!" Trudeau exclamó apasionadamente. "No necesitamos transhumanos asexuados con puertos USB en lugar de oídos, necesitamos generaciones capaces de comprender-intelectualmente y, lo que es más importante, capaces de sentir-con-empatía, ¡que todos somos igualmente dignos de amor y respeto!” Juan Mueca, presidente ejecutivo de SONRISA, la organización responsable del codiciado premio Sonrisas Enfermizamente Insinceras, dijo que SONRISA está considerando revocar el prestigioso trofeo de Trudeau. Multimillonarios genéticamente modificados capaces de hazañas sobrehumanas de hipocresía también han cuestionado el mérito de Trudeau. Mientras tanto, los camioneros que, bajo las leyes de 'acceso abierto' asombrosamente liberales de Trudeau, ahora pueden gastar su propio dinero, son citados diciendo: "Démosle una oportunidad: a Mao le encantaba la jardinería, Hitler era vegetariano, Henry Kissinger amaba a su mamá - los sociópatas son solo casi-completamente incapaces de sentir”. ¡Y estoy de acuerdo! Sé que hay una teoría de la conspiración en circulación que afirma que una entidad extraterrestre se ha apoderado del cuerpo del Sr. Trudeau, pero en mi opinión, ¡a quién le importa! Si el Primer Ministro Trudeau aboga por reformas educativas que no inculquen el analfabetismo emocional, la devoción al Dios Máquina, la adicción a la superficialidad, la información, la información, la información… Si él aboga por una educación que fomente la honestidad existencial, la sensibilidad al Gran Misterio, la capacidad para la intimidad y el deleite en la creatividad sin sentido: ¿a quién le importa si no es él mismo... a quién le importa si su artificialidad se ha resquebrajado, su sonrisa se ha suavizado y su derecho al Trofeo SONRISA 2022 está a punto de ser revocado? II Y de todos modos, y además - se han filtrado documentos que van mucho más allá de los planes del Sr. 'entidad´ Trudeau para Canadá - documentos que contienen planes similares para reformas educativas orientadas al amor propuestas por, sí, King Klaus - Kong del Foro, en Europa; por Xi Jinping, de quien el humor no tiene gracia, en China; por Putin el Terrible, en Rusia; por Joe Tembleque, presidente de los EE. UU., y por un sinfín de otros presidentes, monarcas, sultanes y zares hinchados y mezquinos en cientos de otros países - documentos extrañamente puntuados con palabras en Siriano - y sí, me refiero a Siriano de Sirio, no a Sirio de Siria. Documentos que dicen... "Hemos estado educando a nuestros hijos para que crean, no solo que el género es fluido, sino que son intrínsecamente asexuados, de forma innata y biológica, ni hombres ni mujeres; que todos nacemos neutrales; que, al igual que con las máquinas, cualquier órgano se puede desatornillar, atornillar- desenchufar, enchufar... Labios, tetas, pollas, dedos, traseros, cerebros - todo el mundo debería tener cajones llenos de ellos, les decimos - como todos tenemos cajones llenos de viejos enchufes y cables y artilugios. Bueno – trangkewktsopluntipoolik - ¡basta! Hemos estado educando a nuestros hijos para que crean que sus cuerpos son hardware actualizable - tecnológica o genéticamente actualizable - o, lo mejor de todo, actualizable por algún extraño accidente bio-nuclear que los convierte en superhéroes que habitan en un cosmos de cómics en el que pueden hacer zoom y wham y zap y woosh y kapow tanto como quieran sus corazones mejorados. Debemos dejar de manipular sus imaginaciones de esta manera. ¿Qué tipo de mundo kazoom-kapow-splat creemos que tales mentes manipuladas crecerán para co-crear? ¡Shringfotplin! ¿No es obvio? Superkali! Frajelistik! Si realmente quísieramos que la mejora tecno-genética humana salvara al mundo con superhéroes, entonces ¿por qué no estamos llenando sus cabezas y corazones inocentes con las aventuras de Loveman y Lovewoman, La Sanadora, El Perdonador y El Despertador? ¡Expialidoshus! ¿Dónde están los mitos modernos de Loveman volando por el cielo hacia donde los ejércitos están preparados para la batalla - emitiendo un supersonido que abre la mente de todos, y deja que los soldados supuestamente-opuestos vean que todos somos iguales? ¿Dónde están esos cuentos grandiosos, tensos y apasionantes que terminan con todos yendo a casa a cenar? ¿Dónde están los relatos épicos de las hazañas de La Sanadora que permite a las naciones y religiones VER sus emociones, y deshacer los nudos traumáticos en sus espaguetis-energéticos? ¿Por qué no animamos a La Sanadora mientras difunde superheroicamente la expresión masiva de nuestros heridos en pandemias, programas de esterilización eugenista, y genocidios? ¿Por qué no se les cuentan a nuestros hijos cuentos del Perdonador, cuya magia desgarradora pone de rodillas a los banqueros arrepentidos - donde firman documentos que liberan a las naciones de generaciones de deudas? ¿Por qué, si el objetivo de este bombardeo de adoctrinamiento de los medios de comunicación de Hollywood, Bollywood y Chinawood es verdaderamente la Paz en la Tierra - por qué no hacemos cola en los cines para ver El Despertador iluminar el mundo atado-al-ego neurótico al Misterio Sagrado Inexplicable e Indefinible en el cual ya estamos todos? ¡No! ¡Krypslop y dringi! Estamos educando insidiosamente a nuestros hijos para reemplazar la estupidez humana por la estupidez superhumana - el ego hinchado, el miedo, la ignorancia y la violencia humana por el ego hinchado, el miedo, la ignorancia y la violencia superhumana digital, mecánica y genéticamente modificada. Ha llegado el momento de dejar de pagar miles de millones de dólares y yenes a los medios de comunicación de todo el mundo para distorsionar la mente de nuestros queridos jóvenes. ¡Ha llegado el momento de invertir ese dinero en educación que les muestre cómo honrarse a sí mismos, y mantenerse firmes, y no tener miedo de su vulnerabilidad, y ver la belleza de los demás, y saber que son una parte inseparable de todo!" III Últimas noticias: los Sres. Trudeau, Schwab, Jinping, Putin y Biden, y un sinfín de otros presidentes, monarcas, sultanes y zares hinchados y mezquinos, han sido encontrados deambulando aturdidos y desconcertados por los pasillos del poder, sin saber dónde habían estado, o lo que podrían haber dicho, durante las últimas veinticuatro horas. Trudeau niega haber dicho que "no necesitamos transhumanos asexuados con puertos USB en lugar de oídos - necesitamos generaciones capaces de comprender-intelectualmente y, lo que es más importante, capaces de sentir-con-empatía ¡que todos somos igualmente dignos de amor y respeto!" a pesar de haber sido visto pronunciando estas palabras exactas en el horario de máxima audiencia de la televisión canadiense. "¡No fui yo!" continúa protestando, otorgando posible credibilidad a la teoría de la conspiración global de una toma de posesión temporal extraterrestre Siriana de las mentes de los líderes incompetentes, emocionalmente corruptos, y espiritualmente en bancarrota de la humanidad. Yo personalmente no tengo ni idea. Pero si fueron los Sirianos, digo "¡gracias! Estoy con vosotros -quienquiera que seáis, o lo que seáis. ¡Y no dudéis en volver!" Mark the Mystic Activist Londres, Verano 2023 www.markthemysticactivist.com

Once upon a time, not so long ago - when the self-terminating nature of modern human civilisation had been painstakingly researched and referenced, and meticulously ignored; and the people of the Earth - deaf to the symphonic wisdom of the forests and the seas - were praying to A.I. for salvation; there lived, in the hills, a five year old orphan girl - whose unapologetic Aunties had named ´Love´. "What is Love?" Love asked her Auntie Joy, one cosy afternoon in their cottage, over gingerbread and cinnamon tea, "is it when adults kiss?" "It might be" Auntie Joy smiled, "but it might also not". "Love is what you feel" she said, more contemplatively "when you feel the life in another, and you know that life is also your own". "Oh!" said Love, "then I love Putsy, and Crimble, and Torontonton, and..." (and one by one, she named the cottage cats, and the stick insects who lived out back, the foxes and frogs who lazed about around the pond - and the hundreds of trees who cradled her days). "Indeed! Indeed you do!" exclaimed Auntie Joy, delightedly "and do you feel they love you?" "They love everything!" said Love, spontaneously – with a casual, yet halting authority. II However... all was not well in the hills where love lived with her seven aunties: Auntie Joy, Auntie Oneness, Auntie I-Am-You, Auntie Absolute Equality, Auntie Open Mind, Auntie Magical Adventures, and Auntie The Mystery of Existence... For Love´s seven aunties knew The Evil Needle was coming for her - as seemingly-unstoppably as industrialisation, urbanisation, the pain of alienation, the degeneration of the planetary ecosphere - and the prophecies in fairy tales. Love´s seven aunties knew that The Needle of Evil would search out Love´s shoulder - because injection was written into the laws of their Earth... When Love´s parents had died, her seven anarchist, activist aunties had snatched her away to the hills - despite the decree of Eugene the Eugenicist, Global Minister of Population and Health - which had made the bio-nanochipping of children obligatory, and recommended it be at birth. But the drones of Smart City Central scanned every millimetre of the mountains; and the seven aunties knew they knew where they were - and that those who saw through the drones´ eyes made no exceptions... And so it was that the seasons span... Love turned six, and seven, and eight nine ten... Around and around and around the seasons span - until, one unsuspecting, unlikely, windy day: a flyer blew into the hills - and into the hands of Love. And there, in the middle of the leaflet; in mouthwateringly photoshopped deliciousness - was the almost-divine image of a vegan strawberry ice cream. Beneath the image was written, shudderingly: "free with every jab. no parental consent required". Was the leaflet scented, Love wondered - sniffing it. It smelt SO good! "No Child, it´s not the leaflet" announced the hollow voice of a Transhuman Injection Agent, "it´s this!" And the Injection Agent leapt upon Love - stabbing her in the left shoulder with The Needle of Evil; while, with astonishing, genetically-enhanced dexterity, it simultaneously placed the promised Vegan Ice Cream in the bewildered child´s right hand. III "Why have you got such stupid names?" were Love´s last words, as she arrived back at Cosy Cottage, stumbled at its threshold, and fell stiffly to the ground. Her seven activist anarchist aunties picked up her soft, little body, and put her gently to bed - where Love lay looking upwards, her eyeballs pulsing in their sockets as the evil liquid shot through her veins - deciding whether to kill her, or convert her into an Operative of Smart City Central. Love´s seven aunties placed candles around Love´s bed, and cuddled her in prayer - and watched over her with tearful eyes, infuriated. They watched over her by day, and they watched over her by night. Cats, stick insects, foxes and frogs - creatures of all sorts came to Love´s vigil. Even the trees, who could not get in the room, held vigil - for there was nothing in the hills that did not love Love. Little Love sweated so much she began to shrivel. Her blood boiled. And when she began to levitate horizontally, and scream vicious curses - much like the little girl in The Exorcist - her seven kind aunties strapped her wrists and ankles to the four posts of her four poster bed. "Ice cream, ice cream!" she screamed, grinning "give me strawberry ice cream!" "Maybe a handsome prince will kiss her better" said Auntie Oneness - who was a sucker for romantic endings - though, really, she knew full-well that idealisation wasn´t love – and that Love can only happen in equality - since to feel the life in another, one has to be feeling that life in oneself. "The prophecy predicts she will sleep for a hundred years!" wailed Auntie Joy, who would´ve gladly exchanged fates with Love... The stick insects were more practical: they recited statistics - PCR test efficacy statistics, lockdown and mask and social distancing efficacy statistics, adverse reaction statistics, bribery and censorship statistics, and so on... "Why do you do this?" Auntie The Mystery of Existence asked them, mystified. "First she needs the facts!" they replied, chirpily. "Then what?" asked Auntie Open Mind. "Then we march on Smart City Central! Look!" they replied - and all seven aunties looked out of the window and saw: thousands of stick insects with banners, and rucksacks with picnics; thousands of cats, preening themselves in preparation - and thousands of frogs, mounted like knights, on the backs of wild foxes. "It´s like Avatar!" exclaimed Auntie Magical Adventures. "If we need to fight... well, who knows - perhaps we will" declared the stick insects - whose forearms were like tiny truncheons, and legs like little lances; "but only Love can awaken Love - so this is not like Avatar" they explained - "at least, not yet..." "And may it never be!" croaked Grandi, the venerable shaman elder of the frog nation, who was squatted on the sill of the open bedroom window. IV And so it was that the seven activist anarchist aunties unstrapped Love, and tied her securely upon a palanquin, and set off towards Smart City Central, in the company of many life forms - the trees waving them their blessings... Off they set, singing as they went - singing songs of winter, and songs of the return of spring... And so it was that they entered Smart City Central, and flabbergasted the thousands upon thousands of screen linked City Surveillance Operatives, whose job it was to watch and inform. "Millions of stick insects, cats, and frogs on foxes, and seven old ladies" have entered the city streets, they reported - unable to believe their eyes; fearing for their insanity... But the spectacle was too spectacular, and the Song of Love too loud... The Smart City Surveillance Grid spluttered, and spat glitches, and crashed. Serums exploded in their syringes. The knees of the good people of Smart City Central went wobbly, and they were flooded with human memories. And in the midst of it all - as 5G towers tumbled, like the statues of deposed dictators - the compressed intensity of so much Love woke Love, who looked up from her palanquin, confused - though seemingly refreshed. "Aunties!" she called-out, "where am I?""Oh, My Darling! You have awoken! Is that you? Are you back?" Auntie Oneness asked, almost desperately. "What do you mean? asked Love, "I just nodded off for a bit." And so it WAS a happy ending, which pleased Auntie Oneness no end! Love herself yawned and stretched, as Auntie Joy unstrapped her - and she hopped off her palanquin, quite gaily. The many creatures cheered. The seven aunties sobbed with happiness. Surveillance cameras crackled, syringes burst, and 5G towers shattered like fireworks – in celebration. And slowly, slowly - for everything takes time - the good people of Smart City Central re-accustomed themselves to feeling the Love in their Blood - and other tender, forgotten emotions. Chapter 10, "PARALLEL PLANDEMICS - Short Stories from The Annals of Parallel Earths" by Mark The Mystic Activist. "PARALLEL PLANDEMICS" is available for free download (in English and Spanish) here: https://www.markthemysticactivist.com/other-books-otros-libros

Érase una vez, no hace mucho tiempo, cuando la naturaleza auto-terminante de la civilización humana moderna había sido minuciosamente investigada y referenciada, y meticulosamente ignorada; y la gente de la Tierra - sorda a la sabiduría sinfónica de los bosques y los mares - oraba a la I.A. por la salvación; vivía en las colinas una niña huérfana de cinco años, cuyas tías sin disculpas habían llamado 'Amor'. "¿Qué es el amor?" le preguntó Amor a su Tía Alegría, una tarde acogedora en su cabaña, mientras tomaban pan de jengibre y té de canela, "¿es cuando los adultos se besan?" "Podría ser", sonrió la Tía Alegría, "pero también podría no serlo". "El amor es lo que sientes", dijo, más contemplativamente, "cuando sientes la vida en otro, y sabes que aquella vida también es la tuya". "¡Oh!" dijo Amor, "entonces amo a Putsy, y Crimble, y Torontonton, y..." (y uno por uno, nombró a los gatos de la cabaña, y a los insectos palo que vivían en el jardín de atrás, a los zorros y ranas que holgazaneaban alrededor del estanque, y a los cientos de árboles que acunaban sus días). "¡Es verdad. Es verdad!", exclamó la Tía Alegría, encantada "y ¿sientes que te aman?" "¡Aman todo!", dijo Amor, espontáneamente, con una autoridad casual, pero impresionante. II Sin embargo... todo no estaba bien en las colinas donde Amor vivía con sus siete tías: la Tía Alegría, la Tía Unidad, la Tía Yo-Soy- Tú, la Tía Igualdad Absoluta, la Tía Mente Abierta, la Tía Aventuras Mágicas, y la Tía El Misterio de la Existencia... Porque las siete tías de Amor sabían que La Aguja del Mal venía por ella, tan aparentemente imparable como la industrialización, la urbanización, el dolor de la alienación, la degeneración de la ecosfera planetaria, y las profecías en los cuentos de hadas. Las siete tías de Amor sabían que La Aguja del Mal buscaría el hombro de Amor, porque la inyección estaba escrita en las leyes de su Tierra... Cuando los padres de Amor murieron, sus siete tías anarquistas y activistas la habían arrebatado y llevado a las colinas, a pesar del decreto de Eugene el Eugenista, Ministro Global de Población y Salud, que había hecho obligatorios los bio-nanochips para los niños, y había recomendado que se insertaran al nacer. Pero los drones de la Ciudad Inteligente Central escanearon cada milímetro de las montañas; y las siete tías sabían que sabían dónde estaban, y que aquellos que veían a través de los ojos de los drones no hacían excepciones... Y así fue que las estaciones giraron... Amor cumplió seis años, y siete, y ocho, nueve, diez... Una tras otra tras otra las estaciones giraron - hasta que, un día desprevenido, improbable, ventoso: un folleto fue soplado por las colinas - hasta llegar a las manos de Amor. Y allí, en medio del folleto - una delicia irresistible photoshopeada - había la imagen casi divina de un helado de fresa vegano. Debajo de la imagen estaba escrito, estremecedoramente: "gratis con cada inyección. no se requiere el consentimiento paternal". ¿Estaba el folleto perfumado?, se preguntó Amor, olfateándolo. ¡Olía TAN bien! "¡No Hija Mía, el folleto no es!" anunció la voz hueca de un Agente de Inyección Transhumano, "¡es esto!" Y el Agente de Inyección saltó sobre Amor, apuñalándola en el hombro izquierdo con La Aguja del Mal; mientras que, con una destreza asombrosa, genéticamente mejorada - colocó simultáneamente el helado vegano prometido en la mano derecha de la niña desconcertada. III "¿Por qué tenéis nombres tan estúpidos?" fueron las últimas palabras de Amor, cuando regresó a Cabaña Acogedora, tropezó en su umbral y cayó rígidamente al suelo. Sus siete tías anarquistas activistas recogieron su cuerpecito pequeño y delicado, y la acostaron suavemente. Ahí yacía, Amor mirando hacia arriba, sus globos oculares palpitando en sus cuencas mientras el líquido maligno atravesaba sus venas, decidiendo si matarla o convertirla en una Operativa de la Ciudad Inteligente Central. Las siete tías de Amor colocaron velas alrededor de su cama, la abrazaron en oración, y la cuidaron con ojos llorosos, enfurecidos. La vigilaban de día y la vigilaban de noche. Gatos, insectos palo, zorros y ranas, criaturas de todo tipo acudieron a la vigilia de Amor. Incluso los árboles, que no podían entrar en la habitación, celebraban vigilia, porque no había nada en las colinas que no amara a Amor. La pequeña Amor sudaba tanto que comenzó a encogerse. Su sangre hirvió. Y cuando comenzó a levitar horizontalmente y gritar maldiciones viciosas - al igual que la niña del Exorcista, sus siete amables tías le ataron las muñecas y los tobillos a los cuatro postes de su cama con dosel. "¡Helado, helado!", gritó, sonriendo "¡dadme helado de fresa!" "Tal vez un príncipe guapo la curará con un beso", dijo la Tía Unidad, que era una tonta para los finales románticos, aunque, en realidad, sabía muy bien que la idealización no era amor, y que el amor solo puede suceder en igualdad, ya que para sentir la vida en otro, uno tiene que estar sintiendo esa vida en uno mismo. "¡La profecía predice que dormirá durante cien años!", se lamentó la Tía Alegría, quien con gusto hubiera intercambiado destinos con Amor... Los insectos palo eran más prácticos: recitaban estadísticas: estadísticas de eficacia de las pruebas PCR, estadísticas de eficacia de los confinamientos y máscaras y el distanciamiento social, estadísticas de reacciones adversas, estadísticas de soborno y censura, y más... "¿Por qué hacéis esto?" les preguntó la Tía El Misterio de la Existencia, desconcertada. "¡Primero ella necesita los hechos!", respondieron, chirriantes. "Y después - ¿qué?", preguntó la Tía Mente Abierta. "¡Entonces marchamos hacia la Ciudad Inteligente Central! ¡Mirad!", respondieron. Y las siete tías miraron por la ventana y vieron: miles de insectos palo con pancartas y mochilas con picnics; miles de gatos, acicalándose en preparación, y miles de ranas, montadas como caballeros, en las espaldas de zorros salvajes. "¡Es como Avatar!", exclamó la Tía Aventuras Mágicas. "Si tenemos que luchar... bueno, quién sabe, tal vez lo hagamos", declararon los insectos palo, cuyos antebrazos eran como pequeñas porras, y cuyas patas eran como pequeñas lanzas; "pero solo el Amor puede despertar a Amor, así que esto no es como Avatar", explicaron, "al menos, no todavía..." "¡Y que nunca lo sea!", graznó Grandi, el venerable chamán anciano de la nación de las ranas, que estaba en cuclillas en el alféizar de la ventana abierta del dormitorio. IV Y así fue que las siete tías anarquistas activistas desataron a Amor, y la ataron firmemente a un palanquín, y partieron hacia la Ciudad Inteligente Central, en compañía de muchas formas de vida: los árboles mandándoles sus bendiciones... Se embarcaron, cantando - cantando canciones de invierno, y canciones del regreso de la primavera... Y así fue que entraron en la Ciudad Inteligente Central, y sorprendieron a los miles y miles de Operativos de Vigilancia de la Ciudad vinculados a sus pantallas, cuyo trabajo era observar e informar. "Millones de insectos palo, gatos y ranas en zorros, y siete ancianas han entrado en las calles de la ciudad", informaron, incapaces de creer lo que veían; temiendo por su locura.. Pero el espectáculo era demasiado espectacular, y la Canción de Amor demasiado fuerte... La Red de Vigilancia de la Ciudad Inteligente balbuceó, escupió fallas y se estrelló. Los sueros explotaron en sus jeringas. Las rodillas de la buena gente de la Ciudad Inteligente Central se tambalearon, y se inundaron de recuerdos humanos. Y en medio de todo esto, mientras las torres 5G caían, como las estatuas de dictadores depuestos, la intensidad comprimida de tanto amor despertó a Amor, que levantó la vista de su palanquín, confundida, aunque aparentemente renovada. "¡Tías!", gritó, "¿dónde estoy?" ¡Ay, querida! ¡Te has despertado! ¿Eres tú? ¿Has vuelto?" Preguntó la Tía Unidad, casi desesperadamente. "¿Qué quieres decir? Le preguntó Amor, "me quedé dormida, nada más". ¡Así que FUE un final feliz, lo cual complació a la Tía Unidad muchísimo! Amor bostezó y se estiró, mientras la Tía Alegría la desataba - y saltó de su palanquín, bastante alegremente. Las muchas criaturas vitorearon. Las siete tías sollozaron de felicidad. Las cámaras de vigilancia crujieron, las jeringas estallaron, y las torres 5G explotaron como fuegos artificiales, en celebración. Y lentamente, lentamente, porque todo lleva tiempo, la buena gente de la Ciudad Inteligente Central se reacondicionó a sentir el amor en su sangre - y otras emociones tiernas, olvidadas. Capítulo 10, "PLANDEMIAS PARALELAS - Cuentos Cortos de Los Anales De Tierras Paralelas" por Mark el Activista Místico. "PLANDEMIAS PARALELAS" se puede descargar gratuitamente (en inglés y español) aquí: https://www.markthemysticactivist.com/other-books-otros-libros

Escúchalo O léelo... En mi opinión, la cuestión central (si queremos co-crear una nueva sociedad descentralizada, comunitaria y consciente) es como nos relacionamos entre nosotr@s. SEMBRANDO UNA NUEVA SOCIEDAD Para mí, cómo nos relacionamos - la calidad de nuestras relaciones - la conciencia y la cercanía con la que nos relacionamos, es el aspecto más crucial e importante que debemos considerar si queremos co-crear una nueva sociedad descentralizada, comunitaria y consciente. Podríamos establecer monedas alternativas, sistemas de trueque, aprender a tejer y hacer zapatos, y vivir con la tierra. Incluso podríamos, eventualmente, establecer comunidades locales totalmente autónomas y autosuficientes. PERO, si no nos relacionamos conscientemente, entonces todo lo que habremos hecho es habernos reorganizado. No nos habremos convertido en la semilla de una sociedad verdaderamente diferente. Habremos establecido comunidades locales mejor organizadas, tal vez ecológicamente organizadas, pero no habremos preparado el terreno, o el campo energético, para que nuestr@s niet@s y sus niet@s hereden una cultura radicalmente nueva de conciencia, respeto amoroso y belleza. . ¿Es ridículamente idealista aspirar a dejar tal legado a nuestros descendientes? ¿Es una expectativa utópica y poco realista? ¡La verdad, en mi opinión, es que no lo sabemos! Las personas a lo largo de la historia se han mirado a los ojos, han sido empáticas, han ofrecido bondad y han intentado co-crear sociedades conscientes, y disfrutarlas, y ofrecerlas a las generaciones venideras, pero con (digamos) éxito limitado. Sin embargo, tal vez es solo ahora que much@s de nosotr@s tenemos la comprensión psicológica, la madurez emocional, la claridad mental y la espiritualidad no-dogmática necesarias para hacer realidad una sociedad consciente. Cualquiera que sea el caso, parece que hay "una llamada a la conciencia" en innumerables corazones individuales, y una llamada evolutiva colectiva dentro de la especie - la cual "pide ser obedecida" ¡Así que much@s de nosotr@s seguimos caminando - hacia lo desconocido! ¡El "camino que se hace al andar" hacia una sociedad consciente nos llama1 Y este es mi argumento: que si vamos a continuar con esta mega-iniciativa - este peregrinaje colectivo de épocas - y queremos tener alguna esperanza de éxito, entonces: el tema principal al que debemos prestar nuestra atención, y para el que tenemos que asumir la responsabilidad, individualmente - es la forma en que nos relacionamos ¿RELACIONES CONSCIENTES? ¿Qué quiero decir con Relaciones Conscientes? En primer lugar, déjame decirte que cuando hablo de "relacionarnos" quiero decir, sí: cómo nos relacionamos con todo - los árboles, los animales, los elementos, los objetos - pero SOBRE TODO, me refiero a la forma en que nos relacionamos entre nosotr@s.. ¿Y a qué me refiero con relacionarnos "conscientemente"? Dos cosas. En primer lugar, que nos relacionamos en el presente, en el momento presente. Y en segundo lugar, que nos relacionamos en el momento presente con un grado de reconocimiento de nuestra "naturaleza dual" como conciencia misma, indefinible en términos de tiempo y espacio - y como personajes individuales locos y magníficos, muy condicionados por el tiempo y el espacio. Y cuando digo "un grado de reconocimiento", no me refiero a la comprensión intelectual. Me refiero al grado de percepción SENTIDA, en el momento (de nuestra naturaleza dual). Así que esas son mis premisas. Much@s de vosotr@s sin duda me entenderéis, aunque expresaríais la misma comprensión en otros vocabularios. Lo cual está bien, por supuesto. Pero sean cuales sean nuestros vocabularios, ¿cómo es la Relación Consciente en la práctica? Pintaré un cuadro. Mañana, sin duda, pintaría un cuadro un poco diferente. No pretendo que sea definitivo. Es un boceto, un esquema - y un recordatorio, y una llamada... Por favor, ten en cuenta que no hemos sido educad@s para relacionarnos así; que en realidad - en virtud de nuestra falta de educación espiritual/existencial, intelectual, psicológica y emocional no-dogmática, por defecto, la mayoría de nosotr@s, la mayor parte del tiempo, tendemos a relacionarnos inconscientemente. Por lo tanto, una representación de las Relaciones Conscientes puede parecer forzada, incómoda, artificial o poco realista. Y por favor ten en cuenta también que esta es una representación de personas que han sido educadas en "lo invisible" (las dimensiones mentales, espirituales y psico-emocionales de nuestra experiencia) - de maneras que actualmente no están disponibles en nuestras escuelas o universidades o currículos de trabajo. Se han hecho a sí mism@s el objeto, o el tema de estudio, de su educación. ¡Y no solo "una vez, en un taller de fin de semana"! Aprender a Relacionarnos Conscientemente, consistentemente, en mi opinión, para la mayoría de nosotr@s, requiere años de auto-estudio dedicado. POR EJEMPLO Entonces, tomemos el ejemplo de dos personas ya educadas de esta manera que viven juntas - y ambas se sienten apretadas, ambas sienten que necesitan espacio y ambas dudan en decirlo. Un escenario que much@s de nosotr@s podríamos reconocer... Pero primero tenemos que recordar que las personas que se Relacionan Conscientemente, como he dicho, viven en el presente. Y el presente es un misterio. El momento presente no se puede captar conceptualmente. Solo se puede sentir. Y cuanto más profundamente se siente, más sagrado y maravilloso parece. Entonces, ya sea que el momento esté lleno de felicidad o de tristeza, la percepción de su maravilla sagrada une a tales personas en un placer más profundo que la felicidad o tristeza de la superficie. Viven junt@s en un campo energético de conciencia y aprecio reconocible, tangible y profundamente placentero. Siento que es importante nombrar esto porque, cuando aparecen los sentimientos de estrechez, y necesidad de espacio, y la vacilación para hablar aparecen dentro de este campo energético de presencia y profundo placer. Los sentimientos se destacan, ¡como un texto que ha sido resaltado! O como cuando una sección de una orquesta de repente se vuelve dominante... Entonces - estas dos personas se sientan juntas para compartir sus sentimientos... Comienzan, de la misma manera que los Na´vi en Avatar dicen "te veo" - reconociendo el ser del otro y de la otra - sus esencias indefinibles. (¡Al menos así es como entiendo yo ese saludo!) Lo que nos lleva de vuelta al otro aspecto de las Relaciones Conscientes: el reconocimiento de nuestra "naturaleza dual" - tanto atemporal como limitada en el tiempo. ¿Por qué, antes de abordar sus sentimientos de encierro, y su miedo a la auto-expresión, toman una pausa para reconocer su esencia a-temporal (es decir, siempre-presente)? Porque son conscientes de que los sentimientos que están a punto de compartir pertenecen a sus yoes atados al tiempo - a sus personalidades únicas, con sus propias auto-imágenes, con sus constelaciones únicas de recuerdos, miedos y sueños - y esta pausa crea perspectiva. Y con la perspectiva - con la perspectiva de nuestro yo atemporal - viene un cambio de identificación de la personalidad externa hacia la esencia interna, la compasión por nuestro propio yo superficial y el de los demás - y una sensación de facilidad... Y así dicen "te veo", de la forma que quieran ("hay mil maneras de arrodillarse y besar el suelo"), y se dejan ver. Y descansan, junt@s, por un rato, en la unión de su unidad. ¡Te dije que esta no es nuestra forma cotidiana de relacionarnos! Pero en mi opinión, esto es solo porque no hemos sido educad@s (por extraño y estrafalario que parezca) en el más básico de todos los asuntos: cómo nos relacionamos entre nosotr@s... No voy a entrar ahora en un análisis psicológico detallado de lo que luego comparte cada persona. Basta decir que - debido a este Estado de Unión - cuando cada un@ comparte los pensamientos y sentimientos de su personalidad condicionada, puede hacerlo con total responsabilidad por la subjetividad de su experiencia. Están lo suficientemente desidentificad@s y amoros@s como para ser muy simples: "Estoy observando estos pensamientos en mi mente", dicen. "Estoy observando estos sentimientos en mi corazón". "Estoy observando estas sensaciones en mi cuerpo". No dicen "Eres una persona que agobia", o incluso "Siento que me abrumas, o me agobias, o me constriñes". Dicen "Siento que no puedo moverme tanto como necesito, siento que necesito estirarme y correr" (por ejemplo). Y debido al hecho de que cada persona SOLO se enfoca en observar y compartir su PROPIA experiencia - cada vez que hablan es como si se quitaran una capa, o pasaran una página... La verdad que "tengo miedo de compartir mi necesidad de espacio porque tengo miedo de hacerte daño" da paso, quizás, a la verdad más profunda de que "tengo miedo de compartir mi necesidad de espacio porque tengo miedo de estar sol@" (por ejemplo), y así sucesivamente... Esta auto-revelación es un desprendimiento de las capas de pensamientos, sentimientos y sensaciones de nuestras personalidades condicionadas - dentro de un campo energético de unión incondicionada, y ¡es exquisita! Es tierna, es apasionada, es dolorosa y jubilosa, es respetuosa, es audaz - ¡es amor! Sí, las Relaciones Conscientes evocan el amor. El amor transpersonal. Ni un amor personal, ni un amor impersonal. No es un amor 'impersonal' - en el sentido de que podríamos hablar de una 'atmósfera impersonal', al referirnos a un enorme edificio sin ventanas, ni cuadros en las paredes. Es un amor trans-personal porque (a) trasciende lo personal, y porque (b) vincula lo personal con lo personal. Las Relaciones Conscientes nos abren a un Amor Transpersonal porque nos revelan el otro y la otra como rostros diferentes de nosotr@s mism@s. Y ahora que he explicado lo que quiero decir con Relaciones Conscientes imagino, y espero, que entiendas porqué digo que - si queremos co-crear comunidades profundas, íntimas, hermosas, conscientes y eventualmente, incluso, nuevas sociedades conscientes - tenemos que aprender a sentarnos un@s con otr@s, y hablar un@s con otr@s, e interactuar un@s con otr@s en una presencia profunda e íntima. ¿Significa esto que tenemos que abandonar nuestra resistencia al avance de la Tecnocracia y el Transhumanismo? ¡Por supuesto que no! ¿Significa esto que tenemos que sucumbir a la deshumanización de la humanidad? ¡No! ¿Significa que tenemos que olvidarnos de la descentralización, la resiliencia de las comunidades locales, o el respeto a las otras especies (o 'naciones') con las que compartimos este planeta? ¡Por supuesto que no! Pero, en mi opinión, significa que - simultáneamente, y quizás con mayor importancia - debemos auto-educarnos en la belleza y el deleite de las relaciones profundas e íntimas. ÁREAS DE AUTO-EDUCACIÓN Entonces, ¿cómo podría ser esta auto-educación? Diría que hay tres áreas que debemos considerar. En primer lugar, diría que necesitamos claridad mental. Y he escrito sobre esto en mi ensayo "La Tribu De La Mente Clara". En segundo lugar, diría que necesitamos profundizar nuestra percepción-sentida del Misterio del Momento sagrado e inteligente - nuestra percepción-sentida de nuestra sagrada pertenencia, y de nuestra propia sacralidad. Esto significa dedicar tiempo repetido y regular a la meditación, al Tai Chi, a la Danzaterapia, a plantar patatas, a correr por el bosque, o a comunicarse con la musa de la redacción de ensayos... ¡Cualquier hábito, o hábitos, que funcione(n) para ti! No necesitamos ninguna ayuda para identificarnos con nuestras personalidades individuales - con los personajes que interpretamos todo el día (y toda la noche), año tras año. ¡Ya estamos, esencialmente, completamente identificad@s allí! El lado de nuestra "naturaleza dual" con el que estamos sub-identificad@s es nuestra experiencia de nosotr@s mism@s como indefinibles, libres y parte de todo - nuestra belleza central, consciente y atemporal. Esta área 'espiritual', o 'existencial' de nuestra auto-educación significa hacer un compromiso específico con nosotr@s mism@s en cuanto a cómo vamos a cultivar este aspecto más íntimo, sagrado, quieto y bendito de nuestro ser - y adherirnos a él. Así que diría, si aún no lo has hecho: elige tu(s) camino(s) y comprométete con él(ellos). Y comparte tu(s) compromiso(s) con amig@s de confianza... Y pregúntales sobre sus propios compromisos. Y pregúntaos cómo podéis apoyaros un@s a otr@s. Necesitamos el apoyo mutuo. Nos necesitamos. Necesitamos tribu. Es difícil adherirse a una disciplina existencial, durante años, sol@. Pero cuando viajamos un@ al lado del otro y de la otra - habiendo acordado apoyarnos mutuamente, habiendo acordado con palabras (¡no tácitamente, o por alguna supuesta telepatía!) - habiendo hecho un pacto para ser una tribu cercana, solidaria y transformadora - entonces el camino se vuelve más fácil, más texturizado, más nutritivo, más sostenible y más divertido. Lo que nos lleva a la tercera y última área de nuestra auto-educación para las Relaciones Conscientes: lo psico-emocional - el territorio de nuestro 'bagaje'. En términos generales, no creo que debamos separar cada detalle emocional de cada una de nuestras interacciones, pero sí creo que un grado de conocimiento psicológico y emocional es esencial. Necesitamos poder nombrar nuestras emociones, y debemos estar familiarizad@s con los hábitos de nuestras psiques - para poder hacer elecciones sabias. Y si recomiendo co-crear una tribu para el área espiritual de nuestra auto-educación - para el área psico-emocional diría que es crítico y crucial. Diría que sin los demás, el auto-conocimiento emocional es casi imposible. Necesitamos enojarnos un@s con otr@s para ver nuestra ira, nuestro fuego, nuestro poder - y aprender a dirigirlo (en lugar de ser dirigid@ por él), y comprometerlo creativamente. Nos necesitamos un@s a otr@s para sentir cómo nos aferramos un@s a otr@s - y llegar a reconocer nuestra vulnerabilidad, nuestra ternura, nuestra inocencia - y aprender a cuidarnos, y aprender a darnos conscientemente. Y soy consciente de que, tal como he dicho, no estamos acostumbrad@s a las Relaciones Conscientes, ni estamos acostumbrad@s a pertenecer a una tribu. Pero aquí está el desafío, creo: si queremos una cultura consciente, entonces necesitamos aprender a relacionarnos conscientemente - y si queremos aprender a relacionarnos conscientemente, entonces necesitamos formar tribus. Hay, por supuesto, innumerables técnicas terapéuticas que podemos elegir para usar en esta área de nuestra auto-educación, y nuevamente, diría: ¡ve con lo que funcione para ti! Cada un@ tiene que encontrar su propio camino. Hago mis propias recomendaciones en el Librito Tribus del Alma, capítulo 5, "Aprendiendo a Relacionarnos con Presencia y Amor", en el que hablo del Círculo del Corazón como una forma de reunirnos como tribu para la curación y la transformación psico-emocional. Educarnos para que podamos Relacionarnos Conscientemente - educarnos intelectual, existencial y psico-emocionalmente - lleva tiempo. No hay una solución rápida. Hemos sido (en mi opinión) brutalmente condicionad@s por una cultura banal, inconsciente y violenta - y des-condicionarnos, o re-condicionarnos, a nosotr@s mism@s en las relaciones sagradas, conscientes y respetuosas no sucederá de la noche a la mañana. Hay un viaje que emprender - un viaje, como ya he dicho, que creo que es mejor emprender junt@s. A veces, he descubierto, en mi propia experiencia y en la de otr@s, nos comprometemos de manera coherente con nuestra auto-educación, y la seguimos con entusiasmo - pero después de algunos años, tal vez, llegamos a sentir que está teniendo poco efecto. "Todavía tengo muy poca identificación dual" decimos, abatid@s, "todavía me relaciono casi completamente identificad@ con mi cuerpo-mente-personalidad-carácter - ¡casi completamente inconsciente!" Sin embargo, también he descubierto que a veces, quizás cuando menos lo esperamos - en medio de una conversación con un amigo o una amiga, quizás - la atemporalidad y la sacralidad nos envuelven, y nos damos cuenta de que somos capaces de reírnos de nuestras pretensiones y ambiciones desde una perspectiva más amplia, y perdonarnos un@s a otr@s y a nosotr@s mism@s - y experimentar el amor. Y estos momentos parecen llegar - no por ningún esfuerzo propio - sino como por gracia. Mi propio sentir es que nuestros compromisos diarios nos preparan. Nos convierten en terreno fértil para la semilla de la gracia. Los años pasan, nos mantenemos firmes en nuestro compromiso con la conciencia, y de alguna manera, descubrimos que ya no estamos identificad@s principalmente con nuestras personalidades individuales, que, como por gracia, nos hemos vuelto "re-identificad@s" - identificad@s principalmente más allá de nuestras personalidades, y somos capaces de relacionarnos con tod@s, y con todo - como las encarnaciones del Misterio Sagrado que ya somos tod@s. Mark the Mystic Activist Cataluña, 2022 www.markthemysticactivist.com t.me/tribusconscientes ESTE ARTÍCULO SE CONVIRTIÓ EN EL CAPÍTULO 4 DE LA SEGUNDA EDICIÓN DE "AMOR Y REVOLUCIÓN"

In my opinion, the central question (if we want to co-create a new, decentralised, community-based, nature-based, conscious society) is how we relate to each other. SEEDING A NEW SOCIETY For me, how we relate - the quality of our relationships - the consciousness and closeness with which we relate - is the most crucial and important aspect we need to consider if we want to co-create a new, decentralised, community-based, conscious society (or societies). We might set up alternative currencies, barter systems, learn to weave and cobble, and live with the land. We might even, eventually, establish fully autonomous, self-sufficient local communities. BUT, if we are not relating consciously, then all we will have done is have re-organised ourselves. We will not have become the seed of a truly different society. We will have set up better organised, perhaps ecologically organised, local communities - but we will not have prepared the ground, or the energy field, for our grandchildren, and their grandchildren, to inherit a radically new culture of awareness, loving respect and beauty. Is it ridiculously idealistic to aspire to leave such a legacy for our descendants? Is it an unrealistic, utopian expectation? The truth, in my opinion, is that we don´t know! People throughout history have looked into each other´s eyes, and been empathic, and offered kindness, and attempted to co-create conscious societies, and enjoy them, and offer them to the generations to come, but had - let us say - limited success. Yet perhaps only now do enough of us have the psychological understanding, the emotional maturity, the mental clarity and the the undogmatic spirituality needed to make such a society a reality. Whatever the case - it seems there´s "a call to consciousness" in countless individual hearts - and a collective evolutionary call within the species - that we "cannot but obey"! And so many of us walk on - into the unknown! The "pathless path" towards a conscious society beckons. And here is my contention: that if we are to continue with such a mega-undertaking - such an epochal collective pilgrimage - and have any hope at all of succeeding, then: the main issue to which we need to give our attention, and for which we need to take responsibility, individually - is the way we relate. CONSCIOUS RELATING? What do I mean by Conscious Relating? Firstly, let me say that when I talk of "relating" I mean, yes: how we relate to (or with) everything - the trees, the animals, the elements, things - but ABOVE ALL, I mean the way we relate to-and-with each other. And what do I mean by relating "consciously"? Two things. Firstly, that we relate in the present, in the present moment. And secondly, that we relate in the present moment with a degree of awareness of our "dual nature" as both consciousness itself, undefinable in terms of time and space - and as crazy and magnificent individual characters, very much conditioned by time and place. And when I say "a degree of awareness", I don´t mean intellectual understanding. I mean degree of FELT perception, in the moment (of our dual nature). So those are my definitions. Many of you will no doubt understand me - although you´d express the same understandings in other vocabularies. Which is fine, of course. But whatever our vocabularies - what does Conscious Relating look like, in practice? I will paint a picture of it. Tomorrow I would no doubt paint a slightly different picture. I don´t intend it to be definitive. It´s a sketch, an outline - and a reminder, and a call... Please bear in mind that we haven´t been educated to relate like this; that actually - by virtue of our lack of undogmatic, experiential/spiritual, intellectual, psychological and emotional education - by default, most of us, most of the time, tend to relate unconsciously. So a depiction of Conscious Relating might come across as forced, awkward, artificial or unrealistic. But please also bear in mind that this is a depiction of people who have been educated in "the invisible" (the mental, spiritual and psycho-emotional dimensions of our experience) - in ways that are not currently available on our school or university or workplace curriculums. They have made themselves the object, or the subject matter, of their education. And not just "once, on a weekend workshop"! To learn to Relate Consciously, consistently, in my opinion, for most of us, requires years of dedicated self-study. FOR EXAMPLE So let´s take an example of a two such educated people who are living together - and both feeling cramped, both feeling they need space, and both hesitant to say so! A scenario many of us might recognise... But firstly we have to remember that people who Relate Consciously, as I have said, live in the present. And the present is a mystery. The present moment cannot be held conceptually. It can only be felt. And the more deeply it is felt, the more sacred and wondrous it seems. So whether the moment is full of happiness, or full of sadness - the perception of its sacred wonder unites such people in a deeper pleasure than its surface happiness or sadness. They live together in a recognisable, tangible, deeply-pleasurable energy field of awareness and appreciation. I feel it is important to name this because, when the feelings of crampedness, and needing space, and the hesitancy to speak appear - they do so within this energy field of presentness and deep pleasure. The feelings stand out - like text that´s been highlighted! Or like when one section of an orchestra suddenly becomes dominant... And so these two people sit down together to acknowledge these feelings... They begin, in the same way that the Na´vi in Avatar say "I see you" - by acknowledging each other´s being - each other´s undefinable essence. (At least that´s how I understand that greeting!) Which brings us back to the other aspect of Conscious Relating: awareness of our "dual nature" - as both timeless and time-bound. Why - before addressing their feelings of confinement and their fear of self-expression - do these people pause to acknowledge their timeless (i.e. always-present) essence? Because they´re aware that the feelings they are about to share belong to their time-bound selves - to their unique personalities, with their unique self-images, with their unique constellations of memories, fears and dreams - and this pause creates perspective. And with perspective - with the perspective of the our timeless selves - comes a shift of identification from outward personality towards inner essence, compassion for our own and each other´s surface self - and a sense of ease... And so they say "I see you", in whatever way they choose ("there are a thousand ways to kneel and kiss the ground"), and they let themselves be seen. And they rest, together, for a while, in the union of their oneness. I told you this is not our everyday way of relating! But, in my opinion, this is only because we are uneducated (bizarre as it might seem) in this most basic of all matters: how we relate to each other... I am not going to now enter a detailed psychological analysis of what each person then shares. Suffice to say that - because of this State of Union - when each shares the thoughts and feelings of their conditioned personality, they are able to do so with full responsibility for the subjectivity of their experience. They are disidentified and self-loving enough to be very simple: "I am observing these thoughts in my mind", they say. "I am observing these feelings in my heart". "I am observing these sensations in my body." They don´t say "You are an engulfing person", or even "I feel you engulf me, or constrict me, or constrain me". They say "I am feeling I can´t move about as much as I need to, I am feeling I need to stretch and run about" (for example). And because each person is ONLY focussed on observing and sharing their OWN experience - each time they speak it´s as if they peel off a layer, or turn a page... The truth that "I am afraid of sharing my need for space because I am afraid of hurting you" gives way, perhaps, to the deeper truth that "I am afraid of sharing my need for space because I am afraid of being alone" (for example), and so on... This self-revelation, this peeling away of the layers of our conditioned personalities´ thoughts, feelings and sensations - within the energy field of our unconditioned union - is exquisite! It is tender, it is passionate, it is painful and joyful, it is respectful, it is bold - it is love! Yes, Conscious Relating evokes love. Transpersonal love. Not personal love, and not a non-personal love. It is not an ´impersonal´ love - in the sense that we might talk of an ´impersonal atmosphere´, when referring to a huge building without windows, or pictures on the walls. It is a trans-personal love because (a) it transcends the personal, and because (b) it links personal to personal. Conscious Relating opens us to a Transpersonal Love because it reveals us to each other as different faces of ourself. And now that I have explained what I mean by Conscious Relating, I imagine, and I hope, you understand why I say that - if we want to co-create deep, intimate, beautiful, conscious communities and eventually, even, new, conscious societies - we have to learn to sit with each other, and talk to each other, and interact with each other in deep, intimate presence. Does this mean we have to abandon our resistance to the advance of Technocracy and Transhumanism? Of course not! Does this mean we have to succumb to the the dehumanisation of humanity? No! Does it mean we have to forget about decentralisation, local community resilience, or respecting the other species, or ´nations´, with whom we share this planet? Of course not! But, in my opinion, it does mean that - simultaneously, and perhaps most importantly - we need to self-educate in the beauty and delight of deep, intimate relating. AREAS OF SELF-EDUCATION So what might this self-education look like? I would say there are three areas we need to consider. Firstly, I would say we need mental clarity. And I have written about this in my essay "The Tribe of the Clear Mind". Secondly, I would say we need to deepen our felt-perception of the sacred and intelligent Mystery of the Moment - of our felt-perception of our sacred belonging - and of our own sacredness. This means giving repeated, regular time to meditating, or Tai Chi, or Dance Therapy, or planting potatoes, or running through the forest, or communing with the muse of essay writing! Whatever habit, or habits, work for you! We don´t need any help in identifying with our individual personalities - with the characters we play all day long (and all night long), year after year. We are, essentially, fully identified there already! The side of our "dual nature" with which we are under-identified is our experience of ourselves as undefinable, free, and part of everything - the core, conscious, timeless beauty of ourselves. This ´spiritual´, or ´existential´ area of our self-education means making a specific commitment to ourselves as to how we will cultivate this innermost, sacred, still and blessed aspect of our being - and sticking to it. So I´d say, if you haven´t already done so already: choose your way(s) and commit to it/them. And share your commitment(s) with trusted friends... And ask them about their own commitments. And ask each other how you can support each other. We need each other´s support. We need each other. We need tribe. It´s tough to stick to an existential discipline, for years, by oneself. But when we travel alongside each other - having agreed to support each other, having agreed in words (not tacitly, or by some assumed telepathy!) - having made a pact to be a close, supportive, transformational tribe - then the path becomes easier, more textured, more nourishing, more sustainable, and more fun. Which brings us to the third and final area of our self-education for Conscious Relating: the psycho-emotional - the territory of our ´stuff´. In general terms, I don´t believe we need to pick apart every emotional detail of our every interaction, but I do believe that a degree of psychological and emotional awareness is essential. We need to be able to name our emotions, and we need to be familiar with the habits of our psyches - in order to be able to make wise choices. And if I recommend co-creating a tribe for the spiritual area of our self-education - for the psycho-emotional area I´d say it is critical and crucial. I would say that without others, emotional self-knowledge is almost impossible. We need to get angry with each other in order to see our anger, our fire, our power - and learn to direct it (rather than be directed by it), and engage it creatively. We need each other so that we can feel how we cling to each other - and come to recognise our vulnerability, our tenderness, our innocence - and learn to care for ourselves, and learn how to give ourselves consciously. And I am aware that, just as I have said we are not accustomed to Conscious Relating - nor are we accustomed to belonging to a tribe. But there is the challenge, I believe: that if we want a conscious culture, then we need to learn to relate consciously - and if we want to learn to relate consciously, then we need to form tribes. There are, of course, innumerable therapeutic techniques we can choose to use in this area of our self-education - and again, I´d say: go with whatever works for you! Everyone has to find their own way. I make my own recommendations in The Soul Tribes Booklet, chapter 5, "Learning to Relate in Consciousness and Love" in which I talk about The Heart Circle as a way of gathering as a tribe for psycho-emotional healing and transformation. Educating ourselves so that we can Relate Consciously - educating ourselves intellectually, existentially, and psycho-emotionally - takes time. There´s no quick fix. We have been (in my opinion) brutally conditioned by a superficial, unconscious and violent culture - and to de-condition, or re-condition ourselves, in sacred, conscious, respectful relating won`´t happen overnight. There is a journey to be undertaken - a journey, as I have said, that I believe is best undertaken together. Sometimes, I have found - in my own experience and that of others - we commit cosnsitently to our self education, and pursue it enthusiastically - but after some years, perhaps, come to feel it is having little effect. "I still have very little dual-identification" we say to ourselves, despondently, "I still relate almost completely identified with my body-mind-personality-character - almost completely unconsciously!" And yet, I have also found that sometimes, perhaps when we are least expecting it - in the middle of a conversation with a friend, perhaps - timelessness and sacredness envelope us, and we find we are able to laugh at our pretensions and ambitions from a larger perspective, and forgive each other and ourselves - and experience love. And these moments seem to come - not by any effort of our own - but as if by grace. My own feeling is that our daily commitments prepare us. They turn us into the fertile soil for the seed of grace. The years pass, we stay strong in our commitment to consciousness, and somehow we find that we are no longer principally-identified with our individual personalities, that, as if by grace, we have become "re-identified" - principally identified beyond our personalities, and able to relate to everyone and everything as the embodiments of The Sacred Mystery we all already always are. Mark The Mystic Activist Catalunya, 2022 www.markthemysticactivist.com t.me/conscioustribes THIS ARTICLE BECAME CHAPTER 4 IN THE SECOND EDITION OF "LOVE & REVOLUTION"

Hice un audio en inglés compartiendo la visión más profunda de mi corazón acerca de las Tribus Conscientes; la visión social y, a la vez, muy íntima y personal detrás del Proyecto de las Tribus Conscientes. LA TRANSCRIPCIÓN DE ESTA GRABACIÓN SE CONVIRTIÓ EN EL CAPÍTULO 3 DE LA SEGUNDA EDICIÓN DE "AMOR & REVOLUCIÓN". Un abrazo fuerte y cariñoso - ya que aquí en Cataluña nos acercamos al solsticio de invierno, Mark the Mystic Activist.