A REPORT ON THE "BC DAY" GATHERING (by cyampascal)
Here's my take on yesterday. It's optimistic but also philosophical-critical. At the very least it is energy moving "on topic." As always, feel free to circulate it etc. Love and good cheer.
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A REPORT ON THE "BC DAY" GATHERING
(cyampascal)
I'm fourth generation on this coast. I was raised in cedar forests and played on these pagan beaches, eating Salmon and berries – I'm damned near as Native as any white man can get – so I was looking forward to Totem Poles. The authentic, progressive archaic revival is not merely a matter of building "big houses" on Campus or ceding tracts of land to Indigenous governors. Just as importantly are the echoes that the old formations of life cast upon today's young, nomads and idealists. So, under the cryptic gaze of Raven, Bear & Eagle, a little clan of radicals clustered together in the park on August 4th, 2008.
David Johnson sat meditatively, periodically puffing smoke. The bright gal in the striped blue shirt & army pants was circling barefoot through the park -- an icon of anticipation. The bandana-clad young man, with a large athletic bag, came and went, rolling about as soon as he touched down on the grass. A swarthy Yoko Ono arrived briefly to take photos and was quickly joined by an older biker with his own large camera. He was a boisterous and amiable fellow, given to anecdotes and to joking loudly about "The infamous David Johnson..." On a little metal bench he sat close to a denim-jacketed sweetheart and they smooched. The thoughtful, grey-haired gentleman with a faded "Teacher Emeritus" t-shirt sat for a long time on the grass. He was in contemplative discussion with the girl in the striped blue-shirt. There was something that definitely seemed to work here but also another more insidious dimension which seemed like – trying to start a fire underwater.
The smoldering coals in everyone's heart/hopes faced the reigning water spirit of quaint consumer Victoria. By 9 AM the daylight ambience of the Surface World was already dominating the park. The drums of Inner Harbour festivities moved through the air, joining the gentle breeze in the trees, lulling the world into the waking trance of a capitalist holiday. "Lunch lady," the security guard in the short-sleeved uniform and glasses, had nothing much to do. Clearly, she had been alerted to scrutinize anyone who was not wielding a digital camera with a look of stupid wonder on their faces but there was no trouble here – rustling leaves, the white noise of traffic and the cheerful muttering of playful children lay like a heavy blanket upon the world.
Our 'event' was a small, easy affair marked by good humour and tranquility. In a perfect world (such as this one) we can take this as a victory. On the other hand, in a perfect world (such as this one) we can complain about the underwhelming nature of what went on. Sure, it was a morphogenetic seed, a tiny pattern setting the groove for future happenings. Sure, it was a vote for serenity itself. In some sense this gentle yogic mood is already a real revolutionary activity. However, at the level of social fields, community fabric, political spirit, etc, we might ponder whether meditation (and I am both a user & a dealer!) may be also a species of cool water whose very nature is to put out the spark of revolutionary energy... just as it hampers the flames of impatience and greed. This is a difficult question given the fact that peace and trust are such intrinsic parts of the natural order toward which social change must orient itself.
The major conflict I observed was between the anticipatory spirit of the group and the placid pleasantry of the general atmosphere. It seemed to me, watching, that a truly regenerative social event is an accumulation of the expectation of such an event – as the French philosopher Alain Badiou says, "It is waiting for us when we are waiting for it." I know not what others felt but I saw what I can only describe as a "faint stirring" -- as if a small whorl of wind were scraping the ground, dragging a handful of leaves in a little spiral. Sometimes it would pick up – rising to the level of the knees and other times it would quiet back under the dominant currents.
In my paranoid fantasy, the gentle wind rustling in the trees was part of Victoria's immune system, a first line of offense against any thoughts of change. The next wave of defenders took the form of mild-faced tourist clans wearing beige-shorts and dragging their luggage from the hotel toward the rumour of Sarah MacLachan and the Snowbirds. Spectacle was like a thick happy fog the air, intoxicating fumes, and so this sleepy town slept on. Half a block away those old pink mattresses lay beneath the sign "Night is for Sleeping; Day is for Resting."
A prophetic warning?
For whom do all these sleepwalkers walk? For what faceless eye are all these repetitive and uninspiring digital photos recorded? This unnamed One must be be changed, reordered, opened to new regimes of life that are more faithful to truth, history and human needs. Yet he is bold and parades himself boastfully in his pride. His confidence is manifest as the general unthinking cheer of the people. And who can possibly be opposed to their happiness? I am not. Yet it is exactly here, in the sheer pleasure that the System takes in its own mere functioning, they there could be an important clue to how society so effectively resists all greater infusions of life and spirit.
A silver hatchback drives by slowly. The windows are down and it blares "All Your Love" by the Doors. A small reminder of the power of 1960s, love-based radicalism. The car waits at the light and drives off. Has this energy passed us by? And if not – how do we catch it, entice it, feed it or amplify it? I say that it was there on August 4th. It really was. A sacred space was attempted among the trees and totems but it was not yet symbolic enough, not yet sacred enough. There is more work to do – much more.
At the end of one hour, blue-stripes (her collar up) shrugs and puts her shoes back on. The event – as small and gentle as it was -- can be felt to tangibly 'break'. The anticipation gives way to mere outdoor friendliness. The sense of this shift is good, it means that something was, sort of, happening. In the trees the crows are cawing and cackling. There were here before us and will remain when we are gone – the true natives. Dwellers between worlds.
NOT THE END.
