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Foxcraft Botanica, Missoula, MT (2026)

12/23/2025

Is it any wonder that no truly respectable society has ever trusted its artists?
But our society, being troubled and bewildered, seeking guidance, sometimes put an entirely miss mistake and trust in its artists, using them as prophets and futurologists.

I do not say that artist cannot be seers, inspired: that the awen cannot come upon them. Who would be an artist if they did not believe that that happens? If they did not know it happens, because they have felt the god within them, use their tongue, their hands? Maybe only once, once in their lives. But once is enough.

Nor would I say that the artist alone is so burdened and so privileged. The scientist is another who prepares, who makes ready, working day and night, sleeping, and awake, for inspiration as Pythagoras knew, the God may speak in the forms of geometry, as well as in the shapes of dreams; in the harmony of pure thought as well as in the harmony of sound; in numbers as well as words.
But it is words that make the trouble and confusion. We are asked now to consider words as useful in only one way: as signs. Our philosophers, some of them, would have us agree that a word (sentence, statement) has value only in so far as it has one single meaning, points to one fact, which is comprehensible to the rational intellect, logically sound, and—ideally— quantifiable.

Apollo, the God of light, of reason, of proportion, harmony, number— Apollo blinds those who press too close and worship. Don’t look straight at the sun. Go into the dark bar for a bit and have a beer with Dionysis, every now and then.

I talk about the gods, I am an atheist.
But I am an artist too, and therefore a liar. Distrust everything I say. I am telling the truth.

The only truth I can understand or express is, logically defined, a lie. Psychologically defined, a symbol. Aesthetically defined, a metaphor…

A metaphor for what?

If I could have said it non-metaphorically, I would not have written all these words, this novel… the truth is a matter of the imagination.

— Ursula K. Le Guin, The Left Hand of Darkness

12/23/2025

The small man
Builds cages

for everyone
He Knows.

While the sage,
Who has to duck his head
When the moon is low,

Keeps dropping keys
all night long

For the Beautiful
Rowdy Prisoners.

…

Light will someday split you open Even if your life is now a cage.
Little by little, You will turn into stars. Little by little, You will turn into The whole sweet, amorous Universe.

Love will surely burst you wide open Into an unfettered, booming new galaxy.
You will become so free In a wonderful, secret And pure Love That flows From a conscious,
One-pointed,
Infinite Light.

Even then, my dear,
The Beloved will have fulfilled Just a fraction, Just a fraction!
Of a promise
He wrote upon your heart.

For a divine seed,
the crown of destiny, Is hidden and sown on an ancient,
fertile plain You hold the title to.

O look again within yourself, For I know
you were once
the elegant host To all the marvels in creation.
When your soul begins To ever bloom and laugh And spin in Eternal Ecstasy-

O little by little,
You will turn into God.

— Hafiz

11/12/2025

Come, Vesta,
to live in this
Beautiful Home.
Come with warm feelings of Friendship.
Bring your Intelligence,
your Energy and your Passion.
To join with your Good Work.
Burn always in my Soul.
You are welcome here.
I remember you.

— Homeric Hymn,
(Translation by Frances Bernstein)

11/12/2025

To make a day,
it took an Evening and a Morning—
—at least to make the first day.
But that was when the world was new
and there was in it only light and darkness,
day and night, and God.

The world has grown
more complicated
since the creative era.
To make a day now,
it takes bells
and whistles
and clocks
and desks
and committees
and meetings
and money,
and a serial of daily newspaper editions,
and hungry people,
and people who are too tired,
and luncheon engagements
and telephones,
and noise
and shouting
and much hurrying.
All these things
and many others,
it takes now,
in addition
to an evening and a morning.

— Abbie Graham,
“Ceremonials for Common Days”

11/12/2025

Majesty, it is not your body or your mind that is ailing. It is your soul that is in need of healing.
For while you are a mighty and powerful queen, you are not divine.
You are suffering from a human condition that afflicts us all. Earthly souls, ebon, flow, and sorrow and joy, according to the seasons of emotion, just as the seasons of the natural world move through the cycle of life, death, and rebirth.
These are the days to be grateful for the harvest of the heart, however, humble, it may be, and to prepare for the coming of the year’s closure. Even now the seasons of daylight diminishes and the time of darkness increases. But the true Light is never extinguished in the natural world, and it is the same in your soul.
Embrace the ebb, my beloved queen, and do not fear the darkness. For as night follows the day, the Light will return and you will know contented hours once again.
Of this, I am sure,
as it reads on the garden’s sundial:
“This too, shall pass.”

11/03/2025

This is heaven on earth, and it’s earth in heaven, fusing our souls with matter as we return to our origin, level zero, our parting point and from there to infinity.

There are no limits to consciousness or reason.
They are ancient prophecies now manifest.

Rejoice, love, and be joyful. Don’t ask if this is possible because it happened yesterday, it is happening today, and it will happen tomorrow, on and on until we become forever itself. Until we erase from memory, any pain that may have been experienced.

We sow light if we teach based on truth, and not on lies or half truth, manipulated for interest, not at all related to what truly matters.

A peaceful world is possible within humanity’s timeline. Everyone living in harmony, together as brothers and sisters.

— Dr. Octavio Rettig Hinojosa,
“The Toad of Dawn: 5-MeO-DMT
and the Rise of Cosmic Consciousness”

11/03/2025

When the speed of rushing water reaches the point where it can move boulders, this is the force of momentum.
When the speed of a hawk is such that it can it can strike and kill, this is precision.
So it is with skillful warriors— their force is swift, their precision is close. Their force is like drawing a catapult, their precision is like releasing the trigger.”
- Master Sun

If you presume on the orderliness of government and fail to provide for the comfort of the governed, thus creating much resentment, disorder is certain to arise.”
- Li Quan

The Art of War,
on Force

11/03/2025

That mind of fearfulness
Should be put in the cradle of loving-kindness
And suckled with the profound and brilliant milk of eternal doubtlessness.
In the cool shade of fearlessness,
Fan it with the fan of joy and happiness.
When it grows older,
With various displays of phenomenon,
Lead it to the self-existing playground.
When it grows older still,
To awaken primordial self-nature,
Let it see the society of men
Which possesses beauty and dignity.
Then the fearful mind
Can change into the warrior’s mind,
And that eternally youthful confidence
Can expand into space without beginning or end.
At that point it sees the Great Eastern Sun.

— Excerpt from
Shambhala , The Sacred Path of the Warrior

10/17/2025

Men are but slaves of life. Slavery hedges in their days with misery and debasement and floods their nights with tears and blood.

7000 years have passed since I first was born, yet I have seen only submissive slaves and shackled prisoners.

I have traveled the east and the west of the world and wondered in the shadows of life and in its bright days. I have beheld the caravans of nations and people‘s journey from its caves to its castles, but until now I have seen only surfs bowed beneath their burdens, arms bound by chains, knees
bent before idols.

I have followed man’s path from Babylon to Paris, from Nineveh to New York. Everywhere beside his footprints in the sand, I saw the marks of his dragging chains. Everywhere, the valleys and hills echoed to the grief of generations and centuries.

I entered the palaces, the squares, the temples. I stood before thrones, alters, and pulpits. I saw the laborer a slave to the merchant, the merchant a slave to the soldier, the soldier, a slave to the general, the general a slave to the king, the king, a slave to the priest, the priest slave to the idol, the idol shaped from dust by devils and raised above a hill of dead men’s skulls.

I entered the houses of the rich and mighty, and the huts from the poor and weak. I stood in the halls and laid with ivory and glowing with gold leaf. I crouched in tenements, crowded with the ghosts of despair and the gasp of the dying. I saw babes, sucking slavery with their milk, boys learning servility with their letters, girls, donning clothing woven of bo***ge and submissiveness, women sleeping on beds of obedience and compliance.

10/17/2025

The scythe or reaping hook is a symbol of the Saturn and, death is one of the grim faces of this deity. “Time” has become “mortality”. From the word “mortality” itself we can trace back an even more ancient lineage for him. Mors, or Moros as the Greeks knew him, was one of the children of black, primordial Night. In fact, he is a masculine version of the three Moirae, those Weird Sisters…

Thus Moros is in effect destiny himself, supreme above all gods, whose will not even mighty Zeus could gainsay. like the triadic fates, he also possessed two other aspects, Thanatos, and Ker. In Greek vase paintings, Pantos is usually portrayed as a benevolent, dark winged genius, often attending upon a sleeper with his brother Hypnos, Sleep.

The poet Euripides, however, describe him in more terrible guise, as black robed, and striding among men with a drawn sword. Such a description would perhaps be more appropriate to the third brother, Ker.

10/17/2025

We can begin the restructuring of thought by declaring legitimate what we have denied for so long. Lets us declare Nature to be legitimate. The notion of illegal plants is obnoxious and ridiculous in the first place. …

No other drug can compete with cannabis for its ability to satisfy the innate yearnings for Archaic boundary dissolution and yet leave intact the structures of ordinary society. If every alcoholic were a pothead, if every crack user were a pothead, if every smoker smoked only cannabis, the social consequences of the ‘drug problem’ would be transformed. Yet, as a society we are not ready to discuss the possibility of self-managed addictions and the possibility of intelligently choosing the plants we ally ourselves to. In time, and perhaps out of desperation, this will come.
…

The apocalypse is not something which is coming. The apocalypse has arrived in major portions of the planet and it’s only because we live within a bubble of incredible privilege and social insulation that we still have the luxury of anticipating the apocalypse.”

– Terence McKenna

10/03/2025

But we are unbelievably ignorant concerning what goes on in our country—to say nothing of what goes on in the rest of the world—and appear to have become too timid to question what we are told. Our failure to trust one another deeply enough to be able to talk to one another has become so great that people with these questions in their hearts do not speak them; our opulence is so pervasive that people who are afraid to lose whatever they think they have persuade themselves of the truth of a lie, and help disseminate it; and God help the innocent here, that man or womn who simply wants to love, and be loved. Unless this would-be lover is able to replace his or her backbone with a steel rod, he or she is doomed. This is no place for love.
…

The best that can be said is that some of us are struggling. And what we are struggling against is that death in the heart which leads not only to the shedding of blood, but which reduces human beings to corpses while they live.

Foxcraft Botanica

12/23/2025

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