Going Rogue With Caitlin Johnstone

The moonlight caresses the missile silos in Russia and the blown out hospitals in Gaza. The garbage plays in the wind like children. The exhaust fumes and the sounds of traffic feel like sex in your senses. You can meet the divine here. Here in the city. Here in dystopia. Here amid the smell of piss and the sleeping bags on the sidewalk. Here in the heart of a dying empire, whose cancerous tendrils sprawl like ivy across the dying face of a dying world. You can let the LED lights dance with the light at the core of your being. You can drink from the Great Mother’s breasts beneath a billboard for the latest iThingy. You can raise up your heart to the pigeons, and to all the other animal species whose lives we have not yet succeeded in extinguishing. For us, this is Eden.For us, this is the only place in which Buddha can be born. In the future, if there is a future, maybe the humans figure things out and create a healthy world. But that world is not our world. That world is not where we clocked in to do