Die Like Dinoz: The Story

Die Like Dinoz
Centered in the Center

There once lived two dinosaurs. They were young and in love with each other and the idyllic land which they called home. Everything was a dream; there wasn't a time more fruitful and vibrant. Suddenly one day, it all changed. Mother earth farted, basically, and the climate changed. Ice caps melted, fires swallowed forests, and great storms flooded the plains. With these huge planetary shifts, two ancient lovers were torn apart. Only heartbreak endured for them in that interim. The Great Mother spent decades reforming and seeding the soil. Both dinosaurs thought that surely the other was long dead. Acceptance was difficult. For where is home if not with your love?

And then one day, it happened again. Plates shifted, valleys swelled, and mountains moved. A land bridge formed. Many, in fact. Years still passed before they walked on the edge of the same forest. Something was different that day, and each knew it as a corner was rounded, and a glimpse was finally caught of each other. It had been lifetimes. How do dinosaurs hug? I'm not sure, but I'll bet you it's prehistoric. Not one has been recorded. A shame. I reckon the world could stand to learn a thing or two about dino hugs. Anyways, back to the reunion. Hearts warmed with a renewed sense of purpose. A time away that recalibrated them both to face the challenges of the future, but certainly left no damage done to the loyalty of their heart's song. And now, to begin again.The dance. To kindle that fire. To kneel at our Great Mother's power and mercy.

But, I don't always tell the story like that.

I used to live in a treehouse. Part-time, of course, the other half spent up the Hamakua coast. My cosmic copy had built it, and that's where I remember sitting in the corner doorway looking out at the lava rock and quava trees, tripping on these moon booms, free styling the infinite chasms of my channel. My lover, I called my cosmic copy. She was my greatest teacher at that time. One who ushered me quite properly into my early 20's and defined my lust for action and thrust me with loving kindness in front of my fears. Whatever reluctance I'd been carrying was promptly forgotten, and I learned to play hard and fall like a ninja. Everything was in slow motion back then. Information came in strong waves, like bamboo swaying or the Iou circling above our heads as we road bareback towards the mountain. A lifestyle was forming. Barefoot and shirtless. Fingernails spotted with dirt and skin speckled with jungle and oceanic scars. Free of artificial flavors and filled with farm fresh foods. Guarded, but openly concerned for the fate of humanity in a collapsing world habitat. At times it seemed terrifying to know what I knew of peace and tranquility living such a DIY life on a small island, deep in the piko of the Pacific. Maybe I knew it wouldn't last forever, that one day I would have to leave my oasis and cultivate my garden around the world. There is a bottomless feeling of mortality in this song. Yet, as hollow as it feels in moments, it is clearly laced with gratitude for the breath of life and for the soil to which we eventually will return. It's as if I was saying, 'I am with you, beloved. Over mountains, across oceans. Let us sing praises to the most high. For what else is there to do, but to live vertically, with a well-kept flame, and sing into emptiness with joy and fever.' After all, we all must find our own way home.