Morning meditation on a friend’s screened front porch eases me into a relaxed day in Des Moines. Tufts of prairie grass bend with the breeze as I read about “Holacracy-powered organizations” and muse about the future. Thoughts sour a bit as I scratch and sniff a scam. But these are small things, minor perturbations, and before long, word arrives of Divine Rascal, a new biography about Michael Hollingshead available for pre-order from MIT / Strange Attractor Press. Entities move about around and behind me, opening and closing doors. Let us call them “neighbors,” a term generous enough to include many orders of being.
An airline attendant repeats instructions through a loudspeaker as I sit at a gate waiting to board a flight to Des Moines. Fellow travelers stare at phones and tablets, the seats that fill the space around them arranged in rows. My desire to be elsewhere, I tell myself, binds me ever more tightly to this pleasureless condition.