Weaving an open redistribution research journal

## of February, 2024

I am not confused. I am not afraid of what I came here to do. I’m made of stardust.


## of January, 2024

On the first day of this year I did a ritual with my neighbor :white_flower::woman_elf:t3:, guided by Peter Limberg.

I don’t really like him.

I do like my neighbor, and it has been super interesting to follow their philosophical inquiry. I see myself as a recovering stoic, a born-again animist, a solar punk hacker. One of the invitations during the ritual was to write our minimum viable philosophy, so I looked at my waving reflections and wrote this.

Minimum viable philosophy

When I get distracted, when I get lost, I come back here.

1. My prayer

I am awake, I breathe, I say good morning, I’m grateful, I smile. Water for my face, water for my stomach, I am water. I connect with my body, what am I feeling? I connect with the sun, I connect with the forest, what are they saying today? I connect with my heart. It is open, I’m sharing it.

In the rocking chair, a prayer for those who are with me. A prayer for those who could not come. A prayer for those who were here before. A prayer for those who will come. Humans, and more-than-humans.

Shape-shifting. I change.

With my feet in the soil, I am ready to talk with the earth’s council.

The earth remembers. I remember.

2. The mystery

I am not confused, my curiosity is not overwhelming. I am light, I am dark, I am lightweight. I am not alone, the mystery is around me, the universe hugs me, my deaths are behind me.

My commitment is with myself. I am one, sometimes. I am multitude, sometimes. I am all sometimes, and sometimes I am not. Shape-shifting. I am present. I breathe. I show up at the table again, and again, and again. And I say:

  • I am impeccable with my words.
  • I don’t take anything personally.
  • I don’t make assumptions.
  • I always do my best.

A water libation. :droplet:

3. Clan

With my heart open I walk with other human ánimas, the fugitives dancing at the edges.

  • We share generously.
  • We stay, present, with this trouble.
  • We take responsibility for our own self, our well-being, and our boundaries.
  • We meet our cultural identity differences without making them the enemy or the idol.
  • We don’t know what we don’t know. It’s ok.
  • We aim for kindness, settle for curiosity or even avoidance.
  • We honor the stories and learnings.
  • When we feel safe enough, we leap.

We are water. :cloud_with_rain:

4. Tao

For the world is a sacred object, nothing is to be done to it.

This is the pattern that starts the weaving of my open research journal, a way to do new-old-emergent science, transparent and embodied, my situated response-ability.

It is also a writing exercise to make my research legible, supported by the Feliz Feliz writing workshop. This is not a stable chronological journal, the texts will change as we collectively edit them. Old, new, emergent, the kairos time. Thanks to them.

Open threads


## of march, 2024

My back hurts. My sister the witch says that it’s because my ancestors are pulling me. That I have to turn around and tell them: Chill, ancestors. Don’t pull, I’m here, doing the work.

The work is to heal a trauma that is intergenerational, intercontinental, interspecies. It’s a lot, and it hurts, so chill, I’m here going slow.

Remembering my ancestors from Asia, I started sleeping very close to the ground.
Remembering my ancestors from the Americas, I started to pray in every full moon.
Remembering my ancestors from Africa, I started to dance with the monster.
The monster is the science of my ancestors from Europe.

Bayo Akomolafe tells a story about Èṣù, the trickster in the cosmovision that Bayo inherited from his Yoruba ancestors.

One day they saw a slaver ship coming close to the coast, and Ogun, the orisha of war, organized an army to intercept them. Èṣù got in the way of this army and made them all to fall asleep, allowing the invasion of their land and the slavery of their people. Èṣù traveled to America as a fugitive in the ship with slavers and slaves.

This is a story of pain that comes from before. I see Bayo rewriting it, helping me to see the importance of those who inhabit the crossroads. This is a dance of contradictions. Bayo feels it on his body, he looks behind, cries and makes an offering. He teaches me to thank Èṣù for the creolization of the american continent. Èṣù brough this dance to us.

These contradictions live on my body. They hurt. I turn around and see the Buddha, Èṣù, Carl Sagan, Pachamama. This is the crossroads of the 4 directions and the 4 colors that my ancestors prepared for me. Their lives inform mine. I don’t walk alone, we are all dancing with the monster.

Open threads