“Oh, My God! It’s God!”

When she started to see peculiar-seeming clouds, it was only a matter of days before she began bumbling toward the conclusion of “Oh my God, it’s God!” 

Her thinking about God was a mush-mash of recollected symbols and suggestions gleaned from experiences growing up in the everyday+everywhere Christian culture of south Georgia, the imagery and intonation of miscellaneous church services attended after spending Saturday night with a friend, going to church on Sunday, hot and mostly-boring-but-sometimes-with-singing.

She felt closer to God in sweet the relief of leaving when the services finally ended, stepping out into the heat and sun, the living day.

In the 9th grade, she spent a single semester at boarding school, where a van dropped her off Sunday morning at the Episcopal church in Clayton, Georgia right down the street from where there was a Klan rally one Saturday during the town-outing, which was usually a trip to a shopping center where there was a grocery store, a Papa’s Pizza and an Eckert’s drugstore stocked with Robitussin DM, gum, and cheez puffs.*

She didn’t entirely dislike going alone to the Episcopalian service in the little stone church building, dark and wood-filled, shining with color through the morning-lit windows above where the rhododendron outside had grown up over Jesus’ feet. 

She felt peaceful there. Anonymous and peaceful, sitting alone.

However, she soon discovered that she liked it far more to lay on the nubby utilitarian carpet of her room, eating Kool-Aid and reading the yearbook for the 100th time after pressing her body against the wall under her roommate’s bunk and holding her breath during Sunday morning roomcheck so she didn’t have to go to church at all and there were no sounds except her own sounds and the building’s sounds, heat through vents.

*Circa 1991: Three senior girls walking in streetlight circle by the dorm’s side exit, tearfully protesting Operation Desert Storm and a Klan rally with full white robes walking down Main Street, right past the grocery store where she would buy ramen and microwave popcorn, 12 packs of Fresca.

Stranger Angels: 1 [“Woo Hah!! Got You All In Check.]

The old man said hello to me as I started the walk back to my car from the Senior Opportunity Center, where I and a bunch of other people gave food to elders on Wednesday mornings, high-end packaged salads from grocery stores couldn’t afford to shop at, artisan breads packed into black garbage bags, crumb-dusted pastries, and dented cans of soups, expiring cereal.

He fell into step beside me, walking down the hill and talking about traffic on the I-26, and the accident he almost saw on Patton Avenue. “I was just standing there on the sidewalk, watching these two cars, and I was like, ‘This is crazy!”

“It sounds like you were paying attention.”

The man, tall and stooped around the shoulders, still handsome in the set of his cheeks and architecture of nose, the son of slaves and people who lived here long before I did, had the laboratory smell of a few straight days of drinking, the smell of old alcohol poorly metabolized.

He sat down on the small wall outside of the unemployment office and I sat down beside him. “Yes,” he said. “Yes, sister, I was paying attention. I pay attention.”

We sat there in the companionable silence of strangers, feeling the warm sun and paying attention.

He shifted toward me, leaned like he was about to invite me into a secret, and I understood that he would ask me for money, and I was okay with that.

He began his request, and I didn’t need him to go on about what he was looking for, held my hand up for him to stop speaking. There was no need for him to beg, to spin a story, to make an appeal. He did not have to charm me or convince me.

I opened up my bag, “Let me see if I have any paper money.”

I knew that I did. A crumple of two singles, and a secret 10 dollar bill. I pulled out the two dollars and pressed it into his hand.

The man nodded, almost solemn, squeezed my hand. “Thank you, my sister.”

I felt like God was watching us, sitting there on that wall. The woman wearing all black and the old man in the sun.

There was a pause, and I plucked the ten dollar bill out of the small zippered pocket inside of my bag, grasped the man’s hand, transferred the money.

His whooping surprised me, his jumping up and slapping his leg, pulling his hand into a fist that beat against his chest, solidly, once, twice. “My sister! Oh, yes, my sister!”

I stood up, pulling my bag back onto my shoulder.

He grabbed me, pulled me to him, his sweat and alcohol smell around me, his arms strong and knotted like wood across my back. I didn’t feel scared. I have hugged a lot strangers in my life and, besides, I have a social naivete that makes me almost oblivious to the possibility that some stranger will do me harm. The only people who have ever harmed me were people I know. I wasn’t scared of them at first, either.

He kissed my head, up by my hairline, and hugged me like I really was his sister that he hadn’t seen in a long time.

He began to utter the words, quiet, like a prayer, then broke away from me and shouted them, hollering them out to the street like he was calling down gods, exclaiming to the universe. He turned to me, and put his fist on his chest. “My sister…”

He stepped forward to embrace me again. “I love you, I love you…you, you are blessed person.”

He stepped back, took my hands in his, and nodded to me, then turned and started walking back up toward town, still saying those words, louder and then quiet, a chanting rise and fall. I watched him walk, and listened, said the words to myself, trying not to forget them.

He was almost back to where we’d begun walking together when I caught up to him. “Excuse me, sir, those words? What are those words?”

He put his face close to mine and repeated the words, whispering.

I said them back.

He corrected my pronunciation of the last syllable, and said it with me until I said it clearly, with some conviction.

“It means peace, and goodness, salvation.”

Walking back to my car, I said the phrase over and over again. In my car, I wrote down how I thought the sounds might be spelled, but I still don’t know what the words are, or where they came from.

I tried to Google what I thought the words sounded like, spelled out phonetically, with hyphens between the syllables, to remind myself of the intonation, the rhythm of the sounds.

I learned a little about Hebrew suffixes, and checked out an old Busta Rhymes song, Woo Hah!! Got You All In Check.

Visual Thinking and Sense of The Real

C. 1990

She waited for her friends to come pick her up. It was raining and they were late. The river was grey and brown, rough-textured with falling water and a steady wind from the east, from the ocean.

Sitting and waiting, nervously considering the possible explanations for her friends’ lateness, she wondered if they had gotten in an accident, and then involuntarily pictured the whole tragic scene – wet metal twisted, a tire still spinning, the underbelly of the vehicle exposed, hiss of rain on a hot engine quickly cooling. Frozen in a stricken sadness, she willed herself not to think about wrecks, and strained to hear the dogs bark, the sound of tires on the wet dirt road. When her friends arrived a few minutes later, she almost couldn’t believe they were okay. There had been no wreck. Nonetheless, the heavy sadness stayed with her, made her quiet and awkward riding in the backseat, still thinking about wrecks and how weird it was that her friends had no idea that she had been almost convinced that they’d been in an accident.

Ideas or imaginings that make her feel something are hard not believe, because they exist in her mind and in her body with the same detail and sensation as things that are real. Her feelings are her nervous system being scared, or excited, happy, calm, etc. The sensations she calls feelings are caused by her nervous system reacting to what she is experiencing.

She is a visual thinker. This means that she imagined the wreck that never happened, she saw the car crash, the slip of tires on pavement, crumpling metal, windshield buckled in like a spider’s web in wind, the sharp impact of a face against a dash board. Sometimes her nervous system doesn’t know that what she imagines isn’t real, and so her heart races, her blood vessels constrict, guts clench, and the chest constricts with a feeling of crying seizing in the throat.

It was of no importance that she’d never been in a car accident, that she had never seen – at least not up close – a bad wreck, had only glimpsed the mangled car bodies on the side of the interstate, in the closed lane.

She had seen plenty of wrecks on television, in movies.

Once, on the bus to the Catholic school, someone swore they saw a foot, a severed foot, laying in the road by a wrecked red car, but she didn’t see it, except in her mind.

For years before she’d ever been to New York, she could picture being in the city so thoroughly that she had to remind herself she’d never been there, pause a moment if anyone asked what cities she’d been to. 

Her head is full of things she’d never experienced seeing – car wrecks, war zones, the devastation of floods, the anger of men in dark rooms, the creeping stalk of late night streets, cities lit at dawn, the tangled of interstates coming alive while people on the other side of the world bake under the midday sun, speaking different languages, living in refugee camps, steam rising from the earth, the stink of the slaughterhouse, quiet halls of rest homes, bombs going off, rivers always flowing, waterfalls plunging into the dark, mountains asleep as the edge of glacier falls heavy into the ocean, unseen and heard by anyone but the bears, blithe seals giving a brief shudder before sliding back into the water.

All of this is happening all at once, a rapid-reel flashing of scenes and thoughts running in the background, a sense of seeing, witnessing.

It’s made up though, her imaginings of these things she has never seen in real life. It’s all based on television and movies and pictures in books, stories she has read. 

She stopped watching television in 2001, in the days immediately following the American event of 09/11/2001. Taking the dog for a walk around the NE Portland neighborhood she lived in, she found herself picturing the President’s face, the buildings falling again and again, the people and the smoke.

She could feel it in her body – terrible, stunned, and close – almost like she was there, like it was real to her beyond the news reports of what was happening several thousand miles away.

PROVING GOD WITH CLOUDS: I Was a Big Loser [Backstory and Context, Spring 2010]

My belief that I was noticing and witnessing elemental communications from something like God gave me a far-greater purpose than being the total loser that everyone seemed to think I was – the selfish, ungrateful wife who wanted to get a divorce, the person who was laid-off from work, the one who “wasn’t thinking about the kids” – who was being selfish and immature, crying too much and not trying hard enough to get her ‘act together.’

When I think back objectively, I understand that I really wasn’t that much of a loser, but at that point in my life, I deeply believed that I was, in fact, a huge failure as a human being and this belief was reinforced by criticism and hostility in extended family relationships during the process of a bad divorce.

American history and economies create a toxic and transactional culture full of power and control dynamics and run-through with traumatic experiences in core relationships and maladaptations to not having our basic needs to:

  • be seen in a way that is dignified, worthy, valid
  • to not be harmed, exploited, or abused by the people and institutions we rely on to support our human existence and nurture our individual potentials.

It was almost cliche when my mental health history and brief, relatively minor parenting transgressions – (getting upset and tearful during confusing conversations that turned into arguments in front of the kids, being late to drop them off at school some rare morning or another because one or the other of them was refusing to leave the house and those things can take a minute, spending time on artwork when I was supposed to be helping my daughter learn how to read even though she didn’t want to sit down with me and look at the boring books of phonetics, simple sentences) – were brought into divorce discussions.

I had thought – hoped – that everything could be amicable, copacetic in the process of uncoupling. However, that ended up not being the case.

There began to be discussion of custody lawyers specializing in mood disorders, and one of the other mothers from my son’s class called to let me know that people – other parents from my children’s classes – were being told to keep an eye on me, that I was unstable.

The drawing-everyday-for-a-year blog was getting even further off topic – pictures that twisted and folded onto themselves in semi-disturbing surrealist mash-ups of figures and fish.

These were not the sort of pictures a well-adjusted mother should draw.

She definitely shouldn’t draw a recognizable and unflattering caricature of an extended family member, and if she is foolishly bitter enough to draw such a picture, she probably shouldn’t post it to her weird blog that was not the sort of blog that any normal mom would have, a blog that was – unbeknownst to her – being surveilled by concerned family members and a handful of parents of elementary school age children who had known her since their kids were mutually tiny people playing at parks and preschools, kindergarten.

She could feel that people were thinking things about her, that there had been conversations.

It was literally palpable – the different person I had become to almost everyone, as though the moment I stepped toward the space where the other mothers were talking in a loose, easy circle, a force-field went up, and the awkwardness of this new person I had become slipped over me like a cage as I saw that they did not want to talk with me.

I began to just wave my hand a little as I passed by, to or from taking my children to the door of the building, the door of the classroom. Then, as the school year finally came to a close, I just smiled a half-smile and gave a half-nod, no real eye-contact as I dropped the kids off in the morning.

I began to simply cease to exist as anyone that anyone talked with, and stood alone, waited alone at the end of the day for the bell to ring and the doors to open and my kids to come back to me, to get to come home.

Proving God With Clouds: Introduction

Some situations that end up being pivotal in our lives begin in ways that don’t initially seem important at all.

True, there are some stories that shift dramatically at evident turning points – a winning lottery ticket found crumpled on the sidewalk, a phone call in the dead of night, worry flashing across a doctor’s face as she looks over your test results, etc. A moment, people say, that they’ll remember forever as the moment their life changed.

This is not one of those stories; the moments that changed my life were not big, obvious moments – at least not at first.


Had I been presented all at once with the idea that slow-formed as the days dragged through June and July 2010, I might have lost my mind a lot sooner, or – alternately – resolutely clung to my ideas about what was what, what was real. I’d have dug in my heels and rolled my eyes at the idea, an idea that would surely have seemed dismissable, absurd – crazy!!! – had it been suddenly plunked down into the middle of a usual day.

I probably would have simply gone about my business, staring straight ahead and keeping my mind on the list of things to do, places to go and people to see, people to be.

If I had immediately known that what I saw would, in only a matter of months, create an enormous rift between me and the rest of the world, pulling the threads that held my reality together and supplanting the experiences of simple, everyday life with outlandish, urgent visions of a world that other people seemed unable to see, I would have had to think long and hard about even briefly entertaining the idea as it emerged.

Nobody could have told me that studying cloudforms would – ultimately – result in me sitting in the back seat of a police cruiser with my hands cuffed behind my back. I probably would have never looked up, had I known.

archive image

If you click here or on the image above you will be transported to a lengthy scrap of what I was thinking about 01/01/2010, and – from there – you can see what else was going on in 2010, a year that included numerous events that reconfigured my life as I knew it, up to and including the sadness, frustration, and shame of losing legal custody of my children due to concerns about my mental health and my ability to make good decisions.

Cloud-watching and fumbling around with different ways of thinking about the world, different ways of seeing the world, created huge (and probably avoidable) upheavals. 

While I regret that my children had to endure a single moment of not being sure what was going on with their mom, not knowing if I was okay and if – by extension – if they were okay, if their little home-world was okay, I am still immeasurably grateful to have had the experience of genuinely believing – with a clarity that was more certain than any clarity I had ever felt, a clarity like truth – that I was witnessing some force like God drawing pictures in the clouds, trying to tell me something about how deeply, anciently alive and beautifully interconnected everything truly is.

In that way, I suppose my life did change in a moment, a moment that an external observer may have seen as a woman alone in her yard, aiming a camera at the sky and crying like she’d never cried before.

However, as much as I believed, I also couldn’t entirely believe. I didn’t know what I would be believing in if I did believe. I cried as much for not believing as I did for believing, for wanting to believe and finding myself again and again as the skeptical jerk who needed a stupid scientific explanation for awe-spurring wonders and mysteries.

Why can’t I just accept that it’s beautiful and that it’s a mystery and go about my life?

Why do I need to know how it works, how its possible, why I see what I see? 

This is not a story of a person’s finding their way to God through spending contemplative time in nature, or anything like that.

This is the story of a naive and ignorant demi-genius with a mental health diagnosis who has a pretty solid track record of fucking up her life and letting people down despite trying very hard to do the ‘right’ thing and to be a decent human being, who – when in the midst of her life falling apart in new and unprecedented ways involving a not-great marriage, upset children, a dead dog and a lost job – happened to be spending a lot of time looking at the sky with her heart breaking all over the place.

She noticed something, and became curious, began to pay attention and wonder about the workings of things.

This is a story about questions, and about the circuitous path toward answers that may not even exist. 

Proving God w/ Clouds: July 14-17, 2021 [notes]

July 14, 5:04 AM

The day before was a tired day, a day that she woke up early, as usual, and then went back to sleep an hour later, her body dully aching with the need for more sleep. She didn’t feel badly about going back to bed, though there was a dim little pulse of awareness that her sleeping would be seen as ‘lazy,’ ever-so-slightly deserving of judgement. That her sleeping, though nobody knew she was going back to sleep, would be perceived as indulgent or spoiled in some way.

This was her socialization muttering to her when she woke up very early and worked for only an hour before falling back into the comfort of much needed sleep.

Yesterday, she felt uncertain about the validity – the worth – of her work again, though the doubt did not run too deep.

She had found, or – rather – had patiently created, a loop hole for herself over the years.

As she entered the 12th year of her note-taking, she could find refuge from any accusation of worthlessness in the sheer mass of it all.

Surely, anything that she had worked on so diligently for so long must be worth something, valid unto itself through sheer persistence if nothing else.

After a project has existed for long enough, it is no longer only a matter of its specific content being worthwhile, the fact of its being something that she had worked at – regardless of content – for over a decade became a worth in and of itself.

The validity of her commitment – whether misguided or not – held a worth of its own.

It mattered to her, if nothing else. Gave her something to be curious about, to be amazed by, a conundrum of experience and reality that has been wholly her own for a long, long time.

This work has very little to do with how I feel about it – the work. What it means to me, my relationship with it – these things don’t matter.

At this particular juncture in time, none of that – my neurotic navel-gazing and self-scrutiny about worth and validity – means anything in light of the fact that she feels directed to simply share it, compelled to share the work, as much for her own delight in potentially figuring out why the clouds look weird, and – more importantly – in that sharing this work might inspire people to see, connect with, and appreciation aspects of being briefly alive in the context of an ancient living and dying world that is unfolding in an infinite number of dynamic ways every fraction of every second, and over the millenia.

She doesn’t have to understand it. She doesn’t have to explain it. She doesn’t need to provide any further justification for her questions. She just has to show people why she has questions. Then maybe they will help her to answer those questions.

There is no possible way that this is going to be so simple as that.

She knows this.


She needs to make a note about the experience of going back through old posts in the effort to find the post about the clouds never looking the same, as that would be a satisfying media-stitch connecting this time to that time through archival artifacts that are pertinent to the story I am trying to tell in the present, the questions I am now asking about the questions I was asking then.

Speaking of questions: What can the shapes and forms in other configurations of natural phenomena in structures of aggregation and disaggregation, dissolution or fracturing, wearing, settling, and layering say about how there are triangle shapes, etc. in the sky?

Rays of light from the entryway at the country club, where I had to do a presentation for a Rotary Club breakfast that was so fancy that my voice shook and I felt like a slob even though I had 1/2 way tried to look ‘nice’. I didn’t care that much – at least most of me didn’t. The feeling of not fitting in is a familiar one. I don’t fit in anywhere, but this somehow allows me to have a niche I am comfortable with, the outsider, outlier, tattooed hands and posture like her great-grandmother might be watching.

What processes and perspectives can help me to neutrally and humbly explore the range of my apophenic and pareidolic capacities, which – by my casual estimation – are pretty astounding…and overwhelming, especially when linked with/informed by a belief (or emotional/cognitive investment and satisfaction in experiences reinforcing of an idea) that recognizable shapes and figures in the sky may represent an ancient universal force engaging in an act of communications delivered by exceedingly patient angels, or – also, interesting – that phenomena in atmospheric metaphysics manifest in cloudforms that mirror characteristics and attributes of other living things, the appearance of which may create an experience of recognition and relevance in human observers, a vestigial genetically-derived association of certain forms with meanings of general importance, an innately human seeing of the world as powerful, wise, and alive, a trait inherited from our ancient shared ancestry, humans who spent a lot of time looking at the sky and creating stories and culture around – in part – what they saw above them, their perception informed by the lives they lived on the ground in the cultures they were born into?

Is there a configuration of specific conditions for clouds to assume the metapatterns and micropatterns of many living things and human creations of what seem to be symbols, symbols that may reflect these patterns in a sort of reflexive echoing of form and meaning across time?

Are there ancient omnipresent metaphysical forces that have been known as God or gods for thousands of years of human history?

The debate in her head volleys reason and perceived evidence.

She considers the picture of the cloudform she saw the other night as the sun was going down. The one that looked very much like a book.

“Well, then,” she asks her skepticism, “what do you have to say about this?”

The volume is bursting with white-gold light, a hazy form like a candelabra rising from between the covers, textures like coral pressed into and rising from the bright trapezoidal form.

The part of her that wants to believe, that secretly does believe, entirely and with the whole of her heart, that she is witnessing some kind of display of holy wonders is can be extremely charismatic in perceiving possible miracles.

“This, as you can see, is not a naturally occurring form. It is a book, which is a device of humans. What about that then?”

She tucks her belief away and braces herself for the internal dismissal of the notion that she’d seen ‘a book’ as her skeptical mind, which is as much for protection as it is for any inherent value of rationality, begins to list all the cracks and lattices that can be easily observed in all manner of material. Stone and clay, lead paint – the natural process of material pulling away from itself, tightening and shrinking, making lines like the shape she saw as a book.

“The Book” – Cloud form, NE sky, late day. Absolutely luminous.

I see a lot because I look a lot. A lot.

I would not exactly say that I am ‘looking for,’ though I have ‘looked for’ before. I spent a fair amount of time in the Summer and Fall of 2010 staring at the sky in urgent prayer. “Please, show them, show them, show them. Show them what I see, make them see. Show them. Please show them.” I thought I had begged before – for permission from authorities, for kindness, for desired objects as a child – but, I had never begged something like God, even when I was deeply suffering and I longed for something to end my pain. I had never begged like a prayer for the world.

I look at the sky as soon as I go outside and if something seems to be interesting I pay attention. There is usually something interesting happening and the longer I pay attention, the more interesting it gets. What may have initially seemed like hints of an eye or a bird’s beak become – quite quickly – vast and slow-swirling assemblages that hold angles and patterns and near-perfect portraits, near-perfect lines.

I am compelled to continue to watch, against distraction and will, both of which fizzle to nothing in the state of total reverie I experience when I watch the clouds, which is as much about science as it is about God, as much about beauty as it is about anything and, perhaps, the miracle of everything.

Sometimes, she doesn’t want to look up, because she knows she will have to keep watching and although she loves the experience of close attention, sustained focus, awe and surprise, she has begun to notice an anxiety. The knowing she needs to tell someone, talk to someone about all this is persistent, nagging.

Take the dog on a walk to look at the clouds. It isn’t about taking the dog for a walk, it’s about looking to see what the clouds might be doing and momentarily inhabiting the reality in which the clouds could and would be doing anything at all other than simply being a cloud.

She doesn’t like the pressure of it. The pressure that is in her head, saying do this, don’t do that, but that also lives somewhere deeper in her, pushing out in a tingling, persistent thrum that feels like calling.

Prove God with clouds, but don’t sound too crazy. Keep it a secret, but keep doing it. Don’t keep it a secret. Tell people. Figure out how to tell people. But, first watch this freaky cloud. Yo. Hang on, almost done. You’re hungry? What if the sky displayed something impossible or really important and you miss it because you are being a slovenly human eating pasta in your bed and trying not to think about the sky, but staring at the same picture, taken 6 times, trying to find the instance when the details of the bird’s beak in the sky were especially precise?

“This is Panarchy, Man!”

Panarchy is an empirically-informed model of the cyclical nature of complex adaptive growth, development, and change dynamics within ecosystems. 

Panarchy arose as a data-informed concept model in sustainability and development sciences, and can be a framework for understanding the life and death of forests, economies, and institutions. However, the utility of the panarchic model as a framework for understanding growth and collapse patterns in all relationships, that define life, growth, transformation and death stretches well beyond the bounds of any one discipline or type of ecosystem.

Panarchy suggests tendencies that may be present in all interconnected complex adaptive systems. Cycles characteristic to the panarchic process can be observed in the trajectories of human interactions and reactions within social relationships, work, and even behavioral habits. 


Everything is an ecosystem. 

Our bodies are ecosystems. 

Our communities are ecosystems.

Our cultures and economies are ecosystems.

Our relationships and our families are ecosystems, too, and are thus shaped by the same tendencies of any system to thrive when conditions are ideal, to fall into collapse during crisis, to heal, reconcile or move on having learned what we learned, to begin again in the next phase of growth. 


Everything is connected.

Although the above statement reads like an over-simplistic bumper sticker, it is absolutely true that everything is connected, in various ways and to various degrees. 


Everything causes something to happen. 

Even if we do nothing, there is an effect. 

Panarchy describes the ways that systems organize and evolve in relation with one another. 

Our lives as we know and experience them are vast constructions of interactions among dynamic variables, and in each moment there are multiple processes unfolding all around us and within us.

Copyright © 2010 by the author(s). Published here under license by the Resilience Alliance.
Allen, C. R. and C. Holling 2010. Novelty, adaptive capacity, and resilience. Ecology and Society 15(3):
[online] URL: http://www.ecologyandsociety.org/vol15/iss3/art24/

A panarchic cycle is driven by variables that are shaped by other panarchic cycles; What happens within one cycle impacts the state and direction of other cycles.

Panarchic cycles vary in the amount of time that it takes for a system to progress through the processes of growth, unsustainability, collapse, and reorganization. Depending on the scale of the complex adaptive systems involved, some panarchic cycles – such as those that shape forest ecosystems and the health of oceans – unfold over millennia.

Sometimes, one can observe the processes of growth, acceleration, revolt/collapse, and regeneration in the seemingly simple course of a conversation that doesn’t go well.

We are living in vastly nested panarchic cycles. 

Panarchic processes direct growth, evolution, transformation, and sustainability in many (if not all) of the phenomena of living. 

The experiences we may have within our individual lives are informed by panarchic processes that involve our physical bodies, our relationship with the environments we live in, and the events which unfold within our lives as a result of culture, economy, access to resources and opportunities, and relationships. 

The panarchic cycle can be identified by four distinct phases: 

R: Rapid growth 

The emergence of an ecosystem or a new system of ecosystemic relationships. The potential of the ecosystem is determined by resources which support or impede the growth and development of the ecosystem and its constituent parts, with what happens in one sector of the ecosystem becoming inextricably connected to the health and development of other sectors, each of which is comprised of numerous variables which exist and evolve in accordance with one another. 

In the panarchic ecosystem of an individual human life, an enormous amount of growth and change takes place very quickly, and one’s potential is augmented or impaired by access to resources which promote growth within and across domains of living such as physical health, social and emotional health, economic and occupational health, and spiritual health. 

Events that impact growth and development can be fast or slow. For example, illness or food scarcity will predictably impact physical health. 

Stresses and trauma shape not only physical, but social and emotional health in reflexive relationship with economic and occupational health. 

In panarchic models, the R phase is marked by a period of rapid development and the emergence of structural relationships within the ecosystem and everything it is connected to. 

In the natural world’s way of striving to live and to grow, the R phase may be characterized by exploitation of available resources, or development of growth patterns or resource relationships that may not ultimately be sustainable. 

In nature, the R phase can be a period of intense, fervent growth – a field of seedlings all sprouting in unison, clamoring for nutrients, water, and light, the hunger that drives a seasonal migration. 

K: Exploitation/Acceleration of Growth

Expanded complexity in relationships between interdependent variables, the complexity of a system informs its resilience, both in the vulnerability to disturbance or in the inability to adapt or grow in healthy ways. 

In the natural world, individual species tend to exploit resources available to them in an ever-evolving drive towards life and sustainability of species. 

The invasive tendencies of some plant and animal species is not the result of avarice, but simply the nature by which these species try to gain a foothold in living. 

The K phase is characterized by increased resource utilization to support rapid growth, and by the emergence of increasingly complex connections and dependency arrangements between constituent species within an ecosystem developing in concert with one another. 

This interconnectedness may reduce flexibility in adaptation through multiple variables reinforcing the behavior and roles of one another. 

When adaptive change or innovation is impeded within one complex adaptive variable by its relationship with other variables within the system it is a part of, the resilience of interdependent variables can be reduced as the system itself becomes self-reinforcing of structures and relationships which may, depending on social ecological systems, not be ultimately beneficial to the health and equilibrium of the ecosystem. These interdependencies  create strongly coupled hierarchies that may be vulnerable to disruption by external factors or that may prove to be internally unsustainable as growth exceeds capacity of the ecosystem to support the structures and relationships which have emerged within it.

If variables within a panarchy are inextricably linked to variables that connect to other complex adaptive cycles, if collapse occurs at one level or scale of the ecosystem, a cascade of collapse can occur. 

Omega: Breakdown, collapse, release of resources, revolt 

When an ecosystem becomes unsustainable, or when it is critically impacted by external forces or internal structures which compromise resilience, the ecosystem can no longer sustain the operations and relationships which defined it, and a collapse process begins. 

The collapse of an ecosystem can be slow or fast, depending on the unique structures of economy and relationship which exist within the ecosystem and the external pressures or resources which may augment or ameliorate the process of collapse. 

Within the complex adaptive systems that comprise an individual human life, collapse may be created by conditions such as illness and injury, deprivation of resources to support growth  in the form of poverty, conflict within families and communities which dislocate or change the role of the individual within the larger systems they are a part of, and can lead to disruptions in resilience and adaptive capacity. 

Depending on the individual and the circumstances of their lives, collapse or vulnerability to collapse may be indicated by increased subjective distress, impairment in functioning in health and growth promoting ways due to internal or external factors within one’s life, and significantly heightened biological stress. 

Alpha: Renewal, organization and/or reorganization

Following collapse, the ecosystem begins a process of reorganization, leveraging resources which remain from previous ecosystemic iterations and relying on knowledge gained in previous growth cycles. 

In the natural world, this may be observed as the release of seeds following a fire and the re-establishment of hardy and adaptive species from which a new iteration of the ecosystem will arise. The question of which constituent attributes or species will come to define the reorganized ecosystem depends on the rate of growth of individual species, availability of conditions/resources needed to thrive, and barriers to growth such as – in forest ecosystems – soil quality, pathogenic factors, and water availability is intersecting with event variables such as floods, fires, drought, or agricultural and industrial development. 

In any panarchic cycle, a number of connected panarchic and complex adaptive cycles are shaping the successive details of the development course, the outcomes of defining events, and relationships that define the panarchy. 

For example, if one considers the life of an individual human being within a panarchic framework, it is necessary to consider the factors and variables which determine health and potential within the individual’s environment. Factors such as poverty and vulnerability to poverty, increased risk of adverse experiences, access to resources, and other social ecological determinants of health have to be considered. 

In each successive and evolving panarchic cycle, the organization and health of the ecosystem is informed by what came before it, and by the assets and barriers that evolve with growth. 

The Panarchy of Mental Health 

To understand human distress and wellbeing, and the way that qualitative and functional states of being and existing within our individual and communal lives in relationship with the environments we live in, it is necessary to take into account myriad variables and to understand the workings of complex adaptive systems, as these workings shape the tendencies of all living things. 

Assumptions in the formulation of a panarchy of mental health: 

Like all things that are living, human well-being depends on access to resources and conditions that support growth and health. 

The circumstances into which an individual is born play a massive role in the course their life is likely to take, the experiences they may have, and the impact those experiences have on health and ability to live well. 

This fact is well-established across all disciplines concerning themselves with human health. 

Our understanding of the negative health effects related to conditions such as, for example, malnutrition and exposure to toxins, is empirically supported by decades of medical research, and the social sciences have deeply explored and documented the ways that factors such as poverty and violence affect the health and function of individuals, families, communities, and the global society. 

Public health initiatives have gathered extensive data on the relationship between poverty, trauma and health outcomes across all demographic sectors on multiple scales. 

There is a sea of research spanning all disciplines that strongly suggests that what happens within our lives matters. 

We all intuitively know that what happens to us matters, that we are deeply affected by the events of our lives. Events can be acute or unfolding over the course of a life stage. 

Our lives are culminate outcomes of the events we have experienced and the ways those events have shaped us and driven us, charted our lives. 

At any given point in our lives, multiple events are unfolding simultaneously. 

Beyond the scope of our conscious awareness of what is happening in our lives and how we are affected, events across all interconnected scales of family, community, culture, and economy are unfolding in relationship with the environments we live in.

Panarchy and the Human Stress Response

Assumption: There is no clean slate, no neutral state. Prior, even, to the moment we are born, we are having experiences and processing information about our environments, and our bodies are reacting to motivations to seek basic necessities for living and to threats or injuries we experience or perceive within our environment, and – as we grow – our relationships.

In the human stress response, one condition or response catalyzes subsequent reactions and conditions. Biological stress responses unfold in a causal sequence of activities occurring within our sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous systems, and our psychological responses to fear and stress conduct themselves similarly, with one state of cognition and perception stimulating a qualitative and functional shift in the operations of stress-affected psychological, cognitive, and emotional states. You can see this process of cascading reactions in responses to fear-producing events or stimuli, the senses and faculties of psychological interpretation perceive a threat, and this provokes a release of stress hormones such as adrenaline and cortisol and shifts activity in the brain from the prefrontal cortex, areas of which govern language production, and reasoning, among other things.

In a model of human psychological health and resilience in the sense of the human psychological and experiential system being able to maintain consistent adequate function to stay healthy within one’s life, events which stimulate a stress response present disturbances to resilience in the sense that they disrupt or change function, catalyzing both immediate and protracted processes of adaptation to the stressor. If the human psychological and experiential system does not have the resources (material, external resources which may support problem solving, and internal resources of skills, learning, and psychological-emotional-spiritual factors such as hope, motivation, and positive creativity) to support adaptation, the resilience of the system breaks down in the form of reduced self-directed functionality in the actions and relationships which maintain and contribute to continued functionality of the existing ecosystems of our lives and realities. 

The stress response is variable, depending on the stressor and the individual experiencing stress. Biological stress responses are both innate and learned – meaning that we are all born equipped with mechanisms of perception and response that arose within our human species to help us to stay alive, to recognize threat and to respond in ways that may keep us from experiencing harm. We learn, throughout our lives, what fear is and what to be afraid of and what to do when we’re afraid. There is increasing evidence that we may hold fears that our ancestors felt, that fearful knowledge is encoded in our DNA, a whispered message of what to be scared of from those who came before us.

Stress responses in our body are also stimulated by our instinct to seek the things that are beneficial to our continued living and reproduction – food, sex, opportunities to increase access to food and sex within our social ecological systems. Positive stress – like excitement, desire, motivation, and reward – are sometimes referred to as Eustress, from the Greek prefix Eu – meaning good

However, depending on the social ecological system we are a part of, excessive eustress may be as disruptive to our lives as excessive distress in generating pleasure-seeking as a dominant motivator in ways that undermine the functionality of life ecosystems. 

Poverty is a panarchic cycle, and the conditions of poverty exist as part of a complex adaptive system that connects individuals, families, and local communities to structures that determine global economies. 

A panarchy is a nested set of complex adaptive systems. 

Psychologically, as we interpret and make meaning of our lives and how we feel within them, we may observe the rise and fall of subjective experiences of hope, motivation, fear, and overwhelm. 

This site was created as a means to learn about panarchy and to explore the different ways that this framework of understanding the life and death of states within systems may apply to different phenomena of experience within our world.

When the word experience is used here, it is meant to suggest the qualitative and objective attributes and phenomenal circumstances of existing. 

Humans have experiences both individual and collective. 

Forests have experiences, as does every living thing within them. 

Cities and governments and economies have experiences. 

The variables and conditions that define those experiences have an impact on what happens in constituent complex adaptive systems existing within a larger, interconnected  ecosystem, and inform what happens next in an ecosystem’s  growth and evolution. 

Sometimes ecosystems collapse. Knowing this to be true, the development a popular, collective understanding of why collapse occurs within ecosystems, individual human lives, economies, species, and social, institutional structures. 

When one system collapses, this collapse affects all interconnected complex adaptive systems in some way or another. 

When one system collapses, other systems inevitably emerge to take its place. 

As the world we collectively live in evolves and responds to new conditions within social ecological system, it is increasingly important that all humans consider the ways that the complex adaptive systems operate and function in processes of growth, adaptation, and collapse. 

This project explores the panarchic process in accessible and familiar domains, such as human experience within our lives and relationships, and invites consideration of the nature by which most things rise and fall as it may present in economies, in forests, rivers, and weather patterns, and even in group processes such as meetings or arguments. 

Everything rises toward growth, and when the system cannot sustain itself, the tendency is toward collapse and re-organization. Most people are probably aware of this, at least dimly. 

In this stage of our development as a species on planet earth, knowing what we know about how the world works and the errors of our history, it is important that we all – as human beings – evolve in our ability to see our lives and experiences as complex adaptive systems – because that is what our lives and experiences are. 

Learning about complex adaptive systems is important because doing so allows us to be more active participants in the unfolding of our lives and in making decisions that promote health and wellbeing within our ecosystem world. 

The science of complex adaptive systems and the framework of panarchy is not only for those who research social ecological systems. The lessons and teachings of change and collapse in complex systems in nature, by nature, extends to all facets of our lives in some way or another because this is how the world works. 

As inhabitants of our lives and of our world, we have a right and a responsibility to understand these workings and to consider why the conditions that define our lives are as they are, and to make skillful, informed decisions about how to best approach making change within those conditions, how to ease the transformation that will inevitably emerge, that is emerging right now. 

Poem for the Right and for the Wrong + Other Poems

Poem for the Right and for the Wrong 

In the Spring

everything is names

and numbers

messages sent

at the same time

and the way

the most simple ‘hello’

can sound so familiar

when I’m on my porch


for all of May

with the songs

about songs

saying something

about turning

my back

on a friend

and me trying to figure

who I was turning on more

after all was said

with not much done

it was only me

alone on my porch

in spite of

that white bird

that blue shirt

all of this after

the long slow thaw

and how we danced

through those months

of too-short days

there’s no such thing

as wasted time

and even though

I never did find out

if you could slow down

the clock

I don’t believe

in broken hearts anymore

not on days like this

with everything so hot

like blood in the sun

and so much living and dying

while the grass just keeps on


and the clouds

look like they’re trying

to rain

I’ll just keep telling the story

of the two copperheads

that my father killed

in the woodpile on a Sunday

while the pear trees

smelled like sex

and the bees buzzed on

like it was nothing

like it was nothing

like it was nothing

under those skies

on that finally quiet day

in June

when it just didn’t matter

all that much


what I claimed to choose.


Today, without ceremony,

sans sentiment

I tore down the Hand of God


or at least started to anyway,

I left the frame

for another day,

another afternoon.



just cleaning up

an old mess I made.

Broken glass and the rust

of a yesteryear righteousness

the chicken wire

drawing blood

the hardware cloth

the nails

in a skeleton

of rotted wood

there in the Northwest corner

of my yard

which was,

years ago,

a beautiful place

and is still a beautiful place

though in a different way,

a far more moldering way.

Today, without ceremony,

without a single photo,

I peeled away the splintering waves

pushed the boat from where it sailed

atop the frame

and felt pleased

when it shuddered and cracked

upon hitting the ground

tearing a limb from the maple

as it fell,

in a great feat



I pushed down

what I had once pushed up

and the children were just as delighted

to see it destroyed,

as they were when I raised it from the ground,

over my head,

and pushed, pushed,

up toward the sky.


“This is fun,” my son called,

as he smashed the boat apart

there on the muddy ground,

without ceremony.

Formation Song

These raindrops,

half-hearted until I really listened,

sound out a serious rhythm

a march to war,

a grand rally,

a big game

something more important than anything

that this day

just beginning – damp and lazy,

would seem to have in its plans

But, on the old metal sawhorse

whose only work now

‎is to patiently hold back the Calycanthus

and to slowly rust

in the corner of the yard

a movement is mounting

a syncopation found

in the hapless fall of water

being pulled back into the earth

doing the only thing it can do

when it finds the edge of the roof

which is to dumbly drop

with no knowing and no intent

And, oh, surprise

it becomes

a battle hymn

steady and certain

for this morning that is full

of quiet, whole-hearted falls

and almost unnoticeable journeys

back to where we belong.

An Imperfect Sonnet for a Dying Mother

How can I tell you, my dying mother

that you will turn to a bright comet soul

upon death, when the body becomes other

a wish to stay is the most futile goal

Your gaze to the edge of the field is long

hands clasped tightly, holding luminous ropes

“What?” she says, “I will miss life. Is that wrong?”

the mortal’s love spans all lands of false hopes

Yet, I am certain that with final breath

you will see, your eyes untethered at last

it’s true: the dead miss nothing upon death

we all become like comets, light and fast

The falling star does not cling to the night

even unseen, it shines then dies bright

To say you are the bones of your old hands

metacarpals, nails bent, a dying liver

the blood and substance of ancestral lands

in veins that cross flesh branched as a river

to call yourself by the knots of your spine

looking in the mirror at the face you know

not catching reflections, simple lines

the arrow fallen away from the bow

You are convinced that the name they gave you

bundled mass of cells and new beating heart

is somehow yours eternal and most true

from which you can and never will part

Your real name is a whisper on warm wind

The Scientist’s Lobotomy

Did you look inside her

at that place

where you imagined

all those demons, that disease?

Was she split open

like a shell

for its soft fruit

to be examined

by the stainless tines

of science?

What did you find, in that shimmering inside?

Was it not so dark as you thought it might be?

Did you see, there in the folds, the pits that you pictured?

Did you find

what you expected

empires of rot and lesion?

Did you swim

in the swamps

tucked into the coasts between

this region and that region,

get lost in the tangles 

like cities on a roadmap?

Or was it softer, smoother…perfect?

Did the gentle pink edge remind you of a shell

that you once picked up from the shallows of the ocean?

Did the salt on your lips taste like waves?

There were patterns in the sand and you traced them

as mountains.

You saw the pools, your eyes reflected against the sky reflected …and you knew the truth.

You found it in that shell that held the sunset.

That soft slick pink and bruise

of grey and blue

that felt, to you,

soft like your mother

could never be.

For a moment, the whole world was there

and your finger felt

the sound inside

like music.

It’s so easy to forget

that you wanted to live

inside that place

where the ocean roared

against your ear

for you alone to hear.

When you looked inside 

did you see

the landscape of her memory?

Was the universe in there?

Did it look like sand?

…or just a small segment 

of tissue asleep

that you carved out

and placed on a scale, 

as though this matter 

could be weighed?

Was it barely alive at all?

Tell me, what was the smell of her, 

in that deep

dark opening

that you made?

Did you find, tucked into a crenellated warmth, 

the place where her voice 

was born?

You never heard it.

She never spoke.

You never listened?

You’ve forgotten

which came first and what it was

that you were looking for

in the first place

in that space 

behind her closed eyes.

Do you see that, even sleeping, her mouth looks like a bow?

You have no way of knowing 

that as a child 

she sang the same song

over and over again

because it made her happy,

made her heart lift up to the clouds,

spirits spinning melody. 

Tell me, when you pulled

the two halves apart

did they make

any noise at all?

Tell me, what did you see inside?

Did you find God?

…or did God find you?