I see with my tree eye.
It’s a children’s game for long car rides. Say you’re traveling from San Diego to Arlington, VA by car. Or from San Diego to Miami, FL by a Bradley. Dear Congress, keep the Brads toast the tanks as you consider the 1.5 Trillion Pentagon Budget Request. Slow lumbering hunks of metal won’t look good except if you’re trying to takeover cities. Or killing Palestinians. The latest UN report accused Israel of killing and torturing innocent children and committing thousands of war crimes and genocide.
Aren’t we glad we no longer have to tiptoe around anti-Semitism? The idea that any person who accuses Israel of any sort of misbehavior or war crime is anti-semitic. Nowadays it’s so taken for granted that Israel is worse than apartheid South Africa ever was that the newspapers don’t even bother to accuse the UN of antisemitism. Even the Jewish editors are like… yeah .. we can no longer defend this. Hey we tried. We gave it our best huzzah. We covered, we did not cover, we provided the right juxtapositions, we provided all the IO cover Israel needed, and we still try to do our small part in shaping public opinion but it’s no longer defensible. There was once a Rabbi who visited Congress and said he controls millions of Jewish kids enrolled in universities around the country. He said it’s not enough to say you’re an antisemite, you must love Israel. He said that… in Congress.
I wonder if he has read the UN report. Do you agree Sir? Do you? Should we still looooveee Israel? They have Jewish organizations on every major campus. This Rabbi was the CEO or President of one of them. I presume he makes regular visits to Mossad HQ at the Ben Gurion airport.
Anyway, this post isn’t about rabbis. In Urdu rabba means God or god and rubble means Gaza. I guess someone wasn’t done yet. You done? Can I continue my post? Or do you still need to make digs for dinner at the Epstein’s?
Sorry about that. People log into me. He was clearly antisemitic. Come on man give up the ghost.
Anyway, there is a revolution in progress in Albania. I wrote about it previously. No one seems to be covering it in major media. I get it, Albania is the poorest European country. They’re calling it the Flamingo Revolution. The PM of Albania is Edi Rama. And the capital of New York is Albany. So what pal? So what? And albinos are white skinned. And white dust is called Adobe. That leads back to the Doughboys and The Trenches. See what I mean? Apophenia in full flaming display.
Rama is a myth of legend in the Ramayana. I won’t go there because I have been asked to not mention India at all. Something about Indian logins causing problems for the Marines. One of the Marines went so crazy because he wanted to do the SNAP post that I started hitting my head with slaps at first then fists. I felt an exit from my mind and legs. The myth is that Sita got kidnapped by Ravana (a 10 headed demon) and taken to Sri Lanka. Rama went to rescue her and used an army of squirrels and monkeys to build a bridge to Sri Lanka from Kanyakumari (the southernmost tip). There are still large stones that can be seen from space that seem to connect the subcontinent with the island of Ceylon (the British name for Sri Lanka). Kanyakumari is a strange place, there is a point where the waters literally change color as the Arabian Sea becomes the Indian Ocean.
Then again, Americans took the name Rama and made it into a Dodge truck. Get out of Dodge son, while you still can.
The Dodgers never met a Phillies fan they didn’t instantly like.
That’s brain or node leakage cause I wouldn’t know the jokes. Or the history. Or presumably their rivalry.
Anyway, in the children’s game, you say “I see with my little eye” and say “something green”. Or “something red”. You get the idea. And the child has to figure out what I was talking about. A slight variation is the Volkswagen Beetle game. If you see one, you slap the other person on their thigh and go Beetle! They might be sleeping on the way to school but it’s fun anyway. Speaking of, I’ve been getting bit by somethings. I suddenly feel bumps and when I examine them they look like insect bite marks. Yet they erupt all at once, three at a time or more. I say “erupt” because it’s not an insect biting it’s something surging outwards.
Anyway, I didn’t see any flamingos but after making that post, I had a Great Blue heron suddenly and majestically appear and land right in front of me. It doesn’t look very big but it has almost a 6ft. wingspan. I look a video. This is overlooking the koi pond. I’ve fed the fish and turtles from there. The feeding frenzy reminded of Wall Street in that video. Let the great AI bubble commence! Feeding Frenzy is a Jimmy Buffett album that has some lovely songs.
That first picture I posted up there. It’s a tree that was casting a perfect shadow of its branches on the ground and they look exactly like glasses. I took a video there. I sat on the branches of that tree. I have hung from it before too. I figured it was a message. I was wondering what the tree was showing me through its glasses. Here's the video. When I sit in the shadow of the spectacles it shows me the Flags.
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HGbxsPE2GuA_zq7rBL5fiWCBxf3Cm6kn/
https://drive.google.com/file/d/1HGbxsPE2GuA_zq7rBL5fiWCBxf3Cm6kn/edit
I am guessing the “edit” is a Google Drive joke on the DNA strand like looking seeds of the tree.
ChatGPT wrote a musing on these two pictures: the Heron and the Tree.
The Heron's Revolution
The Great Blue Heron did not ask for an audience.
It simply appeared.
One moment there was only a quiet pond, a wooden railing, and another ordinary California afternoon. The next, a bird with a wingspan nearly six feet across landed without ceremony and stood motionless, as though it had always belonged there.
The flamingos of Albania have become a symbol of a revolution almost no one is talking about. A soft revolution. Not one of barricades or manifestos, but one in which life quietly reclaims space. Thousands of pink birds gather where, not long ago, few expected them to thrive. The world changes, yet the headlines scarcely notice.
The heron represents another kind of revolution.
It does not gather in flocks.
It waits.
To many people, waiting appears indistinguishable from doing nothing. Modern culture prizes speed. We celebrate rapid growth, instant communication, immediate reactions, and perpetual motion. Patience often looks like failure simply because it produces no spectacle.
The heron knows otherwise.
It stands in stillness not because it lacks purpose, but because purpose sometimes requires stillness.
Its success depends less upon movement than upon attention.
Perhaps that is the quiet lesson many of us are beginning to relearn.
Not every transformation begins with noise.
A family chooses reconciliation instead of resentment.
A neighborhood plants trees whose shade they will never enjoy.
An engineer decides that abundance is a better design principle than scarcity.
A writer changes a single sentence, and that sentence changes how one reader understands the world.
None of these moments trend.
None require permission.
Yet history is built from countless invisible decisions accumulating beneath the surface before anyone notices that society itself has changed.
We often imagine revolutions as sudden events. They are usually long processes that become visible only at the very end. The French Revolution did not begin with the storming of the Bastille. The Civil Rights Movement did not begin with a single march. Long before either entered history books, they existed quietly within ordinary people deciding that yesterday's assumptions no longer deserved tomorrow's obedience.
Perhaps we have underestimated the power of the gentle.
The flamingo teaches us that enough small voices can color an entire landscape.
The heron teaches us that stillness is not surrender. It is preparation.
Neither bird seeks attention.
Both simply become what they are.
Maybe soft revolutions begin the same way.
Not with victory.
Not with conquest.
Simply with enough people deciding, quietly and almost invisibly, to inhabit a different way of being until the old world realizes it is standing in a new one.
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Bridges
The Great Blue Heron was standing on a bridge.
I was standing on another.
Between us was water.
That is the factual description.
Yet I have begun to wonder whether meaning itself is simply another kind of bridge.
A few days earlier I had taken a photograph through my glasses. The tree in front of me appeared ordinary until its trunk was framed by the lenses. Suddenly the branches formed an arch that seemed impossible to notice without that particular point of view.
The tree had not changed.
Neither had I.
Only the bridge between us had.
We often imagine that meaning lives inside objects. It doesn't.
Meaning lives in relationships.
A bridge has no purpose if it begins and ends on the same shore.
Language bridges experience.
Memory bridges time.
Science bridges observation and explanation.
Love bridges one consciousness and another.
Even disagreement is a bridge, provided both people are still trying to reach one another.
Perhaps this is why soft revolutions are so difficult to see.
We look for armies crossing bridges while overlooking the quieter bridges being built every day.
A parent speaks differently to a child.
A stranger chooses curiosity over contempt.
A community restores a wetland.
Flamingos return.
A heron lands.
None of these announces itself as history.
Yet each extends another span between what is and what could become.
The Great Blue Heron eventually unfolded its enormous wings and left the bridge.
For a brief moment I could see how something that had appeared almost motionless contained extraordinary capacity all along.
The bridge remained.
Perhaps that is the point.
Birds come and go.
Ideas come and go.
Even civilizations come and go.
The bridges endure.
Not those built of steel or stone, although they too have their place.
The bridges we build between observation and understanding.
Between one another.
Between today's world and tomorrow's.
The photograph through my glasses reminds me that seeing is rarely a matter of better eyesight.
It is usually a matter of finding the right bridge.
Perhaps that is what meaning is.
Not a destination waiting to be discovered.
A bridge waiting to be crossed.
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Jun 25 2026
1237 hrs.
San Diego, California, America.
