What is Easy Pieces?
This is a conversation about Easeness.
Easeness is to business as easiness is to busyness; it’s the yin to business’ yang. Ease, of course, is by no means a new concept, but it is one we seem to be forgetting.
So, here I intend to sprinkle seeds, not of revolution, but of evolution. Seeds of a song we all once knew. Seeds of a future we remember well.
♻️ ease 🌱 curiosity 🌿 gratitude 🌾 generosity 🥐 bliss 💩
With any luck these seeds will sprout and—bathing in the infinite generosity that is the medium of our earthly existence—will grow and flower, attracting busy bees from far and wide to light upon the fragrant petals flitting in the breeze and waft the subliminal undertones of the life we were born to live, but lost before we had a choice.
Some of these seeds I collect like pollen in a forest bath, and some I coalesce or coax forth, like spermatozoa. Either way, they are manifested with ease, often channeled or received. They may be poems or missives, essays or stories, quips or conversations. Whatever the format, they center, in a sense, on the principle of least action, on the yellow brick road back to the Garden, on the Fool’s final errand: Return.
Who writes this?
My fram calls me Kerrbear. (Pictured above, these are somewhat old likenesses.) By day I’m a papa bear and a devsigner of web and wonder. At night I write about the spirit we share, tinker with an ancient crystal ball, and dream of the world we deserve. I suffer from, and am blessed with, a profound sense of intuition, which dislodges me from the jet-stream trailing behind the arrow of time. That is to say, I’m a bit of a weirdo, and nothing surprises me.
Oh, and when it’s very quiet I can hear radio stations, like seven at the same time, in my head. So… whether I’m a credible narrator, or an incredible one, I’ll leave for you to decide.
The Boons of Subscription
As you might have gleaned by now, this is not a money-making scheme or an attempt to mine a vein of fertile fear for profit. I do not expect Easeness to be popular in the traditional sense. I’m not selling alchemical secrets or spinning my trauma into yarns about the apocalypse. We’re not making Lemonade here, and there is no stand. (It’s much easier to sit.)
All that aside, here I intend to congeal the zeitgeist into an aspic worthy of Cleopatra or a White Russian fit for The Dude. So you might find yourself feeling strangely satiated or teeming with tumult, and when you do, just know that you can say thanks with a paid subscription, and you can say “Hey, what the ever-loving fuck do you mean business is a field of agitated fear perpetuated through implied violence?” in the comments. I offer the lion’s share of my work freely to the world. Always as it will have been. Please don’t tell my clients.
There will surely arise topics of conversation about which we feel a bit more tender. Those conversations occur within the friendly confines of Paidsubscriberville, for your comfort and mine. But fear not missing out, for FOMO is the business of a mind caged by scarcity. And, though you may not yet know it, this is a cage to which you already have the key.