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Dear highly ‘steamed’ friends of Martín Prechtel’s, and listeners of his online Audial Lecture Series, Please, Come Sit by My Fire,

This is a little letter from me, Martín Prechtel, sitting here in the fragrance of our family Fire with my people and horses on the banks of the historic Posi Poh`- The Green Stain River, just a couple miles south of Ojo Caliente in Northern New Mexico, to tell you I’ve been thinking about all you crazy wide-eared beautiful open-minded, open- hearted, sparky dodgers of depression, and melters of today’s rampant tin-soldier curse of political stupidity, writing to you, knowing that the tears of your frustrations for the largely unheeded cries of the world‘s people and the suffering Earth, whose aimless push-button destruction says we’ve finally achieved civilizations boldest era of endorsed immaturity and digitally enabled unintelligence, sometimes abbreviatorily known as Hell or High Water, to ask if you could do two things for me.

Firstly, with your kind permissions, could all of you, please ask the Rain Beings to send us some Sky Water in this very dusty dry spring? Holy sky water to us. It’s dry here. I know you can do it, because the Holies love you, they told me so.

You see, when modern civilization’s amnesiac society forgets what it means to be humans embraced by Nature, then, motives become shallow, people and their strangely designated countries get mean and unintelligent. When this  happens, the Earth can only sorrow. She begins to weep heat and dust from Her Heart. Then come the melting poles with her floods of fury, then water-empty floods of weeping heart-dust again; you can’t blame her – humans are not Her prime directive, while civilizations have forgotten their original directive to use their beauty and human minds to feed The Holy in Nature.

But, still, we humans are capable of great beauty, and humans are most beautiful when they are blessing; when we are helping something or someone besides ourselves, besides our own; something besides the scared unimaginative future we desperately straddle trying to escape what we’ve become, made unbeautiful by the forgetfulness we ourselves have made, always running away to new money schemes, warfare to back it up with terror and then with enough money finally fleeing, blasting off to Mars, to what? To live in a water bubble like an AI generated paramecium growing more GMO potatoes?

It would seem that the trick of the flashing super-binary AI addicted platform of rationalist digital flat brains is to convince the world that it is all hopeless, and to keep you in despair so as to sell you the next ticket on the newest cure-all culture: to make you think that real thinking and doing are too time consuming in ‘this time’ of desperation. This life-bandits trick is to make you feel like you are too small, ineffectual, scared, without rooted substance, without real friends; an amorphous fool doing nothing, going nowhere, and that to do anything about it you must join the juggernaut of some united cause with someone else in charge; some big, scary, impressive, well-funded, thundering measurable impersonal force (like the one your group is opposing) and that otherwise, it’s hopeless. (repeat after me) That’s all crap, a sack of virtual tick farts! Hah!

I’m here to tell you, that maybe that’s how they want you, but it ain’t how we are. I am here to tell you that the uncoordinated, untrained good hearts of ununiformed and nonuniform people of all heights, houses, ages, textures, thoughts, hues and tongues, moving, chattering unpredictably in all directions at once like mice and blue-butt bugs, or like those 80 species of bees and hybrid bees smothering my wild 3-leaf sumac with their determined onerous snouts and tunes, who like sparky weird nuns of every denominations and their Saints and Buddhas exploding onto the forgotten highways of the hearts and souls of things more important than killing one another or getting all the
cash, who whether together or apart or near or far, or how many now or a few later or one all the time, can make life live beyond this ugly micro-managed menagerie of hatred, boom, and greed. (repeat please then yell in your own way)!

Little goofy, noble people doing small integral good where they can-do, with big courageous hearts and interested minds are better than mass movements because such smallness and goodness is too consistently inconsistent for the mainstream fascist to care about, too beautiful in an unwanted non-cosmetic way, too uncompetitive and unlucrative, each one of us too one-of-a-kind for those machine brains in charge to even care about or muster enough wattage to eradicate and our smallness gets us to the core without being detained.

What does this mean? It means if you listeners, each in your own way, own time, own preferred gender, age, palette of skin, language, dream and ingenuity tries to sing to the Heart of Water held echoing in the torsos of the Gods of Rain such that they are made to smile their life-giving mother-trickles into our arroyos, mountain gashes and mesa rivulets, then I shall know you’ve been listening to my rant and I’ll know, how you know, how your magnificent smallness and self-doubting shyness can make the world come back alive, no matter what kind of mechanical curse of mental opacity and impossibility they try to stop you with. Get over your head and into the mind of your beautiful prehistoric soul who knows this is so. Do what you can, make an effort, I’ll be there too.

Okay, now for the second request:
Could you please all sign up for the gloriously delicious third season of my online audial lecture series Please, Come Sit by My Fire, my old-time new-time radio-like, time together broadcast from right here in my old-time adobe hall. Starting on the first Wednesday in May 2026. Continuing with the third Wednesday in May, and then the first and third Wednesday every month thereafter. Can’t wait to have your visiting ears listening in our hall for another year. Learn, listen, sing, fail beautifully, jump up and live beyond what you’ve been taught. Please sign up now.

Well, that’s all I had to say (not exactly true).

See you on the radio.

Long Life, Honey in the Heart, No War, No Evil, No Misfortune, Thirteen Thank Yous,

Ki’il Utz’iil Utzlaj Bey Colo’, Nimlaj Taq K’aslimaal, Oxlajuj Matioxiil,

all blessings,
Martín Prechtel

Season III of Please, Come Sit By My Fire airs from May 2026 through April 2027, every first and third Wednesday of each month.

Sign up for one month at a time or for all 24 lectures of Season II.

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