On a recent day, I had the privilege of attending a talk led by Malidoma Some, a ritual shaman of the Dagara people of western Africa, who happens to hold PHDs from the Sorbonne in Paris, and Brandeis here in the states. A powerful, articulate man speaking deep truths about healing. Our "five sensical" reality is not all there is, he says, and crisis is mainly the divide between ones gift and ones notion of self, socially prescribed. It is the beginning of initiation, which leads to struggle, which leads to a greater understanding of who one is. Crisis is calling us to a new type of attention. There's no manual for this type of healing. It can only be found by trusting ones own counsel. The craziest and most reckless are often the most evolved, the most orderly the least. There is no separation between you and the divine.
Afterward, I attended a pre-school fundraiser at the UofM football practice field-house, with my friend Chad and his family, and about 300 kids under the age of ten. Talk about mayhem. It was great. Total chaos, rubber bouncy balls and children of various sizes flying everywhere. After the race we all ran, that some punk kid won, I got cornered by a micro-economist with a crazy look in his eye. All I did was tell him economists have a bad rep, and asked if he had a more holistic view of things than his contemporaries. He said no, and took it as an invitation to talk about auctions and collusion and game theory, until I stopped him, telling him his (four-year-old) son stole the football Chad and I were playing with. Well trained, he said.
Drinks with Chad after. He's as good a friend as I have, though he's skeptical of me. I want him to approve, like my father. Both take a dim view of the writing of books, at least as it pertains to me. Both are eminently successful financially, both have families, I am by comparison a lunatic vagrant on the verge of homelessness. "So how's that plan to sail to Brazil... oh yeah, and learn Spanish and French and Brazilian Portuguese. You got a business plan for those books?" He thinks I'm on vacation.
"I figure if I keep writing outrageous things, and doing outrageous things with my life, the books will sell themselves." Right. You better get a job. "There is a method to my madness, you know," and I explain the 40 songs I've found, in all three languages, that I listen to daily. Training my mouth to form the words. Lip syncing. Uh uh.
Chad is brilliant in ways I am not. I took an IQ test once that revealed I have a relatively high spatial intelligence. Chad is like a demigod by comparison. His Revomazes make my head ache (fourth in the world, second in the states solving the silver, he's anticipating the gold). He solves eight sided Rubiks cubes. He makes me think, I may not be worthy of the knowledge that built the Great Pyramid, that I may only be a messenger.
I've found a certain affinity for Brazilian Portuguese. It fits my mouth better, like the African languages I've listened to. It's easier for my mouth than Spanish or French, and all that trilling. Especially the French. It's no wonder, speaking this language, the French gave us both Romanticism and Existentialism; equal parts sexy and verbal torture. There's definite progress with each language, though I also have considerable difficulty with the delivery of Spanish. Machine-gun like, as my Barrons cassette tapes tell me. Barrons designed the program for government foreign service agents, back in the eighties. I bought the thing new, which shows how long I've been putting off learning Spanish, though my niece is half Spanish, her language is suffering, and I might be a great help to her. For the first time, I made it past the first cassette, of twelve.
I'm at a coffee shop now, on my way to her house. I bought two sleds, her valentines gift. I've been telling her I'll bring her sledding, though I kept putting it off because it's been so cold. Now, we're going to get soaking wet. She won't care. I carried them one in each hand, a big pack on my back, eight blocks from the hardware store to the coffee shop, through the streets of my neighborhood, walking, dancing and lip syncing to Clara Nunes, Gal Costa, Marisa Monte, Beth Carvalho, etc. Cal Gosta's E'd Oxum is one of the most beautiful songs I've ever heard. Whenever I hear it, I smile.
It's Chad's iPod I carry. He reaffirmed a long-term lease. I told him, dude, you're scoring huge karma points. "I know," he said. Happy Valentines Day.
As we show our love for others this Valentines Day, remember to love yourself. It hardly occurs to most of us, I think. Impossible though, really, to truly love another, if we do not love ourselves. Dancing, I have moments of sublime happiness, of love that I am alive. Immediately followed by a sense that I have no right to be happy. A curious dynamic. I recall Malidoma Some: find the space to open up to one's gift, look to the indigenous paradigm to shed light on the modern predicament. Everyone is here for a reason, everyone matters. True understanding is innate. Life is a series of initiations, ever evolving. Participate. Something in us is eager to awaken.
Monday, February 14, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Mid-Winter Questions
Imbolc has passed, which means we're on the lee-side of halfway to the Spring Equinox. I'm thankful for the sun the last three days, as thirty-plus degrees below freezing, when you walk everywhere you go, begins to feel a bit oppressive. Damn frustrating, actually. I used the weather as an excuse last night to buy a six pack of Winter Ale, and rent the Fellowship of the Ring trilogy. I had no legitimate reason to gorge on video, or beer, I just wanted to take a break from the questions.
Like, do flesh and bone ET's visit this planet, or are they, as Graham Hancock suggests, a modern perspective on an ancient reality, the shamanic interaction between parties of different dimensions, one as real as the other, only different? What does quantum physics tell us about space and time? Is Ayahuasca a doorway, and who are the Man in Jade and the Goddess in Gold? What is the knowledge possessed by the ancients, who built the Great Pyramid?
And how am I going to paddle down the Mississippi? How am I going to buy a sailboat when I reach the Gulf, and how am I going to learn to sail? And then how am I going to sail to Brazil? Maybe as far as the Pacific? Peru, 2012? How am I going to communicate, in Spanish, French and Portugese, once I've left the boundary of Empire? Where is the money going to come from?
Frodo wasn't always sure about his path either. There were times when he didn't want the ring, wishing it had never come to him. Gandalf was there to remind him, all men who live to see such times wish the same, that all we can do is decide what to do with the time one has. Central and South America isn't Mordor. No question I'm going to do it, but how?
I've started eating the potatoes I grew this year, in earnest. Baked a few pounds of potato wedges, dousing them with cholula and garlic salt for a little heat, at the beginning of The Two Towers, after a couple of beers. I love the Ents. I love these movies, though sometimes I think, the mythology is starting to look dated. We can't afford anymore to prop men up as kings, as messiahs, as rulers of any kind. It's incumbent upon every man and woman to find these same energies within. Coded, perhaps, in that "junk" 97% of our DNA we can't yet explain.
The potato is related to Datura, Mandrake, and several other powerful "hallucinogens". I hear they cultivate a few thousand different kinds of potatoes in the Andes, perhaps a thing taught by the same who built Tiahuanaco, at Titicaca, some twelve thousand years ago?
Off to the store, in the cold, on foot, for a few staples and probably a little junk. A film in Spanish tonight, another in Brazilian Portuguese. Two more beers, and more potatoes. I'm in training. I'm modeling the archetype of the green man consort to the Goddess, at Patrick's Cabaret in five weeks. I don't at present look the part of any consort to any goddess, though I expect to be ready. After all, who's going to have a point of reference?
It's supposed to be thirty-five degrees or higher this weekend. I long to get on my bike again and enjoy it. I see friends on Facebook talking about vacations to warm places. There's no money for travelling anymore this winter. Next winter? How about a sailboat, exploring the Atlantic coast of South America, looking for a shaman?
Like, do flesh and bone ET's visit this planet, or are they, as Graham Hancock suggests, a modern perspective on an ancient reality, the shamanic interaction between parties of different dimensions, one as real as the other, only different? What does quantum physics tell us about space and time? Is Ayahuasca a doorway, and who are the Man in Jade and the Goddess in Gold? What is the knowledge possessed by the ancients, who built the Great Pyramid?
And how am I going to paddle down the Mississippi? How am I going to buy a sailboat when I reach the Gulf, and how am I going to learn to sail? And then how am I going to sail to Brazil? Maybe as far as the Pacific? Peru, 2012? How am I going to communicate, in Spanish, French and Portugese, once I've left the boundary of Empire? Where is the money going to come from?
Frodo wasn't always sure about his path either. There were times when he didn't want the ring, wishing it had never come to him. Gandalf was there to remind him, all men who live to see such times wish the same, that all we can do is decide what to do with the time one has. Central and South America isn't Mordor. No question I'm going to do it, but how?
I've started eating the potatoes I grew this year, in earnest. Baked a few pounds of potato wedges, dousing them with cholula and garlic salt for a little heat, at the beginning of The Two Towers, after a couple of beers. I love the Ents. I love these movies, though sometimes I think, the mythology is starting to look dated. We can't afford anymore to prop men up as kings, as messiahs, as rulers of any kind. It's incumbent upon every man and woman to find these same energies within. Coded, perhaps, in that "junk" 97% of our DNA we can't yet explain.
The potato is related to Datura, Mandrake, and several other powerful "hallucinogens". I hear they cultivate a few thousand different kinds of potatoes in the Andes, perhaps a thing taught by the same who built Tiahuanaco, at Titicaca, some twelve thousand years ago?
Off to the store, in the cold, on foot, for a few staples and probably a little junk. A film in Spanish tonight, another in Brazilian Portuguese. Two more beers, and more potatoes. I'm in training. I'm modeling the archetype of the green man consort to the Goddess, at Patrick's Cabaret in five weeks. I don't at present look the part of any consort to any goddess, though I expect to be ready. After all, who's going to have a point of reference?
It's supposed to be thirty-five degrees or higher this weekend. I long to get on my bike again and enjoy it. I see friends on Facebook talking about vacations to warm places. There's no money for travelling anymore this winter. Next winter? How about a sailboat, exploring the Atlantic coast of South America, looking for a shaman?
Thursday, February 3, 2011
Lost Civilizations
In a recent post I offered three hypotheses, all of which are paradigm shifting. I didn't make them up, I simply pulled them from various sources, and listed them in the post with the intention of looking into each further. To that end, I am ready to comment on the third: that there has been a civilization here on Earth more technologically sophisticated than our own.
Specifically, I point to the work of Graham Hancock, Robert Bauval and the geologist John West, all of whom have suggested the Great Pyramid of Giza, and indeed the entire complex of Giza including the Sphinx, were not built by the fourth dynasty pharaohs Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure, in the period between 2613-2494 BC, as orthodox Egyptologists and Historians suggest. As evidence, they point specifically to weathering patterns on the Sphinx, which have been caused by rain, though it has not rained significantly in Egypt the last 9000 years; the design of the pyramids, particularly the Great Pyramid, which is built to specifications so precise, with such materials as to be impossible to recreate using even the most modern technological means; the fact that the pyramids said to be built in the 3rd, 5th and 6th dynastys are radically inferior to the Giza pyramid, defying the rule of social progress; and the layout of the pyramids, which in relation to the Nile and the Milky Way, reflects the pattern of the three stars of the belt of Orion, as they were in the year 10,450 BC.
What is the evidence orthodox Egyptologists and Historians offer for the 4th dynasty hypothesis? Basically, that a statue of Khufu and another of Kafre were found on the site. This of course is not evidence of anything. But you don't need evidence when you have consensus. If we all agree the world is flat, we don't need to prove it.
The fact is, the Great Pyramid was not built by any known civilization. If we tried to build an exact copy today, I'm quite certain we could not. We don't know how to move 200 ton blocks with any degree of efficacy, and certainly not by the number and to the degree of precision the builders of the Great Pyramid did.
So who did?
Graham Hancock offers a fairly convincing answer. Basically, that 15,000 years ago, the continent of Antarctica was in fact significantly further north, that it had a pleasant, largely ice free climate, that a slippage of the Earth's crust caused in part by the centrifugal force of the Earth's rotation, exasperated by the uneven weight of continent sized glaciers, radically altered the face of the planet. Pushing Antarctica, the potential home of a technologically sophisticated culture, into deep freeze. A process initiating the global catastrophe that nearly ever cultural mythology around the globe speaks about. That the survivors spread around the globe, building structures in various places, including the city of Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, Chichen Itza, Machu Pichu, and the structures of the Giza complex, and perhaps many more that are currently under water.
This last part, under water, he covers in his book Underworld, which I haven't yet found a copy of. Evidently, he and his wife Santha spent five years traveling to various parts of the globe, visiting underwater structures similar to those discussed above.
That there is not a massive, ongoing assessment of these structures is one of the great mysteries of our Age.
Under the current orthodox measure of social progress, there can't be technologically sophistcated buildings under water, because there were no cultures capable of building them, when the glaciers melted 12,000 years ago, raising sea levels 400 ft. Such a find would rewrite history, and call into question our technological and social arrogance. Another testament to the power of orthodoxy to stand in the way of understanding, to prevent humanity from coming to a true and honest assessment of who we are.
How these cultures built these structures remains a question, one that Graham Hancock does not pretend to answer. Some will immediately say, ET's! Well, maybe. I'm no longer inclined to discount anything, just because the orthodox say it's crazy. I am increasingly inclined to think that, for all our technological ingenuity, our civilization is rather immature, pathetically so, as evidenced by the way we treat each other and the Earth. Hell, here in America, the supposed light for all the world, something like 40% of adults think the Universe is only about 6000 years old. Do I think ET's built the pyramids? I don't think so. Do I think the knowledge required to build the Great Pyramid perhaps came from an Extra-Terrestrial or super-natural source? Maybe. I don't know. Mine is not the kind of intelligence that says no just because I don't know, or because I don't like the ramifications of that possibility, or because I don't want to know.
As for ET's, that's part of a different post to come. As for thinking the universe is only 6000 years old? I don't see that science contradicts the notion of a divine source at all. I do see that a good many scientists are overly rational, condescending, arrogant, aloof and dismissive. Because as I've said, orthodoxy is as much a problem for the scientist as it is for the Believer.
-----
I've re-named this blog, from a study of the coming Great Contraction, to a study of the Great Awakening. I'm tired of looking at our culture purely through the lens of collapse. We are living in a time of quickening, of ever increasing access to information. I want to believe we are on the verge of a great social Renaissance, in which we slough off the cloak of hierarchy and tyrannical social inequality, in favor of harmony, balance, wholeness and healing. The universe is divine. There are levels of awareness we have hardly begun to perceive. I want to live in that space, not in the fear of collapse and ever evolving tyranny.
I hope this blog is of use to you. I know there aren't more than a proverbial handful of you out there. It's hard, sometimes, to contemplate these things, when I feel like I'm the only one impacted. Because we are living in a lost civilization. One way or another, it's coming to an end, soon. I don't know what that's going to look like, but I vote for a Great Awakening. I've explored all the alternatives. The only one worth thinking about is peace.
***For the work of Graham Hancock, see www.grahamhancock.com ***
Specifically, I point to the work of Graham Hancock, Robert Bauval and the geologist John West, all of whom have suggested the Great Pyramid of Giza, and indeed the entire complex of Giza including the Sphinx, were not built by the fourth dynasty pharaohs Khufu, Khafre and Menkaure, in the period between 2613-2494 BC, as orthodox Egyptologists and Historians suggest. As evidence, they point specifically to weathering patterns on the Sphinx, which have been caused by rain, though it has not rained significantly in Egypt the last 9000 years; the design of the pyramids, particularly the Great Pyramid, which is built to specifications so precise, with such materials as to be impossible to recreate using even the most modern technological means; the fact that the pyramids said to be built in the 3rd, 5th and 6th dynastys are radically inferior to the Giza pyramid, defying the rule of social progress; and the layout of the pyramids, which in relation to the Nile and the Milky Way, reflects the pattern of the three stars of the belt of Orion, as they were in the year 10,450 BC.
What is the evidence orthodox Egyptologists and Historians offer for the 4th dynasty hypothesis? Basically, that a statue of Khufu and another of Kafre were found on the site. This of course is not evidence of anything. But you don't need evidence when you have consensus. If we all agree the world is flat, we don't need to prove it.
The fact is, the Great Pyramid was not built by any known civilization. If we tried to build an exact copy today, I'm quite certain we could not. We don't know how to move 200 ton blocks with any degree of efficacy, and certainly not by the number and to the degree of precision the builders of the Great Pyramid did.
So who did?
Graham Hancock offers a fairly convincing answer. Basically, that 15,000 years ago, the continent of Antarctica was in fact significantly further north, that it had a pleasant, largely ice free climate, that a slippage of the Earth's crust caused in part by the centrifugal force of the Earth's rotation, exasperated by the uneven weight of continent sized glaciers, radically altered the face of the planet. Pushing Antarctica, the potential home of a technologically sophisticated culture, into deep freeze. A process initiating the global catastrophe that nearly ever cultural mythology around the globe speaks about. That the survivors spread around the globe, building structures in various places, including the city of Tiahuanaco in Bolivia, Chichen Itza, Machu Pichu, and the structures of the Giza complex, and perhaps many more that are currently under water.
This last part, under water, he covers in his book Underworld, which I haven't yet found a copy of. Evidently, he and his wife Santha spent five years traveling to various parts of the globe, visiting underwater structures similar to those discussed above.
That there is not a massive, ongoing assessment of these structures is one of the great mysteries of our Age.
Under the current orthodox measure of social progress, there can't be technologically sophistcated buildings under water, because there were no cultures capable of building them, when the glaciers melted 12,000 years ago, raising sea levels 400 ft. Such a find would rewrite history, and call into question our technological and social arrogance. Another testament to the power of orthodoxy to stand in the way of understanding, to prevent humanity from coming to a true and honest assessment of who we are.
How these cultures built these structures remains a question, one that Graham Hancock does not pretend to answer. Some will immediately say, ET's! Well, maybe. I'm no longer inclined to discount anything, just because the orthodox say it's crazy. I am increasingly inclined to think that, for all our technological ingenuity, our civilization is rather immature, pathetically so, as evidenced by the way we treat each other and the Earth. Hell, here in America, the supposed light for all the world, something like 40% of adults think the Universe is only about 6000 years old. Do I think ET's built the pyramids? I don't think so. Do I think the knowledge required to build the Great Pyramid perhaps came from an Extra-Terrestrial or super-natural source? Maybe. I don't know. Mine is not the kind of intelligence that says no just because I don't know, or because I don't like the ramifications of that possibility, or because I don't want to know.
As for ET's, that's part of a different post to come. As for thinking the universe is only 6000 years old? I don't see that science contradicts the notion of a divine source at all. I do see that a good many scientists are overly rational, condescending, arrogant, aloof and dismissive. Because as I've said, orthodoxy is as much a problem for the scientist as it is for the Believer.
-----
I've re-named this blog, from a study of the coming Great Contraction, to a study of the Great Awakening. I'm tired of looking at our culture purely through the lens of collapse. We are living in a time of quickening, of ever increasing access to information. I want to believe we are on the verge of a great social Renaissance, in which we slough off the cloak of hierarchy and tyrannical social inequality, in favor of harmony, balance, wholeness and healing. The universe is divine. There are levels of awareness we have hardly begun to perceive. I want to live in that space, not in the fear of collapse and ever evolving tyranny.
I hope this blog is of use to you. I know there aren't more than a proverbial handful of you out there. It's hard, sometimes, to contemplate these things, when I feel like I'm the only one impacted. Because we are living in a lost civilization. One way or another, it's coming to an end, soon. I don't know what that's going to look like, but I vote for a Great Awakening. I've explored all the alternatives. The only one worth thinking about is peace.
***For the work of Graham Hancock, see www.grahamhancock.com ***
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
Summer Solstice 2011
While I continue to entertain the three hypotheses I presented in the last post, I thought I might issue a challenge:
In a recent comments thread on HuffPost, concerning an article about a threat against Wall Street by Al Qaeda, I offered the vision of two million people on Wall Street, two million people at the steps of Congress. A few said they were in. Just think, whatever your stripe, whoever you think the villian is, Congress or Wall Street, you've got a place to go for the big party (what do you do when you know they've both been villianous?). Great food, great music, lots of dancing, lots of colors. We can call it a love fest. Send a message that we know what they're up to. They can't deny that many people.
What are they going to do? Prevent us? They'll try to manage it, surely, requiring all the permits, all the proper temporary barriers. They'll try to co-opt it. But last I heard, this is a democracy, and I don't know about you, but I've got something to say.
How about a little solidarity with our Middle Eastern brothers and sisters, a little solidarity with everyone who is suffering under tyranny of one form or another? How about a little solidarity with each other?
Shut down Wall Street dancing, for a day and a night. Sing so loud the bloody halls of Congress shake.
Rejoice that you are alive. Get creative. Question.
In a recent comments thread on HuffPost, concerning an article about a threat against Wall Street by Al Qaeda, I offered the vision of two million people on Wall Street, two million people at the steps of Congress. A few said they were in. Just think, whatever your stripe, whoever you think the villian is, Congress or Wall Street, you've got a place to go for the big party (what do you do when you know they've both been villianous?). Great food, great music, lots of dancing, lots of colors. We can call it a love fest. Send a message that we know what they're up to. They can't deny that many people.
What are they going to do? Prevent us? They'll try to manage it, surely, requiring all the permits, all the proper temporary barriers. They'll try to co-opt it. But last I heard, this is a democracy, and I don't know about you, but I've got something to say.
How about a little solidarity with our Middle Eastern brothers and sisters, a little solidarity with everyone who is suffering under tyranny of one form or another? How about a little solidarity with each other?
Shut down Wall Street dancing, for a day and a night. Sing so loud the bloody halls of Congress shake.
Rejoice that you are alive. Get creative. Question.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Skeptic
I pride myself in my skepticism. There is no bit of understanding I will not reconsider if evidence arises that suggests I might be wrong. What I'm trying to avoid is the calcification of my head; i.e. the setting of an idea in proverbial stone, no matter what evidence there is that would suggest there is a healthier, more flexible, more honest way of thinking. This "calcification" is what we know as orthodoxy, whether that be religious, scientific, economic, political, etc. Stagnation of the brain, which is rarely terminal, but exceptionally difficult to undo once begun, especially the longer one has held fast to an orthodox belief.
About a week ago I was reading the comments to a post by John Michael Greer (http://www.archdruidreport.blogspot.com/). One of his fans offered him a You Tube link, for a presentation by a man named David Wilcock. The fan was offering it out of mockery, suggesting Greer might watch the piece if he needed a laugh. I followed the link, and what I saw, and my subsequent investigation, and by extension the work of Graham Hancock, there are three new ideas I have begun to entertain, that heretofore I would have thought implausible if not utterly ridiculous:
I. That life is not the exception in the universe, but the rule, that it arises virtually everywhere there is sufficient matter and heat.
II. That DNA responds to quantum wave mechanics, such that life, including the Earth, can be radically transformed in a relatively short period of time, by an influx of energy from the center of the galaxy.
III. That there was an advanced civilization on Earth prior to the melting of the glaciers, at the end of the last ice age.
Each one of these ideas is paradigm shifting. If I accept the first idea, I have to accept the idea that intelligent life is also the rule, and that it is probable that most of these civilizations are considerably more advanced than we are. If I accept the second idea, I must also acknowledge that the orthodox model of evolution, Darwinism, is in need of an upgrade. If I accept the third, and I allow that the pyramids are likely their work, that there are ruins of a similar sort all over the world, underwater, then I must call into question every premise about our evolution as a species, and as a civilization, ask why there is not a greater investigation into this, and allow that there is hope for living on this Earth in a way that is not so brutal, destructive and exploitative.
David Wilcock is a character, to be sure. Not only does he believe himself to be the reincarnated Edgar Cayce, when he gets to riffin' on the new world order, the Rothchilds and luciferianism, he loses me. I don't let this dissuade me from all his ideas. One product of our current political system is our descent into ideology. Once beholden to ideology, which is orthodoxy, if a man offers one idea contrary to that ideology, I throw out the man rather than the idea alone. Whatever Wilcock is, he's brilliant. I know of no man so revolutionary. That said, he is also a man, and quick to point out himself, he has plenty of flaws.
Which is part of the attraction. Because what he is saying, ultimately, is that we are in a time of radical transformation beyond anything we can conceive, that energies beyond conception are available to us. While many are raising the spectre of Apocalypse, David is suggesting instead the vision of a world of harmony and peace. That the first thing to do is to forgive oneself, to allow that I am in fact a divine being, then to forgive others, and open up. That we can envision peace or we can envision apocalypse, that we call to us the energy that we cultivate. That we are like conduits of the divine, if we allow it. That each of us is powerful beyond measure.
Whether any of these ideas are true, I'm not yet certain. They feel right, however, and that is enough for me to remain open. At the very least, I consider these ideas an invigorating infusion of energy, one I desperately needed, as I had begun to descend into a vision of another thousand years of exploitation and tyranny. I am tired of the deadening effect of existential randomness. I am tired of materialism. I am tired of hierarchy and the economics of tyranny. I want to believe we are not on the verge of a Great Contraction, but a Great Awakening. I want very much to believe in a Grand Renaissance. I want to imagine the galaxy as a living, sentient being, that we are the galaxy becoming conscious of itself, that we are on the verge of a biological upgrade, divinely inspired.
Whatever happens, it surely is a great gift to be alive in this Age.
***You can investigate these ideas for yourself on You Tube, and at http://www.divinecosmos.com/ ***
About a week ago I was reading the comments to a post by John Michael Greer (http://www.archdruidreport.blogspot.com/). One of his fans offered him a You Tube link, for a presentation by a man named David Wilcock. The fan was offering it out of mockery, suggesting Greer might watch the piece if he needed a laugh. I followed the link, and what I saw, and my subsequent investigation, and by extension the work of Graham Hancock, there are three new ideas I have begun to entertain, that heretofore I would have thought implausible if not utterly ridiculous:
I. That life is not the exception in the universe, but the rule, that it arises virtually everywhere there is sufficient matter and heat.
II. That DNA responds to quantum wave mechanics, such that life, including the Earth, can be radically transformed in a relatively short period of time, by an influx of energy from the center of the galaxy.
III. That there was an advanced civilization on Earth prior to the melting of the glaciers, at the end of the last ice age.
Each one of these ideas is paradigm shifting. If I accept the first idea, I have to accept the idea that intelligent life is also the rule, and that it is probable that most of these civilizations are considerably more advanced than we are. If I accept the second idea, I must also acknowledge that the orthodox model of evolution, Darwinism, is in need of an upgrade. If I accept the third, and I allow that the pyramids are likely their work, that there are ruins of a similar sort all over the world, underwater, then I must call into question every premise about our evolution as a species, and as a civilization, ask why there is not a greater investigation into this, and allow that there is hope for living on this Earth in a way that is not so brutal, destructive and exploitative.
David Wilcock is a character, to be sure. Not only does he believe himself to be the reincarnated Edgar Cayce, when he gets to riffin' on the new world order, the Rothchilds and luciferianism, he loses me. I don't let this dissuade me from all his ideas. One product of our current political system is our descent into ideology. Once beholden to ideology, which is orthodoxy, if a man offers one idea contrary to that ideology, I throw out the man rather than the idea alone. Whatever Wilcock is, he's brilliant. I know of no man so revolutionary. That said, he is also a man, and quick to point out himself, he has plenty of flaws.
Which is part of the attraction. Because what he is saying, ultimately, is that we are in a time of radical transformation beyond anything we can conceive, that energies beyond conception are available to us. While many are raising the spectre of Apocalypse, David is suggesting instead the vision of a world of harmony and peace. That the first thing to do is to forgive oneself, to allow that I am in fact a divine being, then to forgive others, and open up. That we can envision peace or we can envision apocalypse, that we call to us the energy that we cultivate. That we are like conduits of the divine, if we allow it. That each of us is powerful beyond measure.
Whether any of these ideas are true, I'm not yet certain. They feel right, however, and that is enough for me to remain open. At the very least, I consider these ideas an invigorating infusion of energy, one I desperately needed, as I had begun to descend into a vision of another thousand years of exploitation and tyranny. I am tired of the deadening effect of existential randomness. I am tired of materialism. I am tired of hierarchy and the economics of tyranny. I want to believe we are not on the verge of a Great Contraction, but a Great Awakening. I want very much to believe in a Grand Renaissance. I want to imagine the galaxy as a living, sentient being, that we are the galaxy becoming conscious of itself, that we are on the verge of a biological upgrade, divinely inspired.
Whatever happens, it surely is a great gift to be alive in this Age.
***You can investigate these ideas for yourself on You Tube, and at http://www.divinecosmos.com/ ***
Monday, January 24, 2011
Houston
Traveled to Houston from Minneapolis this past Thursday, for the National Halloween and Party Expo. Friday was all about the retailer; the big question, how does a small-business compete against big corporate? From 2005 to 2010, consumer spending on Halloween rose from 3.29 to 5.8 billion, a 76% growth in five years, despite a recession. That kind of growth has all the big retailers talking about entering the Halloween market at a greater scale, in the temporary pop-up form: Wal-mart, Walgreens, Target, Party City, etc, to compete with Spirit Halloween, Halloween Express, et al. The market is already saturated - can anyone say bubble? - and consumers are more savvy with their money in the "new normal", but reality isn't always a consideration when it comes to greed.
The trade show began Saturday, vendors big and small filling the massive George R. Brown Convention Center downtown. Leg Avenue, the big-dog in the sexy costume market, was giving away a mini-cooper. They had their own castle at the far East end of the building, with twice-a-day runway shows with female models the likes of which are hardly seen outside sunny So-Cal. Two could even sing. It was mostly image; cracks are starting to show in the glamorous facade. Fashion in this image-obsessed culture evolves by the season. Leg Avenue, like most vendors who make costumes, brings a few new designs to the market every year, and their costumes evolve somewhat, but year to year it all looks pretty much the same. And the dirty little secret no one really wanted to talk about is, retailers are sitting on a lot of product. Costumes didn't sell last year. How many people want to pay $100 +/- for a costume made of cheap material with weak seams and worse zippers, they're only likely to wear once or twice? Plenty of folk, as evidenced by the 5.8 billion we spent in 2010. But more and more it seems, the trend is toward accessorizing the costume a person puts together him or herself. Economizing. With creativity.
The main runway show was a fine example of an industry that doesn't define the culture as much as it mirrors it. Poorly made costumes from major vendors, clothing neither practical nor particularly creative. None of the more impresive, high-end costumes were allowed on the runway or they would have made the major-vendor product look as ridiculous as it was, and half the people walked out before the show was over. Though somehow a woman who called her DIY costume Black Valkyrie made it onto the stage, the only truly striking thing to grace it. I couldn't have been more surprised, or more impressed. There was a notable silence from the crowd: what are we supposed to do with this?
And of course, no one was talking about oil prices. I didn't ask around, but I expect there's as little awareness of fossil fuels in the Halloween Industry as there is across the culture. Should oil prices continue to climb, it will devastate the costume business. It was obvious, the difference in quality between those costumes made of natural fibers and those made of petroleum. Equally obvious was the difference in price, typically greater by 700-1000%.
Saturday afternoon I stepped outside into the park across the street from the convention center, to soak up some sun - though the same cold weather system that plunged the northern states into the sub-zero range pressed cold air well south, the temperature then at about 55 degrees. Sitting on a park bench in the chill air, I found myself part of a photo shoot for a producer from the Virgin Islands and a rapper from Trinidad. The producer, Tollo Texas, and I had a long conversation about music and beats. He's also a diesel mechanic, one of those trades with a solid future, because the diesel engine can run on vegetable oil. JJ-T, the rapper, sat down next to me, and the man directing the camera suggested we pretend to talk. I asked JJ-T a few questions and we actually talked. After two minutes he leapt up off the bench, jumping up and down, shouting and repeating, "we had an actual conversation! We had an actual conversation!" like he had never had one before.
(I forgot the name of the production company of the man directing the photo shoot. Send me a comment and I'll add it in.)
That evening we had a nice meal at Sambuca, my cohorts Keith, Mark and Sandra, and our host Kelly. Kelly is separated from his wife, and not altogether certain how to handle it. Living in Texas, coming from Missouri, he's a bit of a cad when it comes to women, but he loves his wife and his daughter very much, even if he's macho and posessive and not altogether sure how to build trust. We all danced to a tight band called Jones, and toward closing time Kelly and I hooked up with S. and J. from Kenya. From Sambuca the four of us closed out a Mexican dance club, and then travelled to Rich's, an industrial dance club.
Having not had much experience with industrial dance clubs but what I've seen on video, I was a little surprised by the relative lethargy. I forget sometimes how many people are taking pharmaceuticals, and how deeply we are affected by our sedentary lives. It was all very much a revelation. Not least that I was sober, dancing in an industrial dance club in Houston, but also that our stunning Kenyan companions did not want to dance with me as much as they wanted to dance like me, and watch me dance. That, and the lack of hostility in the club, though it was very hot, and very loud, and every race was accounted for in considerable number.
Our companions would have gladly closed out that club too, but Kelly and I, being twelve to fourteen years older, decided 4am was late enough. Kelly drove the ladies to their cars, while I sat in the back with J. and sang in Swahili, though I didn't know it was Swahili until J. told me it was. It's been a long time since a woman cuddled up to me the way she did. Blessings J. Blessings S. Thank you for a fine evening.
I flew back last evening with Keith. There are few in this world I have more fun with than that man. He seemed to be glowing somehow, and everywhere we went women were responding. I felt by comparison a dud; even the ladies I tried to flirt with seemed to look past as if I wasn't there. Perhaps it's because Keith is happily married to a beautiful woman, and is very much in love with her, and their son together. Whatever the case, I teased him that I was getting my first lesson in flirtation, at 37. Those southern ladies certainly are less reserved.
We arrived in Minneapolis at about 10:30. I wish I had a video camera, to capture the image of Keith, in shorts and a camel colored overcoat and a baseball hat, running through the 3rd floor of the airport parking ramp, for about five minutes, in the nine degree weather, looking for his car. Nor was I very surprised to discover he had previously destroyed both the driver and passenger mirrors on the Jetta, his wife's car, apparently backing out of their garage. "I was in a hurry," he giggled, when I asked.
Arriving home at eleven, to my grungy house and my quiet life, alone, I started to descend into a kind of darkness, a curious sadness that is always lingering underneath, that I indulge in occassionally. I picked up my swords instead, and danced and sang until 3am. Looking ahead, I have a performance at Patrick's Cabaret, March 18-19. It's time to get in shape. But thanks in part to Houston, I'm more confident now. I can do this.
The trade show began Saturday, vendors big and small filling the massive George R. Brown Convention Center downtown. Leg Avenue, the big-dog in the sexy costume market, was giving away a mini-cooper. They had their own castle at the far East end of the building, with twice-a-day runway shows with female models the likes of which are hardly seen outside sunny So-Cal. Two could even sing. It was mostly image; cracks are starting to show in the glamorous facade. Fashion in this image-obsessed culture evolves by the season. Leg Avenue, like most vendors who make costumes, brings a few new designs to the market every year, and their costumes evolve somewhat, but year to year it all looks pretty much the same. And the dirty little secret no one really wanted to talk about is, retailers are sitting on a lot of product. Costumes didn't sell last year. How many people want to pay $100 +/- for a costume made of cheap material with weak seams and worse zippers, they're only likely to wear once or twice? Plenty of folk, as evidenced by the 5.8 billion we spent in 2010. But more and more it seems, the trend is toward accessorizing the costume a person puts together him or herself. Economizing. With creativity.
The main runway show was a fine example of an industry that doesn't define the culture as much as it mirrors it. Poorly made costumes from major vendors, clothing neither practical nor particularly creative. None of the more impresive, high-end costumes were allowed on the runway or they would have made the major-vendor product look as ridiculous as it was, and half the people walked out before the show was over. Though somehow a woman who called her DIY costume Black Valkyrie made it onto the stage, the only truly striking thing to grace it. I couldn't have been more surprised, or more impressed. There was a notable silence from the crowd: what are we supposed to do with this?
And of course, no one was talking about oil prices. I didn't ask around, but I expect there's as little awareness of fossil fuels in the Halloween Industry as there is across the culture. Should oil prices continue to climb, it will devastate the costume business. It was obvious, the difference in quality between those costumes made of natural fibers and those made of petroleum. Equally obvious was the difference in price, typically greater by 700-1000%.
Saturday afternoon I stepped outside into the park across the street from the convention center, to soak up some sun - though the same cold weather system that plunged the northern states into the sub-zero range pressed cold air well south, the temperature then at about 55 degrees. Sitting on a park bench in the chill air, I found myself part of a photo shoot for a producer from the Virgin Islands and a rapper from Trinidad. The producer, Tollo Texas, and I had a long conversation about music and beats. He's also a diesel mechanic, one of those trades with a solid future, because the diesel engine can run on vegetable oil. JJ-T, the rapper, sat down next to me, and the man directing the camera suggested we pretend to talk. I asked JJ-T a few questions and we actually talked. After two minutes he leapt up off the bench, jumping up and down, shouting and repeating, "we had an actual conversation! We had an actual conversation!" like he had never had one before.
(I forgot the name of the production company of the man directing the photo shoot. Send me a comment and I'll add it in.)
That evening we had a nice meal at Sambuca, my cohorts Keith, Mark and Sandra, and our host Kelly. Kelly is separated from his wife, and not altogether certain how to handle it. Living in Texas, coming from Missouri, he's a bit of a cad when it comes to women, but he loves his wife and his daughter very much, even if he's macho and posessive and not altogether sure how to build trust. We all danced to a tight band called Jones, and toward closing time Kelly and I hooked up with S. and J. from Kenya. From Sambuca the four of us closed out a Mexican dance club, and then travelled to Rich's, an industrial dance club.
Having not had much experience with industrial dance clubs but what I've seen on video, I was a little surprised by the relative lethargy. I forget sometimes how many people are taking pharmaceuticals, and how deeply we are affected by our sedentary lives. It was all very much a revelation. Not least that I was sober, dancing in an industrial dance club in Houston, but also that our stunning Kenyan companions did not want to dance with me as much as they wanted to dance like me, and watch me dance. That, and the lack of hostility in the club, though it was very hot, and very loud, and every race was accounted for in considerable number.
Our companions would have gladly closed out that club too, but Kelly and I, being twelve to fourteen years older, decided 4am was late enough. Kelly drove the ladies to their cars, while I sat in the back with J. and sang in Swahili, though I didn't know it was Swahili until J. told me it was. It's been a long time since a woman cuddled up to me the way she did. Blessings J. Blessings S. Thank you for a fine evening.
I flew back last evening with Keith. There are few in this world I have more fun with than that man. He seemed to be glowing somehow, and everywhere we went women were responding. I felt by comparison a dud; even the ladies I tried to flirt with seemed to look past as if I wasn't there. Perhaps it's because Keith is happily married to a beautiful woman, and is very much in love with her, and their son together. Whatever the case, I teased him that I was getting my first lesson in flirtation, at 37. Those southern ladies certainly are less reserved.
We arrived in Minneapolis at about 10:30. I wish I had a video camera, to capture the image of Keith, in shorts and a camel colored overcoat and a baseball hat, running through the 3rd floor of the airport parking ramp, for about five minutes, in the nine degree weather, looking for his car. Nor was I very surprised to discover he had previously destroyed both the driver and passenger mirrors on the Jetta, his wife's car, apparently backing out of their garage. "I was in a hurry," he giggled, when I asked.
Arriving home at eleven, to my grungy house and my quiet life, alone, I started to descend into a kind of darkness, a curious sadness that is always lingering underneath, that I indulge in occassionally. I picked up my swords instead, and danced and sang until 3am. Looking ahead, I have a performance at Patrick's Cabaret, March 18-19. It's time to get in shape. But thanks in part to Houston, I'm more confident now. I can do this.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Anarchy I
Among many things, I call myself an anarchist. Why? The social conception of anarchy is the rule of the mob, chaos, destruction, mindless violence. The reality is nothing like that. This negative conception is a defamation proffered not my anarchists, but by the Left and the Right, by liberals and conservatives. The truth is, anarchy is the center. It is the belief that the rule of humanity by men, whether they be of a business or government bent, is contrary to nature, that men take control of society at the expense of freedom for individuals, always to the benefit of some at the expense of the many. Modern liberalism is on the pole side of communism; modern conservatism is on the pole side of fascism. The Anarchist understands he has all of these tendencies inside him, and he assails all in favor of freedom.
There is hardly a more loaded word in this culture than freedom. Conservatives likes to bandy it about, as if freedom is the right of any man to take control of whatever he may, as long as he is a capitalist. Because capitalism, they like to say, is ordained by God, just like Adam Smith said, though I suspect the spirit of Adam Smith weeps every time he hears a man use his name in support of corporate tyranny. The modern capitalist does not exercise freedom as much as he limits the freedom of others, as evident in the structure of the modern corporation, which is anti-democratic tyranny, and by the behavior of corporations globally, with the use of government to assure pro-corporate, tyrannical social structures in third-world countries.
Conversely, but similarly, the modern liberal argues for freedom in the form of equality, while striving to achieve it by expanding government - which inherently assures the inequality of individuals, by giving a considerable amount of unearned power to government officials, who inevitably wield it in a way that enslaves people to the notion of government as paternal patron, through which the majority of moneys should be distributed, as these government officials deem fit. The growth of the bureaucracy is deemed a triumph of the people, when it is really only the corrupt accumulation of power by a few at the expense of the many, a weakening of character generally, and the negation of individual responsibility.
That the collapse of Soviet Communism is a triumph of Capitalism is a widely held belief. Conservatism is ascendant in America in large part because of this perception. But that both systems are contrary to nature and thus not viable, has yet to be widely recognized. Capitalism is in point-of-fact the worse of the two, as it is amoral, inherently tyrannical, fundamentally insatiable, with a far greater staying power, inevitably leading not just to the destruction of society, but perhaps of the entire Earth. That we are oblivious to this has mostly to do with our high standard of living, which has less to do with any virtue of Capitalism as it does with an historically brief glut of energy in the form of fossil fuel. With that glut coming to an end, standards of living will collapse, and America will be more easily recognized for what it truly is, which is another form of the ages-old struggle between those who would rule and those who are ruled.
To this point it is clear I have said more about what Anarchy is not, than I have about what it is. I will try to elaborate in a different post. For now, suffice to say, Anarchy as a political state is democracy in its fullest form, the understanding that the vast majority of men and women are capable of self-rule. That so many today seem incapable of self-rule is less a description of human nature as it is a condemnation of amoral, capitalist competition, and slavish attachment to government largess. The anarchist is the purple blending of conservative red and liberal blue, and his animal is not the donkey or the elephant but the dragon (and the dove). The anarchist is the one who has overcome the desire to rule, who will not be ruled. He knows that whatever this may mean for him in this life, whatever difficulties this may bring, his is the natural state of the free man, which will one day again be the state of humanity, as it has been the way of cultures of the past. It is no easy thing to come to such an understanding, or to sustain it, in the midst of a culture so attentive to political extremes, so dependent on government largess and capitalist ideology. But it is right, it is just, and it is invigorating.
There is hardly a more loaded word in this culture than freedom. Conservatives likes to bandy it about, as if freedom is the right of any man to take control of whatever he may, as long as he is a capitalist. Because capitalism, they like to say, is ordained by God, just like Adam Smith said, though I suspect the spirit of Adam Smith weeps every time he hears a man use his name in support of corporate tyranny. The modern capitalist does not exercise freedom as much as he limits the freedom of others, as evident in the structure of the modern corporation, which is anti-democratic tyranny, and by the behavior of corporations globally, with the use of government to assure pro-corporate, tyrannical social structures in third-world countries.
Conversely, but similarly, the modern liberal argues for freedom in the form of equality, while striving to achieve it by expanding government - which inherently assures the inequality of individuals, by giving a considerable amount of unearned power to government officials, who inevitably wield it in a way that enslaves people to the notion of government as paternal patron, through which the majority of moneys should be distributed, as these government officials deem fit. The growth of the bureaucracy is deemed a triumph of the people, when it is really only the corrupt accumulation of power by a few at the expense of the many, a weakening of character generally, and the negation of individual responsibility.
That the collapse of Soviet Communism is a triumph of Capitalism is a widely held belief. Conservatism is ascendant in America in large part because of this perception. But that both systems are contrary to nature and thus not viable, has yet to be widely recognized. Capitalism is in point-of-fact the worse of the two, as it is amoral, inherently tyrannical, fundamentally insatiable, with a far greater staying power, inevitably leading not just to the destruction of society, but perhaps of the entire Earth. That we are oblivious to this has mostly to do with our high standard of living, which has less to do with any virtue of Capitalism as it does with an historically brief glut of energy in the form of fossil fuel. With that glut coming to an end, standards of living will collapse, and America will be more easily recognized for what it truly is, which is another form of the ages-old struggle between those who would rule and those who are ruled.
To this point it is clear I have said more about what Anarchy is not, than I have about what it is. I will try to elaborate in a different post. For now, suffice to say, Anarchy as a political state is democracy in its fullest form, the understanding that the vast majority of men and women are capable of self-rule. That so many today seem incapable of self-rule is less a description of human nature as it is a condemnation of amoral, capitalist competition, and slavish attachment to government largess. The anarchist is the purple blending of conservative red and liberal blue, and his animal is not the donkey or the elephant but the dragon (and the dove). The anarchist is the one who has overcome the desire to rule, who will not be ruled. He knows that whatever this may mean for him in this life, whatever difficulties this may bring, his is the natural state of the free man, which will one day again be the state of humanity, as it has been the way of cultures of the past. It is no easy thing to come to such an understanding, or to sustain it, in the midst of a culture so attentive to political extremes, so dependent on government largess and capitalist ideology. But it is right, it is just, and it is invigorating.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
My Condition
As the title of this blog suggests I live without modern conveniences, I thought I might clarify - I am not living off the grid, technically speaking. Mostly, the title has to do with an exploration of what off-the-grid means, in a culture so dependent on the grid, i.e. fossil fuels, municipal water and waste disposal, and electricity. An exploration of what life will be like when we can no longer depend on the grid. A preparation.
This fall I filled the attic with leaf bags. This winter, I'm heating only two rooms in the house, the living room and the bedroom. The thermostat is in the living room, so most of the time I keep the living room closed, which reduces the amount of time the furnace runs, which keeps the bedroom slightly cooler; they're connected, in this small house. I keep the thermostat at 70 when I'm here during the day. At night and when I leave, I turn it down to 60.
That, and I keep the water heater on low, turning it up only an hour or so before I shower, which I'm only doing every third day. In this way, I've kept the gas bill at less than a third of what it would be if I were heating the whole house, heating water I'm not using. It also means the bathroom is chilly, as is the sun room, the dining room and especially the kitchen, the kitchen having three exterior walls. Though the kitchen and the sun room benefit from a solar affect on certain days, but only during the day, as neither is designed for efficient solar-heat collection.
It's been a ridiculously cold winter. Only two days above freezing, from Dec 01 to today. Not owning a motor vehicle, I don't get around much. I quit biking after seventeen inches of snow fell in a single storm, though I'm thinking of taking the bike out again soon. I just wish it would warm up. I'm walking where I need to, though that takes awhile and I don't go far. Luckily, I have a grocery, a video store, a bank and two liquor stores within easy walking distance. Not that I spend much money on liquor. I did recently buy a six pack, feeling down after the shooting in Tuscon, and watched the first Iron Man film and got drunk. I know I'm a little behind the curve, but that was fun.
I don't have a job, for getting around to. The one job I thought I might get I didn't get an interview for. If I don't drink too much or watch too many movies, I'll be out of money mid-April. If I don't have a job by then, I might be living off the land. I ordered seed catalogs from Seed Savers (www.seedsavers.org) and Seeds of Change(www.seedsofchange.com), but I have no guarantee the house will be mine, the soil mine to plant and harvest. I sometimes wonder about living off the land this summer, hopping in my canoe this fall and heading south. I won't do that if I have the house and a job to pay for it, but it's hard to imagine what sort of job I should go looking for. I'm writing a book, I keep reminding myself, and every day I get up and I do.
It's hard to imagine anything else right now, though next week I'm off to Houston for the Halloween and Party Expo. The guys I worked for this past Halloween are paying for my flight and ticket. We have a host. I hear Houston has bad air. It's full of Texans. But it will be warmer than it is here, and no doubt, lots of fun. A Halloween conference? Surely something to write about.
This fall I filled the attic with leaf bags. This winter, I'm heating only two rooms in the house, the living room and the bedroom. The thermostat is in the living room, so most of the time I keep the living room closed, which reduces the amount of time the furnace runs, which keeps the bedroom slightly cooler; they're connected, in this small house. I keep the thermostat at 70 when I'm here during the day. At night and when I leave, I turn it down to 60.
That, and I keep the water heater on low, turning it up only an hour or so before I shower, which I'm only doing every third day. In this way, I've kept the gas bill at less than a third of what it would be if I were heating the whole house, heating water I'm not using. It also means the bathroom is chilly, as is the sun room, the dining room and especially the kitchen, the kitchen having three exterior walls. Though the kitchen and the sun room benefit from a solar affect on certain days, but only during the day, as neither is designed for efficient solar-heat collection.
It's been a ridiculously cold winter. Only two days above freezing, from Dec 01 to today. Not owning a motor vehicle, I don't get around much. I quit biking after seventeen inches of snow fell in a single storm, though I'm thinking of taking the bike out again soon. I just wish it would warm up. I'm walking where I need to, though that takes awhile and I don't go far. Luckily, I have a grocery, a video store, a bank and two liquor stores within easy walking distance. Not that I spend much money on liquor. I did recently buy a six pack, feeling down after the shooting in Tuscon, and watched the first Iron Man film and got drunk. I know I'm a little behind the curve, but that was fun.
I don't have a job, for getting around to. The one job I thought I might get I didn't get an interview for. If I don't drink too much or watch too many movies, I'll be out of money mid-April. If I don't have a job by then, I might be living off the land. I ordered seed catalogs from Seed Savers (www.seedsavers.org) and Seeds of Change(www.seedsofchange.com), but I have no guarantee the house will be mine, the soil mine to plant and harvest. I sometimes wonder about living off the land this summer, hopping in my canoe this fall and heading south. I won't do that if I have the house and a job to pay for it, but it's hard to imagine what sort of job I should go looking for. I'm writing a book, I keep reminding myself, and every day I get up and I do.
It's hard to imagine anything else right now, though next week I'm off to Houston for the Halloween and Party Expo. The guys I worked for this past Halloween are paying for my flight and ticket. We have a host. I hear Houston has bad air. It's full of Texans. But it will be warmer than it is here, and no doubt, lots of fun. A Halloween conference? Surely something to write about.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Loughner
I find it curious that Jared Loughner both worried about the over-reach of Government, which is a politically conservative concern, and that Government is controlling us with talk of God - "I will not trust in God!" he said in his "farewell" - which is tacitly a liberal concern. For Democrats to accuse Republicans of eliciting his attempted assassination is about as accurate as Rush Limbaugh saying he did it because he smoked Marijuana, or listened to Heavy Metal. As Loughner's philosophy professor said, he was a young man whose "brains were scrambled."
What do we expect, this kind of violence, in a Nation where even crazy people can buy a handgun? A Nation that wages continuous wars, against other nations, against our own people, against the Earth? A country in which violence is so ingrained we hardly know when we are being violent, against other nations, against our own people, against ourselves or against the Earth.
I don't expect this will be a time of healing for the nation. It seems to me the vitriol and recriminations are getting worse, which will undermine faith in the political process even more. The great unravelling of a great nation. A time of great sorrow.
What can I do but look at my own behavior? How am I violent? To what and to whom? Not physical violence alone, but verbal and mental violence, dreams of tearing down and destroying. And not just violence against people or myself, but against any aspect of the Earth.
We have been at war from our Nation's beginning, well before the first writing of that document Loughner so venerated without having the context or capacity to comprehend. We will continue to war as long as we hold to the illusion that we are not a violent people, that it is freedom and peace we love. I love my country, and I am afraid for it.
Blessings in these times of troubles.
What do we expect, this kind of violence, in a Nation where even crazy people can buy a handgun? A Nation that wages continuous wars, against other nations, against our own people, against the Earth? A country in which violence is so ingrained we hardly know when we are being violent, against other nations, against our own people, against ourselves or against the Earth.
I don't expect this will be a time of healing for the nation. It seems to me the vitriol and recriminations are getting worse, which will undermine faith in the political process even more. The great unravelling of a great nation. A time of great sorrow.
What can I do but look at my own behavior? How am I violent? To what and to whom? Not physical violence alone, but verbal and mental violence, dreams of tearing down and destroying. And not just violence against people or myself, but against any aspect of the Earth.
We have been at war from our Nation's beginning, well before the first writing of that document Loughner so venerated without having the context or capacity to comprehend. We will continue to war as long as we hold to the illusion that we are not a violent people, that it is freedom and peace we love. I love my country, and I am afraid for it.
Blessings in these times of troubles.
Saturday, January 8, 2011
New Year
It has been a curious transformational time for me, since the last solstice and the lengthening of days. Something like a dark night of the soul, though not that dark really. A revival of the question,"what is the point?"
Since mid 2008, cultural policy has amounted to this: 'What? You enriched yourself using ethically and morally corrupt financial arrangements amounting to a 12 trillion dollar loss in household wealth? Here, have several trillion dollars in bailout money. Oh, and a tax cut. Will you save the economy now, please. And I almost forgot. What regulations would you like to eliminate?'
Meanwhile, hardly a glimmer of discussion about depleting resources, particularly oil. Put it this way; if a barrel of oil reaches 200 dollars, everything will be more expensive. Seventy percent of this economy, they say, is dependant on consumer spending. If it continues to climb, those economies most dependent on oil will begin to hemorrhage fatally. You think jobs are a problem now?
And more and more I hear about God, mostly from those who support the current financial arrangement, preaching the virtue of exploitation, the laissez-faire mythology of sky gods, the beauty of violence in all its sanctioned forms. Draping the US Constitution with righteousness, the cloak of the violent believer, for whom there is no reality superior to faith-based imagination, for whom even Jesus wields a sword.
And this relentless freezing cold. I sit in the sun in my bedroom every day there is sun, to bring some light in. My mood has not been foul but contemplative. Wondering, are we too late? Am I the only one thinking, how do I position myself in the Great Contraction? What about my young niece? What about my tiny nephew? Am I the only one who knows, the one thing more corrupt than the current financial arrangement is the dominant conception of God?
Who am I? Asking is like asking 'who is God?' The more I ask, the more mysterious it becomes. What I know myself to be is but an infinitesimal aspect of my being, a speck of a far grander universe than I can ever hope to articulate. Who am I? I could utter a sentence on that topic every day the rest of my life and not begin to offer a thumbnail of the whole. That all the universe is energy, my voice is the energy of the universe articulating itself. How clear am I being?
Precarious territory, this. Hard to sustain. Not sure where it will lead. To a second book more accessible than the first, I think. Maybe an audacious act next solstice. Maybe not. Meanwhile, I write. I sing and I dance and I eat. I sleep. Repeat.
Since mid 2008, cultural policy has amounted to this: 'What? You enriched yourself using ethically and morally corrupt financial arrangements amounting to a 12 trillion dollar loss in household wealth? Here, have several trillion dollars in bailout money. Oh, and a tax cut. Will you save the economy now, please. And I almost forgot. What regulations would you like to eliminate?'
Meanwhile, hardly a glimmer of discussion about depleting resources, particularly oil. Put it this way; if a barrel of oil reaches 200 dollars, everything will be more expensive. Seventy percent of this economy, they say, is dependant on consumer spending. If it continues to climb, those economies most dependent on oil will begin to hemorrhage fatally. You think jobs are a problem now?
And more and more I hear about God, mostly from those who support the current financial arrangement, preaching the virtue of exploitation, the laissez-faire mythology of sky gods, the beauty of violence in all its sanctioned forms. Draping the US Constitution with righteousness, the cloak of the violent believer, for whom there is no reality superior to faith-based imagination, for whom even Jesus wields a sword.
And this relentless freezing cold. I sit in the sun in my bedroom every day there is sun, to bring some light in. My mood has not been foul but contemplative. Wondering, are we too late? Am I the only one thinking, how do I position myself in the Great Contraction? What about my young niece? What about my tiny nephew? Am I the only one who knows, the one thing more corrupt than the current financial arrangement is the dominant conception of God?
Who am I? Asking is like asking 'who is God?' The more I ask, the more mysterious it becomes. What I know myself to be is but an infinitesimal aspect of my being, a speck of a far grander universe than I can ever hope to articulate. Who am I? I could utter a sentence on that topic every day the rest of my life and not begin to offer a thumbnail of the whole. That all the universe is energy, my voice is the energy of the universe articulating itself. How clear am I being?
Precarious territory, this. Hard to sustain. Not sure where it will lead. To a second book more accessible than the first, I think. Maybe an audacious act next solstice. Maybe not. Meanwhile, I write. I sing and I dance and I eat. I sleep. Repeat.
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