After our builder completed the work on our house and the one-year warranty expired, meaning whatever was left on the punch list had punched out and was off the clock, I went to work on excavating the echo chamber.
To you, my house looks rundown, needs exteriour repairs and probably isn't worth the price of a pretty penny, but...
Hang on a second while I rotate the dial on the lock that holds the clasp in place over the door to the outer chamber that leads to the inner chamber and away from the chamber orchestra that is out of business ever since horror-comedy film directors employed synthetic players to perfectly perform film scores like they were written and not interpreted to be heard.
25-DA-66-DE-56-ZK-09-R-22.
There!
[creaking sound, if you please, Foley, my sound assistant]
I lean against the wall of sound as if it's nature/society/species on which I normally lean and get my sustenance.
Hmm...there's something new I haven't felt/heard before.
It's the ancient voice of time, you know, like how 24 hours of real time away from the Internet feels like 7 days of virtual time away from the Internet.
I hear Nancy and Ronny Ray-gun telling me to read my astronomical charts because many of the planets are on the other side of the Sun, which can only mean one thing...
Something's going on on Saturn!
Somewhere a chip on a windshield is spreading into a crack.
Which means only one more thing...
An unexpected event is about to occur (and, believe it or not, all events are unexpected, although possibly anticipated to near 100% accuracy).
Listen to the silence between echoes again.
Waiting, waiting, waiting, writhing, waiting, weighting, waiting, waiting, rating, waiting, raining, waiting, waiting waiting.
There it is.
No WIMP here.
We're looking in the wrong place again, although wimps certainly are valuable members of society - no matter how weak they appear, they're strong at something.
If we surround ourselves with enough stuff that we can lean on, we feel very important in our specialisation, receiving accolades and marmalade with lemonade on wry toasts from the admiring crowd.
There is one, and there are two or three, who are receiving no public recognition for their work that you should pay the most attention.
Just like the Tarot card reader who predicted that Oprah would cause maelstroms in Australia, watching later as Aussies admiringly bestowed love upon her arrival, unaware that maelstrom is a general word and would not associate the flooding directly to her visit, never assume that this generation knows what's going on.
Ten steps forward and ten steps backward. Go fifty steps forward and you fall on your face. The same for going backward.
Seek a balance, listening to original waveforms, echoes and the absence of echoes.
Make sure your echo chamber leaves room for the unexpected.
Don't jump to conclusions by applying labels to the unlabelable.
Lean against the unbearable.
Listen without hearing.
Albino camel crickets are part of the picture that the Picts removed from the pixels.
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Showing posts with label meditation. Show all posts
Friday, March 4, 2011
Tuesday, March 1, 2011
Aun-dray-uh - flourescent light tubes like battle laser sticks with Chad V
Sinking deeper into meditation, talking with the voices that are not voices but random but not random states but not states of energy but not energy.
Pretending to miss/place commas so that blog entry re/editing can be used to communicate messages to those who need visual confirmation of clues that were already inside their swirling states of energy.
Deeper.
Listening to the absence of messages from those who have authority but no self-responsibility.
Laughing because laughing is good.
Smiling because the mask was born that way.
Listening.
Deeper.
Don't mess with the belief in virgin birth despite language translation misnomers.
Deeper.
Past the silence.
Through the eye of the storm of daily moments.
[at least as it appears from this side]
Beyond feeling.
Deeper.
Hearing others play the "let's be mysterious" game so they can pretend to have powers that don't exist.
Calm.
Beyond the fringe.
No need to entertain to distract from the mundane.
Getting what I want is not what I want because I do not exist - I do this for you, the imaginary parallel universe of a blog, because this universe is the child I would have had had I given up my selfish self to have a child.
Deeper.
Unable to describe the indescribable with words.
Humour the only solid proof that these states of energy are unique.
Deeper.
Shedding layers.
Defenseless because the species is our only hope for survival.
Unless...
Deeper.
Microorganisms.
Quantum communications.
Dark matter.
Simple, ignorant, clever cultures in denial.
Deeper.
Leave well enough alone in this blog entry.
Rise.
Higher.
Higher.
Louder.
Brighter.
Back into daylight.
Satisfied.
Ready to write fictional tales about unknown possible futures.
Pretending to miss/place commas so that blog entry re/editing can be used to communicate messages to those who need visual confirmation of clues that were already inside their swirling states of energy.
Deeper.
Listening to the absence of messages from those who have authority but no self-responsibility.
Laughing because laughing is good.
Smiling because the mask was born that way.
Listening.
Deeper.
Don't mess with the belief in virgin birth despite language translation misnomers.
Deeper.
Past the silence.
Through the eye of the storm of daily moments.
[at least as it appears from this side]
Beyond feeling.
Deeper.
Hearing others play the "let's be mysterious" game so they can pretend to have powers that don't exist.
Calm.
Beyond the fringe.
No need to entertain to distract from the mundane.
Getting what I want is not what I want because I do not exist - I do this for you, the imaginary parallel universe of a blog, because this universe is the child I would have had had I given up my selfish self to have a child.
Deeper.
Unable to describe the indescribable with words.
Humour the only solid proof that these states of energy are unique.
Deeper.
Shedding layers.
Defenseless because the species is our only hope for survival.
Unless...
Deeper.
Microorganisms.
Quantum communications.
Dark matter.
Simple, ignorant, clever cultures in denial.
Deeper.
Leave well enough alone in this blog entry.
Rise.
Higher.
Higher.
Louder.
Brighter.
Back into daylight.
Satisfied.
Ready to write fictional tales about unknown possible futures.
There may be snow on this roof...
You gotta credit the Yella Fella for keepin' his product, YellaWood, what my builder called Osmose to construct muh house and front/back deck, out in the eyes and ears of customers while havin' fun talkin' about it, too. He goes in muh book as a real person.
= = = = =
I've come to the conclusion that I don't exist and found verification through the fact that none of the characters in this parallel universe of a blog have ever talked with/to me.
Sure, I am the current leader and, by leading, I have sway over the billions of imaginary people who live on this imaginary planet with the imaginary me.
It's the writer's dilemma staring me in the face again, a mirror at the end of a deadend corner of the maze I've written myself into.
If I only have sway over the imaginary world, then what I am doing in real life?
Nothing, it seems.
I am not wholly part of virtuality or wholly part of reality.
The plot of my life is full of holes rather than wholes but don't call me holy.
I just happened to be here in this time with you - you found the wonders of life with or without me by virtue of being the states of energy we call the human condition.
When I was five, I realised I was part of the living dead.
It has been an interesting journey ever since.
All I can do is help the living find their way through this dark maze.
My time here was done a long time ago.
Back to sleep I go, back to the condition these states of energy call meditation.
It's all I know.
Why I wanted to be a hermit living in the woods.
The real nonexistent me.
Happy.
Free of the chains of modern technology.
I'm still trying to get free, aren't I, despite digging myself deeper?
= = = = =
I've come to the conclusion that I don't exist and found verification through the fact that none of the characters in this parallel universe of a blog have ever talked with/to me.
Sure, I am the current leader and, by leading, I have sway over the billions of imaginary people who live on this imaginary planet with the imaginary me.
It's the writer's dilemma staring me in the face again, a mirror at the end of a deadend corner of the maze I've written myself into.
If I only have sway over the imaginary world, then what I am doing in real life?
Nothing, it seems.
I am not wholly part of virtuality or wholly part of reality.
The plot of my life is full of holes rather than wholes but don't call me holy.
I just happened to be here in this time with you - you found the wonders of life with or without me by virtue of being the states of energy we call the human condition.
When I was five, I realised I was part of the living dead.
It has been an interesting journey ever since.
All I can do is help the living find their way through this dark maze.
My time here was done a long time ago.
Back to sleep I go, back to the condition these states of energy call meditation.
It's all I know.
Why I wanted to be a hermit living in the woods.
The real nonexistent me.
Happy.
Free of the chains of modern technology.
I'm still trying to get free, aren't I, despite digging myself deeper?
Monday, February 28, 2011
Hermitically Sealed
Normally, I would sit in the front bedroom, look out the window at the squirrels and the crows, open my Italian leather-wrapped handmade paper journal, and write.
Instead, I waste energy on myself, listening to Bach on Pandora Internet radio playing through a set of Boston Acoustic speakers in one room, and through a surround sound system in another room at the same time, to boost my mood.
The outdoorsman is absent today.
The well-placed writer absorbs and reflects.
A result/tool of the society/sub/culture within the framework of living fractal patterns.
Trying to tune out echoes to promote something approaching originality.
Tired of living or tired of making a living?
Keeping orchids and birds of paradise alive.
Buried under the piles of virtual dust of previous lives.
Avoiding caricature of self long lost in cardboard cutouts curiously curling in corner curio cabinets.
Do you dare dare your favourite deity to show itself?
Unaware that alliteration is your deity's favourite display of delightful dervish whirling?
A hermit, digging ditches, watching a hawk miss a squirrelly meal by inches.
Instead, I waste energy on myself, listening to Bach on Pandora Internet radio playing through a set of Boston Acoustic speakers in one room, and through a surround sound system in another room at the same time, to boost my mood.
The outdoorsman is absent today.
The well-placed writer absorbs and reflects.
A result/tool of the society/sub/culture within the framework of living fractal patterns.
Trying to tune out echoes to promote something approaching originality.
Tired of living or tired of making a living?
Keeping orchids and birds of paradise alive.
Buried under the piles of virtual dust of previous lives.
Avoiding caricature of self long lost in cardboard cutouts curiously curling in corner curio cabinets.
Do you dare dare your favourite deity to show itself?
Unaware that alliteration is your deity's favourite display of delightful dervish whirling?
A hermit, digging ditches, watching a hawk miss a squirrelly meal by inches.
For outdoor use in bright sunlight. Do not use for any other purpose.
Getting out of the "broken man" mode and back into a meditative state.
Humble.
Letting the bombardment of contradictory mental images pass through these states of energy without filtering, interpreting or slowing down in any other fashion.
No role to play.
Release.
Calm.
Listening without hearing.
Nothing to say.
One of those days.
Humble.
Letting the bombardment of contradictory mental images pass through these states of energy without filtering, interpreting or slowing down in any other fashion.
No role to play.
Release.
Calm.
Listening without hearing.
Nothing to say.
One of those days.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Matias half-keyboard app for tablets/smartphones
Reconstructing my childhood, not only from shared memories my parents, sister, aunts, uncles and cousins carry, but also from shared cultural images, can make one wonder why one ever thought there was one in the first place.
One no longer is one.
So few of us are left to know what growing your own food is like that our civilisation has taken the same wrong turn again.
Will we ever learn?
Will we ever stop listening to those whose vested interests clash with ours because they are willing to state bold-faced lies to get what they want?
I believe in the power of the species to find a new path, even if history is against us.
I have this belief because I know I do not exist.
At the same time, I feel weighed down with despair and hopelessness because so many billions of us are led astray so easily.
I am Example No. 1, par excellence.
Therefore, I have joined the walking dead and no longer exist.
The cycle is completed once again.
I have no death to look forward to ending this life that has not reproduced itself.
Thus, I am happy to be alive, if you see where this logic is going.
Nothing left to lose.
Nothing desired to gain.
A walk in the woods like attending worship service, with bird song, leaves sprouting in spring and sunshine preaching to the choir.
The universe is.
That's all that matters today.
The truth, or what most people don't care to know that is here in front of their imaginary personalities, can wait to be told another day.
I have a personal journey to attend to - the species can observe and/or follow if it desires - I have my imperfections to enjoy at my own leisurely pace.
States of energy, let's have some label-free fun, okay?!
One no longer is one.
So few of us are left to know what growing your own food is like that our civilisation has taken the same wrong turn again.
Will we ever learn?
Will we ever stop listening to those whose vested interests clash with ours because they are willing to state bold-faced lies to get what they want?
I believe in the power of the species to find a new path, even if history is against us.
I have this belief because I know I do not exist.
At the same time, I feel weighed down with despair and hopelessness because so many billions of us are led astray so easily.
I am Example No. 1, par excellence.
Therefore, I have joined the walking dead and no longer exist.
The cycle is completed once again.
I have no death to look forward to ending this life that has not reproduced itself.
Thus, I am happy to be alive, if you see where this logic is going.
Nothing left to lose.
Nothing desired to gain.
A walk in the woods like attending worship service, with bird song, leaves sprouting in spring and sunshine preaching to the choir.
The universe is.
That's all that matters today.
The truth, or what most people don't care to know that is here in front of their imaginary personalities, can wait to be told another day.
I have a personal journey to attend to - the species can observe and/or follow if it desires - I have my imperfections to enjoy at my own leisurely pace.
States of energy, let's have some label-free fun, okay?!
Saturday, February 26, 2011
JUS2LIN
Now, again for the very first time, using phrases that, like "As Seen On TV!," lose their meaning because fewer and fewer people are watching original programming on the stationary screen (or using stationery)...
We give you [fingernail filing sound, Ms. Foley, please]
MANADEE, a cross between Xanadu and a manatee, but not a cross between Manwich and Sandra Dee.
Life is vanity and then you die.
Thanks to Robert and Beonca at Rave Motion Pictures; Tami at Beauregard's; Serge Ibaka of Oklahoma City; Amway Center in Orlando.
My father reminded me of the urban myths passed around in his childhood during the rollout of the Rural Electrification Initiative (originally authorised by executive order in my father's birth year), that when you saw plasma arcing from big power lines, it was the sign of invisible alien ships recharging.
He's 76. He's earned the right to reminisce.
Dumbfounded = colloquial mashing of dumbstruck and confounded.
When freedom is just another word for business opportunity, I take down my American flag and replace it with the GE meatball.
Let's be honest here. Washington and Jefferson weren't into proletarianism. They were into the right to build your own business and determine how to redistribute your wealth the way you wanted, not the way neighbourhood thugs, poor do-gooders or despots wanted.
After all, we call it lobbying, not bribery.
After all, my wife and I built our wealth the old-fashioned way, we earned it one dollar at a time, saving at least 20% of our income and sometimes as high as 50% along the way to retirement so that when we get old, Uncle Sam is not our sole personal benefactor. Sure, I'd like to spend our wealth now, but delayed gratification will pay off better.
Social networking is fine and good. I enjoy virtual class reunions. I like sending out well wishes and prayers via emails, IMs and such.
In the process of using free social networking tools, I share demographic (I almost said democratic) data in the hopes I won't notice getting pigeonholed into buying a product that I really don't need or isn't really good for me.
I eat raw oatmeal (cooked in the microwave for 2:05), bananas, and whatever is available at the local/chain restaurants where my wife wants to eat a dinner meal together with me.
I don't eat reconstituted oatmeal and oatmeal byproducts mixed with a slurry of sweeteners and other unrecognisable goo.
Call me un-American, if you will!
Trapped in the hell of processed foods and overpriced celebrity clothing lines.
The average modern lifestyle is Purgatory, is it not?
Live as an example to others, but to yourself first.
I leave you in the realm of sleight-of-hand billionaires who promise they only have your best interests at heart, if not your heart health in their best interests.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'm hooked on whatever you're selling 'cause I'm easily fooled.
If we did away with everything called the public interest, are you willing to step up to the plate and bat for your team that'll have to fund its own interests?
Are there enough people out there willing to pay for pure science and abstract art, those who truly understand that science/art is the bag of seeds for tomorrow's crop of new business opportunities?
Are you willing to hire and educate marginal employees, knowing you and your team have the skills to pull the non/antisocial crowd into the Way of Profitable Living?
I just keep on keepin' on, 'cause that's all I've got left to do, my retirement nest egg at the mercy of the rest of our business interests.
I'm not trying to make fun of us for the sake of laughter - I'm making fun of us because I see what you don't see in your comfortably unhealthy lifestyles.
This civilisation is taking all us lemmings over a cliff, sooner than you think.
Sure, it's inevitable, but we can delay it a little longer this time, I believe.
Imagine you're from another planet, and you're observing our planet in hopes of learning from the dominant species how to save your planet from repetitious bloom-and-doom cycles.
Of course, the dominant species type on Earth is a microorganism. How is a typical microorganism adjusting to the changes of global weather and local ecosystem rearrangement caused by the recent boom of growth of a minor species, Homo sapiens?
Can any one species see its interconnection with others and act when looming catastrophe is evident?
I don't need the Book of the Future to see that answer, unfortunately, because I already know how the global ecosystem is like a closed-loop system.
We still have the chance to send representatives out of this snowglobe before it's completely shaken up and our recent round of technological achievements dashed against the thin atmosphere we breathily call home.
Otherwise, we're happily repeating ourselves.
Sigh... Otherwise, we're happily repeating ourselves. [yes, I had to say it]
Mmm, this Kool-Aid is good. Did you add something a little spicy? Cough, cough.
We give you [fingernail filing sound, Ms. Foley, please]
MANADEE, a cross between Xanadu and a manatee, but not a cross between Manwich and Sandra Dee.
Life is vanity and then you die.
Thanks to Robert and Beonca at Rave Motion Pictures; Tami at Beauregard's; Serge Ibaka of Oklahoma City; Amway Center in Orlando.
My father reminded me of the urban myths passed around in his childhood during the rollout of the Rural Electrification Initiative (originally authorised by executive order in my father's birth year), that when you saw plasma arcing from big power lines, it was the sign of invisible alien ships recharging.
He's 76. He's earned the right to reminisce.
Dumbfounded = colloquial mashing of dumbstruck and confounded.
When freedom is just another word for business opportunity, I take down my American flag and replace it with the GE meatball.
Let's be honest here. Washington and Jefferson weren't into proletarianism. They were into the right to build your own business and determine how to redistribute your wealth the way you wanted, not the way neighbourhood thugs, poor do-gooders or despots wanted.
After all, we call it lobbying, not bribery.
After all, my wife and I built our wealth the old-fashioned way, we earned it one dollar at a time, saving at least 20% of our income and sometimes as high as 50% along the way to retirement so that when we get old, Uncle Sam is not our sole personal benefactor. Sure, I'd like to spend our wealth now, but delayed gratification will pay off better.
Social networking is fine and good. I enjoy virtual class reunions. I like sending out well wishes and prayers via emails, IMs and such.
In the process of using free social networking tools, I share demographic (I almost said democratic) data in the hopes I won't notice getting pigeonholed into buying a product that I really don't need or isn't really good for me.
I eat raw oatmeal (cooked in the microwave for 2:05), bananas, and whatever is available at the local/chain restaurants where my wife wants to eat a dinner meal together with me.
I don't eat reconstituted oatmeal and oatmeal byproducts mixed with a slurry of sweeteners and other unrecognisable goo.
Call me un-American, if you will!
Trapped in the hell of processed foods and overpriced celebrity clothing lines.
The average modern lifestyle is Purgatory, is it not?
Live as an example to others, but to yourself first.
I leave you in the realm of sleight-of-hand billionaires who promise they only have your best interests at heart, if not your heart health in their best interests.
Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, I'm hooked on whatever you're selling 'cause I'm easily fooled.
If we did away with everything called the public interest, are you willing to step up to the plate and bat for your team that'll have to fund its own interests?
Are there enough people out there willing to pay for pure science and abstract art, those who truly understand that science/art is the bag of seeds for tomorrow's crop of new business opportunities?
Are you willing to hire and educate marginal employees, knowing you and your team have the skills to pull the non/antisocial crowd into the Way of Profitable Living?
I just keep on keepin' on, 'cause that's all I've got left to do, my retirement nest egg at the mercy of the rest of our business interests.
I'm not trying to make fun of us for the sake of laughter - I'm making fun of us because I see what you don't see in your comfortably unhealthy lifestyles.
This civilisation is taking all us lemmings over a cliff, sooner than you think.
Sure, it's inevitable, but we can delay it a little longer this time, I believe.
Imagine you're from another planet, and you're observing our planet in hopes of learning from the dominant species how to save your planet from repetitious bloom-and-doom cycles.
Of course, the dominant species type on Earth is a microorganism. How is a typical microorganism adjusting to the changes of global weather and local ecosystem rearrangement caused by the recent boom of growth of a minor species, Homo sapiens?
Can any one species see its interconnection with others and act when looming catastrophe is evident?
I don't need the Book of the Future to see that answer, unfortunately, because I already know how the global ecosystem is like a closed-loop system.
We still have the chance to send representatives out of this snowglobe before it's completely shaken up and our recent round of technological achievements dashed against the thin atmosphere we breathily call home.
Otherwise, we're happily repeating ourselves.
Sigh... Otherwise, we're happily repeating ourselves. [yes, I had to say it]
Mmm, this Kool-Aid is good. Did you add something a little spicy? Cough, cough.
Thursday, February 24, 2011
Something doesn't feel right
I know this sounds silly, 'cause I'm not one for taking myself seriously, but something doesn't feel right to me.
I wish I knew what it was/is but it is preventing me from reporting the future that I see is coming.
I apologise for the profundity, produntity or or nonprofitable proclivity but I can't express in these words what's bothering me.
It is, I'm afraid, neither worse nor better than you can imagine.
It is something else entirely new, something I haven't encountered, and it's fogging up the crystal ball and changing the combination on the lock holding down the cover on the Book of the Future.
A storm is brewing which will clear the air for me.
Until then, a little lightning and thunder will fill the air for some.
'Tis what is.
These words are not what they seem. The metaphors are not literal.
You know what that means - you're on your own for a few more days, I'm afraid.
[or is that, "you're on your own for a few more days. I'm afraid."?]
I wish I knew what it was/is but it is preventing me from reporting the future that I see is coming.
I apologise for the profundity, produntity or or nonprofitable proclivity but I can't express in these words what's bothering me.
It is, I'm afraid, neither worse nor better than you can imagine.
It is something else entirely new, something I haven't encountered, and it's fogging up the crystal ball and changing the combination on the lock holding down the cover on the Book of the Future.
A storm is brewing which will clear the air for me.
Until then, a little lightning and thunder will fill the air for some.
'Tis what is.
These words are not what they seem. The metaphors are not literal.
You know what that means - you're on your own for a few more days, I'm afraid.
[or is that, "you're on your own for a few more days. I'm afraid."?]
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Beer In A Tube
Do astronauts drink beer out of a tube?
Too much lately, I've felt the pressure to perform, like a circus animal trapped in a traveling zoo full of controlled but entertaining behaviours.
The circles within a circle are here for all of us, seven billion strong as usual.
I can give space here for our voices but there are circles in which voices have no meaning where I need to be for a while.
Perhaps I will bring back meaning to our lives or at least connections worth pursuing.
I'm not projecting astrally or jumping on spaceships hidden behind passing comets (or passing comments).
I'm still here, these states of energy flowing in and out of the fluctuating superset of states of energy in this area of the inner solar system.
It is a personal journey I desire but don't relish, having hesitated for so many years I don't remember when I first knew what I had to do to completely be who/what I am and/or was/is/am meant to be.
Tapping into a resource that, from this angle, appears stronger than I believe I can handle.
But I know I will have the strength I need when I need it most/least.
I don't need a flux capacitor, a hyperpowered plasma generator or any thing that requires more than the belief of all of us all the time that we have the power within us to save our species from ourselves.
The energy is the same.
No big line item budgetary expenditure that'll break the bank and allow me to put my name on the side of some powerful looking edifice.
It hurts me just to think about the metaphors I'm avoiding to describe the indescribable.
I'm just glad that I am unimportant and perfectly flawed so I can remove myself from the picture I can't describe that is right here in front of me.
It is about the people, not the institutions or governments.
It is about states of energy that we don't know how to measure.
I don't know why I'm here feeling and seeing what I can't feel and see but it is what it is.
Someone please take it away from me.
I am not interested in being me right now.
Just another guy on the block who likes his beer and booze in moderation, random sports on TV, a comfortable chair to sit in and has a face that's easily forgotten in passing.
I know who I am and it's not fair. Someone better than me should have what is here in me, in this humble, overweight, jolly body.
It's not like what I know makes me happy or puts food on the table or cures cancers or prevents malnutrition.
These are words, words, words.
I am an old, old man, broken, trying to look up, at peace with myself and yet full of sorrow.
I wish I had advice about what to do next.
Yes, I can pray and meditate and listen to the voice within.
And yes I have.
"Go," it says without hesitation.
Into the unknown?
Where I won't be able to come back as I am?
Haven't I already been here many times before, asking the same question and cycling back to the same answer?
The pain is almost unbearable, certainly not worth writing about.
Humour won't help this time.
Once more, I'm stepping deep into a meditative prayer/trance in the middle of all that's going on, unaware of what you're saying around or near me, except as echoes that will rise up out of my thoughts when I return.
It's a journey to a place where communicating using that which we cannot see is right in front of us and we are blissfully unaware of its power to act on more than the activities of one species in a global ecosystem in a solar system in a galaxy in the universe as we know it is almost more than one can bear.
As always, I'm thankful that we're here together to make it possible.
I'm all too happy to share this moment with you because, frankly, it's all we've got.
You are intelligent so let's spend this moment together wisely.
Talk to you soon...I hope.
Too much lately, I've felt the pressure to perform, like a circus animal trapped in a traveling zoo full of controlled but entertaining behaviours.
The circles within a circle are here for all of us, seven billion strong as usual.
I can give space here for our voices but there are circles in which voices have no meaning where I need to be for a while.
Perhaps I will bring back meaning to our lives or at least connections worth pursuing.
I'm not projecting astrally or jumping on spaceships hidden behind passing comets (or passing comments).
I'm still here, these states of energy flowing in and out of the fluctuating superset of states of energy in this area of the inner solar system.
It is a personal journey I desire but don't relish, having hesitated for so many years I don't remember when I first knew what I had to do to completely be who/what I am and/or was/is/am meant to be.
Tapping into a resource that, from this angle, appears stronger than I believe I can handle.
But I know I will have the strength I need when I need it most/least.
I don't need a flux capacitor, a hyperpowered plasma generator or any thing that requires more than the belief of all of us all the time that we have the power within us to save our species from ourselves.
The energy is the same.
No big line item budgetary expenditure that'll break the bank and allow me to put my name on the side of some powerful looking edifice.
It hurts me just to think about the metaphors I'm avoiding to describe the indescribable.
I'm just glad that I am unimportant and perfectly flawed so I can remove myself from the picture I can't describe that is right here in front of me.
It is about the people, not the institutions or governments.
It is about states of energy that we don't know how to measure.
I don't know why I'm here feeling and seeing what I can't feel and see but it is what it is.
Someone please take it away from me.
I am not interested in being me right now.
Just another guy on the block who likes his beer and booze in moderation, random sports on TV, a comfortable chair to sit in and has a face that's easily forgotten in passing.
I know who I am and it's not fair. Someone better than me should have what is here in me, in this humble, overweight, jolly body.
It's not like what I know makes me happy or puts food on the table or cures cancers or prevents malnutrition.
These are words, words, words.
I am an old, old man, broken, trying to look up, at peace with myself and yet full of sorrow.
I wish I had advice about what to do next.
Yes, I can pray and meditate and listen to the voice within.
And yes I have.
"Go," it says without hesitation.
Into the unknown?
Where I won't be able to come back as I am?
Haven't I already been here many times before, asking the same question and cycling back to the same answer?
The pain is almost unbearable, certainly not worth writing about.
Humour won't help this time.
Once more, I'm stepping deep into a meditative prayer/trance in the middle of all that's going on, unaware of what you're saying around or near me, except as echoes that will rise up out of my thoughts when I return.
It's a journey to a place where communicating using that which we cannot see is right in front of us and we are blissfully unaware of its power to act on more than the activities of one species in a global ecosystem in a solar system in a galaxy in the universe as we know it is almost more than one can bear.
As always, I'm thankful that we're here together to make it possible.
I'm all too happy to share this moment with you because, frankly, it's all we've got.
You are intelligent so let's spend this moment together wisely.
Talk to you soon...I hope.
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Tacking in the Wind, Oh, Frames of the Mind
I learn from my mistakes.
I don't listen to the intuitive voice in my thoughts (the collective meeting of stimuli, the stream of consciousness, patterned neurochemical firings, etc.) like I should.
On my desk, a laminated sheet of paper - the elevation profile and location of aid stations/Port-o-lets for the 2003 Huntsville Times Rocket City Marathon, which I did not finish that year.
Runner # 979. Age: 41. Sex: Male.
We don't always get what we want, especially if we listen to the wind, pay attention to the wants and needs of others, and put us/them into an external collective meeting of stimuli, stream of consciousness, patterned neurochemical firings, etc.
In first and second grade, I didn't know my best friends happened to have dark skin and adults called black.
In fifth grade, I didn't know my favourite football quarterback happened to have dark skin and adults called black.
It wasn't until the next year, when a white family moved down from Detroit, Michigan, to Kingsport, Tennessee, that I first heard the word "nigger."
That's when I learned about the power of words, even though I still didn't understand what a "nigger" was (I kept thinking it must have been a Midwestern pronunciation of chigger, the way the kids from Detroit tried to explain to me their understanding of the word).
And here I am, almost 40 years later, still confused about the power of words, even though I use them like any skilled artisan creates imaginary worlds or functional furniture with a set of favourite tools, leaving out a paint stroke in a form of a missing comma like the arm of a chair with a pine knot that sticks out.
I look at my wrinkling hands again and ask what they're doing here in front of my face.
At any moment, I could die from natural causes, or seemingly random accidents.
I am a soft, fleshy set of states of energy slowly dying of preprogrammed obsolescence.
I assume we're all intelligent enough to treat each other intelligently.
I take what people tell me on face value because all their words can do is act like words.
I am, as I constantly remind myself in my thoughts and in these words, a glob of reflective glass that reflects, refracts and magnifies comically, un/conventionally and unintentionally.
I absorb the energy of others and pass it on.
I am both my own hero and my own villain.
I am who I am.
The worst of myself and the best of myself I leave out in the open as much as I can see what they are and represent them in humourous fashion as characters using the words you give me to speak in this space.
All I will ever accomplish will be my death.
The rest is an attempt to fill the space we call living.
It is what it is.
We can use any labels we please.
I will not take away your words but I may copy them here as a reminder to myself that "I" is a label to delineate the states of energy that have not been transferred to, or shared with, the states of energy labeled "you."
That is all I know.
Meanwhile, I look at the wants and needs of others and determine what aligns with what in some imaginary manner I call a balance of sorts, knowing that life is not fair and what one has another does not.
Should I care if I hear/watch others comfortably ensconced within their subcultures using derogatory labels and taking negative actions against those outside their subculture just because there is a coming together in a public space that we bipeds share on this planet?
In other words, what is private property, internally or externally to the self (if such a distinction can be made, now that we understand we're all just temporary states of energy)?
I, because I am childless and have no vested interests that prevent me from accepting death any time between this moment and some undefined moment in the future, am up against the rest of the world of my species, and I know it.
Not necessarily "us vs. them," but close enough that I have to ask myself how much my actions are motivated by such a phrase.
Therefore, I think it is in my best interest to push hard against my thoughts that enjoy playing the emperor's new clothes' game, and move toward what I would want if I always got what I want.
I want what others have wanted, to make the discovery that allows me to find a portal, transport out of this shrinking inside-out box of a planet and learn to live in a new set of labels, symbols and states of energy.
Do I get what I want, being fully conscious of the transformation before death transforms me into a nonconscious, dispersed set of states of energy?
I haven't, yet. The future of such a possibility is unclear.
Our future here is pretty easy to squeeze out of these fingers, over and over and over until I am tired of playing the futurist game, except to twiddle my thumbs while the clock counts down the DNA decomposition of the states of energy that are me from time to time.
Sigh...these old thoughts are tired of regenerating themselves and pretending to be something new in the next moment that is never completely promised to exist for every one of us.
I let these thoughts flow through and out of me because I know who I am and what I am capable of.
I believe in myself enough to crawl over and into the abyss of the unknown.
All I can do is die or suffer excruciating pain while alive.
Otherwise, all else is happiness and joy that I am alive to imagine what is, isn't, will be, or won't.
My nest is empty but I am not.
These are just words and words are what they are, sometimes just and sometimes not.
Forgive me while I ignore you for a while and purely pursue my personal dream.
I know who I am and who I must be.
This blog may or may not go silent for a while.
The sign of happiness is quiet as well as loud.
A stalk of wheat does not shout after it's fertilised but it has met its only goal.
My goal is here in the private property of my thoughts and also here in the public space of our lives together on this planet.
My seeds have been these words for almost 40 years now.
Time to look for a new garden that requires a different kind of seed to sow a future in a universe we have barely begun to understand that exists in and around us.
Thanks to my nephew Nicholas who shared a quote from Barry Bonds that it's okay to be lonely at the top.
The word "top" is a label that I've only recently understood.
The power of words.
Silence.
The same thing.
Make friends and influence people.
That's what we do.
Cap'n, give me the wheel! We're taking a new direction that requires a course you won't find on any map!
I don't listen to the intuitive voice in my thoughts (the collective meeting of stimuli, the stream of consciousness, patterned neurochemical firings, etc.) like I should.
On my desk, a laminated sheet of paper - the elevation profile and location of aid stations/Port-o-lets for the 2003 Huntsville Times Rocket City Marathon, which I did not finish that year.
Runner # 979. Age: 41. Sex: Male.
We don't always get what we want, especially if we listen to the wind, pay attention to the wants and needs of others, and put us/them into an external collective meeting of stimuli, stream of consciousness, patterned neurochemical firings, etc.
In first and second grade, I didn't know my best friends happened to have dark skin and adults called black.
In fifth grade, I didn't know my favourite football quarterback happened to have dark skin and adults called black.
It wasn't until the next year, when a white family moved down from Detroit, Michigan, to Kingsport, Tennessee, that I first heard the word "nigger."
That's when I learned about the power of words, even though I still didn't understand what a "nigger" was (I kept thinking it must have been a Midwestern pronunciation of chigger, the way the kids from Detroit tried to explain to me their understanding of the word).
And here I am, almost 40 years later, still confused about the power of words, even though I use them like any skilled artisan creates imaginary worlds or functional furniture with a set of favourite tools, leaving out a paint stroke in a form of a missing comma like the arm of a chair with a pine knot that sticks out.
I look at my wrinkling hands again and ask what they're doing here in front of my face.
At any moment, I could die from natural causes, or seemingly random accidents.
I am a soft, fleshy set of states of energy slowly dying of preprogrammed obsolescence.
I assume we're all intelligent enough to treat each other intelligently.
I take what people tell me on face value because all their words can do is act like words.
I am, as I constantly remind myself in my thoughts and in these words, a glob of reflective glass that reflects, refracts and magnifies comically, un/conventionally and unintentionally.
I absorb the energy of others and pass it on.
I am both my own hero and my own villain.
I am who I am.
The worst of myself and the best of myself I leave out in the open as much as I can see what they are and represent them in humourous fashion as characters using the words you give me to speak in this space.
All I will ever accomplish will be my death.
The rest is an attempt to fill the space we call living.
It is what it is.
We can use any labels we please.
I will not take away your words but I may copy them here as a reminder to myself that "I" is a label to delineate the states of energy that have not been transferred to, or shared with, the states of energy labeled "you."
That is all I know.
Meanwhile, I look at the wants and needs of others and determine what aligns with what in some imaginary manner I call a balance of sorts, knowing that life is not fair and what one has another does not.
Should I care if I hear/watch others comfortably ensconced within their subcultures using derogatory labels and taking negative actions against those outside their subculture just because there is a coming together in a public space that we bipeds share on this planet?
In other words, what is private property, internally or externally to the self (if such a distinction can be made, now that we understand we're all just temporary states of energy)?
I, because I am childless and have no vested interests that prevent me from accepting death any time between this moment and some undefined moment in the future, am up against the rest of the world of my species, and I know it.
Not necessarily "us vs. them," but close enough that I have to ask myself how much my actions are motivated by such a phrase.
Therefore, I think it is in my best interest to push hard against my thoughts that enjoy playing the emperor's new clothes' game, and move toward what I would want if I always got what I want.
I want what others have wanted, to make the discovery that allows me to find a portal, transport out of this shrinking inside-out box of a planet and learn to live in a new set of labels, symbols and states of energy.
Do I get what I want, being fully conscious of the transformation before death transforms me into a nonconscious, dispersed set of states of energy?
I haven't, yet. The future of such a possibility is unclear.
Our future here is pretty easy to squeeze out of these fingers, over and over and over until I am tired of playing the futurist game, except to twiddle my thumbs while the clock counts down the DNA decomposition of the states of energy that are me from time to time.
Sigh...these old thoughts are tired of regenerating themselves and pretending to be something new in the next moment that is never completely promised to exist for every one of us.
I let these thoughts flow through and out of me because I know who I am and what I am capable of.
I believe in myself enough to crawl over and into the abyss of the unknown.
All I can do is die or suffer excruciating pain while alive.
Otherwise, all else is happiness and joy that I am alive to imagine what is, isn't, will be, or won't.
My nest is empty but I am not.
These are just words and words are what they are, sometimes just and sometimes not.
Forgive me while I ignore you for a while and purely pursue my personal dream.
I know who I am and who I must be.
This blog may or may not go silent for a while.
The sign of happiness is quiet as well as loud.
A stalk of wheat does not shout after it's fertilised but it has met its only goal.
My goal is here in the private property of my thoughts and also here in the public space of our lives together on this planet.
My seeds have been these words for almost 40 years now.
Time to look for a new garden that requires a different kind of seed to sow a future in a universe we have barely begun to understand that exists in and around us.
Thanks to my nephew Nicholas who shared a quote from Barry Bonds that it's okay to be lonely at the top.
The word "top" is a label that I've only recently understood.
The power of words.
Silence.
The same thing.
Make friends and influence people.
That's what we do.
Cap'n, give me the wheel! We're taking a new direction that requires a course you won't find on any map!
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
Arwin & Maryanne's Uncharted Desert Isle
I have the world's best wife. Not only did she handmake a Valentine's Day card for me while she was traveling on business, she bought a couple of shirts and had a Russell Stover peanut butter heart for me to munch on while waiting for my flight home, and best of all, before her travel, she prepared homemade cake truffles secretly waiting for me in the freezer when I get home.
"but most of all... I wish you love."
My inventor friend handed me drawings of his latest creation - a motorised piece of luggage on which you sit and steer via the carry handle, perfect for large airports, especially ones that don't mind packs of LiPo batteries strung together to power the wheels.
I asked him to design me a pedal-powered version for today, because the 1984/Brazil thought sets have not yet passed into the storage bins of history.
"Paging J. Smith."
Thanks to 7-Eleven for a CA map and a topped-off tank of gas.
Now on to Big Cove, take off scheduled for 23:00. From Gate C57. Fun watching all the smartphone/laptop computer users - habit, necessity and/or addiction?
Thanks to Eddie and Barbara at Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
Delta crew members come and go by the dozens.
Making funny faces with a baby and chewing the fat with a barbershop owner about the similarity between HSV and Denver/Boulder.
A lovely lady, half-asleep, waiting on our escorted luggage to ride the elevator.
Home.
"but most of all... I wish you love."
My inventor friend handed me drawings of his latest creation - a motorised piece of luggage on which you sit and steer via the carry handle, perfect for large airports, especially ones that don't mind packs of LiPo batteries strung together to power the wheels.
I asked him to design me a pedal-powered version for today, because the 1984/Brazil thought sets have not yet passed into the storage bins of history.
"Paging J. Smith."
Thanks to 7-Eleven for a CA map and a topped-off tank of gas.
I was in a meditative trance most of St. Valentine's Day
Friendly fellow ready to clock out at 12:30. Boarded and ready for a long snooze. 20 til 5. Red blankets on St. Val. Day keeping us warm and cozy. Sleeping. Arms crossed. Reading. Fedora, shaggy hair, bald spots. Baseball caps. CRTs like eyes hanging from the underbelly of a giant caterpillar. Bye-bye brown grids and mountain ranges. Five hours of silent solace like eulogising in "The Sting." First moments away from my wife, looking at snowy peaks below. Turbulence. Air rushing, as if air can rush, through vents. Sweater. Chewing gum. The curious watching topo maps in action. Riding in a tube like Cuban cigars. Another manic Monday. Another trip around the core. Missing my wife, cats soon to feed.
And then? More silence. Thoughts. Digging for words, you dig? Sleep. Peace. Hermit meditating on eroding hillsides and mice. Fasten seat belt while seated.
3-4-6-7 - the stitching patterns of the red blanket - codes can be put in the most obvious places. Also look in lavatory tissue box or sink for "invisible ink" messages, read by special glasses, tied to page numbers of ebook. Wiped clean and thrown/washed away.
Cue: look for the old lady in the panda shirt.
Pretty Asian faces.
Boy Scouts having Nat'l Jamboree reunion (son, 16, with 4 palms and just finished last 2 merit badges but needs to complete Eagle project) and Sea recruits @ Ronald Reagan museum.
Baseball hopefuls heading to Atlanta?
Laws of Branding.
"She" by H. Rider Haggard.
Downtown to our left before we bend and turn.Thanks to pilots and crew of DL1554 - I was lost in thought and did not have my notebook open to write down your names as I heard them. A special thanks to the pilot for pointing out Huntsville, Alabama, on our right.
Now on to Big Cove, take off scheduled for 23:00. From Gate C57. Fun watching all the smartphone/laptop computer users - habit, necessity and/or addiction?
Thanks to Eddie and Barbara at Ben & Jerry's ice cream.
Delta crew members come and go by the dozens.
Making funny faces with a baby and chewing the fat with a barbershop owner about the similarity between HSV and Denver/Boulder.
A lovely lady, half-asleep, waiting on our escorted luggage to ride the elevator.
Home.
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
First Crocus Bloom of the Season
How do you explain to people who think the state of their existence is declining that all is going according to plan?
I try to use short, one-, two- or three-syllable words.
After all, I'm a simple guy and want to keep me that way.
Should this, my product, be watered down for the masses?
I haven't looked in the crystal ball lately. The Book of the Future gathers dust, its pencil shavings growing dark with age.
And the tools I've haven't told you about, what about them?
And that which we cannot talk about, how do I not talk about that?
It may be time to roll up my magic carpet and move on.
After all, I am not who or what you think I am.
I know who I am and I can't tell you in these words what the phrase "I know who I am" really means.
"States of energy"suffices as it always has and always will.
The condition, that we agree to call the human form which greatly describes "me," resists its acceptance of its place in every moment.
That is what the year 2011 is all about for me.
Removing resistance.
Accepting that which is not what the "me" would be if the "me" were only me which thinks it's not part of the greater system of states of energy interwoven with that which is not like the states of energy we know.
Would you believe that a sphere could be wiped clean and another experiment started to see what the next few million years would turn a global mix of states of energy into?
So close to figuring out how to tell others what's there in front of them that they can't see because they see what's not there, and then something else comes along to see and sees it doesn't want the others to see or doesn't care if the others see or not.
Natural phenomena interacting in natural patterns.
Do you know how a planet tells a joke?
Does the least influence the most?
What if all we do is appeal to the least common denominator we share?
What if the least common denominator is all there is and the rest is illusion?
How do I keep silent by asking all these questions?
What if you were merely a flower in a wild garden, your only purpose to feed a randomly placed rabbit?
How good of a mask is your external persona?
How do you correct a billion-year old mistake?
What if a billion years is not old at all?
What's it all about?
Where are you going?
I try to use short, one-, two- or three-syllable words.
After all, I'm a simple guy and want to keep me that way.
Should this, my product, be watered down for the masses?
I haven't looked in the crystal ball lately. The Book of the Future gathers dust, its pencil shavings growing dark with age.
And the tools I've haven't told you about, what about them?
And that which we cannot talk about, how do I not talk about that?
It may be time to roll up my magic carpet and move on.
After all, I am not who or what you think I am.
I know who I am and I can't tell you in these words what the phrase "I know who I am" really means.
"States of energy"suffices as it always has and always will.
The condition, that we agree to call the human form which greatly describes "me," resists its acceptance of its place in every moment.
That is what the year 2011 is all about for me.
Removing resistance.
Accepting that which is not what the "me" would be if the "me" were only me which thinks it's not part of the greater system of states of energy interwoven with that which is not like the states of energy we know.
Would you believe that a sphere could be wiped clean and another experiment started to see what the next few million years would turn a global mix of states of energy into?
So close to figuring out how to tell others what's there in front of them that they can't see because they see what's not there, and then something else comes along to see and sees it doesn't want the others to see or doesn't care if the others see or not.
Natural phenomena interacting in natural patterns.
Do you know how a planet tells a joke?
Does the least influence the most?
What if all we do is appeal to the least common denominator we share?
What if the least common denominator is all there is and the rest is illusion?
How do I keep silent by asking all these questions?
What if you were merely a flower in a wild garden, your only purpose to feed a randomly placed rabbit?
How good of a mask is your external persona?
How do you correct a billion-year old mistake?
What if a billion years is not old at all?
What's it all about?
Where are you going?
Friday, February 4, 2011
Another Close Call
Do you ever ask the people in your family, "What are you doing for me on a daily and weekly basis?"
A friend of mine did.
Now she's divorced and her son has moved out, leaving her with a house, a dog, computer and a phone.
She's the sole caretaker of her parents, after her sister died, who was 300+ pounds and her heart couldn't keep up - a great "kid" who literally died at 42 of a broken heart.
We're good friends who have no qualms about sharing our life stories with one another because we have no hangups or emotional baggage getting in the way, no reason to ask each other what we've done for the other on a daily or weekly basis.
I am secure in my marriage and secure in my emotion-based thought set so I can spend time here with you, rather than in paper journals, looking at what is and what might have been.
When I hung around in an office and dealt with business decisions on a minute-by-minute basis, I often asked myself what was the business doing for me on a daily, weekly or life basis?
Sure, it provided me an easy way to feed myself through the collection of labour credits to exchange for nourishment supplements at restaurants and grocer's markets.
It also allowed me to build my investment portfolio and enjoy "free" travel to foreign destinations while conducting business outside the office.
But what was it really doing for me?
I'm a middle-aged guy, looking at life from the comforts of a study piled high with old books and memorabilia.
It's a perspective that I held when I was six, looking out the window in first grade math class, surrounded by the nurturing world of academia which hopes more than passive learning's taking place.
So, in a sense, I have always heralded this position of sitting by the window and wondering in my wandering thoughts.
Socialising has always been a matter of reverifying my understanding of the human condition.
Humour has been my way of filtering out the dusty seriousness that floats out of people's mouths and actions, virtually turning down the volume of voices shouting, "But it really is an emergency this time," another cry of "Wolf!" that I can see doesn't exist.
Do we all tell ourselves, "This is what I do but not who I am?"
In recent conversations with my friend, picking up where we stopped talking 18 years ago, we joke about the difference between what we have done and who we think we are.
Life is a comedy, a grand illusion, where punchlines are punchlines for some joke we think we see but don't.
Meanwhile, we have to figure out how to raise our kids and get along while pretending we're serious most or part of the time.
The parents who can reveal the jokes while instilling a solid set of ethics and morals are the ones I praise.
We all die.
We all have to share resources while we're alive.
Everything else is just pretending.
I'm sorry that the people in North Africa are resorting to deadly violence to sort out how to redistribute resources that have been hoarded by a few. Unfortunately, it is the way of our species - we are young and unable to see the bigger picture.
Nor do we see where those with a large number of social connections can drop millions of pebbles all across the pond and hide their intentions in the cancelling wave patterns.
I will not be remembered. This writing is not significant enough to survive the ravages of population shifts.
Thus, at the end of the day, I have my wife, our cats, our house, our investments, her friends, my friends and our friends and family.
Right before I asked my wife for her hand in marriage, I asked myself if she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I narrowed down the mental list of potential candidates, looking back at the women I'd dated or with whom I had established a strong, lasting relationship.
I knew who I was and what I wanted.
I also knew that I probably knew little about the women and what they wanted.
Why do people get married? To raise children in a legal manner. To honour their religious upbringing. For tax savings. To make themselves (or one of them) a legal resident of a political entity, perhaps.
Why did I get married? Because it was time. I held a postsecondary diploma and was ready to establish myself financially. Having children was not a priority for me. Sitting by the window thinking and writing was/is.
Thus, which woman would most tolerate my desire to sit and write? Which woman would tell herself, "Rick is not the kind of person who will take the kids to school, play handyman, chair the parent-teacher association or do more than a cursory amount of housecleaning but hopefully will earn enough for us to have a comfortable, if not extravagant, life together"?
I narrowed my choices down to two people - my wife, of course, and the person with whom I have enjoyed conversations over the past few days.
My wife and I shared a romantic story that had/has a life of its own, one I've recounted here or elsewhere many times, starting when we were 12 at summer camp, acting as penpals for years and dating the first time our freshman year in college, with my "romantic, lovesick poet" phase generating many a poem we've all written in our heads in one way or another when first falling madly in love (and which I've spared tormenting you with here (at least so far (just wait until I get too bored to write a blog entry one day))).
The other person was/is a person many people enjoy being around. We never had overly romantic notions about each other, although we can describe them and imagine them, such as enjoying a quiet walk in the woods or along the beach, holding hands like two companions.
We agree we have made the best choices. She has her wonderful son and a life of her own, including an early retirement. I have a wonderful wife and have taken a midlife retirement. As a bonus, we remain great friends without a worry about one or the other having any ulteriour sexual intentions, so we can talk about anything without wondering about arousing the other's hormones.
All the while, large historic changes of our species go on around us, no matter how much we care or feel involved, emotionally or physically.
This is my life, sitting here, looking out the window at the rain, water dripping off the hanging gutter, no birds to be seen, creating an alternative universe while musing about the one that we say exists, because we can touch trees and watch one another's births and deaths and all the stuff in-between.
This is how I describe happiness. I thank all of you, including my close friends and family, for making this happiness possible. I hope every one of us can find this kind of simple happiness in our lives - it's priceless.
A friend of mine did.
Now she's divorced and her son has moved out, leaving her with a house, a dog, computer and a phone.
She's the sole caretaker of her parents, after her sister died, who was 300+ pounds and her heart couldn't keep up - a great "kid" who literally died at 42 of a broken heart.
We're good friends who have no qualms about sharing our life stories with one another because we have no hangups or emotional baggage getting in the way, no reason to ask each other what we've done for the other on a daily or weekly basis.
I am secure in my marriage and secure in my emotion-based thought set so I can spend time here with you, rather than in paper journals, looking at what is and what might have been.
When I hung around in an office and dealt with business decisions on a minute-by-minute basis, I often asked myself what was the business doing for me on a daily, weekly or life basis?
Sure, it provided me an easy way to feed myself through the collection of labour credits to exchange for nourishment supplements at restaurants and grocer's markets.
It also allowed me to build my investment portfolio and enjoy "free" travel to foreign destinations while conducting business outside the office.
But what was it really doing for me?
I'm a middle-aged guy, looking at life from the comforts of a study piled high with old books and memorabilia.
It's a perspective that I held when I was six, looking out the window in first grade math class, surrounded by the nurturing world of academia which hopes more than passive learning's taking place.
So, in a sense, I have always heralded this position of sitting by the window and wondering in my wandering thoughts.
Socialising has always been a matter of reverifying my understanding of the human condition.
Humour has been my way of filtering out the dusty seriousness that floats out of people's mouths and actions, virtually turning down the volume of voices shouting, "But it really is an emergency this time," another cry of "Wolf!" that I can see doesn't exist.
Do we all tell ourselves, "This is what I do but not who I am?"
In recent conversations with my friend, picking up where we stopped talking 18 years ago, we joke about the difference between what we have done and who we think we are.
Life is a comedy, a grand illusion, where punchlines are punchlines for some joke we think we see but don't.
Meanwhile, we have to figure out how to raise our kids and get along while pretending we're serious most or part of the time.
The parents who can reveal the jokes while instilling a solid set of ethics and morals are the ones I praise.
We all die.
We all have to share resources while we're alive.
Everything else is just pretending.
I'm sorry that the people in North Africa are resorting to deadly violence to sort out how to redistribute resources that have been hoarded by a few. Unfortunately, it is the way of our species - we are young and unable to see the bigger picture.
Nor do we see where those with a large number of social connections can drop millions of pebbles all across the pond and hide their intentions in the cancelling wave patterns.
I will not be remembered. This writing is not significant enough to survive the ravages of population shifts.
Thus, at the end of the day, I have my wife, our cats, our house, our investments, her friends, my friends and our friends and family.
Right before I asked my wife for her hand in marriage, I asked myself if she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I narrowed down the mental list of potential candidates, looking back at the women I'd dated or with whom I had established a strong, lasting relationship.
I knew who I was and what I wanted.
I also knew that I probably knew little about the women and what they wanted.
Why do people get married? To raise children in a legal manner. To honour their religious upbringing. For tax savings. To make themselves (or one of them) a legal resident of a political entity, perhaps.
Why did I get married? Because it was time. I held a postsecondary diploma and was ready to establish myself financially. Having children was not a priority for me. Sitting by the window thinking and writing was/is.
Thus, which woman would most tolerate my desire to sit and write? Which woman would tell herself, "Rick is not the kind of person who will take the kids to school, play handyman, chair the parent-teacher association or do more than a cursory amount of housecleaning but hopefully will earn enough for us to have a comfortable, if not extravagant, life together"?
I narrowed my choices down to two people - my wife, of course, and the person with whom I have enjoyed conversations over the past few days.
My wife and I shared a romantic story that had/has a life of its own, one I've recounted here or elsewhere many times, starting when we were 12 at summer camp, acting as penpals for years and dating the first time our freshman year in college, with my "romantic, lovesick poet" phase generating many a poem we've all written in our heads in one way or another when first falling madly in love (and which I've spared tormenting you with here (at least so far (just wait until I get too bored to write a blog entry one day))).
The other person was/is a person many people enjoy being around. We never had overly romantic notions about each other, although we can describe them and imagine them, such as enjoying a quiet walk in the woods or along the beach, holding hands like two companions.
We agree we have made the best choices. She has her wonderful son and a life of her own, including an early retirement. I have a wonderful wife and have taken a midlife retirement. As a bonus, we remain great friends without a worry about one or the other having any ulteriour sexual intentions, so we can talk about anything without wondering about arousing the other's hormones.
All the while, large historic changes of our species go on around us, no matter how much we care or feel involved, emotionally or physically.
This is my life, sitting here, looking out the window at the rain, water dripping off the hanging gutter, no birds to be seen, creating an alternative universe while musing about the one that we say exists, because we can touch trees and watch one another's births and deaths and all the stuff in-between.
This is how I describe happiness. I thank all of you, including my close friends and family, for making this happiness possible. I hope every one of us can find this kind of simple happiness in our lives - it's priceless.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
A New Nod to Dmitri N. Smirnov, An Old Nod to Margery McDuffie Whatley
In the past year or so, I have talked with many people who shared a specific timeframe with me.
And yet, if time does not exist, then what to make of musical scores?
What to make of past relationships that stopped but never ended?
What of the 48-year old woman with whom I shared our first kiss at 9?
Or the 49-year old woman with whom I continue to share my thoughts as if we live outside time, 18-year loops of silence between us notwithstanding?
Or the 48-year old woman who remembers our relationship at 15/16 as if it happened yesterday, repeating our relationship and breakup in emails turned into a storyline that merged into a novel just as her daughter passed through the 15/16 ageline?
These circles, so close to home, remind me of works by Smirnov and their descent/ascent keeping time.
The music in my head plays here in spaces, pauses, syllables and other symbolism familiar to you, but it is not the same as hearing it in real time.
Would your unmarried son look at a job application and interpret "marital status" as if it read "martial status"? Does that speak volumes about looking at marriage like war?
This is the 34th day of 2011 and I have a lot to work through in the remaining revolutions of our planet upon its axis in this calendar year before it reaches its arbitrary starting place which begins 2012.
Do you know which pebbles' waves are affecting you right now?
Are you comfortably positioned in your set of beliefs?
How much do you let your social connections reposition the perceived centre of the core of your being?
If you could see the full set of actions available to you on this planet, then what would you want to do next?
I want to read a book but I don't know which author I want to influence my thought set.
I want to take a walk but I'm tired of seeing the same rooftops and neatly trimmed lawns passing by my view.
If freedom is whatever I want to do on this planet, what if it's not enough? Too much? Too little, too late?
Only one life to live, one narrative to attempt to fabricate, one set of moments to imagine calling my own.
Life is a jazz improv jam.
My part in it is what it is.
I'll just have to live with the fact that the music in my head has no instrument(s) that'll make it sound right to everyone who listens.
Practice makes the next practice more perfect - the perfect story has never been told because it requires knowing the music in everyone's thoughts, virtually impossible, at least at this time.
Approximation is the best we can do, cutting the distance to perfection another half-step closer.
If I can't have the whole thing, will half of a half of a half of a half of a half suffice?
Three more points: census data, space stasis, education status.
Thanks to Margery McDuffie Whatley's recorded performance for accompanying this blog entry.
And yet, if time does not exist, then what to make of musical scores?
What to make of past relationships that stopped but never ended?
What of the 48-year old woman with whom I shared our first kiss at 9?
Or the 49-year old woman with whom I continue to share my thoughts as if we live outside time, 18-year loops of silence between us notwithstanding?
Or the 48-year old woman who remembers our relationship at 15/16 as if it happened yesterday, repeating our relationship and breakup in emails turned into a storyline that merged into a novel just as her daughter passed through the 15/16 ageline?
These circles, so close to home, remind me of works by Smirnov and their descent/ascent keeping time.
The music in my head plays here in spaces, pauses, syllables and other symbolism familiar to you, but it is not the same as hearing it in real time.
Would your unmarried son look at a job application and interpret "marital status" as if it read "martial status"? Does that speak volumes about looking at marriage like war?
This is the 34th day of 2011 and I have a lot to work through in the remaining revolutions of our planet upon its axis in this calendar year before it reaches its arbitrary starting place which begins 2012.
Do you know which pebbles' waves are affecting you right now?
Are you comfortably positioned in your set of beliefs?
How much do you let your social connections reposition the perceived centre of the core of your being?
If you could see the full set of actions available to you on this planet, then what would you want to do next?
I want to read a book but I don't know which author I want to influence my thought set.
I want to take a walk but I'm tired of seeing the same rooftops and neatly trimmed lawns passing by my view.
If freedom is whatever I want to do on this planet, what if it's not enough? Too much? Too little, too late?
Only one life to live, one narrative to attempt to fabricate, one set of moments to imagine calling my own.
Life is a jazz improv jam.
My part in it is what it is.
I'll just have to live with the fact that the music in my head has no instrument(s) that'll make it sound right to everyone who listens.
Practice makes the next practice more perfect - the perfect story has never been told because it requires knowing the music in everyone's thoughts, virtually impossible, at least at this time.
Approximation is the best we can do, cutting the distance to perfection another half-step closer.
If I can't have the whole thing, will half of a half of a half of a half of a half suffice?
Three more points: census data, space stasis, education status.
Thanks to Margery McDuffie Whatley's recorded performance for accompanying this blog entry.
Tuesday, February 1, 2011
The Art and Science of Business
While listening to the Orgelbüchlein, performed by James Kibbie, and putting together a business plan for some associates, I look at The Wisdom of India by Lin Yutang and contemplate buying As One by Merhdad Baghai and James Quigley.
I think about Walt Disney and the extension of copyrights/trademarks that are granted to enduring brands.
The shiny surface of my laptop computer is dull where my palms rest. The most commonly pressed keys look slick from many thousands of clicks (the Q, Z, X, J and P keys are the least rubbed smooth, with W, U and K not far behind).
Playing this parallel universe of a blog like a symphony, hearing the voices of people and cultures like the sweet tweets and deep bellows of musical instruments, repeating phrases for emphasis, looking for the perfectly new but hauntingly familiar melody to pull out of nothingness, wanting to get this right the first time because there's no going back but knowing I make a few typos through my rush to get it all down on e-paper before I forget what I hear in my head...
I wrote a two-part poem decades ago that compared the difference between a schizophrenic and a writer, saying that a writer puts the compartmentalisation of thoughts that have a particular "voice" (i.e., characters) to practical use, or something like that. Composers are the same or similar.
But so, too, are any of us who design, build, lead or otherwise use the extension of a thought set to create something unique outside of ourselves.
Parents, what of your children?
Where do we concentrate our energy expenditure?
Does it matter if anyone is listening to you?
Is the analysis of the work of another a work in its own right?
If I design a business plan that I'll never use and submit it to another person as one of many proposals for creating something wonderful, am I participating in the art and science of business even if my work never sees the light of day?
How often do we have to practice to perfect our skills and sharpen our talents?
Every moment is practice for the next one.
One person recently asked why I never seem to mention the Bible (a frequent observation by readers). I don't mention specifics about my wife, either, but they're both an integral part of my childhood so that I feel no need to promote or talk about the core/foundational part of myself. Wisdom imparted to me by sages, scholars and committees through the ages (i.e., the Bible) is just as important as wisdom imparted to me by my wife in the moments we share together. I don't understand much about the Bible and I don't understand much about my wife but I accept them both as they are as I practice learning more about them and the rest of the stimuli that serves as my life in every moment.
I think about Walt Disney and the extension of copyrights/trademarks that are granted to enduring brands.
The shiny surface of my laptop computer is dull where my palms rest. The most commonly pressed keys look slick from many thousands of clicks (the Q, Z, X, J and P keys are the least rubbed smooth, with W, U and K not far behind).
Playing this parallel universe of a blog like a symphony, hearing the voices of people and cultures like the sweet tweets and deep bellows of musical instruments, repeating phrases for emphasis, looking for the perfectly new but hauntingly familiar melody to pull out of nothingness, wanting to get this right the first time because there's no going back but knowing I make a few typos through my rush to get it all down on e-paper before I forget what I hear in my head...
I wrote a two-part poem decades ago that compared the difference between a schizophrenic and a writer, saying that a writer puts the compartmentalisation of thoughts that have a particular "voice" (i.e., characters) to practical use, or something like that. Composers are the same or similar.
But so, too, are any of us who design, build, lead or otherwise use the extension of a thought set to create something unique outside of ourselves.
Parents, what of your children?
Where do we concentrate our energy expenditure?
Does it matter if anyone is listening to you?
Is the analysis of the work of another a work in its own right?
If I design a business plan that I'll never use and submit it to another person as one of many proposals for creating something wonderful, am I participating in the art and science of business even if my work never sees the light of day?
How often do we have to practice to perfect our skills and sharpen our talents?
Every moment is practice for the next one.
One person recently asked why I never seem to mention the Bible (a frequent observation by readers). I don't mention specifics about my wife, either, but they're both an integral part of my childhood so that I feel no need to promote or talk about the core/foundational part of myself. Wisdom imparted to me by sages, scholars and committees through the ages (i.e., the Bible) is just as important as wisdom imparted to me by my wife in the moments we share together. I don't understand much about the Bible and I don't understand much about my wife but I accept them both as they are as I practice learning more about them and the rest of the stimuli that serves as my life in every moment.
Land of the Dancing Rabbits
This time of year I enjoy (surprised more than look forward to seeing) maple trees in the lower canopy that stick out because of their manila, beige, rust-coloured leaves that haven't escaped into the new life of loam and humus.
So much so that words have no meaning to me today except for their ability to hold my attention temporarily, placeholders, fish hooks holding on to the flesh of thoughts and ideas in the states of energy that I think are me.
This planet feels tiny.
Miniscule.
All of our actions easily forgotten in the flash of a supernova or the smaller crash of solar storms against our thin atmosphere.
Those who control those who control the Committee have asked me to demonstrate powers that I have no idea what they're talking about.
Does a prism have powers?
Can a funhouse mirror change the future by changing the direction of lightwaveparticles?
Can the graceful movements of tai chi create freedom of choice in a people trapped in thought and body for generations?
Would an Ulster Scot bring Catholics, Protestants, Muslims and Jews to the same table, with Hindus and Buddhists working to eliminate the worthless emotional teachings of history so the remaining groups of emotion-based believers could join while still respecting life-affirming [sub]cultural differences?
Can you take off fear like a ragged old coat that no longer fits and needs to be churned into the compost bin?
Sitting on this mountaintop of solid-rock thought sets, looking across the valleys to titans sitting on top of piles of imaginary power in the form of money, religion, athletic skill and/or physical beauty, I rest assured that the two in the know are comfortably being told what to do with their free will.
Sure, history is being made, but who's going to write it?
If death is still death, does it matter whether a person died of torture, starvation or complications during life-extending genetic modification?
I still plan to see Earth onboard a Moon cruise ship.
I still believe we will overcome the insanity of crazed salespeople shoving stopgap measures down our throats because there's nothing else more lucrative to market to the masses.
But I am not important.
Something greater than me is.
Greater than all of us put together.
We are one point - the billions of years that led up to our existence right now - on a spiral that's designed for achieving movement by what we call the unknown.
We can't get out of our point if we can't see the point we're making.
Those who are entrenched or have vested interests will not understand, but you already know that through your subcultural training.
Have you held a mirror up to yourself to see the miniscule difference that divides you from the rest of the members of our species and the rest of the living things on Earth?
How far have you projected your thought set into the universe as you know it?
Do galaxies and superclusters act as memory locations for you?
What about the parts that you can't see but imagine are there? Have you absorbed them into your extension of self?
Does it matter if the Sun acts as a memory location for trillions of living things?
If a memory is just another interaction of states of energy, what does that say about your place in the global ecosystem?
Do you still want to own the company that depends on motivating millions of people to desire a nonessential consumable that has many in/direct negative effects on your children and the children of people and living things you don't know?
What is profit, really?
Are you willing to move your company's growth slowly enough to ensure you're benefiting more than a few people in the moment?
How do we have fun and not think about these "serious" issues in our momentary, blissful forgetfulness?
Your random acts and purposeful goals are not mine but our behaviours all belong to the set of steps to achieve goals you and I will never know about.
That's why I don't worry about which empire is collapsing and which empire is secretly financing an empire it will soon absorb into its own.
None of those matter to me.
Freedom at the individual level is all I need to measure to determine what will happen next to see which 1000-year projection it best lines up with.
After a while, the wave patterns of a planet are easy to predict, throwing out whole classes of waves that intersect and cancel each other out.
The planet is a small part of other wave interactions, some which add, some which subtract and some which cancel each other out.
At the multiuniverse level, we've already predicted which ones will cancel each other out and have discounted them from our future projections.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
Probably not.
Rare is the individual who can see 100,000, 1,000,000, or 1,000,000,000 years into the future.
Death is such a large event in our lives that we barely look past the end of our noses or maybe just as far as the reflection in the mirror.
We just want to know how we're going to put food in our mouths in the next few hours and find a decent way to take care of our families.
As usual, that's okay.
That's what we want you to want.
Which is more important to you - a diamond ring or freeing and feeding the child slaves who work the diamond mines?
You don't have to answer. Your behaviour patterns have already answered the question for us.
My grandfather always said that electricity and indoor plumbing would ruin us because we can't see where it's coming from and where it's going. He was a lot more succinct than I am.
We're such a young species, it hurts to watch our ignorance get the best of us.
Think I'll shut this down and drink a few beers to put myself in a mood of forgetfulness with everyone else.
There are no easy questions but the answers are easier than we think if we take time to think in between our rushes from one activity to another that we try to squeeze in before we die individually, assuming we care to take responsibility for the effect of our actions on others outside the thought set of whose job and company we're helping to succeed.
Enough of this lecture to self. Time to relax.
So much so that words have no meaning to me today except for their ability to hold my attention temporarily, placeholders, fish hooks holding on to the flesh of thoughts and ideas in the states of energy that I think are me.
This planet feels tiny.
Miniscule.
All of our actions easily forgotten in the flash of a supernova or the smaller crash of solar storms against our thin atmosphere.
Those who control those who control the Committee have asked me to demonstrate powers that I have no idea what they're talking about.
Does a prism have powers?
Can a funhouse mirror change the future by changing the direction of lightwaveparticles?
Can the graceful movements of tai chi create freedom of choice in a people trapped in thought and body for generations?
Would an Ulster Scot bring Catholics, Protestants, Muslims and Jews to the same table, with Hindus and Buddhists working to eliminate the worthless emotional teachings of history so the remaining groups of emotion-based believers could join while still respecting life-affirming [sub]cultural differences?
Can you take off fear like a ragged old coat that no longer fits and needs to be churned into the compost bin?
Sitting on this mountaintop of solid-rock thought sets, looking across the valleys to titans sitting on top of piles of imaginary power in the form of money, religion, athletic skill and/or physical beauty, I rest assured that the two in the know are comfortably being told what to do with their free will.
Sure, history is being made, but who's going to write it?
If death is still death, does it matter whether a person died of torture, starvation or complications during life-extending genetic modification?
I still plan to see Earth onboard a Moon cruise ship.
I still believe we will overcome the insanity of crazed salespeople shoving stopgap measures down our throats because there's nothing else more lucrative to market to the masses.
But I am not important.
Something greater than me is.
Greater than all of us put together.
We are one point - the billions of years that led up to our existence right now - on a spiral that's designed for achieving movement by what we call the unknown.
We can't get out of our point if we can't see the point we're making.
Those who are entrenched or have vested interests will not understand, but you already know that through your subcultural training.
Have you held a mirror up to yourself to see the miniscule difference that divides you from the rest of the members of our species and the rest of the living things on Earth?
How far have you projected your thought set into the universe as you know it?
Do galaxies and superclusters act as memory locations for you?
What about the parts that you can't see but imagine are there? Have you absorbed them into your extension of self?
Does it matter if the Sun acts as a memory location for trillions of living things?
If a memory is just another interaction of states of energy, what does that say about your place in the global ecosystem?
Do you still want to own the company that depends on motivating millions of people to desire a nonessential consumable that has many in/direct negative effects on your children and the children of people and living things you don't know?
What is profit, really?
Are you willing to move your company's growth slowly enough to ensure you're benefiting more than a few people in the moment?
How do we have fun and not think about these "serious" issues in our momentary, blissful forgetfulness?
Your random acts and purposeful goals are not mine but our behaviours all belong to the set of steps to achieve goals you and I will never know about.
That's why I don't worry about which empire is collapsing and which empire is secretly financing an empire it will soon absorb into its own.
None of those matter to me.
Freedom at the individual level is all I need to measure to determine what will happen next to see which 1000-year projection it best lines up with.
After a while, the wave patterns of a planet are easy to predict, throwing out whole classes of waves that intersect and cancel each other out.
The planet is a small part of other wave interactions, some which add, some which subtract and some which cancel each other out.
At the multiuniverse level, we've already predicted which ones will cancel each other out and have discounted them from our future projections.
Do you understand what I'm saying?
Probably not.
Rare is the individual who can see 100,000, 1,000,000, or 1,000,000,000 years into the future.
Death is such a large event in our lives that we barely look past the end of our noses or maybe just as far as the reflection in the mirror.
We just want to know how we're going to put food in our mouths in the next few hours and find a decent way to take care of our families.
As usual, that's okay.
That's what we want you to want.
Which is more important to you - a diamond ring or freeing and feeding the child slaves who work the diamond mines?
You don't have to answer. Your behaviour patterns have already answered the question for us.
My grandfather always said that electricity and indoor plumbing would ruin us because we can't see where it's coming from and where it's going. He was a lot more succinct than I am.
We're such a young species, it hurts to watch our ignorance get the best of us.
Think I'll shut this down and drink a few beers to put myself in a mood of forgetfulness with everyone else.
There are no easy questions but the answers are easier than we think if we take time to think in between our rushes from one activity to another that we try to squeeze in before we die individually, assuming we care to take responsibility for the effect of our actions on others outside the thought set of whose job and company we're helping to succeed.
Enough of this lecture to self. Time to relax.
Sunday, January 30, 2011
Vignette a la mode: Conversation Out Of Time
I ponder, Israelis wonder if Iran is stirring up revolution, and Iranians worry it is the Israelis.
Opportunists circle and wait.
And so the cycle repeats itself.
Names like Davos and TED float on the air like stray drops of water in a cloudless sky.
I am a regular person in a normal global cultural setting where one group of states of energy assumes self-reflection means independence, denoting species as a label of separateness.
Western Civ is remembered more than taught as the leading mode of designed social structurisation.
The escape clause has escaped.
Six Sigma is news of the weird.
Do you mold your message to appeal to the well-defined edges of lockstepped subcultures?
I am the voice of anonymity, giving form to the random interactions of states of energy we call life.
If "I" do not exist, do I belong here?
All the days and memories of my life are one: me at this moment.
Can I wait for 14,341 days more to have my moment as a momentary telegraph operator relaying a brief message, knowing everything else is 100,000 years of silence until the next messenger acts?
Foolish feuilles.
Sitting and waiting, waiting and sitting, holding malaise at bay.
Needing an agent to maintain the imaginary divide between public and private personas/personae.
Caught in the fiction of life which I have no interest in interrupting, all of us parts of the message we cannot see or talk about.
I say I am invisible but the Committee says I am not - motives, votives and motivations at odds with each other.
Some days, being a grain of sand in the desert is sufficient - let the wind and earthquakes toss me where they may - I always seem to end up back in this spot.
Fate? Destiny? Invisible Hands at work? Self-delusional self-actualisation? All the same or hardly not the same at all?
The Philosophy of Humour, a growing branch of the Tree of Academic Hair-Splitting. Either that, or the symptoms of the disease of Information Overlording.
Time to contemplate an Indian River Navel Orange, better known as eating lunch.
Opportunists circle and wait.
And so the cycle repeats itself.
Names like Davos and TED float on the air like stray drops of water in a cloudless sky.
I am a regular person in a normal global cultural setting where one group of states of energy assumes self-reflection means independence, denoting species as a label of separateness.
Western Civ is remembered more than taught as the leading mode of designed social structurisation.
The escape clause has escaped.
Six Sigma is news of the weird.
Do you mold your message to appeal to the well-defined edges of lockstepped subcultures?
I am the voice of anonymity, giving form to the random interactions of states of energy we call life.
If "I" do not exist, do I belong here?
All the days and memories of my life are one: me at this moment.
Can I wait for 14,341 days more to have my moment as a momentary telegraph operator relaying a brief message, knowing everything else is 100,000 years of silence until the next messenger acts?
Foolish feuilles.
Sitting and waiting, waiting and sitting, holding malaise at bay.
Needing an agent to maintain the imaginary divide between public and private personas/personae.
Caught in the fiction of life which I have no interest in interrupting, all of us parts of the message we cannot see or talk about.
I say I am invisible but the Committee says I am not - motives, votives and motivations at odds with each other.
Some days, being a grain of sand in the desert is sufficient - let the wind and earthquakes toss me where they may - I always seem to end up back in this spot.
Fate? Destiny? Invisible Hands at work? Self-delusional self-actualisation? All the same or hardly not the same at all?
The Philosophy of Humour, a growing branch of the Tree of Academic Hair-Splitting. Either that, or the symptoms of the disease of Information Overlording.
Time to contemplate an Indian River Navel Orange, better known as eating lunch.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Does Yesterday Exist
Are the shares of stock I own the same today as they were yesterday? After all, their prices have fluctuated and price is a significant component of a stock's descriptor set.
Do you know how to move the local/state/national/international conversation?
Do you know how to call on your armies of minions to write columns of nonsense that passes off as news which doesn't have to make sense except in the moment they were released?
Watching the predictions come true is not the same as watching my wishes come true.
As I've mentioned, my personal beliefs and desires do not align with what we're making our species do (remember, free will is the illusion we perpetuate to get your willing participation in the social experiment).
I am spending too much time in 2011 inserting my personality into the story of our lives together as told in this virtual parallel universe.
Through analysis of self, I have determined this narcissistic tendency reflects my lack of getting what I want.
As the leader of the executive staff of the large political entity which has a great influence on the world in which our species mainly resides prepares to speak about what he is doing to fulfill the wishes of the nation but not necessarily his own, I ask myself what is it that I want for myself.
It is an issue that doesn't seem to go away.
The difference between the public and private persona changes with time and social desire/worries of the day.
What parts of the real me do I reveal in this space where the public me speaks openly?
There are no mind readers, only well-trained, highly-intuitive behaviourists.
Thus, my thought set is my own, however much an external analysis of what I discuss or don't discuss here says about who I am.
My paper journals paint a picture similar to the one here.
My conversations in the moment reflect my support of those around me.
These are thoughts I have repeated many times to myself.
They are thoughts that don't seem to go away.
Shall I dig a little deeper?
What if I told myself that my support of those around me is unnecessary and if I changed the direction of where I am heading, they would adjust accordingly (or not - it wouldn't matter)?
I knew this would be a difficult year for me and the ripple effect of my comments, beliefs, emotions, etc., during this transition year will spread and effect/affect others.
The rate at which the world population grows wiser is increasing greatly, making the ability to prevent outbursts of chaotic, revolutionary movement more difficult, because people still live as people on a 24-hour sleep/wake cycle, while the effective changes that we want to push out to the people need to occur more rapidly.
How, then, do we "upgrade" people on a massive scale quickly?
Technological advances in the form of external devices - computers, smartphones, etc. - do not change the body's need to process mental changes in one's sleep.
In some ways, the beast is loose and so, too, the best is loose in the form of grassroots electronic social media.
Mass media belongs to the masses.
The horse is out of the barn.
Change agents are important in speeding up change, and we should be acutely aware of their presence, but even they have to deal with the circadian cycle.
Robo-agents are no better.
We are not robots who can be rebooted easily, despite science fiction suppositional tracts touting such.
After Egyptian protests, where is the next uprising going to occur that will result in permanent change on a national scale?
Who is the next Lech Walesa? And if such is not possible anymore, "who" is the next set of social media influences that behaves as if it's one person?
The same for the geniuses. How is social media creating groups of people who act as one person, developing genius-level ideas together at once?
The positive side of groupthink.
And can we accelerate these activities without overcoming the circadian cycle?
If not, that's okay.
We still have personal wants and needs that don't jive with the group.
Hold the course steady, helmsman. Full speed ahead! My stock prices are about to blow this ship out of the water.
Do you know how to move the local/state/national/international conversation?
Do you know how to call on your armies of minions to write columns of nonsense that passes off as news which doesn't have to make sense except in the moment they were released?
Watching the predictions come true is not the same as watching my wishes come true.
As I've mentioned, my personal beliefs and desires do not align with what we're making our species do (remember, free will is the illusion we perpetuate to get your willing participation in the social experiment).
I am spending too much time in 2011 inserting my personality into the story of our lives together as told in this virtual parallel universe.
Through analysis of self, I have determined this narcissistic tendency reflects my lack of getting what I want.
As the leader of the executive staff of the large political entity which has a great influence on the world in which our species mainly resides prepares to speak about what he is doing to fulfill the wishes of the nation but not necessarily his own, I ask myself what is it that I want for myself.
It is an issue that doesn't seem to go away.
The difference between the public and private persona changes with time and social desire/worries of the day.
What parts of the real me do I reveal in this space where the public me speaks openly?
There are no mind readers, only well-trained, highly-intuitive behaviourists.
Thus, my thought set is my own, however much an external analysis of what I discuss or don't discuss here says about who I am.
My paper journals paint a picture similar to the one here.
My conversations in the moment reflect my support of those around me.
These are thoughts I have repeated many times to myself.
They are thoughts that don't seem to go away.
Shall I dig a little deeper?
What if I told myself that my support of those around me is unnecessary and if I changed the direction of where I am heading, they would adjust accordingly (or not - it wouldn't matter)?
I knew this would be a difficult year for me and the ripple effect of my comments, beliefs, emotions, etc., during this transition year will spread and effect/affect others.
The rate at which the world population grows wiser is increasing greatly, making the ability to prevent outbursts of chaotic, revolutionary movement more difficult, because people still live as people on a 24-hour sleep/wake cycle, while the effective changes that we want to push out to the people need to occur more rapidly.
How, then, do we "upgrade" people on a massive scale quickly?
Technological advances in the form of external devices - computers, smartphones, etc. - do not change the body's need to process mental changes in one's sleep.
In some ways, the beast is loose and so, too, the best is loose in the form of grassroots electronic social media.
Mass media belongs to the masses.
The horse is out of the barn.
Change agents are important in speeding up change, and we should be acutely aware of their presence, but even they have to deal with the circadian cycle.
Robo-agents are no better.
We are not robots who can be rebooted easily, despite science fiction suppositional tracts touting such.
After Egyptian protests, where is the next uprising going to occur that will result in permanent change on a national scale?
Who is the next Lech Walesa? And if such is not possible anymore, "who" is the next set of social media influences that behaves as if it's one person?
The same for the geniuses. How is social media creating groups of people who act as one person, developing genius-level ideas together at once?
The positive side of groupthink.
And can we accelerate these activities without overcoming the circadian cycle?
If not, that's okay.
We still have personal wants and needs that don't jive with the group.
Hold the course steady, helmsman. Full speed ahead! My stock prices are about to blow this ship out of the water.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
3D Sensory Perception
As daffodils push their leaves up out of the ground, I see birds in the tree limbs overhead.
But I cannot hear them.
The whistling of tinnitus is louder than normal today.
And with that, I have lost part of my former normal hearing.
And with that, I have lost part of my three-dimensional sensory perception (or 4D, if you consider time of flight (of sound and birds)).
The second time my wife and I met, at age 14, we hiked five days on the Appalachian Trail. Ten years later, we married.
My reputation at that time earned me the nickname "Eagle Eyes" because I could hear many sounds others couldn't and would identify the source of many of the sounds, usually birds, accurately.
Boy Scout training, in that case, taught me to pull order out of the chaos of background noise.
Now, much of what I see and hear is background noise again.
Would that I could write a violin piece for someone like Anne-Sophie Mutter and hear all the subharmonics!
Perhaps I could convince my wife that I prefer hikes on the AT to walking through shopping districts and tourist traps?
I don't remember as many birds or their sounds as I used to, but then again I can't hear them, so there is a symmetry to my forgetfulness.
To see the silence of space from a suborbital craft would suit me just fine, I'm sure.
Today is a time for quiet meditation.
No need to see or hear much.
My curiosity is not piqued.
Small piles of glommed-together snowflakes melt under the pelt of rain.
Give in to the tinnitus, sssssssssssss...
Give in to a morning lost, zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
But I cannot hear them.
The whistling of tinnitus is louder than normal today.
And with that, I have lost part of my former normal hearing.
And with that, I have lost part of my three-dimensional sensory perception (or 4D, if you consider time of flight (of sound and birds)).
The second time my wife and I met, at age 14, we hiked five days on the Appalachian Trail. Ten years later, we married.
My reputation at that time earned me the nickname "Eagle Eyes" because I could hear many sounds others couldn't and would identify the source of many of the sounds, usually birds, accurately.
Boy Scout training, in that case, taught me to pull order out of the chaos of background noise.
Now, much of what I see and hear is background noise again.
Would that I could write a violin piece for someone like Anne-Sophie Mutter and hear all the subharmonics!
Perhaps I could convince my wife that I prefer hikes on the AT to walking through shopping districts and tourist traps?
I don't remember as many birds or their sounds as I used to, but then again I can't hear them, so there is a symmetry to my forgetfulness.
To see the silence of space from a suborbital craft would suit me just fine, I'm sure.
Today is a time for quiet meditation.
No need to see or hear much.
My curiosity is not piqued.
Small piles of glommed-together snowflakes melt under the pelt of rain.
Give in to the tinnitus, sssssssssssss...
Give in to a morning lost, zzzzzzzzzzzzzz...
Sunday, January 16, 2011
A Self-Guiding Auto Tour
Many of the icicles are gone.
But the bent gutter lingers on.
Birds are not as desperate for an easy meal.
The star radiates and exposed surfaces warm.
We go about our rituals in harmony with others.
Simple sentences, in part, impart simple images.
How many of us spend our whole days going from one simple sentence to another?
A life sentence, n'est pas?
Therefore, I return to the box full of circles and spirals.
Which ones shall I repeat, alomost word for word?
Should I put on my linguist/cryptographer hat and create a new method of communication?
Speaking in tongues - using music or abstract art - and playing the melodious interactions of my social species any way I please?
Are you more interested in the magician's sleight-of-hand or the magician's lifestyle choices?
Reading thought sets that contain little in the area of new ideas (through no fault of their own, either because of rote training or innate tendencies) reveals where the sewer pipes run or the septic tank and field lines lie.
Humour informs and it also teaches.
I have the legs but do I want to stand on my own two feet and take responsibility for what my humour can reveal to those wanting to develop new habits of thinking?
Or is my journey a solo trip through lands where tribes and clans proudly protect rituals that have worked for many a generation?
So easy to fall back on the thought that the time in which I live is the enlightened one.
Modern conveniences become inconvenient by comparison.
Postcards, slates and wall paintings still have their uses.
This is one of at least 14,355 blocks of modern communications left to communicate that which has not yet been spoken and that which has not been rehashed one more time.
I do not want to disturb those who comfortably enjoy their ageless rituals.
And those like me, who already know what's going on, already know what's going on and what will continue to occur in one cycle or spiral or another.
I wish I could give the curious the encouraging knowledge that unveiling what the illusion of the universe covers up changes the world in a fundamental way.
The set of thoughts that define how you see the world changes.
But trees are still trees and squirrels are still nuts about nuts.
And I am still a childless ol' coot living out a lifelong childhood because I have no personal need to take the parented world seriously.
So, in my imaginary world of fairness, I don't think it's right that I expose to all groups what any one group of parents is teaching their children about/against other groups at any one time.
I can only hope to find where the membranes of subcultural cells are permeable (or semipermeable) and hope there's a common substance of an idea that they'll share on an equally healthy basis, no matter how healthy or unhealthy a particular cell/subculture may be, now, in the past or in the future.
All I know is all is all.
States of energy.
Simple thoughts for a slowly deteriorating simple person who seeks to uncomplicate his simple life.
All while building up the courage and energy to describe a set of conditions where states of energy do not exist.
As the saying goes, how do you describe time to a one-dimensional dot?
What's the point of having the power of the universe if the universe is such a tiny thing in comparison to something else?
The misdirection of humour - use it wisely - it is the only universal truth.
But the bent gutter lingers on.
Birds are not as desperate for an easy meal.
The star radiates and exposed surfaces warm.
We go about our rituals in harmony with others.
Simple sentences, in part, impart simple images.
How many of us spend our whole days going from one simple sentence to another?
A life sentence, n'est pas?
Therefore, I return to the box full of circles and spirals.
Which ones shall I repeat, alomost word for word?
Should I put on my linguist/cryptographer hat and create a new method of communication?
Speaking in tongues - using music or abstract art - and playing the melodious interactions of my social species any way I please?
Are you more interested in the magician's sleight-of-hand or the magician's lifestyle choices?
Reading thought sets that contain little in the area of new ideas (through no fault of their own, either because of rote training or innate tendencies) reveals where the sewer pipes run or the septic tank and field lines lie.
Humour informs and it also teaches.
I have the legs but do I want to stand on my own two feet and take responsibility for what my humour can reveal to those wanting to develop new habits of thinking?
Or is my journey a solo trip through lands where tribes and clans proudly protect rituals that have worked for many a generation?
So easy to fall back on the thought that the time in which I live is the enlightened one.
Modern conveniences become inconvenient by comparison.
Postcards, slates and wall paintings still have their uses.
This is one of at least 14,355 blocks of modern communications left to communicate that which has not yet been spoken and that which has not been rehashed one more time.
I do not want to disturb those who comfortably enjoy their ageless rituals.
And those like me, who already know what's going on, already know what's going on and what will continue to occur in one cycle or spiral or another.
I wish I could give the curious the encouraging knowledge that unveiling what the illusion of the universe covers up changes the world in a fundamental way.
The set of thoughts that define how you see the world changes.
But trees are still trees and squirrels are still nuts about nuts.
And I am still a childless ol' coot living out a lifelong childhood because I have no personal need to take the parented world seriously.
So, in my imaginary world of fairness, I don't think it's right that I expose to all groups what any one group of parents is teaching their children about/against other groups at any one time.
I can only hope to find where the membranes of subcultural cells are permeable (or semipermeable) and hope there's a common substance of an idea that they'll share on an equally healthy basis, no matter how healthy or unhealthy a particular cell/subculture may be, now, in the past or in the future.
All I know is all is all.
States of energy.
Simple thoughts for a slowly deteriorating simple person who seeks to uncomplicate his simple life.
All while building up the courage and energy to describe a set of conditions where states of energy do not exist.
As the saying goes, how do you describe time to a one-dimensional dot?
What's the point of having the power of the universe if the universe is such a tiny thing in comparison to something else?
The misdirection of humour - use it wisely - it is the only universal truth.
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