Sunday, June 24, 2007

STATIONARY TOURIST


at birth, a baby knows it’s everything
the lips, the nipple, the milk, the poop
the shifting changes beyond reach
awaken virgin curiosity
about the rest of itself
the joys of tasting toes
smearing shit on the crib slats
bring giggle bubbles of happiness
while the pains of falling
and withheld affection
bring blubbering wedges of sobs
fragmenting the oneness
into the parts that keep the love
and face another day
amongst growing otherness

a period of experimenting
with why and what to be
from whom to seek acceptance
while being shown the lines
of sanity, propriety,
allegiance and success
begins to wind the toy
makes a man of a boy
stacking boxes over here
dreams of sailing over there
grindstone disfiguring the head
‘til nothing touches any more


who sees through my eyes?
who am i, looking through these eyes?
whence this quiet, staggering love
at getting a wordless smiling nod?
these chuckles of sadness
these tears of joy

what recognizes the oneness of its parts?
the question goes within
to the center of each
to see through the eyes of all
where the quest takes curiosity
a'sampling scales of time and space
atoms are great galaxies
and light years, nanoseconds
eternal mobius loop this universe
always in the middle
here now
endlessly observing
ceaseless change

a long way to go to realize
the baby was right
thinking i had to say so
all the while.


i must be going to seed

Friday, June 22, 2007

…TOOK OUT HIS HAMMER AND SAW

Hale-Bopp

In ‘96 Hale-Bopp comet was on its way to Earth and I got caught up in the stir about the possibilities supposed about its companion, a relatively smaller body following it. One source of news was Art Bell’s Coast to Coast overnight radio program from just outside area 51. There seemed to be no deviation of starlight reaching earth as the companion’s path passed past giving fuel to the speculation that the intelligible radio waves picked up were from a hollow space ship. A staff of remote viewers at Emory University described intelligent life. It was all pretty exciting and caused me to use a picture of its approach on the cover of the calendar I produced for ‘97. From this perspective of the present it is easy to see how the lack of coverage from the mainstream media can either prove something doesn’t exist or that it is something being covered up by the dark side of the powers that be. The Hale/Bopp companion dissolved or disappeared before it reached earth and with it intensity of suspicion of the mainstream media, until 9/11/01 when it reemerged full blown with far more obvious evidence. The part of this post in italics below was written for the calendar in '96, but could just as well be written today about the government-media collusion of the entire activities of the Bush administration in place of the possibility of having to admit the existence of UFOs and related black ops.

Once more the perpetual flywheel of spin control is engaged to protect us morons from an occurrence which might expose the proprietary knowledge of our beloved myth manglers and propaganda pushers. But now that something so large and generally obvious as the events of the next few months unfold, church, state and science officials are all scrambling to appear prepared for what they’ve always denied to us out of total contempt for the intelligence of the “common man.” Our leaders are so convinced of the readily manipulatable statistical model of the average man, they’ve come to believe all individuals to be as mindless as the mobs a few of them join. No profitable snake oil salesman can afford to respect his marks. These modern smart-pill purveyors claim national security as an excuse for their duplicity by claiming our culture would dissolve in the presence of a higher one. Which, one hopes it does … before this one eats us out of house and home.

In reality they just don’t want to loose the reins on this snazzy system of bleeding the public trough. Their evidence for cultural collapse upon which this need-to-know alibi is founded has been a history of the confrontations nature-based “primitives” had with our own, western culture’s policy of manifest destiny bulldozing and revisionist, track-paving — hardly a higher culture — merely the planetary neighborhood bully with a greater greed for ownership and planet altering artifice in order to feel at home in Eden. Many meals, no nourishment.

I’ve never felt the threat supposedly intended by the curse, “May you i've in interesting times.” I hope it poses none to you either, for 1997 promises to be most interesting. I suppose the threat is proportional to the weight of the sacred cow or the height of the ivory tower one’s made of conclusions and/or beliefs … as truth always has been. I don’t know which I relish more about this threshold between history and intuition, the learning of the truth or the spectacle of the knowledge elitists trying to cover their lying asses. The comet’s nearest approach is due in March and April.



Once, with four dear friends, I participated in the phenomenal parlor trick that at least half of the people I’ve spoken to of it since have said they’ve done too. It involves one sitting relaxed in a chair while the others array themselves about the first, one each at the right and left armpit and knee. I’ve heard of variations on the preparatory unifying ritual but I know that ours certainly bound our energies into something as unexplainable and other worldly as hypnosis and ufos. We each, beginning with the person at the left armpit put our palm-down, open left hand above the head of the seated person and hand of the person counterclockwise to us in clockwise turn, continuing with the right hands over all the lefts but none touching, just hovering. We then considered the unity for a silent moment and withdrew the hands in reverse order. Then each standing person placed their two pointing fingers together like a steeple or a divining rod under their respective arm pit and knee back and lifted. For me, the sensation was more like following the body into the air than lifting my share of 280 pounds! It seemed that the gestalt of our intent was an exponential enhancement of the total of our individual contribution. I’ve also been curious as to why such phenomena are passed over as party tricks rather than followed up.

One offshoot of that Hale-Bopp companion rumor/theory interest was that I began to research remote viewing, download a ream of instructions, read Courtney Brown’s Cosmic Voyage and experiment with a friend with very interesting results. While sitting upon my seat of moss in my shed of jasmine partaking of the coffee bean and other evils lurking in nature this sunrise, the juxtaposition of internet, remote viewing and the exponential growth of efficacy to be found in unified hearts and minds it dawned on me what a wonderful opportunity we have to check out our remote viewing skills in numbers limited only by membership to a blog of seriously interested, naturally curious folks. It would be exceedingly simple:
1. At regular times one member is emailed a, “you’re it.,” message three hours before “It” is to go to any location they choose and sit for the scheduled hour of the session.
2. Everyone else gets an email 5 minutes before the session telling them only the identity of “it,” finds some quiet place undistracted, especially by music, and records, in sketches and single words and phrases, whatever comes to their mind’s eye when meditating on the whereabouts of “it.”
3. Resulting sketches will be scanned or photographed and posted by the participants and
4. a panoramic view of the random location will be photographed by “it” during the hour and posted for comparison.

I think it is a killer idea, if I do say so myself, and am hereby calling on kindred curiosities to come forward and make this unity of effort an enhancement of the power within each of us to do so much more than play follow the leader within the box when we can expand into the universe sitting right where we are.

Monday, June 18, 2007

PECKING ORDER


Here at the dawgranch we have chickens. Though I don’t eat their eggs I do watch them go about their ceaseless search for and gobble of food. After several years of keeping them behind fence, the chicken keeper, Donna, has relaxed into allowing them free reign of the property, which has yet to come near being too little for their widest scavenges and they return to their roost at the same shade of twilight every evening, so the door to the coop hasn’t been shut for months. Now that they are free to roam as far from the rest as they feel safe, the entire characteristic of societal pecking order has disappeared owing to its obvious uselessness on the free range of the yard.

When I was in the first grade the only thing I remember lacking was the prestige of the third graders; in junior high, high-schoolers; as a private, corporals; as a freshman, seniors; as a junior engineer, senior engineers; as a seven handicapper, a scratch golfer. Once the space between stepping stones begins requiring reconsideration of ones commitment to youthful promises and affording the time for such meditation … one has pecked ones way far enough from the ratty status race to observe life without frantic expedience and to honestly look back at the clucking flock pecking the fucking clock and question the need for the security found within such company. That same point in accumulated experience has been popularly referred to as mid-life crisis, where the life choice can be to either take a revelationary journey inward and outward simultaneously in the stillness one may find there or to rededicate oneself to carrying that carrot stick until, if one lives so long, it is too heavy to do more than afford the rest of life in a doctor’s pocket.

I ate the carrot at the age of thirty-four in 1972 and haven’t had to do anything since — I have certainly gotten to do much more than I could have experienced back in the coop. Set your chickens free.

EMPIREVANGELISM

I don’t see much difference between Evangelism and Imperialism. The xenophobia of being aware of the frightened limits of ones culture that must be lied about to maintain control of either when provoked by independent thinkers, other national agendas and the fear they set loose. All too often the innocent reminder is taken to be the repository of such malicious suspicions and duly assigned membership in the latest axis of evil, so jealous, we are told, they are of the truer truth of our freedom to indulge in consumer driven glut … whether they want it or not. Feeling fear of the unknown may be understood to be its own punishment — anything more curious only lends value to wisdom’s evolution. How, in the name of love, does not knowing something make it an evil deserving conversion, conscription or conquest. That’s how governments and most Christians act and they hardly know their enemy beyond their need to be annexed into the xenophobic exclusivity of Christianity to “make the world safe for America.” Which came first the priest inserting himself between individuals and their “inner sense” to reap the guilty tithe on its way to God's heavenly bank or megalomaniacal control-junkie politicians inserting themselves between sheep addicted to fear in the present and the better life they keep promising, or else … you're either a sinner or a terrorist. Get over it.

In recent days my daughter has found new vigor from her close encounter of the Jesus kind which, her being of my genetic disposition, has driven her to test it on what must be her idea of the ultimate heathen, so to speak, me. While she believed me especially adverse to Christianity, I pleaded equal opportunity religious apathy. Just as I noted then, Buddhism gets my nod because it doesn’t require belief, I note now that Christianity is the only religion so exclusive as to insist on being the only truth (each of its umptydozen exclusive variations, including my sister's) and driven to convert the world to make it unanimous (to finally believe it themselves, maybe). This post is the result of contemplating her concerns about me roasting in hell and my concerns about US imperialism doing the same thing to earth, and how, although she claims to have her own personal interpretation of the Bible and Jesus’ love, not to be confused with all the evidence of intolerant atrocity in the history of Christianity, the one key element most obnoxious about that history, evangelism, is her one key method of expressing her own belief and regret that we won't be in heaven together. Give me a fucking break. Whatever such truth is, it must be artifice if it requires exclusive belief, faith, trust, and a sorely, poorly envisioned one if it needs world wide allegiance for well meaning Christians to find peace on earth. Truth doesn't need belief, it has always been everyones experience beyond our faithful, trusty wall of filters requiring constant maintenance following belief manual.

Love doesn't hurt and truth is in plain sight for everyone. Exclusivity harms and hides both for the excluder.

Wednesday, June 13, 2007

IF IT AIN'T FREE, IT AIN'T LOVE


A sight for your sore eyes only
Sun's shadow in deep water


I don’t see much difference between happiness and love. The gratitude for being aware of the expanse of one’s life that lies at the heart of either when evoked by internal observations of external events and objects and the ideas they set loose. All too often the innocent reminder is taken to be the repository for such feelings and duly assigned the post of obedient guardian … whether they want it or not. Feeling love for anything may be understood to be its own happy unqualified reward — anything less freely felt only cheapens it. How, in the name of love, does loving someone invoke a debt requiring their obedient fidelity? That’s how governments act and they hardly know each other, much less envisioned unqualified love beyond the diplomatic smiley face mask. Which came first the individual cells playing king of the hill against each other or the body of the government playing king of the planet from the top of the hill? Hiyo, Pyramid, and away.

In a recent exchange with a friend I love without qualification she said, “the proof of real love is how much it hurts!” I can only think the only thing hurting are the ego’s too old and stiff qualifications being asked to stretch too far. Whatever such love is, it must be artifice if it can’t get around it. A good idea includes everything.

Monday, June 04, 2007

THE CATS AND ME

Vera guards the garden

Here I am, reading Cornel West’s Democracy Matters in the middle of the night, being emptied of my white illusions by acknowledgment of black realities of the past, silently swearing a more considerate behavior in the future and chasing a stray away from my cats’ food in the present — a hypocrite before uttering a word, an imperialist without a nation and a racist in the world of animals.

I resisted assuming the care and feeding of Priest and Vera when their mistress abandoned them in their kittenhood to elope with her feline fearing fiancé. I’d lost a friend of fifteen years fifteen years before and swore to never again suffer such devastation as pets are so likely to bring to their longer lived human lovers. But I was hooked by their character and affection and my fiercely independent hermit island became a country as we three patrolled the land of our yard and tended the resources of our garden. Our population established limits when the vet did for them what a vasectomy had done for me years before.

Our happy company attracts lonely strays born wild to feral parents who themselves were born again upon surviving escape from paper placentas in which they were cast somewhere upstream into the waters of the river by which we live. When their hunger over comes their fear and I am nowhere in sight, they sniff out the abundance of the bowl to gorge themselves on easier prey than the bugs, birds and reptiles in the woods. Until this night I’ve chased them off. Until this night I’ve thought of the blues as whiney music. Until this night I could not comprehend the revulsion I felt from my country’s self preserving hypocrisy, xenophobic racism and imperialistic arrogance. As the sun rises I find a lot of work to do at home. No solution in sight but the problem clear as day.

Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within” - James BaldwinPriest regards his dreams

Saturday, June 02, 2007

CAPITALISM WITH THE CONSCIENCE OF SOCIALISM?

Although I recognize no form of governance for my personal life other than obedience to nature’s requirements for symbiosis, given the culturally evolved tendency of humans to collect themselves in groups too large and dense to provide for their own health and welfare, I see democracy to be the most fair way yet devised for people to govern themselves to approximate a life least governed — most personally determined. That said, I would put many limits on democracy to maintain what little efficacy it affords, most of which involve the quantity governed to maintain the quality of life of its adherents.

Western civilization is a prime example of the abuse of quantity to the detriment of quality from groups too large to be equitably governed to governance too imposing for the exercise of their free will. The size of the population creates problems with the idea of democracy being a representative system by virtue of having to choose complete strangers as representatives giving rise to only those who can afford advertising to make themselves appear to be less a stranger. Once money becomes the major factor, democracy is indistinguishable from the feudal system of royalty and peasants — hardly representative at all. In control of the rich, such groups take on the characteristics of corporations’ hostile take over of other groups with the top executives lining their silver pockets with the end product of those whom they claim to serve, the bottom line.

The oxymoron of being dictated to by ones servants has come to be known as the struggle of politics, the sport in which one team is manned by the owners of the stadium and wannbes who want a stadium of their own one day, the Suits versus the Skins, the other team peopled by those who would just as soon not be playing the game at all, but do, to preserve any semblance of individual lives and free will if they want to continue life in the arena of western civilization. The mascots of the two teams have changed over the years – Royals vs peasants, Lords vs Commons, Management vs Labor, Haves vs Have-nots, Right vs Left – until the present where it seems to be Capitalists vs Socialists. Being a product of the present, I am most familiar with these latter teams having played on both in action and sympathy. Neither represent absolutes since capitalism requires the product of the people and socialism requires the resources of the rich to distribute wealth fairly – neither could exist without the other. Nothing wrong with either unless the bugaboo of unlimited quantity of control on either side destroys the quality of life in the balance of their dynamic.

Control requires acquiescence through fear or addiction on the part of the controlled at least as much as the heartless willingness to treat ones fellow man as fodder to feed a greed for ultimate control by exploiting such weakness. The only way to corner the market is to convince everyone of their inability to provide the latest “necessity of life” for themselves. I have never lived in a group under Socialist control, and may have only rarely witnessed the balance of the two. Only in my adulthood have I become aware of the perversions of democracy in the control of berserker capitalism.

As a younger man I was enthralled by Ayn Rand’s Objectivism in its fierce championing of the individual and insistence that her fellow humans realize their own individual potential before considering themselves to have anything of benefit to offer society other than another hole in its pocket. I have never understood the willingness of socialists to call her a champion of the greedy, exploitive excesses of capitalism. But every side needs a boogie man I suppose, and rampant capitalism has a plethora of such anathema.

I have recognized how the inherited power of royalty through the artifice of marriage has evolved into the inherited power of money through the artifice of merger once corporations were declared individuals eligible for all the rights of a fellow human. I have witnessed how the commons have become further separated from the lords when viewed as the poor and the rich in today’s perfected abuse of capitalism’s profit motive. Other than hunting or husbanding ones own food the variety of human endeavors find incentive in the profit with which to purchase food and culturally acquired tastes for a quality of life which one feels unfit or unwilling to grow or create for oneself. Land and factory ownership provides resources which the labor of the foodless may convert into products in exchange for tokens to be used to purchase the very food and products their labor just provided. I know, I know, when stated in such plain words, capitalism sounds like just another con game in control of owners.

Ah, the crux of ownership, the evolution of nature’s territorial imperative, when combined with imperial greed and irresponsible indolence results in the overwhelming majority of modern suffering. The stair steps of status in a class society are built as much from lack of personal responsibility as from exploitation of such lack on the part of those willing to claim ownership.

On paper socialism would appear to be the ideal arrangement for the sharing of profitable prosperity until the demands of the indolent suffocates the productivity of the potent and economy becomes a deficit to all.

On paper the system of capitalism would appear to be the ideal arrangement for cooperative prosperity until profits create such a gulf between the poor and the rich that envy and greed come to loggerheads and we get strikes, martial law and international warfare as human potential gluts and drains humanity in one fell swoop.

It is a chicken and the egg conundrum as to whether irresponsibility encourages exploitation or domineering greed enslaves craven servitude, but it certainly describes the imbalance that destroys our potential for cooperatively shared peace. The willingness to be carried is no more innocent than the willingness to cripple, but there you have it. Maybe.