I've been trying to get a better handle on what Sartre means by his introduction of the concept of "bad faith". Sometimes I get insight about what Sartre declares in his book Being And Nothingness by reading what other people write about their own thoughts of Sartre's notion of bad faith. He devotes and entire chapter to bad faith, and I've read it carefully. There were many times (practically on every page of a 800 page book) I went back to the beginning of the chapter and re-read the whole thing up to the point where I got stuck. It took months for me to wade through it in order to prepare myself to understand his point. Reading around, bad faith may in essence BE his only point, but it's a good one, that is, if I catch his drift.
Recently, I've been reading about how he thinks homo sapiens have two consciousness'. When I'm reading along I understand why he writes what he does, but when I leave off from the state I enter to read him, I don't carry the immediacy of my understanding with me. I find it almost impossible to reflect on the meaning (me-and-thee-ing) of what I just read. If you're interested, here's the link to Bad Faith in Wikipedia:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Bad_faith_(existentialism)
What I read seems connected to the two kinds of consciousness he says humans have. The "bad faith" happens because of the polarity and concerns of the two consciousness'. It happens because human beings have no choice about freedom. They're free whether they like it or not. That's one side of the argument. One of the two consciousness' acts like this is so.
The other consciousness doesn't wanna take on the responsibility of human freedom. Human beings can't make some Earthly object God to get out of the need to take responsibility for their being the way they are, and declare themselves twice-born and "saved" by the shirking of this innate responsibility of freedom.
Shirking one's responsibility to their own inherent freedom to choose to do anything and everything a slightly different way exhibits bad faith with the other dimension of consciousness because it's not acting from one's own authenticity. s
I do not attempt to tell the God's own truth here because I don't know what the truth is or hardly ever. I try to capture the drifting thoughts that randomly appear in my imagination for reasons I may not understand. I don't know if the content I capture with these words is true or false. The Comments settings are turned off to prevent me from having to defend what amounts to little more than fanciful, sometime crude speculation. Great moments in our lives never return.
Saturday, January 31, 2009
Friday, January 30, 2009
The Voice That Became God
I've only "heard" voices that I knew were "that" kind of voice twice. I've written many times about these two occasions. It wasn't "voices". There was only one voice each time. The first time i "heard" it, it said "Stop using the I Ching." The second time I "heard" this voice it told me to "Stop eating bananas." Both times I was doing what it told me to stop doing to excess.
In regard to using the I Ching I was totally obsessed. I sometime consulted the oracle to find out if I should make a telephone call or watch the news on TV. I was outta control. I knew what the voice meant when it told me to stop consulting the Yellow Book.
I never thought about the color "yellow" being prominent in both occasions. Bananas are yellow. It was easy for an obsessive personality like mine to get hooked on anything. Much less banana sandwiches. I would buy a small stalk of bananas, a loaf of white sandwich bread, a jar of Duke's mayonnaise, and a gallon of cheap burgundy, and I was good with the food thing for a week. I wouldn't eat anything else but banana sandwiches for a month or more. It was too easy. i guess that was a little excessive, and called for divine intervention.
Stopping, and then keeping my stopping still was fairly easy with the bananas. I may have been getting a little tired of banana sandwiches without being told to. Stopping my use of the I Ching as an oracle and book of wisdom was one of the most difficult habits I've ever had to break in my life.
I'm writing about "voices" because I read an article that included Jung's views on what a vocation is. Whenever I've heard or read the term "vocation" I usually think about a job or career. Certainly no more than that. I didn't associate it with voices at all until i read the Jung opinion and researched the root words for vocal.
I didn't realize that vocation started with the first three letters of vocal. I didn't associate what I'd heard spelled out as "a calling" as indicating a person responding to a voice they heard in their own subjective world. I figured a person who heard voices were probably just as crazy as me.
I'm not really all that crazy. Just daring. I'm the kind of person who will take a dare. I'll put my life on the line. It's a wonder I haven't lost it. The reason is that I am ready to explain why I took the dare before I take it. That's not as daring as it might seem to those who find it impossible to defend their own experience with God.
In regard to using the I Ching I was totally obsessed. I sometime consulted the oracle to find out if I should make a telephone call or watch the news on TV. I was outta control. I knew what the voice meant when it told me to stop consulting the Yellow Book.
I never thought about the color "yellow" being prominent in both occasions. Bananas are yellow. It was easy for an obsessive personality like mine to get hooked on anything. Much less banana sandwiches. I would buy a small stalk of bananas, a loaf of white sandwich bread, a jar of Duke's mayonnaise, and a gallon of cheap burgundy, and I was good with the food thing for a week. I wouldn't eat anything else but banana sandwiches for a month or more. It was too easy. i guess that was a little excessive, and called for divine intervention.
Stopping, and then keeping my stopping still was fairly easy with the bananas. I may have been getting a little tired of banana sandwiches without being told to. Stopping my use of the I Ching as an oracle and book of wisdom was one of the most difficult habits I've ever had to break in my life.
I'm writing about "voices" because I read an article that included Jung's views on what a vocation is. Whenever I've heard or read the term "vocation" I usually think about a job or career. Certainly no more than that. I didn't associate it with voices at all until i read the Jung opinion and researched the root words for vocal.
I didn't realize that vocation started with the first three letters of vocal. I didn't associate what I'd heard spelled out as "a calling" as indicating a person responding to a voice they heard in their own subjective world. I figured a person who heard voices were probably just as crazy as me.
I'm not really all that crazy. Just daring. I'm the kind of person who will take a dare. I'll put my life on the line. It's a wonder I haven't lost it. The reason is that I am ready to explain why I took the dare before I take it. That's not as daring as it might seem to those who find it impossible to defend their own experience with God.
Thursday, January 29, 2009
My Fair Lady
It's been a couple of weeks since I stopped consuming dairy products. At least the products I know contain dairy. The problems I've had defecating have gone away for the time being. I don't know if this is just a temporary lull or something i can depend on. I think that when I found out that dairy was okay on the low-carb Atkins-type diet I was following, I guess I went a little crazy, and indeed, overboard with the dairy thing. Especially cheese. Oops, I just realized when I wrote about cheese, that I am eating cheese crackers. Damn! I love those little crackers. This may not be that much of a problem as long as i don't overdo it.
In an odd sort of way I'm trying to reduce my diet to it's most simple elements of what i need physically, not psychologically. I seem convinced that what I need psychologically is getting the best of me. I weigh 250 pounds. That's at least fifty more pounds than I weighed when I got outta high school with a 32 inch (81 cm) waist. I'm down to two pair of pants I can get into, and my belt is in it's last notch, and too tight. What a drag, man.
The side-effect of nausea that comes with the territory of this prescription drug methotrexate has a lot to do with what tastes "acceptable" to me. Last night I ate an avocado with some mayonnaise, salt, and pepper, and could barely get it down my gullet. Lots of foods are affecting me this way. To the point, practically, that if I ate only what i could reasonably stomach I'd starve to death. If I'm gonna starve to death, then there's no sense in taking this medicine that makes me feel like I'm dying.
More and more, as time goes by, I'm impressed that people do what they do to impress a certain person or clique or crowd or group or class of society. I deliberately accuse some people of behaving this way in the e-mail discussion groups I participate in, and their response to such an accusation seems excessive at times. They don't wanna be accused of such a thing. They don't seem to wanna be so obvious.
What I'm writing about is like being in a room full of lusty young men who are chatting away about guy things, and a beautiful, impregnable woman enters that room. Procreation with all it's rituals comes into play, and all's fair in love and war. I made myself sensitive to this sort of interchanges between people when they're responding or reacting primarily to instinct.
I think this is one of the primary reasons I can't be married or even live with a woman for very long, in the past. I've written "in the past", because I've been fairly abstinent for the last thirty years. By having a vasectomy done around 1980, I have effectively been neutered, and I'm not moved by these dynamics except out of habit, and that habit has been culled out over time. I get to watch other people react to primary instinctual behavior who might swear it was not their motivation. Yes, it is.
When I was reading again in Sartre's Being and Nothingness he said that "desire" was the foundation of the for-itself, and when desire no longer operated as an incentive, then the for-itself was non-existent. I haven't mulled this tidbit around enough to get a sense of whether it's true for me or no, but it's beginning to look like it just might be so.
I eat different foods in runs. Recently, it's been frying up pork sausage, then frying some eggs in the grease it leaves in the skillet. Very tasty. I've been making a sausage and egg sandwich using sourdough bread slathered with copious amounts of Duke's mayonnaise, and that's all. Salt and pepper, maybe, and I'm good to go. It goes really well with cheap red burgundy.
In an odd sort of way I'm trying to reduce my diet to it's most simple elements of what i need physically, not psychologically. I seem convinced that what I need psychologically is getting the best of me. I weigh 250 pounds. That's at least fifty more pounds than I weighed when I got outta high school with a 32 inch (81 cm) waist. I'm down to two pair of pants I can get into, and my belt is in it's last notch, and too tight. What a drag, man.
The side-effect of nausea that comes with the territory of this prescription drug methotrexate has a lot to do with what tastes "acceptable" to me. Last night I ate an avocado with some mayonnaise, salt, and pepper, and could barely get it down my gullet. Lots of foods are affecting me this way. To the point, practically, that if I ate only what i could reasonably stomach I'd starve to death. If I'm gonna starve to death, then there's no sense in taking this medicine that makes me feel like I'm dying.
More and more, as time goes by, I'm impressed that people do what they do to impress a certain person or clique or crowd or group or class of society. I deliberately accuse some people of behaving this way in the e-mail discussion groups I participate in, and their response to such an accusation seems excessive at times. They don't wanna be accused of such a thing. They don't seem to wanna be so obvious.
What I'm writing about is like being in a room full of lusty young men who are chatting away about guy things, and a beautiful, impregnable woman enters that room. Procreation with all it's rituals comes into play, and all's fair in love and war. I made myself sensitive to this sort of interchanges between people when they're responding or reacting primarily to instinct.
I think this is one of the primary reasons I can't be married or even live with a woman for very long, in the past. I've written "in the past", because I've been fairly abstinent for the last thirty years. By having a vasectomy done around 1980, I have effectively been neutered, and I'm not moved by these dynamics except out of habit, and that habit has been culled out over time. I get to watch other people react to primary instinctual behavior who might swear it was not their motivation. Yes, it is.
When I was reading again in Sartre's Being and Nothingness he said that "desire" was the foundation of the for-itself, and when desire no longer operated as an incentive, then the for-itself was non-existent. I haven't mulled this tidbit around enough to get a sense of whether it's true for me or no, but it's beginning to look like it just might be so.
I eat different foods in runs. Recently, it's been frying up pork sausage, then frying some eggs in the grease it leaves in the skillet. Very tasty. I've been making a sausage and egg sandwich using sourdough bread slathered with copious amounts of Duke's mayonnaise, and that's all. Salt and pepper, maybe, and I'm good to go. It goes really well with cheap red burgundy.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
My Non-existent Nerdiness
I've spent more time reading about solid state drives than I ought to. I read another long review about how this engineer tests the various brands to get the numbers on their performance. He seemed really frustrated. I didn't have to guess that. He wrote it several times himself. The real problem for him, as he seemed to explain it, was the big difference the hardware controllers the contemporary SSDs use. The old default hardware controller that most of the cheaper SSDs use today is much slower, but that is the only real difference in any of the SSDs made by any manufacturer.
I didn't learn much today by reading that long, technical article that I didn't already know from reading other long, technical articles. The flash memory manufacturers who have been around for a while are starting to come out with their own consumer renditions of SSDs with speedy new controllers that really up the ante for the small foundries. Intel/Micron, San Disk, and Samsung, etal., have recently introduced consumer and enterprise level SSDs that have garnered rave reviews for their speed and low usage of power.
When Intel gets into some product line, it's my impression that they have worked out all the kinks, and already figured it's gonna dominate the market or they're not interested. The SSDs they have recently offered to the retail marketers like newegg.com appear to be the cream of the current crop. They want a bunch of money for their new gadget. That's gonna change. It already has. The cheapest Intel SSD they had for sell on newegg a month ago was $600. I just checked it again this morning, and the price was $400. That's a lot more reasonable. Since they use the same SATA cable arrangements as the traditional SATA hard drive, they can be moved to another computer simply.
San Disk just came out with new SSDs that are faster even than Intel's SSDs, and according to what I'm reading online, they're considerably cheaper. I haven't run into much more information on them, but I'm keeping my eyes peeled. The race is on to get a lead share of this new storage device established, and the price is coming down. Computing is gonna get a lot faster in the year to come.
The big deal about SSDs is speed and low power usage. Traditional hard drives magnetically put the information on spinning platters. Moving parts that wear out. Moving parts that use a considerable amount of electricity to keep rotating. Both the spinning and the electricity it uses produces heat inside the computer case. The SSDs do that too, but at maybe an order of magnitude less.
This is the biggest problem laptops and small computers like my Mac Mini have. Traditional hard drives drain the batteries of the laptops more than any other feature, and they are usually the first part of any computer to fail. The SSDs don't have any moving parts and use a minimal of electricity to do what they do, and last a lot longer.
What I wanna do is put an Intel SSD in my Mac Mini. True they last a long longer and they're more reliable in some ways, but the big deal for me would be speed. The cheapest Intel SSD (now $400) would operate in my Mac Mini faster than the fastest rotating hard drive at any price on the market, and I can't put a fast hard drive in my Mac Mini anyway. The power supply isn't powerful enough, and it would get too hot inside that small case.
The Mac Mini uses a laptop hard drive that's very slow. The biggest bottleneck on the computer except for the onboard Intel graphics system is the slow response time of the hard drive. Much of the graphics slowness is due to the slow hard drive. I'd be killing two birds with one stone.
Solid state electronics came along after I studied electronic in the Navy. I studied and learned about vacuum tube circuits. The arrival of solid state transistors had a huge impact on the technical world, and particularly me. I knew just enough about how the technical world was changing into digital components to share the excitement in some small way. The consumer world was bombarded with how reliable they were compared to tubes, and no better example of that that the Sony Walkman portable radios no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. Those were some pretty amazing pre-iPod times.
The traditional 5400 rpm laptop hard drive is practically the only analog part on my little computer. It's the only part of any computer that wears out because of it's moving parts. I really believe if I replace the hard drive in my Mac Mini that it will last much longer than I do, and it will continue to be all the computer I need unless I get antsy. The entire electronic make-up of it would be solid state and practically indestructible with reasonable treatment.
I'm looking forward the the next Apple OS called Snow Leopard. It's gonna be totally 64-bit throughout, including all the system drivers. It'll probably be out before summer, and if I got any money by then I'll probably buy a new computer to go with the OS so there won't be any hardware conflicts. I'm definitely interested in waiting to buy another computer until USB3 is default outta the box. That's gonna change everything, including how SSDs are connected externally.
I didn't learn much today by reading that long, technical article that I didn't already know from reading other long, technical articles. The flash memory manufacturers who have been around for a while are starting to come out with their own consumer renditions of SSDs with speedy new controllers that really up the ante for the small foundries. Intel/Micron, San Disk, and Samsung, etal., have recently introduced consumer and enterprise level SSDs that have garnered rave reviews for their speed and low usage of power.
When Intel gets into some product line, it's my impression that they have worked out all the kinks, and already figured it's gonna dominate the market or they're not interested. The SSDs they have recently offered to the retail marketers like newegg.com appear to be the cream of the current crop. They want a bunch of money for their new gadget. That's gonna change. It already has. The cheapest Intel SSD they had for sell on newegg a month ago was $600. I just checked it again this morning, and the price was $400. That's a lot more reasonable. Since they use the same SATA cable arrangements as the traditional SATA hard drive, they can be moved to another computer simply.
San Disk just came out with new SSDs that are faster even than Intel's SSDs, and according to what I'm reading online, they're considerably cheaper. I haven't run into much more information on them, but I'm keeping my eyes peeled. The race is on to get a lead share of this new storage device established, and the price is coming down. Computing is gonna get a lot faster in the year to come.
The big deal about SSDs is speed and low power usage. Traditional hard drives magnetically put the information on spinning platters. Moving parts that wear out. Moving parts that use a considerable amount of electricity to keep rotating. Both the spinning and the electricity it uses produces heat inside the computer case. The SSDs do that too, but at maybe an order of magnitude less.
This is the biggest problem laptops and small computers like my Mac Mini have. Traditional hard drives drain the batteries of the laptops more than any other feature, and they are usually the first part of any computer to fail. The SSDs don't have any moving parts and use a minimal of electricity to do what they do, and last a lot longer.
What I wanna do is put an Intel SSD in my Mac Mini. True they last a long longer and they're more reliable in some ways, but the big deal for me would be speed. The cheapest Intel SSD (now $400) would operate in my Mac Mini faster than the fastest rotating hard drive at any price on the market, and I can't put a fast hard drive in my Mac Mini anyway. The power supply isn't powerful enough, and it would get too hot inside that small case.
The Mac Mini uses a laptop hard drive that's very slow. The biggest bottleneck on the computer except for the onboard Intel graphics system is the slow response time of the hard drive. Much of the graphics slowness is due to the slow hard drive. I'd be killing two birds with one stone.
Solid state electronics came along after I studied electronic in the Navy. I studied and learned about vacuum tube circuits. The arrival of solid state transistors had a huge impact on the technical world, and particularly me. I knew just enough about how the technical world was changing into digital components to share the excitement in some small way. The consumer world was bombarded with how reliable they were compared to tubes, and no better example of that that the Sony Walkman portable radios no bigger than a pack of cigarettes. Those were some pretty amazing pre-iPod times.
The traditional 5400 rpm laptop hard drive is practically the only analog part on my little computer. It's the only part of any computer that wears out because of it's moving parts. I really believe if I replace the hard drive in my Mac Mini that it will last much longer than I do, and it will continue to be all the computer I need unless I get antsy. The entire electronic make-up of it would be solid state and practically indestructible with reasonable treatment.
I'm looking forward the the next Apple OS called Snow Leopard. It's gonna be totally 64-bit throughout, including all the system drivers. It'll probably be out before summer, and if I got any money by then I'll probably buy a new computer to go with the OS so there won't be any hardware conflicts. I'm definitely interested in waiting to buy another computer until USB3 is default outta the box. That's gonna change everything, including how SSDs are connected externally.
Monday, January 26, 2009
The Highest Tree
This current political situation seems odd, but mostly, I think, because the Presidential election is over. It doesn't FEEL like a honeymoon. Actually, it just feels like winter. No holidays coming up. Nowheresville. The only thing I'm looking forward to is my seventieth birthday that's coming up in less than three months. It's like I'm wishing my life away.
I do have an appointment on March 7th. It's only appointment I currently have for the rest of my life. I used to have appointments all the ti-me. Going to work is an appointment. Getting off work is an appointment. Going to the dentist happens because of an appointment. Lot's of life's activities in it's span is just keeping appointments. Showing up is said to be 90% of a race.
***
A fellow correspondent appears to want to pass the hat without telling the stories. He wants to prove to the same audience that just put money in record numbers in Elmer Gantry's plate, that the stories he and Jerry and Billy and Oral told are not what they seem. He seems to want to pass the hat for raining on the modern day evangelical's parade. Fat chance.... eh? Count the cards and letters that got cash in them.
AHA!! So, that's what I've been doing. What a fool I've been. I feel a calling comin' on.
***
I was writing an e-mail response a day or so ago, and suddenly realized that what i accused the correspondent of is exactly what I've been doing. I projected what I did upon what I thought he did. How else could I have found out except by reflecting upon what I see of myself in the other?
None of what I've projected upon the evangelical preacher's presentations make them into what I claim them to be. What i project on them or anybody else is about who-I-think-I-am-is. It would seem like since I'm a self-made man, I would know what I did to create whatever I am is. Doesn't it? The dilemma is that this process of creating and projecting never stops. It's an ongoing ritual.
If I turn to the past and attempt to reconcile and atone my wretched history, then the unstoppable future runs over me like a Mack truck. If I turn away from the past to amuse myself with the quaint possibilities of the future, then my past catches up with me.
"Dang me, dang me,
they oughta take a rope,
and hang me.
Hang me from the highest treeeeeeee...
Woman, will you weeeep for me?"
~ Roger Miller
For some reason I'm contemplating the notion that my resentment toward the religious training I receive as a boy has worked against me. The way I've carried on to vent my frustration has caused people to question the sincerity of my projections in the same way I question the sincerity of the evangelicals. Maybe like karma, but I'm thinking of another metaphor. I don't understand the intricacies of the Hindu culture enough to say what I sense is what "karma" is.
I'm not for sure what Western culture calls this phenomenon. It probably has something to do with the Golden Rule. At this point I'm not in the mood to do any more nay-me-ing than necessary for survival. Negation can't be derived from being anyway. Being surpasses negation by using it as it's immediate foundation, and not to mediate a nayme for itself. If the denial and negation stops, neither being nor consciousness no long ex-is-ts. '-)
I do have an appointment on March 7th. It's only appointment I currently have for the rest of my life. I used to have appointments all the ti-me. Going to work is an appointment. Getting off work is an appointment. Going to the dentist happens because of an appointment. Lot's of life's activities in it's span is just keeping appointments. Showing up is said to be 90% of a race.
***
A fellow correspondent appears to want to pass the hat without telling the stories. He wants to prove to the same audience that just put money in record numbers in Elmer Gantry's plate, that the stories he and Jerry and Billy and Oral told are not what they seem. He seems to want to pass the hat for raining on the modern day evangelical's parade. Fat chance.... eh? Count the cards and letters that got cash in them.
AHA!! So, that's what I've been doing. What a fool I've been. I feel a calling comin' on.
***
I was writing an e-mail response a day or so ago, and suddenly realized that what i accused the correspondent of is exactly what I've been doing. I projected what I did upon what I thought he did. How else could I have found out except by reflecting upon what I see of myself in the other?
None of what I've projected upon the evangelical preacher's presentations make them into what I claim them to be. What i project on them or anybody else is about who-I-think-I-am-is. It would seem like since I'm a self-made man, I would know what I did to create whatever I am is. Doesn't it? The dilemma is that this process of creating and projecting never stops. It's an ongoing ritual.
If I turn to the past and attempt to reconcile and atone my wretched history, then the unstoppable future runs over me like a Mack truck. If I turn away from the past to amuse myself with the quaint possibilities of the future, then my past catches up with me.
"Dang me, dang me,
they oughta take a rope,
and hang me.
Hang me from the highest treeeeeeee...
Woman, will you weeeep for me?"
~ Roger Miller
For some reason I'm contemplating the notion that my resentment toward the religious training I receive as a boy has worked against me. The way I've carried on to vent my frustration has caused people to question the sincerity of my projections in the same way I question the sincerity of the evangelicals. Maybe like karma, but I'm thinking of another metaphor. I don't understand the intricacies of the Hindu culture enough to say what I sense is what "karma" is.
I'm not for sure what Western culture calls this phenomenon. It probably has something to do with the Golden Rule. At this point I'm not in the mood to do any more nay-me-ing than necessary for survival. Negation can't be derived from being anyway. Being surpasses negation by using it as it's immediate foundation, and not to mediate a nayme for itself. If the denial and negation stops, neither being nor consciousness no long ex-is-ts. '-)
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Midwinter, And The Living Is Salsa
It's been a lazy day. Not warm. Not cool. I bought some new shoes yesterday. My old ones started coming apart at the seams. They were the most comfortable shoes I believe I've ever owned. I went back to the same store and bought the same pair of shoes. They were only $4 more than the old one five years ago. Maybe it's the depression.
Low-cut hiking shoes. I started wearing them after i hiked up on the Appalachian Trail for a ways. I had a heavy pair of fairly expensive hiking shoes back then. As I walked and talked to people who had done a lot of hiking, I realized a lighter weight pair of shoes would be more suitable for my lifestyle. They're still tough enough to stand up to some fairly rough terrain. I've owned a fair number of Columbia sports clothing articles. They're not considered top shelve, but better than the bottom of the barrel.
One of the reasons I stay subscribed to the Thomas group is that new people come through there telling the same stuff I used to say. Sometime it takes that for me to realize I don't say it anymore. Maybe it's just something that people passing through say, and later on realize that it's not unusual for that to be the case.
These people experience events in life that make them think they're special. It's usually the same thing that other people feel makes them special too. Many of the events, activities, and situations that make people feel special are the same old story, but experienced by a brand new person, who will eventually abandon it, for not making them as special as they feel like it needs too.
Low-cut hiking shoes. I started wearing them after i hiked up on the Appalachian Trail for a ways. I had a heavy pair of fairly expensive hiking shoes back then. As I walked and talked to people who had done a lot of hiking, I realized a lighter weight pair of shoes would be more suitable for my lifestyle. They're still tough enough to stand up to some fairly rough terrain. I've owned a fair number of Columbia sports clothing articles. They're not considered top shelve, but better than the bottom of the barrel.
One of the reasons I stay subscribed to the Thomas group is that new people come through there telling the same stuff I used to say. Sometime it takes that for me to realize I don't say it anymore. Maybe it's just something that people passing through say, and later on realize that it's not unusual for that to be the case.
These people experience events in life that make them think they're special. It's usually the same thing that other people feel makes them special too. Many of the events, activities, and situations that make people feel special are the same old story, but experienced by a brand new person, who will eventually abandon it, for not making them as special as they feel like it needs too.
Saturday, January 24, 2009
Coral Calcium And Vitamin D
It seems strange to be writing about calcium. I got diagnosed with having osteoporosis at the same time I was informed I had rheumatoid arthritis, and that it probably developed from a lack of calcium intake. A sign of entropy in a closed system. For a closed system to work as designed it has to import the materials it needs to run that system. In this case, my body needed more calcium than it was getting, and so it began redistributing the calcium it possessed that was already in the system. From my bones. From my teeth. It's easy enough to speculate on the results of that.
I think I started overdoing the dairy products thing because milk is supposed to have a lot of calcium in it. The problem seems to be that it also has a lotta other stuff the adult person doesn't need, and in fact an overabundance of it seems to be downright detrimental to the body.
I don't know if any of this is true, of course, but since when has the truth had anything to do with how I figure things? This current theory seems to have started out at the Wal-Mart pharmacy. The SuperCenter is the closest store that sells domestic consumer good to my house. Why drive all the way across town to buy something and pay more for it. I like WallyWorld. I'm just their kind of customer.
I regularly look at all the dietary supplements at the vitamin section. That stuff is very expensive, even at Wal-Mart, and so mostly I'm just reading labels and remembering what I've read about the ingredients. Not any different than I do at the grocery shelves.
I found myself attracted to the various kinds of calcium products. The feature that seemed to offer the most bang for the buck was one that had a bright splash on the label that it was the same one offered on TV! When I read the ingredients list, however, it really did have more vitamins and minerals than the other calcium products beside it on the shelf.
The one thing that really caught my attention relating to the calcium was that it said it was harvested from coral off the coast of Taiwan. Then, I looked at the other products and they were all made from coral too. They featured the fact that they used coral as a calcium source rather than from dairy products. I bought the "As Seen On TV" product. because it had more bang for my buck.
Later, after my VA doctor wrote me a letter telling me my blood test indicated I had rheumatoid arthritis and osteoporosis, she immediately prescribed me calcium pills with vitamin D. The same dosage and ingredients as the "As Seen On TV" calcium product at Wal-Mart, but without some of the vitamins the commercial stuff had.
What this is leading up to is that I may have a problem with dairy products. The coral calcium is what I should have been reaching for rather than trying to get calcium from milk products.
I've stopped using dairy products or at least I thought I had. It turns out that my diet has be inundated with dairy products I had ignored. The little splash of half and half I put in my oatmeal in the morning. The slices of cheese I put in my sandwiches. BUTTER! OMG, not butter! I've been gorging on sour cream with dried onion soup in it. Usually a party dip, but I've been using it as a condiment with practically everything I cook myself (I'm not a very skilled chef.)
It's interesting to me how now that the nutritionists at the highest levels are saying they have been recommending a low RNA for vitamin D at 400 IU. The new RNA is now 2000 IU. Vitamin D is more critically involved with bones and the skeleton than they ever figured. They thought just being out in the sun is enough to cure any ailment having to do with vitamin D.
They say that women and housewives who stay inside a lot have more problems with osteoporosis than the ones who are out in the sun a lot. Even then there seems to be a deficiency of some sort. The problem is supposedly solved by taking vitamin D supplements and non-dairy based calcium. This study was only completed about three years ago. It may turn out that osteoporosis may be prevented by vitamin D and calcium supplements. All those dead coral reefs turning up all over the world may be a blessing in disguise.
I think I started overdoing the dairy products thing because milk is supposed to have a lot of calcium in it. The problem seems to be that it also has a lotta other stuff the adult person doesn't need, and in fact an overabundance of it seems to be downright detrimental to the body.
I don't know if any of this is true, of course, but since when has the truth had anything to do with how I figure things? This current theory seems to have started out at the Wal-Mart pharmacy. The SuperCenter is the closest store that sells domestic consumer good to my house. Why drive all the way across town to buy something and pay more for it. I like WallyWorld. I'm just their kind of customer.
I regularly look at all the dietary supplements at the vitamin section. That stuff is very expensive, even at Wal-Mart, and so mostly I'm just reading labels and remembering what I've read about the ingredients. Not any different than I do at the grocery shelves.
I found myself attracted to the various kinds of calcium products. The feature that seemed to offer the most bang for the buck was one that had a bright splash on the label that it was the same one offered on TV! When I read the ingredients list, however, it really did have more vitamins and minerals than the other calcium products beside it on the shelf.
The one thing that really caught my attention relating to the calcium was that it said it was harvested from coral off the coast of Taiwan. Then, I looked at the other products and they were all made from coral too. They featured the fact that they used coral as a calcium source rather than from dairy products. I bought the "As Seen On TV" product. because it had more bang for my buck.
Later, after my VA doctor wrote me a letter telling me my blood test indicated I had rheumatoid arthritis and osteoporosis, she immediately prescribed me calcium pills with vitamin D. The same dosage and ingredients as the "As Seen On TV" calcium product at Wal-Mart, but without some of the vitamins the commercial stuff had.
What this is leading up to is that I may have a problem with dairy products. The coral calcium is what I should have been reaching for rather than trying to get calcium from milk products.
I've stopped using dairy products or at least I thought I had. It turns out that my diet has be inundated with dairy products I had ignored. The little splash of half and half I put in my oatmeal in the morning. The slices of cheese I put in my sandwiches. BUTTER! OMG, not butter! I've been gorging on sour cream with dried onion soup in it. Usually a party dip, but I've been using it as a condiment with practically everything I cook myself (I'm not a very skilled chef.)
It's interesting to me how now that the nutritionists at the highest levels are saying they have been recommending a low RNA for vitamin D at 400 IU. The new RNA is now 2000 IU. Vitamin D is more critically involved with bones and the skeleton than they ever figured. They thought just being out in the sun is enough to cure any ailment having to do with vitamin D.
They say that women and housewives who stay inside a lot have more problems with osteoporosis than the ones who are out in the sun a lot. Even then there seems to be a deficiency of some sort. The problem is supposedly solved by taking vitamin D supplements and non-dairy based calcium. This study was only completed about three years ago. It may turn out that osteoporosis may be prevented by vitamin D and calcium supplements. All those dead coral reefs turning up all over the world may be a blessing in disguise.
Friday, January 23, 2009
Sailing, Sailing, Over the Bountiful Main
It feels odd to me now that the election and the new president is sworn in. For a long time I seemed sure it would never be over. I suspect there is going to be a lot of political excitement over Bush and Cheney and whether they get prosecuted for war crimes.
Myself? I think they oughta stand equal before the law. If they're found guilty they should punish them, and if they're found innocent they should be exonerated and get it over with. Too bad they can't legally be water-boarded any more. They should be done to as they did. If they're not held responsible it will set too great a precedent for those Presidents who follow. As if I would know. '-)
I'm really pleased the weather is warmer today. Sure I know it's still the middle of winter, and that more cold fronts are going to bubble down from the North, and soon from the latest weather reports, but a little respite from that polar weather is good for the soul.
For the first time in about a week I stayed up and watched the late shows. I flip around and watch a little of all of them. I don't care much for the one on ABC, Jimmy Kimmel. I don't think he's all that funny, but apparently a good number of people do. I usually watch Letterman if his show is not a rerun. If it is I watch whatever ain't.
It's been too cold to stay up when it's below freezing inside my house. I have been going to bed early to get in my warm bed. I really would like to have a high quality down comforter that would be the only cover I need for this latitude. I think my family had feather beds when I was a toddler, but after they switched to the inner spring type of bed I never really stayed warm all night again.
I have a "feather" comforter, i think. By that I mean that it's not stuffed with the eiderdown material, but other, more external feathers. It sure don't keep me warm, so I have to use other covers to take up the slack. I shopped for such a down comforter on the internet, and as you might expect there are lots of companies that make down and feather comforters.
They're not cheap. Not the eider down ones. There is one company out in the Northwestern US that seems to be the most popular with the online retail sites. They also offer a down bedcover that goes on top of a regular mattress but designed to be under the sleeper with their down comforter on top. Sounds wonderful to me. They're wanting upward of $500 for their asking price. I might be able to scrape it up over ti-me, but I wouldn't need something this heavy-duty but for maybe three months a year. But, when I win the PowerBall lottery, I'm gonna....
Myself? I think they oughta stand equal before the law. If they're found guilty they should punish them, and if they're found innocent they should be exonerated and get it over with. Too bad they can't legally be water-boarded any more. They should be done to as they did. If they're not held responsible it will set too great a precedent for those Presidents who follow. As if I would know. '-)
I'm really pleased the weather is warmer today. Sure I know it's still the middle of winter, and that more cold fronts are going to bubble down from the North, and soon from the latest weather reports, but a little respite from that polar weather is good for the soul.
For the first time in about a week I stayed up and watched the late shows. I flip around and watch a little of all of them. I don't care much for the one on ABC, Jimmy Kimmel. I don't think he's all that funny, but apparently a good number of people do. I usually watch Letterman if his show is not a rerun. If it is I watch whatever ain't.
It's been too cold to stay up when it's below freezing inside my house. I have been going to bed early to get in my warm bed. I really would like to have a high quality down comforter that would be the only cover I need for this latitude. I think my family had feather beds when I was a toddler, but after they switched to the inner spring type of bed I never really stayed warm all night again.
I have a "feather" comforter, i think. By that I mean that it's not stuffed with the eiderdown material, but other, more external feathers. It sure don't keep me warm, so I have to use other covers to take up the slack. I shopped for such a down comforter on the internet, and as you might expect there are lots of companies that make down and feather comforters.
They're not cheap. Not the eider down ones. There is one company out in the Northwestern US that seems to be the most popular with the online retail sites. They also offer a down bedcover that goes on top of a regular mattress but designed to be under the sleeper with their down comforter on top. Sounds wonderful to me. They're wanting upward of $500 for their asking price. I might be able to scrape it up over ti-me, but I wouldn't need something this heavy-duty but for maybe three months a year. But, when I win the PowerBall lottery, I'm gonna....
Thursday, January 22, 2009
My Ersatz Home
I went to breakfast at the cafe this morning for the first time since the inauguration. I was fairly sure I'd hear a nigger joke before my meal was over. It came from an old family friend who is a couple of years older than me, and a staunch conservative. He's an educated man and many people wouldn't think he would reach for such nonsense for humor. A lotta Republicans are livid about the way things have turned out for them in the last couple of elections. They lost a lot of State offices too. North Carolina elected it's first woman Governor.
I haven't been as in touch with this community I partially grew up in as some of my family has. We moved here when i was in the Sixth grade and my natal family has been here since. my younger brothers never lived anywhere else while they were growing up. My youngest brother has traveled like me. Everybody in my family traveled. Both my brothers were born in North Carolina after my mother and father moved here from Mississippi.
I left here when I was eighteen and was mostly living somewhere else for twenty years, when I wasn't bumming around the country. I spent about eight full years off and on living as a homeless bum. It was the only life I knew that actually required me to be as smart as i was told I was. I started piecing together my house here in the mid-Eighties. I worked out of town most of the time, but I finally dried in my house and gradually began to live here year round. I commuted to work over at Fort Bragg on the other side of Fayetteville for the last decade of my public work years.
I guess I moved around too much and worked outta town too much to have any more than a passing acquaintance with some of the people I went to high school with. A lot of people around here know my siblings for various associations. My younger brother ran a popular pizza restaurant for a decade or more. He is a popular figure around town. Many people recognize me by him. They used to recognize me for being my parent's son.
Both my parents taught school here for at least twenty years each. They went through a lot of students, and many people knew me simply as their teacher's oldest son, along with whatever reputation I might have garnered with them along the way. Hardly any of them knew me personally. Many people have approached me and my siblings to tell us one or the other of our parents was their favorite teacher.
Usually, after they might tell a favorite episode of why they appreciated my mother or father they moved on. I've never gotten very close with many of these former students. I didn't know my parents that way. I tried to be polite and smile at the right time. I usually thanked them for saying kind words about my parents. God knows I'm not above raining on their parade, but these people never failed to impress me with their sincerity.
I've felt that way about some of my teachers. Some of them seemed to be able to make me feel they truly felt concerned about preparing to live in the world more comfortably than I might have without their encouragement. One woman who was an old maid, the French teacher, and the school librarian used to side with me against my father. He taught in the same school, and they ate lunch together most every school day. It was a small school.
He ate lunch with all my teachers I ever had except for the Sixth Grade all the way through high school. I really couldn't get away from his knowing about everything that went on while I was at school. Fortunately, my mother never taught at the same school I attended. Neither of them left their work at school. So, me and my brothers and sisters went to school all day and all night.
My family making their their final home was a good move for them. They earned the respect of a lot of people. I have inherited some of that respect without earning any of it, but I'm not here to take advantage of what my family created as much as to take advantage of not being able to be a prophet or a healer here.
The citizenry here know my family well enough that the things that can't happen in one's home town can't happen for me here. That's about the only legitimate standard that I can say actually comes into play for me here. More of a guilt by association thing. I haven't lived here all that much, but the people here extend that tenet to me because my siblings have been around here a lot.
This place is a retreat for me. Otherwise, i'd be up to my old tricks. On the way back from Seattle and my daughter's wedding I sat beside a young engineer for an hour or two. In the time we had together I had almost convinced him to leave his new wife and first actual engineering job to go be a road bum. I can be a dangerous person when left to me own devices, but here, in my adopted home town, nobody believes a damned thing I got to say. No blame.
I haven't been as in touch with this community I partially grew up in as some of my family has. We moved here when i was in the Sixth grade and my natal family has been here since. my younger brothers never lived anywhere else while they were growing up. My youngest brother has traveled like me. Everybody in my family traveled. Both my brothers were born in North Carolina after my mother and father moved here from Mississippi.
I left here when I was eighteen and was mostly living somewhere else for twenty years, when I wasn't bumming around the country. I spent about eight full years off and on living as a homeless bum. It was the only life I knew that actually required me to be as smart as i was told I was. I started piecing together my house here in the mid-Eighties. I worked out of town most of the time, but I finally dried in my house and gradually began to live here year round. I commuted to work over at Fort Bragg on the other side of Fayetteville for the last decade of my public work years.
I guess I moved around too much and worked outta town too much to have any more than a passing acquaintance with some of the people I went to high school with. A lot of people around here know my siblings for various associations. My younger brother ran a popular pizza restaurant for a decade or more. He is a popular figure around town. Many people recognize me by him. They used to recognize me for being my parent's son.
Both my parents taught school here for at least twenty years each. They went through a lot of students, and many people knew me simply as their teacher's oldest son, along with whatever reputation I might have garnered with them along the way. Hardly any of them knew me personally. Many people have approached me and my siblings to tell us one or the other of our parents was their favorite teacher.
Usually, after they might tell a favorite episode of why they appreciated my mother or father they moved on. I've never gotten very close with many of these former students. I didn't know my parents that way. I tried to be polite and smile at the right time. I usually thanked them for saying kind words about my parents. God knows I'm not above raining on their parade, but these people never failed to impress me with their sincerity.
I've felt that way about some of my teachers. Some of them seemed to be able to make me feel they truly felt concerned about preparing to live in the world more comfortably than I might have without their encouragement. One woman who was an old maid, the French teacher, and the school librarian used to side with me against my father. He taught in the same school, and they ate lunch together most every school day. It was a small school.
He ate lunch with all my teachers I ever had except for the Sixth Grade all the way through high school. I really couldn't get away from his knowing about everything that went on while I was at school. Fortunately, my mother never taught at the same school I attended. Neither of them left their work at school. So, me and my brothers and sisters went to school all day and all night.
My family making their their final home was a good move for them. They earned the respect of a lot of people. I have inherited some of that respect without earning any of it, but I'm not here to take advantage of what my family created as much as to take advantage of not being able to be a prophet or a healer here.
The citizenry here know my family well enough that the things that can't happen in one's home town can't happen for me here. That's about the only legitimate standard that I can say actually comes into play for me here. More of a guilt by association thing. I haven't lived here all that much, but the people here extend that tenet to me because my siblings have been around here a lot.
This place is a retreat for me. Otherwise, i'd be up to my old tricks. On the way back from Seattle and my daughter's wedding I sat beside a young engineer for an hour or two. In the time we had together I had almost convinced him to leave his new wife and first actual engineering job to go be a road bum. I can be a dangerous person when left to me own devices, but here, in my adopted home town, nobody believes a damned thing I got to say. No blame.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Back To Normal
Today the ground is covered with snow, and I'm already wanting it to go away. The soft edges where it piled up on my car is not so smooth anymore. The rail fences down by the old cow pasture are just sagging in the middle again. The weatherman I usually listen to warned not to expect the temperatures to go up very much, because the energy of the Sun would be spent melting the snow more than it would be heating the ground up and making it warm again. That's when I got tired of the snow. It's supposed to start warming up a little bit tomorrow, and then be in the mid-60s (18.33 C) by the end of the week.
I live in a soup of sensory stimuli and get moved around by it's whim as though I have no control over my life at all. I was stimulated recently by someone's use of the term "paradox", and a short discussion of what a paradox actually is, by definition, indicated to me right quick that I didn't have a very developed understanding of that a makes a paradox that.
I typed "What is a paradox?" into Google and started chasing links from the Results Page. I spent maybe a couple of hours reading and trying to grok what a paradox is, and as I went bumbling and stumbling around the internet... I soon realized that for me to understand what a paradox IS, I have to learn to create them myself pretty much as I Will, just for the hell of it.
Only then can I get real snooty and accuse the other of not understanding paradox. Ohhh, they'll feel so humiliated and stupid, and I'll be a cock-of-the-walk again, for a while, and eventually, of course, my creating paradoxes to show how clever I am will get to be old hat, the thrill will be gone, and I'll be ashamed of myself for reaching for my boot straps to heft myself up to fame and glory.
Rats! Foiled again!
I live in a soup of sensory stimuli and get moved around by it's whim as though I have no control over my life at all. I was stimulated recently by someone's use of the term "paradox", and a short discussion of what a paradox actually is, by definition, indicated to me right quick that I didn't have a very developed understanding of that a makes a paradox that.
I typed "What is a paradox?" into Google and started chasing links from the Results Page. I spent maybe a couple of hours reading and trying to grok what a paradox is, and as I went bumbling and stumbling around the internet... I soon realized that for me to understand what a paradox IS, I have to learn to create them myself pretty much as I Will, just for the hell of it.
Only then can I get real snooty and accuse the other of not understanding paradox. Ohhh, they'll feel so humiliated and stupid, and I'll be a cock-of-the-walk again, for a while, and eventually, of course, my creating paradoxes to show how clever I am will get to be old hat, the thrill will be gone, and I'll be ashamed of myself for reaching for my boot straps to heft myself up to fame and glory.
Rats! Foiled again!
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
If I Can Survive Until Tomorrow
I changed the sound associated with receiving new mail. The new sound resonates like the spooky tone produced by rubbing the rim of a crystal glass. When I'm not expecting it, receiving new e-mail really catches me off-guard. It's a minute detail in my rather dull life style, but a real change for a hermit where ambiance is all I got. I like it. If for no other reason than that it's different than the traditional beeping sound I've grown to tolerate for the last eighteen years. Idiot! Why am I always the last to know?
It's snowing this morning for the first time in a few years. Snow happens on a very infrequent and sporadic basis here on the coastal plains. Maybe because of our proximity to the Atlantic Ocean. There has to be enough snow to stick to the ground and cover everything up. Currently, there are still too many little objects like sticks and fallen leaves sticking up through what's accumulated, to say that we've gotten more than a dusting. It's still coming down fairly steady. The satellite images show more clouds down in the south where it's coming from, and they're headed our way. The moisture for the snow comes from the Gulf of Mexico, and the cold temperatures come from Canada.
Those two necessary ingredients occasionally meet here on the coastal plains, but everything has to be just right for it to be a winter wonderland. Otherwise, the winter colors are just drab, and irritably and associatively cool. Old people like me have to wear a lotta clothes even when it's mild, because I'm surrounded by uninviting browns and blacks that inevitably remind me it's supposed to be cold this time of the year, whether it actually is cold or not. The snow, like rain, is heaven's blessings. It covers the same old/same old up with shimmering crystals. Yahooooo!
I just opened my front door and looked outside again. Earlier, I had scattered some table salt on the deck I use for an entrance. I didn't think I had put that much salt down, but it really cleared the snow off. The last time it snowed I didn't do anything, and when it stopped snowing and froze hard that night, the snow became so hard and solid that I couldn't scrape it off with a flat-bladed shovel. Now, of course, I feel just brilliant for looking ahead.
As a hardened, inured miser, how could I not think about the treated lumber I used to build my outside decks and the stairs that lead from one to the other? It got soaked from the rain before it turned to snow. Tonight, it's gonna freeze solid because the temps are going to drop fifteen degrees below freezing. I'm thinking about the wear and tear.
Granted, despite the natural course of entropy, I'm pretty sure the decks and even the stairs will survive longer than me. So, what's the point of concerning myself with that? A saying I might have coined points out that a rich man is merely the janitor of his possessions. No matter how few possessions he can learn to live without.
I turned on the TV to watch a little of the inauguration proceedings. I can't watch for long or I get mushy. I can't wait for the inauguration to be over with and Obama sworn in and behind closed doors. I'll be shocked if somebody don't try to assassinate him before he can take the oath and make his acceptance speech. I knew this fear may seem irrational in a way. I'm relatively sure all that can be done is being done, but I've had enough of offensive and violent politics in my life. If somebody successfully hurts him, the political angst of the last couple of decades would just go on and on. Meanwhile, our country and the world is going very, very broke. Broke people get angry. More violence heaped upon the violence that preceded it. I just want this whole deal to be a walk in the park, and get on with the business of living.
I don't think it's all that great a privilege to live longer than four score and ten. I remember too much. I've heard the same stories too many times. I don't believe any of them any more with enough faith to delude myself. At least when I was younger I could fool myself into thinking some new proposition was gonna change the wicked ways of the world, but that's just bullshit, man, whatta drag!
On the other hand, the world carrying on the way it does day in and day out is sort of comical. The joke is on us. What we consider to be civilization amounts to no more than castles in the air. A few bombs, nuclear or no, will take care of that. Building and destroying monuments to ourselves seems to take up most of civilization's time and efforts. I'm reduced to either laughing hysterically or weeping deep pools of woe. I done both, several times, already this morning. I seem to drift with the way the wind blows. Like a snowflake. Like a million trillion snowflakes all shaping themselves like humans do, but in a different way.
I know this is the greatest day in my own life. It may be one of the greatest days in the world for all time. I'm glad I've lived long enough to reach the end of one cycle and the bejinning of another. Who can say that the world I was raised to believe would always be there for me, did not end upon the arrival of 2001 as prophesied? I may not live out the day, but if I can just survive until tomorrow, I will have made it to the other side. Selah
It's snowing this morning for the first time in a few years. Snow happens on a very infrequent and sporadic basis here on the coastal plains. Maybe because of our proximity to the Atlantic Ocean. There has to be enough snow to stick to the ground and cover everything up. Currently, there are still too many little objects like sticks and fallen leaves sticking up through what's accumulated, to say that we've gotten more than a dusting. It's still coming down fairly steady. The satellite images show more clouds down in the south where it's coming from, and they're headed our way. The moisture for the snow comes from the Gulf of Mexico, and the cold temperatures come from Canada.
Those two necessary ingredients occasionally meet here on the coastal plains, but everything has to be just right for it to be a winter wonderland. Otherwise, the winter colors are just drab, and irritably and associatively cool. Old people like me have to wear a lotta clothes even when it's mild, because I'm surrounded by uninviting browns and blacks that inevitably remind me it's supposed to be cold this time of the year, whether it actually is cold or not. The snow, like rain, is heaven's blessings. It covers the same old/same old up with shimmering crystals. Yahooooo!
I just opened my front door and looked outside again. Earlier, I had scattered some table salt on the deck I use for an entrance. I didn't think I had put that much salt down, but it really cleared the snow off. The last time it snowed I didn't do anything, and when it stopped snowing and froze hard that night, the snow became so hard and solid that I couldn't scrape it off with a flat-bladed shovel. Now, of course, I feel just brilliant for looking ahead.
As a hardened, inured miser, how could I not think about the treated lumber I used to build my outside decks and the stairs that lead from one to the other? It got soaked from the rain before it turned to snow. Tonight, it's gonna freeze solid because the temps are going to drop fifteen degrees below freezing. I'm thinking about the wear and tear.
Granted, despite the natural course of entropy, I'm pretty sure the decks and even the stairs will survive longer than me. So, what's the point of concerning myself with that? A saying I might have coined points out that a rich man is merely the janitor of his possessions. No matter how few possessions he can learn to live without.
I turned on the TV to watch a little of the inauguration proceedings. I can't watch for long or I get mushy. I can't wait for the inauguration to be over with and Obama sworn in and behind closed doors. I'll be shocked if somebody don't try to assassinate him before he can take the oath and make his acceptance speech. I knew this fear may seem irrational in a way. I'm relatively sure all that can be done is being done, but I've had enough of offensive and violent politics in my life. If somebody successfully hurts him, the political angst of the last couple of decades would just go on and on. Meanwhile, our country and the world is going very, very broke. Broke people get angry. More violence heaped upon the violence that preceded it. I just want this whole deal to be a walk in the park, and get on with the business of living.
I don't think it's all that great a privilege to live longer than four score and ten. I remember too much. I've heard the same stories too many times. I don't believe any of them any more with enough faith to delude myself. At least when I was younger I could fool myself into thinking some new proposition was gonna change the wicked ways of the world, but that's just bullshit, man, whatta drag!
On the other hand, the world carrying on the way it does day in and day out is sort of comical. The joke is on us. What we consider to be civilization amounts to no more than castles in the air. A few bombs, nuclear or no, will take care of that. Building and destroying monuments to ourselves seems to take up most of civilization's time and efforts. I'm reduced to either laughing hysterically or weeping deep pools of woe. I done both, several times, already this morning. I seem to drift with the way the wind blows. Like a snowflake. Like a million trillion snowflakes all shaping themselves like humans do, but in a different way.
I know this is the greatest day in my own life. It may be one of the greatest days in the world for all time. I'm glad I've lived long enough to reach the end of one cycle and the bejinning of another. Who can say that the world I was raised to believe would always be there for me, did not end upon the arrival of 2001 as prophesied? I may not live out the day, but if I can just survive until tomorrow, I will have made it to the other side. Selah
Monday, January 19, 2009
The Day Before My Own Freedom Begins
I can't stop weeping. When I was a little boy I wasn't allow to play with black children or Indians either. The racial tensions dominated my childhood and youth and adulthood. The swearing in of Barack Obama is the end of that story. I even believe my father would have voted for him if he would have lived so long. He was a product of his Mississippi upbringing, but when the Civil Rights laws were passed in the early Sixties I was there when he found out about it, and watched the tears roll down his face, before he turned away where I couldn't see him. I'm not so sure this event isn't more liberating for me than for the blacks.
"Free at last, free at last, great God almighty, we're free at last." ~ MLK
One of the things I liked about attending the Reunion of the Class of '57 of a school I left after the 5th grade was a class photograph a guy I knew from that period inadvertently provided. It was a class photo of the 4th grade class I was a part of. I wrote above that I wasn't allowed to play with blacks and Indians, but when I contemplated the children in that picture I realized that many of those kids looked Indian to me. "Indian", here on the coastal plains needs a lotta wiggle room to grok what it's all about. There don't seem to be no pure blood nothing around here. Most caucasians or white people ain't exactly white, anymore than any of the blacks are actually "black" or the Indians really Indian. The melting pot America is famous for is alive and well on the coastal plains.
There is this "look" that happens after different races of people mix blood in certain areas. I have noticed it in different parts of the country. They are called Redbones in the bayous of Louisiana and especially in old New Orleans. It won't be that way ever again because not only did the hurricane spoil the broth, but the world has moved on.
Cajuns are notoriously proud of being white up in northern Louisiana. If you move through Texas you can see a TexMex "look" that could have a goodly number of racial sources. What flabbergasts me is that I never noticed that amalgamated "look" here on the coastal plains until I looked at that class photograph again and again. It was there just as plain as day. I'm standing right in the center of the group and I looked like an alien. A lotta people around here don't know what the hell to call themselves. They get nervous if you inquire too persistently about their roots. Nobody knows.
More and more it seems like people care less and less about the racial differences. Especially on the internet. Okay, I can't actually claim that nobody knows who you are on the internet. Business types have to make themselves known. Politicians might have an alias they poke around the web under, but they got a legitimate reason for making their political persona openly known online.
All this new digital technology could drive people's real personalities even deeper into privacy and seclusion. There not going to be fewer video cameras and camera phones around, They're just gonna be even better. Smaller. With GPS data embedded on every digital image and cross-referenced with every other device in the area. Soon enow, they'll be shaking hands with the chips implanted in yo' body... as you whistle yo' way past the cemetery at midnight in the drop dead darkness of the New Moon.
The esoteric skills of the future will be associated with how to become mo' invisible. The difference between being an individual and being individuated will never be brought more sharply into focus. Some things can't be taught. They must be conjured. "... and who's gonna hold yo' lily-white hand
The South is way ahead of the rest of the United States in regard to how one conducts themselves in the aftermath of a failed revolution. The reconstruction era that followed is spelled with capital letters. Now, the rest of the United States and much of the rest of the world will learn what was forced upon us and others because to recuperate from this economic downfall their assumed values are gonna be called into question. A lotta people are gonna be wandering around looking shell-shocked because they money ain't no good no more.
Who's gonna hold her hand? Who's gonna
hold her hand? Who's gonna be her man tonight?
Who's gonna hold her hand?
http://www.mp3lyrics.org/k/kingston-trio/whos/
"The first ones now, will later be last, for the times, they are a'changing." ~ Dylan
"Free at last, free at last, great God almighty, we're free at last." ~ MLK
One of the things I liked about attending the Reunion of the Class of '57 of a school I left after the 5th grade was a class photograph a guy I knew from that period inadvertently provided. It was a class photo of the 4th grade class I was a part of. I wrote above that I wasn't allowed to play with blacks and Indians, but when I contemplated the children in that picture I realized that many of those kids looked Indian to me. "Indian", here on the coastal plains needs a lotta wiggle room to grok what it's all about. There don't seem to be no pure blood nothing around here. Most caucasians or white people ain't exactly white, anymore than any of the blacks are actually "black" or the Indians really Indian. The melting pot America is famous for is alive and well on the coastal plains.
There is this "look" that happens after different races of people mix blood in certain areas. I have noticed it in different parts of the country. They are called Redbones in the bayous of Louisiana and especially in old New Orleans. It won't be that way ever again because not only did the hurricane spoil the broth, but the world has moved on.
Cajuns are notoriously proud of being white up in northern Louisiana. If you move through Texas you can see a TexMex "look" that could have a goodly number of racial sources. What flabbergasts me is that I never noticed that amalgamated "look" here on the coastal plains until I looked at that class photograph again and again. It was there just as plain as day. I'm standing right in the center of the group and I looked like an alien. A lotta people around here don't know what the hell to call themselves. They get nervous if you inquire too persistently about their roots. Nobody knows.
More and more it seems like people care less and less about the racial differences. Especially on the internet. Okay, I can't actually claim that nobody knows who you are on the internet. Business types have to make themselves known. Politicians might have an alias they poke around the web under, but they got a legitimate reason for making their political persona openly known online.
All this new digital technology could drive people's real personalities even deeper into privacy and seclusion. There not going to be fewer video cameras and camera phones around, They're just gonna be even better. Smaller. With GPS data embedded on every digital image and cross-referenced with every other device in the area. Soon enow, they'll be shaking hands with the chips implanted in yo' body... as you whistle yo' way past the cemetery at midnight in the drop dead darkness of the New Moon.
The esoteric skills of the future will be associated with how to become mo' invisible. The difference between being an individual and being individuated will never be brought more sharply into focus. Some things can't be taught. They must be conjured. "... and who's gonna hold yo' lily-white hand
The South is way ahead of the rest of the United States in regard to how one conducts themselves in the aftermath of a failed revolution. The reconstruction era that followed is spelled with capital letters. Now, the rest of the United States and much of the rest of the world will learn what was forced upon us and others because to recuperate from this economic downfall their assumed values are gonna be called into question. A lotta people are gonna be wandering around looking shell-shocked because they money ain't no good no more.
Who's gonna hold her hand? Who's gonna
hold her hand? Who's gonna be her man tonight?
Who's gonna hold her hand?
http://www.mp3lyrics.org/k/kingston-trio/whos/
"The first ones now, will later be last, for the times, they are a'changing." ~ Dylan
Sunday, January 18, 2009
Involuntarily Upsurging Into Consciousness
I flew outta my bed this morning. Literally. I was having a nightmare in which I was not only lost, but getting squeezed into tight places that scared the shit outta me. That's how I "flew" outta bed. I was crawling in a maze of pipes in which it became more and more difficult to keep going. In the nightmare, I was fighting against this, and then suddenly I had thrown the covers off and was standing beside my bed trembling.
Some version of this nightmare has been going on for some time now. Last night it happened twice. I dreamed during the REM period going into a sleep cycle the first time (hypnogogic dreams), and during the REM period coming out of a sleep cycle (hypnopompic dreams). I'm beginning to understand why old folk don't sleep so good or avoid going to bed altogether. I'm writing about some terrifying stuff.
This probably has something to do with my bowel movements which have been horrific for a while. It may have something to do with anality and the fear of death. I'm hoping I've solved that problem by not eating that yogurt that's supposed to help me be regular. It was doing too good a job. My diet is just lousy, and I'm not helping by having a lackadaisical attitude toward it.
I bought some fresh Bing cherries at the grocery store recently. It made me feel like fresh fruit and vegetables might be the right way to go. The prescription medicine I've been taking has the side-effect of nausea. It's not a joke. I take eight pills all at the same time one day a week. The nausea is present 24/7. I don't have to stop what I'm doing to look for it to see if it's there. It's there.
I also take prescription dosages of ibuprofen and naproxen. I gotta eat something to do that. I'm overeating and blaming it on the nausea. I tell myself food will help me cope with the nausea, but it doesn't really, so I'm thinking about eating just enough to take the drugs. I don't know if this is gonna work, because the Methotrexate makes me feel emotion even about decisions involving my diet.
I've listened to some of my conversations with myself in which I've poised the question of whether it's better to deal with the pain than with the nausea. That argument don't last long. The pain is very debilitating and accumulative in the way it gets to be depressing. It got to where I couldn't shift my weight without going into spasms of pain. Nobody wants that.
The nausea also produces deep emotional feelings I have to deal with. I can think of stuff that happened half a lifetime ago and get all worked up about whether I did right by somebody or not. I thought when i was young that I would eventually level out and start being less selfish, but it hasn't worked out that way. The mojos and lingoes I place before the world required a great deal of focus and concentration, and that focus and concentration can't happen unless I abandon the world to it's just desserts. Oddly enow, sometimes I just don't trust the world to be itself without my assistance, and as long as I'm still upsurging into consciousness, I don't believe it can. It takes a village to raise a child.
Some version of this nightmare has been going on for some time now. Last night it happened twice. I dreamed during the REM period going into a sleep cycle the first time (hypnogogic dreams), and during the REM period coming out of a sleep cycle (hypnopompic dreams). I'm beginning to understand why old folk don't sleep so good or avoid going to bed altogether. I'm writing about some terrifying stuff.
This probably has something to do with my bowel movements which have been horrific for a while. It may have something to do with anality and the fear of death. I'm hoping I've solved that problem by not eating that yogurt that's supposed to help me be regular. It was doing too good a job. My diet is just lousy, and I'm not helping by having a lackadaisical attitude toward it.
I bought some fresh Bing cherries at the grocery store recently. It made me feel like fresh fruit and vegetables might be the right way to go. The prescription medicine I've been taking has the side-effect of nausea. It's not a joke. I take eight pills all at the same time one day a week. The nausea is present 24/7. I don't have to stop what I'm doing to look for it to see if it's there. It's there.
I also take prescription dosages of ibuprofen and naproxen. I gotta eat something to do that. I'm overeating and blaming it on the nausea. I tell myself food will help me cope with the nausea, but it doesn't really, so I'm thinking about eating just enough to take the drugs. I don't know if this is gonna work, because the Methotrexate makes me feel emotion even about decisions involving my diet.
I've listened to some of my conversations with myself in which I've poised the question of whether it's better to deal with the pain than with the nausea. That argument don't last long. The pain is very debilitating and accumulative in the way it gets to be depressing. It got to where I couldn't shift my weight without going into spasms of pain. Nobody wants that.
The nausea also produces deep emotional feelings I have to deal with. I can think of stuff that happened half a lifetime ago and get all worked up about whether I did right by somebody or not. I thought when i was young that I would eventually level out and start being less selfish, but it hasn't worked out that way. The mojos and lingoes I place before the world required a great deal of focus and concentration, and that focus and concentration can't happen unless I abandon the world to it's just desserts. Oddly enow, sometimes I just don't trust the world to be itself without my assistance, and as long as I'm still upsurging into consciousness, I don't believe it can. It takes a village to raise a child.
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Genocide Is A Crazy World
It really was cold last night. My brother's dogs were barking all night. I lay there thinking they were barking to stay warm. The reason I thought that was something I read about mourning doves cooing not only to attract males, but to create egg shells inside their body. Animals gotta do something to survive really cold temps, but if my theory is correct, why are the cows not mooing to initiate body warmth.
I dreamed of being endlessly lost in an industrial area this morning. Inside the buildings I kept going through doors that led to more doors, and outside there were chain link fences that herded me back inside. If I crawled over the fence there was always another fence. Then, I got really worried because this place was in a strange town, and my wife and children were waiting for me. I didn't see them, but I knew they were out there waiting for hours and hours for me to walk out of this building.
Even in the dream I knew they had abandoned me decades earlier, but there they were waiting, waiting. I woke up having to go pee, and I couldn't afford not to because I needed to turn the shower on to keep it from freezing up. I was running around naked at three o'clock in the morning and it was fifteen degrees Fahrenheit trying to save my pipes from bursting. I did, but even though the Sun has been up several hours now, it's still below freezing in my house. My fingers are lucky to be typing.
I use the expression "specious present" occasionally. It's an archaic descriptor for the eternal now. I found it in an old unabridged dictionary, but nowhere in the newer ones. The way I found it was looking up the term "specious". Specious means that something is plausible, but not quite convincing. I understood why the eternal now is called specious from meditating. When I practice meditating I have to let go of what's on my mind about the future or the past. I have to be present and accounted for.
To stay or remain in the present I learned to treat the stuff that pops up in my attention as though it is plausible, but not convincing, and I have to do that in the present moment. It's almost like sleeping with one eye open. Like wot happened when I slept in trees. I had to sleep to recuperate from my previous waking activities, but i had to keep from getting et up by one of humanity's predators in the interim.
Wouldn't it be just weird if the information on this blog were true:
http://aangirfan.blogspot.com/2009/01/palestinians-are-most-likely-original.html
*
I dreamed of being endlessly lost in an industrial area this morning. Inside the buildings I kept going through doors that led to more doors, and outside there were chain link fences that herded me back inside. If I crawled over the fence there was always another fence. Then, I got really worried because this place was in a strange town, and my wife and children were waiting for me. I didn't see them, but I knew they were out there waiting for hours and hours for me to walk out of this building.
Even in the dream I knew they had abandoned me decades earlier, but there they were waiting, waiting. I woke up having to go pee, and I couldn't afford not to because I needed to turn the shower on to keep it from freezing up. I was running around naked at three o'clock in the morning and it was fifteen degrees Fahrenheit trying to save my pipes from bursting. I did, but even though the Sun has been up several hours now, it's still below freezing in my house. My fingers are lucky to be typing.
I use the expression "specious present" occasionally. It's an archaic descriptor for the eternal now. I found it in an old unabridged dictionary, but nowhere in the newer ones. The way I found it was looking up the term "specious". Specious means that something is plausible, but not quite convincing. I understood why the eternal now is called specious from meditating. When I practice meditating I have to let go of what's on my mind about the future or the past. I have to be present and accounted for.
To stay or remain in the present I learned to treat the stuff that pops up in my attention as though it is plausible, but not convincing, and I have to do that in the present moment. It's almost like sleeping with one eye open. Like wot happened when I slept in trees. I had to sleep to recuperate from my previous waking activities, but i had to keep from getting et up by one of humanity's predators in the interim.
Wouldn't it be just weird if the information on this blog were true:
http://aangirfan.blogspot.com/2009/01/palestinians-are-most-likely-original.html
*
Friday, January 16, 2009
The For-True Coldest Day Of The Year
It's cold here. No bullshit cold. Deathly cold. So cold that if a body don't find a way to stay warm it will shut down organ by organ in an attempt to survive. Who needs this? The coastal plains generally have moderate winters, but this cold snap is an exception. It's supposed to get down to single digit temperatures tonight after not getting above freezing today.
I was born and raised in the south and southeastern United States a few years before World War Two began. I didn't know that my family lived in poverty, because there were lots of people who seemed poorer than even we were. Rich or poor, insulation in houses didn't exist. It seems odd to say, but i don't think it had been invented. At least not like what insulation is today. Poor people built wood fires in fire places and cast iron stoves to stay warm by the time I was born, but the wealthier people were beginning to get coal furnaces and kerosene stoves in their uninsulated houses.
I have to reflect on what it was like for people when I was a kid sixty to seventy years ago. One life time and so much change. Change for the better technology wise. What really impresses me when it gets brutally here is the lousy weather reports they had when I was a kid. I've known it was gonna get this cold for a week, but when I was a kid we would have been lucky to know it was gonna get this cold for a day before it got here. What if you were ill or just feeling lazy and you hadn't chopped the wood or watered the cows or kept your preserved foods covered up? Then, BOOM, the temperature drops without warning and even your drinking water is frozen, and the babies still piss and shit in their diapers that are prone to be frozen on to their bodies.
It truly astounds me that tomorrow's weather and pretty much the whole coming week's weather can be reliably predicted using the current digital technology. The pre-emptive strategies of possible storms can be guessed with great accuracy. Humans can pretty much know when to run for their lives. They can know ahead of time when to stock up on supplies they might need. This just wasn't there for us even when I was a kid. It wasn't that long ago that homo sapiens lived really close to what their fellow species lived. Nature can still kill you in a New York minute, but now you might have thirty seconds or so to get out of it's way.
I was born and raised in the south and southeastern United States a few years before World War Two began. I didn't know that my family lived in poverty, because there were lots of people who seemed poorer than even we were. Rich or poor, insulation in houses didn't exist. It seems odd to say, but i don't think it had been invented. At least not like what insulation is today. Poor people built wood fires in fire places and cast iron stoves to stay warm by the time I was born, but the wealthier people were beginning to get coal furnaces and kerosene stoves in their uninsulated houses.
I have to reflect on what it was like for people when I was a kid sixty to seventy years ago. One life time and so much change. Change for the better technology wise. What really impresses me when it gets brutally here is the lousy weather reports they had when I was a kid. I've known it was gonna get this cold for a week, but when I was a kid we would have been lucky to know it was gonna get this cold for a day before it got here. What if you were ill or just feeling lazy and you hadn't chopped the wood or watered the cows or kept your preserved foods covered up? Then, BOOM, the temperature drops without warning and even your drinking water is frozen, and the babies still piss and shit in their diapers that are prone to be frozen on to their bodies.
It truly astounds me that tomorrow's weather and pretty much the whole coming week's weather can be reliably predicted using the current digital technology. The pre-emptive strategies of possible storms can be guessed with great accuracy. Humans can pretty much know when to run for their lives. They can know ahead of time when to stock up on supplies they might need. This just wasn't there for us even when I was a kid. It wasn't that long ago that homo sapiens lived really close to what their fellow species lived. Nature can still kill you in a New York minute, but now you might have thirty seconds or so to get out of it's way.
Thursday, January 15, 2009
It's Hard To Believe What I Try To Write Off
I wrote the paragraph below earlier in an e-mail response, and I wanna explore it a little more with room to write.
_
Everything that appears in my post and in your response only exists as abstract constructions. The difference either opinion makes depends on the mind set of the readers. I figure more people understand what I'm writing than understand what you're writing, and if you catch up with me by dumbing down, I'll still have less work to do than you to regain my superior communicating style over your incomprehensible, over-educated gobble de gook. LOL
_
The person I'm exchanging notes with is a hard-boiled scientist who met Einstein as a ten year old prodigy. He is obviously a brilliant person who has written many scientific papers and is more adept at linguistics than many professionals. He argues for the science crowd. Why he does that with me is a mystery, but I'm a little flattered that he bothers, but not bullied. My point is that I am convinced that more ordinary people would hang around and have an actual two-way conversation with me than would hang around just to hear him lecture on a one-way exclusivity basis where he speaks a language they wouldn't bother to get a grip on, and if they could, why would they need to listen to him? I've never seen this guy, but I just know somehow that I'm a lot prettier than him. '-)
The topic we were writing about is astrology. Learning to make charts is not rocket science, but it's not easy either. The real difficulty comes with learning to speak the lingo to people who haven't bothered and won't bother to learn it. That's gotta at least have an equivalency with science, if not more so. The simple truth is that more people speak the science lingo than speak the astrological lingo, and it's a lot easier to get feedback for science talk than than it is for the same crowd to encourage one to speak the astrological lingo. It's more likely that the astrologer speaker will be abused by curses, and run outta town on a rail. It takes a lotta fortitude to even admit that I've studied astrology for over twenty years, much less make sense out of the reason I did that to people who are more likely to study science in school, and more likely than that to study the Bible at home.
The more a member of this Thomas e-mail discussion group takes a chance to communicate with me on this internet board, the better the chance is that they, like me, have painted themselves in a corner by going over the top studying some fanciful obsession to the point that the average person hasn't a clue what they're talking about.
The very reason I stopped studying astrology was the way using the lingo isolated me from the ordinary person I might meet who just does their job, takes care of their family, and hopes to get old and die without a lotta pain for their troubles. I think it would be the same problem my scientific friend would have using his specialty lingo.
A good friend I actually know in person speaks this science language so competently he does it for a living. Away from his day job, however, he appears to spend a lotta time trying to be accepted as a good ol' boy musician, who can play with any style of musician who takes the stage. He's doing it too. The man can definitely multi-task, in spades.
Being "well-rounded" can become a driving force when being shunned for isolating yourself by specializing in an over-the-top avocation most other people avoid like the plague. This is what brought me around to studying the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching for over thirty years on an almost daily basis. The lingo it uses contain mostly objects of nature like bushes and trees and lakes and ponds and hardly ever uses descriptions that would cause anybody pause. Yet, it honors complexity with a statecraft that might impress even Emily Post or Miss Manners.
It's taken me a long time to get old. Life hasn't been a fast lane challenge all the time for me. I've not worked at all for years on end. I lived like a bum, and that was a real challenge. It would have been a lot easier just to get a good steady job and wait to die.
When I was a bum and I came into some town with all that I owned in my hands or on my back or strapped around my shoulder, and I smelled to high heaven because I haven't bathed or showered for weeks, and only owned that one set of clothes (with a few other dirty extras that don't take away from my scent) anyway. I look like a bum because I was a bum (or was then), and there was no known reason for putting on airs, and yet I did.
It was embarrassing to have that pointed out time and again when i thought I'd rid myself of some particular pompousness I'd picked up as a child, but that culture stuff is layered, and peeling the onion appears to be an ongoing, lifetime job.
It's still hard for me to believe. A damned bum on the street with no way to hide it, and I'm still giving myself airs as if I'm a big shot. Living for the hope that lie will be murdered by faint praise.
I remember one particular event where I was standing by the side of the road outside some small town somewhere, and I was literally having this conversation with myself about how all the people passing me by didn't know what kind of person they were passing up. They didn't know that I came from respectable people.
They didn't know that I'd been taught for years on end to think I was somebody real special, and that I had a reputation to live up to. They just rolled up their car windows and locked their car doors as they passed me by, as if I was a nobody bum on the side of the road Usually muttering that there oughta be a law about people like me, running around the country like a scab on a sore, like it was my God-given right to do nothing instead of something, as if I were a free man.
Slave holders aren't free men. I was held in slavery by the images I was supposed to live up to, and those very images were enacted to be criminal by law now, and I was still plagued by what life was not going to be for me. The government made my caretakers into criminals, and being raised by them made me guilty by association.
I only thought I was a real American when I was a prepubescent child. I memorized all the words to all the patriotic songs. I knew all the anthems for all the military services. I knew at least the first verse and chorus to God Bless America and the Battle Hymn of The Republic... for which we stand... one nation... indivisible... but it was. I was raised to be different than what the law became just after I became a full-growed man. This was very confusing to a newly minted teenager desperately seeking his own identity in any way, shape, or form. I ran for my life.
I somehow knew I was not going to be able to stay home in the South to confront the fact that my whole culture had been disenfranchised by law. I had to go somewhere that had different ways for doing things so I could realize what there was about the way I'd been taught to be could be amended. After a couple of summer sessions at East Carolina Teacher's College (at the time), I accidently realized I could join the Navy and get outta town, and nobody could legally stop me this time. My parting was a very sad affair, but at least the country wasn't at war, and they couldn't have stopped me if it had been. I was off to see the world, and joyous beyond all rhyme or reason.
I think if I hadn't have gotten the hell outta Dodge I really would have gone truly irretrievably insane. I had troubles enow as it was. The first place I went to after I joined the Navy was to San Diego, California. All the way across the country. At least three thousand miles away from the Civil Rights woes that were going on back home. Nobody knew me or any of my near kin for 3000 miles. I was a totally ecstatic eighteen year old boy who fully intended to become his own man, and not at the disposal of an act of Congress to make life different than I wanted it to be.
Nobody I knew had the privilege or not of knowing what I was doing out there in California. Nobody. So, I did anything and everything I had the opportunity to do, especially if I'd been taught not to do it. What that amounted to basically was about booze and sex. I drank every kind of booze I'd ever read about in all the adventure stories and books I'd read as a kid, and permitted myself to have any kind of sex anybody else could dream up. It had to be them, because reading about sex in a book don't mean much unless you have had some sort of similar experience. I wanted to know everything. It's a freaking miracle I didn't get any diseases from those uninhabited depravities.
The Navy carried me to practically every significant country and culture around the Pacific Rim. When I wasn't on some voyage to Asia, I explored the highways and byways of California. Unchaperoned and unescorted. By the time I returned to the farm I knew a little something more than how to plow mules and chop cotton. I had prepared myself to at least hold my own against the heaviest tide of change to hit America since the Great Depression.
It was still too crazy for me to live in the South. I had made up my mind to let the old ways go and try to live a life of no blame. It's only been fifty years since I joined the Navy the first time. There is still a lot of bitterness among the people here my age. They want me to pretend things haven't changed behind closed doors. Yes they have. The old ways only happen behind closed doors. When I left the South by joining the Navy I sought to be a free man. I didn't wanna be enslaved by my prejudices. Even if I didn't know how many were buried in my past.
I don't think I'll ever be free of my past prejudices, but I don't have to be ruled by them when I discover they're there. I can at least be polite and act like I got some never mind. The people I was raised to be prejudiced about had as hard a time as I've had getting used to the changes. It's as humiliating to be called an "Uncle Tom" as it is to be called a racist. I don't think racists are any more racist than atheists are disbelievers while flattened out in a foxhole.
_
Everything that appears in my post and in your response only exists as abstract constructions. The difference either opinion makes depends on the mind set of the readers. I figure more people understand what I'm writing than understand what you're writing, and if you catch up with me by dumbing down, I'll still have less work to do than you to regain my superior communicating style over your incomprehensible, over-educated gobble de gook. LOL
_
The person I'm exchanging notes with is a hard-boiled scientist who met Einstein as a ten year old prodigy. He is obviously a brilliant person who has written many scientific papers and is more adept at linguistics than many professionals. He argues for the science crowd. Why he does that with me is a mystery, but I'm a little flattered that he bothers, but not bullied. My point is that I am convinced that more ordinary people would hang around and have an actual two-way conversation with me than would hang around just to hear him lecture on a one-way exclusivity basis where he speaks a language they wouldn't bother to get a grip on, and if they could, why would they need to listen to him? I've never seen this guy, but I just know somehow that I'm a lot prettier than him. '-)
The topic we were writing about is astrology. Learning to make charts is not rocket science, but it's not easy either. The real difficulty comes with learning to speak the lingo to people who haven't bothered and won't bother to learn it. That's gotta at least have an equivalency with science, if not more so. The simple truth is that more people speak the science lingo than speak the astrological lingo, and it's a lot easier to get feedback for science talk than than it is for the same crowd to encourage one to speak the astrological lingo. It's more likely that the astrologer speaker will be abused by curses, and run outta town on a rail. It takes a lotta fortitude to even admit that I've studied astrology for over twenty years, much less make sense out of the reason I did that to people who are more likely to study science in school, and more likely than that to study the Bible at home.
The more a member of this Thomas e-mail discussion group takes a chance to communicate with me on this internet board, the better the chance is that they, like me, have painted themselves in a corner by going over the top studying some fanciful obsession to the point that the average person hasn't a clue what they're talking about.
The very reason I stopped studying astrology was the way using the lingo isolated me from the ordinary person I might meet who just does their job, takes care of their family, and hopes to get old and die without a lotta pain for their troubles. I think it would be the same problem my scientific friend would have using his specialty lingo.
A good friend I actually know in person speaks this science language so competently he does it for a living. Away from his day job, however, he appears to spend a lotta time trying to be accepted as a good ol' boy musician, who can play with any style of musician who takes the stage. He's doing it too. The man can definitely multi-task, in spades.
Being "well-rounded" can become a driving force when being shunned for isolating yourself by specializing in an over-the-top avocation most other people avoid like the plague. This is what brought me around to studying the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching for over thirty years on an almost daily basis. The lingo it uses contain mostly objects of nature like bushes and trees and lakes and ponds and hardly ever uses descriptions that would cause anybody pause. Yet, it honors complexity with a statecraft that might impress even Emily Post or Miss Manners.
It's taken me a long time to get old. Life hasn't been a fast lane challenge all the time for me. I've not worked at all for years on end. I lived like a bum, and that was a real challenge. It would have been a lot easier just to get a good steady job and wait to die.
When I was a bum and I came into some town with all that I owned in my hands or on my back or strapped around my shoulder, and I smelled to high heaven because I haven't bathed or showered for weeks, and only owned that one set of clothes (with a few other dirty extras that don't take away from my scent) anyway. I look like a bum because I was a bum (or was then), and there was no known reason for putting on airs, and yet I did.
It was embarrassing to have that pointed out time and again when i thought I'd rid myself of some particular pompousness I'd picked up as a child, but that culture stuff is layered, and peeling the onion appears to be an ongoing, lifetime job.
It's still hard for me to believe. A damned bum on the street with no way to hide it, and I'm still giving myself airs as if I'm a big shot. Living for the hope that lie will be murdered by faint praise.
I remember one particular event where I was standing by the side of the road outside some small town somewhere, and I was literally having this conversation with myself about how all the people passing me by didn't know what kind of person they were passing up. They didn't know that I came from respectable people.
They didn't know that I'd been taught for years on end to think I was somebody real special, and that I had a reputation to live up to. They just rolled up their car windows and locked their car doors as they passed me by, as if I was a nobody bum on the side of the road Usually muttering that there oughta be a law about people like me, running around the country like a scab on a sore, like it was my God-given right to do nothing instead of something, as if I were a free man.
Slave holders aren't free men. I was held in slavery by the images I was supposed to live up to, and those very images were enacted to be criminal by law now, and I was still plagued by what life was not going to be for me. The government made my caretakers into criminals, and being raised by them made me guilty by association.
I only thought I was a real American when I was a prepubescent child. I memorized all the words to all the patriotic songs. I knew all the anthems for all the military services. I knew at least the first verse and chorus to God Bless America and the Battle Hymn of The Republic... for which we stand... one nation... indivisible... but it was. I was raised to be different than what the law became just after I became a full-growed man. This was very confusing to a newly minted teenager desperately seeking his own identity in any way, shape, or form. I ran for my life.
I somehow knew I was not going to be able to stay home in the South to confront the fact that my whole culture had been disenfranchised by law. I had to go somewhere that had different ways for doing things so I could realize what there was about the way I'd been taught to be could be amended. After a couple of summer sessions at East Carolina Teacher's College (at the time), I accidently realized I could join the Navy and get outta town, and nobody could legally stop me this time. My parting was a very sad affair, but at least the country wasn't at war, and they couldn't have stopped me if it had been. I was off to see the world, and joyous beyond all rhyme or reason.
I think if I hadn't have gotten the hell outta Dodge I really would have gone truly irretrievably insane. I had troubles enow as it was. The first place I went to after I joined the Navy was to San Diego, California. All the way across the country. At least three thousand miles away from the Civil Rights woes that were going on back home. Nobody knew me or any of my near kin for 3000 miles. I was a totally ecstatic eighteen year old boy who fully intended to become his own man, and not at the disposal of an act of Congress to make life different than I wanted it to be.
Nobody I knew had the privilege or not of knowing what I was doing out there in California. Nobody. So, I did anything and everything I had the opportunity to do, especially if I'd been taught not to do it. What that amounted to basically was about booze and sex. I drank every kind of booze I'd ever read about in all the adventure stories and books I'd read as a kid, and permitted myself to have any kind of sex anybody else could dream up. It had to be them, because reading about sex in a book don't mean much unless you have had some sort of similar experience. I wanted to know everything. It's a freaking miracle I didn't get any diseases from those uninhabited depravities.
The Navy carried me to practically every significant country and culture around the Pacific Rim. When I wasn't on some voyage to Asia, I explored the highways and byways of California. Unchaperoned and unescorted. By the time I returned to the farm I knew a little something more than how to plow mules and chop cotton. I had prepared myself to at least hold my own against the heaviest tide of change to hit America since the Great Depression.
It was still too crazy for me to live in the South. I had made up my mind to let the old ways go and try to live a life of no blame. It's only been fifty years since I joined the Navy the first time. There is still a lot of bitterness among the people here my age. They want me to pretend things haven't changed behind closed doors. Yes they have. The old ways only happen behind closed doors. When I left the South by joining the Navy I sought to be a free man. I didn't wanna be enslaved by my prejudices. Even if I didn't know how many were buried in my past.
I don't think I'll ever be free of my past prejudices, but I don't have to be ruled by them when I discover they're there. I can at least be polite and act like I got some never mind. The people I was raised to be prejudiced about had as hard a time as I've had getting used to the changes. It's as humiliating to be called an "Uncle Tom" as it is to be called a racist. I don't think racists are any more racist than atheists are disbelievers while flattened out in a foxhole.
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
To Give As Good As I Got
A NLP experiment. Two high speed cameras set up in an ordinary room that has two doors facing each other. Two strangers who had never met were positioned outside of the two opposing doors that lead into the room where the cameras are trained on the doors. On signal, the two men open the doors and moved toward each other at the center of the room and shook hands. That was all that happened. When the high-speed film was analyzed forty thousand different subliminal cues were exchanged by the two strangers in the time it took them to meet in the center of the room and grasp hands. The world is not always made with words, but nuances of great subtlety. I think the persona we each create with the rules of conscience we adopt is at the bottom of our every motive and is the drummer we each march to. Maybe it's Jesus as a docetic spirit. I think some aspect of ourselves can make sense of those rapid-fire forty thousand cues that happen at every chance encounter.
_
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nemesis_(mythology)
From the Mac Dictionary:
nemesis |ˈneməsis|
noun ( pl. -ses |-ˌsēz|) (usu. one's nemesis)
the inescapable or implacable agent of someone's or something's downfall : the balance beam was the team's nemesis, as two gymnasts fell from the apparatus.
• a downfall caused by such an agent : one risks nemesis by uttering such words.
• (often Nemesis) retributive justice : nemesis is notoriously slow.
ORIGIN late 16th cent.: Greek, literally ‘retribution,’ from nemein ‘give what is
*
The part of the Dictionary description that attracts me is the part about a nemesis acting as someone's agent. I don't think people who become another's nemesis even know why they're doing it.
It's happened to me many times. People who get to know me as a friend want me to stay the same person they felt friendly toward for the rest of my life for their sakes. No matter what happens to them or how they alter their own lifestyles, they seem to think I should stay the same to give them stability in a relationship they trusted. It's not going to happen.
Why not? Because I won't let them use me this way. I got this body when it was fourteen years old, It's parents didn't know their offspring had a new master. They wanted me to be their conjugal creation on and on, just like before, when I had oodles more lifetime experiences than both of them put together. Admittedly, I could have been more polite.
I was friends with several people I had known for a long time as a person they knew as "Jim". Jim had a vasectomy and wasn't capable of being Jim anymore.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasectomy
All the people who had known that man Jim were in for a rude surprise. When I could no longer be Jim for them anymore they became my nemesis. They were agents for some Jim person whose life ended under the deft hands of a surgeon using a scalpel, a pair of surgical scissors, a loop or two of sutures around the folded back vas diferens, sew the small incision in my now defunct scrotum up, and that's all she wrote for ol' Jim. RIP
That's when I became felix. A human being has to be what they are, and when they aren't what they were anymore, they have to become what they can be. felix is what I became after I couldn't make babies anymore due to having a vasectomy performed. felix indifferently recognizes himself for all practical purposes as a eunuch. Worthy only of guarding harems. The Wikipedia article explains why things could be seen this way. I'm more okay with it than I could have preyed for.
I definitely felt threatened by Jim's old friends. They seemed to want to kill felix to bring Jim back to life. Some unquestionably loved him once. They seemed not to have a clue how threatening their behavior was. It's like they were trying to protect the memory of an old friend against all pretenders. They put their friendship on the line for his sake, and so they had to go away.
Allowing that I pretty much have the same attitude as an eunuch evidences itself in the vast increase in detachment toward the other's desire for emotional investments. That's only for events and behaviors that hopefully lead to procreation. The vasectomy nipped that desired end in the bud.
Indulging in lovey dovey behavior that can lead ultimately to procreation amounts to being a fraud. Why would i do that. To fool some sincere woman into thinking I could provide her with what men are there for in order to merely enjoy recreational sex with her under false pretenses? That's too dishonest for me.
Maybe it wasn't at first. I was open about having a vasectomy. I literally thought it would be a turn-on for women to have as much sex with me as they liked, and they'd never get pregnant. It was a total turn-off instead. That put the final feather in my cap. I understood something deeper and more abiding than I could have as a stud animal.
It provided me with a sense of compassion for the human animal I could have never acquired otherwise. A compassion for how little they've learned and how easily it is for them to ignore that all there is to life is to be baby factories to produce progeny who produced progeny. The urge to life is the only purpose of being.
My oldest daughter, whose wedding I attended in Seattle just sent pictures of the sonogram of her first baby. Her younger sister has a five-year old. All of my children who can have children have had children. My duty to life as we know it is done. If all I have left to offer is compassion, then I guess I'm now able to give as good as I got.
_
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nemesis_(mythology)
From the Mac Dictionary:
nemesis |ˈneməsis|
noun ( pl. -ses |-ˌsēz|) (usu. one's nemesis)
the inescapable or implacable agent of someone's or something's downfall : the balance beam was the team's nemesis, as two gymnasts fell from the apparatus.
• a downfall caused by such an agent : one risks nemesis by uttering such words.
• (often Nemesis) retributive justice : nemesis is notoriously slow.
ORIGIN late 16th cent.: Greek, literally ‘retribution,’ from nemein ‘give what is
*
The part of the Dictionary description that attracts me is the part about a nemesis acting as someone's agent. I don't think people who become another's nemesis even know why they're doing it.
It's happened to me many times. People who get to know me as a friend want me to stay the same person they felt friendly toward for the rest of my life for their sakes. No matter what happens to them or how they alter their own lifestyles, they seem to think I should stay the same to give them stability in a relationship they trusted. It's not going to happen.
Why not? Because I won't let them use me this way. I got this body when it was fourteen years old, It's parents didn't know their offspring had a new master. They wanted me to be their conjugal creation on and on, just like before, when I had oodles more lifetime experiences than both of them put together. Admittedly, I could have been more polite.
I was friends with several people I had known for a long time as a person they knew as "Jim". Jim had a vasectomy and wasn't capable of being Jim anymore.
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vasectomy
All the people who had known that man Jim were in for a rude surprise. When I could no longer be Jim for them anymore they became my nemesis. They were agents for some Jim person whose life ended under the deft hands of a surgeon using a scalpel, a pair of surgical scissors, a loop or two of sutures around the folded back vas diferens, sew the small incision in my now defunct scrotum up, and that's all she wrote for ol' Jim. RIP
That's when I became felix. A human being has to be what they are, and when they aren't what they were anymore, they have to become what they can be. felix is what I became after I couldn't make babies anymore due to having a vasectomy performed. felix indifferently recognizes himself for all practical purposes as a eunuch. Worthy only of guarding harems. The Wikipedia article explains why things could be seen this way. I'm more okay with it than I could have preyed for.
I definitely felt threatened by Jim's old friends. They seemed to want to kill felix to bring Jim back to life. Some unquestionably loved him once. They seemed not to have a clue how threatening their behavior was. It's like they were trying to protect the memory of an old friend against all pretenders. They put their friendship on the line for his sake, and so they had to go away.
Allowing that I pretty much have the same attitude as an eunuch evidences itself in the vast increase in detachment toward the other's desire for emotional investments. That's only for events and behaviors that hopefully lead to procreation. The vasectomy nipped that desired end in the bud.
Indulging in lovey dovey behavior that can lead ultimately to procreation amounts to being a fraud. Why would i do that. To fool some sincere woman into thinking I could provide her with what men are there for in order to merely enjoy recreational sex with her under false pretenses? That's too dishonest for me.
Maybe it wasn't at first. I was open about having a vasectomy. I literally thought it would be a turn-on for women to have as much sex with me as they liked, and they'd never get pregnant. It was a total turn-off instead. That put the final feather in my cap. I understood something deeper and more abiding than I could have as a stud animal.
It provided me with a sense of compassion for the human animal I could have never acquired otherwise. A compassion for how little they've learned and how easily it is for them to ignore that all there is to life is to be baby factories to produce progeny who produced progeny. The urge to life is the only purpose of being.
My oldest daughter, whose wedding I attended in Seattle just sent pictures of the sonogram of her first baby. Her younger sister has a five-year old. All of my children who can have children have had children. My duty to life as we know it is done. If all I have left to offer is compassion, then I guess I'm now able to give as good as I got.
Monday, January 12, 2009
Disingenuously At Dawn
I've spent all morning trying to stir up some trouble, but the fish ain't biting yet. Despite that I'm very pleased to have projected this attribute of myself upon my pen pal Jack in a conversation he brought up about religious fundamentalists. He rejects them, and this is my ill-considered response:
""They" can't reject what they refuse to understand any better than you can't reject what you de-liberately ignore. You don't possess any knowledge superior to the people you patronize. You just wrap it up in "a cacaphony of cognitively dissonant gibberish" to make it seem that way."
The quote, "a cacophony of cognitively dissonant gibberish" is Jack's words in an earlier post. I like that turn of words even though I didn't compose it. Since I have no choice but to project my own idea of myself upon the other, using this expression seems like a clever way for me to feign being honest about my feelings in the future. I'll hide my deceit behind a cacophony of cognitively dissonant gibberish like Jack apparently would, and blame Jack if his pigs don't fly.
When Jack and I communicated in this rather rude fashion this morning, I already knew that I hide the fact that I'm no more clever than your average clever person. I've knowed for a long ti-me. I do cover it up by being crafty in a back-on-my-heels sort of way. Mostly I hide my ordinariness these days with what I call "tossed word salad". It's a sort of gibberish that threatens to make sense without actually getting my reader over the hump. That's loads of fun for me. I like the idea of leaving people in suspended animation just for sport. Whether that actually happens or not is anybody's guess.
Hiding my run-of-the-mill persona from the roar of the crowd and the smell of the greasepaint hasn't been an easy habit to git shed of. I've grown to gnow that nobody knows or can know that I'm actually nothing special. That's why my act is superfluous and needs to be dispensed with, but I'm clinging to my delusions for lack of a worthy replacement.
I only realized how I was attempting to dupe the whole world with "cognitively dissonant" bullshit after I had studied astrology for a decade or two. The better I got at using astrological lingo in some brazen attempt to buffalo the world, and convince them I was "smarter than the average bear", the sadder I became as I began to realize I was painting myself in a corner.
I was attempting to use a lingo very few people understand and never will. I might as well have been speaking Sanskrit to order hot dogs here in the belly of the whale, and waiting expectantly for these good ol' boys 'round hyah to praise me for it, instead of cutting me on my face to leave a scar for spiting them.
That's not any different than what the medical or legal profession does for a living. They working a lingo. Lingoes are mo' powerful than mojos. They demand a higher fee, and they usually want up-front money to satisfy themselves you'll pay up whether they're successful in they pretentious conjuring or no.
""They" can't reject what they refuse to understand any better than you can't reject what you de-liberately ignore. You don't possess any knowledge superior to the people you patronize. You just wrap it up in "a cacaphony of cognitively dissonant gibberish" to make it seem that way."
The quote, "a cacophony of cognitively dissonant gibberish" is Jack's words in an earlier post. I like that turn of words even though I didn't compose it. Since I have no choice but to project my own idea of myself upon the other, using this expression seems like a clever way for me to feign being honest about my feelings in the future. I'll hide my deceit behind a cacophony of cognitively dissonant gibberish like Jack apparently would, and blame Jack if his pigs don't fly.
When Jack and I communicated in this rather rude fashion this morning, I already knew that I hide the fact that I'm no more clever than your average clever person. I've knowed for a long ti-me. I do cover it up by being crafty in a back-on-my-heels sort of way. Mostly I hide my ordinariness these days with what I call "tossed word salad". It's a sort of gibberish that threatens to make sense without actually getting my reader over the hump. That's loads of fun for me. I like the idea of leaving people in suspended animation just for sport. Whether that actually happens or not is anybody's guess.
Hiding my run-of-the-mill persona from the roar of the crowd and the smell of the greasepaint hasn't been an easy habit to git shed of. I've grown to gnow that nobody knows or can know that I'm actually nothing special. That's why my act is superfluous and needs to be dispensed with, but I'm clinging to my delusions for lack of a worthy replacement.
I only realized how I was attempting to dupe the whole world with "cognitively dissonant" bullshit after I had studied astrology for a decade or two. The better I got at using astrological lingo in some brazen attempt to buffalo the world, and convince them I was "smarter than the average bear", the sadder I became as I began to realize I was painting myself in a corner.
I was attempting to use a lingo very few people understand and never will. I might as well have been speaking Sanskrit to order hot dogs here in the belly of the whale, and waiting expectantly for these good ol' boys 'round hyah to praise me for it, instead of cutting me on my face to leave a scar for spiting them.
That's not any different than what the medical or legal profession does for a living. They working a lingo. Lingoes are mo' powerful than mojos. They demand a higher fee, and they usually want up-front money to satisfy themselves you'll pay up whether they're successful in they pretentious conjuring or no.
Sunday, January 11, 2009
What The Not-Me Can Be
I can barely watch the Sunday morning news shows anymore. I have seen this kind of palaver for too many years to be fooled by it anymore. I think I have to be fooled by the media and politicians shenanigans to enjoy what they do. I see it all as just so much of the human plight.
I was writing away yesterday when suddenly I realized I'd written something that was very interesting to me.
"The body never loses consciousness when the persona goes to sleep, because the body never possessed it. Only the persona possesses consciousness, and only then, as the self-generated result of it's adopted rules of conscience.
I never thought of the persona being the one and only container for consciousness. I guess that might mean that if you lose consciousness, then yo' meal jar got a hole in it. LOL"
The LOL after the "meal jar" comment was about a saying in the Gospel of Thomas about a woman who was walking on a road back to her house from the market, and the ceramic jar she was carrying meal in had a broken handle she wasn't aware of and the meal spilt to the ground as she walked home.
97 Jesus said, The [Father's] kingdom is like a woman who was carrying a [jar] full of meal. While she was walking along [a] distant road, the handle of the jar broke and the meal spilled behind her [along] the road. She didn't know it; she hadn't noticed a problem. When she reached her house, she put the jar down and discovered that it was empty.
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
I didn't write about a meal jar at first. I wrote about a bucket that had a hole in it. There was a song I learned in my youth about some poor soul couldn't go to the brewery and get a bucket of beer to bring it home, because his bucket had a hole in it. That reminded me of the #97 saying and I changed it over to see where that would take me.
It was only after I had posted the quoted material above that I looked up the saying to see if there was some sort of correlation . Admittedly, that particular saying had never bottomed out for me because I didn't really understand the moral of the story.
I guess the saying could be about a woman who lost consciousness. The saying does say "She didn't know it; she hadn't noticed a problem." It could be a metaphor about dementia or senility or the trials and tribulations of getting old. But, I'm old and courting with the ravages of ti-me, so I might just be projecting my own situation upon the woman in this saying.
My opinions on the Thomas list don't please some of the members some of the ti-me. I get attacked a lot for being so crude. No blame. I am crude. Deliberately crude , if that's what it takes. I've sort of convinced myself I take a shamanistic approach at times to deal with the other's shame.
Shame can be debilitating and make people sick to death of their own lousy motives. This state of being requires radical and drastic action. It shouldn't be approached by people who are worried about what people will think of them if they reach beyond the pale to get what will do the job of diminishing the pain of feeling shamed.
I used to think I was being clumsy and thoughtless when I treated shamed people with disdain and hurt their feelings. Now that I'm an eunuch as far as procreation is concerned and it's unproductive literally for me to woo the world for the sake of attracting impregnable females, I see the plight of the world in a completely different way. I can do those things that will do the trick without acquiring their shame and working it out through my own person. That was a real drag, man.
I was writing away yesterday when suddenly I realized I'd written something that was very interesting to me.
"The body never loses consciousness when the persona goes to sleep, because the body never possessed it. Only the persona possesses consciousness, and only then, as the self-generated result of it's adopted rules of conscience.
I never thought of the persona being the one and only container for consciousness. I guess that might mean that if you lose consciousness, then yo' meal jar got a hole in it. LOL"
The LOL after the "meal jar" comment was about a saying in the Gospel of Thomas about a woman who was walking on a road back to her house from the market, and the ceramic jar she was carrying meal in had a broken handle she wasn't aware of and the meal spilt to the ground as she walked home.
97 Jesus said, The [Father's] kingdom is like a woman who was carrying a [jar] full of meal. While she was walking along [a] distant road, the handle of the jar broke and the meal spilled behind her [along] the road. She didn't know it; she hadn't noticed a problem. When she reached her house, she put the jar down and discovered that it was empty.
http://users.misericordia.edu//davies/thomas/Trans.htm
I didn't write about a meal jar at first. I wrote about a bucket that had a hole in it. There was a song I learned in my youth about some poor soul couldn't go to the brewery and get a bucket of beer to bring it home, because his bucket had a hole in it. That reminded me of the #97 saying and I changed it over to see where that would take me.
It was only after I had posted the quoted material above that I looked up the saying to see if there was some sort of correlation . Admittedly, that particular saying had never bottomed out for me because I didn't really understand the moral of the story.
I guess the saying could be about a woman who lost consciousness. The saying does say "She didn't know it; she hadn't noticed a problem." It could be a metaphor about dementia or senility or the trials and tribulations of getting old. But, I'm old and courting with the ravages of ti-me, so I might just be projecting my own situation upon the woman in this saying.
My opinions on the Thomas list don't please some of the members some of the ti-me. I get attacked a lot for being so crude. No blame. I am crude. Deliberately crude , if that's what it takes. I've sort of convinced myself I take a shamanistic approach at times to deal with the other's shame.
Shame can be debilitating and make people sick to death of their own lousy motives. This state of being requires radical and drastic action. It shouldn't be approached by people who are worried about what people will think of them if they reach beyond the pale to get what will do the job of diminishing the pain of feeling shamed.
I used to think I was being clumsy and thoughtless when I treated shamed people with disdain and hurt their feelings. Now that I'm an eunuch as far as procreation is concerned and it's unproductive literally for me to woo the world for the sake of attracting impregnable females, I see the plight of the world in a completely different way. I can do those things that will do the trick without acquiring their shame and working it out through my own person. That was a real drag, man.
Saturday, January 10, 2009
Heebie Jeebies
I don't know whether it's me or the world, but I'm not in much of a communicating mood during the last week or so. The medicine I'm taking probably has a lot to do with it. Maybe I'll come up with something soon.
Tuesday, January 6, 2009
A New Blog
I've been waiting for the MacWorld Expo to happen to see what Apple would offer an upgrade to. The keynote speech is apparently where all the important news is given out at these shindigs. Most of the Mac pundits wrote that nothing much was expected this year. The biggest deal about the whole thing was that Steve Jobs wasn't there, and it's the last year Apple will display at it's oldest trade show. It seems like Apple has outgrown the need for this magazine's trade show support. Tech companies in general seem to be pulling away from this type of venue.
I was hoping Apple would update the Mac Mini. I didn't think I would buy a new one, but I wanted to see if I'd be tempted. I am in the mood for a new computer, but I have some features that are not yet in the consumer market to be in a new machine by default. Namely, a Solid State Drive and USB3. The hype was flowing for thinking Apple would come out with a new Mac Mini, but they didn't do it. They only upgraded their top of the line notebook they call the MacBook Pro.
One interesting note was that they did offer an SSD as an option with a larger storage capacity. the USB3 upgrade is too new. I didn't expect it to come out on anything Mac. As a matter of fact, another big trade show going on now, the CES, will have the first official demonstration of USB3 this week sometime.
USB3 is ten times as fast as USB2. It will have to be to accommodate the speed of the up and coming SSDs, but it will allow comparatively unlimited uploads and downloads from external peripheral gadgets like high speed cameras. I'm not thinking straight about this now, but several of the elements of computing can be taken out of the case that contributes to the heating and the need for a lot of noisy fans. Setting them up outside the main CPU case where they won't need fans to cool them will make computing a much quieter affair. Quieter still because the SSDs that will replace the traditional hard drives have no moving parts and are for all practical purposes silent. The pundits claim this is revolutionary technology as opposed to evolutionary technology. It's not just the next logical step, but sorta like a jump to warp speed.
I set up a new blog at:
http://wordsaladexpress.wordpress.com/
I'll probably be using both sites for a while to see if I like the new one. Presently, I only wrote a short note there to get things going.
I was hoping Apple would update the Mac Mini. I didn't think I would buy a new one, but I wanted to see if I'd be tempted. I am in the mood for a new computer, but I have some features that are not yet in the consumer market to be in a new machine by default. Namely, a Solid State Drive and USB3. The hype was flowing for thinking Apple would come out with a new Mac Mini, but they didn't do it. They only upgraded their top of the line notebook they call the MacBook Pro.
One interesting note was that they did offer an SSD as an option with a larger storage capacity. the USB3 upgrade is too new. I didn't expect it to come out on anything Mac. As a matter of fact, another big trade show going on now, the CES, will have the first official demonstration of USB3 this week sometime.
USB3 is ten times as fast as USB2. It will have to be to accommodate the speed of the up and coming SSDs, but it will allow comparatively unlimited uploads and downloads from external peripheral gadgets like high speed cameras. I'm not thinking straight about this now, but several of the elements of computing can be taken out of the case that contributes to the heating and the need for a lot of noisy fans. Setting them up outside the main CPU case where they won't need fans to cool them will make computing a much quieter affair. Quieter still because the SSDs that will replace the traditional hard drives have no moving parts and are for all practical purposes silent. The pundits claim this is revolutionary technology as opposed to evolutionary technology. It's not just the next logical step, but sorta like a jump to warp speed.
I set up a new blog at:
http://wordsaladexpress.wordpress.com/
I'll probably be using both sites for a while to see if I like the new one. Presently, I only wrote a short note there to get things going.
Monday, January 5, 2009
The New President As A Potential Dictator
It appears to me as if I have seen so much of the way the world is that it's hard to catch me off guard. I don't know if that's a blessing or a curse. I would have been bored to tears to have lived like I live now ten years ago. I really am beginning to see that people see me as an old man no matter how I feel inside. They treat me like an old man who might need some consideration where strength and agility is concerned.
Many people are merely dismissive. They haven't got any use for me. I haven't been treated as a sex object for a very long time. Some young people of both genders push there way right past me knowing full well they won't have to suffer by their doing of it. No blame. I suspect most people when they get old will be treated just like they treated old people when they were younger. In that sense I think I'll do alright. I took the learning to treat my elders with respect fairly seriously.
I read an e-mail this morning that mentioned Neo-Nazis and responded to that poster in a way intended to suggest that Neo-Nazism is a waste of time. I don't know if I made my thoughts clear on the subject. Mainly because my thoughts are not clear on the subject. Nazism is a form of Fascist (as I understand it), and people who kowtow to this form of government seem attracted to and feel the need to be ruled by a strong man. Like a king or a dictator.
I've never lived under that sort of governance. I don't know what it's like. I felt like George Bush wanted me to learn what it was like from him and Cheney. They're still in charge. I probably won't believe that they still don't have something up their sleeves until the actual switchover on the 20th of this month.
Candidly, although I voted for him and wish him the best, Obama, and the fanaticism he appears to attract from very large groups of people may accomplish with ease what Bush and Cheney could only ineptly prey for. I've never witnessed this many people of all ages and genders get this worked up over one man. Should I live so long... life is about to get very interesting in America. Don't ask me how?
I've written my opinion about that before. Up until the election a couple of years ago I was beginning to feel isolated in my belief that Bush and Cheney intended to dismiss the Congress and the court system and rule the United States by Divine Right or some crazy shit like that. I wasn't worried as much about the political end of this upheaval as much as the religious right feeling and acting like they had a mandate to make their brand of Christianity the State Religion. Who wants that?
I don't think the current economic crisis is an accident. Not any more than I believe 9/11 was not part of the same central plan of a really ambitious bunch of people of a global hue. I guess I'm bordering on conspiracy theories when I write stuff like this. That has always seemed a little silly to me. Not that some people might plot a grand scheme to take over something or the other. That reads like the status quo. Why would they not? There are probably thousands of sinister groups doing that this very moment.
That's why I figure Fascism and Nazism will soon be a thing of the past. the technology won't allow it. The reason I write that makes sense to me for one basic reason I concurrently disclaim as the truth. New technology constantly supersedes older technology. The people who create the evolutionary technology that replaces yesterday's newspaper get old with the technology they created, and new technology created by younger technicians will replace what worked last year. Nobody can be in charge long before a new generation makes what gave the older group their power, obsolete.
Trying to stop it from happening would be sorta like the several biblical stories when the oldest male child of every family of a chosen tribe was to be murdered. Done to keep the new generation from eventually replacing them and the ideas they'd grown comfortable with. As if they really believed they were immortal.
The neglected fourteen year olds of the world will always overthrow the status quo simply because they can. Why would they not? In a lot of cases, it's their only chance to feel important, and they work at it harder than those smug souls who took the money and traditions their parents provided and let life run away from them. No blame. Shit happens. Things change.
Many people are merely dismissive. They haven't got any use for me. I haven't been treated as a sex object for a very long time. Some young people of both genders push there way right past me knowing full well they won't have to suffer by their doing of it. No blame. I suspect most people when they get old will be treated just like they treated old people when they were younger. In that sense I think I'll do alright. I took the learning to treat my elders with respect fairly seriously.
I read an e-mail this morning that mentioned Neo-Nazis and responded to that poster in a way intended to suggest that Neo-Nazism is a waste of time. I don't know if I made my thoughts clear on the subject. Mainly because my thoughts are not clear on the subject. Nazism is a form of Fascist (as I understand it), and people who kowtow to this form of government seem attracted to and feel the need to be ruled by a strong man. Like a king or a dictator.
I've never lived under that sort of governance. I don't know what it's like. I felt like George Bush wanted me to learn what it was like from him and Cheney. They're still in charge. I probably won't believe that they still don't have something up their sleeves until the actual switchover on the 20th of this month.
Candidly, although I voted for him and wish him the best, Obama, and the fanaticism he appears to attract from very large groups of people may accomplish with ease what Bush and Cheney could only ineptly prey for. I've never witnessed this many people of all ages and genders get this worked up over one man. Should I live so long... life is about to get very interesting in America. Don't ask me how?
I've written my opinion about that before. Up until the election a couple of years ago I was beginning to feel isolated in my belief that Bush and Cheney intended to dismiss the Congress and the court system and rule the United States by Divine Right or some crazy shit like that. I wasn't worried as much about the political end of this upheaval as much as the religious right feeling and acting like they had a mandate to make their brand of Christianity the State Religion. Who wants that?
I don't think the current economic crisis is an accident. Not any more than I believe 9/11 was not part of the same central plan of a really ambitious bunch of people of a global hue. I guess I'm bordering on conspiracy theories when I write stuff like this. That has always seemed a little silly to me. Not that some people might plot a grand scheme to take over something or the other. That reads like the status quo. Why would they not? There are probably thousands of sinister groups doing that this very moment.
That's why I figure Fascism and Nazism will soon be a thing of the past. the technology won't allow it. The reason I write that makes sense to me for one basic reason I concurrently disclaim as the truth. New technology constantly supersedes older technology. The people who create the evolutionary technology that replaces yesterday's newspaper get old with the technology they created, and new technology created by younger technicians will replace what worked last year. Nobody can be in charge long before a new generation makes what gave the older group their power, obsolete.
Trying to stop it from happening would be sorta like the several biblical stories when the oldest male child of every family of a chosen tribe was to be murdered. Done to keep the new generation from eventually replacing them and the ideas they'd grown comfortable with. As if they really believed they were immortal.
The neglected fourteen year olds of the world will always overthrow the status quo simply because they can. Why would they not? In a lot of cases, it's their only chance to feel important, and they work at it harder than those smug souls who took the money and traditions their parents provided and let life run away from them. No blame. Shit happens. Things change.
Sunday, January 4, 2009
Root Doctors And Chicken Blood
This new medicine I was prescribed makes me emotionally sensitive. Practically all of the events I normally get worked up about get more heightened responses. I stopped smoking in October of 2007, and after the initial withdrawals calmed down I was able to cope with my urge for a cigarette pretty good most of the time. Now, this methotrexate seems to amplify the nicotine urges I'm usually able to toss off with aplomb, and are once again a conscious struggle.
Much of what happened to me in my life happened spontaneously, randomly, and serendipitously because I threw my body away for the good of the game. What happened to my body when I was young wasn't even considered a threat unless I found myself in actual dire straits. I finally figured out that a situation some called "dire straits" didn't mean that situation was "dire straits" to me.
Chronic fatigue and debilitating hunger were the real catalysts for my odd esoteric experiences when I was out in some wild place alone. Hardly ever did power express itself to me with other people around, until the true sacraments trickled down to the little people. No blame. f
It almost had the feeling that the participates had to recognize themselves as the only key needed to go through the invisible gate. The most intriguing out of body experiences for me were the spontaneous ones that came outta nowhere and swooped me off to a place I wouldn't have known how to pray for.
I've grown fond of using the pray/prey conundrum. Occasionally, just changing either word to the other puts an odd or unusual slant of the topic I'm writing about as if I've entered some eerie dimension so far out of my normal range and scope, that I wouldn't have known how or what to pray for by meager description. I like to use "prey" and "pray" interchangeably just to grok the possibles. It helps me with stalking wild mushrooms.
Stalking is like seeking prey as if you're fervently praying not to make a mistake and missing the kill. Being extra quiet and diligent because you're hungry, and a missed kill will sap up even more of your waning energy. Using an attitude of devout prayer to stalk your prey so intensely and pointedly that the prey itself dictates your entire behavior, and once done, the notion that you're both the hunter and the hunted is foregone.
As a homeless wanderer I lived in a constant state of shock, for the most part, and even if I always had some sort of home I could possibly go to as refuge, I wouldn't let myself do that for the unmitigated sha-me of it. I needed the shame. I sought it out among strangers who would never know my nayme or kith or kin. I was the only one like me they would ever gnow.
Being a prodigal son is the spirit quest of a shaman. Shamed shamen are people who move through the roar of the misery of people who have behaved shamelessly, and woefully regret it. Some people can't live with the shame of some act or deed they have knowingly done, and their miserable relatives will jump through hoops to pay you to get them to stop doing that for as long as it takes to keep their stopping still.
Living as a bum serves as the ultimate education for understanding the deepest depths of despair. Nobody nose yo' nayme. "Hey... you... come over here! Now!" Being nosed out when you're trying to be invisible is humiliating. There is no where to go your detractors don't know more about than you ever will. A hell-bent mob or gang learns to smell out what's wot about a homeless bum. Bums are usually smelly because it reinforces the fact that they're not acting poor for the sake of unearned alms. It is the odor that makes a man a real bum, and authenticates them as okay to patronize with a pittance of trickle down.
A blood sacrifice can be necessary for especially shameless people of the icky sort. Hot blood from a recently hand-wrung, decapitated chicken dripping all over the naked body of the miscreant, while laying on the cold bare ground. It has to happen while the dying chicken is still flopping wildly in it's death throes. This must take place at dawn in some trumped-up holy place in freezing temperatures. It has helped many a soul return from the fiery depths of hell, and to wear their previous lack of dignity proudly as if a crown.
You know how it is with mojos, ya pick the one you hope will represent the bottom of the barrel to the perspective client and take your best shot. One of the worst things a practitioner can do is underestimate the competition. After all, licensed medicos get to legally use radiation, chemotherapy, SHOCK TREATMENT, huge scary hypodermic needles, etc, and all you got is wit and grit. The AMA don't take kindly to any sort of competition for THEIR money.
Since I think Eden is a place inside our hollow Sun where the corona dances wild with angels and flaming swords (solar eruptions) to keep out impure thoughts, my sopho-moronic thoughts about the Genesis myth probably wouldn't be that useful to you.
Much of what happened to me in my life happened spontaneously, randomly, and serendipitously because I threw my body away for the good of the game. What happened to my body when I was young wasn't even considered a threat unless I found myself in actual dire straits. I finally figured out that a situation some called "dire straits" didn't mean that situation was "dire straits" to me.
Chronic fatigue and debilitating hunger were the real catalysts for my odd esoteric experiences when I was out in some wild place alone. Hardly ever did power express itself to me with other people around, until the true sacraments trickled down to the little people. No blame. f
It almost had the feeling that the participates had to recognize themselves as the only key needed to go through the invisible gate. The most intriguing out of body experiences for me were the spontaneous ones that came outta nowhere and swooped me off to a place I wouldn't have known how to pray for.
I've grown fond of using the pray/prey conundrum. Occasionally, just changing either word to the other puts an odd or unusual slant of the topic I'm writing about as if I've entered some eerie dimension so far out of my normal range and scope, that I wouldn't have known how or what to pray for by meager description. I like to use "prey" and "pray" interchangeably just to grok the possibles. It helps me with stalking wild mushrooms.
Stalking is like seeking prey as if you're fervently praying not to make a mistake and missing the kill. Being extra quiet and diligent because you're hungry, and a missed kill will sap up even more of your waning energy. Using an attitude of devout prayer to stalk your prey so intensely and pointedly that the prey itself dictates your entire behavior, and once done, the notion that you're both the hunter and the hunted is foregone.
As a homeless wanderer I lived in a constant state of shock, for the most part, and even if I always had some sort of home I could possibly go to as refuge, I wouldn't let myself do that for the unmitigated sha-me of it. I needed the shame. I sought it out among strangers who would never know my nayme or kith or kin. I was the only one like me they would ever gnow.
Being a prodigal son is the spirit quest of a shaman. Shamed shamen are people who move through the roar of the misery of people who have behaved shamelessly, and woefully regret it. Some people can't live with the shame of some act or deed they have knowingly done, and their miserable relatives will jump through hoops to pay you to get them to stop doing that for as long as it takes to keep their stopping still.
Living as a bum serves as the ultimate education for understanding the deepest depths of despair. Nobody nose yo' nayme. "Hey... you... come over here! Now!" Being nosed out when you're trying to be invisible is humiliating. There is no where to go your detractors don't know more about than you ever will. A hell-bent mob or gang learns to smell out what's wot about a homeless bum. Bums are usually smelly because it reinforces the fact that they're not acting poor for the sake of unearned alms. It is the odor that makes a man a real bum, and authenticates them as okay to patronize with a pittance of trickle down.
A blood sacrifice can be necessary for especially shameless people of the icky sort. Hot blood from a recently hand-wrung, decapitated chicken dripping all over the naked body of the miscreant, while laying on the cold bare ground. It has to happen while the dying chicken is still flopping wildly in it's death throes. This must take place at dawn in some trumped-up holy place in freezing temperatures. It has helped many a soul return from the fiery depths of hell, and to wear their previous lack of dignity proudly as if a crown.
You know how it is with mojos, ya pick the one you hope will represent the bottom of the barrel to the perspective client and take your best shot. One of the worst things a practitioner can do is underestimate the competition. After all, licensed medicos get to legally use radiation, chemotherapy, SHOCK TREATMENT, huge scary hypodermic needles, etc, and all you got is wit and grit. The AMA don't take kindly to any sort of competition for THEIR money.
Since I think Eden is a place inside our hollow Sun where the corona dances wild with angels and flaming swords (solar eruptions) to keep out impure thoughts, my sopho-moronic thoughts about the Genesis myth probably wouldn't be that useful to you.
Saturday, January 3, 2009
Me Sages And Me Singers... Galore!
I seem more and more detached from trying to stay fit and healthy. I sit here in the mornings at my computer and compose messages. I don't always know to whom, No need. I can't afford the ruckus. I need my emotional energy for the composition itself.
The editing it takes to make sense to the other of my me-and-thee-ing is tedious these days when things go amiss. It is very time consuming. My touch typing somehow gets a mind of it's own, and when I go to correct what it drifted off to, I find that I am so pleased with what slyly snuck in so much, that I'm reduced to trying to patch fairly appealing, but mixed metaphors so far-fetched from each other (tossed word-salad... galore!), that what actually gets published here on my blog is a crapshoot. That's another reason I changed the settings to: No Comments. I don't wanna read no stinking comments about what I'm already sick-to-death-of via my incessant and unending editing.
"Familiarity breeds contempt." ~AU
I have usually edited what I originally wrote with such due haste and so many times, that I can't stand off and perceive the actual message as not-me anymore. I transmit clones of my abstract "self" over the cables and networks and transmission towers to all parts of the world? What I post on the internet IS my personality's spoor, and "I ain't nothing but a hound dog" tracking my own Sent to the hard drives and storage farms of the universe. Whenever I leave my body to check it out these days, I never know whose computer or server I'll find my soul digitized on. '-)
I truly enjoy creating messages for the sages. In my silliness, I think: me-ssage; me-sage; Me Sage and it's me-singers (messengers). There's no question that I-am-is IS at least a me-singer. I'll give it that. Big of me... eh?
All this to say I like capturing drifting thoughts with words. Not proving they're true or false. I've been conjuring for a way to get outta any responsibility for my mutterings for some time now, and I-am-is just might be on to so-me-thing. Selah
The editing it takes to make sense to the other of my me-and-thee-ing is tedious these days when things go amiss. It is very time consuming. My touch typing somehow gets a mind of it's own, and when I go to correct what it drifted off to, I find that I am so pleased with what slyly snuck in so much, that I'm reduced to trying to patch fairly appealing, but mixed metaphors so far-fetched from each other (tossed word-salad... galore!), that what actually gets published here on my blog is a crapshoot. That's another reason I changed the settings to: No Comments. I don't wanna read no stinking comments about what I'm already sick-to-death-of via my incessant and unending editing.
"Familiarity breeds contempt." ~AU
I have usually edited what I originally wrote with such due haste and so many times, that I can't stand off and perceive the actual message as not-me anymore. I transmit clones of my abstract "self" over the cables and networks and transmission towers to all parts of the world? What I post on the internet IS my personality's spoor, and "I ain't nothing but a hound dog" tracking my own Sent to the hard drives and storage farms of the universe. Whenever I leave my body to check it out these days, I never know whose computer or server I'll find my soul digitized on. '-)
I truly enjoy creating messages for the sages. In my silliness, I think: me-ssage; me-sage; Me Sage and it's me-singers (messengers). There's no question that I-am-is IS at least a me-singer. I'll give it that. Big of me... eh?
All this to say I like capturing drifting thoughts with words. Not proving they're true or false. I've been conjuring for a way to get outta any responsibility for my mutterings for some time now, and I-am-is just might be on to so-me-thing. Selah
Friday, January 2, 2009
Obsession
Being obsessed is a regular situation in my life. I've had a virtual run of "magnificent obsessions" one after the other since childhood. I'm constantly confused over whether my obsessions are self-generated or introduced from an external source. Maybe both at the sa-me ti-me. It causes me to write in tossed-word-salad terms with a lotta hyphenating going on. Sometime I like to use three periods in a row ... as if to say "blah, blah, blah" or "et cetera and so on..."
To be obsessed in the way I am is using the term seems necessary for most people to make themselves into an expert of about any kind. One of the most notable examples is an American medical doctor. I'm not a doctor, so I'm guessing that the med students who aspire to be-co-me a licensed member of the AMA have to be obsessive about their entire approach to life if they wanna get through the process. Other kinds of obsessions like for gambling or overeating can have less positive results.
Sometime I think that if I don't have some interest or project to obsess about I am is not so happy. To counter that I have learned to obsess on doing nothing. I have a lotta ways of doing that. Most conspicuously has to be meditating, but any activity I can obsess on will do. Like writing. When I fall into a flow of creating and editing, a process I call composing, as if poetry, but not... the world goes away... and I-am-is at one with me.
One of the more interesting side-effects of meditating for me is how I count my inhales and exhales as I use breathing as a focus point to enter never-never land. Well? It is Peter Pan-like. I fall into the void pretty much like falling off my bed when I am is dreaming either by day or by night. I don't usually ride a horse and scream "The British are 'coming..." at the top of my lungs or hang lanterns in church steeples, but the breathe is an important part of my meditation practice.
I've used various lengths of counting my breaths to bring myself into focus with nothingness. I have a much deeper understanding of nothingness now. It's the result of my denying the otherwise undefined elements of the cosmic soup of the plenitude.
The assertive plaint of "You are not me" creates the nothingness I am uses to provide a ground for upsurging into being. Once done, and the very denial of all that I am is not, surrounds me and provides me with a ground-of-being, the question becomes: How do I consciously reclaim the possibles I left behind in the fullness of the Id?
Confused yet? Why would you not be? I'm still working this out, and this is the best I've been able to come up with. There is always tomorrow for as long as there is one, and then...
To be obsessed in the way I am is using the term seems necessary for most people to make themselves into an expert of about any kind. One of the most notable examples is an American medical doctor. I'm not a doctor, so I'm guessing that the med students who aspire to be-co-me a licensed member of the AMA have to be obsessive about their entire approach to life if they wanna get through the process. Other kinds of obsessions like for gambling or overeating can have less positive results.
Sometime I think that if I don't have some interest or project to obsess about I am is not so happy. To counter that I have learned to obsess on doing nothing. I have a lotta ways of doing that. Most conspicuously has to be meditating, but any activity I can obsess on will do. Like writing. When I fall into a flow of creating and editing, a process I call composing, as if poetry, but not... the world goes away... and I-am-is at one with me.
One of the more interesting side-effects of meditating for me is how I count my inhales and exhales as I use breathing as a focus point to enter never-never land. Well? It is Peter Pan-like. I fall into the void pretty much like falling off my bed when I am is dreaming either by day or by night. I don't usually ride a horse and scream "The British are 'coming..." at the top of my lungs or hang lanterns in church steeples, but the breathe is an important part of my meditation practice.
I've used various lengths of counting my breaths to bring myself into focus with nothingness. I have a much deeper understanding of nothingness now. It's the result of my denying the otherwise undefined elements of the cosmic soup of the plenitude.
The assertive plaint of "You are not me" creates the nothingness I am uses to provide a ground for upsurging into being. Once done, and the very denial of all that I am is not, surrounds me and provides me with a ground-of-being, the question becomes: How do I consciously reclaim the possibles I left behind in the fullness of the Id?
Confused yet? Why would you not be? I'm still working this out, and this is the best I've been able to come up with. There is always tomorrow for as long as there is one, and then...
Thursday, January 1, 2009
For Either Love Or Money
Happy New Year!
I found myself weeping with joy this morning as I watched a PBS program called From The Top At Carnegie Hall. I've seen it several times before. They bring three musical prodigies to Carnegie Hall to perform, but they provide a lot of background content that allows the audience to see that they're real kids too. These prodigies don't know they can't do what they wanna. They're practically unstoppable. The music just BURST outta them, and they laugh... oh, how they laugh. It's so moving for me to witness, even over television, human beings truly enjoying what they do.
I've never understood why classical music didn't happen for me. By that I mean that I did know what I couldn't do, and had no adult supervision to talk me out of this ridiculous notion. I would have needed a lot of personal attention to accomplish what I saw those kids doing this morning, but the ones who succeed seemed to attract the attention they needed to progress without the total enthusiasm of their caretakers to any extreme degree.
One of my big problems in getting the attention I needed to overcome my lack of confidence that I could do what I wanted to musically is that I'm hard-headed and stubborn. I don't take instruction well. Probably because I like to argue more than just about any other system of expertise, and I'm not too good at arguing either.
That's where I really screwed up. As a part of his agriculture classes my father was the Adviser to the Future Farmers of America organization. This national group sponsored a variety of contests for students, and my father took these contests very seriously. The two contests my father seemed to like best was debating and parliamentary procedure. Robert's Rules, and all that jazz. My father's students consistently won the State level contests and went to the national finals for one or the other topics nearly every year.
The long time Governor of North Carolina, Jim Hunt, was a national public speaking and debate champion of the FFA contests. He was a sort of prodigy too. I had one of the finest teachers of arguing around as my own father, and I stubbornly refused to take his instruction. I had to have my own identity or nothing at all. That's about how it's turned out too. I have my own identity, and nothing much more than that.
My younger brothers did as my father asked, but it didn't appear to influence their decision to choose a public life or run for political office. Sometime I think my rebellion against my father's ways influenced my younger brothers in a negative way, and I feel a little ashamed of any responsibility I bear if such was so. It was so difficult for me to understand that what I did had any influence over anybody.
I understand a little better now. I influence the people I do, in the way that I do, for the same reasons other people influence me. They don't have to know they're serving as a model of behavior for me. They don't have a clue for the most part, that they have been "the wind beneath my wings."
People have approached me to express gratitude for what they claim to have learned from me, and I don't even remember them as an individual, much less that they have been using me as a model for for their own behavior. It's not unusual for me to treat these sorts of encounters with suspicion at first. Since I don't remember them, I figure they're just saying that to flatter me and soften me up for either love or money. It works for them too.
Not only am I naturally suspicious, what with having Scorpio as my Ascendent sign in my natal astrology chart, but I have studied for decades how to hone my suspicions into a system for treating life with great and abiding caution. How else could I aspire to live a life of no blame?
Living a life of no blame isn't my idea. I copped it from the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching. In the middle section of the Yellow Book published by the Princeton University Press there's a sort of tuitional guide of how to approach and use the I Ching both as an oracle, and as a book of wisdom.
It's in that section of the Yellow Book that it's written that the purpose of the I Ching is to aid in helping it's adherents to become aware of how one needs to be extremely cautious about placing blame on the other instead of where it truly belongs, upon oneself. To live a life of no blame requires me to stop blaming others. I have to help other people stop blaming me for their troubles by not blaming them for mine.
I found myself weeping with joy this morning as I watched a PBS program called From The Top At Carnegie Hall. I've seen it several times before. They bring three musical prodigies to Carnegie Hall to perform, but they provide a lot of background content that allows the audience to see that they're real kids too. These prodigies don't know they can't do what they wanna. They're practically unstoppable. The music just BURST outta them, and they laugh... oh, how they laugh. It's so moving for me to witness, even over television, human beings truly enjoying what they do.
I've never understood why classical music didn't happen for me. By that I mean that I did know what I couldn't do, and had no adult supervision to talk me out of this ridiculous notion. I would have needed a lot of personal attention to accomplish what I saw those kids doing this morning, but the ones who succeed seemed to attract the attention they needed to progress without the total enthusiasm of their caretakers to any extreme degree.
One of my big problems in getting the attention I needed to overcome my lack of confidence that I could do what I wanted to musically is that I'm hard-headed and stubborn. I don't take instruction well. Probably because I like to argue more than just about any other system of expertise, and I'm not too good at arguing either.
That's where I really screwed up. As a part of his agriculture classes my father was the Adviser to the Future Farmers of America organization. This national group sponsored a variety of contests for students, and my father took these contests very seriously. The two contests my father seemed to like best was debating and parliamentary procedure. Robert's Rules, and all that jazz. My father's students consistently won the State level contests and went to the national finals for one or the other topics nearly every year.
The long time Governor of North Carolina, Jim Hunt, was a national public speaking and debate champion of the FFA contests. He was a sort of prodigy too. I had one of the finest teachers of arguing around as my own father, and I stubbornly refused to take his instruction. I had to have my own identity or nothing at all. That's about how it's turned out too. I have my own identity, and nothing much more than that.
My younger brothers did as my father asked, but it didn't appear to influence their decision to choose a public life or run for political office. Sometime I think my rebellion against my father's ways influenced my younger brothers in a negative way, and I feel a little ashamed of any responsibility I bear if such was so. It was so difficult for me to understand that what I did had any influence over anybody.
I understand a little better now. I influence the people I do, in the way that I do, for the same reasons other people influence me. They don't have to know they're serving as a model of behavior for me. They don't have a clue for the most part, that they have been "the wind beneath my wings."
People have approached me to express gratitude for what they claim to have learned from me, and I don't even remember them as an individual, much less that they have been using me as a model for for their own behavior. It's not unusual for me to treat these sorts of encounters with suspicion at first. Since I don't remember them, I figure they're just saying that to flatter me and soften me up for either love or money. It works for them too.
Not only am I naturally suspicious, what with having Scorpio as my Ascendent sign in my natal astrology chart, but I have studied for decades how to hone my suspicions into a system for treating life with great and abiding caution. How else could I aspire to live a life of no blame?
Living a life of no blame isn't my idea. I copped it from the Wilhelm/Baynes translation of the I Ching. In the middle section of the Yellow Book published by the Princeton University Press there's a sort of tuitional guide of how to approach and use the I Ching both as an oracle, and as a book of wisdom.
It's in that section of the Yellow Book that it's written that the purpose of the I Ching is to aid in helping it's adherents to become aware of how one needs to be extremely cautious about placing blame on the other instead of where it truly belongs, upon oneself. To live a life of no blame requires me to stop blaming others. I have to help other people stop blaming me for their troubles by not blaming them for mine.
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