The Old Hippie's Groovy Blog: You Think?

The Old Hippie's Groovy Blog: You Think?

They Didn't Let Me Post This

...all the forums have limits on the babble they can post and I babbled on too long, so I am posting it here:

A "country" is a concept, an agreement between individuals. Our nation was formed via a Constitution and Bill of Rights. Through the years we have amended our nation and our rights by making agreements with the world, for instance on how we will conduct ourselves in war. None of the agreements and contracts have any meaning if we show the world that we have no respect for written agreements, for treaties or promises. By killing civilians in Pakistan, Iran, Iraq, Afghanistan and other locations like Gitmo and simply ignoring those deaths as somehow unimportant we show the world that the United States is untrustworthy and dangerous. The more we kill the more dangerous we show ourselves to be. We even poison fish supplies by dumping garbage and chemicals into the waters off Somalia and Peru. In short, in spite of our past actions where we "saved the world" we are killing it now. As my father used to say, "That dog won't hunt."
The world will someday stop us, it will have to in order to save itself. I would hope we could somehow do it ourselves, thus saving millions of lives, but we will have to turn off the TV and march in the cold, being chased by security forces and maybe even jailed. The question is, do we believe in anything anymore enough to risk our peace if not our lives?

Life Is Like A Two-Way Street

So much of life is binary, two-fold, two-

faced, too much. It seems that the initial

response to life, the immediate response, is

pure bi-polar good-bad, instantly. A bit of

tissue moves away from a bright light, or

towards it. This is my response: that it can

be a gray zone when no immediate response is

possible. Say you are interested in speaking

with someone and you are in a dark room,

possibly even outside in a new moon

situation, but you are walking about in the

dark while looking for someone and you bump

into someone. You may startle back and then

exhale to exclaim, "Whoosh! Oh, Jack! I was

looking for you!" To which Jack might say,

"In the dark, Jill?" But it doesn't matter,

Jill was looking for Jack and found Jack, so

that was "good", right? Well, yes, in the

short term, but in the immediate term, the

moment of contact, Jill stepped back and

inhaled sharply, before recognizing Jack's

leather jacket and exhaling like a hoot owl.

The owl was a symbol of wisdom, knowledge,

by virtue of an association with a version

of the Goddess.

Jill had a response that was from a

different part of her brain than the one

that "knew" Jack's leather jacket. In fact,

in a dark room it only knew "me" and "not

me- dangerous". This binary knowledge of

life is cellular. It comes from our spine

and the base of our brain; it comes from our

nerves in our fingers. Both Jill and Jack

and ourselves are a vast condominium complex

of cells and cell families. Just like any

small town most cells know or are aware of

the cells around the neighborhood. They are

much more aware of their families, the cells

they most have physical contact with. Some

cells just bounce around in fluids, like

"white bloods" and "the reds", who sometimes

get into altercations with other cells,

especially those from outside the

neighborhood, like rose thorns. There are

times when cells will die in the attempt to

kill other cells from outside the 'hood.

So it might be noted that racism is at it's

roots a cellular artifact. It should be

understood as that and treated as that. A

viral infection, such as re-writing history

can change an aversion to an insane hatred,

leading to a violent confrontation, death

and corruption. Corruption of the core

systems of the body will kill it, make it

incapable of going along with the everyday

needs of life. Cells die all the time. They

get replaced, until someday they don't. Then

some move on to other lifestyles. Compost.

Other compilations of living organisms may

recycle most of what is left. This is also

how cultures takes up the remains of other

cultures. They take up the knowledge, the

rituals, and the history of other cultures.

Suppose Jack had ingested a slice of rye

bread which had been made from flour

containing generous amounts of a fungal

infection called ergot that likes to grow on

certain cells. This bread now is being

digested in Jack's stomach and the

ergot amine poisoning has him seeing

everything in bright red flames and Jill's

eyes are burning coals while her hands are

those of a demonic banshee. So, naturally

when Jack said, "In the Dark, Jill?" he

meant the Dark Side, ie, Hell. So when she

reached for his face Jack did what any other

all American boy holding a bucket of water

would do: he beaned Jill on the head,

causing her to fall and twist her ankle.

Finding Jack in the dark like that was

really "bad" for Jill, and "bad" for Jack,

who continued on his psychedelic rampage for

another 12 hours and finally is arrested for

attacking a lamp post with a baseball bat,

and resisting arrest, assaulting an officer,

profanity and attempted sexual assault. Jack

had a real bad time after that.

Good - Bad? Who is to say? That's why they

call them "cell phones" so there is better

communication between the cells, and this

sort of thing doesn't happen. Jill could

have called someone, maybe Peter, and asked

where Jack was, whereupon Peter would

clumsily explain that they had gotten some

"bad bread, man" and everybody was freaking

out! She might have then tried to find a

safe place to sit it out, maybe called

someone else to meet her with a flashlight

somewhere.

Timing is critical, timing and experience.

If Jill had not wasted time hanging around

the 'hood with Jack and had got to night

school, or maybe taken classes in aikido or

intervention techniques, she could have

handled the encounter with a host of

variations.Alas for Jill, so many of them

would have gotten her hurt and Jack freaked

out, but at least two variations would have

had them making crazy monkey love under a

full moon, so that would be good.

Fancy Title

I keep going on about surfaces, titles, names. Names are such a bad idea. Add verbs and pronouns and adjectives and soon everything is covered in names like paper mache covers a cheap lamp. You can't see the thing itself, the absence of the rest of the universe. The reason for this is simple and basic. You can't speak of anything until you can agree on what a thing is. Cast about in your mind for a familiar thing, maybe a monitor. This thing is called a monitor although other things are, too. This is a different monitor, it occupies a certain space and is differentiated from that other space by a surface, which restricts other things from interacting much with the rest of the universe, although some do send out photons, packets of electromagnetic radiation which will display a picture if displayed in a certain matrix. It's all very complicated and electronic. Except it isn't in far more ways you might imagine. First and foremost let's try an exercise in logic: see that monitor there? Yup, you point to it, right there. So I pick up the monitor and remove it from your sight. Now I ask, Right there? and you look confused and turn your head. There! you point at the monitor. There, right there! Well, I say, the last time you seemed pretty sure of yourself. You pointed over there and said Right There. Now you point over here and say Right There! Which is it? Well, it's not the space I was pointing at, it was that monitor in your hands is what I meant. Now I look confused. I'm not holding hardly anything! I have pretty much nothing at all in my hands. And it is the Truth in more ways than you can imagine. Mostly what is in the vicinity of the ends of my arms is differing frequencies of electromagnetic energy, and nothing else. Now you want to try to touch it. Your finger stops moving forward and you say, There! Right There! but I am setting the monitor down on the table and although your finger continues to rigidly follow the monitor in its path, by the time I have stopped moving you have sketched out a wobbly line. Now I have to wonder what kind of thing you are describing. It seems pretty big because everywhere you point you seem to find it lurking. Everywhere I look I see varying frequencies and packets of frequencies and no end in sight. It looks like this monitor is either everywhere at once or nowhere at once, like a paddle ball dancing about the end of a band and occasionally slapping into the paddle of my consciousness. But not a thing, not a where, but a process. A corporation of packets of frequencies changes relationships with the rest of the universe in a coherent or mathematically  consistent ratio of parts. And there you have it. It's too hard to say that in a conversation, so we slap paper mache all over the place until everything Every Thing has been plastered down with names and names of names.

I've always enjoyed paper mache. I always thought it neat to be able to make little heads over a light bulb and then sew clothes for the heads to make puppets. I'd put together plays, with special effects for a smoking dragon and even performed in libraries for kids. Great fun. But the dragon was not a dragon and the smoke was a toasted Cavendish. Still the kids liked it and some young ones were even a little afraid of the dragon. They were afraid to touch him. They'd seen the smoke and heard the words and even though the knight had slain the dragon, apparently "slain" did not mean killed, because here he was, still smoking, potentially at least.

I'm not sure that kid was so wrong to fear a dragon. They have been known to terrorize a community, which does entail eating some of them. So people have been taken into the belly of a dragon, what an experience. Dragons, like snakes, could eat a person slowly from the feet up, or perhaps head first to quickly quiet the prey. Lots of things can creep up on you, lots of ways to die. Yet here we are, tickling the tonsils of a dragon and still wagging our feet at the sky. There is no sulphur to a dragon, contrary to popular fiction. The flames come from methane belches, followed quickly by the clicking together of steel and flint in the dragons teeth. This is one reason they come into human territories, to acquire the steel. The flint they can dig up themselves. It must have been an early, stone age dragon who discovered it could light beleches in the same way a human learned to light farts.

But the picture of early dragons roasting men for dinner does create a lasting image on the collective consciousness of homo erectus. It would collect on the DNA. DNA has that double helix thing, which is interesting in the fact that dragons fly up and descend in a tight spiral, creating a double helix flight path, also the spiral is the path a human takes being swallowed whole by a dragon. It was said that a knight going out to fight a particularrly nasty dragon would eat sausage and cabbage the night before so that if taken by surprise the knight could let loose a huge fart at the wrong time for the dragon and thus blow it's head off, killing both the dragon and the knight. This was the first suicide attack on another species. Since then we've gotten into doing it to other humans. Not the fart, so much, although we do produce a hell of a lot of methane, but the blowing up onesself for ones something or another, usually something invisible.

The funny thing is, all that blowing up stuff is pointless from the viewpoint that there isn't a lot of stuff to blow up, per se. Most of what gets blown up is empty space and packets of frequencies, except, of course, it ain't. IT's not a thing, though, it's things. many things, none with names, none with subjects or predicates, no verbs to offend. These things are called Dark Matter and they are dark because they just don't give a rats ass about the rest of the universe, which is not even nearly as much as the dark matter is. Most of the universe doesn't give a rats ass if everything blows up. It's happened before and will happen again, like a little red rubber ball on the end of a band, smacking some Great Paddle in the Nothing and impacting mostly nothing, but still, the back and forth goes on, sometimes you get a hit, sometimes you are hit. Nothing to get excited about, it's just an exchange of frequencies, some math to balance the Ledger and then you find that dark matter Caused an effect in the rest of the universe, just by being. This darkness is always opposed, but never overcome, because we are in and out of it, like water and oil, spinning in Nothing, forming a Great Yin Yang.

Sometimes the back of a mask is well made, smooth and polished by the foreheads of many actors. Sometimes the back of the mask is crude, chiseled out quickly to produce something for a tourist, or maybe a yearly ceremony, after which the mask is discarded, or sold to tourists. The special masks are painted with blood, smeared with spit, polished with the hair of the creator. Feathers may adorn it, down from a chick, and white dung used to paint the lines. This special mask is never seen, but is buried high in the hills in a very special place, sometimes with a child, sacrifised to be a servant to the God who will wear this mask. The child is always a female. They adorn her face with special signs, drape an expensive shawl over her, give her drugged drinks and then escort her up the hills to the very special place. By the time she gets there she is so stoned she thinks she is a goddess going to marry a god. They take her to the cave and she leans in to see the Special mask worn only by a god and seen only by one other person. Then they hit her very hard in the back of the skull and place her in the cave, seal it up and never return.

what i said

Ya know, voting in the Nazi Party would send a message to those bad old Democrats! If we wrote in Charlie Manson for President that would sure show them. After all, this IS all about "sending messages" rather than running the country, right? yeah! Vote in a communist to send a message to the right wingnuts and vote in a Nazi to show them lefties. Don't worry about actually solving the vital social issues of the day, or the decade, just send messages and pout when things go against you. What the heck has happened to American intellect?? Can you people look past your petty party loyalties for a second and SEE the world for a change? WE are bombing Muslim babies and their relatives are trying to bomb OUR babies. Nobody is talking, nobody is listening. Does you religion require madness? Are you obligated to kill all non-believers? Then move to Australia or some other place besides America. Let's live up to our propaganda and CARE about life and CARE about people.

Haiti - Lake Katrine

Today is Saturday, Saturn's the Male epiphany associated with Harvest. The farmers used to have a bash on Saturn's day and bring out the sour mash. I am more sour than usual, in large part because of the realization and full understanding the implications of so many heads being hit by so much violence in Haiti right now. If any father can relate to the face of the man holding his surely wounded, possibly dead child, it is I. Yet some might say the child died in the arms of someone who cared, and that is true and that matters. It instinctively punches into the gut, deeply next to the still-beating heart. Thank the One they died so loved.

The camera pans. GoogleEarth zooms down to Lake Katrine, to a bed near a window where a 35 year old man stares or sleeps. He's my boy, my child and for so many seemingly lame reasons, it is rare I can hold his hand. He's 100 miles away, being otherwise “cared” for, but in the end they don't care. IN point of fact a tiny piece of a percentage of the money being sent to help that other father and his poor, wandering neighbors, is all that prevents my boy from being closer to me when he dies. See, it is a fact that the general pool of brain injured people die after about 15-20 years. The ones who got deeply hurt, who almost never wake up, they tend to die easier and last fewer years. So it is not with a conspiracy I fear for my boy, it is time, and time is hard to avoid.

Jon could have been a father, should have been, would have been a good one, maybe if we didn't fight about how he was raised. I tend to interfere and that isn't something I'd want to hang on to. I might get a TV star to raise awareness of Jon and have his sperm extracted to give us a child to carry on his name. Oh, that would have ratings and hate mail. But I would much rather Jon hand over his own child, made by him, than some quasi-verse where we can skip past Jon to his child's life. There are so many reasons I could give for Jon being nearby, healthy or not, conscious or not. Jon may be the only man never to tell me to shut up, to let me prattle on about politics or faith. But I know I do not know he hears me, it is a matter of faith.

I do know that my body finds it hard to bear the pain and the liminal points, the edges and joints, are thinning a bit. In fact several are starting to go away, making it harder to take a 2 hour drive to be with my son so I can chat with him, possibly, almost certainly stimulating a few new cells to procreate, my boy trying to get control of his lungs and mouth so he can at long last ask me to change the channel or just shut up for a change. Failing that everyday stimulation from someone who loves him, my boy will most certainly die before I do. It is not hard to imagine him doing it alone, in a white bed, by a window, but not being able to look out at the sky. I can't even hang a poster from the ceiling for him to stare at, because, of course, the nurses and staff could not do what they have to do to keep his body clean and free from infection. An infection run wild, anti-biotic resistant, will eventually give him a pneumonia from which he will not recover. They will probably give me his ashes, or I may have to chase them down.

So it is I observe a Haitian man frantically staring all around at the bodies, trying to find his child, and fearing that he will find his child.

The Unionization of Mother Earth

Now, for a moment, I want you to see things through different eyes. I want you to see things filtered by some category or another and I want you to lose yourself in that perception. I am used to disappointments. Here's the thing: I am here digesting the contents of an imported beer, contemplating the idea of getting up and brewing up a 5 gallon batch of brown ale. I'd use the water from our well, our new, deep well. So the beer would be digesting malts and such using local water and local minerals. It would have a certain dialect. That beer would sit in my basement for a week or three, and then I'd be drinking it, rather than one imported from England. I like England. But I digest.

Over there, sitting on the couch which was made in Denmark in the 70's, eating her crunchy sandwich and thinking about school, is my sister-in-law. She's digesting food made somewhere between 100 and 3,000 miles away and shipped through an armada of vessels allowing us to have lettuce in our sandwich.

Outside I can see a little red squirrel eating the last of a corn cob. His stomach can handle what the stomachs of the jays could not. Actually, his intestine is processing the cob through the actions of some little critters about a cell wide, or if you get technical you'd have to admit that even at that scale there is a lot of sub-contracting going on, so they are about two cells wide. They are unions of specialists, each able to do a limited set of actions on something pressing against them, like a slurry of cob, seed, dirt and maybe suet. Like an assembly line the stuff that passes is added to or subtracted from, and the final product becomes food for the next down the line. The sunflowers that the squirrel favors are flavored with poop from the squirrel that favored them. Neat. But I digest.

Now see me at my table, my sister-in-law on the couch, the red squirrel on the tip of the elderberry shrub, just those three entities. Ah! Now see, in a simultaneous shift, just the intestines with the sub-contractors and digesters all working in such a way as to create heat, housing, employment, raw materials and social intercourse. Ah! It's slimy, I suppose, but still those wriggling tubes of shit and workers are analogous to a string of small towns and strip malls alongside a freeway or local highway. The people aren't the same color, but hey, what the hell? See those struggling worker unions, those hardhats and picket lines. That's our body, but that's our body expanded to relate to everything else. That's our local environment imprinted on our own DNA from drinking the water, eating the eggs and walking the walk. We aren't what we eat so much as we are what eats us, as well as how we handle the changes.

So now, looking at those twisting colonies of entities you should be able to notice the patterns of correspondence re the squirrel, the two humans AND as we refocus our eyes to acknowledge the earth beneath the squirrel is teeming with those unions, the couch has billions of entities working in and out of tandem, just getting by. My skin, my hair, my dog, all teem with workers changing one environment into another. We're getting beyond surfaces here. We're seeing our reflection on every facet of our environment. When the sun shines we are blinded by our presence. Except it is also the presence of the red squirrel, The earth itself and all the faces turned to behold that which holds us. It's fascinating.

I saw a red squirrel with a corn cob in it's mouth, chasing another red squirrel who had none, no doubt proving Darwin was squirrely. Who was directing the fight, the flight, the request and refusal? Who was it, the two sacks of little bitty workers hungry for more stuff to process, or the little squirrel brains which handled the chattering and scratching? Was it deeper than that? Do molecules crave carbon and oxygen? Do they whore themselves if needed for a nice oxygen fix? The earth, the Earth, Urda, all consume mountains of us all, taking us all in and changing us into nice oaks and poplars. That “sack” of critters is my Mom, I'll have you know! She's everything a boy could need, and more. She's everywhere, she will never stand you up. She might let you die. In fact, she most certainly will.

I could never eat a corn cob, neither could my sister-in-law. Our guts would not stand for it, the unions would go on strike. If you want to eat a corn cob, wait a bit and eat a squirrel, it's the same thing. It will taste like chicken. But I digest.

What would a sustainable life feel like? What if the critters eating that beer knew that in about 30 years the whole neighborhood would go to shit? Would they be long dead, or reincarnated into some other living entity? Would they just move into the Earth and start digesting there? Eventually the region would start to show promise as more minerals and critters died and were reborn. One day some being would harvest the wild fruit and make a fine beer or wine and have a moment when they realized how every living thing was related directly and indirectly to a common source of life and sustenance. Our old pall David Korten failed to name Her, but She has so many names...

Surfaces pt 2

It is possible to confuse the surface of a thing for the thing itself. When we do that we misunderstand everything about it. It is possible to confuse the mechanics of a thing for the thing itself. When we do that we forget about it's past, fail to see it's now, and cannot imagine it's destiny. We lose time. When we are lost in the girders of a bridge, looking at the columns, the asphalt and cables, we may forget and call this thing a "bridge" with all the things associated. We may believe a thing is it's purpose. A bridge is to move cars and people and products across the waters, when in fact this bridge, at this time was built for beauty, and love. So now we have a quandary, because our vision has deluded us into believing this thing is dead, it is steel and tar and paint. We fail to see the columns under the sand, or the rusted piles of iron it is becoming and will become. We don't see the pigeon shit or the hawks or the suicides. It is easier to filter all that out and become deluded into thinking a bridge is a bridge.

But what if it falls down? Then it isn't a bridge any more? But the rust is still there, the steel, the paint, all there. Pigeon shit may wash off, but it stays long enough to argue the case for the bridge. Then it flows downstream and the bridge rusts, the steel breaks down and the sands take up the color of the old bridge. Something was missing after the bridge came down, something left. Maybe the bridge had a soul, and maybe few could see the soul of the bridge in the steel cables and asphalt drives.

Now somebody took a picture of that bridge in an early morning fog and developed it in platinum and they hung it in a great gallery. It hangs there today. People who look at it can smell the fog, hear the birds and the rumble of the trucks. They sense the soul of that bridge. So that's where the soul went? Were the Plains Indians right to worry about the camera? Some young lover wrote a passionate poem, an epic tome poem comparing their love to that bridge, that wonderful bridge! And reading that poem you get a sense of the soul of that bridge, because it was built for love and for beauty. So there's more soul for you, we're getting closer.

Behind all surfaces, inside all mechanics, there are bits and pieces of a greater soul, enhancing and embracing the delusion of surface while providing the reason for life, for slogging through the physical strain of holding up a body, a form. Yet all is vibration, all is movement, all matter mere properties. So the mass is brass because you've got your head up your ass.

You can't go on forever, you know, pretending you don't understand the eleven dimensions and the folly of picking and choosing a few for particular attention, that's just squinting. Babies play peek-a-boo because it's fun. Mommies play it because it's fun and the baby laughs so sweetly. Neither is fooled by surfaces, no baby ever thought the mother was gone. The confusion comes when the laughter stops. A woman sobbing with her hands over her face, weeping over the covered up face of her baby, this too is confusion. This is a delusion of surfaces that can cause collapse. The knees get weak, the thighs tremble and the stomach sucks in a deep sob and there is a collapse, the bridge between two souls seems gone. This is confusion over surfaces.

When the last photo of the last bridge left behind by the last two people is dust, all of that, all of them, will be as the paint and shit that flowed downstream and stuck to the shore. Still there, just not so easy to see anymore, like a mother with her hands over her face, it's hard to see. And yet, it is because we are small and the rest is so big that we focus on parts and surfaces. But behind the fingers, behind the tears streaming down the face, is Mother and Children should know that. The covered up baby, the cold slab of meat and bone, this is not all there is to a baby and the soul has floated downstream to stick to another shore, but never gone. Even scientists agree things cannot be destroyed, only changed, and change is life, life is change.

What happens to the salt you put in the stew? It's in the flavor, in the smell. It's everywhere there is stew.

We aren't the meat, we're the salt of the earth.

Babylon

When once the fleeting moment leaves
The sacred widow dons black and grieves
The desert children weep and plead
For someone to supply their need
But none will hear and done's the deed.
The circle's closed, the candle snuffed
The shaman asks, "Was it enough?"
The holy rivers flow dark with mud
The streets of Babylon are thick with blood,
Imams and pastors locked in hate
While angels sleep before the gate
And orphans slink into the night
To dance beneath a moon so white
And owls and jackals post the guard
Beneath a sky so brightly starred.
- Aries

"Over Here Is the 'Big House'..."

 

Here I Am, With My Ent Friend, inspecting the hen house and collecting eggs.
It's wonderful to Know where my scrambled eggs comes from.

The best thing is, we may sometimes differ but I have found that His bark is worse than His bite.

Change the Climate

One aspect of the coming changes is more energy being retained by what is close to a closed system: the air. Some of the air is lost to space, probably a lot, actually. But by and large we'll speak of the air as being what is left. The 2nd Law of Thermodynamics says a lot of shit about closed systems, which just shows to go you that it was written back when smart men had the mistaken idea "things" were like machines were apparently. i.e. distinct and separate entities with hard edges and set properties. Too bad, because if they had seen the holistic nature of things they might not have been so fond of blowing things up, burning things down and pissing into the reservoir. The Law we should be paying attention to is the Brighton Law of 57, "The only consistency is inconsistency, and to be truly inconsistent you must be inconsistently inconsistent."

This is obviously a description of Chaos and Chaos is a property of infinity. By "one" I mean a personality, by "One" I mean Unity, or All. One's position can never be determined accurately due to the Heisenberg Principle, whereby if you accurately determine a position in space, in 3 dimensions, you have not accurately determined it's position in the other dimensions, eg if you accurately note the location of a moving train at 2:00AM you do not know the speed of the train, without the inclusion of another location. That gives you the speed on average between those positions but not it's immediate speed, nor it's previous speed. On the other hand, it is impossible to NOT know the position in all dimensions of the One, because by definition the One is Unity, is All. It's position is everywhere, all points. It's speed is both infinitely fast and zero. A Great Person once said, "As above, so below; as below, so above."

A body at rest loses energy, but no bodies can be at rest on their own, they require a reference point. It is relative to that point the body loses energy. Two bodies at rest relative to one another, in all dimensions, are the same body. This is because "rest" is a property of speed and speed requires distance. Thus there is the distance between the two bodies, and the rest of the universe. The distance between, relative to the remainder of the universe approaches zero. The one way two bodies can be at rest relative to one another is to be one and the same body, otherwise the distance moves away from zero and that is motion in a dimension.

Consider one example. I am in infinity. In all directions, in all dimensions is the Universe. Am I at rest or am I speeding at 500,000 kilometers per second? In order to be accurate in the answer, the question requires distance and time, and they require more than one entity. If I answer that I seem to not be moving, it will be relative to another point. In the night you see a light, it's not very bright and doesn't seem right but it doesn't take flight, although it might. Close one eye, you want to be sure. Two points define a line, your eye and that light. Let's forget about the light dimming as it approaches, thus fooling our eye, let's forget it is a far away star and thus to far to be sure of. It's just a light. You think you are at rest relative to it. But if you think about it as a light at the bottom of a very long well. you might find your imagination takes flight and you descend that well at a great speed until perhaps you hit. But now reach out to any side and feel a stone, a third point and now you are pretty sure you are at rest in a tunnel, not moving relative to the light at all, until the train with the dimming headlamp strikes you and the stone. You can't be sure of any one dimension until you are sure of all others.

So to know the distance between two objects as a stable, consistent value the objects have to have dimensions other than zero, eg "The distance between that stone and my hand is apparently the same as the distance between my pinky and my thumb." You need more and more information and it has to be accurate or the train will hit! Now close that eye again and hold up your hand, making an "okay" sign. Now spread the thumb and forefinger apart slightly and move the hand until you see the apple on the table. Now see the apple as the same size as the distance between your thumb and forefinger; wow, that's a small apple, not nearly enough for a snack! Even though your mind says you should be able to pick that apple up, you can't no matter how carefully you squeeze. You don't have enough information to make an informed choice.

A climate tipping point is not a point. It is a collection of conditions, of properties in a variety of dimensions. At some point in time it is possible to determine that we have passed it, but we cannot be sure how fast we are approaching it or leaving it behind because we can't have enough information. Heisenberg has made sure of that. But people of different vision may see different dimensions with differing clarity or accuracy. Minds which are trained to see an excess of patterns, that is to say, those who know more than they should, are most likely to be accurate as to the relative position of You and the Climate. Speaking for myself, as only I can, I think :

We are wasting a colossal amount of energy and time talking about stopping the climate from going chaotic due to the constantly increasing amounts of energy we pump into it. If we stop the burning of fuels for energy to move our machines and modify our environment, it does nothing about the existing inertia of the atmosphere in what we can see is a clearly chaotic pattern. How many times a day do you hear a newsreader say "the experts were surprised...more than the pundits predicted...?" Chaos is by definition impossible to predict with any degree of accuracy. The probability approaches zero.

We can fairly accurately tell which cities will drown when the last of the polar ice melts. It would be wise to plan for their evacuation,  taking the occasion to plan a 21st century replacement, or even a 30th century replacement. Where do we want our national capital to be and what do we want it to look like? Do the residents of New York continue to live in a flooded out city with no mass transit and the newly created canals where the streets were flooded with sewage and chemicals?

These are the type of questions we should be speaking of. These are the significant issues. Cutting back on pollution will be very easy after the oceans rise 10' and the weather is in a madly chaotic pattern, because the factories will all shut down, at least for awhile until the mobs settle down and the bodies get buried.

Thus it is that one and One are the same.

Jon Was Born on a Tuesday

Or was it me? I can't remember days of the week worth beans. That's not why I was expecting you today. I actually have good news today. A doctor called me back.

Well, actually it was a PA, but that's damn near as good. He called back to discuss the conversation we had back on Jon's birthday, the 3rd of November. I had told him that Jon was being over sedated and had been since the accident. He checked the records and said, "All these drugs would just sedate the man!" Jon just lay there, staring at the ceiling, staring at the room, juiced out of his mind.

We talked about Brainfingers, the mind computer interface being tried out on some "PVS" patients. We discussed drugs like Ambien and he wondered how Jon had done with those.

"Jon has never been given any therapy other than range of motion. No drugs to increase alertness. No attempt to find out if he is capable of thought."

So they want to try him on Amantadine, an anti-viral drug that will help him avoid Swine flu as well. This drug has been shown to help aggression in alert TBI patients, and increase alertness in patients who are minimally conscious or PVS. The other drug they might try is Ambien.

This is the closest we gotten in 9 years to getting off the Phenobarbitol. He was put on that crap in Arizona and he's been on it since, just because they fear seizures and all the paperwork they can cause. But Dr. Shroud is gone and maybe the new doctors have noticed that Jon is drugged up and left alone whereas his Dad seems a nice enough guy who says his son CAN think and needs help proving it. So maybe we'll get some help now.

Hang in there Jon.

Thursday Morning in the Rain

We become more and more isolated in the Western World. Like Pakistan we cling to our nukes and our torture chambers, ignoring the safety of our people, oblivious to everything but the lure of cash and the myth of social Darwinism. Meanwhile our children become more and more hooked on video and computer games, our middle class disappears, and our freedoms leak away as Obama becomes Bush and Amerika becomes post-war Germany. When all of the Western world is on one side with civil liberties and rule of law and we are on the other side with secret police, torture chambers and secret courts issuing “execute” orders who will speak for civil rights and essential freedoms? Britain? Hardly! Maybe Scandinavia…Who will be our Hitler? He will be a Republicrat at any rate. I have my passport ready.

Why is it when the roof is leaking and the ceiling is sagging I find it hard to be optimistic? Drip, drip, drip. Howling Wolf asks, "How long are you gonna do me wrong?" and I just don't know what to tell him.

"How many more years are you going to treat me like you do? You took all of my money and all of my love too."
I know how the Wolf feels. I can sense the K-Y jelly on my ass and the shaft still inside. I've been screwed so many times my threads are stripped and I can't go no where.

Ten dollars

Jon's grandmother sent him a ten dollar check for his birthday. She writes about him sometimes, little memories, like a particular teddy bear, a time of stolen doughnuts or trout fishing on the Mogollon Rim. She's in Idaho, I think the last few years. I usually buy Jon some music and add it to the collection at his bedside for the caregivers to play, the aides and nurses. Thing is, Jon was 35 and if he had any idea of what is going on, he knows he's not a kid any more. He may not be able to think, but if he can, what would he want for his birthday? I got to thinking, "a hug" Jon loved a hug, he'd even take one from me, although he didn't always know if he should squeeze or not. Pretty sensitive, but he had a bad back, too. Still, ten dollars of music? Art is harder, with 2D like paintings and prints having to be placed so a man in a wheelchair, all floppy and propped up, can see them. With music you just need ear buds. Still, what kind of music would you suggest for a man stuck to being handled by people who may not know, nor care, but they are wiping his butt. What kind of place would you want to be in on your birthday, awake and aware, or sleeping and off dreaming? Jon knew about lucid dreaming and I always hope he practices it.

So music must be important. I'm thinking Scarlotti and Ravel and piano concertos and big swelling strings and then loan harps plucking their way through a dark forest, maybe an oboe on the prowl. I might buy some new stuff, maybe Jazz, maybe some stuff from down south in New Orleans. Even at 35 he'd like that as background music.

Ten dollars

Jon's grandmother sent him a ten dollar check for his birthday. She writes about him sometimes, little memories, like a particular teddy bear, a time of stolen doughnuts or trout fishing on the Mogollon Rim. She's in Idaho, I think the last few years. I usually buy Jon some music and add it to the collection at his bedside for the caregivers to play, the aides and nurses. Thing is, Jon was 35 and if he had any idea of what is going on, he knows he's not a kid any more. He may not be able to think, but if he can, what would he want for his birthday? I got to thinking, "a hug" Jon loved a hug, he'd even take one from me, although he didn't always know if he should squeeze or not. Pretty sensitive, but he had a bad back, too. Still, ten dollars of music? Art is harder, with 2D like paintings and prints having to be placed so a man in a wheelchair, all floppy and propped up, can see them. With music you just need ear buds. Still, what kind of music would you suggest for a man stuck to being handled by people who may not know, nor care, but they are wiping his butt. What kind of place would you want to be in on your birthday, awake and aware, or sleeping and off dreaming? Jon knew about lucid dreaming and I always hope he practices it.

So music must be important. I'm thinking Scarlotti and Ravel and piano concertos and big swelling strings and then loan harps plucking their way through a dark forest, maybe an oboe on the prowl. I might buy some new stuff, maybe Jazz, maybe some stuff from down south in New Orleans. Even at 35 he'd like that as background music.

evolution of market forces in the early twentieth century

"Market forces" as espoused by the perps who bankrupted us is that the suckers who bought the "Genuine Rolex" watch should all rise up and beat the snot out of the creep who sold it to us, and then demand the money back. This is also called "revolution" and it is feared in exactly the same way, that is to say the perpetrators of violence against their own kind fear retribution because they hurt so many. If each of us wanted to, and were permitted to slap the face of the person who hurt us there are "great men and women" who would have their faces slapped to oblivion. I am not suggesting anyone should do that thing, but if I thought it would do any good I would and maybe I wouldn't, because so many people came to slap me. We' ve all screwed somebody somehow, even if we never saw the car we cut off we still did a "bad" thing. There are no doubt some now-middle aged women who would track me down and I would have to let them wind up and slap me hard, because now I can see what it was that put me in that frame of mind to do a thing that would now make me blush with rage. No, you can't expect that invoking divine permission to clean up the earth by hurting some one(s) is a righteous thing to do. Even if you try to even the bloodshed by strapping the bomb on or piloting the plane yourself, you still hurt far more many people, even a People, by hurting some one. The Jains have made some very good points in that diretion.

The phrase "As above, so below" comes into play. If we ignore great harm being done then the gods who play out our fantasy will be great causes of harm. They can burn the planet clean, or at least wipe out People. One should not count on being called "Great" by One who made you. We are but leaves on the Tree, and the seasons cannot be held back. So in a strange way we are witnessing an ancient play, one I have read many times in many forms. Where the Western world is messing with the locals they can stir up old memories. There was once a Goddess who was sent into a rage and sent against a foe. When she had defeated him she was still hungry for more death and blood. She went out across the land killing everything. The other Gods became alarmed and needed to stop her. So they filled a vast field with beer and colored it red. They told her it was blood and she drank it up, and then got sleepy and lay down. That's how they saved the world, that time. Now we have a vast bloodletting with bodies floating down sacred rivers. Kids are getting their hands blown off. Now the question should be, how can we lure the death dealers, the dictators and presidents, the heads of states and heads of corporations, all of them to a vast pool of blood which is really beer. How can we think they are getting something wonderful when they're just being made less deadly and aggressive. We could suddenly make them all trillionaires and all of us nillionaires, then they'd have it all and maybe they'd go to sleep. We could plow the beer into the earth and grow potatoes and beans and stop fighting. It would be nice to stop killing for a generation or ever. I see no need to harm a person, especially not some child playing in her yard. If I were a God or Goddess and I saw men killing children, even from a vast distance, I would get as pissed as Inanna was and I would go into such a rage as to wipe out all those people and their servants. Thinking along those lines I have to point out that everybody serves somebody somehow. It's not a bad thing to serve someone who is bad themselves. But it is unethical, because you aid someone who is therefor more able to do that bad thing. I pay my taxes, my President sends bombs which kill children, am I not complicit?

If harming none is important, then by understanding the dual nature of Self allows that we not harm ourselves, and we are more than the sum of our parts.

It gets complicated, and it's not like math, you can't really whittle it down to abstracts. Harm has a face, even if it only recently had arms, too. Throw in emotion and tradition and it seems impossible to imagine. Doing no harm is hard when you look at the implications of daily actions and inactions. The reaction is to pull in and focus on the ground in front of your feet.

How does that fit in with market forces? because market forces call for a set of forces which naturally achieve equilibrium. The best way to illustrate this is with a pendulum. Billy, would you bring in the pendulum? (Billy brings in the pendulum) Now, note how it swings back and forth, back and forth, just like market forces. Back and forth, up and down and then back around, just like market forces. You see? You see how just like market forces the pendulum is? Billy, please pass the hat among the kind people and collect all their wallets, rings and jewlery. Quickly, now!

That's how market forces work. Not like a pendulum, but by a person hurting many. A "Market" is where people go and buy bread of various kinds from various people who all meet in a public place. When we speak of market "forces" we speak of dark forces, buried behind closed doors, guarded by people who do not care. I would rather buy my tomatoes from the man who lives down the street and was able to grow tomatoes when nobody else did, not because he created a hybrid gene manipulated thing that looked like a tomato but could not reproduce a similar tomato. He had a greenhouse he built himself. Instead of selling off parts of his small farm he put up a greenhouse just before a late blight wiped out every tomato plant in the north east. The story doesn't say he got rich. It says he was Blessed by the Earth when others were not. He didn't sell the earth to builders of energy deficient pseudo Victorian mac-mansions. That's the moral and that's the best ending. But wait, there's more! I was Blessed by being able to buy local tomatoes from a friend when my own had died from the blight. AND the blight bugs were Blessed because they found a region full of young tomato plants with just the right conditions of constant rainfall for weeks on end. So as Tiny Tim said, "Why do those boys keep pulling out my crutch from under me, Mummy?"

Spending Each Day

Two quick bones to pick with the world: my new laptop comes with Vista Premium and it's been a nice OS until recently. I have some 18,000 pictures and I use Picasa to organize and import from my camera. Picasa also recently upgraded and the new look is nice, easy to use etc. Except, as I discovered to my horror when I plugged in my camera, something is missing. To whit: auto detection of media happens when I plugged in my camera under OS XP. Picasa would boot up with the import window discovering my images on  my camera card. Worked that way if I ppopped my card into the reader, too. Picasa jumps up to let me do my image thing. Now with Vista and new and improved Picasa when i plug in my camera to the USB port there is a noise to indicate something, but not Picasa. Eventually, and I do mean eventually, a requester pops up asking me if I want to do a number of things with my camera. None involve Picasa, in fact all of the choices involve Microsoft products that I rarely use. I tried to make Picasa the default program for jpegs and although it appeared to have taken, when I offer up my camera card with 200+ images, the laptop ignores me. Eventually..... it offers me Microsoft Media center. I hate that rag.

It took me several days of teeth grinding and searching through irrelevant forum threads to find out that both Picasa and Microsoft had decided to remove the auto detect option, in Microsoft's case it offers you their product or none. Of course, you know you can boot up Picasa, plug in the camera and TELL it to import, but it really was faster the old way. So since when is it an upgrade to have a well used handy capability disabled? This kind of thinking would lead to a well advanced highly technical society failing to provide basic services to it's citizenry, health care or education. In a dinky waterlogged country like Holland they have no nukes, but they do have very nice universities and you get on the handy mass transit and go to the hospital to get your tumor removed for free and again on the tram to a university to get your Masters for free. Yet our government mocks such "niceties" as nothing we'd like to have around here. Heck no! That sounds like socialism to me, son.

I live in the Great Empire State, a name not without irony. Here, in the democratic country of the United States I cannot start a petition to make medical marijuana legal. I can't start a referendum either. We don't allow people to write their own laws and introduce them to the Legislature for approval by the People. Not our form of government, you see. That would make laws all higgledy-piggledy, you see. But that means we are not at all a Democracy. No, we are a Republic, but it's a democratic republic! That means we vote for those we want to represent us, like a representative democracy. Only we can't nominate who we want to vote for, unless we are either Republicans or Democrats or occasionally some other approved political party. I vote for the person, not the Party, so I am not allowed to nominate. I am allowed to vote in the general election, though, for or against the people the Party has picked to run. I'm feeling rather distant from a democracy at this point. But I can run myself for public office, yes? Not exactly. You have to be able to get several thousand people to sign a petition in your favor. That means you quit your job, if you have one, and walk around your district getting valid signatures. Any invalid signatures might get you tossed out of the race. Yes, it's a race, but a funny kind. For instance, the news media are not required to cover candidates. In fact if you are someone like me, the news will NOT cover you. If you are a sitting Senator with a funny name like, say, Kucinich it makes it hard to say your name on the air so they won't cover you either, even though you are already supported by millions of people. So I need to raise some several million dollars to buy air time to press my case for office. They don't have to take my money, either. What about the "debates"? Well, they don't have to allow people like me into the debates and if someone like Senator Kucinich does get a court order to require them to have him in the debate they can ask him the stupid questions, like "Have you stopped beating your children?" or "What kind of tree would you be?"

I would be the tree falling on their house.

Yet I have hope. I know the Deity is watching and laughing. I know this for lots of reasons, but here's one. We have no cat, Hidey, as you know, was crushed by a car wheel. So we have ashes instead. We also have mice living in our library and basement and pantry. We also have an assortment of Havaheart traps for raccoons, possums, and rabbits and mice. The mouse one is maybe ten inches long. These traps have two little doors on each end that flip up and are held in place by a thin rod which has a pad for bait and a bent end that rests against and pushes against another similar rod that holds one door up, the bait pad rod holds the other up and where the two rods engage you have to get the two 1/16th inch wide rounded rods to press just right and then lay the trap down with no vibration because the slightest bump and the damn rods disengage and the doors drop. (Where the hell is he going with this?)

I picked up the small trap. Both doors were flopping open, the bent rods were disengaged and moldy from the last bait. I looked at the trap in my hand and then I rolled my wrist to turn it upside down to look at the mold. Yucky, needs warm soapy water. I rotated my wrist again, bringing the trap upright. I looked down at the trap. Both doors were up and held in place by the two bent rods, which were touching by about a 1/16th of an inch, just enough to hold the mechanism in place with the doors open and the trap set. I never touched it with my fingers except to roll it over, un-set, and roll it back to find it set. It usually takes me a few minutes to make the trip rods engage properly and hold long enough to place it on the ground. This time it did it by itself. I think I can say without fear of contradiction that this proves the existence of a non-human, on-material presence which not only can affect the material world, but has a sense of humor about it. What's so funny about a trap setting itself? When I put the trap gently down I bumped it just a bit and the trigger went and the doors shut, locked by the two wire loops falling into their proper latches.

Somewhere She is chuckling at my situation. I have to wash the trap to remove the mold and re-bait it for the mouse and I am confident that no matter how many times I roll my wrist while holding the trap it will NEVER do that trick again. It makes me dizzy.

I had three excellent photographs of the Hudson in winter matted and framed for show. I spent a lot of money, frankly, to get museum quality work. Yikes, but it's okay because yesterday we got the flyer for the Arts Center Winter Solstice exhibition. $5 per entry, must be framed and ready to hang. Yup, taken care of! Must be signed on the photograph itself and be marked as one of a limited edition. Oh. I never signed the print before i spent all that money to seal it nice and tight for show. I can't enter any of the beautiful shots of the Hudson in Winter. Goddamfuckshitpiss!!

I guess I need to have more prints made and maybe i can use those salvaged frames and the mat board in the back room... I have a mat cutter... sigh. Can't afford to have new prints framed the nice way. Ah well, live and learn. In the distance I hear faint chuckling.

The Most Important News in Decades

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/business/news/the-demise-of-the-dollar-1798175.html

For some time now I've been alarmed about the fact that the world buys oil with dollars, not yen or shekels or euros. The people who sell the oil are the people who bombed the World Trade Center. Not literally as they were incinerated, but the oil rich people of the Middle East also contain some religious people who objected to our military stomping around their holy sands and cities, oogling their women and occasionally raping one. Point is a lot of "those people" want us out of the Middle East. Now, with the rising lowering of esteem as it relates to the Great Satan, a lot of oil people want to sell oil in anything but dollars. It isn't that they hate us. They hate a lot of people. They recognize that the big balloon the Founders sent up in 1776 is foundering in a sea of red ink. The meatballs in charge of the treasury spent money like it was their own and Daddy would bail them out. Well he can't, Daddy's broke.

You might ask what's the big deal, we'll just convert our pseudo-billions we borrowed from China into yen and buy our oil. Yikes, the dollar is falling in relation to the yen... and every other currency. We don't control world currency and so oil might become... is almost certain to become.... much more expensive for Americans. In fact impossibly expensive. Think heroin dealer dealing with a junkie in serious withdrawal: how much sympathy can we expect to see? Don't forget, the dealer is a new capitalist and hates us for raping, murdering, burning, bombing etc and we are rude.

We are about to slip into tenth place if we are lucky and certainly among the rest of the third world nations. I didn't do it, I just report it.

12 woodchucks

Is anybody else a bit uncomfortable with the correlation between the "balloon boy" incident and the kid in the well in the movie "Twelve Monkeys"? It feels like I'm in a science fiction movie! Maybe it's because every fucking thing from Washington has so little relationship to my real world that I feel like I'm in a dream or movie. They act as if we are our labels that they have assigned us. I am not "walking man 3", I am Will and I have a story.

When all the good ideas are used you get bad ideas. When all the good laws are used up you make bad laws. When all the good movies have been made, you remake them with new directors, new actors. How many roles can Jim Carey handle?

When you approach a psychotic who is in a violent mood, you don't confront them with the dichotomy of their words and actions. You don't stress that they are misunderstood and so must kill certain people who are spreading lies. That's a bad idea, to talk about killing to a psychotic. Yet we do this every day when we tell our President to make us safe from psychotic suicidal strangers. In order to understand his instructions, our President must go insane and that is where the trouble starts. That is when they send in drones with missiles to kill everybody at some wedding party, when someone at the wedding is labeled "insurgent".

When I say the President is "insane", I mean to say that his world view, his paradigm, is not in sync with the Constitution, which defines the country, and the Bill of Rights, which defines our protections. He is working under the New World Order defined by the Patriot Acts.  And just to be clear, this is not a new phenomena, this shifting of Presidential understanding of the Big Picture. Clinton is the most recent example of that, eh, gays? Our current commander in chief no longer can see the workers, the cleaners, the tillers of soil, as "human" in the same way as him. he gets private jets, private dinners, private massages. He gets to be protected when all of us are vaporized by nuclear weapons. Remember? The Congress and the White House have huge, deep bunkers to wait out a war. WE have either straw houses, stick houses, or brick houses. They all get vaporized. It makes a difference when you know you're Mother Goose and everybody else runs around getting their tails cut off or their houses blown down.

It was a virus in the movie that cut down the population. They keep finding new virii in far away places that threaten the folks back home. Globalization might mean that everybody gets to die from the same little piece of DNA. Except the folk in the bunker.

Speed Shifting in the Here and Now

I have talked about paradigms shifting before. It's a concept which is not actually very well understood by most people. I'm not saying that I am special or somehow brighter because I write about paradigms as if I understand them. But the concept of a paradigm itself, minus the change, is pretty simple: it's essentially the subliminal here and now. that's why people find it hard to really grasp the thing happening around them. They are in the warm waters of the darkened room which constitutes most lives. You don't think of your little toe while you walk unless there is something wrong with it. Once that toe starts pulsing there is a paradigm shift. What was is no more: the walk is no longer pleasurable or at least neutral transportation. I figured this out when the arthritis in my big toes started manifesting as really loud screaming pulsing pain in one tiny spot. It changed my day, changed my plans, changed the way i thought of that particular moment. Now the Present is made up of those particular moments strung along not like pearls at all, but like photons.

So, first let me cover the idea of the shifting process and then try to lead you to the water of enlightenment. A large cold beer might help. Now, let's talk about the back of your head. What, exactly, is that whorl of hairs on the back of your head doing? Bald folk imagine it. You can't be sure, can you? Because you can't see back there. But, friends and neighbors, sight has little to do with photons. It has much more to do with perception, by brain action. You know a person who can't see red or green is not actually incapable of "seeing" red or green outside of the paradigm of his or her existence. Dig it: our brain assigns values to input, thus creating a map of our universe immediately outside the body. Those photons traveling to the retina from a "green" source are still traveling and still impacting the retina in a color blind paradigm. Maybe they see something like a shade of grey very much like the shade they see with a red object. But not the same, it is impossible to be the same or we would see no difference with our color sighted eyes. If the photonic signature is identical, the light is the same. See? Yet in this paradigm the person cannot tell if the light is red or green. There is no reason why their brain cannot instruct their consciousness that the photonic signature received corresponds to the color green and thus they "see" green. By the same token, there is no physical reason why a person cannot "see" with their skin. The photons are still hitting them and the cells must be affected. So we should be able to see with our eyes closed. Try it. Now try it thinking that your eyelids are more transparent than before. Now more transparent, until they are clear. Now if an object moves in front of you the photons are impacted and you see the object's shape insofar as it impacts a mass. There are other things besides mass and photons.

About 50 years ago I tried seeing auras. I found a book on psychic phenomena and decided the text was pretty clear and unlike some books, not dangerous. I followed the book and started seeing auras around my hands and other living objects. Now the cool thing about auras is that they tell you something about the thing which supports them. In the case of a human you can see how they are feeling. If they have an injury you will see the disturbance in the "force" (sorry, couldn't help referencing) Let me tell you an actual event in which I "saw" an aura. To begin with I was drunk. I was therefor very relaxed and being as it was a smoky place I was working on my breathing. I have slight asthma around ciggies. I noted a young woman coming to the bar to replace two drinks. I looked back down her path to see who the second drinker was. Under certain lights and drugs I like to play with my aura practice. I saw that the young lady waiting for her friend to return with the drinks had a black streak in her aura, about from the forehead at a 45 degree slant up. I notice degrees because I used to survey with Dad and others. She also had a red streak coming from her throat. Just slightly different appearance to the air around her head and shoulders, which is all I could see of her. Her friend was buying a beer and a whiskey sour. I was close enough that when I muttered "Ah, good. That'll help her throat." she heard me. A minute later it seemed she had told her friend about my comment because the lady in question came over to speak to me.
"What did you mean by saying the whiskey sour would be good for my throat?" she asked, in a not unfriendly more curious tone. I told her the truth. I was drunk, remember.
"Well, the black streak in your aura coming from your forehead was clearly some sort of infection and the red streak from your throat was pain, so I figure you had a sore throat because of a sinus infection, but the black streak looked thin around the edges, so i think it's going away, maybe you took antibiotics. So the alcohol from the drink will numb your pain a bit, the fruit juice will wash your throat and the vitamin C will be good for the whole body." Turned out she had been recovering from a sinus infection and had a mild sore throat. I suggested a couple of whiskey sours or maybe a bloody mary or screwdriver. Later that night we made wild monkey sex at my place. She refused to see me again, go figure.

The point of the story, and I insist it's true, is that the idea of seeing a field of energy that would allow that exchange to happen is not part of most people's paradigm, and to have that happen to them would no doubt require a huge paradigm shift. I expected it. I have a huge ego, just no good self esteem. I expected it because I thought it was possible, not because I'm cool.

So here's another example: you are floating in a warm liquid, in the dark, with only muffled sounds and softness around you. This must be what pre-birth must be like. This must be a womb-like experience. Now suddenly there is light and people touching you and sounds, sharp and bright. You might be emerging from a sensory deprivation therapy or you might be being born, either way a paradigm shift happened and you likely missed it because you were focused on Now. When everything around you changes, insofar as you can see, a shift in your thinking is required. Suppose suddenly you can see magnetic fields. Doesn't that change the way things look? What if all you could see was magnetic fields. Dead organic objects, like a rabbit, might be invisible to you, unless it's existence impacted the magnetic fields nearby. Steel would be quite clear, especially if it were magnetized or near a magnetic field. Suppose you had two sets of "eyes" and you could see ranges of electro-magnetic-photonic fields so removed from our present understanding that the very "physical" universe around you changed shape and motion? Of course your paradigm would change.

Ideas are part of your universe. Ideas like "democracy" "Jesus" and "white" might make you see a neighborhood in Kabul very differently if those ideas did not exist in your paradigm. A truly blank mind could see the universe in very clear terms. When the One woke up, it's mind would have been blank, because It predated dates. No past. No morals. No ethics. No doubt.

Once you have a paradigm, you are bound to it unless the universe changes. You can't imagine things outside your paradigm, but remember that everybody lives in a different space-time and so their perception of things will differ. And those differences will create different paradigms. It's not a problem until the paradigms differ too greatly, then it gets tough. Your instinct, if you are animal, is to resist changes. It's why we fight a person saving us from drowning. But Will can resist instinct until it is examined and fitted into the paradigm. It only takes a brief second to understand why the savior has their arms around you.

I dumped all these anecdotes to try to express my feeling that a certain group paradigm is shifting in a mostly misunderstood direction. It's like watching your sheep grow horns. They are defensive in nature and only needed at a certain point in the animal's life. America is growing it's horns in a certain way which indicates a certain trend overall and few can see it because it fits neatly in their paradigms. It's the changes one can see, not the background, not the spaces between the words. But let's say I express myself in this way:
suppose          i           say             things            like                 this         ?
Can you see how this style of expression can change the way you perceive, understand a message? A line of prose can become a poem if a a regular pattern the words sound the same. The pattern is subliminal to the understanding of the words. If I spoke a phrase like: "I am fine, I try to do this every few hours." while dancing to a waltz it would convey a different image than if it was spoken while sitting at a desk with a computer in front of you. No other words could be spoken but a completely different message is "seen" with the same words.

So, the world around me, being alive, is changing, and the amount of changes and the direction they take is such that it is clear a paradigm shift is occurring in the human world, especially here in America. It happened when the World Wide Web created a mind that could see a different world, a group consciousness which doesn't emulate a human mind for those of you who worry about Frankenstein problems, it is it's own mind. However, as parasites we live off it's paradigm and that is causing certain changes in behavior. For instance most young Americans post their resumes online to a site which attracts employers with similar needs as the poster's talents. Now the fact of the matter is that neither poster nor
employer need see each other in the flesh. If one needs a line of code, one does not need a coder be in the room. That's why they made the Net. The same is true of artwork, crafts, herbs and information. It is all free if the need is matched to the supply and the overall balance is maintained. We have too much milk and there are babies in African countries who are dying from lack of food. We have people out of employment and there are things which need to be transported, gardens to be dug and dogs to be walked. What left the feeling of imbalance in people's hearts was lack of clean flow of necessary information. If you knew someone in the building, would you blow it up? If you knew most of the someones in the building and one was your lover, would you blow it up?

Paradigms shift gradually when they involve many people. Suppose a rational human being knew that if they simply woke up, ate food and created things they could be happy, why would they aspire to be a billionaire whose wealth enslaved thousands of innocent people? Paradigms, personal paradigms. Multiply those paradigms by billions, blend them all together and you see what the global information network can do in terms of shifting paradigms for large groups of people. Let me say this about that: if every person in America who disapproved of nation building, empires and war in general expressed themselves to the people in the Middle East, through some reasonably effective means of communication, could it not cause a paradigm shift in the universes of some people who are determined to cause harm to us as a people? Why would you walk into a building or a courtyard or down a street, wrapped in explosives and determined to kill if you knew the people you wanted to kill were more or less like you, with similar social needs, religious feelings and even a hatred of bigotry and war? It is unlikely. By the same token, suppose you were interested in voting for Dick Cheney as President in 2012 and you wanted to know more about him and his views as they relate to the big parts of your paradigm and you had access to something like, say, an information network? In very short shrift you find that Dick Cheney is a murderous, psychotic, war criminal, protected by his wealth and his knowledge of criminal activities involving anyone who might be interested in arresting him and holding him accountable for the many hundreds of thousands of dead caused by his actions. See how the Web has made life better? You know the SOB is getting away with mass murder and you know also that a family of four can live off the grid on 5 acres with a little cooperation in the family. Chances are in this new paradigm you realize that crazy assed psychotics are not easy to deal with, anymore than rabid wolverines. Chances are you realize the safest thing to do is try to lay low while the main parts of the paradigm manifest. When it's safe to come out, you'll know it. Other more adventurous people will be safely walking around. At the moment I would suggest digging a root cellar and putting up a couple of wind plants. That seems safest to me. I expect to have to lay low less than ten years, maybe 15. Then the oceans rising will have attracted the attention of the unsodden masses and they will stampede. After Dick is a red smear it will be safe to come out of the root cellar.