tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-14043508090028873332024-02-20T08:47:23.714-08:00the adventures of myra eddysharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.comBlogger18125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-78458939840612843502014-02-21T15:18:00.001-08:002014-02-21T15:18:18.523-08:00the herky jerky alchemical adventureI've designed the alchemy adventures on this blog to mirror my own experience in drawing cards from the deck. I like that doing this publicly at this blog has made me responsible for thinking and acting on the queries in a timely manner. <br />
<br />
But my own alchemical adventures necessarily have a lull at times, particularly after something really intense. I need time to process before I can move on to the next thing, and being the mama of a toddler and teen, working a job and being on call 24/7 for my family means that I cannot always take the time I need, in sufficient quantity, to process intense experiences.<br />
<br />
So ahhhhhhh. Little chunk after little chunk of letting it flow, and some more thinking and intensity, and more processing, and ahhhhhhhh. I feel like I'm finally ready to draw another card. <br />
<br />
I'm going to keep posting questions and responses here, and feel free to join in at any point, on any question that appeals to you. It's not often I get to converse (through typing and reading...) and get other viewpoints on these kinds of experiences, and I so appreciate feedback and dialogue.sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-22877215710173726672014-01-25T18:58:00.002-08:002014-01-26T19:50:22.415-08:00Adventures in Alchemy #8Visit your inner landscape. Imagine going on a journey to your sub/unconscious playground. Go through the door, hop the fence, round the bend, etc. What do you meet? What do they say? What gifts do you offer? What gifts do you receive? Do any spirit animals or other guides offer themselves?<br />
<br />
***<br />
<br />
This is often done as a spontaneous first-person narrative. For example, you can begin, making up the story as you go along, "I was walking down a road, turned the corner, and then...." Hello archetypes!<br />
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Also, a piece of advice: it is important to ground yourself to your physical reality before leaving it. This can be done a variety of ways, mostly through resonating with your physical environment (kind of like marking your territory), and giving the intention of returning there. One example is to cast a circle of energy around you. sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-76861667988043398482014-01-13T13:23:00.003-08:002014-01-13T13:23:59.047-08:00adventures in alchemy query 7Write 3 stanzas of unequal length on this topic:<br />
<br />
The Unreal God and the Aspects of His Nonexistent Universe.sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-76078948619172932782014-01-07T07:45:00.003-08:002014-01-07T07:45:30.162-08:00adventures in alchemy query 6<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">How does one prepare to adapt?</span>sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-66382356572243414192014-01-01T08:59:00.003-08:002014-01-01T08:59:46.494-08:00alchemy adventure query 5Meditate on this statement:<br />
<br />
There is no tyranny in the state of confusion.sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-51305735301643672362013-12-26T17:54:00.001-08:002013-12-26T17:54:05.871-08:00Adventures in Alchemy #4<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What are you so afraid of that you continue to draw it into your own life?</span>sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-90224354830924562852013-12-15T10:55:00.000-08:002013-12-15T10:55:11.378-08:00Adventures in Alchemy #3, a short queryDo you remember when you were the raspberry?sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-22475730221955073092013-12-09T13:11:00.002-08:002013-12-09T13:11:31.692-08:00Adventures in Alchemy #2: Snow Leopard's Notes on Alchemy
<div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><b>NOTES on ALCHEMY</b></span></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I know I tend to long-windedness, and if I offer a wide view of a
thing, this arises from a respect and courtesy owed my reader to
attempt to give the best explanation I can. So, in the effort to
balance presenting too little against presenting too much—in order
to arrive at presenting enough—I have broken down the following
into sections. For those only interested in <i>what does alchemy
consist of</i> and <i>how does this apply to writing</i>, skip ahead
to the section THE PROCESS OF ALCHEMY. After all of that, I try also
to describe how this might apply to writing or creativity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>AN IRRESPONSIBLY ULTRAQUICK
HISTORYBACKGROUND of A VAST TOPIC</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In the twentieth century, Swiss psychologist Carl Jung became one
of the most deeply read scholars of the 1700 years of European
alchemical practice. He undertook this study, which occupied more
than 1,000 pages and three books in his output—<i>Psychology and
Alchemy</i> (1944)<i>, Alchemical Studies</i> (1968)<i>, </i>and his
last full-length book <i>Mysterium Conuinctionis</i> (1956)—because
he saw in European alchemy an analogy the mechanics of the psyche and
with the psychology of integration, which forms a centerpiece of his
psychological studies generally.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Before going on, I want to say alchemy does not originate with
Europe; the word itself derives from Arabic, from its many
practitioners, but even amongst them the practice originates further
afield, most likely in Egypt. With typical European racism, the
tendency in Occidental authors (including Jung) when discussing this
involves only going as far back as supposedly Greek texts, which
almost certainly means Greek translations of preexisting Arabic or
Egyptian texts. Alchemy also flourished during the European period
that Jung studies elsewhere in the world in other guises. Besides the
historically very recent articulation of the cabala, not only were
there Buddhist alchemists in India—not called by that name, of
course, and in traditions of Buddhism that have since pretty much
long died out—the most enduring form of Indian “alchemy”
derives from tantrism (from approximately the eighth century AD
onward). On a wider bases, various forms of Gnosticism tend to play
well with or wind up closely related to alchemy, alchemy often
serving as a kind of applied Gnosticism. I mention all of this only
to give a general context for alchemy.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">If I would hazard a sort of unifying description for all these
forms of alchemy, they involve the transformation of inert matter
into magic; amongst the Buddhist alchemists, for instance, it becomes
very easy to mistake them for sorcerers. This physical magic of
transformation makes it one of the forerunners of chemistry,
therefore, and one encounters the stereotypical description of
(European) alchemy as the failed and inadequate forerunner of that
science.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">However, for Jung (and at least for the Indian tantric
practitioners, which have some familiarity with) alchemy denotes a
spiritual, i.e., psychological, practice of transformation; it
involves, in other words, a sacred act. In its European context, it
existed at a time when Christian dogma dominated the intellectual
landscape, and from time to time Jung waxes amazed at the well-nigh
heretical views held by European alchemists, who nonetheless say no
contradiction in their (orthodox) Christian beliefs.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Similarly, for ourselves in this secular age, we needn’t see
(and in fact I invite us not to see and reject) the “spirituality”
implicit in alchemy as heretical or in contradiction with our
“rationalist” or “scientific” outlooks. I’ll explain more,
using Jung as an example.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>THE “PURPOSE” of ALCHEMY</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Alchemists (everywhere) tend toward solitary practice, or
sometimes (as especially in tantrism) with a single sacred partner.
For this reason, the “use” to which people have put alchemy,
i.e., its purpose, varies necessarily by individual and thus very
widely. In the European alchemical texts Jung examines, for instance,
even the alchemists make fun of one another (good-naturedly or not)
for having a thousand books, none of which any other can understand.
And so, recognizing this fact, it becomes perilous to claim to say
what the purpose of alchemy might consist of.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What Jung discerns in all of the practitioners of alchemy involves
the process of psychological individuation, though he acknowledges
that certainly some alchemists seemed more focused on creating a
literal Philosopher’s Stone (whatever in the world that might mean,
in the final analysis) than changing their own psychology. In other
words, Jung interprets the practice of alchemy as a symbolic form of
psychological self-investigation that fosters mental health,
psychological integration, creativity, peace of mind, and the like.
Whether we can defend this interpretation of alchemy as factual or
not matters less than if we find it helpful toward our own goals of
psychological integration, individuation, mental health, happiness,
creativity, interpersonal relating with others, and the like. For the
same reason, it doesn’t matter much if we take up any metaphysical
commitment to the “magic” of alchemy or see it simply as a
“symbolic” process. My experience of people, in any case,
suggests that some people must insist that “magic” work while
others readily accept that magic happens only “metaphorically”.
We don’t need to get in fights with one another either way—we all
agree we want the outcome, and we do not need to insist that the
language or description we use to get there takes only one form.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So then, the basic purpose of alchemy, which we see in the
pre-European, European, and Indian varieties, involves different
techniques to “liberate” the spirit “trapped” in matter. In
the literal-minded, this specifically involved the redemption of
fallen Nature, much as we see in Hasidism, Sufism, and many social
mystic practices generally. For the greedy minded, this meant the
literal production of gold from lead (or “earth” in its
“earthiest” form, feces). For Jung, and definitely some of the
European alchemists, this meant the liberation of psychic material
from the unconscious in order to transform it (integrate) it into
consciousness in a transformative way—generally toward a positive
end, like creativity, peace of mind, feeling “centered” and the
like. As a matter of principle, Jung gently insisted that the literal
minded and the greedy minded themselves, too, sought this
psychological end, but did so (as extroverts) by projecting the
process more outside of themselves.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>A BRIEF ILLUSTRATION</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I want to speak briefly about what I call here the psychology of
integration (or individuation), from a personal angle. What Jung
writes about never involves a “theory”—rather, he provides a
descriptive vocabulary for experiences people have had and will
continue (as human beings) to have. He could give, and I could give,
a rat’s ass about any “theory of neurosis”. Jung himself
experienced, for an extended period of time, an intense encounter
“with the unconscious” if you will—he didn’t merely expound a
theory, he had an experience and attempted to explain it. And it
constitutes his generosity and his genius to attempt to find a
general expression for the kind of experience he had, and he found
the experiences of European alchemists (at least some of them) as
very emblematic of the process as well.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Fine, but so what, yes.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Recently, I experienced a literally paradigm-shifting event. Who I
“am” has changed—more precisely, I feel more “centered” (I
actually don’t like the word centered to describe it, but it
conveys, in this short spec, the kind of experience I speak of).
While meditating, I had a vision—and that vision changed me. Not
unrecognizably, but still fundamentally. Specifically, just so I have
a concrete example to work with, the vision consisted of a symbol, a
solar hyena: I mean, a blazing sun wheel at the center of which
peered out a hyena’s face. I could say a vast deal more about this
specific symbol, but I don’t need to here.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Here, alchemy comes in. This psychic material, this vision, which
I did not ask to arrive, had (has) a quality like staring into the
sun; it threatens (or offers) to overwhelm. Those who have visions
know what I mean. Even at a low level of intensity, it tends to
preoccupy consciousness. Now, sometimes people repress these things
because they don’t want to deal with them, and maybe that works
forever, but maybe it works only for a time, and then it comes back.
Every day we get visited by minor visions, and most of them (like
whims and impulses) disappear back into the unconscious without much
fuss. And sometimes even a major vision may disappear back into the
ocean of the unconscious without a fuss. But for those visions that
persist, that will not stay away for good, that nag and want
attention, or simply demand attention whether you will give it or
not, to ignore these things ultimately leads (Jung noted) to
neurosis, even psychotic episodes, or permanent insanity. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In other words, it becomes necessary to confront, to engage, to
acknowledge, or at least finally in some way integrate this symbol,
this vision, this visitation, whatever it means. Now, perhaps because
I’ve read a ton of Jung, perhaps because at the time of the
visitation of the symbol I was writing a blog on the Tarot Sun card,
which concerns the emergence of a new consciousness, but I had no
trouble recognizing lost the instant I encountered the symbol that
things would change for me.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Yay me, whatever. My point: the way Jung conceives of alchemy, it
involves fundamentally the tempering, the admixture, of consciousness
and material from the unconscious. For all of the minor moments in
life, we don’t necessarily need to resort to alchemy, though we
might. We might understand even the smallest details in our life as
worthy of integration, if we can find or make the time for that.
Because, it takes work—doing the magic of making cake (microwaves
notwithstanding) takes some time to mix the ingredients together and
then the care to ensure the cake doesn’t burn. For Jung, alchemy
kicks in in a crisis—because, in general, psychologists only see
people when things have gotten bad, when the symbolic content of
their psyche has become so dominating that they can no longer
function in daily life as they want to, perhaps even to the point of
becoming institutionalized.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">What I mean to say by this autobiographical anecdote involves
stating bluntly: the psychology of integration, which Jung uses the
alchemical process to describe, does not involve—or need not
involve only—an empty abstraction. We could speak about the process
as if it happens to others, an find use in that, but it also applies
even more where the rubber hits the road, and I can say from personal
experience in the very recent past that this shit works, if you will.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>THE PROCESS of ALCHEMY</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Again, given the differences in personal practices by alchemists,
it become almost laughable to want to talk about the process of
alchemy. And, somewhat to my frustration, Jung almost never gets to
any clear exposition about this process, spending vastly more time
ferreting out the various manifestations of alchemical symbols, which
run all over the map. However, this happens (in Jung’s writings) in
part because the European alchemists themselves describe the process
as it happens to them (or as they do it) and typically do so in
symbolic terms, partly because they encounter symbolic content and
partly to put their writing in code to avoid persecution by the
Christian church.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">However, here I provide my stab at describing the process as I
glean it from Jung’s books.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The European alchemists variously identified a number of steps in
their process, which I will not detail here because the variations
hide the forest for the trees; I’ll just say the typical approaches
have 3, 4, or 7 steps. I cannot say anything useful about the seven
step process, or what its relationship to the 3 or 4 step process
consists of—someone, please do some further research for us—but I
will speak a little to the three and four step process.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">More precisely, it seems the alchemists waffled about whether one
needed three or four steps. And, moreover, this all boils down,
doesn’t it, to exactly how one identifies an counts these steps in
the first place. All the same, part of this ambiguity results from a
fundamental idea in alchemy, one that goes back (in the texts) to a
fourth century AD Greek one by Zosimos; the idea being: “One
becomes two, two becomes three, and out of the third comes the one as
the fourth”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On the strength of this idea, which Jung treats as a formula for
the process of the psychology of integration, one seems the
ambiguity: if what comes out of the third as one really only amounts
to one (whether we call it the fourth or not), then have we finished
the process already (in three steps).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But, let’s imagine this another way. Imagine a circular clock
face. Start at 12 o’clock and proceed around the quarters: first to
3 o’clock, then 6 o’clock, then 9 o’clock. We have now taken
three steps, but with the next step we return back where we started.
And, in fact, we might note the curiosity that we start at 12 o’clock
(not zero or even one o’clock). Hence, out of our third step comes
the one (the beginning again) as the fourth. So the “mystery”
here arises because the process consists of a circular one.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let’s take another step back. I start from whatever state of
consciousness I currently occupy. This moment does not denote a
“beginning”; I already exist as a creature in time. If I imagine
tracing a pencil around a circle, just as I can call any point where
I might start “its beginning” at the same moment that “beginning”
represents the “end” of any previous loop I drew. So any “now”
from which I move forward into a future already denotes a “then”
also, as the end of whatever previous journey I already took.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So, I start from whatever state of consciousness I currently
occupy—and then, through whatever processes of transformation I
experience, however many the steps, I wind up ultimately where I
began—at my current state of consciousness—but changed also by
the transformation.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And. Of course, someone might say: “But, at each step along the
way, don’t you come to occupy a ‘current state of consciousness’
as well?” Yes. If alchemical transformation overall involves four
steps, we can understand each step itself as a transformation as
well.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">And so what mattes in this involves it being a <i>sequence</i> of
transformations, and it also involves that different <i>kinds</i> of
transformation happen in the sequence.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But I don’t know how helpful it gets to bog down too much in
such details—or at least the justification for using such
terminology. We can find in this that charming linguistic paradox: we
realize we always exist “here” and “now” in which case how do
we ever “transit” from this “now” to another “now” or
from one “here” to another “here”. Linguistically, we cannot
get “there” from “here”. &c.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We see this proposes a problem in language, and I say that the
formula of integration above leans on or participates in that
language problem. But we experience this strangeness. How does “one”
change into someone else? In this, while “something” changes, at
the same time, something remained the same, otherwise I would not
know myself (and you would not know me) after such a change.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Let’s leave that conundrum for now, though.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Whether in three or four steps, whether bogged down in a
linguistic paradox or not, one may still sketch in, in a rough way,
the steps the alchemists would follow.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The process, in its most abstract description, involves the
transformation of the <i>prima material</i> (the prime material)
into the <i>lapis philosophorum</i> (the philosopher’s stone); more
precisely, it involves the liberation of the spirit within the prime
mineral so that the philosopher’s stone manifests.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Jung takes this all in a psychological sense. The prime material
indicates my current state of consciousness, which includes my
unconscious (though my unconscious, of course, remains invisible to
me).</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The first step—all of the steps have many names; I will stick
with just one set—involves the “blackening”. In its most
general sense, this involves a breaking down of the current state of
things—you can imagine it literally as busting rocks to get out the
gems or precious ore inside.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In psychological practice, this breaking down may already have
happened, in a literal mental break down. When manifest psychic
material enters our consciousness unbidden—as when we have a vision
(although “visions” do not have to occur only visually, often
they manifest as overwhelming feelings, impulses, &c)—and
threatens or offers to overwhelm us, this already represents an
involuntary version of the alchemist’s blackening. The prime
material of our consciousness disintegrates under some kind of mental
pressure that has brought forth the still raw ore of unconscious
material.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The second step involves the “whitening”—and seems mostly
simply understood as “washing” the rough ore liberated by the
blackening. So, we break some rocks, and then have to “wash” the
ore of any bits of still clinging rock. We might do this by more
chiseling, we might do this literally with water, it might require a
different solution, like acid, or whatnot. If the “stuff” we want
to work with already consists of a fluid (like salt water), then we
may need a process of distillation to remove the salt from the water,
&c. Alchemists resorted to all sorts of terms along these
lines—the <i>ablution</i> (washing), the <i>solutio </i>(soluting)—etc.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In psychological terms, this involves engaging and handling the
psychically exposed material. First, we had a vision, and now we try
to (as the handling metaphor has it) come to grips with it. If I
might insert a touch of my own interpretation into this process, I
would say that at this point we append a significance to it, a
meaning.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">For instance, I had/have a vision of a solar hyena; what does that
mean? But generally, as writers and artists and creators, we all from
time to time have “inspirations”—ideas that “appear” in our
heads out of nowhere; ideas that captivate us, that make us want to
write them down, &c. Or we have visions, that call us to change,
to change the world. But those inspirations do not have a meaning
yet; they appear in our heads, somewhat like uninvited alien beings,
and we say—sometimes extremely quickly, but sometimes only very
slowly—what the hell? What is that? And then quickly or gradually
we ascribe a meaning to it.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Psychologically, ascribing a meaning to our inspirations, to our
visions, to our unbidden psychic contents, denotes the alchemical
phase of “whitening”.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">The third step—generally accorded the greatest importance by
alchemists and Jung—involves the “reddening” or the heating.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">We tend to forget how weird fire is. We have become so accustomed
to food preparation, that the weirdness of what happens in the
process of cooking has disappeared. One simply has to imagine eating
raw meat or cooked meat to get the “magic” of fire back into the
picture. However tasty raw cow tastes, cooked steak rocks, &c.
Or, perhaps even more impressively, the difference between flour,
water, yeast (a little salt) and bread can astonish.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">On a physical interpretation, fire itself makes an extremely
literal image of transformation: burning wood turns into heat, light,
sound. But for the alchemists, fire (heating, cooking, warming) more
involves what happens when we make a cake—the transformation of a
bunch of ingredients into something delicious and otherly.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I will stick with the notion of “cooking” because I think it
gets best at what goes on here. Particularly in the sense that one
combines multiple ingredients. That’s key here, because what this
means, psychologically, involves the combination of (the cooking) of
the unconscious material and the preexisting state of consciousness.
This involves when the “vision” gets mixed in with one’s
current mind or, alternatively, when one’s current mind “stews”
in the juice of the vision.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In Jung’s psychotherapeutic practice, this “heating up” this
“cooking” involved using one’s imagination (in conversation
with the therapist) to “up the ante” on the manifest psychic
content (that had become troubling). Instead of pushing it away or
trying to explain it away, he would encourage the client to give the
thing enough imaginative life to express itself. (This might still
occur within the “whitening” phase.) So that in stewing over the
material, the changes to consciousness occur with less destructive
force, so that the image co-exists with having a life not undesirably
distorted or skewed by the content in the present world. &c.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><div align="CENTER" style="widows: 4;">
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"><b>ALCHEMY & CREATIVITY</b></span></div>
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">As a psychologist, Jung typically saw clients who had experienced
involuntarily the manifestation of strong psychic content, whether in
visual form as a vision or in uncontrollable impulses that were
causing problems in their life. So he encountered clients who had
already experienced the blackening phase of alchemy, as Jung
understood it. And his process then involved the whitening and
reddening phases, as part of an attempt to integrate that involuntary
psychic material into one’s life. Jung saw the imagination as
absolutely essential to that process.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">For artists—as artists, to whatever degree we feel comfortable
describing ourselves as such—we often have inspirations—visual,
musical, &c—and then we set about trying to find a meaning or
significance for it (whitening) and then concoct (cook) it in a form
that exists in the world, as a piece of art, an offering. And we
know, from the thousands of books on the creative process, that is
about as varied as as not-subject-to-generalization as the alchemical
process experienced by European alchemists.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">I understand art particularly as a (deliberate) combination of
disparate (selected) elements that composes a new meaning in society.
In this respect, alchemy is (in Jung’s) description literally an
art, and the alchemists often referred to it as such.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">A very, very non-negligible point in this. Jung speaks
continuously that one cannot “force” the Unconscious, at least as
far as psychological practice goes. The material that the unconscious
kicks up emerges as a symbol, and we do not make symbols, we only
encounter them. If we try to make them up, we makes <i>signs</i> or
slogans, and they might have some power, but not the particular
transformative power of symbols.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">In artistic terms, we might say we cannot force creativity either.
But the alchemists may suggest otherwise to us. Definitely, many of
them were very finely tracking their own psychological
development—that the very act of doing alchemy, wandering in the
world of its seemingly numberless symbols and, in particular, writing
down a description of the experience, seems to have activated further
psychological development. But we might also say that the process of
alchemy could serve as a process for inducing creativity.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">More specifically, I could not ahead of time concocted my vision
of a solar hyena—and nothing says that that vision, even were I to
represent it to you, would have the numinous power it does for me.
Maybe, maybe not. The point, in any case: it would not have occurred
to me to think it up beforehand. I had to discover it; I could not
have composed it. And even if I drew an accurate picture of it, it
would still yet not have the power it does for me. No problem.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But, now that I have this vision, now that I have found myself
inspired to write a couple of poems about it, those “integrations”
of the symbol into my consciousness may serve—kind of like
feedback loop—to stimulate further activity. I can acknowledge my
inability to “start” the process, but this doesn’t mean I have
nothing to do to keep the process rolling.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">But more than this: in principle, anything from the Unconscious
can provide grist for integration. I mentioned before the daily small
things that mostly just disappear all over again. But instead of
letting those small things go away, we can recognize that—though
small—they still comprise the stuff we can practice creativity on,
can practice alchemy on. Seeing these little things—these impulses,
these whims, these fleeting thoughts even—as tiny little moments of
blackening, that we might then subject to whitening (refinement) and
cooking (creatively) as a work of art, a poem, a short story, a
knitted scarf, a new dish of food, &c.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Sometimes, when I hear people talk about Enlighten, I think of the
Buddha’s—the whole light going on all at once and permanently—and
I think, “Well, jeez. That won’t happen to me, probably.” And
so, when I’m looking for the big one, I miss all the little ones
going on continuously around me all the time. I can take that same
attitude toward creativity. If I’m waiting for some big inspiration
that’ll inspire me to write the next great novel or whatnot, and
I’m feeling uncreative because that hasn’t happened, then I blind
myself to all of the sweet effervescences of daily creativity
perpetually available to me at every moment.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So why not apply the alchemical process to that, especially since
applying that process almost surely adds inputs and creates feedback
loops back into unconscious that might (will?) serve ultimately as
one of the sparks to a major revelation. I can find, for instance,
all sorts of “inputs” that led to the emergence of the solar
hyena, none of which I would have predicted had any input-value.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">For the step of the “blackening,” proposes to look at the
offerings of the unconscious, most obviously in dreams as a source,
but also in all of the little things in daily life that normally fall
to the wayside of consciousness. If I find myself passingly
attracted to someone, perhaps I can treat that as a moment for
engaging with it creatively. At this point, I feel in no position to
try to distinguish between “an offering of the unconscious”
versus something different from that that might not “benefit”
from a creative treatment. Perhaps, in practice, they end up
indistinguishable. What I more want to emphasize: because we so often
look for inspiration only in certain ways or certain forms, this
moment of blackening offers us to look for the opportunity for
creativity in, say, this old nail hole in the wall to my left.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">With the process, then, of whitening, we imaginatively engage this
“offering” we encounter, we treat it as a captivating symbol—or
at least a symbol, even if its force of captivity seems minimal. To
give one example of what this might mean: the Vietnamese Buddhist
monk Thich Nhat Han describes as part of mindfulness “looking
deeply”. By this, we invite ourselves not to see objects as such,
but see their interrelationship in the world. Thus, instead of this
soup spoon, I may imagine the people who mined its metal, the people
who carried and shipped it, the ship on which it moved, the factory
that produced it and all of the people within, the person who bought
it and brought it to this cafe, and the person who cleaned it for me
that I might use it. And finally, after taking a bite of delicious
lentil soup, I even accidentally manage to see my face reflected in
it. No mere soup spoon at all. I might do something similar with the
nail hole in the wall to my left: how did it get there? Did art once
hang here? Why has no one ever repaired it?</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Looking deeply only describes one way I might engage with
“offerings from the unconscious”—I haven’t even attempted to
answer “why did this nail hole capture my attention”; how does
the neglect I discern toward it relate to any sense of neglect in me?
Why the soup spoon—although, I think the punch line (of seeing
myself reflected in it)—might already answer that question.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Already, I imagine that you can imagine stories one might tell,
poems one might write—about interconnectedness on the one hand or
alienation in modern life on the other. But, just as Jung and the
European alchemists placed the greatest premium on the reddening, the
cooking, because the involuntary character of the blackening
(typically) and the often extremely fast ascription of a meaning or a
significance in the whitening have a tendency to happen
“automatically,” then the critical moment involves putting the
rubber to the road, the actual work of cooking, of integration.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">Again, cooking seems like such a good metaphor. Though a watched
pot never boils, when one cooks, it involves an iterative process.
One follows a sequence, n then, as the cooking proceeds, one must add
more of this, some of that to offset something else. It takes care.
The legitimate objection to microwaves means no love goes into the
cooking. No care. Who wants careless food? It means taking seriously
the process. It means, also, that you will offer me (all of us) a
tasty dish—not some slapdash shit you wouldn’t want to eat
yourself.</span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">It’s easy to crack a bag of chips and offer me a beer—nothing
of you appears in that gesture, really, so you have no ownership or
sociability. Such carelessness has the luxury of easiness, but in the
process everything beloved and valuable in food (and art) goes out
the window.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;"> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span><span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">So we can’t kid around with the reddening. This involves where
the food (the poem) I give you <i>does</i> implicate me. It may turn
out my food (my poem) tastes more complex than you like—we all have
different palates—but perhaps a part of my blackening involves
learning how to cook also what you like, and for you to cook what I
like &c. Because the growth alchemy promises arises, most of all,
in integrating that which we previously rejected, right?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: Georgia,"Times New Roman",serif;">
</span>sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-34847205896465319032013-12-01T10:42:00.002-08:002013-12-01T10:42:20.696-08:00alchemy adventure #1<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Contemplate the question: </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Make a list of 5 internal and 5 external obstacles. How can you transform these problems into solutions?</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Please wait 24 hours after the query is put out to post your reply (if possible). A reply may be a response to this question, describing this query's affect on our perceptions, or anything else you feel like sharing. </span><br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Remember, this group is not a private group, though as moderator, I am eager to make this a safe space for discussion.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span>sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com20tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-79287756646982230912013-09-27T18:32:00.002-07:002013-09-27T18:32:52.071-07:00krowThe ruins-<br />
I walk around them 100 years before.<br />
Civilization's tall buildings,<br />
crumbling ruins yet to rise.<br />
<br />
I stagger around the city<br />
in the magick dusk/dawn of everytime.<br />
The matches in my pocket,<br />
I feel them crackle with anticipation.<br />
<br />
The concrete rivers flow beneath my feet.<br />
The steel and glass jungle whispers its secrets to me.<br />
I am man, straightening her back and walking upright.<br />
I reclaim my territory, my hunting grounds.<br />
I dissolve their images of desire, replacing them with my own.<br />
I desire only to be human--only human.<br />
<br />
I crumple up my domesticity<br />
and use it as tinder for my matches.sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-61129457978353774812013-09-22T13:03:00.001-07:002013-09-22T13:14:00.728-07:00more hunter gatherer than ever beforeI stop and remember where I want to be--in some place that makes more sense. I left my dysfunctional family to find a dysfunctional culture, and I realized I had not left anything, really. I've taken some steps. And it's felt good.<br />
<br />
I lost the map, or I never had it, or I dream about it, or I'm making it up as I go along. That part doesn't really matter. I keep nudging myself, remembering that this world of slavery is not made by humans. It's made by ideas. It's a cunning trap we've set-quite impressive--but I still want out. I feel determined.<br />
<br />
I left home and found that I didn't know who I was. I placed myself in relation to the culture around me. I wasn't me; more like I was me as a reaction to this culture. That's a challenging thing to shake off. It's not just my daze; it's reinforced by the rest of us.<br />
<br />
I've made a bazillion mistakes, and I've stuck my foot in my mouth endless times. Still, I'll take my own judgment over what anyone else is trying to sell me. I don't want to join your crew. I feel up to the challenge of learning from mistakes, or maybe I'd rather just call them experiences. I stopped believing in right and wrong, and now I seem to find myself in my own footsteps. <br />
<br />
So, what are we doing? I'd like to know. Some days I feel pretty good about things, and other days, I wonder why in the hell we ever left Egypt, struggling to find the promised land in the desert. We eat manna off the ground, and sometimes we get together and raise up a golden calf here or there. I know it's a rough road across this desert, but I refuse to be bored to death, my soul slowly sucked out with each action I take to slog stones up the Empire's altar of choice. This is what makes me a slave. I am determined to escape.<br />
<br />
I know I am in a garden of eden. I reinforce these ideas in my daily life as much as I can. Some days, that is not much. Some days, it is.<br />
<br />
I see this forbidden future so clearly at times. It is world of our own making. It's all the joy and sorrow of learning from our experiences. It's being honest with ourselves, and perceiving without judgment of experience already in place. It's becoming a child in a sense of wonder, and also accepting the consequences we can't always foresee. It sings to me of freedom, inside this gilded cage that look too much like prison bars.<br />
<br />
"I think it's probably going to go on getting more and more different everywhere, because you don't just drop out of cities, you know, you drop into somewhere else, more deeply and completely than you've ever been anywhere before." --Paul Johnson<br />
<br />
<br />sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-25961518925465299302013-03-01T17:47:00.003-08:002013-03-01T17:47:49.624-08:00The Hows
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
There were so many ways of
transformation, it seems pointless to try to recollect them in
hindsight. What was a path of beauty to one was a mis-step to
another, but somehow—all the hows—we transformed something that
no longer made sense—you could even call it prison bars, though
they were not physical—into the place of our own making. We
ourselves were no longer being remade into cogs of the machine, the
bureaucracy, the cult of the idol of money. Instead, we encouraged
our surroundings into what, for us, passed as paradise.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Not to say it was perfect; it never is.
We are humans, and we are social. We have preferences and
differences and odd manners about us. But we participated in every
day, in every moment. We were present and included. The Bible might
say that we blew our fury trumpet, and I say that we blazed a
glorious path to beauty, though that is always in the eye of the
beholder.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Simply put, we picked up the pieces of
what capitalism left behind, and built ourselves the best lives we
could. We remembered the communities of old, and these became the
basis of our personal economies. We delighted in food that grew
itself and beckoned, upon ripening, to be devoured. We discovered
ways of using our bodies and minds that we could not have imagined
ten years prior.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Capitalism, and the cult that
perpetuated it, became too bloated and control-oriented. It forgot
how to be relevant to peoples' lives. People stopped worshiping at
its altar. They stopped listening to media prophets, stopped caring
about the increasingly static spectacle. People started talking to
each other, and found out their mutual skepticism of those in power
having any idea of how to care for those not. Things changed.</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
We began to walk a different path.
Like the Hebrews trekking through the dessert, living off manna and
hope, it was hard at times. And yet we knew in every molecule of our
being that our honesty of feelings would lead us to something better
than slavery, better than pyramid-building. When we started planting
gardens for our grandchildren, and gardens for anyone and everyone,
that is when in my heart we had reached the promised land. Not that
this place and time was promised to us. But I think all of us had a
feeling things could be better than that bullshit called the American
Way. It was a promise we made to ourselves. We just needed the
courage to begin, and the faith that we could build, plant, and
flourish.
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br />
</div>
<div style="margin-bottom: 0in;">
Yeah, I know, Jeremiah, that still does
not answer your question of how. I'll keep thinking about it, and
you keep asking, and maybe someday we'll both figure it out.</div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-2308307142026549692012-11-29T09:59:00.000-08:002012-11-29T09:59:25.763-08:00is it this easy?<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><div>
It seemed to
happen suddenly--changes in the habits of humanity, the kind of mass
transformation that cannot be legislated or enforced. Enough were dreaming
of taking the next fork in the road map of reality that it seamlessly
shifted into being. No longer were we occupying street corners and
anonymous parks, but our own lives. The election was forgotten, as was
the super bowl, facebook, shopping, and other distracting numbing
agents. Erroneously or gratuitously, 2012 had been noted and predicted
as the end, a legend which scared those who had forgotten the observed
pattern of the world: a beginning following every end. Increasing
numbers were excited about the hole in the veil of reality, peeking
through and stepping into a way of life that we thought made more sense.<br />
<br />
Our
dreams unfolded a path of awareness. We were shaken free of the
worldview in which we had been raised, the water we swam through in our
daily lives. We welcomed our perceptions as original, and did not meet
each stimuli with a pre-programmed reaction, such as “good” or “bad”.
We began to notice and feel the biological life around us, and felt
ourselves drawn into it, melding with it. We noticed how sun feels on
our faces, and also the glow of our screens. We felt taken into
conversations with our friends. We laughed, a lot. We began to create,
to caress ourselves--our mindbodies--welcoming them to life. We
enjoyed anew what we had forgotten could ever exist.<br />
<br />
We <em>sort of</em>
remembered a time already traveled, when people adamantly rebelled
against the powers of violence in an effort to free themselves. We felt
the chains of subjugation which could not be allied with our concepts
of freedom, feelings innate in the mere substance of being human.
(Anytime, especially in a democracy, a government violently erases an
attempt to change it--especially an open effort to disperse power--we
know it’s gotten out of hand. If we as citizens allow our government to
maim or suppress on our behalf, we are also suppressing and maiming a
basic essence of a concept we value in the word civilized.)<br />
<br />
We
realized waving a flag and voting for the lesser of evils was a
pointless exercise when compared with the mass torture and death of
biological life on this planet (the unfortunate result of our indulgent
consumption and our government‘s effort to consolidate control of power
and wealth.) We realized our science was as much a religion as any
other crackpot worldview. The notion of progress as something to hold
in esteem was laughable, if the mess we had yet to clean up didn’t sober
us out of our head-shaking embarrassment. In short, we grew up. We
took responsibility in ourselves, and also felt giddy with the freedom
that action brings. No more nanny state—welfare or socialism (the way
most poor people survive in the moneyed world); instead we felt care and
community. We forgot about ipods, and remembered what it felt to lie
under warm sun in a grassy field in the spring.<br />
<br />
***<br />
There’s
a lot said about dreamers in our society. The movie “Waking Life”
studies that subject in a variety of ways and attempts to knock you off
your rocker. John Lennon also said some words. Freud attempted to
explain every dream, daydream or nightdream, as sexual repression. (No
doubt, a lot of people were and are repressed, including, I imagine,
Freud.) Lucid dreaming is a studied art, an ability to explore the
dream world as a conscious spirit, unbounded by “known” physical
restraints--gravity being a popular one, and my personal favorite (since
I am afraid of heights), breathing underwater.<br />
<br />
The
dreamworld can appear to us as a parallel world, one in which we find
ourselves without limits or boundaries more often than in waking life.
It can also act as a guide, both in providing symbols for us to
interpret (the interpretation being the key component in that it
provides us an opportunity to make connections in a personal meaningful
sense), and offering us an example of what it means to disregard the
“known” physical restraints of our waking world.<br />
<br />
Our
waking world is a description we’ve been raised with since birth. We
enter this world as beings without discrimination, though our knowledge
is stored in our bodies; our civilized society calls this knowledge our
instincts. Moment after moment, we are brought further into the waking
world, constructed as reality by those who are enacting dreams of the
current inertia. Our reality tunnels give meaning to the events that
happen and the symbols that pervade our consciousness. These arbitrary
meanings (one example, marijuana is “bad” in Christianity while another
drug, alcohol, is a sacrament) reinforce the narrowness of our reality
tunnels. Anything that happens outside of our reality tunnels is not
perceived as happening, is “bad”, or is explained away.<br />
<br />
And
yet, a whole world may exist outside our realm of explanation. If we
never look for it, we may never find it. And perhaps we don’t even need
to look for it. Perhaps if we open ourselves up to the possibility
that it already exists, we will notice it as soon as we open our eyes. A
time of upheaval can be viewed with fear, because our steady
recognizable easily predictable lives are shaken. But it can also be
viewed with hope and gladness, because this world is in need of real
change; our collective rut is not only stale and decaying, but also
taking down most of the biological life on our planet as we chant the
mantra “faster! more!!”<br />
<br />
Yes, let’s count our blessings
for our full bellies and warm hands and feet (at least those of us lucky
enough to experience this reality), and all the other good things we
have. And let’s allow ourselves the chance to see and feel what makes
absolutely no sense. Let’s be open to our perceptions without
judgment,and be honest with ourselves in all aspects of our lives. Why
should we make ourselves do anything we hate for any reason? Why can’t
we make decisions, keeping in mind the awareness of the wake we leave
behind? We can think about what we really want to happen in our daily
lives and in our greater world, and allow ourselves the power to be
fully human and responsible for ourselves, enjoying the freedom this
fulfillment brings.<br />
<br />
We may find ourselves luminous beings,
connected again with the light of the universe. We may find ourselves
enacting lives worth the effort of living. We may find that this has
seamlessly become our reality, because we have made it so, dreaming it
into existence. </div>
</span></span></div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-31375649584725546272012-11-26T10:02:00.000-08:002012-11-26T10:02:15.623-08:00transition<div class="mbl notesBlogText clearfix">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span><br />
<div>
In birth,
transition is the hardest part. It's when the body switches gears, from
opening up to pushing out new life. It's the most painful, the most
intense, the part where you wonder if this difficult craziness is ever
going to end. It's the part when you're most likely to lose your mind,
completely let go, and surrender to the unknown of what comes next.<br />
<br />
If you've never given birth, transition can be intimidating. It's an adventure through virgin territory.<br />
<br />
We
find ourselves in 2012. It's another political year, so blah blah blah
say the media with reminders of the constant expectation that we
participate. Honestly, I don't know a lot of people who are excited
about the prospect of voting this year, no matter their political
beliefs. It seems election years are times when zealots become most
vocal, which seemingly forces numbers of people into voting when they
otherwise wouldn't, legitimizing the political system that is merely
symbolic of choice.<br />
<br />
So, vote or not. Whatever. Whether
you do or not, some rich guy representing corporate interests is going
to be elected. There will be lots of drama for several more years
resulting in a government operation that is largely languid, except that
it will shift money from you to corporations and slowly erode yet more
rights you may have taken for granted as yours, merely for the sole
reason that you are an autonomous human being. Oh, and it will kill
lots of people residing in countries that contain resources we need.
So, yeah, vote or not. Whatever.<br />
<br />
In the meantime, let's
converse. What in our wildest dreams would a society that reflects our
values look like; how would it function? Is there anything we can do,
yes, today and tomorrow and next week, to make some small part of that
fantasy a reality? How do your vision and my vision overlap? What
projects can we endeavor to undertake together, making more of our
alternate realities visible for those also looking for a way out?<br />
<br />
How
do people withdraw their actions from a culture of death (work)? How
do we begin to heal the damage to life on this planet, including
ourselves?<br />
<br />
Our imaginations are powerful things and can
lead us down paths we never imagined. During transition, we take a
minute to reach down and find something more powerful than ourselves, in
ourselves, that gives us the strength to push over the precipice of
what feels impossible. We let go of the limitations we formerly
claimed. We find ways of coping and thriving.<br />
<br />
How do we
design a society with human desires as the foundation? How do we as a
human society reward creativity and altruism? How do we begin to
practice democracy on a personal level? What does being civilized mean
to us, and how important is it that we live up to our ideals? Can we
exist without hypocrisy?<br />
<br />
What does it mean to be present
and fully engaged in what we do with our daily lives? How do we occupy
ourselves and our communities? What kind of care can we give each
other? Can we build up alternative paradigms that value human
contribution while the old withers from disuse? Can we give each other
what we need? How? What other questions do we ask ourselves?<br />
<br />
At
the point new life begins to emerge, a burning sensation is felt. This
is the body opening up and stretching more than ever before, more than
is thought possible. The urge to push forth something new is
unmistakable and irresistible. With relief, we relinquish what we have
nurtured within ourselves for so long. We give birth to new life, and
in turn, are ourselves reborn. We will never again be the same. We
learn, we adapt, we cry, we love. We appreciate with such intensity it
hurts. We have made it through transition, and we are on the other side
of what comes next.</div>
</div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-48053327226831796462012-11-25T10:44:00.002-08:002012-11-25T10:44:15.703-08:00What Comes Next
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">In
the cracks of capitalism's retreat, we plant the seeds of What Comes
Next. We share resources, skills, time, and care. I'm not about to
name this blind elephant, but there are parts I can feel and
describe. Certainly terms like mutual aid and community come to
mind. </span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">After
a natural disaster, when the hierarchy we take for granted abruptly
breaks down and suddenly no one is in control, we as individual
people remember and do what comes naturally: we share, both
blessings and burdens. We remember the essence of being human, given
the disruption of the daily rut.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">As
capitalism fails more people, What Comes Next becomes more real and
defined. Do we walk away from a promise that capitalism cannot
possibly fulfill? We are. We are doing it in 7 billion plus ways,
minus a small number of those firmly clinging to the top of the pyramid. </span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">What
Comes Next is already here. It is what fills the gaps capitalism
leaves behind in its slash and burn adventure through our present
moment. It is growing food, sharing, reclaiming the waste stream as
a resource, rediscovering manual skills, making friends and having a
great time, and countless other ways. As capitalism burns through
people and the earth beneath their feet, increasing numbers of us are
creatively reacting to capitalism's obsolescence. </span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">I
like the thought of billions of people asking themselves what makes
sense in their daily lives, and trying it out--7 billion people
taking their minds away from destruction (whether unintentional or
deliberate--"Hey man, I gotta pay my rent!"), and putting
their thoughts and energy toward making a life, letting go of the
hold of the promise of capitalism. It's a veil, it seems, this idea
that money is a good way to live, and the way out of this prison is
...what? There are infinite answers, as we each pump out feedback in
our reaction to coping with the lack of access to money and what it
means--protection, basically, from the legal system --"Our
basic needs have been turned into private property, and in our
culture, private property is always violently defended."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">We
are each, in our small ways, adding white noise to the cacophony of
KYRIARCHY SUCKS. The power they (the 1%, the elites, etc.) hold over
us (the 99%, the masses, etc.) is an illusion. This power does not
exist. Yes, isolated pockets of demonstrators can
be taken to jail, sometimes even beaten and shot. But we the masses
are free. There are no slaves in the landscape of consciousness. It is here we plant our feet, push down our roots, break out of the shell we thought to contain ourselves, and push forth into new life. We have no idea what awaits us.</span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Capitalism
contracts, and what seeps up through the cracks but pioneer weeds,
growing in the harshest conditions, creating an environment for
flourishing, for reproducing fecundity? This is why I can't help but
be an optimist. There are no if onlies. The world is changing
rapidly, and our adaptations cycle into the feedback loop, creating
yet more rapid change. Hold on to your seats folks! What a
fantastic time to be human!</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Gardens
spring up in the wastelands of corporate retreat. We ask ourselves,
“What makes <b>sense</b>, given the reality of what I observe with
all my senses?” Being honest with ourselves becomes a map for this
new unknown territory, the inevitable What Comes Next.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">“The
future exists. First in imagination, then in will, then in reality.”
--Barbara Max Hubbard</span></span></div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-45558447490172964012012-11-24T09:49:00.000-08:002012-11-24T09:49:03.710-08:00dreaming of a man, part two
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Peter
changed his route home so he could pass by the park and the tree. He
started leaving work early so he could spend a bit of time with the
tree and still get home in time for dinner. It appeared that people
took it for granted that the park had always been there. He
overheard someone talking about the flower planting that had been
made in the park last year. And when he looked up information on the
bank, it apparently never had existed.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The next
weekend, Peter took his kids to the park. They played while he
communed. He saw a woman look at him quizzically. He felt a bit
embarrassed, but nodded his head at her. She came closer. "Have
you been coming to this park a long time?" she asked.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Uh,
no, not really. But I really like this tree," he replied.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She
looked at him with an awkward expression. "I used to work at a
bank here, but obviously, this tree has been here a long time. I
just can't figure out what's going on. I'm starting to feel ... kind
of crazy. I haven't been back here in a long time, but for some
reason, I came by here on the bus the other day, and I saw this tree.
I saw this tree..." she said as she trailed off. She looked as
though she were going to cry.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"I
remember the bank too," Peter said, tentatively. He did not
like going up the path of crazy talk, but felt for this woman, who
was obviously having a rough time of it.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"But
this tree," she said.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Sometimes,
I think, there can be more than one reality that exists at a time."
When Peter offered that up, the woman's head snapped from looking at
the canopy of the tree to stare fiercely into his eyes. "What
did you say?" she demanded.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> Peter
took a breath. "I think there can be more than one reality that
exists at a time. I don't know if you've read any books by science
fiction author Philip K. Dick, but he wrote that he saw the landscape
of Rome and the landscape of Southern California overlapping. I
don't know how it works, but it seems like it can be possible,
especially when you are experiencing it yourself."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The woman
shook her head. "I'm not the only one, then," she muttered
to herself. "Are you a dreamer?" she asked Peter.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Pete
inhaled sharply. He had no idea how to answer that question. He
looked over at his kids, talking with a man and petting his two
hyperactive dogs on leashes. They were having a good time, and he
was glad he had brought them here, instead of their mom taking them
shopping at the mall. He was totally not expecting this
conversation, though.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"I...I."
He sighed. "I don't know how to answer that. I dream or I
don't dream, I'm not sure."
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Did
you dream the tree here?" Her voice was insistent. He was not
going to be let off with easy vague answers, nor did he care to be.
He had never before met anyone with whom he could possibly have this
conversation.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"I
did," he answered. "I remembered it from another time. I
found it here, I knew it was here, but there was this bank too.
Somehow, I--I can't explain it. I just thought about the tree, I
felt it embracing me and I embracing it, and when I opened my eyes,
the bank was gone, and the tree was here."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Have
you done this before?" Her voice was just as insistent, urgent.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"No,
at least not that I have realized," he answered.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"How
did you remember it? What do you mean you remembered it from another
time?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">This was
it, the moment he anticipated and dreaded, since Jimmy Malloy in 4th
grade. He had sworn never to tell anyone about his dual life, and
yet, this was the time to tell it. It seemed like his whole life had
been leading up to this moment.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"This
is going to sound crazy," he prefaced. He turned his head away
from her piercing eyes. "I am an analyst. I have a nice office
with a window. I have a big nicely decorated house in the burbs that
I share with my wife and those two wonderful kids," he gestured
to his kids, now playing ball with the hyperactive beagles. "And
when I go to sleep at night, I wake up in a different time. It's
1877, and I am a hand on a cattle ranch. I live out my day there,
and when I go to sleep at night, I wake up here."
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He looked
up at her, and was surprised to see that her expression had not
changed. She wasn't laughing at him or looking at him like he was
crazy. She didn't appear about to beat him up either. "It
seems to be the same physical place, but obviously, things are a lot
different. The trees have been my way of connecting the two places.
I found a familiar tree in a park downtown a few weeks ago, a tree I
knew from my other life. And for some reason, I was compelled to
find this one. When I couldn't find it, I imagined finding it, and
then this park appeared. I can't make any sense of it, but I can't
deny what happened."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> There was
an awkward silence as her rapid fire questioning ceased. He took a
chance, "Do you know what's happening or why?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She
looked at him thoughtfully. "I can't say I know any more than
you do. But I am paying enough attention that I know when a bank
disappears."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Do
you dream?" he asked.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She also
sighed. "I...don't know how to answer that either." She
searched his face, and felt herself take a leap of faith. "I
think I dream, but not of the past. I dream of the future. It
doesn't feel as real and certain as you seem to be of your dreaming.
It's more like I get glimpses and feelings that are quite real, but I
don't think I'm solidly there yet. I mean, I think it's the future.
It seems kind of like the past, but they talk of this time as the
past."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"What's
the future like?"</span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span lang="en">She
blinked her eyes and shook her head. "Well, it's </span><span lang="en"><i>a</i></span><span lang="en">
future. Who knows if it's </span><span lang="en"><i>the</i></span><span lang="en">
future?" He nodded. "Life is different, for sure,"
she continued. "Capitalism collapsed, but surely that is no
surprise. Governments collapsed soon after, and people dealt with it
in varying ways. There's not a lot of communication, so you mainly
just hear rumors of what's happening outside the bioregion. Some
places are still run with force, but.... People--I don't know how to
describe it exactly--People regained their personal power, and now
there's not power enough for governments to hold and rule them. They
simply cannot muster the force necessary to coerce everyone. People
mostly organized themselves into communities and are doing the best
they can. It can be hard, but at the same time, it's a lot of fun.
People seem less entranced than they do now. Does that make any
sense?"</span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Peter
nodded his head, "It makes a lot of sense. I have always
thought that if people knew what they were giving up to be American
and middle-class, they might think twice about it. But it seems like
they give up, as you said, their personal power, without thinking
twice about it. And when they give up their personal power, all hell
breaks loose." He nodded his head toward the street traffic,
ever massive on a Saturday afternoon.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The woman
nodded in agreement. "I will say that when 7 billion people put
their minds toward living in the community of life, and put their
hands and energy into remaking the biological landscape, it seems as
though miracles occur."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">He looked
up at her as he sat on the bench under the cottonwood of his dreams.
"There's hope then?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">She
smiled. "I presume so, though people tell me I'm crazy to be
optimistic about the future. It seems we humans have always had very
powerful imaginations, and we seem to have forgotten that. We have
trapped ourselves with our cleverness and cunning, and even forgotten
that we used to be free, not having to toil for corporations, for a
culture of death, in exchange for access to our basic needs like food
and shelter. Humanity has become entranced to the point that we
forget we're living in a prison of our own making. I like to think
more people are waking up and making choices." She laughed,
"More people are waking up and dreaming!"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"I
like to think that things can be different," Peter said.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Things
are always different. We live in this moment of now, an ever changing
now. You changed a bank into a park. If you do that every week,
what is this city going to look like in a year? What if a dozen
people or a hundred people are doing this without our realizing it?
As capitalism fails more of the populace and the Empire has to
forcibly exert more control over holding it together, it just falls
apart faster. People are forced to meet their needs in ways that
capitalism no longer can. Capitalism isn't keeping its promises
anymore. As people meet their needs in new ingenious ways, there is
less reliance on capitalism to do so. Really, there is nothing
capitalism can do anymore to prop itself up forever. It's decaying
before our eyes. It's a story whose ending has come. Thankfully,
there are more stories, 7 billion stories plus, to enact. We create
what comes next simply by meeting our needs in our daily lives as
capitalism disappears."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"> "It's
2012," said Peter. "That's supposed to be the end of the
world, right? Is that what happened?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">The woman
smiled again. "It's just the moment. 2012 is just a good a
time as any, don't you think?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">Peter
smiled. "My name is Peter, and I am glad to have met you
today." He held out his hand to shake.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">"Peter--that
means rock, the foundation. I'm glad to have met you as well, Peter.
I'm Myra."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">They
shook hands under the tree imagined into existence, remembered into
existence. The beauty that life can be remains imprinted in our
biological make up. We are the biological landscape, as much as any
mountain, river, wind, or tree. We can remember.</span></span></div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-9888817968048374272012-11-23T10:26:00.000-08:002012-11-23T10:26:59.691-08:00dreaming of a man, part one
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> "Tell
us another one, Petey!" </span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Petey
looked up at the raging stars overhead and took a deep breath. "In
the future, this whole valley will be covered with houses, some
costing millions of dollars."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"How
much is a million dollars, Petey?"</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">"That's
one thousand $1000 bills," replied Petey, amongst whistles of
disbelief. "The houses won't be like the little cabins we have
now. They'll have 10 or 12 rooms, and maybe just one or two people
will live there. Not only that, but they'll be heated in the winter,
without coal or wood, and air conditioned in the summer. Air
conditioning is when cold air blows out of a vent in the floor, so
even if you'd be sweating bullets outside, you can come inside and
become chilly enough to put on a jacket."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Laughter
erupted. "Tell us about the carriages again." Pete told
his cohorts about the roads and the cars that would fill them, so
many cars that they'd jam up and be unable to move forward in
traffic. He told them about gasoline and how much it costs and how
it was extracted.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was
like this a lot of nights. Sometimes there would be more interesting
things to talk about, especially if one of them was courting a woman,
but there just wasn't a lot going on in the high plains. After a day
of cattle ranching, the hands would gather round the outdoor fire,
eat their supper, and talk. Invariably, Petey would be requested to
tell his tales. Petey was sure no one believed him when he talked
about cities and cars and all that the technological future would
bring, but at least it was entertaining.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was
pitch black in the windowless bunkhouse when sleepytime approached.
Petey watched the bits of light from his eyeballs dance around for a
bit, and just a moment later, he was waking up, refreshed as though
he'd been asleep all night. He stretched out in his luxurious
king-sized bed. His wife slept only on satin sheets, and he thanked
her peculiarities every morning. He switched off his alarm and
hopped into the shower, as hot as hot could get. He pulled on his
suit, grabbed his coffee and a nutrition bar, and hopped into his car
for the long morning commute. He switched on the radio to hear the
pundits endlessly arguing the benefits of one narrow viewpoint over
another.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peter had
been doing this his whole life--switching from one life to another in
his dreams. He wasn't sure if he was a 21st century man dreaming of
life in the old times, or a 19th century man dreaming of himself in
the future. Both lives seemed equally real to him. He hadn't told
anyone about it, except Jimmy Malone in the 4th grade, who promptly
beat him up. It sounded crazy, so whatever. He just lived his life.
He knew he was sane no matter how crazy it seemed.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> Peter was
a senior analyst for a successful company, with a window office near
the top of the building, and two secretaries. He was well respected
and well liked, pretty unusual for a business executive, but it
wasn't in his nature to be cut-throat. He rose to the top (or near
it) because he was a really darn good analyst. At the end of his
work day, he made the long commute home and arrived just in time for
dinner. Lorraine, their cook, always made delicious meals. He sat
down at the table with his wife and two lovely children and caught up
on their day. His wife was an avid tennis player and flower
gardener. His kids were growing up, now ages 8 and 11. The oldest
wanted to be a fashion designer and the youngest a fireman.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">He put
his kids to bed each night with a story. His wife was suprised he
wanted to take on bedtime, but really, it was about the only time he
ever saw them. And he loved his kids. "Tell us about the
stars, papa!" He told them about the Milky Way, so bright it
seemed you could reach up and take a drink. He told them about the
plains so quiet you could hear the wind rustling the grass. "What
did the water taste like?" His youngest always seemed to ask
this question, as he was sensitive to tastes. "The water tasted
like nothing, and it was clean and cold and quenched your thirst, no
matter how long it had been since you last drank."</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The kids
were kissed and tucked and the lights turned off. Peter switched on
his alarm clock and cuddled up with his wife on their satin sheets.
Soon enough he drifted off and woke up to the sound of Cookie,
beating on a pan. "Up with you lazyhead layabouts! Time for
grub! Get a move on!" And so began the morning on the cattle
ranch, physically hard and demanding work, but work he enjoyed no
less than analyzing.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">In fact,
with all the amenities and physical comforts of modern life, he
really couldn't say he enjoyed it more. There was something about
working his body, about experiencing cold and heat, about being
actually hungry when he sat down to a meal, about drinking cold water
from a spring, about seeing countless stars at night--he felt a
freedom in this daily life that he didn't get sitting behind a desk
or a windshield. Peter wondered if ever someone had tasted beef
freshly butchered if they'd ever eat modern factory meat again. He
wondered if anyone saw the stars in all their glory if they would not
smash every street light they could. He wondered if people used
their bodies to meet their daily needs if they would ever submit to
sitting behind a desk. If not for his kids, and yes, hot showers, he
preferred his old time life. It made him feel alive.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">And
still, it didn't get boring. When he was younger, his life was not
so purposeful. Often, he was having a wild and crazy time in one
life while he was buried in routine in the other. But now he had a
routine in both lives, and he was okay with it. He knew at some
point, he'd get bored and would have to switch things up, but for
now, he got a lot out of the experience of both lives. He felt he
was living quite fully in the moment, and that awareness made him
feel alive.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">****</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> The big
cottonwood was by far the largest tree around. Trees didn't really
get very big here, even when they got old and even when they were
creekside, but this one must have tapped an underground reservoir of
water. It was huge. Petey sat down under it and rested, a rare
treat for a cattle man on the plains. He stared up into its canopy
where the blue sky didn't peek through. It felt so very alive to
him.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Petey
imagined himself hugging the tree like he hugged his wife, with an
appreciation that he was alive at this moment. He felt the tree
hugging back. He felt energy flowing through him, down through the
ground, back up through his body, up through the canopy and to the
stars above, and back through his body again. Pete didn't consider
himself a hoogey moogey kind of person, but he had made a commitment
to himself long ago to be honest about what he experienced and felt,
and he could deny these feelings of connection no more than he could
deny his double life.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">It was
coming back from a lunch meeting that Peter noticed the cottonwood.
He crossed the heavy street traffic and stared at it in amazement.
He had worked two blocks from this park for the last 20 years, but
had never walked through it. As he got closer, he realized it was
indeed the same tree, ever so much older, but definitely the same
tree. He said hello and imagined himself hugging the tree. He was
sure he looked crazy, but yes, in his designer suit he looked up into
the canopy of the tree and cried as it hugged him back. Never before
had there been a connection between his two lives. He began taking
his lunches out of the office and sitting under the tree. It wasn't
as easy to visit the tree as a cattle man, but he did as often as he
could. He felt that, for some reason, this tree and this time were
important. This connection had been made, and he rested on this
thought to see what might come of it.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"> It was
after taking his kids out to see the stars and being able to count
them--yes, there were 23 visible stars in the city sky that
night--that Peter got thoroughly fed up with civilization. He felt
if people understood what they were giving up to be physically
comfortable, for the short-term, that they would choose differently.
It wasn't just not being able to see the immensity of the stars.
People were trashing the living biosphere that supported humanity!
And yet, he drove to work each day, analyzing what decisions needed
to be made in order to keep his business successful, i.e., making
shit tons of money. He drove his car just like the rest of them.
And he knew better.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peter sat
down under the tree and thought some more. What could he do? He was
just one person. "Dream," his mind answered. Or the tree
answered. Or the universe answered. And yet, dreaming was something
he never did. As soon as he fell asleep, he woke up in a different
reality. Of course, he had entertained the possibility that he was
always dreaming, just going from one dream life to another. But
things were too orderly and predictable, too concrete in either life
to be a dream. He was never able to fly, no matter how hard he
tried. Dream? How could he do that?</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span>
</div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Petey
imagined himself embracing several other trees, all the biggest ones
he could find on the plains. He tried to figure out their placement
on the physical landscape so that he could find them in his modern
life. It was difficult when one landscape was filled with natural
landmarks like trees, streams, and such, and the other was a grid of
streets with concrete and glass monuments.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">One tree,
another cottonwood, caught his eye in particular. It wasn't nearly
as old or as big as the other, but it was--how could he define it?
It was special for some reaon. It appealed to him; he resonated with
it, and when Petey became Peter, he took off one weekend to try to
find it. It was ridiculous trying to match the physical landscape in
that part of the city, as there were no parks, and no trees had been
alive for more than a couple of decades. He walked around and
around, and still couldn't figure it out. If only he could manage to
bring his gps to his old time life!
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Finally,
he stopped and stood still. Instead of looking with his eyes, he
tried feeling with his body. He walked on the concrete, intensely
aware of the ground buzzing beneath his feet. He stopped in front of
a bank. This was the place. He looked up at the towering edifice in
disgust. He preferred the tree over this monument of planetary
destruction. He closed his eyes and felt. Yes, even with all the
time that had passed, he could still feel the tree. Peter imagined
hugging the tree and felt it hugging back; he felt it intensely, as
much as he did in his old time life.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">When
Peter opened his eyes, he could barely believe what he saw. The bank
was gone and there, yes there in front of him, stood the tree. He
could swear it was smiling. It was much older and bigger, and the
lot whereupon had formerly stood the bank was now a park. He sat on
a bench under the tree. This felt right. This felt like it had
always been here, even though he was positive a few moments prior a
bank had dominated the scenery.
</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Peter had
made it a cornerstone in his life to always have a foot firmly
planted in reality when crazy things happened to him. In his life,
he had to do this, or he would have given himself to insanity long
ago. Had there really been a bank there? Yes, he remembered it and
the disgust it evoked in him. Was there really a park now? Yes, he
was sitting in it. Did he somehow change reality? It would seem so,
wouldn't it? Was he dreaming? He had no idea how to answer that
question of himself.</span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">***</span></span></span></div>
<div lang="en" style="line-height: 100%; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><span style="font-size: small;">Tune in tomorrow to read the rousing conclusion<span style="font-size: small;">!</span> </span> </span></span></div>
sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1404350809002887333.post-91334912073679476322012-11-22T13:24:00.002-08:002012-11-22T13:33:31.553-08:00on being thankful<span style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue",Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;"><br />"But I mean, how--how exactly did it happen?" Jeremiah was pretty sure Old Pete was the oldest person he knew, and it seemed if anyone could answer his endless queries of the past, it should be Old Pete. Rumor had it, Old Pete was in the thick of it back in the day. <br /><br />"There is no exactly. It just happened. Let me explain capitalism to you, Jeremiah, because I know you've no idea really how it was. Capitalism worked on a promise: you work hard, you live well. That's why people worked 40-60-80 hours a week," Old Pete chuckled as Jeremiah's jaw dropped, "doing things they'd never do if they weren't paid to do it. People took that money and bought things from stores. It wasn't like how it is when Peddler John comes through. There were these huge warehouses full of stuff, all kinds of stuff, as much stuff as you'd ever want and then some. You took that money and you bought stuff with it." <br /><br />"But when would someone have time to play with all that stuff if they were working that much?" asked Jeremiah. <br /><br />"Yes, that is a good point, one of the many contradictions of capitalism. Also, where you lived and what you ate depended on how much money you made and spent. If you had a lot of money, you lived in a very large house and ate good quality food." <br /><br />"But what if you didn't work hard and make a lot of money?" <br /><br />"Yes, that's another contradiction of capitalism. Like I said, there was this promise of capitalism, but the thing was, a lot of people worked really hard, and didn't earn much money. In fact, the more physically demanding the job, often the less money you made. So, if you worked in the fields harvesting, or you stood on a concrete floor all day in a factory, chances are you earned not very much money. But if you sat around all day in a fancy temperature controlled office, chances are you earned a lot of money. Yeah, doesn't make much sense, I know. <br /><br />"A lot of people worked hard, but even in the good times, there were not enough jobs as there were people who needed homes and food. The government then put an awful lot of people in jail. Here we were in the Land of the Free--that's what they called it--and we had something like a quarter of the world's inmate population. Even with all those people in prison, there weren't enough jobs to go around. And then hard times hit. People were forced out of their homes at gunpoint, even though they had nowhere to go, and no one was going to live in those homes anyway. And then harder times hit. It got to where people who had never before in their lives known hunger or what it was like to be cold first got to experience it. It was scary for a lot of people. <br /><br />"The reason I'm telling you all this backstory, Jeremiah, is so that you understand. You know what hungry people do? They learn to forage and grow food. They also share. You know what cold people do? They learn how to build shelters, or appropriate empty ones. You know what scared people do? They make friendships for social insurance. Every time capitalism failed to provide what it promised, people made do and figured out other ways to meet their needs. Each person doing this in their daily life built up alternatives to capitalism. It wasn't so much that we defeated capitalism, but that capitalism ran its course, and because it was a short-sighted affair--imagine an economy based on infinite resource extraction--it failed to live up to its promises. It was inevitable. We didn't cause its failure; we just built up with our common sense something that kept us going when the food ran out and the weather got wacky." <br /><br />Jeremiah sat and reflected on this. He had heard stories, so many stories of heroic deeds and close calls, specifically about Old Pete. He felt like Old Pete was keeping something from him. "What about the time you took out that dam?" <br /><br />Old Pete smiled. That had felt so good. "The dam was a hindrance to the flow of life. Everyone knew that, from the salmon who needed to spawn to the bears that ate them, and on and on. We did it slowly, so we didn't hurt anyone. No explosives." <br /><br />"What about when you single-handedly captured a whole fleet of freight trucks?" Jeremiah asked indignantly. <br /><br />"Oh, that story has gotten blown out of proportion. It was really a matter of timing, and the kids driving those trucks wanted to be on our side anyway. I told them we had a plate set for them at our table, and they were all for it." <br /><br />"But wasn't there something big that happened that really pushed it over the edge? My mom says that one year everyone was working at jobs and shopping and being distracted by screens, and the next year, no one was doing that anymore. How did it happen so fast?" <br /><br />"We became craftpersons in time. We changed our way of thinking. We started dreaming of something different, and suddenly, it shifted into being, like it had been there all the time, but we were so distracted we hadn't noticed. Once it became real, it was easier for others to take part and share in what it meant to live a life worth our efforts. It was easier to realize we had lived in prison and not necessarily known it. Even a gilded cage is death to one locked inside it. Once we started living differently, our minds and bodies changed. I don't think we realized what we had been doing to ourselves, though if we had bothered to look at the environment we lived in, it was obvious. <br /><br />"There is this thing, Jeremiah, that we had forgotten. It was humanity. We, for some reason unbeknownst to us, had made ourselves into machines. But we're not machines, we're humans. We merely needed to extend our imaginations beyond what had been tried before. Our imaginations are unlimited, and if we can think it, we can create it. For some reason, we had forgotten that. But you know, Jeremiah, what it means to use your imagination?" <br /><br />"Of course I know." <br /><br />"Yeah, you do. But there weren't a lot of people then who did, and when we remembered that, the world changed, as your mom said, practically overnight. It was a miracle, and we're thankful for it." <br /><br />"Why do you think people remembered when they did?" asked Jeremiah. <br /><br />"Well, I don't really know, but if I had to guess, I'd say it's because it was better than giving up hope. It's a hard thing, Jeremiah, to look into your baby's eyes and realize you just brought another slave into the world for the Empire. Enough mamas and papas were tired of that. Believing in something else, and making it real, that was worth the effort. It was worth trying new and different things, and even as we were told nothing would be as great as this unfulfilled promise of capitalism, unfolding before our eyes was another story. We became open to being honest with ourselves, and accepting our own truths. We each have our own ways of doing things, our own beliefs, but the idea that there was something better than capitalism was universal. And in no time, we had proven to ourselves that our hunches were correct. Capitalism and the forces that purported to enforce it disappeared, and this--" Old Pete swept his hand to the distance where the apple orchard buzzed with bees, where children waded in the creek to escape the early spring heat, where people were outside chopping greens and cooking stew, mending fences, planting gardens, talking and laughing--"all of this--all of this just plain old but so very endearing life was waiting to spring into being. We planted the seeds in the cracks of capitalism, and we reaped what we sowed. We're so thankful, so thankful." </span></span>sharqihttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10946168340402981902noreply@blogger.com1