"It might be impugningly crass to suggest an otherness as symbolic of some sha-man only rewarded by unheralded manifestation, as though some alchemical mystery were a virtue, much to be desired as the result of otherworldliness and heroic behavior... and who would gnow... unless implicit within it's own transparency?"
This is about as close as I get to creating something that means no thing at all. It might be noted that recently I have taken the term "meaning" to derive from the expression "me-and-thee-ing". Me-and-ing is the essence of what me-anding is all about. Meaning can not be other than that which is most essential about ones personal relationship with this, that, or the other. Perhaps just an other way of saying the same thing as 'nothing much to it' except as beholder.
Beholded-ness itself, as evoked by some object of desire, is but a state of woe being ripped apart by the dead
weight of a predator ripping open the belly of death... tormentingly... a little at the time, instead of whopping it open like a pinata and spilling it's guts all over the floor. I hate being beholden, even to my own concept of reality, whatever that unwittingly is.
With the question being: Why would I feel beholden to what I have been taught to perceive as "real"? When, what I act like is true, only exists to bear witness to "the big lie" for sake of convenience, and only possesses ex-is-tense as some piteous, transmogrified variation of scheme, vaunted into birth while in the throes of some unbridled lust to please the other.
Wednesday, April 16, 2003
I guess I've always suffered from delusions of grandeur. It's not that I go around thinking I am an important person, but that, like many others, I think the thoughts of geniuses. Therein lies the rub. It's difficult to relate this to other people without their thinking that you think you're something. It's not that I think I'm something when I attempt to relate thoughts of genius, it's the very fact that I do. And... what it takes to get to the place where I can and have.
What it takes is not going along to get along. Not going along to get along can seem very difficult. Especially when it goes against the grain of what many people call common sense. But, that's the whole point. It takes more than common sense to think the thoughts of geniuses. Thinking the way one must think to go along to get along does not result in unusual thinking patterns. It results in what's most common in human thought. To access rare patterns of thought requires one to abandon the usefulness of common knowledge to go where no man has gone before.
On the other hand, having gone where no man has gone before and encountering rare patterns, it seems most difficult to relate these concepts to people who rarely go beyond the realm of ordinary thinking. No blame.
Being exposed to concepts and ideas that go beyond the realm of ordinary thinking can be very invigorating. These concepts and ideas have a power of their own that demands expression. To express unusual ideas sometimes requires feedback from others to allow oneself to explore the possible meaning attached to such things. People enraptured with common knowledge are not much help. So, the problem of getting beyond common knowledge is accompanied by the problem of communicating what one has found with a worthy adversary who can help one verify one's own experience.
I guess this is like a two-edged sword in a way. First there is adopting the kind of behavior that can lead to rare thinking, which requires a type of seeking that goes beyond the ordinary, and this leads to another kind of seeking, that of finding other seekers who have gone beyond the ordinary so that communion of the extraordinary can bring resolution to what has been found.
So, this has been my life. I have done what I thought it took to approach the extraordinary and been successful to some degree, and I have sought others who have done something similar so we could talk about what we returned from that which is extraordinary with.
There are lots of people who have studied the experiences of people who have gone beyond the ordinary realm, and who are conversant with what can happen there, and not so many people who have actually had the experiences themselves. Sometime it seems difficult to tell the difference. Some people are so familiar with what they've studied that they actually think they've had the experiences, and can convince others, temporarily, that they gnow what they're talking about. And, it's comforting to think you have actually met up with another person who can give you the nod when you tell them of what you have experienced. You wanna believe they really have experienced something similar to what you have experienced, and when you're desperate for confirmation that what you've experienced is the real thing you find yourself exhibiting another form of going along to get along... for the sake of getting the nod. However, in the end, all things will out, and sooner than wanted, you find yourself allone again hoping with only hope left for the real thing. Sharing with a contemporary who has done the deed themselves.
What it takes is not going along to get along. Not going along to get along can seem very difficult. Especially when it goes against the grain of what many people call common sense. But, that's the whole point. It takes more than common sense to think the thoughts of geniuses. Thinking the way one must think to go along to get along does not result in unusual thinking patterns. It results in what's most common in human thought. To access rare patterns of thought requires one to abandon the usefulness of common knowledge to go where no man has gone before.
On the other hand, having gone where no man has gone before and encountering rare patterns, it seems most difficult to relate these concepts to people who rarely go beyond the realm of ordinary thinking. No blame.
Being exposed to concepts and ideas that go beyond the realm of ordinary thinking can be very invigorating. These concepts and ideas have a power of their own that demands expression. To express unusual ideas sometimes requires feedback from others to allow oneself to explore the possible meaning attached to such things. People enraptured with common knowledge are not much help. So, the problem of getting beyond common knowledge is accompanied by the problem of communicating what one has found with a worthy adversary who can help one verify one's own experience.
I guess this is like a two-edged sword in a way. First there is adopting the kind of behavior that can lead to rare thinking, which requires a type of seeking that goes beyond the ordinary, and this leads to another kind of seeking, that of finding other seekers who have gone beyond the ordinary so that communion of the extraordinary can bring resolution to what has been found.
So, this has been my life. I have done what I thought it took to approach the extraordinary and been successful to some degree, and I have sought others who have done something similar so we could talk about what we returned from that which is extraordinary with.
There are lots of people who have studied the experiences of people who have gone beyond the ordinary realm, and who are conversant with what can happen there, and not so many people who have actually had the experiences themselves. Sometime it seems difficult to tell the difference. Some people are so familiar with what they've studied that they actually think they've had the experiences, and can convince others, temporarily, that they gnow what they're talking about. And, it's comforting to think you have actually met up with another person who can give you the nod when you tell them of what you have experienced. You wanna believe they really have experienced something similar to what you have experienced, and when you're desperate for confirmation that what you've experienced is the real thing you find yourself exhibiting another form of going along to get along... for the sake of getting the nod. However, in the end, all things will out, and sooner than wanted, you find yourself allone again hoping with only hope left for the real thing. Sharing with a contemporary who has done the deed themselves.
Tuesday, April 15, 2003
An interesting subject has been proposed on one of the discussion groups I subscribe to. The subject is about
whether or not there will actually be a 2004 Presidential election. The resident wise man is suggesting that we have already seen the last election to be held in the United States. I share this sentiment of this speculation.
After this present regime bought it's way into power I was very concerned, but I didn't entertain just how far they would go to close the deal. And, in my mind, it is a deal. After all, they are a group of businessmen you know, and business is business. In this case, it's the business of who is going to run the country and the world. Their real intent, of course, is to take over the entire world, by force if necessary. They're off to a good start. Now that they have "conquered" Iraq, and already threatened Syria if they don't cooperate, their intent is clear.
What could exist as a more succinct example to the world leaders of what could happen to them personally than the way they went after Saddam Hussein and his sons with their smart bombs. They openly admitted that their preemptive strike was not about Iraq, but about the assassination of Hussein. They weren't attempting to oust the government of Iraq, and hold a War Criminals Trial for it's leaders, but to murder the ruling family in as efficient manner as possible. That done, anarchy followed to destroy the assets of the merchant and professional class, and resistance was futile. Who, amongst the leaders of the various countries of the world would not easily see what would happen to them and their family if they resisted or did not cooperate with these power hungry thugs?
Remember the rhetoric about reducing the deficit during the previous elections and how doing that would put the country in good shape? That seems to have happened and the economy was in good shape, not only did the deficit get lowered, but there were surpluses besides that. The problem with having a surplus is that it does no provide the climate for the takeover of the government by a cadre of businessmen whose goal is the success of the military industrial complex.
With the election(?) of the present regime, balance and order were guaranteed to be shattered. Peace and a fair election was not conducive to their effort either, so a war had to be generated to foster the patriotism needed for a nationalistic movement and to squash resistance. The problem is that these people are not concerned with the nation. They have bigger fish to fry. In fact, all the fish. The want to take over the whole kit and kaboodle. They want to rule the world. If you think Saddam Hussein was tough on people who objected to his heavy-handed, oppressive ways, wait until you witness the way the Homeland Security guys handles dissent. You just gonna hate it up there in the Gulags of Alaska where even the Eskimos sus[pect that Hell is cold instead of hot. Me? I'm aiming for the not-so-luxurious suites down at Guantanemo Bay. Like the businessmen say, ya gotta plan ahead.
whether or not there will actually be a 2004 Presidential election. The resident wise man is suggesting that we have already seen the last election to be held in the United States. I share this sentiment of this speculation.
After this present regime bought it's way into power I was very concerned, but I didn't entertain just how far they would go to close the deal. And, in my mind, it is a deal. After all, they are a group of businessmen you know, and business is business. In this case, it's the business of who is going to run the country and the world. Their real intent, of course, is to take over the entire world, by force if necessary. They're off to a good start. Now that they have "conquered" Iraq, and already threatened Syria if they don't cooperate, their intent is clear.
What could exist as a more succinct example to the world leaders of what could happen to them personally than the way they went after Saddam Hussein and his sons with their smart bombs. They openly admitted that their preemptive strike was not about Iraq, but about the assassination of Hussein. They weren't attempting to oust the government of Iraq, and hold a War Criminals Trial for it's leaders, but to murder the ruling family in as efficient manner as possible. That done, anarchy followed to destroy the assets of the merchant and professional class, and resistance was futile. Who, amongst the leaders of the various countries of the world would not easily see what would happen to them and their family if they resisted or did not cooperate with these power hungry thugs?
Remember the rhetoric about reducing the deficit during the previous elections and how doing that would put the country in good shape? That seems to have happened and the economy was in good shape, not only did the deficit get lowered, but there were surpluses besides that. The problem with having a surplus is that it does no provide the climate for the takeover of the government by a cadre of businessmen whose goal is the success of the military industrial complex.
With the election(?) of the present regime, balance and order were guaranteed to be shattered. Peace and a fair election was not conducive to their effort either, so a war had to be generated to foster the patriotism needed for a nationalistic movement and to squash resistance. The problem is that these people are not concerned with the nation. They have bigger fish to fry. In fact, all the fish. The want to take over the whole kit and kaboodle. They want to rule the world. If you think Saddam Hussein was tough on people who objected to his heavy-handed, oppressive ways, wait until you witness the way the Homeland Security guys handles dissent. You just gonna hate it up there in the Gulags of Alaska where even the Eskimos sus[pect that Hell is cold instead of hot. Me? I'm aiming for the not-so-luxurious suites down at Guantanemo Bay. Like the businessmen say, ya gotta plan ahead.
Monday, April 14, 2003
I've had a meditation practice going for a long time. It's not as strict a habit as smoking cigarettes. I even quit smoking a coupla times. Once for about a year and a half. The last time for about three years. But, meditation has been a part of my life for 20-30 years.
For a long time I did it because I thought it was a good thing to do. I didn't have any particular purpose in doing it other than the purpose I might have for following good dietary practices. In the last five years I have begun to understand what the purpose of practicing meditation might be for me. I've read books and listened to audio tapes about meditation over the years to see if I could learn from others different techniques to see if what they did would enhance my practice. Other than that I have never had any individual instruction. I read about how Gautama Buddha did it by counting breaths, and just imitated that. I have participated in group meditation a coupla times and enjoyed being with others, but didn't get so much out of it that I felt like going out of my way to do it again.
I became interested in a set of Enneagram audio training tapes by Helen Palmer. After seeing them around for a while I finally bought my own set of tapes and started listening to them. I listened to them over and over to discover what my chief feature might be. This stuff all started with Gurdijeff's adaptation of Sufi practices he discovered, and has been carried forth by his students to where it is now. As I listened to the tapes I first thought each one of the nine archetypes were all about me, and they are, but after listening to each set of careactoristics redundanty, and contemplating how they fit into my life as I understand it, I finally realized that I identified more closely with the number Five personality type, and that my chief feature was that of Avarice.
The most interesting thing about Helen Palmer's tapes turned out to be some advice she offered on meditating. She talked about how one could use relaxing and letting the belly sag as a way to draw air into the lungs by the weight of the belly pulling the diaphragm down in the solar plexus. After I tried it a coupla times I found it to be an easier way to breathe. She also mentioned that the perineum was considered the holiest part of the body by some, and that letting the conscious mind dwell in that area to control the breath from there as a very powerful meditation technique.
I began to incorporate this technique into my regular counting breath practice, and after about a year found myself extending my sittings to about an hour at a time without effort, and my ability to focus went quantum. This seems to result in some odd, often unforseeable changes in how I see the world. The last coupla days my sittings have lasted about an hour and a half, and it would have been easy to continue. The direction this takes me seems to result in me being even more reclusive than I already am. Using the sensory perceived world for guidance appears to have less of a hold on me. Sanity seems to exist within myself moreso than... out there. LOL
For a long time I did it because I thought it was a good thing to do. I didn't have any particular purpose in doing it other than the purpose I might have for following good dietary practices. In the last five years I have begun to understand what the purpose of practicing meditation might be for me. I've read books and listened to audio tapes about meditation over the years to see if I could learn from others different techniques to see if what they did would enhance my practice. Other than that I have never had any individual instruction. I read about how Gautama Buddha did it by counting breaths, and just imitated that. I have participated in group meditation a coupla times and enjoyed being with others, but didn't get so much out of it that I felt like going out of my way to do it again.
I became interested in a set of Enneagram audio training tapes by Helen Palmer. After seeing them around for a while I finally bought my own set of tapes and started listening to them. I listened to them over and over to discover what my chief feature might be. This stuff all started with Gurdijeff's adaptation of Sufi practices he discovered, and has been carried forth by his students to where it is now. As I listened to the tapes I first thought each one of the nine archetypes were all about me, and they are, but after listening to each set of careactoristics redundanty, and contemplating how they fit into my life as I understand it, I finally realized that I identified more closely with the number Five personality type, and that my chief feature was that of Avarice.
The most interesting thing about Helen Palmer's tapes turned out to be some advice she offered on meditating. She talked about how one could use relaxing and letting the belly sag as a way to draw air into the lungs by the weight of the belly pulling the diaphragm down in the solar plexus. After I tried it a coupla times I found it to be an easier way to breathe. She also mentioned that the perineum was considered the holiest part of the body by some, and that letting the conscious mind dwell in that area to control the breath from there as a very powerful meditation technique.
I began to incorporate this technique into my regular counting breath practice, and after about a year found myself extending my sittings to about an hour at a time without effort, and my ability to focus went quantum. This seems to result in some odd, often unforseeable changes in how I see the world. The last coupla days my sittings have lasted about an hour and a half, and it would have been easy to continue. The direction this takes me seems to result in me being even more reclusive than I already am. Using the sensory perceived world for guidance appears to have less of a hold on me. Sanity seems to exist within myself moreso than... out there. LOL
Saturday, April 12, 2003
Amazingly enough, a coupla people have commented on me not writing for a few days. I've had a few things on my mind that have had the effect of inhibiting my creativity. As I've mentioned, I got audited by the State for 1997-98 state taxes, and I couldn't find the W-2 form for 1997. The state had me fined and penalized for $7,000 and I was terribly troubled because the tax had been paid by my former employer, and indeed they owed me a refund. I think I really got the refund, but they seemed to have lost my records. My problems were solved when Bob Leonetti came to my rescue and fetched my pay records for that year.
I've been thinking about writing about the various places I've slept in during my life. I bummed around for about 7 years, and slept in some very strange places under some unusual circumstances. I've slept under a lot of bridges and over-passes. Sometime in very dangerous situations. One of the problems with being a bum is not being able to find a safe place to sleep and because of that, having problems with fatigue, so that when you find a place to sleep you just pass out no matter whether it's really safe or not.
I remember being in California once, and had not slept for 5-6 days in a row. I found myself in a residential neighborhood, and couldn't go a step further. I ducked behind a hedgerow and spread out my sleeping bag quickly and give it up completely. The next morning I woke up to screaming. I looked up and there was this middle aged woman looking out of her bedroom window and saw me snoring away about 5 feet away curled up under her shrubbery in plain sight. Looked good the night before. I got up, grabbed my stuff and ran away.
I've been thinking about writing about the various places I've slept in during my life. I bummed around for about 7 years, and slept in some very strange places under some unusual circumstances. I've slept under a lot of bridges and over-passes. Sometime in very dangerous situations. One of the problems with being a bum is not being able to find a safe place to sleep and because of that, having problems with fatigue, so that when you find a place to sleep you just pass out no matter whether it's really safe or not.
I remember being in California once, and had not slept for 5-6 days in a row. I found myself in a residential neighborhood, and couldn't go a step further. I ducked behind a hedgerow and spread out my sleeping bag quickly and give it up completely. The next morning I woke up to screaming. I looked up and there was this middle aged woman looking out of her bedroom window and saw me snoring away about 5 feet away curled up under her shrubbery in plain sight. Looked good the night before. I got up, grabbed my stuff and ran away.
Tuesday, April 08, 2003
> These words stirred a kind of memory.
> Could we exist as a wave and a particle?
> A particular manifestation in time and a
> wave in the ocean of life, depending on focus.
Yes, without even considering multiple lives in multiple places simultaneously.
You come to realize what each of us call "me"... as ourselves in the first person... exists as the same monad looked at from it's polarity, the many. Wave or particle?
A Rose
A rose is a rose
Is like wiggling yo' toes
and calling that
baking a pie.
And taking for truth
that a fart is uncouth,
and thinking that death
is to die.
The actions that follow
the sequence of dreams
that comes first
in a moment of mirth,
is a humor unkind,
and a mockery divine,
of the limits
of what you are worth.
fmp '72
In musical composition this is just the theme and variation technique used by many composers to create
symphonies. One theme and multiple variations, with each variation existing as a standalone individually
different from the other variations... and yet all connected by the original theme. Jazz.
Have you ever heard Mozart's composition based on the theme of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star? Within each
variation exists the theme of that old nursery rhyme.Familiarity with the theme allows understanding of the
myriad variations.
This is what "seeing" the kingdom is like, recognizing the essence of the pearl within all it's manifestations.
> Could we exist as a wave and a particle?
> A particular manifestation in time and a
> wave in the ocean of life, depending on focus.
Yes, without even considering multiple lives in multiple places simultaneously.
You come to realize what each of us call "me"... as ourselves in the first person... exists as the same monad looked at from it's polarity, the many. Wave or particle?
A Rose
A rose is a rose
Is like wiggling yo' toes
and calling that
baking a pie.
And taking for truth
that a fart is uncouth,
and thinking that death
is to die.
The actions that follow
the sequence of dreams
that comes first
in a moment of mirth,
is a humor unkind,
and a mockery divine,
of the limits
of what you are worth.
fmp '72
In musical composition this is just the theme and variation technique used by many composers to create
symphonies. One theme and multiple variations, with each variation existing as a standalone individually
different from the other variations... and yet all connected by the original theme. Jazz.
Have you ever heard Mozart's composition based on the theme of Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star? Within each
variation exists the theme of that old nursery rhyme.Familiarity with the theme allows understanding of the
myriad variations.
This is what "seeing" the kingdom is like, recognizing the essence of the pearl within all it's manifestations.
Sunday, April 06, 2003
During the final dream period of my sleep this morning I dreamed about two snakes. I recognized the place I saw the snakes from an experience I had as a young man. I wasworking in a field driving a tractor, and had stopped the tractor to relieve myself by crossing over a ditch and entering a wooded spot on the other side. Upon the
completion of my business I pulled my pants back up and went to recross the ditch to return to work.
The ditch was the runoff of a small pond just up the way and had running water in it. The stream of water was just
wide enough so that I had to take the longest step I could and then jump a little. The depth of that ditch put the height of the field about eye level. I found a solid place to set my right foot on the near side of the spongy bottom of the ditch and prepared to make a little jump to the other side and crawl up the ditch bank to reenter the field. Just as I landed on the other side, I saw the snake crawling along the top of the ditch bank about two feet from my face. I froze in midair with my right footstill in the air above the stream, with my left foot planted on the other side. The snake never hesitated in it's forward movement, but kept crawling slowly, ever so slowly forward along the top of the ditch bank. It was not a poisonous snake. Just a regular water snake with a reddish belly. It was about 4-5 feet long and had a girth about four inches in diameter. I didn't have time to be afraid. That came later. After it passed on it's way, then I felt the fear. I seemed happy I had seen the snake after I had relieved myself rather than before or there might have been other complications to deal with.
The funny thing about the snakes in my dream was that the first big black snake I saw was dead. It was not only dead, but hollow like an empty bag. I held it's head up by pinching the loose skin together and lifting it up. This is how I knew it was empty skin because it looked round and firm when I saw it laying there. It was about six inches in diameter and the length of it run out of sight around the bushes it was laying in. Well, at least part of it was. I thought it was laying coiled doubled up in a coupla rows, but as I looked to see how long it was I realized that one of the rows was another black snake about the same size, and it was moving a little, definitely not dead. It's head was out of sight, and I was damned glad of that. I realized both snakes, one alive, one dead, was over twenty feet long. Too much snake for me. I jumped up and started running. I was so scared I jumped the entire ditch and I came to the side of a ravine that had clay and layers of small pebbles on it's slope and I clambered up the side of it hoping that snakes couldn't climb uphill fast. I had no such problems. Then I woke up enough to realize I had been dreaming.
I don't get into dream interpretation too strongly, but I have kinda thought about the implications of this one. I have read that when you dream of snakes it has spiritual implications. I'm wondering if the dead snake represented my old religious beliefs, and my new views are represented by the live snake. In that sense, that I was not afraid of the old views and definitely frightened by the new ones. The old adage, "Familiarity breeds contempt." comes into play here. I was not afraid of the dead snake, and even picked it's head up and looked at it with detachment. The realization that there were two snakes that looked fairly similar and that the second one was alive and inspired deep fear seems significant. To what end... I have no idea.
completion of my business I pulled my pants back up and went to recross the ditch to return to work.
The ditch was the runoff of a small pond just up the way and had running water in it. The stream of water was just
wide enough so that I had to take the longest step I could and then jump a little. The depth of that ditch put the height of the field about eye level. I found a solid place to set my right foot on the near side of the spongy bottom of the ditch and prepared to make a little jump to the other side and crawl up the ditch bank to reenter the field. Just as I landed on the other side, I saw the snake crawling along the top of the ditch bank about two feet from my face. I froze in midair with my right footstill in the air above the stream, with my left foot planted on the other side. The snake never hesitated in it's forward movement, but kept crawling slowly, ever so slowly forward along the top of the ditch bank. It was not a poisonous snake. Just a regular water snake with a reddish belly. It was about 4-5 feet long and had a girth about four inches in diameter. I didn't have time to be afraid. That came later. After it passed on it's way, then I felt the fear. I seemed happy I had seen the snake after I had relieved myself rather than before or there might have been other complications to deal with.
The funny thing about the snakes in my dream was that the first big black snake I saw was dead. It was not only dead, but hollow like an empty bag. I held it's head up by pinching the loose skin together and lifting it up. This is how I knew it was empty skin because it looked round and firm when I saw it laying there. It was about six inches in diameter and the length of it run out of sight around the bushes it was laying in. Well, at least part of it was. I thought it was laying coiled doubled up in a coupla rows, but as I looked to see how long it was I realized that one of the rows was another black snake about the same size, and it was moving a little, definitely not dead. It's head was out of sight, and I was damned glad of that. I realized both snakes, one alive, one dead, was over twenty feet long. Too much snake for me. I jumped up and started running. I was so scared I jumped the entire ditch and I came to the side of a ravine that had clay and layers of small pebbles on it's slope and I clambered up the side of it hoping that snakes couldn't climb uphill fast. I had no such problems. Then I woke up enough to realize I had been dreaming.
I don't get into dream interpretation too strongly, but I have kinda thought about the implications of this one. I have read that when you dream of snakes it has spiritual implications. I'm wondering if the dead snake represented my old religious beliefs, and my new views are represented by the live snake. In that sense, that I was not afraid of the old views and definitely frightened by the new ones. The old adage, "Familiarity breeds contempt." comes into play here. I was not afraid of the dead snake, and even picked it's head up and looked at it with detachment. The realization that there were two snakes that looked fairly similar and that the second one was alive and inspired deep fear seems significant. To what end... I have no idea.
Friday, April 04, 2003
The concept of projection makes it's appaarance as a very complex issue. It might appear that we get caught up in the emotion of having an opinion or judgement of others that puts them in their place by our labels and nay-me-ing.
Even more difficult to recognize seems to be that our projections are our opinions of what we would think of ourselves if we spoke or acted as we perceive "the other" has done. Stripped down to the seed of our words and actions, our judgement of others appears as our own opinion of who we "think" we are.
This seems to exist as the crux of the problem. That which we truly ARE... exist beyond our opinions of ourselves as being this or that. With the question being, how did we come to think/ideate that we are this or that kind of person? How did we identify with this persona/mask that many reflective people are perfectly aware is not so?
This seems to pertain to the saying about getting the board out of our own eye before we attend to the splinter in our brother's eye. It doesn't seem to be enough to recognize we are projecting our own idea of self on to the other. Yes, that does seem to be the first step, to claim responsibility for making them into ourselves as convenience. However, to realize the mechanics of what we are doing when we project, is not enough.
It only then that the real work of removing the board/splinter from our own eye begins. The next step is to understand how we formed these opinions about ourselves that dictate our behavior, and forgive ourselves for having done that. Then, and only then, can we get the chainsaws out and go to work.
It might be that at this point, if it ever happens, that another option occurs. That of leaving the world behind or staying here to make some sawdust. If that moment arrives for me, I certainly don't know how I'll decide. I might do this. I might do that. Making decisions about what I'll do in the future seems as futile as trying to decide what I should have done in the past. Ecstagony.
This confrontation I'm having with the State tax people has led to a rude surprise. It has caused me considerable consternation and lots of heartburn. I feel like a victim, but in many ways I am the root cause of much of these disturbances. I have real problems about money. Not so much with money, but about money and my perception of what it means.
A few years ago I bought a cheap EKG machine from Radio Shack. I figured for $12.95 I could use it to have a little fun while using it as a lie detector. It was small enough to put in my shirt pocket and the wires were long enough to run inside the sleeve of my shirt down to my fingers upon which I connected the necessary electrodes. My intent was to wear it around during my daily affairs to see if the buzzer would go off at some unexpected time. My original purpose was to find out if I was lying to myself even when I didn't recognize it consciously. I seem perfectly aware that it is necessary to lie for the sake of social amenities, but it horrifies me not to know when I'm doing it. I don't really like lying even if it's to allow others to feel good about themselves. I especially don't like my feeling good about myself dependent upon a lie I'm telling myself.
I had the machine rigged up one day when I had to go to the bank to cash a check to get some pocket money. About a half mile from the bank I heard the buzzer on the machine faintly. The closer I got the the bank the louder the buzzer got. When I got to the bank, parked outside, and opened the car door to go inside the bank the buzzer was sounding loud enough for the people around me to hear it. The very idea of my reaction to circumstances involving money became conscious to me. It makes me very nervous. Then, I began to see how I would do just about anything to avoid the types of situations when I had to involve myself with monetary affairs.
This is what happened with the tax deal. I avoided taking care of business when it first arose. If I had not tossed the warning signs away when I first become aware there might be a problem it would not have been such a big deal. The same thing happened to my dealings with credit cards, and paying bills in general. Most of the time I would have the money to make my payments, but I would put writing the checks and mailing them on time off until the last possible moment, and many times, not even then.
Back when I was married, my wives took care of the bills and the money in general. This made me very happy, and yet made me feel terrible. I became familiar with a song entitled "The Pocket Is The Proof of the Pants", and it symbolized the feelings I got from letting my wives handle the money things. It made me feel like they had a control over me that had the effect of arousing resentment. But, it was either letting them take care of these things or listen to them scream at me for not doing it right, which was even worse. My relationship with money was the root cause of our divorces. Both women loved me and I loved them, but in the end, it was my fault we had the problems that led to our breaking up. Better to live alone and not make others miserable about my own shortcomings.
This tax thing has freaked me totally out. I thought I had solved these money problems by retiring at 62. I didn't get a very big social security check, but it was enough to survive on if I am frugal. Frugality is easy for me. I have learned to control my desires and to not want stuff I can't afford. Like women. The biggest benefit... no taxes! I don't mind paying taxes, I just don't like the paperwork. I thought if I didn't claim any dependents the various tax agencies would get more than enough money to make them happy, and they would leave me the hell alone. I was wrong. They are not leaving me the hell alone. Damn!!!
A few years ago I bought a cheap EKG machine from Radio Shack. I figured for $12.95 I could use it to have a little fun while using it as a lie detector. It was small enough to put in my shirt pocket and the wires were long enough to run inside the sleeve of my shirt down to my fingers upon which I connected the necessary electrodes. My intent was to wear it around during my daily affairs to see if the buzzer would go off at some unexpected time. My original purpose was to find out if I was lying to myself even when I didn't recognize it consciously. I seem perfectly aware that it is necessary to lie for the sake of social amenities, but it horrifies me not to know when I'm doing it. I don't really like lying even if it's to allow others to feel good about themselves. I especially don't like my feeling good about myself dependent upon a lie I'm telling myself.
I had the machine rigged up one day when I had to go to the bank to cash a check to get some pocket money. About a half mile from the bank I heard the buzzer on the machine faintly. The closer I got the the bank the louder the buzzer got. When I got to the bank, parked outside, and opened the car door to go inside the bank the buzzer was sounding loud enough for the people around me to hear it. The very idea of my reaction to circumstances involving money became conscious to me. It makes me very nervous. Then, I began to see how I would do just about anything to avoid the types of situations when I had to involve myself with monetary affairs.
This is what happened with the tax deal. I avoided taking care of business when it first arose. If I had not tossed the warning signs away when I first become aware there might be a problem it would not have been such a big deal. The same thing happened to my dealings with credit cards, and paying bills in general. Most of the time I would have the money to make my payments, but I would put writing the checks and mailing them on time off until the last possible moment, and many times, not even then.
Back when I was married, my wives took care of the bills and the money in general. This made me very happy, and yet made me feel terrible. I became familiar with a song entitled "The Pocket Is The Proof of the Pants", and it symbolized the feelings I got from letting my wives handle the money things. It made me feel like they had a control over me that had the effect of arousing resentment. But, it was either letting them take care of these things or listen to them scream at me for not doing it right, which was even worse. My relationship with money was the root cause of our divorces. Both women loved me and I loved them, but in the end, it was my fault we had the problems that led to our breaking up. Better to live alone and not make others miserable about my own shortcomings.
This tax thing has freaked me totally out. I thought I had solved these money problems by retiring at 62. I didn't get a very big social security check, but it was enough to survive on if I am frugal. Frugality is easy for me. I have learned to control my desires and to not want stuff I can't afford. Like women. The biggest benefit... no taxes! I don't mind paying taxes, I just don't like the paperwork. I thought if I didn't claim any dependents the various tax agencies would get more than enough money to make them happy, and they would leave me the hell alone. I was wrong. They are not leaving me the hell alone. Damn!!!
Thursday, April 03, 2003
I feel overwhelmed and in danger of being destroyed by the system because I can't find a piece of paper. The piece of paper is my W-2 tax for 1997. That W-2 form shows that the company I worked for paid my state taxes for that year. I never claim dependents on my taxes so I can get my maximum refund from the federal and state taxes and see it as a little windfall each spring. However, the State of North Carolina Department of Internal Revenue lost my records that shows my employer paid my state taxes. To show me I'm not going to get away with this state of affairs they have assigned penalties from 1997 that amounts to more than I make in a year, and more penalties will be assessed as long as I can't find that piece of paper as proof that the company I worked for paid the state their pound of flesh. The company I worked for states that they have no legal obligation to keep the records that would show they paid my state taxes after four years, and refuse to supply me with a duplicate of that lost W-2 form. So, I'm screwed I guess, and eventually the State will take everything I own to punish me. They have already threatened to send the Sheriff out after me, so in addition to losing all my property I will probably spend the rest of my life in prison. Just what I need.
Wednesday, April 02, 2003
The idea of conversion techniques evoking an animal state that has evolutionary roots has become most fascinating to me. I experience this fairly regularly during my meditation practice. I get the distinct feeling of being an apeman up in a tree attempting to rest while simultaniously being on the alert for predators. Today in a response to a discussion group I sub to I thought about it in the sense of how dogs roll over on their backs and expose their belly when confronted by a more dominant dog. This seems somewhat equivalent to what happens when overwhelmed by the conversion process.
Successful plays only make you think about what the moral of the story is AFTER the play is over. Same principle in preaching. To effect emotional conversion of the audience. The same as a rabblerouser moves a mob to charge the Bastille or kill all the Jews in Germany. It works.
An acquaintance told me a metaphor. He said there were three kinds of people. People that make things happen. People who wait for things to happen. And, people who wonder what the hell happened. At some point, everybody ends up in the third group... What tha hell happened?
Seduction! That's what happened. We were seduced. And just like children who get abused, we have grown up to be seducers.
I am, it seems, particularly easy to be seduced. I was when I was young and gullible, and I am now. Maybe even more now than then. On the other hand. I am a fair to middling seducer. Maybe even to the point where my whole existence is to seduce seducers rather than the innocent prey. They should gnow better, but like me, they don't.
I have often wonder how this whole seduction thing got started. I don't remember a particular event when I was a child in which I was seduced or abused sexually. I only assume that it happened. I assume it happened because I seem to have some sort of foreknowledge of things sexual when I began seducing others at a young age. I knew what to do. I knew what I was attempting to get other people to do. The principle that everything seductive spins on, however, is clear. The point of seduction is to get someone to do what they have been instructed by others NOT to do. What they are not supposed to do can vary. On the other hand, it doesn't make any difference what they have been told not to do. The only point of seduction is to get them to do THAT.
In about three weeks I will be 64 years old. As I have aged, I have become increasingly selective about seducing people. Seduction itself gets old. I have seduced others into doing about everything under the Sun. I have seduced individuals by the score, and often, when I was younger, I seduced crowds of people. Others exist who are much better at seduction than me. Some people seduce entire nations of people. Entire ethnicities of peoples! So, are we now waiting for the greatest seducer of all? The seducer who can seduce the whole world and everyone in it? Certainly there is no shortage of candidates for the job. Surely, we as a people, are available to be seduced. Who doesn't like to be seduced? Who among us doesn't like the idea of being seduced when we perceive with every modality available to us that those around us are just as eager to do what we're not supposed to do? Let's do it! With the question being, is this the time? Is the world ready for the Great Seducer? Are we to be-co-me One?
Maybe in death. If we all die in one fell swoop we can ALL be One. So, are these current wars and rumours of wars the beginning of the end? The end we all seek so as to be together in death as One? I don't gnow. But, I'm getting mighty suspicious. Is the mother of all comets with the mother of all space ships behind it just around the corner? LOL
An acquaintance told me a metaphor. He said there were three kinds of people. People that make things happen. People who wait for things to happen. And, people who wonder what the hell happened. At some point, everybody ends up in the third group... What tha hell happened?
Seduction! That's what happened. We were seduced. And just like children who get abused, we have grown up to be seducers.
I am, it seems, particularly easy to be seduced. I was when I was young and gullible, and I am now. Maybe even more now than then. On the other hand. I am a fair to middling seducer. Maybe even to the point where my whole existence is to seduce seducers rather than the innocent prey. They should gnow better, but like me, they don't.
I have often wonder how this whole seduction thing got started. I don't remember a particular event when I was a child in which I was seduced or abused sexually. I only assume that it happened. I assume it happened because I seem to have some sort of foreknowledge of things sexual when I began seducing others at a young age. I knew what to do. I knew what I was attempting to get other people to do. The principle that everything seductive spins on, however, is clear. The point of seduction is to get someone to do what they have been instructed by others NOT to do. What they are not supposed to do can vary. On the other hand, it doesn't make any difference what they have been told not to do. The only point of seduction is to get them to do THAT.
In about three weeks I will be 64 years old. As I have aged, I have become increasingly selective about seducing people. Seduction itself gets old. I have seduced others into doing about everything under the Sun. I have seduced individuals by the score, and often, when I was younger, I seduced crowds of people. Others exist who are much better at seduction than me. Some people seduce entire nations of people. Entire ethnicities of peoples! So, are we now waiting for the greatest seducer of all? The seducer who can seduce the whole world and everyone in it? Certainly there is no shortage of candidates for the job. Surely, we as a people, are available to be seduced. Who doesn't like to be seduced? Who among us doesn't like the idea of being seduced when we perceive with every modality available to us that those around us are just as eager to do what we're not supposed to do? Let's do it! With the question being, is this the time? Is the world ready for the Great Seducer? Are we to be-co-me One?
Maybe in death. If we all die in one fell swoop we can ALL be One. So, are these current wars and rumours of wars the beginning of the end? The end we all seek so as to be together in death as One? I don't gnow. But, I'm getting mighty suspicious. Is the mother of all comets with the mother of all space ships behind it just around the corner? LOL
Monday, March 31, 2003
I dreamed this morning of women, fish, school buses, and Jesus Christ. Or at least, that's the chant I kept going while I went to the bathroom, made cofffee, and made my usual banana sandwich for breakfast.
It started off with the schoolbus, which was first a big semi-truck I learned to drive in later life. I found myself parking it beside the junk yard about a mile away from the house I was growed up in and walked there, but when I returned to get the truck I couldn't remember where I parked it or even why. When I did get into the truck I started backing it up, and that's when I thought I must have stripped all the gears except reverse, and that's why I parked it.
But as I started backing it up it turned into a school bus, and then when I stopped I found myself talking to a fellow who was hiring me to drive stolen parts for him. Then, I was up in the mountains hanging from a huge bridge suspended in the air by a bungee cord looking at these huge fish swimming against the current in the clear water of this big river, that somehow was located between the legs of my first wife, who with a big, happy grin, was shouting, "Jesus Christ!" For political expediency and with the awareness that I am writing this on a public forum, I left out the verb form of the "F" word between Jesus and Christ. My first wife would appreciate this having been raised in the Church of God right up there in the foothills by a zealot father and mousy mother who somehow managed to send her to college while working low paying jobs in a sock knitting factory. That's Drexel for you.
I'm thinking the truck got mistaken for a school bus because they were both orange. Different shades of orange or maybe it was because the truck was shinier. I used to catch rides while hitch-hiking with the big trucks occasionally, and maybe that's where I got the idea of driving a truck, one of these days. I was old when the opportunity finally came, and as a matter of fact, that whole venture was not was it was cracked up to be. It did, however, satisfy my deep longing to see if the country songs, which ain't perfect unless they include something about truck-driving, were right.
Well, they were right in one sense, it sure is a hard way to make a living. When those stupid people who worked for the trucking company, that paints all their stuff orange, finally let me get through the driving school they run for their own sake, eventually gave in and assigned me my own truck, it was green. They had bought out another trucking firm whose truck color was forest green, and I'll bet you good money that is the true reason I eventually failed both myself and them at becoming a million mile driver... I had the wrong color truck!
The whole thing may have been precipitated by my father buying his first farm when I was thirteen years old. Up until that time we had always lived in small towns, and moving to the farm was not only hard work, even harder than it had been before, and the most humiliating part of the whole damn deal was that I had to start going to school by riding there in a school bus! This was very distasteful to me. In addition to always being the new guy in town, which was just one of the reasons I was never in the clique, now I had to show up like some dumb-assed hick. Getting off the school bus and walking down some imagined inspection line by the prettiest girls in town was complicated by the fact that sitting on those hard school bus seats gave me a perpetual teen-age erection, and so when I got off the school bus to walk into the school being laughed at by the prettiest girls in town, I had to cover my embarrassment by holding my school books in front of the small bulge in my pants, and wondering if I had gotten all the cowshit off my shoes since getting up before the rest of the family and milking a coupla Jersey cows before sun up. Ahhh, the good ol' days.
I suspect there is a definite connection between the big fish, the mountains, and my first wife. Mountains were not and are not my native habitat. I was raised in and on the coastal plains, where the land is as flat as a fly flitter. The furtherest I could see when I was a kid was in the huge tobacco and corn fields carved out on the ridges that were farmed between swamps. The only relationship between the coastal plains and the mountains might be that the swamps were sorta like inverted mountains.
I remember riding with my father when I was a small child in his automobile out to see his agriculture student's school projects. Each student had to have a small field crop of his own that he would keep records of how he did it, and my father would grudgingly take me along to visit those boys to see how they were doing their home work. All the roads were dirt roads when I was a kid, and there was no electricity or utility poles back then, and so when we drove out to the farms, the trees and the forest was right next to the road. The branches of the trees grew out over the road and it was like driving through a tunnel. Occasionally we would emerge from the shadows of those tunnels of trees into a big, open sun-lit field and the brightness would literally hurt my eyes.
Coming out of the darkness of the forests into the light of those fields was just wonderful. It was the only place I could see for any distance at all. To see the sky in the coastal plains you either had to look up through the trees or be out in a field. We lived in a very closed society physically, and socially it wasn't much better. Jesus was everywhere. In the church, in the schools, over the radio, and even at home under my mother's and older sister's eyes. The opportunity to sin without getting caught was next to nothing... but my time would come.
It started off with the schoolbus, which was first a big semi-truck I learned to drive in later life. I found myself parking it beside the junk yard about a mile away from the house I was growed up in and walked there, but when I returned to get the truck I couldn't remember where I parked it or even why. When I did get into the truck I started backing it up, and that's when I thought I must have stripped all the gears except reverse, and that's why I parked it.
But as I started backing it up it turned into a school bus, and then when I stopped I found myself talking to a fellow who was hiring me to drive stolen parts for him. Then, I was up in the mountains hanging from a huge bridge suspended in the air by a bungee cord looking at these huge fish swimming against the current in the clear water of this big river, that somehow was located between the legs of my first wife, who with a big, happy grin, was shouting, "Jesus Christ!" For political expediency and with the awareness that I am writing this on a public forum, I left out the verb form of the "F" word between Jesus and Christ. My first wife would appreciate this having been raised in the Church of God right up there in the foothills by a zealot father and mousy mother who somehow managed to send her to college while working low paying jobs in a sock knitting factory. That's Drexel for you.
I'm thinking the truck got mistaken for a school bus because they were both orange. Different shades of orange or maybe it was because the truck was shinier. I used to catch rides while hitch-hiking with the big trucks occasionally, and maybe that's where I got the idea of driving a truck, one of these days. I was old when the opportunity finally came, and as a matter of fact, that whole venture was not was it was cracked up to be. It did, however, satisfy my deep longing to see if the country songs, which ain't perfect unless they include something about truck-driving, were right.
Well, they were right in one sense, it sure is a hard way to make a living. When those stupid people who worked for the trucking company, that paints all their stuff orange, finally let me get through the driving school they run for their own sake, eventually gave in and assigned me my own truck, it was green. They had bought out another trucking firm whose truck color was forest green, and I'll bet you good money that is the true reason I eventually failed both myself and them at becoming a million mile driver... I had the wrong color truck!
The whole thing may have been precipitated by my father buying his first farm when I was thirteen years old. Up until that time we had always lived in small towns, and moving to the farm was not only hard work, even harder than it had been before, and the most humiliating part of the whole damn deal was that I had to start going to school by riding there in a school bus! This was very distasteful to me. In addition to always being the new guy in town, which was just one of the reasons I was never in the clique, now I had to show up like some dumb-assed hick. Getting off the school bus and walking down some imagined inspection line by the prettiest girls in town was complicated by the fact that sitting on those hard school bus seats gave me a perpetual teen-age erection, and so when I got off the school bus to walk into the school being laughed at by the prettiest girls in town, I had to cover my embarrassment by holding my school books in front of the small bulge in my pants, and wondering if I had gotten all the cowshit off my shoes since getting up before the rest of the family and milking a coupla Jersey cows before sun up. Ahhh, the good ol' days.
I suspect there is a definite connection between the big fish, the mountains, and my first wife. Mountains were not and are not my native habitat. I was raised in and on the coastal plains, where the land is as flat as a fly flitter. The furtherest I could see when I was a kid was in the huge tobacco and corn fields carved out on the ridges that were farmed between swamps. The only relationship between the coastal plains and the mountains might be that the swamps were sorta like inverted mountains.
I remember riding with my father when I was a small child in his automobile out to see his agriculture student's school projects. Each student had to have a small field crop of his own that he would keep records of how he did it, and my father would grudgingly take me along to visit those boys to see how they were doing their home work. All the roads were dirt roads when I was a kid, and there was no electricity or utility poles back then, and so when we drove out to the farms, the trees and the forest was right next to the road. The branches of the trees grew out over the road and it was like driving through a tunnel. Occasionally we would emerge from the shadows of those tunnels of trees into a big, open sun-lit field and the brightness would literally hurt my eyes.
Coming out of the darkness of the forests into the light of those fields was just wonderful. It was the only place I could see for any distance at all. To see the sky in the coastal plains you either had to look up through the trees or be out in a field. We lived in a very closed society physically, and socially it wasn't much better. Jesus was everywhere. In the church, in the schools, over the radio, and even at home under my mother's and older sister's eyes. The opportunity to sin without getting caught was next to nothing... but my time would come.
Sunday, March 30, 2003
All I can remember from my dreamtime this morning is that I keep driving vehicles in which the brakes don't work. I don't have wrecks for some reason, but I am in constant panic when I'm driving, and I have to somehow will the vehicles to stop. I have a very strong will. It seems to work best when I will that I won't. Not so well when I will myself to do something positive. So many of my positive intent things turn out to be what someone else thinks would be good if I do it, and I attempt to will myself to do what would please them. I keep asking myself, during these futile moments, why I would do to please them rather than myself. The answer, most of the time, is that there is not very much that I want. Unfortunately, I am fairly satisfied with what it is that I am, whatever that is.
It took me a long time to learn what little of astrology I know. What I have learned has been very helpful to me. The best way to learn astrology, as far as I'm concerned, is to relate everything I came across to my own natal chart. I have a pretty good natal chart. I have 37 major aspects in it, and 33 of them are positive aspects including a Grand Trine in Earth signs. The 4 negative aspects, naturally, are very, very bad. The malifics, Mars and Saturn are square to each other and in mutual reception. Mars is in the best sign it can be in and is part of the Grand Trine, and Saturn is in the worst sign it can be and is in far conjunction with my Sun. Mars is in Saturn's ruling sign, and Saturn is in Mar's ruling sign. The worst aspect in my natal chart, however, is the very close square of my Sun with my chart ruler Pluto. It's the closest aspect in my natal chart. According to the interpretation books I have studied, this aspect is that of a very viscious bully. It's true. I am at least that. A very viscious bully in a beautiful package of sweetness and light. The sweetness and light are also true. I am also that. What a mixture!
As life has happened to me, and it seems true that life has happened to me rather that the other way round, I have had to learn to deal with this bully aspect of myself. Quite naturally, as a bully, I have had my come-uppances, and suffered the same humiliation I have inflicted on others. I didn't like it anymore than my victims liked it. Well, some of them liked it, and admittedly, there have been occasions when I have enjoyed being the victim myself. That I have liked being humiliated, at times, has been one of the surprises life offers. These days, it seems that I reserve my bullyishness to other bullies. Quite simply, as far as bullies go, I am one of the very best. And even when I am not victorious in my effort to bullying bullies, the reward of defeat is delicious.
I like mincemeat pie, and as I swish the taste of it around in my mouth I like to contemplate the fact that mincemeat pie doesn't have one iota of meat in it.
It took me a long time to learn what little of astrology I know. What I have learned has been very helpful to me. The best way to learn astrology, as far as I'm concerned, is to relate everything I came across to my own natal chart. I have a pretty good natal chart. I have 37 major aspects in it, and 33 of them are positive aspects including a Grand Trine in Earth signs. The 4 negative aspects, naturally, are very, very bad. The malifics, Mars and Saturn are square to each other and in mutual reception. Mars is in the best sign it can be in and is part of the Grand Trine, and Saturn is in the worst sign it can be and is in far conjunction with my Sun. Mars is in Saturn's ruling sign, and Saturn is in Mar's ruling sign. The worst aspect in my natal chart, however, is the very close square of my Sun with my chart ruler Pluto. It's the closest aspect in my natal chart. According to the interpretation books I have studied, this aspect is that of a very viscious bully. It's true. I am at least that. A very viscious bully in a beautiful package of sweetness and light. The sweetness and light are also true. I am also that. What a mixture!
As life has happened to me, and it seems true that life has happened to me rather that the other way round, I have had to learn to deal with this bully aspect of myself. Quite naturally, as a bully, I have had my come-uppances, and suffered the same humiliation I have inflicted on others. I didn't like it anymore than my victims liked it. Well, some of them liked it, and admittedly, there have been occasions when I have enjoyed being the victim myself. That I have liked being humiliated, at times, has been one of the surprises life offers. These days, it seems that I reserve my bullyishness to other bullies. Quite simply, as far as bullies go, I am one of the very best. And even when I am not victorious in my effort to bullying bullies, the reward of defeat is delicious.
I like mincemeat pie, and as I swish the taste of it around in my mouth I like to contemplate the fact that mincemeat pie doesn't have one iota of meat in it.
Saturday, March 29, 2003
I dreamed again. I found myself in the company of some old acquaintances, and it seems like we were in some sort of war with others that had separated themselves into another group while still feigning loyalty to our group. The group itself was loosely held together by common interests, and it was more like we knew each other by common activities than by emotional closeness. Tit came to tat in this wearisome little skirmish though, and toward the end of the dream, those of us who did recognize a need for unity did end up forming an emotional bond... prevailed. The last thing I remember before awakening to the intensely pleasurable vibrations racking my whole body was the scoundrels being handcuffed together and marched off to the calaboose. Yippee!
The interesting thing about this recurring dream is the architecture and the tropical climate with the coconut and palm trees and the lush vegetation. I've wondered often enough, if the place I dream of is a composite of all the tropical places I've spent a lot of time in. The architecture in these tropical places seems to interest me most, both while dreaming and in real life. Because of the year-round warm weather the buildings are constructed differently than in places where a cold winter occurs. There is an openness of design that has a great appeal to me. It's difficult to secure a building that is designed to attract air flow through it. The openness of the design itself suggests a trust between people that is unwarranted. The native people and the long-time residents do develop a sense of trust between each other, but so many people from other places see this as a place ripe for the pickings. Key West was a lot like that before the rich people from up North came to live there. They brought their need to protect their stuff with them. Most of the native people called Conchs didn't have enough stuff to worry about protecting it. Soon enow, the rich people instituted a need for more cops, organized government, and preservation societies that made it impossible to enjoy nature in it's finest, and those that were born and raised in that natural fine-ness had to go someplace else to live. The rich people wanted to "improve" it, and did, until it's no longer the place they were attracted to in the first place. They made it into the kind of place they come there to get away from.
Like many other ways I swore I would never adopt when I got older, living in the past is too easy to do. It's hard to keep the promises I made when I was younger, because my experience in life tells me not to do most of the stuff I did when I was young. It's like what I did then is not permitted now because I understand the consequences of taking certain actions. I would not have done most of the adventurous stuff I did earlier if I had known where taking those chances would have led me. And yet, those things I shouldn't have done exists as the content of my everyday world now. It's almost like I'm saying that my life is a mistake or at least, a series of mistakes, that if I hadn't made, would have been no life at all.
The interesting thing about this recurring dream is the architecture and the tropical climate with the coconut and palm trees and the lush vegetation. I've wondered often enough, if the place I dream of is a composite of all the tropical places I've spent a lot of time in. The architecture in these tropical places seems to interest me most, both while dreaming and in real life. Because of the year-round warm weather the buildings are constructed differently than in places where a cold winter occurs. There is an openness of design that has a great appeal to me. It's difficult to secure a building that is designed to attract air flow through it. The openness of the design itself suggests a trust between people that is unwarranted. The native people and the long-time residents do develop a sense of trust between each other, but so many people from other places see this as a place ripe for the pickings. Key West was a lot like that before the rich people from up North came to live there. They brought their need to protect their stuff with them. Most of the native people called Conchs didn't have enough stuff to worry about protecting it. Soon enow, the rich people instituted a need for more cops, organized government, and preservation societies that made it impossible to enjoy nature in it's finest, and those that were born and raised in that natural fine-ness had to go someplace else to live. The rich people wanted to "improve" it, and did, until it's no longer the place they were attracted to in the first place. They made it into the kind of place they come there to get away from.
Like many other ways I swore I would never adopt when I got older, living in the past is too easy to do. It's hard to keep the promises I made when I was younger, because my experience in life tells me not to do most of the stuff I did when I was young. It's like what I did then is not permitted now because I understand the consequences of taking certain actions. I would not have done most of the adventurous stuff I did earlier if I had known where taking those chances would have led me. And yet, those things I shouldn't have done exists as the content of my everyday world now. It's almost like I'm saying that my life is a mistake or at least, a series of mistakes, that if I hadn't made, would have been no life at all.
Friday, March 28, 2003
Funny thing, I created this blog and didn't know where to find the web page. Thanks to the advice of David Bigtree I found the button that took me here. I'm fairly impressed with the automatic settings. This oughta be fun. I keep wondering what I'll write here. I've thought about talking shxt about people that irritate me on the discussion lists I sub to, but since I created a .sig file to get people to come here and read my silly stuff, that may not be a politically expedient idea.
I have put off learning HTML for years now. After looking at a few people's blogs I may have to learn a little to be able to set up my template for this page a little differently. In a way this is irritating because I have come to a point in my life where I hate getting any more technically proficient than I am. It just leads to trouble. LOL
I have put off learning HTML for years now. After looking at a few people's blogs I may have to learn a little to be able to set up my template for this page a little differently. In a way this is irritating because I have come to a point in my life where I hate getting any more technically proficient than I am. It just leads to trouble. LOL
I created this blog to be able to write about whatever. I have spent a lot of time writing on several discussion groups that had a particular topic that the owners insisted that I stay close to, and I depended on feedback from other writers to instigate my responses on those discussion groups. Presently, I am just exploring to see what I will write so I can see what's on my mind at any given time.