Saturday, December 18, 2010
The Revelation of the Magi
What a wonderful Legend! An apocryphal lost book recovered from the Vatican archives just in time for Christmas 2010!
This is the story of the Nativity, yet not told in the third person, rather in the first, from the point of view of the Magi themselves.
I will not go into the history of the book as the author does, but will cover some of the highlights. The Magi are not magicians from Persia, but are 'silent prayers', descended from Adam and Seth. Sprinkled with tantalizing theological tidbits (there is no original sin), the text summarizes the trek of the Magi from their 'country of the farthest East' to Jerusalem and on to Bethlehem. Christ is revealed to be pre-existent, as is the Nativity Star. I will not reveal the origin of the Star, but will leave it to the reader to discover for himself. But I will say this...what a fascinating read!
Much here to digest, as the story is written simply, yet covers much complex Truth
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Poetry Break - Book of Days
a few hours, a day?
in the revolving door, the panes reflect Light
and images of people walking through
flashes of buildings and streets
all collect on the glass for anyone to see
they bend into each other like a hall of mirrors
recognizable in themselves, yet blurred with one another
yet the reflections do not show everything
random pictures shot from corners and floors
painting the sheer panes
and mostly we do not even notice
this parade of representations
that can strike the noticing eye
we just simply walk through
onward for what? to move through
in as an efficient way as possible
to get to the other side...
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
The Lost Gospel 'Q'
This book however stands out as a scholarly approach to the Jesus myth that perhaps has been overlooked by many.
The author gives a nice introduction and even history of the 'quest for the historical Jesus', with Albert Schweitzer and various others slowly but surely casting a critical light on the New Testament to see just what is the what, and in so doing also deconstructing the classic narrative of a reformer who came to set the nation of Israel aright and save the world from a fallen state.
Roughly, the argument of 'Q' goes, within the four Gospels there are particular sayings of Jesus that have been found through textual analysis to predate Matthew, Mark, Luke and John. This being due to the fact the sayings are used by Matthew, Mark and Luke (the synoptics), which hopefully obviously predate John. That being said, one can extract these sayings and look at them in and of themselves, analyzing them within their own context to get a purer, more primitive picture of Jesus.
There is a buy in, obviously, but if one gives the book a chance, it unfolds into one bright and interesting argument for viewing Jesus more as a Greek Cynic with a hint of Judaic apocalyptic leanings who offered a simple way to the Kingdom of God, chiefly by eschewing ill-gotten gain and enjoying the simple things Life has to offer.
The text itself is offered in the middle of the book and is indeed fascinating to read. Illuminating even. It's like one can hear Jesus cutting through all the theological bull and speaking in and of Himself. The message is composed of maxims (truths about society), imperatives (ways to realize these truths), and mild apocalyptica. Not much to report here on much of what the traditional Gospel narratives offer, but more of a philosophical treatise peppered with interesting mystical insights. All without sounding elitist or off putting.
Let's face it. The Enlightenment happened for a reason. Man achieved new critical thinking skills that were fated to be applied to something as sacred as the Holy Bible. If one can stomach this and look at something held sacred by taking the blinders off, and that even briefly, one just might get a richer, truer understanding of who Jesus was and what He truly had to say.
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
But wait. this is no cute little tome begging us to read about white, anglo-saxon nothern european philosophers who truly didn't discover life until they vacationed in the southern climes, this is a nugget of genuine Wisdom!
Eschewing the normal branches of philosophy such as epistemology, ontology, metaphysics and so on (I forget the others), Mr. de Botton corrals his philosophers around such modern topics as 'Unpopularity', 'Not Having Enough Money' and 'Happiness', all day to day pragmatic subjects we all can feel comfortable delving into, as opposed to Occham's razor, which just doesn't sound right to begin with, now does it?
de Botton not only loves the philosophy, but the philosopher as well and in this wonderful book provides slice of life sketches of Socrates, Aristotle, Epicurus, Seneca, Montaigne, Schopenhauer and finally and ironically perhaps the most endearing and engendering, Nietzsche.
Montaigne is the centerpiece of this work and rightfully so. His philosophy of life and urbane language written from the foothills of France, is a good capstone for the entire book, which comes early, leaving the rest to Schopenhauer (and his beloved poodles) and Nietzsche.
The questions of life, there is no end for the sensitive, and this book brooks many of the themes we all deal with on a day to day, minute to minute basis.
From the late greeks Socrates, Aristotle and Epicurus, we learn to think for ourselves in a right-minded fashion. From the late Roman Seneca we learn to withstand the blows of fickle Fortune. Montaigne breaks with tradition (no later than the 1560s, mind you,) in refusing to admire Plato and Aristotle simply because his fellow schoolmen did, and instead chooses a living, breathing philosophy that is couched in terms of the vernacular. Schopenhauer and Nietzsche, our two Romantics, provide us with a healthy dose of pessimism, while if one reads between the dark black lines, he can find Hope pouring in at the oddest moments and places.
what a wonderful survey of western philosophy this is, and the pictures are pretty nice as well!
Just got back from Pennyrile Forest State Park, where we spent three days in the lodge. The acreage of deciduous forest is accentuated by a resplendent lake and dam system. 'Pennyrile' is a bastardization of 'Pennyroyal', an herb common to the area. Before we went, we saw my son play the bass drum for the North High Huskies. That is him, second to right in profile. Anyway, back to Pennyrile, while there I listened to my mp3 player a lot. There is this new band I found called 'The National' I dug bunches Other bands included Blonde Redhead, Lisa Gerrard, Dead Can Dance, David Bowie, Interpol, the Rapture, New Order, Electronic, Klaus Schultze, and a slew of others.
Saturday, July 31, 2010
night by day - a poem
this croaking chorus of lonely males
desperately seeking mates, longing for immortality
not unlike the song of the mendicant monks
whose lilting voices rise to the buttressed roof
on a plain in a cathedral, heavenly light everywhere
and the lilt of the whipporwhill lifts to the arched limbs
in a forest still where it's mates all dance in unison
on the breath of the humid airs, above the glistening pool
as the first leaf dies and falls from it's tree, trailing
the current of tropical stream, following an impossible path
through an infinitude of space, it takes this way, then that
what law governs this chance, that can be united by similitude?
by what art does the bird of paradise make his way?
dance, dancing now here, now there, the perfect hypnosis?
what first sets this idea into meaning, this notion into reality?
what track does it follow, by what engine is it propelled?
though it has the force of a whirlwind, it is not a train on the tracks
and yet the world moves on in constant cause, in linear fashion
it marches along in step with the clock, the arms moving in precise sweeps
mechanical minutes beating the drum of the already done
while inside, the circular wall makes way round the great floor
light slowly making it's way through shadow, i wonder which came first?
and the fluid motion from thought to thought, free flowing one to the other
belies what lies beyond....
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
(short) Parable
Saturday, July 10, 2010
Synchronicity
Beginning with Erdinger, perhaps, the Three was first illuminated as being asymmetrical and dynamic. This author perhaps grasps the same conclusion, realizing the importance of breaking symmetry in order for emergence to occur.
And emergence into the field is what the subject matter, Synchronicity, is all about.
The argument goes, classical deductive Physics ala Newton, where cause and effect are the two necessary factors against the backdrop of Absolute Space and Absolute Time, was incomplete and more, too fragmentary. The sciences were resolute each in their expression, yet seldom explained or even empathized with one another. The binary aspect of Cause/Effect, Light/Dark, Space/Time carried over into Descartes' radical dualism of the soul and body.
The time was right for a more unitary, inductive worldview to break the now age old deductive reasoning of the previous centuries. Thus the discovery Light was neither particle or wave, but both, there was not Time, or Space, but Spacetime. In Faraday's lab there was the electric, then the magnetic, then the electromagnetic.
Once again, the new physics effected the picture one had of the human soul. Rather than there being a radical difference between Mind and Body, there was found to be a unitary bond between the two...where each were found to be operating differently metaphysically. Synchronistically, one could say. Just as the body could take on many shapes and motions, the mind could take on many meanings and thoughts.
In this nice book, the author doesn't concern himself or us with grandiose themes and examples of Synchronicity, but rather observes how Synchronicity unfolds into our day to day world of Space and Time, Cause and Effect, still the harbingers of popular consciousness. Examples provided include Emergence, Empathy, and Kairos, or 'timing'. Although this tends to elucidate the subject, my one complaint is Synchronicity is looked at from mostly a scientific view, and little to nigh is explained through the psychoanalytic lense.
That said, the book does end with examples both good and evil of Synchronicity where it is shown to be the harbinger of good and ill. Synchronicity, the author warns and reminds, is not all Good all the Time.
A wise, erudite writing on a tough subject we are just beginning to understand, in my humble opinion!
Friday, July 2, 2010
This is just one of the many elucidations Erdinger makes concerning Jungian psychotherapy, and really Kantian phenomenology and Platonic philosophy. Let's face it, Jung was heavily influenced by both these last heavy hitters in Western thought.
Throughout the rest of the book, Mr. Erdinger relates the Ego and Self (Archetype) to us through the use of Christian symbology, Greek mythology, and the dream analysis of various patients. The Ego, upon being confronted with the challenges and vagaries of Life, goes into a natural state of inflation, where it identifies itself with the Self, in order to meet the challenges of gaining a broader consciousness. This is the preparation for the great initiation: Individuation, where the Ego recollects the broken up unconscious complexes and reintegrates them into a new, now unified Whole. The Ego, having weathered the dark night of the soul after the attempted usurpation of the Self, now recognizes it's rightful place in the Psyche and thus attains it's rightful yet limited estate.
Especially useful I found was the explanation of the Sign, an abstract word, picture, etc. that points to the state of the objective, exterior world, while the Symbol, living breathing signifier of the internal, subjective world is understood to provide meaning for the individual. The perfect state of things is to know the difference between the two, to not mix their properties, and to allow deep religious truth to be communicated symbolically as opposed to signally, and vice versa, for the Sign to communicate external factual data of the way things are.
Erdiniger has done a wonderful job of conserving the psychology of Jung while even adding his own flourishes to the picture and carrying the whole thing forward. This, in my view makes him a worthy torch bearer for Jungian thought.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
How the Wisdom of Freud can Transform Your World
During the Enlightenment, philosophically and spiritually, authority and the divine rights of Monarchy were overthrown and democracy ennobled the citizen, who now became free. A new Virtue, Liberty, was inaugurated and the enlightened man sought it and preferred death to the loss of it. Whether your leanings are to the crown or to liberty, you now live in a world where your inaliable rights as a human being have been fought for, won, and continue to be ensured.
After the horrors of World War I, however, the shift for many western intellectuals was from the objective to the subjective. Certain towering individuals began to realize the Great War being waged was not necessarily between despots and deprived populaces, but was being waged internally....psychologically.
This is the birth of the modern era.
Auguste' Comte, the social philosopher declared 'man poses endless need and endleess danger'. Man. As in you. Me.
Freud, this article's hero, discovered a dark, uncharted territory, the unconscious, and set about mapping out it's nebulous landscape.
The Shadow.
Freud found that we all, living under largely Victorian values, hid the worst elements of ourselves from ourselves. We repressed. Sexual desires, aggression, unseemly aspects of ourselves that were very real were simply denied, pushed below the surface and ignored. One of the principles Freud discovered about this new unconscious however, was that the psychic energy that had been repressed was not destroyed. It simply remained latent and was residing, festering, growing ever more powerful and remaining within us. The resultant 'person', the negative unconscious 'person' that contained all the traits we abhorred Freud termed the Shadow.
The Shadow made manifest.
Freud began to notice ways the Shadow would seep out from the unconscious and make itself manifest in the world. One way this was done was through Projection. Freud found we would Project our repressed unseemly and unwanted attributes onto others. The faults, sins, and deplorable aspects of our neighbors were in fact aspects of ourselves. We saw ourselves in our neighbors. Freud found that we had found the enemy, and the enemy was us.
'Progress is the harmonious balance of opposites'
Although this maxim was spoken later by another psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung, Freud found that the only way to progress as a responsible human being was to make the unconscious, on one pole, conscious, residing on the opposite pole, and then begin to develop methods of dealing with our problems. What was dark and latent had to be brought to the light and made manifest, so it could be resolved.
We are rascally and righteous and need to be whole.
Freud then set about, through psychoanalysis, to allow troubled souls to realize they were rascally and righteous. Freud found that people needed to accept all of themselves, negative as well as positive, in order to become whole and truly healthy. The implications were staggering. Now, rather than finding threat in the surrounding environment, in our neighbor, or those residing in other states, we first needed to look to ourselves and solve those problems raging within us before blaming the world for our ills.
Self responsibility.
If we now matured in realizing we were our own cause for much of our suffering, we could take responsibility for our problems rather than blaming others and truly begin to progress as human beings.
This has not been an exhaustive study into the theories of psychoanalysis or Freud's work. I have not even mentioned the Id, the Ego, and the Superego, the tripartite makeup of our selves, according to Freud.
I have just attempted to honor Freud's wisdom and pass it along.
It is an old wisdom couched in modernist terms.
The worlds great spiritual traditions have always recognized the internal struggle that truly trumps any external obstacles we may encounter.
Freud just modernized, perhaps secularized this wisdom and provided a way for even the unbelieving to become redeemed.
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The Quiet Revolution
I rediscovered reading and writing in my mid thirties. I had done nill to none with either for quite sometime. But slowly, I came to the realization, my education wasn't complete and that I was missing something. So I read. And read and read and wrote and wrote. I read greek and roman classics, medieval romances, current fiction, new nonfiction as I had rediscovered a lost world. There was something about going back and rereading certain books, that now having more experience, I understood in a completely different light.
Reading for me has become a quiet protest against the way things are tending. Politics and religion have become so commercialized to the point I find very little that inspires me currently with these two in modern culture. So I started my own mini-revolution which I secretly and personally dubbed 'backwards now', and set my sights on the historic, the, yes I know, romanticized past.
You may read genre fiction, a good science fiction book or the latest mystery novel. Maybe by doing so, you too are silently protesting this current state of things and are escaping to other worlds in order to entertain yourself and even inform yourself, experiencing your own personal enlightenment where experience doesn't necessarily have to prop up the facts.
Whimsys, flights of fancy, dreams, animal imaginations, all these can be just as valid cognitions as logical thinking where the silent protest is concerned.
You may be a closet heretic keeping your mouth shut in hopes you won't be discovered and be burnt at the stake (or worse, ostracized). You may espouse the views of Ann Coulter while enjoying reading 'Living History', or conversely espouse the views of Al Sharpton even as you read from a pile of Edmund Burke's works.
Either way about it, you may be silently protesting like me.
Soldier on, comrade, I say. We'll know when our moment has arrived!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Poetry Break - days of chimera
there is a rumor wind that blows all through
it makes the sun a massive star
the moon a shining crescent
the tales we told as children
ring much more true than our newspaper stories
and the shifting sand by ocean is
much more prescient than any solid ground
lies, lies, and more
chimera wins the day
but the danger lies not in getting sucked in
but to not be sucked in enough
then, in the whorl, one can see the coming and going
that is just grasped at and slowed down
to make them seem more real
you are blind
i am deaf
i do not hear the facts of the day
turning into all tomorrow's legends
but by the breath i own,
i turn the corner and make for home
knowing full well i've already been
and where i run never arrives at a terminus
rather than steer clear of charybdis,
i dove straight in
and on the other end,
brighter than a thousand suns
i reached the shore of the brave
the courage to be
in the face of all possibilities
is the will to keep walking with broken feet
Poetry Break - the star
And I see a star in it
Bursting through the wave
Burning in newborn splendor
Rising above the chaos below
The star burns white like linen
Pure as a newborn soul
And I am not amazed
As it rises to it's heavenly estate
And sets the limits of my course
Announcing my name, my hair color,
The tone of my skiin
The craftsman arm that encompasses my days
The chimera ghost that determines my dreams
And my heavenly mate does sing
In Harmony with other friend-stars
Each orb humming like a finger on a wineglass
The music of Fate rising to the empyrean
Of the Absolute....
And my star sets the wave in it's course
And my blood in motion
And ignites my nerve...
I blaze in unison with my star
I rise and fall with it, yet it beckons to my call
My friend-star and me
Parting the waves of mortality and infinity...
Poetry Break - Is There no End?
The salmon in the stream
The stag above tree line
Each following their star
Remaining where they belong
The fate of the pelican
On Galapagos
the coming of solstice and equinox
I once helped a sea turtle
Make it back to the tide
Beneath the moonbeam
Surrounded by stingray
And the ocean spread wide
On plain bison roamand
the rocks stand so still
islands dotting the current
that runs through the Earth
and unites all at will
there is no end
no tangent from sky to Earth
no boundary really separating
for there is All yet we make difference
and it is the colorless globe that sees color
and the blind that yet dream…
Poetry Break - she
some world always lost and forgotten
there stands the fatherless child
and no sign of mother
i am leaving the tavern drunk
walking through the policeman's street
knowing i must find my way through the mud
to the home i belong in
i only kiss her when i'm drunk
she a secret mistress, her only hearing me cry
in her arms i seek solace,
find many who have held her before
she waited for me, and for that, she came before
and i thought my star preceded hers
my morning star to her evening,
both obliterated by the sun
and just as the sun melts our stars
so we too will melt in that sun
perhaps as one, perhaps now many
only the sky shall know
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Me, Not Buddha
Even if I just worked and were single, I would not have the capability to attain the sort of enlightenment pictured to the left.
If not busy on the outside, I certainly am busy on the inside and have only recently learned the art of quieting things down on the inside and obtaining just a little subjective Peace.
As I've heard more than one wise person say, 'Life is short, and the art is long'. At 44 years old, I don't see myself attaining buddhahood anytime soon, if till now, I have not had the time.
Just the drive to work, cars careening around, people behaving badly, and the rushaday morning starts the day off the way my life seems to tend. Fast, chaotic, somewhat out of control at times.
Me not running off to an ashram, or climbing some mountain in Tibet, I am fated to live in the center of the Western experience. Work, mortgage, loans, car payments, and so on.
Peace, Peace, but there will be no Peace, the prophet said, and this I can attest to wholeheartedly. Having eschewed the single life for that of marriage, I chose to live as I am quite consciously, and now am at midlife in the whole thing.
But lest I begin to sound like I am complaining, be assured, my protests are small. I have a loving wife, a son I dote on, and overall lead a very fulfilling life. Perhaps everyone is destined to lead this life at some point, as others, and so why not make the most of it?
My mantra is 'Strength, Wisdom, and Beauty'. These three I have found are available to a man in my shoes, and are well within reach throughout the workday.
But enlightenment? It's like Van Morrison says in his song, er, 'Enlightenment' - 'Chop that wood and carry water, what's the sound of one hand clapping? Enlightenment. Don't know what it is'.
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Springtime
Now, when the Summer finally hits, as now, I suppose I accept on some level the Sun has risen, and my somewhat foul mood lifts. No longer a promise, the heat and the lightening bugs have arrived, and the heat is prescient. I get the hair buzzed and throw on shorts, tee shirt and flip-flops whenever possible.
But standing in the Summer Sun, I can still feel a coldness, as if a dark cloud is wrapped around my otherwise happy city. I don't quite know why, but it just seems obvious Summer is more transient than Winter..as if again the proper turn of the Seasons is from Fall to Winter, Winter to Spring, Spring to Summer...where the Sun finally bursts into flames it can't sustain ...
Poetry Break - The Church Stands in the Yard
A little cross and steeple yet remain
Thistles and thorns embellish the yard
Once lush with grass and dandelion
There is inch thick dust on the pew
And the pulpit is splintered plywood
A stained glass window is broken and left
Broke by some rock throwing passerby
A stream now runs beneath the floorboards
Carrying dirty water to the cornfield beyond
To nourish the pasture where lazy cows graze
And to muddy the clean rows of stalks and stems
How ridiculous it would be for a crow to light
On the steep-pitched roof, yet the spring birds
Fly over, meandering unconsciously over the scene
As the smell of dung wafts through the air
‘There is no license on loneliness,
Though your part be larger,
My piece of the pie is plenty to eat
And of course mine has more thumbs in it….’
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
Poetry Break - Born a Tree
Not a smooth petaled stone,
At the river's bottom,
Tossed by moon tides
Old with water’s age,
Not a sprig of john’s wort,
Blooming yellow beneath the golden sun,
Ripe with age for the picking,
To heal some fetid wound,
Nor a Galapagos egg to hatch,
Me a turtle racing for the tide
Beneath the sky of prey-birds,
Born a tree, I was, outstretching limbs,
Covering you beneath rugged arms,
Born a tree, to hold back sun,
To water your roots,
I bend to you in winter frost,
Produce fruit for your feeble trunk,
You, my tender sapling, bend to me
Our roots lay entwined beneath
Forever weaving through forest dust
Thursday, April 29, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Wednesday, April 14, 2010
The Sacred and The Profane: The Nature of Religion
In this book, Eliade writes first in an accessible, then in a most respectful style on religion, magic, initiation, mysticism, and the profane. From the outset, though the book's title states it concerns religion, in which the object of study begins with the Divine, and then continues on consequently to man, Eliade rather begins with man and then continues on consequently to God. Man is shown to create himself, his house, his cosmos, and his existential situation precludes the religious right up until a.d. 1950 (the date of this book's first publication). The author wisely points out profane man is a rather unique and new phenomenon in human history. Whether he is describing the initiation rituals of primitive societies, or the construction of a modern abode, Eliade skillfully shows like it or not, we are recreating the cosmos as the gods did before history. Without the slightest hint of a sense of humor, Eliade points out repeatedly that no matter how much modern profane man has attempted to divest Nature of the sacred, he still stubbornly, if unconsciously, sacralizes his environment. Over and over again.
This is a nice little book that provides a glimpse into what we are stubbornly trying to leave behind, to our own obvious detriment.
Sunday, April 4, 2010
Easter - a poem
But child, I know I can’t
I would succor you with gall
And cleanse your fetid wounds
I would answer your questions
But the wind howls in your ear
Take away the sleepless nights
And set you floating on a quiet sea
Monsters in forests, the beast slouching East
In need more than you for salvation
An rat infested ivory city
Whose children run naked through the street
Rome is burnt, New Rome, burning
With the fat of innocent babes
But somehow I was born to believe
And you, to know the better
And I can’t answer you, I’m dumb
And you, in your knowledge can only weep
Now your face set against the wind like flint
You, a sphinx with no solution
And my gods are all too human,
But your idols are full of pests
Mechanical rats hidden beneath the thin veneer
Of newly ordained Saints
And I know the cross I bear, believing
Is much less than yours, unbelieving,
And you, nicer than the gods
Cry not for mercy, but Justice
Don’t fret, dear child, the Cosmos
Is geared for the meek to inherit the Earths,
The angels themselves, bowed to you in your making
And the great God made you in fear
You are wonderfully made, dear child
Able to overcome even this,
And transcend all the dirt
That muddies your feet
May your dreams compensate you
With flying birds and winded hills
A soft rolling sea with whitecaps and breakers
Sleep now, my child, now and sleep…
Easter, now has come…
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Life, Hope, Action
The old man asked the younger what was troubling him. 'I am bad' answered the young man. 'Why are you bad'? 'Because yesterday I stole bread.' 'Ah, but today, what did you do today?'
The amazing thing to me about the human experience is that we are not static beings. What we did yesterday may have bearing over what is done today, but there are new beginnings, new starts, turning of corners, breaks from the past, we constantly are learning anew and have the capacity to learn from our mistakes and make better choices. Even if we are not this wise, we simply may forget how we did bad and remember the good is truly good indeed.
Life and Action, friend, these are what we are caught up in; the same life of the star, the tree, the animal. And Action. We can accelerate, decelerate, cruise at constant speed, develop momentum or remain still....for a bit.
So if you steal bread one day, remember one day did not make you a Thief. The fact you lived another with the potential to do better shows you are a living, acting being who can always improve, if you want.
And if someone describes you in the static terms of what you did One Day, it is they who are ignorant, making you more stupid if you fall into the trap of listening to them. This goes of course if they describe you as Thief as well as Saint, lest ye get a big head.
Good days, bad days, you are a Living, Moving Creature with what in my eyes is limitless potential.
In religious terms, the Buddhist strives for Nirvana by breaking through the Karma of many lives, the Christian strives for the perfecting of the Saints, the Muslim is encouraged to make his pilgrimage to Mecca, and so forth.
In philosophic terms, a man can take the great Seneca the Stoic's advice and be happy in that he improves. A little. Each day.
Whether you are religious or philosophic, you probably have some element in you that knows you have the capacity to change what is bad into that which is Good.
I challenge you to find creative ways to make Lemonade out of Lemons and not listen so much to the extreme critics who would either damn you or praise you to the skies.
For the truth is, we are in a place, in my view where the rubber meets the road, where we have the capacity to make of ourselves what we will.
And as long as we are here, and have the chance for change, we also, with an eye to the future have that ultimate promise.
It's a little thing called...
Hope.
Poetry Break - 'I Grasped a Stone' - an original poem
And felt it to be Real
Then I realized
I was chasing the Wind
I observed a Tree
It's branches outstretched
When I discovered
It was observing me
I looked to the Star
and immensity of Space
And I found
I was as vast Inside
I looked to the Globe
And it's vast curved Round
And found my eye
Itself was that World
Something Solid, something hollow
Became One in an instant
Just for a moment
I grasped the Whole
The running brook
Was the leaping doe
The cloud filled sky
The plain dotted by towns
Illusion, I found, was difference
Nature's accidents encoded in Man
Made me seem other
Than you or the sky
But Discovery wrought some miracle
Awakened me to another Dream
Asleep, yet aware of sleeping
I broke through to the Day
And rested on that lonely shore
Where only the bravest souls meet
And found Solace in Knowing
Is it's own Reward
Still Life With Woodpecker - Tom Robbins
The Enchantress of Florence - Salman Rushdie
Slice of my Life - 14, 20, 45 - My Magic Numbers This Year!
My son Dylan Thomas turned 14 this past March. His birthday always marks the coming of Spring, and his personality definitely fits the season. Rising from the ashes of Winter with new hope, he displays the perfect combination of real world pragmatism and lofty idealism.
This May will mark 20 years for me and my bride. She has proven to me over the years what real love is...and devotion. We have been on many an adventure together, and I look forward to many many more to come!
I turn forty five in September, and am thankful my hair pattern isn't the same as this guy's!
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Music I Listen to While Reading
The cover art announces the production of this compilation. Bare, unadorned standing stones on an Irish plain, the production of this two disc set is equally spare yet hopeful. There is no horn section. No saxes. Just vocals, some guitars, drums, piano and the Hammond of course.
Disc one to me is highlighted by Wonderful Remark, Not Supposed to Break Down, Madame Joy and Contemplation Rose. At turns joyful and melancholic, Van covers all the familiar territory he has so skillfully traversed throughout his career. With able lyric writing, exemplary song stylings and proficient musicianship, the disc screams (whispers understatedly) genius.
Disc two opens with the absolute raucous Street Only Knew Your Name, a tore down Gospel if I've ever heard one, and I venerate the late Mahalia Jackson. Real Real Gone sans horns and Bright Side of the Road prove to be pared down gems as well.
Throughout discs one and two, one is treated to some of the finest music from one of our finest singer songwriters. Van proves his stuff stands on it's own without glossy production and studio gimmicks.
A genius such as Van Morrison deserves to be heard the way he prefers, and he proves he not only can put out some of the best songs of the twentieth and twenty first centuries, but has an excellent listener's ear as well.
Whether an introduction to the Man, or an addition to his previous works, Philosopher's Stone proves to be one of the most amazing compilations in popular music history, in my humble view.
Lisa Gerrard's 'The Silver Tree'
I have been a Lisa Gerrard fan since her Dead Can Dance days. What I have appreciated most about her is the way she uses her voice as an instrument. Atop spare, sweeping electronic orchestration, Lisa's distinct and obviously strictly trained voice and breathing truly take on a dimension of their own. And that is where this music takes you. To another dimension. In the opening track, InExile, Lisa attains what I've never heard from her before. A dusky, sonorous timbre that will set the tone for the rest of the album. On the way home listening to this in the car c.d. player, 'cinematic' came to mind. I even checked the insert when I got home, thinking 'The Silver Tree' may have been a movie I missed.
This is not a lively c.d. It is slow and unfolding, spiraling in places. Perfect music to listen to intently as there is more to this than meets the ear at first.
Espresso Book - Video
Print on demand. Nice video, but I think I'll still spring for the 'real deal.'
Summer Rereads
Ernest Hemingway the Complete Short Stories - Highlights for me are 'The Short Happy Life of Francis Macomber' and 'Up in Michigan' - Hemingway at his best in these somewhat early works.
Henry Miller, like Hemingway, could catch the sounds and smells and gritty details of everyday life, but still find life to be beautiful. This particular work captures Miller touring Greece with commentary on the ancients and moderns alike.
Yet another chestnut by Miller.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Maxfield Parrish
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Poetry Break - 'Into This Fire' - an original poem
I’ve been before
A blue cold burning
That consumes what’s hot
This great fall
Just can’t find gravity
Nothing to attach to, the
Most eccentric Star in its path
Water won’t quench
This thirst blazing my throat
Gall won’t heal these wounds
The quiet scars of the wounded man
Neither animal, nor angel,
Mere human, now human,
I unite to you in your pain
And feel what you’ve felt
No other way to connect
But through this pain I’ve not felt
Now feel, a sponge now for suffering
A crucible for angst…
But what winds whisper
Through my airy rooms,
Offer healing to the ragged wounds
Tropic airs in arid plumes
Fog the windows and this tomb...
How the Wisdom of Freud can Transform Your World
After the horrors of World War I, however, the shift for many western intellectuals was from the objective to the subjective. Certain towering individuals began to realize the Great War being waged was not necessarily between despots and deprived populaces, but was being waged internally....psychologically.
This is the birth of the modern era.
Auguste' Comte, the social philosopher declared 'man poses endless need and endleess danger'. Man. As in you. Me.
Freud, this article's hero, discovered a dark, uncharted territory, the unconscious, and set about mapping out it's nebulous landscape.
The Shadow.
Freud found that we all, living under largely Victorian values, hid the worst elements of ourselves from ourselves. We repressed. Sexual desires, aggression, unseemly aspects of ourselves that were very real were simply denied, pushed below the surface and ignored. One of the principles Freud discovered about this new unconscious however, was that the psychic energy that had been repressed was not destroyed. It simply remained latent and was residing, festering, growing ever more powerful and remaining within us. The resultant 'person', the negative unconscious 'person' that contained all the traits we abhorred Freud termed the Shadow.
The Shadow made manifest.
Freud began to notice ways the Shadow would seep out from the unconscious and make itself manifest in the world. One way this was done was through Projection. Freud found we would Project our repressed unseemly and unwanted attributes onto others. The faults, sins, and deplorable aspects of our neighbors were in fact aspects of ourselves. We saw ourselves in our neighbors. Freud found that we had found the enemy, and the enemy was us.
'Progress is the harmonious balance of opposites'
Although this maxim was spoken later by another psychoanalyst Carl Gustav Jung, Freud found that the only way to progress as a responsible human being was to make the unconscious, on one pole, conscious, residing on the opposite pole, and then begin to develop methods of dealing with our problems. What was dark and latent had to be brought to the light and made manifest, so it could be resolved.
We are rascally and righteous and need to be whole.
Freud then set about, through psychoanalysis, to allow troubled souls to realize they were rascally and righteous. Freud found that people needed to accept all of themselves, negative as well as positive, in order to become whole and truly healthy. The implications were staggering. Now, rather than finding threat in the surrounding environment, in our neighbor, or those residing in other states, we first needed to look to ourselves and solve those problems raging within us before blaming the world for our ills.
Self responsibility.
If we now matured in realizing we were our own cause for much of our suffering, we could take responibility for our problems rather than blaming others and truly begin to progress as human beings.
This has not been an exhaustive study into the theories of psychoanalysis or Freud's work. I have not even mentioned the Id, the Ego, and the Superego, the tripartite makeup of our selves, according to Freud.
I have just attempted to honor Freud's wisdom and pass it along.
It is an old wisdom couched in modernist terms.
The worlds great spiritual traditions have always recognized the internal struggle that truly trumps any external obstacles we may encounter.
Freud just modernized, perhaps secularized this wisdom and provided a way for even the unbelieving to become redeemed.
Saturday, March 27, 2010
Arete'
It's a continuum. The natural flow of time is not measured laconically in twenty four hour days, but flows from one day into the next one, and then to the next one, in curvaceous perfectiion.
Leave something left for the next time. Perfection is left to the gods.
The concept of the good measure in all things really results in a mediocrity. You can be a little above average, but you still tend to the middlin'.
A potter shapes his bowl on the wheel and sees before putting it into the kiln that it is perfectly smooth and without defect.
He makes his mark in the clay before baking it, adding his originality to the work that results in an imperfection so that no one gets jealous.
This then is true excellence.
A truer representation of things how they are naturally.
Mystery
There is the manifest, that which is detected through the senses, and is judged by Immanuel Kant to be synthetic, aposteriori and empirical. And then there is the hidden. The unintelligible realm. That which can only be hinted at, intuited. Western philosophers treat of two subjects. The seen (or felt or heard or smelled or tasted) and the unseen, or that nebulous realm that can only be represented symbolically by such things as numbers. But my, what a business goes on inside the veil, or beneath it all, or behind the curtain, or any number of things! We always love a good mystery, don't we? And in the realm of the fantastic, it's always the goblins, fairies, undines, sylphs, gnomes and dragons that are lurking just around the corner, only hinted at and never fully realized that can provide the most horror, amazement, or longing. Once a thing is made manifest, conscious and is concrete, we can begin to deal with it and even change it. But beware the hidden! These are the hobgoblins that never come to the light, that are always lurking in the shadows, and never change! Uncharted territory, still, and indeed.
She
Rolling hills, flowing valleys, delicate fibonacci-swirled rosepetals, the flowers of Georgia O Keefe, the wind softly bending ears of corn, deep caverns, recesses cool in the earth, the arch of tree limbs in the forest, meeting each other in trigonometric curves, deep pools of water, the ocean, the Moon, the planet Venus, lush forest trees covering over their saplings, the understory of the woods, the curves of flowing rivers, the quiet monotanous swelling of wave upon wave, the whisper, all of these hints that Nature has that feminine principle, flirtatious hints that a mystery is afoot. No wonder they call her Mother Nature.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Existentialism: Fail
The world seemed cold (cold war) and didn't seem to be intelligible. I, being an optimist at bottom really, never sunk into nihilism, but I certainly did feel alienated.
Looking back, I shouldn't have wasted my time. Not having discovered depth psychology yet, I had no real portrait of the human soul painted in my mind yet. I did not understand I had an Ego, complexes and a personal and collective unconscious that was influencing me without my knowing.
The problem with existentialism, in hindsight, is that it does a brilliant job of portraying the alienation a modern individual can feel in the modern Cosmos, but stops there.
The Ego I learned does in fact become inflated and alienated from the rest of the self, casting one in an internal universe that seems now vast, stark, and mostly empty. Being Demiurgic, the Ego usurps other archetypal patterns such as the Child, the Mother, the Father and demands that it now alone is to be served.
Dreams being ignorred, along with other synchronicities that offer themselves up as doorways from the Self to Matter and the World, it becomes easy for an individual to feel isolated and 'against the world.'
Folks who are in this predicament are easy prey for the charms of existentialism.
But one must persevere and move on...beyond alienation.
The task becomes realizing the other elements of the self and beginning to integrate them into one's Self. To make the unconscious conscious and thus allow for the possibility of wholeness.
Hard work to be sure. Definitely it is easier to die in isolation.
But once one recognizes the other facets dwelling within, he begins to be moved by the energies of the archetypes again and begins to develop libido (life force) again and can begin to take the slow, painful, but now conscious steps out of the void and into the Cosmos charged with Life and Meaning.
Meditations for the Humanist: Ethics for a Secular Age by A.C. Grayling
Or Grayling contra Comte-Sponville.
Years ago, Andre' Comte-Sponville wrote a little book entitled 'A Small Treatise on the Great Virtues' in which he enumerated the clasical and developing Virtues and supplied explanations and examinations of each. His book, though thorough and technically proficient left me with somwhat a cold feeling. Something was lacking, though at the time, I couldn't quite put my finger on what that something was.
Enter A.C. Grayling with this other little book. Certainly not a manual on Virtue, but rather laconic observations on some small little things and some great big things that can inform one's attempt at life. For as Grayling informs us, breathing is not tantamount to living in all cases. Life is an Art and not all are Artists or Artisans.
With subjects ranging from Hope to Death to Blasphemy to Prudence, some highlighted as Virtues, others simply as signs that can point to a richer, fuller life, Mr. Grayling allows us a glimpse and more into from what I see is a fairly complete representation of the Human Soul. More, Grayling comes through in these pages as someone who has lived these experiences, developed ideas from contemplating the subjects, and as a result is one who displays much Wisdom.
This perhaps for me is where Comte-Sponville was finally lacking. Although his treatise was written stringently and intelligently, it lacked Soul.
In 'Courage', Grayling contrasts the subject with Rashness - bold action with lack of Fear or Forethought, and highlights the advantages of not only this Ancient Virtue, but goes further in providing day to day examples of what Courage means in our ordinary lives. This moving from the Lofty, Ethereal Archetypal Virtues to the everyday and ordinary is a mark of Genius on Grayling's part, in my humble view.
Well written and truly a miscellany, the book can be picked up and opened at will, where whatever subject one chances upon is guaranteed to be thought provoking and Lively (even bordering on the emotional.) This again is a signature of Grayling in that he is not afraid to inject his subjects with subjectivity and psychological insight, of which the author obviously has both in reasoned yet ample amounts.
Not a Humanist yet? Let Grayling convince you.
My Visit to Harvard Book Store
A few years ago, okay around seven, I was working for Borders Books as inventory manager and was told I had to go out of town to get trained. 'Where'? asked I. 'Cambridge/Boston. 'Okay!'
Now I'm from the midwest but still have been fortunate to do a lot of travelling, mostly out West. The furtherst East I had been was futher South....through Savannah, Ga. on the way to Florida.
So when the plane landed at Logan, I immedieately knew I was not in Evansville, Indiana anymore.
I rode the hired van from the airport to my hotel...the Royal Sonesta sitting on the banks of the Charleston River in Cambridge overlooking the yacht club and Boston skyline.
The hotel had original Jonathan Borofsky sillhouettes, Buckminster Fuller drawings and Marc Chagalls adorning the walls. There was a bar that was nice for a respite and plenty of shops to check out in the surrounding area.
The training was thorough, lasting 8-10 hours a day with homework, so I really didn't get out much until the second to last night I was there.
The training that day, having let out early suddenly left me with some FREE time! I decided I had two choices. One was to go into Boston and visit a nice Irish pub (I have Irish blood) or go further into Cambridge to Harvard Square.
Since Evansville not long after got a Ri/Ra's pub, I know for sure I made the correct decision in goint to Harvard Square.
On the way down the esplanade along the Charles River in the cab, I realized I didn't have my camera in hand. I told the extremely nice Indian driver my predicament and he said 'I will stop you at drugstore. You get disposable.'
Brilliance and Kindness in a very unique combination, I thought.
In Harvard I dashed about campus snapping pictures like a true madman set loose on the streets. I clicked buildings and housing and posters and so on.
I moved on to Harvard Square. Street performers, poetry readers, guitar playing Sirens sung to me as I snapped my photos as quickly and efficiently as possible (rage rage against the dying of the light)
Then behold....Harvard Book Store est. 1935.
The Holy of Holies.
I made my way into the store and perused the shelves. I read and sniffed and smelled the books. I chatted up the personnel (very personellable) and purchased a first edition first printing of Hamlet Poem Unlimited signed by the author on the title page, Harold Bloom.
All very heady stuff for a cornhead.
Hatch's Order of Magnitude
Poetry Break - 'Seaburnt and Windblown' - an original poem
Agonizing beneath the Sun,
Full of green brine and soils
Whipped up from distant lands
.. ..
This sea is calm for hours
Deep, grey slate surface with
Wings all through it’s middle
While at bottom, all is dark
.. ..
And then it roils from within
Storm rising from it’s depths
Disturbing everything in it’s path
Leaving no pebble unturned.
.. ..
This is not an open eyed sea
But one that appears with eyes
Closed tight, praying for slumber
Seeing something truly Real.
.. ..
One can look to the sea
And not take in it’s immensity
Yet form a perfect picture
In the mind’s eye…
.. ..
The form, the substance, the
Geometry and algorithmic
Curls can be seen to perfection
Unlike what lies before.
.. ..
This is the Real, I think
As I lie in a bed thousands
Of miles from the shore
Surfing the waves of my windblown sea…
Being stubborn, I clung to my inherited worldview. I was going to have to learn the hardway.And sure enough, not till I reached my late thirties, did I have enough catastrophic experiences to shake me out of my preferred perception.
Through experience, I learned that my way was one way of viewing the world, and was tenuous, shaky and in some facets, downright fairy tale and ephemeral in nature. I experienced the reality of day to day suffering that many on the planet have grown accustomed to and have learned to take for granted, as gratis.I think of the violent and brutal exposure to the realities of day to day life taught me to be first, compassionate, then tolerant, then more spiritual and less religious, and finally a little wiser, a little more courageous, and far more temperate.I had to learn the hardway. By experience. Perhaps you can learn from my example prudentially.
Be kind to others. Know that people around you are suffering. Show them compassion daily. Don't argue religion, this is what wars are made of. Same with politics. Your way is not the only way of doing things. There is a wealth of knowledge to be gained by other people from all walks of life. People, if not well read, then by and large are well experienced. We all have made mistakes. Be kind to yourself. Learn to forgive yourself! Give yourself a break! As a wise philosopher once said, 'we live forwards, but learn backwards'. We all are constanstly thrust into a future we do not remember, so we should at least remember the past and learn from it! This sounds arcane, but I've found it to be true to seek 'the harmonious balance of opposites.' What this means is, much of life is merciful and severe. You are taking the middle path by being moderate in your thought, desire and action. Be mild with others in your speech and in your actions toward them.
Be humble with self confidence. Treat others with dignity, and expect the same for yourself. We are all in the same boat in that man poses endless need and endless danger. Desires are the neverending hallmarks of our hearts and we can be so dangerous in obtaining them!Finally, to date, I would say the saying we've all heard a million times before is worth repeating here one more time.The best things in life are free.Sunsets, sunrises, waxing and waning moons, orion belt stars, milky ways, summer breezes and winter winds, the chirping of crickets, all this wealth continually surrounding us deserves our reverence and thankfulness, so that it will not all be taken for granted!Peace!
Poetry Break - 'The Haunted Beach' - an original poem
The pictures came back
There were Spirits flying
All through the skies
There were undines in water
And gnomes in sand
There were sylphs in air
And Dragons in the sun
Where we swam sharks
Circled round menacing
Stingrays lay beneath us
As we lolled on the beach
That beach was haunted
And we brought home ghosts
Our house full of sea
And our heads full of sand
Ocean bright in landlocked land.
Poetry Break - 'The Monkey and his Tree' - an original poem
Everything he needs is there
Protection from the limbs
Fruit for the taking
Perhaps it is the center of his world
Where friends and family gather
They talk amongst themselves in glee
Swinging from vine to vine
No poison in the river, a good year
And the plain is fertile yet
And plows don’t mow the field
And weapons are not yet made
No North, no South, East or West
Sun and moon streak through the sky
Meandering chaos in background stars
Twinlights light the ancient paths
Who will hang on this tree?
For knowledge, for redemption
To bring the Man to bended knee
For the sin of the Ancient Father?
This is a bitter tree with bitter fruit
That brings maggots to the belly
To be cursed and bear no meat
To be the sign of desolation
For now the monkey runs
From trunk to branch meandering
Happy and fat and ignorant most
Having his own reason and rhyme
And the tree cries out, who will hang on me?
For all this frivolity?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Poetry Break - 'These New Feet' - an original poem
White as the bone beneath,
Having traversed streams and cobbled walks
Were made for old paths in high places
This cold heart, having eaten Fear
And pumped the blue blood of the Ancient
Into Red with the rising and falling of the lung
Now bursts into flame, a fire bringing Courage
This stale brain, grey and useless as polluted snow
Having been engendered by the twin serpents
Rising from the Ancient depths,
Now Mind, unlimited, united with All
I will do a new thing, I will do a new Thing
And the Ancient whispers in the Youth’s globed ear
I am shedding my skin, removing the Shroud,
And I’m putting old wine in new wineskins…
Yet the vessels hold, and they do not break
Cracks of Wisdom adorning the outer skins
Like a desert tracked with watery stream,
A coarse face with fine lines of laughter
Echo upon echo, wave upon Wave,
Ripples of Eternity in the span of one Moment
Strike me thus with the ancient Knowledge
That protects new feet from the old cobbled stone
Bible - Marc Chagall
!Books!
Tuesday, March 16, 2010
'The Mystery of Things' by A.C. Grayling
In the Arts section, one of the fascinating topics is collecting, and Grayling has certainly turned a master's eye to the collection of these writings. Standing alongside the somewhat luddite-ish complaint of modern architecture in 'The Cities of Modern Culture', one finds a nice retelling and critique of 'A Winter's Tale' by Shakespeare (within a stone's throw at least) and without feeling seasick from the sea change. As made manifest in the essay on Art and Nature, Grayling betrays a soul as sensitive and keen as a John Ruskin when extolling the golden age of European voyagers and their exploits where Captain Cooks were teamed with Naturalists and Artists who documented the New Worlds of the West Indies.
Do you, like me, feel we are missing something in our postmodern culture? A.C. Grayling expertly goes back and picks up the pieces, fitting them together in perhaps surprising ways, to form one Great Culture. Highly recommended...