Wednesday, December 31, 2008
Tuesday, December 30, 2008
Would you like cream or sugar with your dialectic tension?
...which would infer coffee.
....which is a flacid but adequate segue to bring us to today's subject matter: the dialectic springboard that time and somnolence can offer me. Huge, actually. You see:
I understand the dialectic tension as a force that can refine. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. uh-huh. I have an idea or a proposition. I challenge it, let's say through dialogue, inner or outer, and if succesfull, like the oyster taking in an irritant and spitting out beauty, I come out with something new. Refined. I have moved forward.
The words, like many that present themselves to me, are tied to diaphanous images. I see an engine, a progressive machine that takes thoughts in, and through the tension of progress, produces something new but related at the other end.
Time and sleepiness both offer this for me, although right now their tension feels like it's just pushing my face up against a window; pressure steady, with no give yet. This would be the input of the dialectic engine.
I have seen into the kernel of time and sleepiness, but only in a limited fashion ~ usually the painful half of the whole. Which is ok, the pain is one of the drivers of dialectic tension. Time Shadechaser? How can Time be painful?
The clearest picture I have is of being on a ladder, painting. Summer job, look at my watch, 9:05 am. And the feeling associated with it is just...helpless, trapped, time. oh my god i don't like painting how long will this go on I've got to work for the whole day and oh FUCK it's only been 2 minutes how am I going to get through the next eight hours I'm bored what should I do...
And so on. Trapped in a miserable situation, not wanting to be there, wanting so much to be somewhere anywhere else but trapped TRAPPED as the clock marches interminably forward. Sleepiness hovers around - sometimes as a precursor to the trapped clock checking, sometimes as an escape route from the unpleasant feeling.
And of the two somnolence is, well, maybe not worse, but more dreadful. I contract, there is a heaviness around the eyes...I need escape...I need, I HAVE to have a nap.
Now I have progressed enough o'er the years to have a bit of insight and space around time and sleepiness, but my face is still up against the window. Maybe being rolled down a bit with non-dual inquiry with hsfh, but still a low dead pressure system hanging over my head.
When I am sleepy now, where does the Witness go? It is clearly there but clouded. But how can awareness be occluded?
When I am locked in and dreading time, I can have enough insight to step back as awareness and just watch the different sensations, but this process itself is timebound, and experience, and as such ultimately doomed to be sucked down into the Time hole itself.
So how do I deal with somnolenc-occluded awareness? And how do I remain aware outside of experience so that timelessness does not collapse into Time?
....which is a flacid but adequate segue to bring us to today's subject matter: the dialectic springboard that time and somnolence can offer me. Huge, actually. You see:
I understand the dialectic tension as a force that can refine. Thesis, antithesis, synthesis. uh-huh. I have an idea or a proposition. I challenge it, let's say through dialogue, inner or outer, and if succesfull, like the oyster taking in an irritant and spitting out beauty, I come out with something new. Refined. I have moved forward.
The words, like many that present themselves to me, are tied to diaphanous images. I see an engine, a progressive machine that takes thoughts in, and through the tension of progress, produces something new but related at the other end.
Time and sleepiness both offer this for me, although right now their tension feels like it's just pushing my face up against a window; pressure steady, with no give yet. This would be the input of the dialectic engine.
I have seen into the kernel of time and sleepiness, but only in a limited fashion ~ usually the painful half of the whole. Which is ok, the pain is one of the drivers of dialectic tension. Time Shadechaser? How can Time be painful?
The clearest picture I have is of being on a ladder, painting. Summer job, look at my watch, 9:05 am. And the feeling associated with it is just...helpless, trapped, time. oh my god i don't like painting how long will this go on I've got to work for the whole day and oh FUCK it's only been 2 minutes how am I going to get through the next eight hours I'm bored what should I do...
And so on. Trapped in a miserable situation, not wanting to be there, wanting so much to be somewhere anywhere else but trapped TRAPPED as the clock marches interminably forward. Sleepiness hovers around - sometimes as a precursor to the trapped clock checking, sometimes as an escape route from the unpleasant feeling.
And of the two somnolence is, well, maybe not worse, but more dreadful. I contract, there is a heaviness around the eyes...I need escape...I need, I HAVE to have a nap.
Now I have progressed enough o'er the years to have a bit of insight and space around time and sleepiness, but my face is still up against the window. Maybe being rolled down a bit with non-dual inquiry with hsfh, but still a low dead pressure system hanging over my head.
When I am sleepy now, where does the Witness go? It is clearly there but clouded. But how can awareness be occluded?
When I am locked in and dreading time, I can have enough insight to step back as awareness and just watch the different sensations, but this process itself is timebound, and experience, and as such ultimately doomed to be sucked down into the Time hole itself.
So how do I deal with somnolenc-occluded awareness? And how do I remain aware outside of experience so that timelessness does not collapse into Time?
Monday, December 29, 2008
Sunday, December 28, 2008
Saturday, December 27, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Thursday, December 25, 2008
Separation Papers
My concept of death has passed through many topical gates of inquiry; past the millstone of "why"; passed the emotional moors of nihilism, travelled to and from (or through) the barren yet exhausting existentialist wastelands. Got snowblind in those, almost lost my way, on the way to finding it.
So I've matured in my concept of death somewhat.
Now, when I look at it, and this is in the light of several deaths in my life - grandparents, friends, friends of friends - natural, premature, or otherwise - now when I look at it the closest feeling I can associate it with is a separation profound and unbreakable.
My sense is that those who have passed enter into an impersonal state, where they can 'see' or 'be' with family, friends, their past - but are not attached the way to it the way they were prior to death. That, plus an absolute barrier where communication - at least in the way we think of it - cannot take place. I believe that almost all rules in life can be broken, often need to be broken, but this one - here's a way to think of it - it does not seem relative. It seems absolute. The ultimate separation papers, from who you were to what you now are.
And the sense that it is not nearly as hard for those who have passed as it is for those who are left behind.
And that is the koan that I'm wrestling with right now on some level. As well as what happens in deep sleep, and the answer there that confirms awareness as non-corporeal.
I've seen through my spiritual travels and travails that happiness is wed to sadness; anger to joy; suffering to pleasure; in the world of not-two, they are two sides of the same coin.
What then, with this feeling, this vague abstract that paints death as profoundly one-sided?
So I've matured in my concept of death somewhat.
Now, when I look at it, and this is in the light of several deaths in my life - grandparents, friends, friends of friends - natural, premature, or otherwise - now when I look at it the closest feeling I can associate it with is a separation profound and unbreakable.
My sense is that those who have passed enter into an impersonal state, where they can 'see' or 'be' with family, friends, their past - but are not attached the way to it the way they were prior to death. That, plus an absolute barrier where communication - at least in the way we think of it - cannot take place. I believe that almost all rules in life can be broken, often need to be broken, but this one - here's a way to think of it - it does not seem relative. It seems absolute. The ultimate separation papers, from who you were to what you now are.
And the sense that it is not nearly as hard for those who have passed as it is for those who are left behind.
And that is the koan that I'm wrestling with right now on some level. As well as what happens in deep sleep, and the answer there that confirms awareness as non-corporeal.
I've seen through my spiritual travels and travails that happiness is wed to sadness; anger to joy; suffering to pleasure; in the world of not-two, they are two sides of the same coin.
What then, with this feeling, this vague abstract that paints death as profoundly one-sided?
Wednesday, December 24, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
Sunday, December 21, 2008
Saturday, December 20, 2008
By the throat children
Strangely emotional. No reason why, just a lump in the throad that decided to come a' visiting. Snow falling outside in a placid cotton lint silkscreen between the balcony and the space and the sky.
Relieving Suffering
Maybe that's it.
I do get a thrill, a visceral jolt when I make people feel better. And it's something that I'm always trying to do. But how would that tie in to an advaidan worldview?
Distance and difference dissolve in That.
That's something I need to ask hsfh about. Dealing with the relative while anchored in the absolute.
Looking up; spiral webs winding down and around me dissolving into a silver fray at my feet. Stretch my arms out and defrock everything that is NOT me. Realization that what is left is not other. I didn't contain it, it shaped me and let me dissolve once again into it.
Tired tonite but pretty amazed at the grace that I've been given in this life. Even to get this far; through pain - of my own making and others; through discovery that the same heart that gave me flight can eviscerate me into the almost worse than dead; through cloistered beliefs and open space of awareness; through talent given and opportunity sacrificed on the altar of Id.
I must admit that this ttsj grace that I've been given seems almost too good to be true. Worries attenuated; for the first time in literally years and years and years, my sleep seems to be effective. I've gone for many nights over the last couple of weeks with 6-6.5 hours, which was never enough before to stop excessive daytime sleepiness. Hell, nothing was - I would get a day or two every month where by some godsend I wasn't falling asleep in meetings or in the commute, but it was never predictable or repeatable. Now, I still feel tired if I don't get a lot of sleep, but not I-have-to-have-a-nap tired. Absolutely fucking amazing to be able to function at this level after so many years.
The fear is that I will either adjust and be back to where I was or worse - think Robert Deniro in sleepers, a bit of hyperbole in the analogy but that's what it would feel like to some degree.
Also fear that I will squander this gift.
I've been here before; if only x was fixed, I would have everything I would need to do y. And then slip into old habits; addictive behaviour; unproductive schedules.
Choice is mine.
And I must remember that relieving suffering starts at a very personal home base.
namaste
I do get a thrill, a visceral jolt when I make people feel better. And it's something that I'm always trying to do. But how would that tie in to an advaidan worldview?
Distance and difference dissolve in That.
That's something I need to ask hsfh about. Dealing with the relative while anchored in the absolute.
Looking up; spiral webs winding down and around me dissolving into a silver fray at my feet. Stretch my arms out and defrock everything that is NOT me. Realization that what is left is not other. I didn't contain it, it shaped me and let me dissolve once again into it.
Tired tonite but pretty amazed at the grace that I've been given in this life. Even to get this far; through pain - of my own making and others; through discovery that the same heart that gave me flight can eviscerate me into the almost worse than dead; through cloistered beliefs and open space of awareness; through talent given and opportunity sacrificed on the altar of Id.
I must admit that this ttsj grace that I've been given seems almost too good to be true. Worries attenuated; for the first time in literally years and years and years, my sleep seems to be effective. I've gone for many nights over the last couple of weeks with 6-6.5 hours, which was never enough before to stop excessive daytime sleepiness. Hell, nothing was - I would get a day or two every month where by some godsend I wasn't falling asleep in meetings or in the commute, but it was never predictable or repeatable. Now, I still feel tired if I don't get a lot of sleep, but not I-have-to-have-a-nap tired. Absolutely fucking amazing to be able to function at this level after so many years.
The fear is that I will either adjust and be back to where I was or worse - think Robert Deniro in sleepers, a bit of hyperbole in the analogy but that's what it would feel like to some degree.
Also fear that I will squander this gift.
I've been here before; if only x was fixed, I would have everything I would need to do y. And then slip into old habits; addictive behaviour; unproductive schedules.
Choice is mine.
And I must remember that relieving suffering starts at a very personal home base.
namaste
Friday, December 19, 2008
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Wednesday, December 17, 2008
Monday, December 15, 2008
GrIndia
That would be a lexicographical representation of my journey from there to here. Greece to India. Or I guess more accurately from Here to seemingly there to Here.
My memory is shite compared to most people I know - long term memory anyway - short term I can zone in and make it happen. Still I do remember the first book of philosophy I picked up - don't remember the title exactly, maybe it's around here somewhere.
Tish.
Anyways, the large image I have of it - still rings in my head to this day, is the discussion of nothingness and somethingness. Outside inside. All and Not All.
And here, at 42, I'm waking up (it's so hard with language to describe waking up. All descriptions seem to involve division. Waking up - means FROM sleep - that's distance baby, separation, and what we're talking about here is undivided being) and it's tying the knot in a significant way from then to now. Thing is now, there's more of a sparkle to it; a clarity; a coming home; a truth.
There's different ways I can look at it, but it seems to cut through a lot of the chuff. I can still muse about life's purpose, the right meditation technique, the right life I should be living, the right things I should be doing. But, using the razor sword of inquiry, I can slice through all questions and representational musings and look for that which is. And by recognizing that Is-ness, realize that even my pre-awake stage was part of the Is-ness.
I stand before me today, arms raised in sacrifice, to the group in front of me. Many voiced choir - different timbres, postures, abilities; different approaches, beliefs, and attitudes. Many different personalities, awaiting the aha-up-motion of my baton to inhale and ...
start
Hi falsetto from the back left, purity so disengaged from the blemished; so focused and pure; silver needle piercing me front to back, lifting me in a mother's swoon then soaring off into the background. Basso profundo rumbling from the front; a wall of vibration that catches me in the abdomen and heart; dissolving waste and distance; branding Eros then rolling away in salted thunder. Middle voice, but from both sides trying to find center. Straining journey, finding moments of solace and ringing behind the eyes.
And then
The fugue begins. Chords spinning Celtic wonder; flirting with infinity; tightening and expanding; creating and dissolving tension; creating and dissolving distance; sine waves like lovers spooning in closer and releasing into each other; one voice now, one stream of terrible beauty; coring me through center; lifted backward spread eagle; agonizing beauty and tension , then utter release; beyond mind; sex; judgement and distance.
Is
experiencing the
conductor
and the choir
the many
and
the
1
My memory is shite compared to most people I know - long term memory anyway - short term I can zone in and make it happen. Still I do remember the first book of philosophy I picked up - don't remember the title exactly, maybe it's around here somewhere.
Tish.
Anyways, the large image I have of it - still rings in my head to this day, is the discussion of nothingness and somethingness. Outside inside. All and Not All.
And here, at 42, I'm waking up (it's so hard with language to describe waking up. All descriptions seem to involve division. Waking up - means FROM sleep - that's distance baby, separation, and what we're talking about here is undivided being) and it's tying the knot in a significant way from then to now. Thing is now, there's more of a sparkle to it; a clarity; a coming home; a truth.
There's different ways I can look at it, but it seems to cut through a lot of the chuff. I can still muse about life's purpose, the right meditation technique, the right life I should be living, the right things I should be doing. But, using the razor sword of inquiry, I can slice through all questions and representational musings and look for that which is. And by recognizing that Is-ness, realize that even my pre-awake stage was part of the Is-ness.
I stand before me today, arms raised in sacrifice, to the group in front of me. Many voiced choir - different timbres, postures, abilities; different approaches, beliefs, and attitudes. Many different personalities, awaiting the aha-up-motion of my baton to inhale and ...
start
Hi falsetto from the back left, purity so disengaged from the blemished; so focused and pure; silver needle piercing me front to back, lifting me in a mother's swoon then soaring off into the background. Basso profundo rumbling from the front; a wall of vibration that catches me in the abdomen and heart; dissolving waste and distance; branding Eros then rolling away in salted thunder. Middle voice, but from both sides trying to find center. Straining journey, finding moments of solace and ringing behind the eyes.
And then
The fugue begins. Chords spinning Celtic wonder; flirting with infinity; tightening and expanding; creating and dissolving tension; creating and dissolving distance; sine waves like lovers spooning in closer and releasing into each other; one voice now, one stream of terrible beauty; coring me through center; lifted backward spread eagle; agonizing beauty and tension , then utter release; beyond mind; sex; judgement and distance.
Is
experiencing the
conductor
and the choir
the many
and
the
1
Sunday, December 14, 2008
Co Dependant Quilting
A reader asks "Shadechaser, I've noticed that marriges-in-atrophy commonly have discernable themes that can be traced back years to the courting days. Could you comment on this, preferably with a homey metaphor since it IS the Christmas Season?"
My readers are my most precious commodity, and far be it from me to not take suggestions from either one of them. Sure, I'd be happy to.
Marriages in atrophy can be thought of as an emotional patchwork of frozen patterns. Take co-dependency:
The marriage starts off amiably, but a pattern is developed early on, sheathed in good intentions. The wife acquiesces to make the husband happy. Or this, she believes, is her motivation. Doesn't want to rock the boat with him, better to take her husband's position in things and make him happy than come out with her own opinion and risk having conflict, however minor. So there is peace, or at least the appearance of peace. Problem is, as the pattern matures over the years (gets more emtionally embedded in the relationship, subtler, a living breathing entity that has a mind of its own) it darkens. The husband feels closed off from his wife; there is a subtle sheath between them; he is never getting the straight goods - naked honesty - from her. When he brings it up, she, of course, acquiesces and promises to try harder - but this is an endless loop for her.
So we have both of them:
Contracted, confronted, contracted, confronted. Constant in and out, but no FORWARD.
Take this pattern, add years and lots of fetid Id-Bits, and you have a nice, many threaded emotional patchwork you can throw over the marriage. It is equally effective at keeping things comfortable while cloaked; warm but detached; safe but muffled.
My readers are my most precious commodity, and far be it from me to not take suggestions from either one of them. Sure, I'd be happy to.
Marriages in atrophy can be thought of as an emotional patchwork of frozen patterns. Take co-dependency:
The marriage starts off amiably, but a pattern is developed early on, sheathed in good intentions. The wife acquiesces to make the husband happy. Or this, she believes, is her motivation. Doesn't want to rock the boat with him, better to take her husband's position in things and make him happy than come out with her own opinion and risk having conflict, however minor. So there is peace, or at least the appearance of peace. Problem is, as the pattern matures over the years (gets more emtionally embedded in the relationship, subtler, a living breathing entity that has a mind of its own) it darkens. The husband feels closed off from his wife; there is a subtle sheath between them; he is never getting the straight goods - naked honesty - from her. When he brings it up, she, of course, acquiesces and promises to try harder - but this is an endless loop for her.
So we have both of them:
Contracted, confronted, contracted, confronted. Constant in and out, but no FORWARD.
Take this pattern, add years and lots of fetid Id-Bits, and you have a nice, many threaded emotional patchwork you can throw over the marriage. It is equally effective at keeping things comfortable while cloaked; warm but detached; safe but muffled.
Friday, December 12, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Wednesday, December 10, 2008
Breathe Me, Break Me
(:...Chuck, Dave, Colin)
Your face is bruised with charcoal
And the nite a tear of red
Absent from the emptiness
Hold on
Too soon for the mourning
Too late for the dawn
Do I celebrate your passions
Or break now that you're gone
(Chorus)
Thread time's ribbon gently even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me break me whole
This goodbye will always be half away from done
Falling from the thunderheads
Into a midnight sun
I'll thread time's ribbon gently
Even if it fails again
Breathe me break me breathe me, make me whole
(:...Chuck, Dave, Colin)
Your face is bruised with charcoal
And the nite a tear of red
Absent from the emptiness
Hold on
Too soon for the mourning
Too late for the dawn
Do I celebrate your passions
Or break now that you're gone
(Chorus)
Thread time's ribbon gently even if it fails again
Through the tears of lovers
And the anguishes of friends
Fragile we may be but when we circle touching now
Breathe me break me breathe me break me whole
This goodbye will always be half away from done
Falling from the thunderheads
Into a midnight sun
I'll thread time's ribbon gently
Even if it fails again
Breathe me break me breathe me, make me whole
Virtual Cybernetic Extension Succesfully Implemented
Let me explain.
If you know me, or several member of my family, you know the horror of navigating from point a to point b unless there is a very clear, unambiguous and preferably graphically laid out route to follow. History has shown even that is not enough some times.
I have lost my way walking, driving, biking, busing. Never running, go figure. And in the woods I seem to be fine, again, antithetical to the problem statement but there you have it.
So, getting lost.
In a car is worst. Given my station in life, there is usually added pressure when I don't know where the HELL I'm going, given that somebody is depending on me to get them somewhere. Drop off. Pickup. Both. Add to that the fact that I am conspicuously and consistently late for most things, and you have the perfect storm.
Want to be self confident - not in a typical fucked-up man can't-ask-for-directions way, but in a lack-general-self confidence- most- of- the -time, behind- the -wheel -would -be -nice -so -I don't- look -like -a -complete -asshole way.
Now, along comes Google. And my new Samsung Jack. Google maps + GPS in the Jack = a fully functioning GPS.
Using this literally, literally changes my personality. I can drive stress free and confidently, and one of many neuroses is put to bed.
If I use it, however, and lose it - out in the boondocks, lose a signal whatever, the neuroses, anxiety and frustration jump back in the party lane with a vengeance.
So I am considering this a virtual neural implant into my behavioural and cognitive systems. Sound like an overstatement?
Try driving with me with and without my crutch.
If you know me, or several member of my family, you know the horror of navigating from point a to point b unless there is a very clear, unambiguous and preferably graphically laid out route to follow. History has shown even that is not enough some times.
I have lost my way walking, driving, biking, busing. Never running, go figure. And in the woods I seem to be fine, again, antithetical to the problem statement but there you have it.
So, getting lost.
In a car is worst. Given my station in life, there is usually added pressure when I don't know where the HELL I'm going, given that somebody is depending on me to get them somewhere. Drop off. Pickup. Both. Add to that the fact that I am conspicuously and consistently late for most things, and you have the perfect storm.
Want to be self confident - not in a typical fucked-up man can't-ask-for-directions way, but in a lack-general-self confidence- most- of- the -time, behind- the -wheel -would -be -nice -so -I don't- look -like -a -complete -asshole way.
Now, along comes Google. And my new Samsung Jack. Google maps + GPS in the Jack = a fully functioning GPS.
Using this literally, literally changes my personality. I can drive stress free and confidently, and one of many neuroses is put to bed.
If I use it, however, and lose it - out in the boondocks, lose a signal whatever, the neuroses, anxiety and frustration jump back in the party lane with a vengeance.
So I am considering this a virtual neural implant into my behavioural and cognitive systems. Sound like an overstatement?
Try driving with me with and without my crutch.
Tuesday, December 9, 2008
Greater than the Pieces
Dbm and I were talking about the visceral collective energy that crackles through a funeral gathering. Ipup referenced it too; holding somebody who's heart is so utterly broken that they are literally suffering from every pore.
And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.
Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.
Grace.
And now, the flip side. Listenting to Awake by Scala, and thinking of what can be created when voices join together and create something bigger than the separate parts.
Haunting, ethereal, collective union reaches in behind the throat and eyes and pulls the soul out in naked fragility, if only for a few moments.
Grace.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Friday, December 5, 2008
Laughter and Tears
Dbm and I were yakking the other night, discussing laughter - and he made the statement that humans were wired to need laughter / humour - just like love, food, and other things.
Couldn't agree more.
Out for a daytrip to Calgary yesterday to say goodbye to Colin. Pulled up to the church 45 minutes before the service, and hit the holding area just inside. There were a string of experiences that just grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into abject sadness...the end of a life at 37 - absolutely surreal, still expecting him to come walk in at any moment...his family, orphaned without him, his wife, his boys. And some of the little things as well. Table by the entrance to the church that had a some pictures of Colin, and his boat keys. Zoom in on:
Boat Keys
Insignifigant physical item to anybody who didn't know Colin; something that could have seemed cleft from Colin's heart for anybody who did know him.
Grief was everywhere; overflowing church; so many tears and embraces, just the saddest of saddest of sad. Tangible, choking grief.
Followed by laughter.
If we could have graphed the experience, it would have shown a descent into unimaginable pain, followed by relief of some sort. Nothing changed during the service; Colin didn't come bounding up in a Huck Finn-ish fashion and surprise us with his well being. Nope, it was more of having made it through one more thing around this tragic loss. And a significant thing. Sifb and her boys have years ahead of their 'new normal' where they are going to have to grieve, recover, and grieve some more. But they made it through the viewing two days ago, and they made it through the public goodbye yesterday. We all did. And when we did, it was time to laugh a little bit.
We headed back to her place and partied in Colin's workshop, and it wasn't as much about mourning as just being together, laughing, starting to heal.
It'll take a long time for them, and in some ways you never really get over somebody's death - especially at that horrifically young age.
But they made it through the tears, into the laughter, and each time the cycle repeats it will get a little easier.
Peace Colin. Peace Sifb.
Peace.
Couldn't agree more.
Out for a daytrip to Calgary yesterday to say goodbye to Colin. Pulled up to the church 45 minutes before the service, and hit the holding area just inside. There were a string of experiences that just grabbed me by the throat and pulled me into abject sadness...the end of a life at 37 - absolutely surreal, still expecting him to come walk in at any moment...his family, orphaned without him, his wife, his boys. And some of the little things as well. Table by the entrance to the church that had a some pictures of Colin, and his boat keys. Zoom in on:
Boat Keys
Insignifigant physical item to anybody who didn't know Colin; something that could have seemed cleft from Colin's heart for anybody who did know him.
Grief was everywhere; overflowing church; so many tears and embraces, just the saddest of saddest of sad. Tangible, choking grief.
Followed by laughter.
If we could have graphed the experience, it would have shown a descent into unimaginable pain, followed by relief of some sort. Nothing changed during the service; Colin didn't come bounding up in a Huck Finn-ish fashion and surprise us with his well being. Nope, it was more of having made it through one more thing around this tragic loss. And a significant thing. Sifb and her boys have years ahead of their 'new normal' where they are going to have to grieve, recover, and grieve some more. But they made it through the viewing two days ago, and they made it through the public goodbye yesterday. We all did. And when we did, it was time to laugh a little bit.
We headed back to her place and partied in Colin's workshop, and it wasn't as much about mourning as just being together, laughing, starting to heal.
It'll take a long time for them, and in some ways you never really get over somebody's death - especially at that horrifically young age.
But they made it through the tears, into the laughter, and each time the cycle repeats it will get a little easier.
Peace Colin. Peace Sifb.
Peace.
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Just Whistle While You Work
And on we go. To bed at 12:40 last night, up at 6:30. Tired around the edges, but not whole mind tired, where I HAVE to go have a happy crapper nap, or the like.
Tuesday, December 2, 2008
Facebook 1, Shadechaser 0
I done been swallowed whole.
I guess it's possible or likely that the initial buzz will wear off, but it was sure an interesting ride. Signed up this afternoon, added a few friends - yes, I know it sounds smarmy - and wasn't expecting that much back, a few pings, basically a shinier version of something I was monkeying around with years ago on IRC. So I added my phone number for SMS updates, and for the next 6 hours, a steady stream of traffic.
Kind of touching, truth be told, that so many old friends were interested in hearing from me. Altho there is some karmic debt to be repaid, without a doubt. I've contracted into a pretty solitary creature over the last 10 or 20 years. Sometimes a sublter fade away, sometimes more obvious. But as KSI put it, I've basically been underground for the last 10 years.
So many lines of convergence happening for me right now. Went to Es Tufjo several weeks ago for some ttsj alignment, and my god, what a difference now.
Several months of malaise gone. Downward valley drift ... gone. Too much energy to know what to do with. Went to bed last night at 12:00 or 12:30, up at 6:45, it's 11:20 now - that' what - close to 18 hours? Not even really sleepy yet.
A little worried that maybe this has gone to the manic side a bit, but even if it has, it's better than walking around in a fog like the living dead.
I'm grateful, to be happy and awake.
I guess it's possible or likely that the initial buzz will wear off, but it was sure an interesting ride. Signed up this afternoon, added a few friends - yes, I know it sounds smarmy - and wasn't expecting that much back, a few pings, basically a shinier version of something I was monkeying around with years ago on IRC. So I added my phone number for SMS updates, and for the next 6 hours, a steady stream of traffic.
Kind of touching, truth be told, that so many old friends were interested in hearing from me. Altho there is some karmic debt to be repaid, without a doubt. I've contracted into a pretty solitary creature over the last 10 or 20 years. Sometimes a sublter fade away, sometimes more obvious. But as KSI put it, I've basically been underground for the last 10 years.
So many lines of convergence happening for me right now. Went to Es Tufjo several weeks ago for some ttsj alignment, and my god, what a difference now.
Several months of malaise gone. Downward valley drift ... gone. Too much energy to know what to do with. Went to bed last night at 12:00 or 12:30, up at 6:45, it's 11:20 now - that' what - close to 18 hours? Not even really sleepy yet.
A little worried that maybe this has gone to the manic side a bit, but even if it has, it's better than walking around in a fog like the living dead.
I'm grateful, to be happy and awake.
May I be Well
This, with a black background on my desktop, is strangely calming and ephemeral. Metta
Wastebook
This is what is has come down to.I have one friend.
Having discovered the great 'new' functionality that Wastebook foisted on the world about, say, 5 or 7 years before it was greasily birthed on the internet, I manfully stayed off it. Literally, until this morning, the closest I have come to it is signing up for an account to try and look somebody up. Gleefully fucked-off from that process when I had to send a will-you-be-my-friend request.
It's just...well, everything about it. Technology and concepts aren't particularly new, big-ass data grab and questionable ethics from those running the whole fetid mess.
It was a badge of honour that I literally had never officially logged into a Wastebook page that I held proudly until 10 minutes ago.
All my moaning and gnashing of teeth aside, it IS a source to keep in touch with people. i'm hoping to figure out how to do that via sucking info out of the behemoth, but not putting much in.
I feel like the virgin snow that somebody just peed in.
I am...not clean...
Monday, December 1, 2008
Hearts Heavy
Trying to connect your picture with your image, and your gone-ness.
Disconnect.
You are loved Colin.
Pain in Emptiness
Pain in emptiness; empty bed; empty truck; empty dinner chair. Pain in all his things that no longer have him. Clothes, books, mugs, sunglasses, hats, jackets...
Busy Good
When I'm busy, good. When the mind is free, Colin's face and memory flood me. Whole body sadness. God, the kids...
Hearts in Heart
Heart broken but awake. Keeping Rhea Johnny Roy Hoto David Cayden Jackie Wendy Pattie and a host of hearts in my heart
Sunday, November 30, 2008
Goodbye Colin
Too much.
Hearts linked in communion
Holding those shrouded in agony
Unconscionable pain
Suffering beyond imagining
Colin, my god, Colin. I'm not ready to say goodbye. Checkers at Mara; smokes and budweiser, loading up your truck with firewood, watching your wakeboard skills. Powerful man's man, softer side too.
The unstoppable...stopped.
Gods, the pain that your wife and boys are going through. J;H.
Tears are welled up but not ready to come yet.
My prayer for you, brother, is peace.
My prayer for your family - just getting through it now. First days, weeks, months. And healing.
We'll never forget you brother.
Peace.
Namaste
Mez
Hearts linked in communion
Holding those shrouded in agony
Unconscionable pain
Suffering beyond imagining
Colin, my god, Colin. I'm not ready to say goodbye. Checkers at Mara; smokes and budweiser, loading up your truck with firewood, watching your wakeboard skills. Powerful man's man, softer side too.
The unstoppable...stopped.
Gods, the pain that your wife and boys are going through. J;H.
Tears are welled up but not ready to come yet.
My prayer for you, brother, is peace.
My prayer for your family - just getting through it now. First days, weeks, months. And healing.
We'll never forget you brother.
Peace.
Namaste
Mez
Friday, November 28, 2008
28 - 21
Vas is das?
Let's see.
Knife Net, if you were into mnemonics and the peg system.
docrt
Or 4, if you were into numerological reductionism.
Or 25%, if you were to look at it as intended, which was an exercise in amusement that ended up, as always, leading my train of thought to deconstructing things to such an extent that the resultant pieces probably had more psychic weight than the original thought structure. To wit:
Driving for a doctor's appointment, through 45 minutes of drizzled traffic. Three quarters of the way there, late as I always am, I started thinking about those lollipop nightmares that can help or hinder a trip so effectively - you know, traffic lights. More specifically, I started thinking how much of perception is projection. The lights don't give a hairy rat's ass whether I'm late or not, and they certainly don't have feelings, thoughts, or the ability to take a willful engagement in my thoroughfare.
And yet, the natural reaction when approaching the x+nth light, [where the value of n inversely proportional to my rising level of frustration] is to squeal a mighty fuck you to the light.
...oh man, this is unbelievable. Every f*ing light that I hit is red. FUUUUCK
The intimation, of course, is that it is unfair. The intimation of the intimation is that they are stacked against me. They being the lights.
Across the firing of synapses, electrical activity becoming chemical and sorting itself off through god's own organic decision tree, I have very, VERY quickly gone from starting and stopping in a Pavlovian haze at every light, to anthropomporhizing the hapless bastards and making them little arch enemies of my traipse across town.
Even now looking at it on epaper, it sounds absurd. But thoughts are. And a car commuter's thoughts even more so.
Anyways, I chewed this over for a bit and decided to start keeping track, to see what the score actually was. On the mental left, ladies and gentlemen, the green light winner circle, and on the right, the red light winners circle. Simply stated, every green light I hit would be 'tallied' on my left hand. Being this was a mental process, it was an imaginary left. Why the left for green? I don't know, maybe something to research later out of curiousity, but for me green red left right seem to 'feel' more correct than vice versa.
So probability cloud wafted into my perception, and collapsed as I hit each stoplight. What was interesting, though, was how this simple act could become so awesomely complicated with very little effort. To wit, I had to decide:
-What constitued a 'true' vs. 'non-true' green or red? Simplest case, pulling up to the light, no cars ahead of me, and the light turns as I approach. Trickier case - pulling up to the light and being stuck behind one person making a left hand turn. The light was green when I got there, but I could not proceed...Does it count as green or not green? What about coming up to a long line of cars where there was no obstruction per se, but it took a while for me to get to the crossing point and then the light changed. Green or not green?What if I arrived at the light behind cars and it was red, but turned green after I had only just tapped the brakes on?
Which led me to think what my motivation was.
And on and on.
I settled for some simple rules, clear cuts were clear cuts, any marginals would lean one way or the other based on the flow. Did I ultimately get held up at the light or get to proceed based on the light's status?
The take-away friends? Several thoughts:
Let's see.
Knife Net, if you were into mnemonics and the peg system.
docrt
Or 4, if you were into numerological reductionism.
Or 25%, if you were to look at it as intended, which was an exercise in amusement that ended up, as always, leading my train of thought to deconstructing things to such an extent that the resultant pieces probably had more psychic weight than the original thought structure. To wit:
Driving for a doctor's appointment, through 45 minutes of drizzled traffic. Three quarters of the way there, late as I always am, I started thinking about those lollipop nightmares that can help or hinder a trip so effectively - you know, traffic lights. More specifically, I started thinking how much of perception is projection. The lights don't give a hairy rat's ass whether I'm late or not, and they certainly don't have feelings, thoughts, or the ability to take a willful engagement in my thoroughfare.
And yet, the natural reaction when approaching the x+nth light, [where the value of n inversely proportional to my rising level of frustration] is to squeal a mighty fuck you to the light.
...oh man, this is unbelievable. Every f*ing light that I hit is red. FUUUUCK
The intimation, of course, is that it is unfair. The intimation of the intimation is that they are stacked against me. They being the lights.
Across the firing of synapses, electrical activity becoming chemical and sorting itself off through god's own organic decision tree, I have very, VERY quickly gone from starting and stopping in a Pavlovian haze at every light, to anthropomporhizing the hapless bastards and making them little arch enemies of my traipse across town.
Even now looking at it on epaper, it sounds absurd. But thoughts are. And a car commuter's thoughts even more so.
Anyways, I chewed this over for a bit and decided to start keeping track, to see what the score actually was. On the mental left, ladies and gentlemen, the green light winner circle, and on the right, the red light winners circle. Simply stated, every green light I hit would be 'tallied' on my left hand. Being this was a mental process, it was an imaginary left. Why the left for green? I don't know, maybe something to research later out of curiousity, but for me green red left right seem to 'feel' more correct than vice versa.
So probability cloud wafted into my perception, and collapsed as I hit each stoplight. What was interesting, though, was how this simple act could become so awesomely complicated with very little effort. To wit, I had to decide:
-What constitued a 'true' vs. 'non-true' green or red? Simplest case, pulling up to the light, no cars ahead of me, and the light turns as I approach. Trickier case - pulling up to the light and being stuck behind one person making a left hand turn. The light was green when I got there, but I could not proceed...Does it count as green or not green? What about coming up to a long line of cars where there was no obstruction per se, but it took a while for me to get to the crossing point and then the light changed. Green or not green?What if I arrived at the light behind cars and it was red, but turned green after I had only just tapped the brakes on?
Which led me to think what my motivation was.
And on and on.
I settled for some simple rules, clear cuts were clear cuts, any marginals would lean one way or the other based on the flow. Did I ultimately get held up at the light or get to proceed based on the light's status?
The take-away friends? Several thoughts:
- Ultimately, even though it SEEMED I had a shitload of lights to wait through, 25% MORE of the lights that I went through in total were enablers (green) as opposed to hindrances (red).
- At times during the trip, it was pretty much balanced. My guess is the longer the trip, the more normalizing the curve would be.
- That modelling something even this simplistic needs to rely on lots of variable and interdependencies - some external, some internal
- That I could easily decision-tree out from there to the universe and beyond without much skull-duggery:
- 28-21 today. Thought experiment. Let's take all the lights that I hit in a day, and use them as a marker as to how the probability cloud 'favoured' or didn't 'favour' me today. Let's add all those up for a month and see if it's been a good bad / month. Let's keep going - year, years, life. Now let's add similar markers from across my life - how many elevators are waiting for me, crosswalks with a walk sign when I approach, change rooms at the pool there for my taking no waiting, on and on and on. Let's graph them all and slice them and dice them and numerologically reduce them and chart them and look at my life through a shimmering blanket of scatter points that fold in and amongst themselves then explode in a glorious unending cacophony of light. yes, Cacophony of light.
- Now, lets take all those numbers and add them to every number-reduced word and number I have ever had associated with me. Let's reduce them all and see what number I am.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Saturday, November 22, 2008
Islands in the Stream
So, in my kosmic geography (small k, Mr. Wilber, as it's everything in MY existence, which is clearly just a part of the great K Kosmic. Ultimately, there's no separation so there shouldn't be an issue), we have this stream:
(Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!)
Problem is, the endpoint of the stream is a state that comes and goes. When grace reveals it, I can identify with awareness and witness. But then contraction comes like a thief in the night, covers grace like a dark blanket, and I continue on in spite of mySelf.
The Integral Framework provides a map for navigating this topography. I will have states (witness) intersecting with stages in my life. And that stage is somewhere between postmodern and integral. Reaching for 2nd tier, at times touching some of its border lands, but not Realizing enough of what I've tasted to actually move into the new geography and say goodbye to the old for good.
It comes out so clean on paper - just do what it takes to move to a higher stage, continue the practices that will bring true realization of the states, and yowsah, you're there.
But it takes so little to come apart into a deconstructed mess.
Let's listen in, shall we, to the other stream, River Ego, exploring old canyons and inventing new ones in the internal eosystem.
pretty straight forward, all you have to do is take a quadrant approach, balance it through regular practice. simple! booya! Or is it, because the associative path to that is a stream towards needing a community to practice in, that should be a part of the quadrant approach should it not? Sangha? Community? And then you have Cohen and company, who at one glance seem credible and cutting edge, connected with Wilber for Gawd's sake - but on the other hand, just don't sit right at some level. He's violent with his student's egos - and on one hand it's needed but on the other hand, seems to lack compassion. And then what about just meditating and exercising, isn't that enough of the quadrant life to keep me moving, well, that would be without a teacher, and that doesn't seem right, or maybe the teacher is my group of teachers and readings throughout the years.
And through it all, failure. I've tried for permanent changes so many times, and always they have fallen short. Maybe this too has to be accepted, unconditionally.
So many books I've bought and haven't finished that I should finish. Any one of them could be the answer
Maybe that's the thing, maybe they are ALL the answer
But if they were, why would I still be searching and looking for the answer, for my purpose.
Maybe, mayhap, because I have discovered truth but not REALIZED it.
My ass hurts.
(Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!)
Problem is, the endpoint of the stream is a state that comes and goes. When grace reveals it, I can identify with awareness and witness. But then contraction comes like a thief in the night, covers grace like a dark blanket, and I continue on in spite of mySelf.
The Integral Framework provides a map for navigating this topography. I will have states (witness) intersecting with stages in my life. And that stage is somewhere between postmodern and integral. Reaching for 2nd tier, at times touching some of its border lands, but not Realizing enough of what I've tasted to actually move into the new geography and say goodbye to the old for good.
It comes out so clean on paper - just do what it takes to move to a higher stage, continue the practices that will bring true realization of the states, and yowsah, you're there.
But it takes so little to come apart into a deconstructed mess.
Let's listen in, shall we, to the other stream, River Ego, exploring old canyons and inventing new ones in the internal eosystem.
pretty straight forward, all you have to do is take a quadrant approach, balance it through regular practice. simple! booya! Or is it, because the associative path to that is a stream towards needing a community to practice in, that should be a part of the quadrant approach should it not? Sangha? Community? And then you have Cohen and company, who at one glance seem credible and cutting edge, connected with Wilber for Gawd's sake - but on the other hand, just don't sit right at some level. He's violent with his student's egos - and on one hand it's needed but on the other hand, seems to lack compassion. And then what about just meditating and exercising, isn't that enough of the quadrant life to keep me moving, well, that would be without a teacher, and that doesn't seem right, or maybe the teacher is my group of teachers and readings throughout the years.
And through it all, failure. I've tried for permanent changes so many times, and always they have fallen short. Maybe this too has to be accepted, unconditionally.
So many books I've bought and haven't finished that I should finish. Any one of them could be the answer
Maybe that's the thing, maybe they are ALL the answer
But if they were, why would I still be searching and looking for the answer, for my purpose.
Maybe, mayhap, because I have discovered truth but not REALIZED it.
My ass hurts.
Gestalt meets Atman
From May 2007
It's all interconnected. It might take twenty years and a long look over your shoulder to see that the rock you hit was in a current that fed a stream that difussed into an ocean that you've just 'discovered', but it was there all along.
Let's look at a stream:
Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!
Sitting there, looking through spectacles at the kind and knowing interpersonal trail guide, then suddenly shifted backwards, watching the looking through the eyes and the spectacles.
How could this Atman-moment have grown but from the fecund neurotic / obsessive compulsive soil that produced the fragmented personality looking for wholeness, the many looking for the one?
It's all interconnected. It might take twenty years and a long look over your shoulder to see that the rock you hit was in a current that fed a stream that difussed into an ocean that you've just 'discovered', but it was there all along.
Let's look at a stream:
Underattachment in childhood -> search for meaning -> overattachment in first love relationship -> relationship breakdown -> existentialist drowning -> Getstalt dialogue-> Witness!
Sitting there, looking through spectacles at the kind and knowing interpersonal trail guide, then suddenly shifted backwards, watching the looking through the eyes and the spectacles.
How could this Atman-moment have grown but from the fecund neurotic / obsessive compulsive soil that produced the fragmented personality looking for wholeness, the many looking for the one?
Alone together, Into the Sun
From May, 2007
The backdrop.
An existentialist, for whom all points back to the one as opposed to the One. Everything points back to self, and the bright lights of the intellect clearly articulate the borders, the end point. Anything beyond is not worthy of attention, could only be the result of an overactive imagination or the failure to see Reason.
The narcissist, who simply lays claim to the existentialist's illumination as another shimmering piece of chattel, more of the inventory that can be used in the supply and demand of their need's needs.
Picture it.
Endless black, God's inkwell. This time, from nothing, two - the Narcissist and the Existentialist, a mere speck but growing larger. They pass the vantage point and we have a clear view of the two in their bubble, looking through each other with indifference. Things change with light. Faint and diffused at first, silk mesh across the inkwell, blue ice to white heat
to saffron fire.
The Existentialist notices the heat first - the Narcissist his discomfort - as the mercury climbs. First boundary gone as the bubble contorts and dissolves as the sheet of fire grows beyond imagination.
Fear bursts the next boundary unconsciously, as they embrace in the face of the known-unknown. Narcissist's wings blaze around the Existentialist, and for one glorious, naked moment before conflagration, the final boundaries are transcended, four eyes become two eyes; and I-I swallows the sun whole.
The backdrop.
An existentialist, for whom all points back to the one as opposed to the One. Everything points back to self, and the bright lights of the intellect clearly articulate the borders, the end point. Anything beyond is not worthy of attention, could only be the result of an overactive imagination or the failure to see Reason.
The narcissist, who simply lays claim to the existentialist's illumination as another shimmering piece of chattel, more of the inventory that can be used in the supply and demand of their need's needs.
Picture it.
Endless black, God's inkwell. This time, from nothing, two - the Narcissist and the Existentialist, a mere speck but growing larger. They pass the vantage point and we have a clear view of the two in their bubble, looking through each other with indifference. Things change with light. Faint and diffused at first, silk mesh across the inkwell, blue ice to white heat
to saffron fire.
The Existentialist notices the heat first - the Narcissist his discomfort - as the mercury climbs. First boundary gone as the bubble contorts and dissolves as the sheet of fire grows beyond imagination.
Fear bursts the next boundary unconsciously, as they embrace in the face of the known-unknown. Narcissist's wings blaze around the Existentialist, and for one glorious, naked moment before conflagration, the final boundaries are transcended, four eyes become two eyes; and I-I swallows the sun whole.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Good Night Chuck
Sharp black eyes, quick hands
Taut spring
Fueled.
Instinct drawn into your fingers, voice, and loins
Currented through me
Shes;
Us.
Electric black center
Bolt of colour; careless focus - or a zen cut
Tears - or laughter
Rainbow splayed tannery
Many costumes cut through the years
Until
No color left
Fabric tattered and diffused into emptiness
May you rest now,
Peace
Taut spring
Fueled.
Instinct drawn into your fingers, voice, and loins
Currented through me
Shes;
Us.
Electric black center
Bolt of colour; careless focus - or a zen cut
Tears - or laughter
Rainbow splayed tannery
Many costumes cut through the years
Until
No color left
Fabric tattered and diffused into emptiness
May you rest now,
Peace
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
1-800-Healthcare Mismanagement, Can I Help You?
This just in kids.
Local hospital downtime for their pharmacy module. This would be the system that manages all the pharmacological needs of the hospital. 400 beds, so not huge but not small either. Downtime started at 1:30 this afternoon. It went on for at least 2 hours, it could still be going on...anyways, here's the deal.
That organization canceled a project that was weeks away from completing delivery of a replacement Pharmacy system.
Now, I could get into the malignant financials that they screw around, er, manage with - like using capital project funds to prop up chronically under-funded operational areas - but I think it enough to point out that the reported cost of prematurely shutting down the replacement project cost about the same amount as completing it.
You know, so that they would have stable pharmacy system, that wouldn't go out, say, the day after remembrance day.
Local hospital downtime for their pharmacy module. This would be the system that manages all the pharmacological needs of the hospital. 400 beds, so not huge but not small either. Downtime started at 1:30 this afternoon. It went on for at least 2 hours, it could still be going on...anyways, here's the deal.
That organization canceled a project that was weeks away from completing delivery of a replacement Pharmacy system.
Now, I could get into the malignant financials that they screw around, er, manage with - like using capital project funds to prop up chronically under-funded operational areas - but I think it enough to point out that the reported cost of prematurely shutting down the replacement project cost about the same amount as completing it.
You know, so that they would have stable pharmacy system, that wouldn't go out, say, the day after remembrance day.
No, you get off of MY property taxes
So, whats I do when I have intellectual or political curiosities or questions that need fresh insight - or a first attack at an answer period - whats I do is go to Dbm and put it on the table for him, see what he thinks.
This was from the other night. He gave the start of the answer, but we got interrupted and couldn't finish.
Problem statement:
Our local head of government here dallied with some policy changes that had hard impacts on a sizeable chunk of people. It was a right-of-center, four-years-in-the-making plan, and this was year one or two. Had been tried in a neighboring province with great success. Idea was that there would be short term gain, then dividends a couple of years out that would lead into a second term of surpluses and successes. To wit, the plan worked as they hoped it would. But that's all context.
The question I raised was apparently a simple poli-sci one: The head of government had protesters on his personal home property, protesting. Didn't turn violent, but their rationale was if he was taking actions on a political level that affected them on a personal, livelihood level, that the layers shouldn't be insulated, and that it was reasonable to take their complaints back to him on a personal level.
In short, before we got interrupted, Dbm made it quite clear that this was not acceptable. I need to followup with him to find out why.
This was from the other night. He gave the start of the answer, but we got interrupted and couldn't finish.
Problem statement:
Our local head of government here dallied with some policy changes that had hard impacts on a sizeable chunk of people. It was a right-of-center, four-years-in-the-making plan, and this was year one or two. Had been tried in a neighboring province with great success. Idea was that there would be short term gain, then dividends a couple of years out that would lead into a second term of surpluses and successes. To wit, the plan worked as they hoped it would. But that's all context.
The question I raised was apparently a simple poli-sci one: The head of government had protesters on his personal home property, protesting. Didn't turn violent, but their rationale was if he was taking actions on a political level that affected them on a personal, livelihood level, that the layers shouldn't be insulated, and that it was reasonable to take their complaints back to him on a personal level.
In short, before we got interrupted, Dbm made it quite clear that this was not acceptable. I need to followup with him to find out why.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Laughter and Limbaugh
There are a number of ways to take extremists, in this case blowhard extremists that talk in absolutes by conduct their lives in relativities like the rest of us.
One is to get exasperated, holier than thou, damn angry that they could say those kinds of thing about (insert sensitive subject here). Time to write to the editor, mount a protest, construct well thought out diatribes to counter their polemicist vitriol.
Another is to rationalize it, and accept in any number of frameworks that can neuter its passionate flare. Look at it from a psychological point of view, understand why the standard of Broadcast Excellence is acting the way he is acting, and with a studied detachment, just let it be.
Or spiritualize it. Realize that that everything is needed in this great Spiral of Development. Rush is at a certain post-modern stage, and he has to go through this, as do his ditto-heads, in order to get to a higher level of development.
The problem with these avenues is that they always leave me feeling like Rush has gotten the last laugh. You know, a little tension in the shoulders at the thought of the guy. And, if he's still irritating me, then the observation is valid.
A much more effective approach is to not take him seriously, not in the least. Laughing. Not with him, but at the absurdities of his whole schtick.
Not trying to argue with him on his subject matter - it can and is deconstructed by any number of gifted intellectuals. No, just doing the deadpan and asking him the questions that would get him going, and you laughing inside.
Rushter: "Feminazis are the bane of ..."
Response:
"Rushster, most people that use words like feminazis are really shying away from inner same-sex urges. I'd like to give you the chance to respond, but I really need to hump your leg".
You get the gist of it.
Untenable frameworks that cannot be won by intellectual grappling can easily be toppled - or, better yet, just made irrelevant - by replacing the original timbers with the absurd and seeing how the original architect manages.
One is to get exasperated, holier than thou, damn angry that they could say those kinds of thing about (insert sensitive subject here). Time to write to the editor, mount a protest, construct well thought out diatribes to counter their polemicist vitriol.
Another is to rationalize it, and accept in any number of frameworks that can neuter its passionate flare. Look at it from a psychological point of view, understand why the standard of Broadcast Excellence is acting the way he is acting, and with a studied detachment, just let it be.
Or spiritualize it. Realize that that everything is needed in this great Spiral of Development. Rush is at a certain post-modern stage, and he has to go through this, as do his ditto-heads, in order to get to a higher level of development.
The problem with these avenues is that they always leave me feeling like Rush has gotten the last laugh. You know, a little tension in the shoulders at the thought of the guy. And, if he's still irritating me, then the observation is valid.
A much more effective approach is to not take him seriously, not in the least. Laughing. Not with him, but at the absurdities of his whole schtick.
Not trying to argue with him on his subject matter - it can and is deconstructed by any number of gifted intellectuals. No, just doing the deadpan and asking him the questions that would get him going, and you laughing inside.
Rushter: "Feminazis are the bane of ..."
Response:
"Rushster, most people that use words like feminazis are really shying away from inner same-sex urges. I'd like to give you the chance to respond, but I really need to hump your leg".
You get the gist of it.
Untenable frameworks that cannot be won by intellectual grappling can easily be toppled - or, better yet, just made irrelevant - by replacing the original timbers with the absurd and seeing how the original architect manages.
A wrinkle, a sign
I don't get fashion.
Truly.
Let's depart from the obvious, if you know me, you know, by saying "of course you don't get fashion, look at what you're wearing"
I get it that my children literally have more fashion sense than I; that I have to ask for help in the morning "can I wear black and blue together?"... So let's put all that under the bridge. I want to deconstruct a little deeper here, and for that, we need a wrinkle. Actually, several wrinkles. And not stale wrinkles, but fresh ones. Lost yet? Welcome to my world.
So here's the deal.
I went out two weekends ago, under duress, with my family, with the intention of sourcing some new clothes out for my new gig. Duress was my thing, not theirs. Shopping (unless it's for gadgets or books) for me involves picturing what you want, and going and buying it as quickly as possible. More so for clothes. So I get more and more uptight with the exercise, in apparent contradistinction from my patient wife and exuberant sires, all three of whom are quite pleased to pick out things that would look nice on Dad.
Fast forward, 7 or 8 pairs of pants later, and we have decided on a pair of 'fine cotton' Jones of New York casual black business pants. On for about half price - $65 - and they fit and look nice (this from opinions not under the heavy shadow of my fashion misperceptions.)
So I bring them home, iron them, and wear them to work, somewhat chagrined that by the time I get to work via the train and a .5 km walk, they're wrinkled. Ironing is time consuming, and finicky work, which I do actually enjoy at times, but this joy is quickly lost if the iron-ees don't keep well.
I go back to my patient spouse, and engage in a variant of conversations we've had before about fashion.
"So, Dbuiz, nice pants but they're wrinkled well before the end of the day - by the time I get to work actually"
"That's fine - good cotton will do that"
"Wrinkle?"
"That's right"
"So it's ok to walk around work with wrinkles in my pants? I thought that was the whole point of ironing before I wore them"
"Well, those are fresh wrinkles - they're fine. It's old wrinkles that look awful."
"Honestly?"
"Honestly".
So.
You pay more money for a nicer fabric - a lighter, more comfortable cotton. And these pants have that. But ultimately you are paying more money for something that will wrinkle faster than a no-iron cheaper blend, but this is ok as long as you make sure the wrinkles are fresh, not stale.
Another day, another post - or maybe I'll find a legacy post - about some other fashion issues I have, but for now, I'll just file this under general doey-eyed confusion about the wearing of tailored fabrics.
Truly.
Let's depart from the obvious, if you know me, you know, by saying "of course you don't get fashion, look at what you're wearing"
I get it that my children literally have more fashion sense than I; that I have to ask for help in the morning "can I wear black and blue together?"... So let's put all that under the bridge. I want to deconstruct a little deeper here, and for that, we need a wrinkle. Actually, several wrinkles. And not stale wrinkles, but fresh ones. Lost yet? Welcome to my world.
So here's the deal.
I went out two weekends ago, under duress, with my family, with the intention of sourcing some new clothes out for my new gig. Duress was my thing, not theirs. Shopping (unless it's for gadgets or books) for me involves picturing what you want, and going and buying it as quickly as possible. More so for clothes. So I get more and more uptight with the exercise, in apparent contradistinction from my patient wife and exuberant sires, all three of whom are quite pleased to pick out things that would look nice on Dad.
Fast forward, 7 or 8 pairs of pants later, and we have decided on a pair of 'fine cotton' Jones of New York casual black business pants. On for about half price - $65 - and they fit and look nice (this from opinions not under the heavy shadow of my fashion misperceptions.)
So I bring them home, iron them, and wear them to work, somewhat chagrined that by the time I get to work via the train and a .5 km walk, they're wrinkled. Ironing is time consuming, and finicky work, which I do actually enjoy at times, but this joy is quickly lost if the iron-ees don't keep well.
I go back to my patient spouse, and engage in a variant of conversations we've had before about fashion.
"So, Dbuiz, nice pants but they're wrinkled well before the end of the day - by the time I get to work actually"
"That's fine - good cotton will do that"
"Wrinkle?"
"That's right"
"So it's ok to walk around work with wrinkles in my pants? I thought that was the whole point of ironing before I wore them"
"Well, those are fresh wrinkles - they're fine. It's old wrinkles that look awful."
"Honestly?"
"Honestly".
So.
You pay more money for a nicer fabric - a lighter, more comfortable cotton. And these pants have that. But ultimately you are paying more money for something that will wrinkle faster than a no-iron cheaper blend, but this is ok as long as you make sure the wrinkles are fresh, not stale.
Another day, another post - or maybe I'll find a legacy post - about some other fashion issues I have, but for now, I'll just file this under general doey-eyed confusion about the wearing of tailored fabrics.
Sallow, what the hell is sallow
I checked, and apparently I used it correctly in yesterday's offering. Adjective in this case, "murky yellow or gray". Interesting agreement between words and I. They'll often pop up, no conscious effort, and insert themselves on the page. More of a feeling that I have associated with the word as opposed to the meaning, but when I check the meaning, it's always right. Or at least not catastrophically wrong.
Nice gift, thanks god.
Nice gift, thanks god.
Monday, November 10, 2008
Choking on this
Sadness, a bird
Caught in the throat and struggling for release
Then crushed in sallow passion
No heart here, just the offspring
Moving towards the cavity that should embrace
Proffer, dance and heal
No stomach here, just a slow descent
Without detachment
Malignancy, waiting in disbelief for the dawn
Caught in the throat and struggling for release
Then crushed in sallow passion
No heart here, just the offspring
Moving towards the cavity that should embrace
Proffer, dance and heal
No stomach here, just a slow descent
Without detachment
Malignancy, waiting in disbelief for the dawn
Saturday, November 8, 2008
Waiter, there's a growth in my free market
Fishing through old blog-land again, this was worth pulling out and taking for a spin.
====================
Friday, January 23, 2004 Growth in the New Culture
Careful young workers, come heed to my call
The culture they tout is not culture at all
It extends from G-L, it's a tool of the board
When you see it's really quite apalling
So act from your Center and respect HOW you do
For your job, it could be waning
Sorry Mr. Zimmerman.
i
A little idvomit to open up today's diatribe.
Having supported myself for almost 20 years now, and having been introduced to znet and chomsky, you would think I would know better, but I do in fact sometimes still get sucked in.
To be fair, you can't help it to some extent. You start work at a new company, and are treated well - REALLY well. This is the new environment, the new culture, the NEW new culture. One-dimensional business psychology resources flow out of today's company's like emetic remains, and a lot of it sounds convincing. You are empowered, leveraged, synergized. You should hit the ground running, win every moment of truth, realize that your worth is CARED about not because the Company has too but because it has chosen to. You and the company are partners in success, the master-servant rule doesn't exist here. You are a Team Member, an Associate, a Partner. You matter. And because you matter the company matters to you. And the feedback loop continues and powers the new new NEW economy, everybody is satisfied, and everybody wins cause there's lots of money made.
or.
Said growth in the new culture is REALLY growth in the new culture. The germy kind. Sycophantic cells feeding off the gullible.
The easiest way to stay away from too much cynicism is to be realistic from the start.
We live in a flawed democracy fueled by a sometimes-free-market system. It's flawed, but it's arguably the best of several flawed alternatives.
Company's exist to thrive in the sfm system, to give lifeblood to the infrastructures that hold up our democracies. So in the big picture, even the lowliest jobs hold up something worth having. But careful, young buck. Remember, the corporation raison d'etre is not, by nature, to be altruistic. It is to grow and make money.
So if new culture is useful as a tool to promote this ultimate goal, great stuff. But remember, doey-eyed worker - it is just that - a tool.
The company is not beholden to you - no matter how sincere the talk is. Shiny brochures and feel good sessions aside, it's still about profit and loss.
So do what you're doing for the right reason. Realize that your goals are not by definition the company's goals. And that's ok.
My value-realignment recently takes this into account. I now get value out of HOW I do things as opposed to WHAT I do.
It matters not if I am the world's best , it matters that I honestly earn a wage to support myself and loved ones. And it matters HOW I do my work.
====================
Friday, January 23, 2004 Growth in the New Culture
Careful young workers, come heed to my call
The culture they tout is not culture at all
It extends from G-L, it's a tool of the board
When you see it's really quite apalling
So act from your Center and respect HOW you do
For your job, it could be waning
Sorry Mr. Zimmerman.
i
A little idvomit to open up today's diatribe.
Having supported myself for almost 20 years now, and having been introduced to znet and chomsky, you would think I would know better, but I do in fact sometimes still get sucked in.
To be fair, you can't help it to some extent. You start work at a new company, and are treated well - REALLY well. This is the new environment, the new culture, the NEW new culture. One-dimensional business psychology resources flow out of today's company's like emetic remains, and a lot of it sounds convincing. You are empowered, leveraged, synergized. You should hit the ground running, win every moment of truth, realize that your worth is CARED about not because the Company has too but because it has chosen to. You and the company are partners in success, the master-servant rule doesn't exist here. You are a Team Member, an Associate, a Partner. You matter. And because you matter the company matters to you. And the feedback loop continues and powers the new new NEW economy, everybody is satisfied, and everybody wins cause there's lots of money made.
or.
Said growth in the new culture is REALLY growth in the new culture. The germy kind. Sycophantic cells feeding off the gullible.
The easiest way to stay away from too much cynicism is to be realistic from the start.
We live in a flawed democracy fueled by a sometimes-free-market system. It's flawed, but it's arguably the best of several flawed alternatives.
Company's exist to thrive in the sfm system, to give lifeblood to the infrastructures that hold up our democracies. So in the big picture, even the lowliest jobs hold up something worth having. But careful, young buck. Remember, the corporation raison d'etre is not, by nature, to be altruistic. It is to grow and make money.
So if new culture is useful as a tool to promote this ultimate goal, great stuff. But remember, doey-eyed worker - it is just that - a tool.
The company is not beholden to you - no matter how sincere the talk is. Shiny brochures and feel good sessions aside, it's still about profit and loss.
So do what you're doing for the right reason. Realize that your goals are not by definition the company's goals. And that's ok.
My value-realignment recently takes this into account. I now get value out of HOW I do things as opposed to WHAT I do.
It matters not if I am the world's best , it matters that I honestly earn a wage to support myself and loved ones. And it matters HOW I do my work.
Left Wing Heart, Right wing head (2004)
This, from a retired blog'o'mine, circa 2004.
I think it got read by, let's see - zero people.
==================================
Left Wing Heart, Right wing head
The blessed CBC (damn those, including myself, for putting down Canadian production values; witness the 5th estate, this hour has 22 minutes, air farce, venture) had a great piece on unions last nite. Disclaimer: I've been in, let's see, UFCW, and the CMSG. That would make two. Two in which I saw:
-no point in paying union dues - both ultimately provided no job security
-those WITH work ethics stifled; promotions had to go to those most senior, not those most capable
-those WITHOUT work ethics summarily rewarded through a system that encouraged clock-watching, slowing-for-ot, and generally having expectations of "I'm OWED this, I'm WORTH twenty dollars an hour when I'm baking and bagging frozen bread."
Personal disenchantment aside though, I'm also painfully aware of the astonishing corporate greed that exists out there. Witness the documentary the Corporation, read ZNet, Chomsky, etc. etc.
So how do I reconcile my abhorrence of protected personal recklessness that the union provides, with the fact that the union is one of the last stands against unbridled greed and corporate hegemony?
Maybe by recognizing that this is one of those lesser of two evil things - that the excesses tolerated by unions pale in comparison to those tolerated on a global scale by unchecked and increasingly powerful corporate entitites.
I think it got read by, let's see - zero people.
==================================
Left Wing Heart, Right wing head
The blessed CBC (damn those, including myself, for putting down Canadian production values; witness the 5th estate, this hour has 22 minutes, air farce, venture) had a great piece on unions last nite. Disclaimer: I've been in, let's see, UFCW, and the CMSG. That would make two. Two in which I saw:
-no point in paying union dues - both ultimately provided no job security
-those WITH work ethics stifled; promotions had to go to those most senior, not those most capable
-those WITHOUT work ethics summarily rewarded through a system that encouraged clock-watching, slowing-for-ot, and generally having expectations of "I'm OWED this, I'm WORTH twenty dollars an hour when I'm baking and bagging frozen bread."
Personal disenchantment aside though, I'm also painfully aware of the astonishing corporate greed that exists out there. Witness the documentary the Corporation, read ZNet, Chomsky, etc. etc.
So how do I reconcile my abhorrence of protected personal recklessness that the union provides, with the fact that the union is one of the last stands against unbridled greed and corporate hegemony?
Maybe by recognizing that this is one of those lesser of two evil things - that the excesses tolerated by unions pale in comparison to those tolerated on a global scale by unchecked and increasingly powerful corporate entitites.
Sorry, Mr. Simon
And truly I am. This is from 87, still adore the song, I think it just reeks...life. I was at Cap College, taking voice with Shannon Gunn, and a band was gots-together to put down the bed tracks. Yes, I have some tuning problems. The production is better than some of the other stuff, but still compromised by sitting for 20 years on a cassette tape waiting, ney begging to be released to digital, where it can feed the noosphere.
african skies processed.mp3
Production woes
I have no idea what's going on with the production on the stuff that I've posted. Listened to it at home, no worries, listened to it at work twice and it streamed like a vacillating serpent of shit.
I'm leaving them up for now.
I'm leaving them up for now.
Monday, November 3, 2008
That sounds amazingly bad, doesn't it?
Well kids, several of those posts sound beyond atrocious. I'll be taking them down and re'mastering' soon.
Sheeeit
Sheeeit
Sunday, November 2, 2008
I Wonder
Well, yes hoss, I did wonder. You know what I'm talking about. At one point in your life you become close to someone. At another, they leave. But those with who the friendship super-glue was cured never wander far, and when you pick up with them it's like they never left in the first place. And knowing friendship, having some of those nonlocal qualities to begin with, it's less 'like' and more 'actually'.
What Can I Offer
I get inklings, but to be honest often it's a hazy toothy serpent winding it's way through my life.
Picked it up from a number of places that a good attribute of something that you were born to do is the fact that it turns into a timeless activity when you do it.
Now, time has often been a painful thing for me - that's grist for another post, so without too much upfront analysis the pickup would seem to be fair.
And where do I get that? Is there anything that truly turns into a timeless endeavour when I'm doing it?
Well, yeah kinda. Songwriting. Seconds, minutes, hours, half days literally vanish. No tiredness, a direct plug into the noosphere. Creativity is unbridled in this activity. I don't have to try, a few notes on the keyboard, the vision is there, and the lyrics roll out.
Interesting.
Picked it up from a number of places that a good attribute of something that you were born to do is the fact that it turns into a timeless activity when you do it.
Now, time has often been a painful thing for me - that's grist for another post, so without too much upfront analysis the pickup would seem to be fair.
And where do I get that? Is there anything that truly turns into a timeless endeavour when I'm doing it?
Well, yeah kinda. Songwriting. Seconds, minutes, hours, half days literally vanish. No tiredness, a direct plug into the noosphere. Creativity is unbridled in this activity. I don't have to try, a few notes on the keyboard, the vision is there, and the lyrics roll out.
Interesting.
The Gaping Maw of Hungry Ghosts
Yep, the history behind this one almost ate me alive. Sometimes it still burps a bit. Great Buddhist visual that was passed onto me via Genpo Roshi of a hungry ghost with a permanently distended belly, a mouth too small to get enough in, and the whole thing powered by desire.
Not talking just the one dimensional desire in this song, but a longing so visceral it cuts.
Wrote this hristmas Theme for Grandma, Ruth, and Doris. Rest in peace, dear ones.
Christmas Theme for Grandma Ruth Doris.mp3
The Sponge of Self Discovery
But Mez, do you have a song of self discovery, written with nothing but your ability, a Korg M3R, a Yamaha PF85 and your voice? That doesn't sound like some of the other's you've posted here with lyrics struggling to get out of the mucky production values?
By gods yes, here you go:
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Sorry for the Bottom Dwellers
Ok, if you were brave enough to listen, especially streaming over computer speakers, you might very well have gotten pissed at the mud-production. Me thinks it's worth listening to, so try downloading it (you'll get the lyrics that way too) or plugging in a pair of headphones. Production improves a wee bit around the last 30 seconds where I added some post-post-post chorus via a .wav editing tool.
You are?
Yes, I am. I'm here.
And using history and a good predictor of future behaviour, might as well follow my short-lived bliss and get more stuff up. Gods bless Google for keeping my other blogs around for a couple of years now. Maybe I can ply them for more copy in about [insert 2-12 weeks random number] weeks when I start to follow my inevitable bell curve down, down, down to mediocrity and hapless wandering and wondering.
But until then, I'm Here
You don't need liner notes for this one in terms of meaning, but it is worth noting that I did take this song into a studio (not this version, another one which may or may not ever make it here) and recorded it au proper with a real bass player, drummer, and production quality. Still, there's something about the honesty in this one. Bare with the muddy production and try to enjoy it.
The trivia on this one is that I wrote most of the whole thing during a shift as a tour guide on board the huff-puffering 2860. Hung out for lengths of the shift with George - # 2 in seniority on BCR before it was sold - in the conductor's car, full open side, and a big rail to lean on as we watched Howe Sound go by. As memory serves, the music was pretty much complete in my head o'er the trip, and the words didn't take too much longer.
And using history and a good predictor of future behaviour, might as well follow my short-lived bliss and get more stuff up. Gods bless Google for keeping my other blogs around for a couple of years now. Maybe I can ply them for more copy in about [insert 2-12 weeks random number] weeks when I start to follow my inevitable bell curve down, down, down to mediocrity and hapless wandering and wondering.
But until then, I'm Here
You don't need liner notes for this one in terms of meaning, but it is worth noting that I did take this song into a studio (not this version, another one which may or may not ever make it here) and recorded it au proper with a real bass player, drummer, and production quality. Still, there's something about the honesty in this one. Bare with the muddy production and try to enjoy it.
The trivia on this one is that I wrote most of the whole thing during a shift as a tour guide on board the huff-puffering 2860. Hung out for lengths of the shift with George - # 2 in seniority on BCR before it was sold - in the conductor's car, full open side, and a big rail to lean on as we watched Howe Sound go by. As memory serves, the music was pretty much complete in my head o'er the trip, and the words didn't take too much longer.
Leader and the Fool
What the hell were you songing about in that one, anyway, Mez?
Years ago - about 20, I worked at a company for a boss who had a lot of things going for him - chiseled good looks and muscular physique, intellectually gifted, lady-killer, financially successful. Also, I felt, astonishingly lonely. So plug that into the song, and it should make sense.
Years ago - about 20, I worked at a company for a boss who had a lot of things going for him - chiseled good looks and muscular physique, intellectually gifted, lady-killer, financially successful. Also, I felt, astonishingly lonely. So plug that into the song, and it should make sense.
Repositorium
When the serotonin is right, slick and viscous psychic surfground, I go back and look at things I've done. Things I've accomplished.
One of those is music, a force that defined and pursued me for the first 30 or so. Started pulling out the cassettes a couple of nights ago. Holy shit, 20 years old - some a little more, some a little less.
Yup, the production is shite*. The musicianship ranges from nice to groundbreakingly sacharine or plain sloppy.
And yup, I stand behind it. Would have liked to have seen what could have happened to this stuff with better production, more self esteem, starting piano earlier than y20. So let's start chucking this up to the noosphere. Forward ho, gamey songster!
*Four track Yamaha with a six channel mixer. Literally used casette tapes, a special metallic tape let the machine recognize it as media and split it into four tracks. So I'd record click track, then drum's triggered from a keyboard, similarly bass, then bounce down, add vox, bounce down, then the lead. And the four track had a storied history of ghosting tracks. Which meant for a lot of the stuff I did, I had one chance to get it right or live with faint out of tune mischief musical sprites splayed under the song.
The Leader and the Fool
One of those is music, a force that defined and pursued me for the first 30 or so. Started pulling out the cassettes a couple of nights ago. Holy shit, 20 years old - some a little more, some a little less.
Yup, the production is shite*. The musicianship ranges from nice to groundbreakingly sacharine or plain sloppy.
And yup, I stand behind it. Would have liked to have seen what could have happened to this stuff with better production, more self esteem, starting piano earlier than y20. So let's start chucking this up to the noosphere. Forward ho, gamey songster!
*Four track Yamaha with a six channel mixer. Literally used casette tapes, a special metallic tape let the machine recognize it as media and split it into four tracks. So I'd record click track, then drum's triggered from a keyboard, similarly bass, then bounce down, add vox, bounce down, then the lead. And the four track had a storied history of ghosting tracks. Which meant for a lot of the stuff I did, I had one chance to get it right or live with faint out of tune mischief musical sprites splayed under the song.
The Leader and the Fool
Feed me Seymour
Is the cloud the noosphere? Or the start of the noosphere? Certainly seems a possibility.
So let's leave some breadcrumbs where I can come back and find myself, during this life or the next.
Let's muse, and paint, and write and play, laugh and furrow our brow.
So let's leave some breadcrumbs where I can come back and find myself, during this life or the next.
Let's muse, and paint, and write and play, laugh and furrow our brow.
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