Our civilization has perpetually attempted to figure out ways to make "work" more convenient, more efficient, and less time-consuming. This attempt is not unlike trying to catch your own shadow, and its (not necessarily unintended) consequence has been to separate us from any kind of joy that we might derive from our work; thus turning work into a chore that we'd rather avoid or even outsource. The joy I'm talking about is not some ephemeral notion of "satisfaction" of a "job well done." I'm talking about the same joy you see in the eyes of laughing children. The type of joy that permeates your very essence and re-connects you with the laughing child who is sleeping somewhere deep inside you.
Perhaps what we should be doing instead of figuring out ways to make work easier and less time consumptive is to change our relationship to work, so that it more resembles art, or even play. After all, shouldn't the question “What do you do?” mean “What do you LOVE to do?” instead of the meaning we all know it carries?
Close your eyes and ask yourself that question, right now. “What do you LOVE to do?” Is it difficult to answer? After you've spent some time on that one, try this: The next time you meet someone new, instead of feigning interest and asking the usual “What do you do?”, look at the person with heart-felt eyes and interject the “love to” part. You might be surprised by how taken aback the person is. I still am every time.
Speaking of time, have you ever stopped to think about the term “time-consuming?” As if time was a quantifiable object, something to be spent or acquired or used, like water or oil. We loose time, save time, waste time, run out of time; and as we try to keep up with the incessantly ticking clock, trying to manage time in the most efficient way possible, we find that this too is like chasing shadows. Somehow, we never can figure out just where all the time goes.
It would seem that clock-time is a human construct, and a highly dubious one at that. I'd be willing to bet that clock-time is as similar to real-time as a tractor is similar the vapor you move through in a dream. Clock-time was invented and continues to be perpetuated by the types who like to refer to us as “consumers,” and who judge our self-worth by how good we are at exchanging pieces of paper with the faces of dead Presidents on them (or as is more common these days, zeroes and ones in a computer somewhere) for mostly useless petrochemical garbage that usually ends up in a landfill a year or so later. They ubiquitously wave that 3-digit credit score in the corner of our eyes, as if it was some sort of heath meter in a really bad video game.
So, I think we need to also change our relationship to time, and recognize that the only time that can run out is clock-time. Perhaps the sooner that clock-time runs out, the better. After all, is there anyone who can honestly admit to liking alarm clocks? But of course, this will be a dynamic and non-linear process. It will take more than quitting our jobs and smashing all the clocks (although, that might be kinda fun). Clock-time and work-is-drudgery are concepts that are woven into our collective consciousness with what seems to be adamantine thread; but this is an illusion.
Perhaps a good place to start would be refusing to outsource our joy. For hundreds of thousands of years, the idea that one would have to pay for entertainment, and not even take part in its creation, was an unimaginable concept, or a description of some sort of hell. So, once in a while, shut off the television, the video games, the iPod- even put the books away. Go outside and dance in the rain with a child while singing a song the two of you made up on the spot. Have dinner with an old person, and make it a meal the two of you prepare yourselves, without using any recipes. Walk through nature and give each tree you see its own name, and maybe strike up a conversation with one or two. Don't worry about the people who will inevitably look at you funny; when they see the joy radiating from you, perhaps eventually, they too will join in.
Step out of the holodeck, even just once in a while, and maybe we can start the business of truly learning what it is to be human beings.
Sunday, August 2, 2009
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
What Will Measure Synthetic Life?
In episode 35 of Star Trek: The Next Generation (“The Measure of a Man”), Data finds himself on trial to determine whether or not he has sentience, thus determining whether or not he can be considered “property” of the United Federation of Planets, allowing his disassembly and study so that the “flaws” inherent in Data's positronic brain could be overcome, and a superior race of android could be manufactured for mass production.
Indeed, this theme- even in 1989- was nothing new in the world of Science Fiction; that of the emergence of a computer generated or cybernetic man-made Artificial Intelligence, and what the subsequent result would be. Issac Asimov posited the idea with his Robot Trilogy, and the theme has continued to be explored to this very day. (The most recent incarnation being the uber-genius that was the reinvented Battlestar Galactica series.)
What stood out in this particular episode for me was that it addressed not so much what this A.I. would do to us, but how we ultimately will respond to it. In the end, Captain Jean-Luc Picard argues brilliantly and convincingly that it matters not whether or not Data is sentient, or has consciousness, since we ourselves cannot prove that we are in fact sentient or conscious, and that, if ruled “property” as opposed to being granted the rights as any other life form, then the inevitable result would be that a race of slaves would be engineered. It is, after all, the purpose of the Federation to seek out new life, and Data is one of the most unique and profound examples of that new life.
Here we are now, 20 years later since that episode was written, and in our reality the emerging synthetic life isn't so much Artificial Intelligence (to many people, that is still entirely Science Fiction, and they may be correct), but cloning is in fact what has grabbed the attention of politicians, the media, and the general public.
Shortly after revisiting this particular episode of TNG, I came across this article, which claims that scientists have been able to create synthetic human sperm. As this science marches forward, as it always does, it is seeming to be more and more likely that within my lifetime, we could very well see the birth of true human clones. And this raises a very profound question in my mind, one that is really not being discussed outside of the polarized argument for or against stem-cell research and cloning research (which is generally couched in between the usual religion vs. secular camps). And that is: How will we react to human clones once they arrive?
Will “synthetic” humans grown from “synthetic sperm” be granted “synthetic” rights?
It's a conundrum I think would be best explored before that time comes. Whether the parable manifests through stories of robotic A.I. or cloning, failure to address the valuable warnings that Science Fiction has offered could be disastrous, not just for the survival of the human race, but for the survival of whatever new life might emerge from our own curiosity, creativity, and instinctive drive for survival.
Monday, October 13, 2008
Play del Fuego, Fall 2008
This past weekend, my wife, my brother-in-law, and myself were at Playa del Fuego, which is a regional Burning Man event. I've never been to the actual Burning Man, the cost of such a trip has pretty much set it outside the realm of consideration for me, but the wonderful thing about Burning Man is that it's more of a concept than a fixed, sedentary event. Regional burns have emerged all over the country, giving all sorts of folks like myself the opportunity to take part in such an event who would otherwise be unable to spend a week in the Nevada desert during the waning days of Summer.
Playa del Fuego (PdF for short) is held on a piece of land that is owned by a Vietnam Veterans Motorcycle Club south of Wilmington, Delaware. It's a fraction of the size of Burning Man (I believe about 1,000 people at PdF as opposed to an upwards of 40,000 at Burning Man) which makes it a little less daunting for people who aren't fond of very large crowds, and it's not in the middle of Death Valley, which while being an experience in and of itself, I can certainly understand why people might want to avoid spending a week in one of the most inhospitable climates on the planet. I'm not sure I'd want to, even. Still, it was large enough that you could pretty much walk around the entire weekend, and for a first-timer to the event, say to yourself: "Well, that's something you don't see everyday" at least every 15 minutes or so.
I had heard enough about PdF (and Burning Man) to have a general idea as to what to expect, but it's not until you are actually in the experience that you know what the impact will be for you. One of the most overwhelming and ubiquitous aspects of the experience for me is how, during the event, the clothing we wear simply by being embedded in our culture simply dissolves away. Concepts such as social class simply do not matter; the people you see wearing elaborate costumes (or quite possibly nothing at all) could very well be lawyers, accountants, janitors, teachers, programmers, politicians, unemployed drifters, or any of the other myriad occupations we generally use to define one another. However, these divisions do not exist here. Not once in all the conversations I had with people did the question "What do you do?" emerge. It was irrelevant, because "what we do" was already being expressed. There was no reason to hide who we were, and what we do out in society did not matter.
Speaking of wearing nothing at all, there were certainly plenty of people walking around wearing nothing, or simply intricately applied body paint or other such revealing costumes. The thing was, however, for the most part, it wasn't about being sexual or deviant. It was about simply being free and comfortable. It occurred to me that generally, in our culture, when you see someone with whom you are not in a relationship naked, it involves something based around sex, whether it's a pornographic film or magazine, or simply a sex scene in a movie. But at PdF, after the initial impact of "hey... that person is naked... and so is that person, and that person too," it becomes as natural as any other common event that happens on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong, PdF certainly has a very sexually charged atmosphere, but it isn't tied directly to the unclad people. Sexuality, much like everything else at PdF, is not a product. It's part of an archaic, perennial element of our humanity.
While there are certainly many artists who come to PdF and create amazingly elaborate pieces of art, it's the spontaneous creation and participation that was tremendously amazing to me. My brother-in-law and I happened across a camp of people who were sitting in a circle drumming. Without any hesitation, someone handed me a drum and offered us a place to join. My brother-in-law was simply using a tin cup and tent spike. Now, I don't think I've actually pounded on a drum since 6th grade music class. With the exception of playing the viola through Junior High School, I have never had any real musical training. For all I know, the person who offered me a drum was musically trained at Julliard. Once again, this concept which, within our culture would be a very divisive boundary, did not matter. We all sat around in a circle and just drummed; at one point, another person happened along who had a flue and saxophone, and he joined in, too. No one was being judgmental, it was a spontaneous moment of participation and co-creation.
Like Burning Man, nothing is bought or sold at PdF. Gifting and trading, instead, are the concepts that reign. There are always people making food, providing coffee or tea, handing out random items such as lighters, necklaces, or pieces of art. One of the first things I did upon arriving was to stash my wallet in my bag. I certainly wasn't going to need it, and quite honestly, having ID and money on my person made me feel a little awkward. You also don't need to worry about your belongings being unattended. Civic responsibility and communal effort are also two tenants of the event. People are working together and looking out for each other. While there are indeed mediators and rangers who make sure any conflicts that might arise are dealt with and to make sure anyone who might over-indulge are safe, these things happen on a volunteer basis, and the hierarchal structure of the event is very loose. There isn't any security, nor is any needed. Serious problems that would call for a person to be removed from the event are few and far between. Everyone is ultimately responsible for themselves, yet as a family or community should, people are also looking out for each other. No one is left to go hungry, or unsheltered, or to be left passed out on the cold, damp ground. Everyone here is family.
All in all, PdF was a very profound experience for me. For me, it was an example of what has been referred to by Terence McKenna and others as The Archaic Revival. It was proof to me that humans could indeed exist in a way that encourages and fosters community, cooperation, self-expression, love and creativity as opposed to the values which dominate our culture; competition, classism, hierarchy, materialism, and monetization. Leaving the event, I felt a profound sense that I had released a tremendous amount of karmic baggage. The masks and clothing we wear in society, and the scripts we're meant to follow, become very cumbersome indeed, and the release was more than welcome.
Driving home, we spent about 20 minutes passing open fields and farms, till we got a little closer to civilization, and the inevitable roofs of the cookie-cutter suburban homes appeared over the horizon. "Ah, there it is," I mentioned to my wife and brother-in-law, "The American Dream. I knew it was around here somewhere." Now, as I type this, I'm trying to figure out how to assimilate my experience with the knowledge that I must now re-establish myself into the embrace of The Weaver. While yesterday's hot shower and last night's sleep in a warm, soft bed were certainly much welcomed creature comforts, how soon until I once again begin to take them for granted? How do I take what is now part of my past, the felt presence of immediate experience which has now been relegated to the domain of memory, and return to the "real world" of alarm clocks waking me up before my body says it's ready, giving my energy to a career I scarcely care about, keeping my feelings and desires to myself, and following a script-of-acceptability when I encounter all the people with whom I interact, whether co-workers, neighbors, or family members? I'm starting to feel a sense of foreboding, as if I'm about to walk into a burning building, knowing full well that the flames will no doubt consume me. But I suppose these are parts of the trials we set for ourselves before coming into this incarnation. Better to know for certain that the world I envision, the world that my heart and intuition have always told me is possible, the world that the poets and musicians and authors and philosophers I have followed have eluded to, really does exist, than to bang my head against the wall wondering if I'm just being naive, foolish and juvenile.
But a valuable lesson was learned this weekend. Life is indeed art, every aspect of it. And it's that concept that will keep the despair at bay. So, back into the dream I go, for now. The real world will still be there, residing in the domain of imagination, awaiting my return.
Playa del Fuego (PdF for short) is held on a piece of land that is owned by a Vietnam Veterans Motorcycle Club south of Wilmington, Delaware. It's a fraction of the size of Burning Man (I believe about 1,000 people at PdF as opposed to an upwards of 40,000 at Burning Man) which makes it a little less daunting for people who aren't fond of very large crowds, and it's not in the middle of Death Valley, which while being an experience in and of itself, I can certainly understand why people might want to avoid spending a week in one of the most inhospitable climates on the planet. I'm not sure I'd want to, even. Still, it was large enough that you could pretty much walk around the entire weekend, and for a first-timer to the event, say to yourself: "Well, that's something you don't see everyday" at least every 15 minutes or so.I had heard enough about PdF (and Burning Man) to have a general idea as to what to expect, but it's not until you are actually in the experience that you know what the impact will be for you. One of the most overwhelming and ubiquitous aspects of the experience for me is how, during the event, the clothing we wear simply by being embedded in our culture simply dissolves away. Concepts such as social class simply do not matter; the people you see wearing elaborate costumes (or quite possibly nothing at all) could very well be lawyers, accountants, janitors, teachers, programmers, politicians, unemployed drifters, or any of the other myriad occupations we generally use to define one another. However, these divisions do not exist here. Not once in all the conversations I had with people did the question "What do you do?" emerge. It was irrelevant, because "what we do" was already being expressed. There was no reason to hide who we were, and what we do out in society did not matter.
Speaking of wearing nothing at all, there were certainly plenty of people walking around wearing nothing, or simply intricately applied body paint or other such revealing costumes. The thing was, however, for the most part, it wasn't about being sexual or deviant. It was about simply being free and comfortable. It occurred to me that generally, in our culture, when you see someone with whom you are not in a relationship naked, it involves something based around sex, whether it's a pornographic film or magazine, or simply a sex scene in a movie. But at PdF, after the initial impact of "hey... that person is naked... and so is that person, and that person too," it becomes as natural as any other common event that happens on a daily basis. Don't get me wrong, PdF certainly has a very sexually charged atmosphere, but it isn't tied directly to the unclad people. Sexuality, much like everything else at PdF, is not a product. It's part of an archaic, perennial element of our humanity.
While there are certainly many artists who come to PdF and create amazingly elaborate pieces of art, it's the spontaneous creation and participation that was tremendously amazing to me. My brother-in-law and I happened across a camp of people who were sitting in a circle drumming. Without any hesitation, someone handed me a drum and offered us a place to join. My brother-in-law was simply using a tin cup and tent spike. Now, I don't think I've actually pounded on a drum since 6th grade music class. With the exception of playing the viola through Junior High School, I have never had any real musical training. For all I know, the person who offered me a drum was musically trained at Julliard. Once again, this concept which, within our culture would be a very divisive boundary, did not matter. We all sat around in a circle and just drummed; at one point, another person happened along who had a flue and saxophone, and he joined in, too. No one was being judgmental, it was a spontaneous moment of participation and co-creation.
Like Burning Man, nothing is bought or sold at PdF. Gifting and trading, instead, are the concepts that reign. There are always people making food, providing coffee or tea, handing out random items such as lighters, necklaces, or pieces of art. One of the first things I did upon arriving was to stash my wallet in my bag. I certainly wasn't going to need it, and quite honestly, having ID and money on my person made me feel a little awkward. You also don't need to worry about your belongings being unattended. Civic responsibility and communal effort are also two tenants of the event. People are working together and looking out for each other. While there are indeed mediators and rangers who make sure any conflicts that might arise are dealt with and to make sure anyone who might over-indulge are safe, these things happen on a volunteer basis, and the hierarchal structure of the event is very loose. There isn't any security, nor is any needed. Serious problems that would call for a person to be removed from the event are few and far between. Everyone is ultimately responsible for themselves, yet as a family or community should, people are also looking out for each other. No one is left to go hungry, or unsheltered, or to be left passed out on the cold, damp ground. Everyone here is family.
All in all, PdF was a very profound experience for me. For me, it was an example of what has been referred to by Terence McKenna and others as The Archaic Revival. It was proof to me that humans could indeed exist in a way that encourages and fosters community, cooperation, self-expression, love and creativity as opposed to the values which dominate our culture; competition, classism, hierarchy, materialism, and monetization. Leaving the event, I felt a profound sense that I had released a tremendous amount of karmic baggage. The masks and clothing we wear in society, and the scripts we're meant to follow, become very cumbersome indeed, and the release was more than welcome.
Driving home, we spent about 20 minutes passing open fields and farms, till we got a little closer to civilization, and the inevitable roofs of the cookie-cutter suburban homes appeared over the horizon. "Ah, there it is," I mentioned to my wife and brother-in-law, "The American Dream. I knew it was around here somewhere." Now, as I type this, I'm trying to figure out how to assimilate my experience with the knowledge that I must now re-establish myself into the embrace of The Weaver. While yesterday's hot shower and last night's sleep in a warm, soft bed were certainly much welcomed creature comforts, how soon until I once again begin to take them for granted? How do I take what is now part of my past, the felt presence of immediate experience which has now been relegated to the domain of memory, and return to the "real world" of alarm clocks waking me up before my body says it's ready, giving my energy to a career I scarcely care about, keeping my feelings and desires to myself, and following a script-of-acceptability when I encounter all the people with whom I interact, whether co-workers, neighbors, or family members? I'm starting to feel a sense of foreboding, as if I'm about to walk into a burning building, knowing full well that the flames will no doubt consume me. But I suppose these are parts of the trials we set for ourselves before coming into this incarnation. Better to know for certain that the world I envision, the world that my heart and intuition have always told me is possible, the world that the poets and musicians and authors and philosophers I have followed have eluded to, really does exist, than to bang my head against the wall wondering if I'm just being naive, foolish and juvenile.
But a valuable lesson was learned this weekend. Life is indeed art, every aspect of it. And it's that concept that will keep the despair at bay. So, back into the dream I go, for now. The real world will still be there, residing in the domain of imagination, awaiting my return.
Tuesday, September 2, 2008
Comcast: Enemies of Innovation?
On Thursday, August 28th, Comcast announced that starting October 1st, it would be implementing monthly bandwidth caps for residential customers. Comcast claims the cap is more than generous at 250 GB (which includes downloads and uploads) and insists that this is far more than what the median monthly data use is for residential customers.
With all the talk recently of net neutrality, along with many other countries already having bandwidth caps in place for years now, this event is not surprising, or unexpected. I just didn't necessarily expect it to happen so soon. Still, this announcement should come as a shock wave, as it represents a monumentally significant shift in the direction human civilization, development, evolution, and even consciousness will be headed. If my anxiety and excitement over this issue seems to be a bit mellow-dramatic, please hear me out. I'm still riding the currents of this sock wave; taking it all in and trying to assimilate it into my immediate experience.
What makes the least amount of sense, and helps explain why I find it so glaringly transparent, is the enforcement of this policy. From a good-business model, it makes very little sense. For the first violation, the customer will receive a warning. A second violation results in suspension of service for a year. Now- what about that deal would make anyone not consider switching providers immediately- especially if their service gets suspended? Not only this, but Comcast will not be offering customers any means by which to monitor bandwidth usage. (Keeping track of cell-phone plan minutes is easy; tracking bandwidth usage is not so straight-forward.) It just seems strikingly obvious to me that there is something much bigger, much more dubious, going on behind the scenes.
***
“Gentlemen. When two separate events occur simultaneously pertaining to the same object in inquiry we must always pay strict attention.” -Special Agent Dale Cooper in David Lynch's Twin Peaks.
This past weekend has been awash with synchronicity, of which the most profound is probably the Nine Inch Nails concert my wife and I attended on Friday, which was the day I heard about Comcast's announcement. This seems strikingly significant to me, as the past few albums of Trent Reznor's have very different thematically than his earlier albums, dealing with Orwellian-narratives and almost Philip K. Dick-like feelings of identity and reality-perceiving ambiguity. Based largely upon the abrupt shifts of my own immediate experiences over the past 5 years or so, this has very much followed my own perception of myself and the greater cosmos.
Also, what Trent Reznor has been doing with his past few albums represents the antithesis of what Comcast is trying to do. The past two Nine Inch Nails albums came out within just a few months of each other. The first was called Ghosts. It was two hours worth of entirely instrumental tracks, in 4 parts. The album was posted for download of DRM-free files in a variety of audio formats and price-points. There was also a 2-CD set released a month months later.
Two months after Ghosts, The Slip was released as a completely free download. A message from Trent Reznor on the website read: “thank you for your continued and loyal support over the years - this one's on me.”
Both of these albums were released under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-Share-Alike 3.0 License, which in a nutshell means that anyone can alter, transform, or build upon the work, so long as it is attributed properly, and the work that is made is released under the same license.
This type of model, as well as other models which make up the Web 2.0 Philosophy, as well as Open Source, are models that can and should be extrapolated beyond the realm of the Web and into all aspects of our civilization. Institutions such as the RIAA and MPAA have become all but irrelevant as this model begins to do just that. For now let's set aside the argument that these institutions may have been important up until this point, and focus on what these institutions provide today, and for whom their motives serve the most. After all, the whole idea behind Capitalism is to inspire innovation so we can have perpetual progress, is it not?
“Art degraded, imagination denied; war govern'd the nations.” -William Blake
Because we have relegated control of Art and Imagination to the Marketplace, a degradation is inevitable. This is shockingly clear to anyone who has glanced at the magazines offered at grocery store check out aisles, or wondered why those who have the least to offer us artistically are fashioned to be our most prolific role-models. Why are people buying Hanna Montana tickets for their pre-adolescent daughters for ten-times their original price, content with the puritanical-image of a fictional character being presented as a “role-model” while the names of authors and poets and artists go forgotten? Hanna Montana is a product, nothing more. Art has become degraded. We are content with- and even demand- mediocrity.
True art does exist, but it is hard to access and to recognize, and is often times brushed aside by the main paradigm because of the suppression of imagination. You don't need to ask people who have, in one way or another walked to the beat of their own drum, or indeed have ever been a child who just wanted to “play make-believe” instead of taking part in a structured activity, what it is like to try and integrate that denial into their immediate experience. Whether it is a conscious decision or not (and I don't believe that it entirely is), every attempt is made to snuff out the imagination from children as young as possible. That is, imagination that will not necessarily help to facilitate the perpetuity of the Marketplace.
Being able to express oneself artistically, (and there are myriad ways to do this, all of us have different gifts- we are all meant to be artists) and utilize our imagination so that we all have a part in co-creating reality are fundamental and perennial aspects to being Human. As result of this degradation and denial, Conflict has been the force that has governed civilization for thousands of years. Conflicts between nations, conflicts between neighbors, conflicts within our own Selves. Art degraded, imagination denied; war govern'd the nations.
***
Despite the sardonic tone of my earlier comment, it is indeed true that the justification of a Capitalist system is to facilitate innovation and progress. However, self-preservation is most certainly programmed into the Capitalist paradigm; so what happens when a culture of which every aspect has, to some degree, been predicated on the tenets of Capitalism reaches a state of innovation that allows the People of that culture to stand on the brink of rendering the Capitalist paradigm (and all of the other subsequent memes that it offers to us as “reality”) irrelevant? (To quell the argument about how Capitalism is superior because Communism and Socialism have been proven to fail, I would like to say that this argument is a red herring. A criticism of Capitalism is a far cry from a promotion of Communism or Socialism. These systems are also being rendered irrelevant just the same. Also, I am not really criticizing Capitalism. Just its inability to recognize that in order to facilitate “progress,” it might need to step aside.)
And indeed, the Internet has provided a catalyst for this Paradigm Shift. We are on the brink of it now, learning how to live more harmoniously with each other, the planet, and ourselves. Creating art for the sake of art, sharing information for the sake of fostering knowledge, all the while re-claiming these aspects from the Marketplace and handing them back to the people, so that we all have a direct part in co-creating reality instead of merely participating in the pre-constructed, rigid, structured memes that all the aspects of the Marketplace offer us. What is happening with projects such as Wikipedia, Open Source, and Creative Commons is an indication that this shift doesn't have to be held out of reach in the domain of Idealism. It is already happening now, and those concepts can be applied to how we build the new Paradigm.
The institution that governs the behavior of Comcast, along with other companies such as the RIAA and MPAA and all the other companies who claim to have authority on where we get our information and how we conduct our lives, is shifting into self-preservation mode. The only outcome they could possibly be hoping to achieve with this move to cap users' bandwidth usage is to stifle the Paradigm Shift the best they can, hoping that it will flutter out before it can really begin to take hold.
Another more outward argument will of course be that Comcast owns the pipelines over which the bandwidth travels, so it is in their right to put a cap on it if they deem it necessary to stay profitable. Once again, this argument is a red herring. No matter how you look at it, imposing usage caps stifles the way in which the Internet will evolve. Capitalism is not supposed to work against its most fundamental justification: innovation.
I believe the illusion may be beginning to break down. We must do what we can to remain conscious of this development and watch it with great scrutiny. From this state forward, it is more clear than ever that the old, outmoded ways will be and have forever been changed. Currently, they are shifting into an ubiquitous, oppressive form of Though-Control, existing on the illusion that it is still the same system upon which it was predicated. So, we can continue to live within that illusion as it becomes more and more oppressive, or we can begin to shift our thinking and decide who is going to be in control of the evolution of humanity- the Marketplace, governed by war and greed; or true human nature, governed by art, imagination, and co-creation.
***
Mosaic: Spiral Mandala image by Krazydad, courtesy of Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike License.
Sunday, June 29, 2008
Post War Dreams is undergoing Creational Reassessment as I try and sort through all the SPAM that has infected my brain.
In the meantime, enjoy these words of inspiration.
In the meantime, enjoy these words of inspiration.
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Synchronicities....
I just wanted to share with you all a rather interesting (and- to me at least- profound) synchronicity I experienced earlier tonight...
I was walking with Anne's two brothers (the older of whom is visiting here with his wife and two kids from L.A.) through their parent's neighborhood; A fairly typical suburban subdivision, once surrounded by a fair amount of woods, but in the past few years, the woods have given way to about 20-or-so new homes (all of which are much larger than the rest in the neighborhood, which I think went up in the 70s). The neighborhood branches off into a few roads which end in cul-de-sacs. We had been waxing philosophical about human nature and the state-of-things and what-the-heck-is-going-on, our usual fare when we get together...
Anyway, we stopped at the end of one of the cul-de-sacs, one that still had a good number of trees at its end. (At least enough so that if you stand at the edge of the trees and look directly forward, trees take up your entire field of vision and you can almost
make yourself believe that it's still a full, lush, forest.) Anne's older brother said- while looking back and forth between the trees and behind him, back to the road and the suburban homes, how much of a binary the two images were... two very conflicting images, and sometimes it was very hard to tell which one was the right
one. We discussed this topic in a bit more detail, then turned around to make our way back down the street. After just a few steps, before we had even made it out of the cul-de-sac, we stopped in our tracks, stopped talking, and turned around, our attention drawn towards the trees at the sound we all heard.
Somewhere in the grove, a tree had fallen.
Moments like that I feel are very very important. Not necessarily a direct message giving us an exact answer to anything specific, but without doubt a very strong message to remind us to "PAY ATTENTION!"
So.... keep paying attention!
"Gentlemen, when two separate events occur simultaneously pertaining to the
same object of inquiry, we must always pay strict attention." -Special Agent Dale Cooper;
David Lynch's Twin Peaks
I was walking with Anne's two brothers (the older of whom is visiting here with his wife and two kids from L.A.) through their parent's neighborhood; A fairly typical suburban subdivision, once surrounded by a fair amount of woods, but in the past few years, the woods have given way to about 20-or-so new homes (all of which are much larger than the rest in the neighborhood, which I think went up in the 70s). The neighborhood branches off into a few roads which end in cul-de-sacs. We had been waxing philosophical about human nature and the state-of-things and what-the-heck-is-going-on, our usual fare when we get together...
Anyway, we stopped at the end of one of the cul-de-sacs, one that still had a good number of trees at its end. (At least enough so that if you stand at the edge of the trees and look directly forward, trees take up your entire field of vision and you can almost
make yourself believe that it's still a full, lush, forest.) Anne's older brother said- while looking back and forth between the trees and behind him, back to the road and the suburban homes, how much of a binary the two images were... two very conflicting images, and sometimes it was very hard to tell which one was the right
one. We discussed this topic in a bit more detail, then turned around to make our way back down the street. After just a few steps, before we had even made it out of the cul-de-sac, we stopped in our tracks, stopped talking, and turned around, our attention drawn towards the trees at the sound we all heard.
Somewhere in the grove, a tree had fallen.
Moments like that I feel are very very important. Not necessarily a direct message giving us an exact answer to anything specific, but without doubt a very strong message to remind us to "PAY ATTENTION!"
So.... keep paying attention!
"Gentlemen, when two separate events occur simultaneously pertaining to the
same object of inquiry, we must always pay strict attention." -Special Agent Dale Cooper;
David Lynch's Twin Peaks
Thursday, April 24, 2008
For My Friends, As Time Evolves Around Us
"Nothing Lasts...But Nothing Is Lost..."
Anne came across this band a few months ago when we heard them playing in Wolfgang Books, a small bookstore in Phoenixville. They're called "My Morning Jacket." Anne obtained one of their albums and is quite fond of it, however I've only really heard them in passing. Tonight Anne came across this video of them from a performance at the Chameleon Club. Honestly, I found this performance to be quite moving, and recognizing the venue, which has been such an important and poignant place in the history of my own direct experience, it almost felt like I was there.
On many of those occasions, at least one of you were there with me. No matter who at the time was part of my own Fellowship, whose paths through the cosmos intersected with my own; some for a short time, some perhaps for all eternity; The Chameleon, in one way or another, was part of it all.
I understand that recently the Chameleon has undergone renovations. In a way, I do find this somewhat upsetting, but not in the way most people would think. It more has to do with a very important part of my past no longer existing, at least within this dimension- the dimension of direct experience. It feels almost as if a long-time friend has passed on. I truly have moved on in so many ways, my life is nearly unrecognizable to how it was 5 short years ago, and artifacts of my youth are becoming shadows. Wisps through time. Dust in the wind.
Indeed, it makes me sad, but I understand that this too, must come to pass. Ideas must evolve and the heart must grow. Stagnation is but illusion, and if we cling too dearly to experience that has turned to memory, we will not see the beauty and wonder and awe that lies before us. We must embrace the idea that everything is constantly changing into something else. We must recognize that our experience, our self-awareness, is dynamic. Otherwise, all of the pain and razor blades will indeed be nothing more than slow water and dying crabs.
But, on occasion, we are reminded of a certain experience, and the energy that you surrounded yourself with then, and how you used it to survive. Sometimes, you can harness that energy to help you now. This is Good Energy, and it's just what we need, and I'd like to share it with all of you. I hope you enjoy it, or it at least reminds you of a time that gives you some energy.
My Morning Jacket in Lancaster - Lay Low (10/11/05)
Anne came across this band a few months ago when we heard them playing in Wolfgang Books, a small bookstore in Phoenixville. They're called "My Morning Jacket." Anne obtained one of their albums and is quite fond of it, however I've only really heard them in passing. Tonight Anne came across this video of them from a performance at the Chameleon Club. Honestly, I found this performance to be quite moving, and recognizing the venue, which has been such an important and poignant place in the history of my own direct experience, it almost felt like I was there.
On many of those occasions, at least one of you were there with me. No matter who at the time was part of my own Fellowship, whose paths through the cosmos intersected with my own; some for a short time, some perhaps for all eternity; The Chameleon, in one way or another, was part of it all.
I understand that recently the Chameleon has undergone renovations. In a way, I do find this somewhat upsetting, but not in the way most people would think. It more has to do with a very important part of my past no longer existing, at least within this dimension- the dimension of direct experience. It feels almost as if a long-time friend has passed on. I truly have moved on in so many ways, my life is nearly unrecognizable to how it was 5 short years ago, and artifacts of my youth are becoming shadows. Wisps through time. Dust in the wind.
Indeed, it makes me sad, but I understand that this too, must come to pass. Ideas must evolve and the heart must grow. Stagnation is but illusion, and if we cling too dearly to experience that has turned to memory, we will not see the beauty and wonder and awe that lies before us. We must embrace the idea that everything is constantly changing into something else. We must recognize that our experience, our self-awareness, is dynamic. Otherwise, all of the pain and razor blades will indeed be nothing more than slow water and dying crabs.
But, on occasion, we are reminded of a certain experience, and the energy that you surrounded yourself with then, and how you used it to survive. Sometimes, you can harness that energy to help you now. This is Good Energy, and it's just what we need, and I'd like to share it with all of you. I hope you enjoy it, or it at least reminds you of a time that gives you some energy.
My Morning Jacket in Lancaster - Lay Low (10/11/05)
Thursday, March 27, 2008
The One Un-American Act
This is an excerpt from a talk given by William 0. Douglas, Justice to the Supreme Court, to the Authors Guild Council in 1951. Though the enemy of the day was Communism, it doesn't take much effort to extrapolate the message to the situations we face today.
"The pre-eminent problem of this age is the invention of new institutions, new political methods for aligning the people of the world in a true crusade for freedom. The ingenuity will be lacking if fear of Communism shrinks the world of ideas to one school of thought, to one point of view. Restriction of free thought and free speech is the most dangerous of all subversions. It is the one un-American act that could most easily defeat us."
"The pre-eminent problem of this age is the invention of new institutions, new political methods for aligning the people of the world in a true crusade for freedom. The ingenuity will be lacking if fear of Communism shrinks the world of ideas to one school of thought, to one point of view. Restriction of free thought and free speech is the most dangerous of all subversions. It is the one un-American act that could most easily defeat us."
Click Here to read the full talk
Friday, March 21, 2008
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
The State of the Stone
In this talk, given in 1995, Terence McKenna said:
"History is the enunciation of the nearby presence of a transformational event."
***Correction:*** I believe what Terence actually said is "History is the annunciation......" not enunciation. The statement seems to make more sense this way.
The thoughts that emerged in my mind are:
Human History; which when compared to galactic and cosmic time is a mere beating of a hummingbird's wing; can be seen as the most complex of all the processes that have emerged within the Universe. It is an indication that the eschaton, the singularity, is but a stone's throw away. The "transformative event" is the Galactic Butterfly. We are the thespians of a grand production called "Self-Awareness." As citizens of this cycle-ending, it us up to us whether this bold, new medium is carried to the next level, or swept under the rug of failed evolutionary processes.
Who needs caffeine when you have McKenna and Mayan Time Philosophy?
"History is the enunciation of the nearby presence of a transformational event."
***Correction:*** I believe what Terence actually said is "History is the annunciation......" not enunciation. The statement seems to make more sense this way.
The thoughts that emerged in my mind are:
Human History; which when compared to galactic and cosmic time is a mere beating of a hummingbird's wing; can be seen as the most complex of all the processes that have emerged within the Universe. It is an indication that the eschaton, the singularity, is but a stone's throw away. The "transformative event" is the Galactic Butterfly. We are the thespians of a grand production called "Self-Awareness." As citizens of this cycle-ending, it us up to us whether this bold, new medium is carried to the next level, or swept under the rug of failed evolutionary processes.
Who needs caffeine when you have McKenna and Mayan Time Philosophy?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
