It's what I know, yet not always where I stand;
Tis how I've been raised,
through this I have learned, becoming who I am.
Now they throw it away,
casting down the very hope
that it could be, that it is;
I want not to heed as they say.
In sooth I've not been one to follow
strictly the rules fortold;
I question, I beckon, &
this image doth my spirit wallow.
Held in so close, I hesitate so
to release my illusion
- if it be that -
I shant yet let it go.
And I will fight as I yearn further for truth
- I will keep going
til reality is found -
even if it be uncouth
Monday, February 26, 2007
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Crippled Dialectics
Two books which I read last summer that really pissed me off were GK Chesterton's Orthodoxy and C.S. Lewis' The Pilgrim's Regress. I have not been able to put my finger on exactly what it is about them which made me throw them across the room and spit their taste from my mouth, until now.
To begin with, both books are concerned with development. They discuss the idea of the development of the soul, the former philosophically, the latter allegorically. A few weeks ago I wrote a post called "fuck being a dirty word that comes out clean". It was concerned with some of my thoughts on dialectical development. I have not been able to put together my frustration with the aforementioned books with my thoughts on dialectics. I have now.
The conclusions of both books is that no matter what you learn, no matter what "new" thoughts you may have, you will always end up at the same place, ie submission to God and Orthodoxy. Chesterton's metaphor is of a man who goes sailing from the caost of Wales, gets lost in a storm and land back at Wales thinking that he has discovered a new land, only to find out that it is only Wales. Lewis follows the growth of a young man named John who seeks a far-off and mysterious island, but finds that it is only the grim mountains of God which he had fled. Both stories conclude that human life is cyclical. There is however; an important difference between the Christian notion of seeking the end and finding the beginning and a true dialectical development.
The problem with both Chesterton and Lewis (or perhaps popular understanding of them) is that the motion of their cycle is flat, it doesn't rise up on the y axis, let alone find z and the rest of the alphabet. Their conclusions are essentially saying "oh it is ok to go off and explore the rest of reality, but make sure you are back in your pew on Sunday". It is as if perpetual submission, shameful return from an upstartish journey and constantly being refaced with ones sinfulness is the limit of their dialectic.
A friend once told me that "there is no going back to your pew, only figuring out where to go from where you have travelled so far." The Welsh sailor does not return to the shores of Wales, he finds himself instead floating above the surface of the ground. Then, everytime he goes out to sea, he is highter and higher, until he is so high up that he can see the other side of Britain, then Europe, then the whole Earth, then the galaxy, then the Universe. How then can dialectical development ever bring one back to the same spot, kneeling before the same cross. If our perspective of reality has not shifted at all through a spiral of learning then we have not learned anything at all. To not progress above where you were is to be truly in a state of arrested development. Thank you Sigmund Freud!
I wonder where I am...
To begin with, both books are concerned with development. They discuss the idea of the development of the soul, the former philosophically, the latter allegorically. A few weeks ago I wrote a post called "fuck being a dirty word that comes out clean". It was concerned with some of my thoughts on dialectical development. I have not been able to put together my frustration with the aforementioned books with my thoughts on dialectics. I have now.
The conclusions of both books is that no matter what you learn, no matter what "new" thoughts you may have, you will always end up at the same place, ie submission to God and Orthodoxy. Chesterton's metaphor is of a man who goes sailing from the caost of Wales, gets lost in a storm and land back at Wales thinking that he has discovered a new land, only to find out that it is only Wales. Lewis follows the growth of a young man named John who seeks a far-off and mysterious island, but finds that it is only the grim mountains of God which he had fled. Both stories conclude that human life is cyclical. There is however; an important difference between the Christian notion of seeking the end and finding the beginning and a true dialectical development.
The problem with both Chesterton and Lewis (or perhaps popular understanding of them) is that the motion of their cycle is flat, it doesn't rise up on the y axis, let alone find z and the rest of the alphabet. Their conclusions are essentially saying "oh it is ok to go off and explore the rest of reality, but make sure you are back in your pew on Sunday". It is as if perpetual submission, shameful return from an upstartish journey and constantly being refaced with ones sinfulness is the limit of their dialectic.
A friend once told me that "there is no going back to your pew, only figuring out where to go from where you have travelled so far." The Welsh sailor does not return to the shores of Wales, he finds himself instead floating above the surface of the ground. Then, everytime he goes out to sea, he is highter and higher, until he is so high up that he can see the other side of Britain, then Europe, then the whole Earth, then the galaxy, then the Universe. How then can dialectical development ever bring one back to the same spot, kneeling before the same cross. If our perspective of reality has not shifted at all through a spiral of learning then we have not learned anything at all. To not progress above where you were is to be truly in a state of arrested development. Thank you Sigmund Freud!
I wonder where I am...
Friday, February 23, 2007
Road to Nowhere
So I've been doing some travelling, not far, but I've been on the move nonetheless. The theme of wandering and traveling in literature and poetry of the 20th century is a common one. I feel a connection with that tradition and want to add my own thoughts on it.
It seems to me that we pass through this life like a ghost. Fleeting whisps of smoke or cloud, tearing down the freeway, billowing throught the highest limbs of a tree on top of a mountain, rolling along a forest path, filling a small cabin with its dense smell. Smoke and cloud have no particular direction, they just move, blown by the wind. I've read a lot of travelling accounts and it has always frustrated me how the writer is able to capture the raw viseral experience of life. To describe a slice of pie, a sunny hill or a pint of beer as the most spectacular experience possible. I crave the potent experience of life that good novelists are able to capture. No matter where I ramble, or how long I keep moving I cannot find the potent reality of a novel.
Why is the "imaginary" reality of a novel so much more real for me? Why do I feel as if this life is a hangover? Why can't I ever feel truly connected with the physical reality around me? Why do I drift about like a ghost? Perhaps...
Have you ever noticed how the myst parts as a person walks through it? Have you also noticed how a ghost appears to "pass through" a wall or other object? These two questions are related to one another. If we assume that the myst possesses less substance than a human because we perceive our bodies passing through it, why do we not carry this logic to a ghost walking through a wall? Would a ghost, being unaffected by the physical world, not be more real than the physical world?
If I am a ghost, am I not then more real than the world around me? Is this world not a reality of myst? Have I only to realize this truth to be entirely free from its limited grasp? Hangovers are truly a gift. For when we drink we die to our physical world and drift into the land of our dreams. When we wake up, we do not wake up into the reality we were in before we were drunk. We feel as if we are foreigners in "our own bodies". When you sit in the state of being hungover you experience the physical world for the illusion that it is. Even more so, when you wander around in that state you feel even more like a ghost, but it makes more sense. You understand the fact that you are just a ghost. You feel free as you drift like a passing shadow rambling down a road to nowhere- a road to everywhere...
It seems to me that we pass through this life like a ghost. Fleeting whisps of smoke or cloud, tearing down the freeway, billowing throught the highest limbs of a tree on top of a mountain, rolling along a forest path, filling a small cabin with its dense smell. Smoke and cloud have no particular direction, they just move, blown by the wind. I've read a lot of travelling accounts and it has always frustrated me how the writer is able to capture the raw viseral experience of life. To describe a slice of pie, a sunny hill or a pint of beer as the most spectacular experience possible. I crave the potent experience of life that good novelists are able to capture. No matter where I ramble, or how long I keep moving I cannot find the potent reality of a novel.
Why is the "imaginary" reality of a novel so much more real for me? Why do I feel as if this life is a hangover? Why can't I ever feel truly connected with the physical reality around me? Why do I drift about like a ghost? Perhaps...
Have you ever noticed how the myst parts as a person walks through it? Have you also noticed how a ghost appears to "pass through" a wall or other object? These two questions are related to one another. If we assume that the myst possesses less substance than a human because we perceive our bodies passing through it, why do we not carry this logic to a ghost walking through a wall? Would a ghost, being unaffected by the physical world, not be more real than the physical world?
If I am a ghost, am I not then more real than the world around me? Is this world not a reality of myst? Have I only to realize this truth to be entirely free from its limited grasp? Hangovers are truly a gift. For when we drink we die to our physical world and drift into the land of our dreams. When we wake up, we do not wake up into the reality we were in before we were drunk. We feel as if we are foreigners in "our own bodies". When you sit in the state of being hungover you experience the physical world for the illusion that it is. Even more so, when you wander around in that state you feel even more like a ghost, but it makes more sense. You understand the fact that you are just a ghost. You feel free as you drift like a passing shadow rambling down a road to nowhere- a road to everywhere...
Friday, February 16, 2007
Whispers of Concrete and Glass
Turkeyshoot has adopted a new template, color, and subtext.
We feel the changes to color and template were a much needed update from the earthy tones of the previous, though the subtext shift may beg deeper examination.
Urban v. Urbane seems to me, the true heart of what we are hoping to accomplish here.
Both words deriving from the same source, the more modern split in usage is one of manner, style and expression versus the concrete, steel and glass of hollow monetary interests.
That of urban blight, corporate abuse, and yuppie materialism.
We hope to espouse true sophistication in worldview- that is, the fundamental desire to grow, learn, comprehend, and think, free of oppressive big-city dictums.
A sincere desire to explore, appreciate and express the full magesty, mystery and wonder of this earth, and all that is upon, above, and within.
We feel the changes to color and template were a much needed update from the earthy tones of the previous, though the subtext shift may beg deeper examination.
Urban v. Urbane seems to me, the true heart of what we are hoping to accomplish here.
Both words deriving from the same source, the more modern split in usage is one of manner, style and expression versus the concrete, steel and glass of hollow monetary interests.
That of urban blight, corporate abuse, and yuppie materialism.
We hope to espouse true sophistication in worldview- that is, the fundamental desire to grow, learn, comprehend, and think, free of oppressive big-city dictums.
A sincere desire to explore, appreciate and express the full magesty, mystery and wonder of this earth, and all that is upon, above, and within.
A Man Called Horse
Just a quick, sharp, rush of air is all it is. A quick, sharp, rush of air. A breeze of exhaust from the vent port. Just a blunt churl of air."But is smells, funny" said the first with the air of a git.
"But it smells, funny" repeated the second with a dull incantation, "that's just what it smells like."
"It smells like that?"
"It smells like that."
"Whys it yellow?"
"Whys it yellow," repeated again the second, "It's just yellow."
Such is the rambling of the decrepit, the eavesdropper thought, sticking his head out the window,
"That's just what the air here smells like for gods sakes!"
Their voices quickly faded to a murmur of pseudo-Charlie Brown "WA-wa's" as he slid the window down.
I'm not naturally angry, he thought, just under alot of stress, alot of stress, alot of stress.
There was a paper on the table, opened conveniently to the sports section, and the radio still whispered soft ocean noises. His hand print was still on the window, fading away when he stepped out of the elevator.
Work was never far. Only three blocks in the ugly Federal Building. Third story up. A promenade of short trees, laden with lights, bristling with that alternating red and blue holiday cheer, lined the road to work. A life of endless Thursdays. Another civil war of introspective struggle. The 7, 8, 9 clocks on the wall, endlessly, tirelessly mocking the entire office staff. Everyday they placated themselves with the concept of going home, going home, going home, until they realize there's always tomorrow, drink a few more sips of their cappuccino, smoke a cigarette in three drags and wail on their children.
But there's always another fucker at the office party. Last month it was advertising. Its always advertising. The boss doesn't like working with women hes fucked more than once. That's why he's still in business. The wife stays in her half.
On his way up, he stopped off at the cappuccino machine. Still thinking about those long, long legs on the porno he rented the other day. He'd only watched the first eight minutes. Came before she took her shirt off. And this, he thought, was his liberation.
Thursday, February 15, 2007
A Brief Defence of Anarchism
I must begin this post by making it quite clear that I have never, do not and never will defend the policies and actions of the National Socialist (Nazi) party of Germany of the mid-20th century. This clarification must be quite perterbing to my readers. What could he possibly be writing that could possibly linked to lending support to the infamous Adolf Hitler? Quite to the contrary I shall be writing in defence of Anarchism. This may insight many people to the same degree of trepidation as a defence of German fascism. Aren't Anarchists those people who throw pipe bombs into baby carriages and eat the flesh of invalids? Such have been the numerous false accusations of Anarchists throughout history. These accusations are for the most part false. I do admit that, as I call them, maligned Anarchists have been responcible for some attrocious acts of murder. I call any Anarchist who cannot get beyond the logical step of nihilistic destruction a maligned anarchist. I deliberately do not call them "bad" or "dark" anarchists because their actions are in many ways reasonable. However; I am not here today defending such actions. I would like to begin with a description of governmental force and violence.
To explain my previous comments on German fascism I would like to examine the Nazi Swaztika. Why is it that people get so terribly offended when they see someone wearing a Nazi Swaztika? Is it because of the 6 million Jewish and 6 million other(Poles, Slavs and Romas as well as political, sexual and mental "abnormals") death camp victims? It most certainly and fittingly is! We should abhorr it for that because the end of a strong government is always murderous totalitarianism. My objection is to the unthoughtful and anachronistic (unhistorical) criticism of the Swaztika based on the isolated incident of the Holocaust. The first irony I noticed in denouncing the emblem of the Swaztika was the numerous siccal and hammer shirts I see people wear. I don't care if you are a communist, I disagree with you, but I accept it as a political and economic system. I resent the use of Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin's emblem which represents the grim deaths of 600 million Russians in Gulags. You may think that people disappearing into the dark night to die in the snow is trendy, but it makes me sick.
Now, before I am accused of being an anti-communist Capitalist Swine, I must tell of the progression of my thought. The victims of capitalist "liberal democracies" such as the US, Britain, Canada, France and Beligium(yes even Belgium, just go to the Congo) are also many and varied. One need not look to Vietnam or Africa to see massacres. The native populations of the Americas and even the very citizens of these countries have all been subjected to starvation and murder at the hands of their respective governments. If even the Canadian mapleleaf stands for genocide and injustice, why do we not feel the same indignance when it is raised on the flag pole? Why do we not remember the slaughter of the Philipinnes and Guam when we hear the star spangled banner? Why do we not see the dead faces of the Vietnamese at the sound of the Marseilles? Why not the armless children of the Congo when Belgium is mentioned? This is enough of the empirical evidence, however vague and scant it may be.
Now for a rational explanation of my argument. Since all government is based on the deferral of authority from the individual to a ruling body, there is no capacity for any system of government to operate without destroying freedom. Even if the government gives freedom to the individual it is still freedom that has been given, like a leash to a dog. There can be no freedom under any form of government. It is when people are especially conned into the idea that they need a sovereign to protect them from "anarchy and chaos" that they are suseptable to radically obsene governments such as Hitler's Germany.
Perhaps then it is only fitting that people should feel especially revolted at the sight of the Nazi Swaztika. Perhaps it subconsciously reminds people that they too give their government, their falsely imagined authority, the power to do what they fear the most. It is often said of Anarchism that it advocated a system in which people would be free to kill and steal at will. This could not be further from the truth. If people were perfectly free, the violence of those few deranged and psychopathic individuals could never compare with the total sum of violence perpetrated by the governments of the world. For, in the case of a psychopath, he/she must act alone, whereas Hitler, by legally aquiring politcal authority was able to wield the full strength of the entire nation of Germany. (and...to make everyone happy, George Bush can invade Iraq even though many Americans oppose the war, I am not even going to get into the issue of "forcing people to be free.) We give out governments the power to destroy! We are all guilty! By our capitulation we become a part of the sovereign which crushes the individual!
Anarchism is not about destruction, although frustrated and maligned anarchists have been driven to acts of violence. Anarchism is about allowing the future to unfold freely. To allow for open dialogue between people so as to peacefully order our political organisations. We must not fetter the future with our traditions and institutions! Marx's dialectic moves on ad infinitum, it does not end in a glorious communist revolution, although that could be a step! You are the only thing holding you back from achieving anarchism! I am the only thing stopping myself! We must get over this notion that we need a sovereign to dictate our actions! People, seek freedom, you have nothing to lose but yourself, and thereby find yourself...
To explain my previous comments on German fascism I would like to examine the Nazi Swaztika. Why is it that people get so terribly offended when they see someone wearing a Nazi Swaztika? Is it because of the 6 million Jewish and 6 million other(Poles, Slavs and Romas as well as political, sexual and mental "abnormals") death camp victims? It most certainly and fittingly is! We should abhorr it for that because the end of a strong government is always murderous totalitarianism. My objection is to the unthoughtful and anachronistic (unhistorical) criticism of the Swaztika based on the isolated incident of the Holocaust. The first irony I noticed in denouncing the emblem of the Swaztika was the numerous siccal and hammer shirts I see people wear. I don't care if you are a communist, I disagree with you, but I accept it as a political and economic system. I resent the use of Vladimir Lenin and Joseph Stalin's emblem which represents the grim deaths of 600 million Russians in Gulags. You may think that people disappearing into the dark night to die in the snow is trendy, but it makes me sick.
Now, before I am accused of being an anti-communist Capitalist Swine, I must tell of the progression of my thought. The victims of capitalist "liberal democracies" such as the US, Britain, Canada, France and Beligium(yes even Belgium, just go to the Congo) are also many and varied. One need not look to Vietnam or Africa to see massacres. The native populations of the Americas and even the very citizens of these countries have all been subjected to starvation and murder at the hands of their respective governments. If even the Canadian mapleleaf stands for genocide and injustice, why do we not feel the same indignance when it is raised on the flag pole? Why do we not remember the slaughter of the Philipinnes and Guam when we hear the star spangled banner? Why do we not see the dead faces of the Vietnamese at the sound of the Marseilles? Why not the armless children of the Congo when Belgium is mentioned? This is enough of the empirical evidence, however vague and scant it may be.
Now for a rational explanation of my argument. Since all government is based on the deferral of authority from the individual to a ruling body, there is no capacity for any system of government to operate without destroying freedom. Even if the government gives freedom to the individual it is still freedom that has been given, like a leash to a dog. There can be no freedom under any form of government. It is when people are especially conned into the idea that they need a sovereign to protect them from "anarchy and chaos" that they are suseptable to radically obsene governments such as Hitler's Germany.
Perhaps then it is only fitting that people should feel especially revolted at the sight of the Nazi Swaztika. Perhaps it subconsciously reminds people that they too give their government, their falsely imagined authority, the power to do what they fear the most. It is often said of Anarchism that it advocated a system in which people would be free to kill and steal at will. This could not be further from the truth. If people were perfectly free, the violence of those few deranged and psychopathic individuals could never compare with the total sum of violence perpetrated by the governments of the world. For, in the case of a psychopath, he/she must act alone, whereas Hitler, by legally aquiring politcal authority was able to wield the full strength of the entire nation of Germany. (and...to make everyone happy, George Bush can invade Iraq even though many Americans oppose the war, I am not even going to get into the issue of "forcing people to be free.) We give out governments the power to destroy! We are all guilty! By our capitulation we become a part of the sovereign which crushes the individual!
Anarchism is not about destruction, although frustrated and maligned anarchists have been driven to acts of violence. Anarchism is about allowing the future to unfold freely. To allow for open dialogue between people so as to peacefully order our political organisations. We must not fetter the future with our traditions and institutions! Marx's dialectic moves on ad infinitum, it does not end in a glorious communist revolution, although that could be a step! You are the only thing holding you back from achieving anarchism! I am the only thing stopping myself! We must get over this notion that we need a sovereign to dictate our actions! People, seek freedom, you have nothing to lose but yourself, and thereby find yourself...
Monday, February 12, 2007
"...fuck being a dirty word that comes out clean" -Jack Kerouac
I'm wired and tired, so I'll write tonight. This post has very little to do with the title, although old Jack's work definitely influences some of these thoughts, but I maintain that I am not a Zen Buddhist.
I mentioned the notion of cyclical development and the two opposite ways it could be understood. I will ellucidate some of my thoughts on this topic.
Do you ever feel as if your life has been spent learning the same lesson over and over? Do you feel as if in every aspect of your life you consistantly make the same mistake? Perhaps this leaves you with feelings of futility or wretchedness? Deep down beyond the self-inflated humanistic veneer, do you feel like a worthless piece of human excriment. To quote Palaniuk "you are not a unique butterfly, you are a steaming refuse heap"...or something to that regard. This is certainly how I feel. It is very easy to fall into a mindset of furious desperation from this seemingly futile cycle, but I would ask you, to revalue this as well.
Think not that the cycle is on a flat surface, do not confine yourself to the ground. Rather, see that the cycle rises above the ground as it cycles around. Everytime you feel as if you are regressing in life, or failing, you are still on an upward spiral of self-actualization...I am not getting into that, I barely understand it.
What implications does this have for life? Are not self-destruction, loss, futility, darkness and confusion then the necessary negative aspects of positive advancement? As the Jewish poem goes...
"Why, oh why did the soul plunge
From the upmost heights
To the lowest depths?
The seed of redemption
Is contained within the fall."
The seed must fall from the farmer's hand to die within the earth. Once it dies, a plant is resurrected from the ground.
Destruction begets creation.
Death brings life.
Depression summons happiness.
Darkness calls light.
We must grasp the nothing, understand our negation to truly find who and what we are. Teenage depression should not lead to suicide, bitterness, non-conformity and then chastized and unsatisfied conformity at the 20 something age. It should bring about self-awareness, understanding, a self that is not satisfied to sit in a cubicle. It is when we treat depression like a disease to be medicated or talked away we must realise that it is a necessary part of our upward cycle to understanding. Then and only then can we free ourselves from the insane world in which we live. We simply must not remain on the first level of the cycle, we must allow ourselves to be elevated to other levels of being. We must spend our time struggling with our own consciousness, grappling with ourselves in intense thought thinking thought. Do not forget the aspirations of your youth, dream on, as it were, musicians and poets say this all the time. Do not confine yourself to mere physical survival. We cannot fail at being unless we refuse to move, refuse to deal with the negative and sit contentedly throughout our physical lives on our spiritual and mental asses. I digress...
The question yet remains, can we spiral down the cycle, is a reversal of being possible? Can we unbecome, or lose our development? But then again maybe there is no difference between up and down, maybe the beginning is the end, and whichever way you go, the cycle will lead you on and on, up and up to a pinnacle that cannot be defined and which never stops moving. Eternity...imagine a static plane, that is stagnation, refusal to develop. Now picture two spirals leading in opposite directions from that plane, one up the other down. (I believe a friend gave me this image a year ago and it only now makes sense) See those spirals coil around and meet in a circle. Now see each spiral as a coil of infinite other spirals, and those spirals are each composed of infinite spirals ad infinitum. The beginning is the end and it is endless. This is the entirety of existence, this is all that IS, this is eternity, inifinity, Yahweh, of which we are a part?
This is all getting rather out of hand and I am sure that I am contradicting myself, but really I am not trying to prove anything, just trying to fathom the unfathomable...
I mentioned the notion of cyclical development and the two opposite ways it could be understood. I will ellucidate some of my thoughts on this topic.
Do you ever feel as if your life has been spent learning the same lesson over and over? Do you feel as if in every aspect of your life you consistantly make the same mistake? Perhaps this leaves you with feelings of futility or wretchedness? Deep down beyond the self-inflated humanistic veneer, do you feel like a worthless piece of human excriment. To quote Palaniuk "you are not a unique butterfly, you are a steaming refuse heap"...or something to that regard. This is certainly how I feel. It is very easy to fall into a mindset of furious desperation from this seemingly futile cycle, but I would ask you, to revalue this as well.
Think not that the cycle is on a flat surface, do not confine yourself to the ground. Rather, see that the cycle rises above the ground as it cycles around. Everytime you feel as if you are regressing in life, or failing, you are still on an upward spiral of self-actualization...I am not getting into that, I barely understand it.
What implications does this have for life? Are not self-destruction, loss, futility, darkness and confusion then the necessary negative aspects of positive advancement? As the Jewish poem goes...
"Why, oh why did the soul plunge
From the upmost heights
To the lowest depths?
The seed of redemption
Is contained within the fall."
The seed must fall from the farmer's hand to die within the earth. Once it dies, a plant is resurrected from the ground.
Destruction begets creation.
Death brings life.
Depression summons happiness.
Darkness calls light.
We must grasp the nothing, understand our negation to truly find who and what we are. Teenage depression should not lead to suicide, bitterness, non-conformity and then chastized and unsatisfied conformity at the 20 something age. It should bring about self-awareness, understanding, a self that is not satisfied to sit in a cubicle. It is when we treat depression like a disease to be medicated or talked away we must realise that it is a necessary part of our upward cycle to understanding. Then and only then can we free ourselves from the insane world in which we live. We simply must not remain on the first level of the cycle, we must allow ourselves to be elevated to other levels of being. We must spend our time struggling with our own consciousness, grappling with ourselves in intense thought thinking thought. Do not forget the aspirations of your youth, dream on, as it were, musicians and poets say this all the time. Do not confine yourself to mere physical survival. We cannot fail at being unless we refuse to move, refuse to deal with the negative and sit contentedly throughout our physical lives on our spiritual and mental asses. I digress...
The question yet remains, can we spiral down the cycle, is a reversal of being possible? Can we unbecome, or lose our development? But then again maybe there is no difference between up and down, maybe the beginning is the end, and whichever way you go, the cycle will lead you on and on, up and up to a pinnacle that cannot be defined and which never stops moving. Eternity...imagine a static plane, that is stagnation, refusal to develop. Now picture two spirals leading in opposite directions from that plane, one up the other down. (I believe a friend gave me this image a year ago and it only now makes sense) See those spirals coil around and meet in a circle. Now see each spiral as a coil of infinite other spirals, and those spirals are each composed of infinite spirals ad infinitum. The beginning is the end and it is endless. This is the entirety of existence, this is all that IS, this is eternity, inifinity, Yahweh, of which we are a part?
This is all getting rather out of hand and I am sure that I am contradicting myself, but really I am not trying to prove anything, just trying to fathom the unfathomable...
Sunday, February 11, 2007
Nature as Metaphor for Spirit
A week ago a friend of mine proposed the idea that our physical appearance is an enactment of our spiritual natures. Our physicality is a sort of metaphor or representation of our real spiritual selves. At the time I could not develop my idea of what that would mean for me. I have since done some more thinking and talking about it and have begun to form a possible connection between my appearance and my spiritual nature.
To be blunt, I am gaunt...and pale almost anemic, with reddish hair and perminantly chewed fingernails. I have the appearance of a person who has been locked in a coffin for 3 days and has given up scratching the box and is now proceeding to survive by chewing his own leathern belt. I have tense and toned, albeit minimal, muscles. I appear therefore to be weak, but I am rather more wirey and dexterous. I guess you could say that I look quite a bit like Gollum. I have the wired and jittery movements of a chain-smoking, coffee drinking insomniotic air-traffic controller. My eiree eyes have large black bags under them from lack of sleep. My indented cheeks are further ecsentuated by my satyr-like red goatie. Value Village clothing with excentric hats, canes and a pocket watch add to the "slightly off" image. My slightly crooked and elongated nose add to the Jewish comedian look. Hair usually trailing up into some sort of unorderly peak. I am incredibly gangly and flexible, my fingers are stubby yet remain spidery. I look like a character from a Charles Dicken's novel or a Lewis Carroll hallucination. This is a partial description of my physical appearance. What could these features possibly mean for my spiritual nature?
My most influential feature which affects most of my appearance is anxiety. I am a restless spirit. I am not satisfied with anything. I am constantly in motion, trying to stay ahead of the wave of existence which is pushing me forward and trying to suck me back. I am wasted by life; tired out by the constant movement. I am like a marathon runner who cannot stop running for fear of being overtaken. I am a wandering spirit...but I am driven. I would rather outrun a problem than face it, I view escape as a victory just as overpowering an adversary is usually thought of as victory. I am skin and bones yet still as hard as a rock from incredible tension. My compact and tired physical body is therein explained by my inability to be still.
Sometimes this anxiety comes out in a more furious desperation or manic movement. My wild eyes, chewed finger nails and kramer-like hair are indicative of this. My restlessness taken to its tiring and fathomless insanity leaves by body wild looking. I am also a freak. My spirit is just not normal! I have glimpsed more fully in recent days that I am truly and utterly socially insane. This explains the way I dress and also my comedic hair and "tv ugly" nose. Red hair is also usually a symbol of deviance. My eyes which have been described as "always laughing" are very deceptive, they are just seething green pools full of angry leeches. I'm not a people person, I am not an extrovert, I am a comedian because I am mortally terrified of being laughed at by other people. I try to assert myself as an outgoing comedian because I am terrified of allowing other people to see who I really am...a man trapped in a coffin, desperately clawing at the lid whilst I sup on my leather belt. G'ah! I would be a preppy if I wasn't so damn insane.
Sometimes the tension and restless wandering is too much for my spirit to endure so I get into depressive slumps, which is probably why I don't change much physically. I haven't really grown much since grade 11. Despite my constant movement I am in a state of static frustration. My body therefore remains 5'10" 130 lbs. (This seemingly fruitless cycle of futility can actually be seen in a more positive light, but that is another topic).
I pride myself on my flexibility, or "limberness". I like to think that my spirit is open to any direction that it may wander, just as my body stretches easily. Oddly enough both my spiritual and physical flexibility come from the imposition of external repressive forces. Interesting.
I really have no more to say on this. I am quite contented reading Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. I shall have to soon write a post defending the position that I am Not a Zen Buddhist, although the evidence would say otherwise...
To be blunt, I am gaunt...and pale almost anemic, with reddish hair and perminantly chewed fingernails. I have the appearance of a person who has been locked in a coffin for 3 days and has given up scratching the box and is now proceeding to survive by chewing his own leathern belt. I have tense and toned, albeit minimal, muscles. I appear therefore to be weak, but I am rather more wirey and dexterous. I guess you could say that I look quite a bit like Gollum. I have the wired and jittery movements of a chain-smoking, coffee drinking insomniotic air-traffic controller. My eiree eyes have large black bags under them from lack of sleep. My indented cheeks are further ecsentuated by my satyr-like red goatie. Value Village clothing with excentric hats, canes and a pocket watch add to the "slightly off" image. My slightly crooked and elongated nose add to the Jewish comedian look. Hair usually trailing up into some sort of unorderly peak. I am incredibly gangly and flexible, my fingers are stubby yet remain spidery. I look like a character from a Charles Dicken's novel or a Lewis Carroll hallucination. This is a partial description of my physical appearance. What could these features possibly mean for my spiritual nature?
My most influential feature which affects most of my appearance is anxiety. I am a restless spirit. I am not satisfied with anything. I am constantly in motion, trying to stay ahead of the wave of existence which is pushing me forward and trying to suck me back. I am wasted by life; tired out by the constant movement. I am like a marathon runner who cannot stop running for fear of being overtaken. I am a wandering spirit...but I am driven. I would rather outrun a problem than face it, I view escape as a victory just as overpowering an adversary is usually thought of as victory. I am skin and bones yet still as hard as a rock from incredible tension. My compact and tired physical body is therein explained by my inability to be still.
Sometimes this anxiety comes out in a more furious desperation or manic movement. My wild eyes, chewed finger nails and kramer-like hair are indicative of this. My restlessness taken to its tiring and fathomless insanity leaves by body wild looking. I am also a freak. My spirit is just not normal! I have glimpsed more fully in recent days that I am truly and utterly socially insane. This explains the way I dress and also my comedic hair and "tv ugly" nose. Red hair is also usually a symbol of deviance. My eyes which have been described as "always laughing" are very deceptive, they are just seething green pools full of angry leeches. I'm not a people person, I am not an extrovert, I am a comedian because I am mortally terrified of being laughed at by other people. I try to assert myself as an outgoing comedian because I am terrified of allowing other people to see who I really am...a man trapped in a coffin, desperately clawing at the lid whilst I sup on my leather belt. G'ah! I would be a preppy if I wasn't so damn insane.
Sometimes the tension and restless wandering is too much for my spirit to endure so I get into depressive slumps, which is probably why I don't change much physically. I haven't really grown much since grade 11. Despite my constant movement I am in a state of static frustration. My body therefore remains 5'10" 130 lbs. (This seemingly fruitless cycle of futility can actually be seen in a more positive light, but that is another topic).
I pride myself on my flexibility, or "limberness". I like to think that my spirit is open to any direction that it may wander, just as my body stretches easily. Oddly enough both my spiritual and physical flexibility come from the imposition of external repressive forces. Interesting.
I really have no more to say on this. I am quite contented reading Dharma Bums by Jack Kerouac. I shall have to soon write a post defending the position that I am Not a Zen Buddhist, although the evidence would say otherwise...
Thursday, February 08, 2007
an Example of my Logic
The "other" can only be defined in the negative, it is, that which it is not. The "other" is not the self, or subject. B does not exist outside of the equation (A is not = to B), but neither does A exist independent of the equation. We see then that nothing arises independently, A and B are codependent and gain their being, or existence only in contrast, contradiction, dialogue, or relationship with one another. Other than that, they are nothing, yet let us look at this more closely.
What is nothing? It is the absence of substance. Since nothingness is only negatively defined then nothing and everything are necessarily linked in the same codependent relationship which we found A and B to be in. Oblivion and Eternity are therefore the same thing, in that they are binary "others". Let us think now what this means for theology and religion.
Instead of attempting to prove the existence of God, why not prove or even accept that God does not exist. If opposites are linked so essentially then one can begin to see how God existing and God not existing means precisely the same thing. What then is the lesson learned from Nihilism? Why, God does exist of course, but only because God does not and cannot exist. By destroying God the Nihilist creates a more powerful God than could ever be imagined! A God that has become nothing and therefore becomes everything! A God that cannot be ignored!
I am not going to get dogmatic now...for this God is much too Godly to confine. This God cannot be limited to an ethical law, a "relationship" or even to philosophical speculation. This God truly is God, unlimited, unconfined and eternal. Sure I don't have the assurance that I can "talk with my bestest pal Jesus", or be assured that I have lived or believed properly so that I can "go to heaven", but I have the understanding, the peace, the stillness to simply BE. I can become free by dieing myself, "crucifying" my mind if you will, doing what Christ did, doing what he saw the "father" do. God Is, and that is all I need to know, which ironically yet perfectly is nothing at all...
What is nothing? It is the absence of substance. Since nothingness is only negatively defined then nothing and everything are necessarily linked in the same codependent relationship which we found A and B to be in. Oblivion and Eternity are therefore the same thing, in that they are binary "others". Let us think now what this means for theology and religion.
Instead of attempting to prove the existence of God, why not prove or even accept that God does not exist. If opposites are linked so essentially then one can begin to see how God existing and God not existing means precisely the same thing. What then is the lesson learned from Nihilism? Why, God does exist of course, but only because God does not and cannot exist. By destroying God the Nihilist creates a more powerful God than could ever be imagined! A God that has become nothing and therefore becomes everything! A God that cannot be ignored!
I am not going to get dogmatic now...for this God is much too Godly to confine. This God cannot be limited to an ethical law, a "relationship" or even to philosophical speculation. This God truly is God, unlimited, unconfined and eternal. Sure I don't have the assurance that I can "talk with my bestest pal Jesus", or be assured that I have lived or believed properly so that I can "go to heaven", but I have the understanding, the peace, the stillness to simply BE. I can become free by dieing myself, "crucifying" my mind if you will, doing what Christ did, doing what he saw the "father" do. God Is, and that is all I need to know, which ironically yet perfectly is nothing at all...
Friday, February 02, 2007
To Sleep To Dream To Fall
And again I began to dream-
I dreamt I was falling,
rapidly, boundless from interminable heights,
falling forever in the dark.
And yet, I wasn't falling downwards-
I was simply falling.
See, when you are falling in the dark,
you don't know that you are falling down.
You just are-
suspended in that darkness- infinity.
Entirely still, yet moving at an unimaginably fast pace.
To be moving as quickly as possible with the sensation of stillness is-
simply unimaginable, inconcievable, unutterable-
Infinity.
When you are falling in a dream and suddenly waken-
why do you feel afraid?
Is it because you have just narrowly averted hitting "the bottum" in your dream-land?
This may be the generally assumed answer, but I have another idea.
Perhaps we are in the aforedescribed suspencion, limbo when we dream.
Maybe we are true spirit suspended in infinity when we sleep, unconfined by our bodies.
Our spirit free to roam the universe and find peace within the infinite speed of One.
When we are about to wake up, when we return to our bodies, we are suddenly jolted back into feeling. We are no longer obliviously suspended. We are jerked back into consciousness and the minute we wake up we feel fear. Fear at being jammed back into our bodies, fear of mortality.
This is why we long for sleep.
to sleep, perchance to dream-
and there truly is the rub-
to fall
to be suspended
in darkness
infinity.
I dreamt I was falling,
rapidly, boundless from interminable heights,
falling forever in the dark.
And yet, I wasn't falling downwards-
I was simply falling.
See, when you are falling in the dark,
you don't know that you are falling down.
You just are-
suspended in that darkness- infinity.
Entirely still, yet moving at an unimaginably fast pace.
To be moving as quickly as possible with the sensation of stillness is-
simply unimaginable, inconcievable, unutterable-
Infinity.
When you are falling in a dream and suddenly waken-
why do you feel afraid?
Is it because you have just narrowly averted hitting "the bottum" in your dream-land?
This may be the generally assumed answer, but I have another idea.
Perhaps we are in the aforedescribed suspencion, limbo when we dream.
Maybe we are true spirit suspended in infinity when we sleep, unconfined by our bodies.
Our spirit free to roam the universe and find peace within the infinite speed of One.
When we are about to wake up, when we return to our bodies, we are suddenly jolted back into feeling. We are no longer obliviously suspended. We are jerked back into consciousness and the minute we wake up we feel fear. Fear at being jammed back into our bodies, fear of mortality.
This is why we long for sleep.
to sleep, perchance to dream-
and there truly is the rub-
to fall
to be suspended
in darkness
infinity.
He Who Burns
I am a black lump of coal
And you all have need to fear
For I have within my soul
enough to consume anyone near.
Enough fule
Enough potential
To level a mountain to shale.
Sometimes I sit, a dark and cold coal
Then I begin to smoulder-
I come to life!
A fire ignites!
Within me resides the need to grow-
hotter-brighter-larger.
It takes naught but a slight breeze to rouse me into flames,
scourching those around me - remembering all God's names.
I long to burn entirely,
to evaporate into smoke,
to be entirely anihilated into light,
to join with One in the sky,
to be free from my cold and black carbon shell.
This is where the fear comes in. When I am roused, having imbibed a breath of the eternal-I am powerful. I speak with a voice that is not my own. I stare with eyes that are lost in mist. I issue forth a fire, a heat, a light which consumes those who would oppose eternity. I do not have within my soul anything, I am naught but black coal, but in union with One, I am a mighty fire. An unforgettable flame. Not often does this happen. These moments of rapture. These ecstatic glimpses of understanding. These moments of tangable spirituality which form true images from the white void of oblivion.
Perhaps this is why I like to smoke. I like to taste, smell and see raw physical material transform into something else. To be apotheosized into smoke and heat. To break down, yet rise up; elusive and ephemeral in the sky. It has occured to me again, this is my name. Andrew- Greek for "man". Gerbrandt- German for "he who burns". I am the man who burns. I am the burning man. I burn with desire. I burn with longing. I burn with love longing. I'm not talking about lust, sexual or sensual urges. Although, it is a lot like that. I seek to know the eternal. I find nothing but darkness. Can I know anything of the eternal while still in this cold and black body of carbon? Can coal understand the pure essence of heat and light? Damn-it, I sound like Plato...
And you all have need to fear
For I have within my soul
enough to consume anyone near.
Enough fule
Enough potential
To level a mountain to shale.
Sometimes I sit, a dark and cold coal
Then I begin to smoulder-
I come to life!
A fire ignites!
Within me resides the need to grow-
hotter-brighter-larger.
It takes naught but a slight breeze to rouse me into flames,
scourching those around me - remembering all God's names.
I long to burn entirely,
to be consumed by heat,
to evaporate into smoke,
to be entirely anihilated into light,
to join with One in the sky,
to be free from my cold and black carbon shell.
This is where the fear comes in. When I am roused, having imbibed a breath of the eternal-I am powerful. I speak with a voice that is not my own. I stare with eyes that are lost in mist. I issue forth a fire, a heat, a light which consumes those who would oppose eternity. I do not have within my soul anything, I am naught but black coal, but in union with One, I am a mighty fire. An unforgettable flame. Not often does this happen. These moments of rapture. These ecstatic glimpses of understanding. These moments of tangable spirituality which form true images from the white void of oblivion.
Perhaps this is why I like to smoke. I like to taste, smell and see raw physical material transform into something else. To be apotheosized into smoke and heat. To break down, yet rise up; elusive and ephemeral in the sky. It has occured to me again, this is my name. Andrew- Greek for "man". Gerbrandt- German for "he who burns". I am the man who burns. I am the burning man. I burn with desire. I burn with longing. I burn with love longing. I'm not talking about lust, sexual or sensual urges. Although, it is a lot like that. I seek to know the eternal. I find nothing but darkness. Can I know anything of the eternal while still in this cold and black body of carbon? Can coal understand the pure essence of heat and light? Damn-it, I sound like Plato...
unpretentious
Nattering to herself,
-portly, she awkwardly stands.
The graying hair frays, & a whistle
dangles from her neck.
The idea with you lands
- a little gone - out of her head,
as her teeth -
crooked, gaping, norm off centr'd
Yet seemingly captured is something beneath
the crazy - through the eyes -
There is a sparkle.
Her annoying rambles hold a smile
as though she almost knows something
- a secret I could never bare.
Joy encompasses her every glance
peacefully in mind's storm.
Like reality is enclosed within,
seeking to escape
- and conquer
-portly, she awkwardly stands.
The graying hair frays, & a whistle
dangles from her neck.
The idea with you lands
- a little gone - out of her head,
as her teeth -
crooked, gaping, norm off centr'd
Yet seemingly captured is something beneath
the crazy - through the eyes -
There is a sparkle.
Her annoying rambles hold a smile
as though she almost knows something
- a secret I could never bare.
Joy encompasses her every glance
peacefully in mind's storm.
Like reality is enclosed within,
seeking to escape
- and conquer
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