Preparing For The Reverse Eclipse in Costa Rica

Maybe I have always been a contrarian.  Maybe it all started when my father tried to force me to drink milk when I was five and I refused.   Maybe there was more at stake than just the milk.   In part, and indeed, if I can be a little obtuse here, maybe that is one of the things (and of course you know the others) that I seek to explore in my so called "reverse eclipse" that is going to take place next week if all goes well.

Meanwhile, back at the farm, everyone is going to observe the rare occasion when the sun, the source of illumination, is occluded.  I suppose in some ways I intend to do the opposite. To look directly into the sun.  At least I think I do, as much as I can stand anyway, and maybe just a wee bit more.  I want to let more sunlight in than maybe has been allowed in the past.

I have swallowed the Kool-Aid for now.  And I hear the plants calling me.  And I think all is going to be well.  I really think so.  And I'm going to do the whole she-bang.  I'm going to walk the labyrinth. I've already picked up the five stones at the Nipper Wildlife Reserve locally.  I've named them.  The plan is to set down the stones at the beginning to create the space.  Pick up the bracelet and put the energy into the stones when I leave.   Like I said, I'm going to swallow the Kool-Aide.  No sex, no alcohol, no caffeine. I'm already starting to feel stripped down and ready to face the music.  

And if it does not go well, and I vomit and see my own death over and over and wonder what the fuck I have done, I will try and remember this little mantra.  You can sing it along with me if you like:

"Don't turn away from me now.  But go in deep.   To that place that hurts and the more that it hurts you will not turn away and the more that you are frightened and the more you want to run away, you will stand your ground and you will redouble your efforts to go back in.  And let it take you."

"You will turn the light inward.  Relax and feel it.  And when you can't relax, you will surrender to it, you will let it overwhelm you and when you can't relax or surrender to it, you will just give up and let it run its course.  For you are not in control.  That is the entire point of this entire exercise.  Be with this sensation.  Sit on the cushion with it.   Experience it.  Do not miss it.  Find out what it means to teach you."

"You are not in control.  What is going to happen is going to happen.  When you find yourself in times of trouble, Mother Mary will come to you, speaking words of wisdom to let it be."

"And when you are in its grip, no words will be comforting or make sense.  You might as well be spitting into the wind.  And then perhaps you will remember this buttercup:  You have lived your life mediated in part by fear and avoidance.   You are now encountering the world.  Let this be your source of strength.  Let this guide you when the chunks flow and the shit runs down you leg."

(This was an excerpt from the Poem, "Don't turn away from me now, but you might want to step to side a bit to avoid the projectile vomiting," copyright 2017, words and music by Sri Pseudopumkin save the obvious tip of the hat to Sir Paul)

Ignorance, Rain and Raincoats

Rain

When our eyes first met

wearing your black raincoat

you backed in

and it was raining for us

next to the fire

Out in the cold

looking up at the sky

rain dripping from my cheeks

and I was crossing the street for months

waiting for return

I'm coming back home to you

but you never left

and your eyes

long since dried

and its raining for us now

next to the fire

And you hope for my sake I've changed

And I hope for yours I'm the same

and the words unspoken

feel warm 

and its raining for us now

next to the fire.

Ignorance

I don't want to believe

You got that part right

and when you were wrong about me

there was no reprieve

because that's just how you make me feel

I would take it all in

if you gave me the chance

But the whisperings

getting louder

and it wasn't how you made me feel

that keeps me hanging on

Even if you told me so

There was no way to know

Even if I opened my arms

I would hit bottom

because that's just how you make me feel

Wondering why I left.

It was too much baby

and I am dry

to cry the tears over you

not knowing why

because that's just how you make me feel

The End of Language

The printing press signaled the end of the oral tradition of history.  Now there was a tangible, more or less permanent marker of the historical event.  A marker you could go back to at your own convenience, independent of a story tellers recount of the event.  In a way, it liberated us from the potential tyranny of the story teller--or at least replaced him or her the the tyranny of the author.

Now we see the internet of Snap-chat, Instagram, and to some extent Facebook replacing the written word.  Soon, to the extent we need to communicate without photos or catchy tag lines, we can do so by dictating into an AI without the need for tedious manual typing.  With this new evolution, ideas may be replaced by images.   Sentences and paragraphs may be replaced by emojis.

I'm not sure where this will lead.  The tyranny of the written word caused many problems.  The Bible, the Torah, and the Koran inspired the best and worst of humanity.  Not to mention Mein Kampf, the Communist Manifesto, and scores of others.  But I think what is happening goes even deeper, the deemphasis of ideas and critical thinking replaced by the immediacy and unquestioned acceptance of visual images.

What will it mean that photography becomes the new mode of communication? Well to start with, there are no language barriers with images.  People all over the globe can chat with images that translate into a universal tongue.   Maybe even text messages will disappear.  According  to the CTIA, the trade association for the wireless industry, the number of text messages world wide has been steadily declining, while multimedia messages, including photo and video have been booming.

I'm fascinated by the effect that this all will have on critical thinking.  Critical thinking has been unquestionably heralded as a virtue:  as a mode of thinking in which the thinker improves the quality of his or her thinking  by skillfully analyzing, assessing, and restructuring thoughts as a guide to belief and action.  But therein lies the rub--critical thinking leads to a more refined elegant belief that perhaps can be vigorously defended because it is apparently based on a rigorous application of faith in the human intellect.  I guess what I'm getting act is the possibility that there will be fewer wars and instances of discrimination in a world of visual images devoid of language.  Words themselves are inherently discriminatory--separating us from the immediacy of the experience and replacing the experience with an idea reified as a word.

"In the beginning was the word," says John 1:1.   I say perhaps it wasn't.  It was not a word or an idea.  It was something else.  That something else might have been more elegantly captured with an image.


 This is not to say that I don't accept the notion that perhaps the highest form of critical thinking is itself critical of the critical thinking process itself, but that idea is usually frustrated by the rigid adherents of critical thinking in practice.  In any event, we will let that snake devour its tail on some other time--because my friend, its turtles all the way down.

In the meantime, its all good, right?
 

Lost Dreams turning to Pedestrian Nightmares

Many years ago, I joined a law firm as a young associate.  Let's call the lawfirm "SNHCC"  SNHCC had a managing partner.   So this managing partner would have been my boss.  Actually, he would have been my top boss among many other bosses.

The managing partner, lets call him "Tagge," liked my ex-wife.  Now don't get any ideas, he didn't like her in that way.  Let's just say they liked each others' company--probably from their similar backgrounds and conservative views on life.  Both came from farming backgrounds.  Both were into traditional American values, apple pie, Republican politics etc.  Of course, my ex-wife did and probably still does have the ability to get along with just about anyone.  She would have been a great politician.  She would have been the best politician's wife or first lady had she found the right guy. 

In short, my ex-wife deserved better than me.  Maybe not at first.  At first, I was a good little associate at the most prominent law-firm in town.   I had a future, I guess.  I coulda been a contenda, ya know.  I fit the model.  I probably still do to some extent.  But for the pesky second law of Thermodynamics.  The one that talks about entropy.  There has been a lot of entropy between me and that young attorney.  In any event, the blessing of my marriage to both me and my former wife has been my daughters.  I only wish I could have given her more blessings which she deserved.  

With this background, I think my dream last night makes a great deal of sense.  My ex-wife and I were in Tagge's house.  Not literally, mind you.  I don't think I have ever been in Tagge's house.  The house was more like the larger version of the house I grew up in in Collins Heights in Gillette, Wyoming.   We were in the first floor which contained a kitchen and a patio.  We were there without Tagge's permission.   Tagge and his wife were out.  We were alone in the house and I knew we shouldn't be there and I wanted to leave.   My ex-wife insisted on staying.  I have no idea why.  Its not like we were doing anything in the house.  We weren't eating any food or raiding the wine celler.  In fact I seriously doubt if Tagge even liked wine.  All I remember is that Tagge had a bunch of outdated DVDs next to his TV that I remember looking at.

We stayed at Tagge's house much too long.  Probably until the morning.  I remember we had to leave abruptly and we left though the back door.  My car was out front parked in Tagge's driveway.  Its not like we could conceal anything.  Tagge had some expensive car parked next to mine.  Like a Rolls Royce or a Bentley.  As we pulled away in a hurry from the driveway, Tagge came out of his house wearing boxer shorts--presumably to get a newspaper.  He was not upset when he saw us.

When I woke up from this dream, I was distressed.  Though the dream should not have upset me, it did.  It had the same effect on me as if I woke up from a scary nightmare.  But it was not a scary monster that upset me, it was likely the pain of me hurting my ex-wife, of not providing her with Tagge's house, literally or figuratively, which she never wanted to leave.