don’t blame the page for the meaning you attach to the code


Okay, ... Television.  Wow.  I was 15 when it came to our town, Great Falls, Montana, in 1955.  I was a sophomore in high school.   Some people think we destroyed the family hearth, with mindless trash from TV - the so-called “wasteland”.  Careful with that idea.  If people didn’t love their trash, there would not be any storage units anywhere.  The popularity, of a show like “Duck Dynasty”, was clearly a harbinger of what was cooking, beneath the surface of the American Heartland,

In my family, rooted in cold country genes as revealed by my mother’s maiden name: Olson ...  European northerners ... we didn’t talk much.  No waving arms arguing over is the pasta cooked right, and whether or not whatever.  So, at 15 I was lying on my tummy in front of the radio in the living room before the TV stole its whatever place.  My mom would sit in a comfortable chair listening, but still using me to control sounds and content.  She had a basket on her lap and sewed up holes in our socks most evenings (three sons and a husband is a lot of worn-out socks).  Dad, in from the office and having given up smokes, mostly just came off the rush of his day with a couple of glasses of “branch water”, and some form of alcohol I didn’t pay enough attention to in order to know, being myself basically a dreamer since forever.

Both mom and dad read magazines that came in the mail.  I started reading Time in those years, waking up my thinking to the political.

My two brothers would be elsewhere, one already down asleep, and the other off to college.  We were being pre-separated, and separating, as a family, and I think the TV had only a little to do with why.  Mom and Dad are now crossed over, and the brothers hardly talk much to each other at all.  No disharmony, just indifferences.

TV to me Today: When I write, I have the 32“ flat-screen TV turned to CNN, just off to the left of my line of sight on the 17“ computer monitor.  The sound is off.  From a wizard’s point of view, this portion of space in my alchemical workroom, filled with the TV, is the result of a world-scale enchantment of human perception, such that we don’t really know all the much about these devices, in an occult sense.

Scientists will one day realize that most of the machines in their own laboratory, were the results of the application of intense magical acts, authored by real magicians of the gods.  All I’m doing here is changing the metaphorical context a bit, so as to enable the word-pictures to become enhanced by concepts we don’t generally link together, through how we code the meaning of a sentence by changing the associations of the symbol-sets in the reader’s mind. 

Or: We recognize that magic is real, and add those nuances to our considerations of the collective “experiencing”.

Does being “named” an “anthroposophist” mean anything?  “Human Being, being human” seems better, more general and universal, yet still ... doesn’t really explain “individualism”.  “Child of God”, well then, we get poetry and song: <“Well, I came upon a child of God/He was walking along the road/And I asked him, Tell me, where are you going/This he told me">  Woodstock, by Joni Mitchell.  Woodstock: a Serious all out instinctive magic ceremony of intoxication and celebration, brought to you by the free-love generation, who generally knew how to party

... until Altamont, where when the Stones sang Sympathy for the Devil, to the beat of the Hells Angels, hired to protect that band of fool-ish-magicians.  Altamont was not really a fine example of that <state of the art> rock concert, run mostly by and for money, and a need to imitate the greatest mostly spontaneous and legendary: Woodstock.

Altamont: Where a hells angel stage guard apparently, took it upon himself to stab a member of the audience, that was getting too close to the Stage.  Actually happened during the playing of Sympathy for the Devil.  What was that which was born in Stones, a ‘60‘s band, that is still pulling down, and letting the muse, hidden in the lower charkas, divine the next inspired moment.   Altamont was also ritual-ceremony: <The Altamont Speedway Free Festival> without conscious understanding, evoking, much too much of party, to much Pan and the Nymphs, whose only magical effect was Sorcery.  No true magician would be so gross in expression.  ...  Lectures are obviously better than the dangers of <!>A Party<!>, where intoxicants are amazing, and people take off some of their social masks and dance like no one is watching.

A typical symbol-set is called a phrase.

 Sets of symbol-sets can be joined into sentences, and then paragraphs.

Written language shares qualitatively, with mathematical languages, the capacity to evoke something in the mind of the reader.

What would you like to see evoked?  Your questions and biases (Jeff’s “filters”?) influences the meaning on the page.  What you take the words to mean, is very much your responsibility as a reader.  The writer’s motives are probably very “other” from the reader’s motives, which can then lead to the launching of diverse codes at each other through the un-recognized enchanted aether-space.

Suppose a single over-arching intelligence is behind all the works of the mega-builders all over the world.   Stonehenge, the Pyramids, the huge workings in Central and South America and Asia - all bear a similar fundamental signature.  Suppose the same over-arching intelligence is behind all the works of code spilled all over Facebook.  The Ghost in the Machine.

This discussion is not just academic - we already live a bit of a life (at least for some), where the machine is closer, witness our maimed solders --- the TV Star Trek bit about meeting the Borg, coming to Life.  Some want to code our conscious-self (whatever that is), and up-load “that” into a robot body that can live forever.  What over-arching intelligence is programing the programmers?   Culture wars more dominate the world than do physical wars. 

Worse, even: Suppose words are a virus entering your mind, from the beyond, seeking to worm its way into the most sacrosanct aspect of your soul: Trying to predetermine, what you <will> yourself to think.  Read Neal Stephenson’s “Snow Crash”, for an imaginative exposition on these questions.

Intoxicated wizard poets, declaring sword-lie peace, suspect that what is afoot, is in point of fact, a game.  Billions playing: “my precious”: a ring of power as imagined by Tolkien, with whatever hungers they have yet to satisfy, and whatever tools are available.
Up the scale of your visions, dear reader.  Try to encompass with your mind the world’s world, with billions of people connected in millions of ways, via wires and tricks with space itself, so that a massive artifact pulses, every nano-second, with cycling jolts of electricity, a power we really don’t know all that well, at all, ... yet still enables our songs to travel not just the world, but through time itself.  The Beat, the Pulse of Life Outrageous.

So this TV screen to my right, even when sound is off, can be a very entertaining vision of the hell on earth, that is not yet where I am, but from which my instincts are to run.  Then there are all these banners, running top and bottom (what with the closed captioning being on), and then the hopefully well paid talking heads, all having to conform to someone else’s aesthetic of how they look.  

Sometimes I just make up words for the silenced talking heads.  The sound is off, and in the right mood I can have some fun ignoring the soft word choice conventions (like a softball question talking heads on TV bat back and forth) - still, its just a sport with which “they” mean to pacify my mind.  All the same, which “they” remains a mystery I am only likely to discover in myself.  If my anthro-world-view has got a Sorat, and a Christ, and same world-view says I have a Christ Impulse, what then is a Sorat Impulse, unless this world view has illogical tea parties in its down the rabbit hole basement?

TV: To put me/I to sleep.  Good or bad ???:  zoning out or intoxicants, on your sofa (“your” great room in your own castle, (grateful its not made of cardboard), in front of <[an enchanted into “being”]> miraculous artifact that is starring right back at you, and neither of you engage in conversations?  I love to talk back to my TV.  All the time.  It is so full of shit, ... But, get real, ... sitting down and not having to think without having to be enlightened, polite, the intoxicant drowning my sorrows (or like mother meth, overcooking the brain until you forget all-lot of the most recent whatevers, becoming single focused on the next hit, out of touch, and loosing your teeth, sort of not what was wanted during far too many whens.

Liberals like to believe the untrue meme of the classic barely hard working redneck stiff, drinking beer in front of the TV, until they both pass out.

Else-over to emerge in the inside-out reverse of “tune in, turn on, drop out”?  I don’t see any birds do much But flitting around, this where and that, sometimes throwing such an astounding sky-shapping art party spontaneous - doing something together, where you forget your separation, ... you know, what birds of a feather do. 

D.C. and Wall Street, places where pigeons and suckers gather, to be lied to. 

I always wondered, when I wandered in the 1980‘s Fair Oaks anthro-community:  Where were the cocktail parties or barbecue Sunday afternoons.  Then the tragic horror: the Central European not only does not wear his heart on his sleeve, has two different words for the word “you”, depending on degree of intimacy, and refuses to hold hands and stand in a circle, while at the same time something about America scares him.  Eventually I got tired of social forms that wanted to wash me-soul away, steal my thought-life, and could not imagine it was behaving like a cult, when all the time it was trying to train me to be European.

Kick back, let your mind play: ~ Bird, resting ~.  Your mind is natural Zen.  You ignore each other, inside.  The collection of the thoughts of the day, let go, sometimes with a lot of yelling and screaming and too much violence, but the overheated City-escape is too attractive if you are bored with Country, as in music, metaphorical and geological time-space.  What kind of radio stations, or CD’ss do you listen to, when driving bored?  Whatever you want, right?

I have, once or twice,  used my imagination to paint the TV talking-heads, with well-quaffed faces, and vacant voices, so that they look and sound like clowns.  Sync up funny noises and words to the moving of their lips.  Or, on another side of performing:

You are a sad neo-politician, trying to win the game, and then getting caught on camera, in the so-called real social world, and in front of millions, doing an imitation gesture as a way of making a barbed joke, ... Normal banter the whole of your life, that you have been doing since you were six, when needing to hide <by wearing the mask of the entertaining clown>, how you really feel, or what are your real thoughts, .  Then the politically correct, that word-anarchy surrounding social circus sends its barbed stones, in the form of a chorus of judgments, injunctions for social laws that decree: <A Man Cannot Act Like An Asshole Who Doesn’t Give A Shit> on our public spaces.  Ours, you shit!  Ours!  He got a laugh.  The audience thought he was funny, while others were embarrassed.  What does that tell you?

Oh, so many me’s, while the poet steals images from Pixar’s genius (I believe the story is that George Lucas had this idea one day to give these digital artists a lot of money and freedom, or maybe it was The Two Steves - Jobs and Wozniak), ... anyWay the ingredients are prepared and cooked finely, with the result that we get to savor the flavor of:  “Inside Out”.  ]]] analyzed here: [[[

I own a copy.   I own many copies of various DVDs of Films.  I even have a special bookshelf for them, just like always, records of Art.  The Art of the spirits of Genius that Lurk In America, already is a promise fulfilled even in its advertising for the future - you known, the preview which only shows you what the seller wants to get you to buy.  Steiner talked a lot about the future, didn’t he.  Gave us “previews” of coming attractions laid out, on a living bed of history/present and future/ a feast of Ideas not even ten lifetimes could taste.

Have to say, so far, that what he said was way too general, yet when suitably compost-enfused in the crucible of the soul, in an artistically American Way, by a me so big it had to be named in Myth: huge Paul Bunyan, with his giant blue bull Babe:  We get then a primer for: Reading the Book of the Social, or American Natural Geotheanism, where learning to read the Arts for their semiconscious and conscious metaphors, reveals the soul of Peoples being Peoples.  The What Is, is the record you have been looking for, sings Obi Wan.

PB & BB&B --<an Anacreon of sorts}, have a clue for the psychological lands examined in the Film and TV series: Fargo.  What can I say?  There are parts of my inner dialogue that gives me pleasure, and when intoxicated it - this part right here<  ... otherwise I would not, nor could not “write”.

Except, this time the &Babe is not the savage mother alien-eater, “ripe their hearts out” Ripley of the Alien “series” of delicious infractions.  Except for the odd Frenchman’s homage, American tastes <directed> the alien franchise, - the obscenity of intelligent gore, where the heroine is bad, and always always wins, except when resurrected after dying, to reveal: the mystery of something left out and something added in.

No exceptions necessary, but pseudo versions of reality are probably demanded by a time in which we all want to party - while meanwhile preserving separation, because that other-guy is not just a walrus, who isn’t even a cuddly, explored by the movies Ted and Ted2.  This metaphor is where a magic thinging makes a stuffed bear-toy into a crude, rude, funny, <57 year old> nine  year old.

In Fargo, our hero-heroin is a female middled aged detective.  In the first Fargo, a “Lot”*****, a middle-aged idiot, finds some even more stupid guys to commit a kidnapping for hire.  What could go wrong?  The Coen Brothers made it, and if people in the Rudolf Steiner socIety were to put down European Old World Culture for just a couple of minutes, maybe in a let your hair down Way (tune in, turn on, drop out - momentarily) and look at some New World Art: Films.  For a fine, fine, fine delight: “The Best Offer”.   The Old World, btw, is not Europe.  The Old World was a point of view, and that point of view is passing across the abyss, in a way.  The New World is not just place in space, but an entirely new point of view.

]]]*****okay, why a “Lot”.  Before his wife turns to a pillar of salt, doesn’t “Lot” play a role, somewhat imbecilicly leading her clueless in the face of a vengeful diety ...[[[

Old World / New World is a condition of the astral/consciousness.  A kind of garden the reader knows well, filled up with best junk fantasy-futures, and poetic/pasts, although once in a while a heroine suggests Zen: Bird, resting.

By the time of the part-three of the Fargo franchise, which is Season Two of the TV show, not made by the Coen brothers, except as apparently approving producers,  it becomes more clear that the tale is steering backwards in time.  The movie was nearest our time.  The TV shows  linked to each other, in that the female protagonist (the FP) in the movie is the sheriff, and now in the First TV the FP is a <deputy> sheriff, smarter than the guys she has to suffer.  The Second TV has another FP, who is the sheriff father of a daughter who later becomes the FP in the middle.  The FP metamorphosis, actually thought about by the community of artists that makes up a bunch of people who make movies together, sometimes more than once, ... that idea is afoot in the three Fargo’s, as an accurate depiction of social gender roles, and race roles, all moving backward in view.  We see the past in the light of the present, with a lot of sympathy, even for a few of the “bad” guys.

All the same, what do you make of the fact that the the Second Fargo TV show, which was the earliest in the historical time-line, treated flying saucers as real.  Seemed very beliveable.

Yes, you might say, other people have done it, and I suggest, if I may, you consider that the reason that archetypes exist, is because they are a real, and useful meta-knowledge, for seeing the masked ball behind the scenes.  Barfield, on chasing the dragon of language to its metaphorical lair, discovered that all the great myths had to be <true stories> because a language in its youth is only able to give names to things of experience.

So, what are Crop-Circles to the stoned imagination of a wizard?  The astral world surrounding earth existence, has to maintain what are essentially magical/alchemical balances appearing as art.  Invisible beings of various hierarchies Will this Art.  As you can guess, for various reasons this is a demanding situation, for the Whole World’s Atmosphere is Alive, and Conscious.  Now, are not knowing that - as in living that, is us Being Asleep!

So when we overload the whole system out of our ignorance, without figuring out how to have collective meetings across threshold, where human beings sit around a huge table with invisible knights and elves and gnomes.   There is no denying we cause harm to The Mother - don’t need to be a psychic to know that.  A crop-circle is a swoon, as in dance akin to bird flocks, made by the invisible community itself.  Stop investigating it.  Recognize it.  Talk to it.  The invisible made a doorWay fool.  

Part of the art-crew, <the interns who think they run everything; you know: human beings>  is all the silly “me’s” running around, coloring outside just about every line (every limit, Every Limit) - don’t get this: How hard is it for you to change your own mind, much less someone else’s?

So ... modern materialistic thinking leading where?  If you are into the “spiritual”, we find ourselves looking for skilled others, who we seek out as “teachers”, or perhaps even “coaches”.  In America, the best guides, seem to actually be “coaches”, if you want a model of a true “teacher” that knows the American Soul.  Study John Wooden and Bill Belichick to see pragmatic, down to earth, teaching-mind in action.  And, I mean study.  Sure Goethe and Steiner were geniuses, but they are not the only kind of genius that’s possible, and from whom we can learn.

Nature’s Days were well captured in Raphael’s Bolero.  Amazing high point of European culture - some folks saying the composer Raphael was a Sufi.   But <Now> we have movies.  Digital movies.  Virtual lives ... are they Next?  What is to be Next?

If experience is <autistic/artistic/transsexual/racist/dishonest/completelyfuckedup=inexplicable>, as an aspect of its primary colors: the light of a kiss, or the sigh of a lie (kudos to the Moody Blues), just who are we hiding our future from, but pre-visions of our later, or earlier, selves in the key of me.

A side-note in the key of: <can-do American Spirit>, but that chance happening requires it not be left to chance - random happening evolution anyHow, is so yesterday.  Might be a wondrous thing to see, and be a part of, when the can-do folk throw off the priests of a still unworkable structure - a SOCIETY, no less. Putting anthroposophy inside of a social “structure”, that does not know how to live, lack of reproduction (decreasing membership) being one sign that the Holy Mother was still being kept waiting.  Unappreciated.  Its a Mother-thing, sure.  But at the same time it is accurately Mother-thing.  If there is a qualitatively use of language to use, it is the use of Mother as God, Creatrix, and on -  read “Tomberg: Meditations: Arcanum Eleven: Strength” (had to order him through the mail - anthro-publishers had a not-those-books thing once upon a time, which has now gotten worse ... much worse ...

An old cosmic Gardner, wanders in: looks at the above paragraph to see whether it was to be a weed, a seed, a flower, or compost = the four elements.  Which Ways does the dance dancing the dancer, guide the temperament of the reader to trend this way or that, as they dine.   Reading being its own dance.

One of the aspects of the film/VCR/DVD collection in my wizard’s library, is to see the interviews of the artists, the directors, and learn how to make such art, although with different media, and for a different audience.  The “making” is the same.  In Dune, the Sandworm is called: a Maker.  Orson Scott Card wrote an alternate pre-colonial history of America, where magic was real.  Card’s main character?:  Alvin, the Maker.

Makers think about stuff, don’t always understand it at all, and then just blow holes in a whole  lot of stuff, for the fun of it.  So much of film investigates the emotional impact of “boom!”.  Game of Thrones has two remarkables, using the same explosive chemistry <WildFire>: First: the fiery destruction of a fleet of ships, attacking King’s Landing; and, then later, from//within man-made subterranean tunnels >that part of King’s Landing< <which is under the hill where the worst of religion has a Palace>,  suddenly explodes (same <WildFire>).  Boom Boom as only HBO’s Game of Thrones can do.

When are European anthroposophists going to get it that we Americans do Percival in our sleep. and in Game of Thrones he’s a dwarf who survives a world gone mad through his wit.    What else is the American Dream?  Learn to read the Art, .. ]]] although “American Art” is only one wing in a library so diverse that Steiner had to call it the Akashic Record (otherwise known as the Hall of the Library where are cataloged all the deeds it takes to make the “ineffable what is”).

Zzen master Jeff.F <say that out loud, and taste the sound of one hand clapping< Experience
[[[ a feature of American Cultures is the Western, and its younger, more modern, variation: the Film Noir Detective story.  The language of the Western laconic.  Film Noir - tough vs. tough, with a wry and pithy play of wits between: Laconic with an edge.   What group of filmmakers imitates American Westerns.  Same place Zen was born.  History makes koans for us, and these too can be read.

A favorite of mind: a policy for angry children to considering paying heed: takes only three letters to gage its meaning MAD: mutually assured destruction.   The unnatural result of ill measured desire, which I believe Steiner “named”: <the War of All, Against All.>  Liar, Liar, Hair on Fire wants to go back to his own imaginary ‘50‘s.  He saw those movies and decided, if given a chance, he could broker a better deal for all.  Manchurian Candidate.  Cold War.  Dr. Strangelove.  Fail Safe.  The Spy Who Came in from the Cold.  Red Dawn.  And the best of the best, a classic: War Games - or how a machine learned, what human beings apparently cannot: “the only Winning move is not to play at all”.

While we wait for that wonder, a word from our sponsor, who is at the precise moment you read this, happily uncertain about will be written down next .......

In my elder years, I am (mostly) no longer herded into a religious-like encounters, where I have to publicly display my loyalty to my favorite superficial truths.  What we, the members of the unheard/herd normally call: Going to work, or a Branch Meeting.  That’s because I stay at home, and watch the talking heads compete for thought expression time, in an environment that most likely does not in the least care how they feel, ... the talking heads that is ...

All News is calculated propaganda.  The same hierarchical geometry-in-the-mind that produced mega-structures thousands of years ago, is right there in the very existence of that television set, what it does and does not do, and how we relate to this part of our experience.  The words in the religions have varied, but the fact is that a modern wage slave is no more free of the appetites of those who imagine themselves the betters of all slaves <who do the work that make possibles the mega-structure/temple we call a modern City = physical temple, in which are celebrated so many dis-similar languages and thoughts>.  Wash-Thing-ton D.C.  Wall Street.  What kinds of over-arching intelligences created all that?

Are the talking TV heads priests in the religion of stay asleep?  Usually, when something exciting happens, people act/speak with excitement.  News is a flood of fake behaviors about horrible stuff, not fit for children certainly.  Do people still go to “sleep” watching TV?  Is the smart phone on our nightstand an improvement?  We so hunger for information, that we took technology, and just like Dick Tracy 60 years ago, made a magical device that unites your mind with whatever portions of the world, you want to know through your eyes, and sometimes ears.

From/through that same magical device, we can initiate words and pictures and comment ourselves on strange political weather, or volcanic changes in fashion - or Hip Hop.  If the spiritual sensitivity of human creators <imagining into being this artifact-smart phone> is the production of Art, than the world is already saved, because the Imagination will be the “Mightier than the Sword” that Kills All the Dragons, trying to ride in through your TV.

- the Dragons of single vision - where we all are made to want to believe in anything = propaganda.   Just hope your “branch meeting”, where you practice Anthroposophy 1.0, has real life, and is not possessed by ... but wait, the “BM” must be so possessed.  Human Beings gather there.  In AA this rule of life is expressed this way: you can’t move away from your troubles.  Where you are, they are.

We humans tend to build into the Temple of the Mind different Altars, out of our favorite recordings of pictures and sounds, on the tops of which are favorite sacred texts.  I am not trying, by the way, to wreck Anthroposophy 1.0.  It is already a wreck, and has been so for years.  Do you think there is something salvageable there?  Go for it.  Just, use your own words, and stop quoting a dead man.  You are far more real and interesting than a Myth, although every time you think to quote R.S., the Myth has control over your authority to know.

Here’s the trick, which I had never quite seen this way before, although often practiced.  Perhaps a nudge from the Jeff-in-me was enough to notice.

I just fucking hate anthroposophists.  Hate them.  What’s worse is that I am one.  One lady who supported my early interest in Steiner, listened to my biography, for which she asked, during a private tea  (just the two of us) in her home in the Berkeley Hills above San Francisco Bay; and, then after I finished she said I was born an anthroposophist.  If true? <no>, not true.  I see her seeing me, but I’m not seeing me or her very well at all.

What do I hate?  What do I mean by hate?  That’s a far better question.  Something “I" hate I want to strike, hit, kick, bite : -  the limbs seriously don’t like something.  Object?:?: holding on to the past.  fixing meaning into words on a page.  stealing the life of reality, and after taking possession of life’s meaning, then setting up an Altar on an Open Hill, that burns to the ground, leaving behind only concrete, to remind us of the crucifixion of the word in language, when we resist its inherent wildness.  Steiner knew Goethe was by far the most free of the two of them, although Steiner was the better at taming the wildness, in taking up, in spoken and written words, a sword in the face of the sinful weakness of the intellect, without a heart.  Goethe was - sort of - too earthly, for German Idealism was as about as unearthly as thought could go, and it was <There>, among the loftiest Ideas, that Steiner battled for simple sanity.

How un-Faerie are normal-relations in modern Society built. out of a 19th Century European Society, where it is not unusual to see a man with a uniform and a sword, no less.  The kissing of the hands of women, by men.  Shaking hands, bowing, tipping a hat when passing.  If your language needs two forms of “you”, so as to separate the formal moments from the intimate - what a story that must be.  Except in the Steiner & Company Outdoor Cafe, curb side, watch-out for horse leavings on the streets, students discussing everything possible, charged up on wine and coffee, and drunk on Ideas.  What a difference a Century of Days makes.

Observation: ” The collective representation of Steiner has too much mythology.  Worse we are in Bondage to his Understanding.   Mythologically/Metaphorically:  Is how we speak of and treat, what my first experience of Steiner folk, called, in quiet whispered tones: His Great Deed.  Much less commit this idea to pages of stuff Waldorf teachers give to Parent, who - no surprise here - grew up in America, and also were not born yesterday. 

What did Steiner actually do?  Just like Aristotle (and by kNOw means anything but a work of art), Steiner laid into humanity’s consciousness: Names for stuff which is pretty much not nameable in its essence.  He gave his life to this process of “Naming/Making”.  It is a sad view to take, of one’s own life, that there isn’t a reason you have your gifts, of whatever troubling burdens, and those gifts can and should, out of complete freedom, be applied whenever and however you choose.  “Johnny, ... Take Out the Garbage!”

The actual deed’s very Beauty is seductive.  A grand-some display of Language living and dying from thought to speech to page.  Yet, he-said in my head, the spirit is meant to be passed from mouth to ear.   What happens even to Steiner-experience, as words are chained to the phenomenal experience, making then this experience die on the page: written: Thrones.  Angels.  Epochs.  Ahriman.  What price did Steiner pay to win these words and gift them to us?  Whenever I meet such folk of lofty spiritual “fame”, they are generally very kind and polite, their real gifts something so ordinary, and fully human  (recall: above us (tenth hierarchy) folk, those who had to go through this shit - this Rite of <being human> too:first: - serious been there done that ).   Yet, we/you can’t help “feel” stuff you don’t feel any other time.  Do I leave behind the bottom three charkas at “Heaven’s Gate”, sort of check them like a coat no longer needed?  Wildness contained makes fires.  ||\\It is not so much we are too many on the teats of the Mother, but we our-selves (all of them) flame with natural divinity too.//||

How many thoughts daily, hourly, mixed up with how many feelings, past through you, are you, leave you, ]]] except for the collection of favorites to which we cling {{{ ??????????????????????????????????

Even his/the-good-doctor’s works of mouth to ear was/were/are/might-be mostly secret, and what was recorded was never edited. - (all those daily personal and private visits included); [ although, a lot of Folks - and I don’t mean to suggest not valuing their experience - such experience being a very ordinary/extraordinary <Making>> - Have no doubt dined out on having met the Great Initiate and talked to him, and as when/with our words and love magically evoking him - spiritually present in the moments we think of Him, but tragically, tho’ evoked, we mostly talked Of-Him, instead of to-him, like a friend - a death in death with chains binding to Earth ... ] which is why so many of us came back, quickly from the “early” years, facing work not done - a meeting with Platonists and Aristotelians, karma to heal :Still Not Happening: [

And there it was: The Myth: The Great Initiate Does a Great Deed.  Okay, lets buy that.  Now what?  What are you doing with His “great deed”? Today?  We each get to choose what to follow, as we wander the more tame (with good reason) mysterious adventures, which are quite satisfying because we mostly just read books, and talk to each other about that.  Not to say starting a Waldorf School isn’t a trial, but as regards “him”, its books and Class lessons and endless moping discussions.

Although/Plus: There is cream on the top (although always real work): The Great Adventure: Just Being You, which is not an easy task given all the < “there’s a better way to do this” > junk we carry around in our spiritual to do list backpacks.  Thing is, Steiner was an “idealist” about morals and spiritual exercises and self-development, and not one of us, in several lifetimes, could change/be different, or even corroding, to the “standards” of the Steiner-said creature we’ve been building in our minds.

If you put “him” up/out/there, and “you” down/in/here - you didn’t get his message.  Want to know the message?  Not from me.  I’m the drunk poet, which is folly for a steiner-friend to follow.  Jeff is a master of the “cognition”, although his Zen needs some attention.

So, there are different Steiner’s, so to speak/write. 1) Steiner’s Experience; 2) the Words about the Experience actually on Pages; and, 3) our internal Steiner-said.  Why did Steiner-said say that he preferred people would read one book fifty times, rather than fifty books once?  And with that “one”, read only what he wrote and edited, not he spoke and had to let die there.  More plainly: the books, not the lectures.

]]]1]]] Caveat: you sort of need to steer your direction by taking your gaze above the arena of the books, and the sports with words we play here.  see: The Chief Dude <who is Everything> wrote a book too.  Somewhat variations on the same riddles of meaning, only The Dude writes: not with scratches on the sand, that wash away with each tide, but with trees and sky, and ants, and code.  Saving the Appearances {{[]}}  ]]] Bird, resting [[[

Text, and the act of reading Text, is a magical incantation, in the moment, initiated by the writer.  Reading involves Letters, and Letters mate and breed words, which words then form associations of phrases, following which the phrases dance together into organized paragraphs.  The meaning that had left the writer and died on the page, is re-awoken by the attention given to it by the reader.  Writers are: Christs     Readers: Virgin Sophias

Attention is spiritual will.  It is alive when you use it to read, and do the inner work of making meaningful pictures of what has been encoded via the text.  The text is only a map, although some maps are more peculiar than others.  All the Same, All “development”, of whatever quality, is aided by repetition.  So take Theosophy, or whatever, and attend to it regularly.  That’s what a study group does, except it changes books all the times, and as near as I can tell never reads anything useful about America.  The Why you direct the attention <by the intention>, is also crucial.  The Why? Heart-feelings produces a What? via the Intellect.  Lend me your attention, carefully now, while considering the possibility that you are writing it to yourself.  I’m not here, only me’s and you’s, sings your cat. 

Anyway, Jeff is studying experience, in a very natural zenWay (which is to somehow have gotten the ideal that the practicing of ridding the mind of things, while sitting in a somewhere or when, gazing at what might have been a soccer ball).  What are you studying?

Then, to begin the Illumination of the <Dark-Side of that Shared Intelligence led Us to to the Eucharist of Writing/Reading>?  Ask yourself that, and then go read some Lovecraft, who “wrote” of the Oldest Powers, the Cthulhu.  Invert the beginning thought music of the earlier phrases:  Bondage is a myth - the dangerous other Enlarged, or otherwise “archetyped”.   Beauty is meant to be seductive.  It wants to be wanted.  In the odd magical tale, a glamor is an artificial “look”, meant to hide something, to be: enchantment; magic.

What is the power that seeks to disguise the world?  What is it hiding?   A bunch of children gather in a park.  Many brought alone, by mothers and/or nannies.  The mother-like folk bunch up for protection, around a carefully manicured environment, cultivated to every possible need for anyone to never have brought a bandage, or to look at any blood.  Americans like that the Allepo be on TV, and not in the next-over yard.  

All over the all-world, machines.  Extensions of the hands, and feets, made by the mind.  If the mind is somehow inside the machines - the ghost in the machine - what ghost is inside the mind inventing this shit ... ?