Tales from
the Heart:
- the Collective Imagination
What does it mean that recent films
have given an emphasis to the sacrificial Arts of
Plant-Nature:
"Guardians of the Galaxy":=: "We
are Groot" <<short videos from each
film>>;
as well as the hard
lessons from the Teaching Tree in "A Monster Calls"?
Shorter Answer, which will permit the reader to
avoid the details below:
The Divine Feminine is slowly being revealed - in a new
Way in our Age, after a kind of historical/cultural
eclipse.
We lost the words, and some of the traditions, when the
three monotheisms in their patriarchal madness,
threw over the Goddess/so-called Pagan Religions.
Goblins and Witches and things that go bump
in the night. Sort of. The Hidden World is
making itself more visible, via the Arts, and
that Hidden World is very down to Earth. Shit
happens, and people can get scared when they
encounter Underworld/Upsidedown/Land of
Faerie/Shadow-world stuff ...
... in normal life. There is an Unseen, and there
are Old Ones.
For a Wise American Shamaness's introduction: Marjorie
Spock's:
"Fairy
Worlds and Workers - a natural history of fairyland"
SHE Never Left of Course, though many just lost sight of
HER, and also HER SON - that story,
in its
personal/objective/subjective/poetic/representations in
words, follows.
Just keep in mind that human beings today are not, in
terms of their consciousness,
of the same nature as we were when the eclipse
began. We live now,
in a scientific Age, and that has consequences. In
the light of
Owen
Barfields idea: Final Participation, modern folk
will
find that their relationship to the Mothers-may-i is very
different.
SHE HERSELF is no longer what We were, in the way-back
long-ago when-before.
word-mess by Joel A. Wendt ... his CV: http://ipwebdev.com/hermit/thetree.html
First to Stephen: thank you ... when I
read your’s aloud to my Lady, we both had much
pleasure. Me, trying to man-splain some of your
thought, while taking pleasure in just the reading aloud -
the sounds of the words on the tongue. I remarked to
Her afterwards, that I had finally found someone whose
writing is denser than mine. A single word, a half a
phrase, Clarke’s-indications of more to come, whispers of
the wind in the own mind/gate, a treasure to be read many
times, slowly, and for this soul, while ganja dancing.
song begins with mysteries
on our deck, the pale square
pool on the right ...
when seen from above,
contains: "Swamp Thing",
self generated ... how?
who, what, lives here ...
making such Art?
The Collective Imagination? The "Dreaming"?
Intoxicants
have always aided the search for truth: In vino
veritas. The world of Archetypes (Plato's
pure forms) is an actual place all our own minds
touch. The more potent the Name, the more
dangerous the unveiling when directly experienced.
In my own biography, I abandoned intoxicants for thirty
years, until chronic knee pain led me once more into
their freedom. Just for some - not all, but for
those of us raised a bit rigid and unspontaneous, the
intoxicant helps the true/heart/mind sneak from behind
its own masques, and flower. One of the Blessings
of Social Media, that region of Cyberspace that touches
with words and picture. Everyone a tale
traveler/juggler/dancer to the music of
life. Here's a
facebook page I frequent, in order to pester those
who use the language: Steiner: Speak.
For an example - of Seven Mysteries that is: Where is
the Cosmic Christ? Who is the Cosmic Christ?
What is the relationship between the Cosmic Christ and
either/or/both/and the Residents of the Inner Earth
(Faerie, some say), as well as ordinary human
beings? Does anyone care? Are such question
capable of being answered? What are
Questions? Questions are the seeds planted in the
mind/side of soul, by our past/future selves, in order
to enable we/us/our-me's to chart a course on Our
Own "journey into sea's of
thought very far from ordinary lanes of intellectual
shipping". T.S. Elliot's blurb on Owen Barfield's
"Worlds
Apart".
Ganja winds blow some into the Dreaming: the Spiritual
World? The Collective Imagination? The
Collective Unconscious? I practiced Geotheanism
for years, in seeking to understand human
social/political existence. This study/craft/art
involved a very conscious use of the Imaginative picture
forming capacity of the mind/soul.
As part of those studies, I was drawn to certain
American Arts&Literature, particularly: film,
television, science fiction novels - all rooted in the
imaginative on their own. What do these
artists see/know/understand? From what/which wells
of the depths of the soul&spirit do these artists
draw? After some time I began to realize that
there was a "collective" imagination, which arose
through the fact that those who create comedy&drama
must, by necessity, work from archetypes - the shared
sense of the World Cuture reduced to words on pages on a
screen, entombed/static from generalized inner pictures
of the common nature of what it means to be a human, a
man, a woman, a child, a self-invented sparking/fire
wearing many costumes. Yet, without the
common/shared aspects, the "audience" does not connect,
sympathize or otherwise feel disgust, affection, ... all
the various emotions that Art is meant to evoke.
Face it face book, without us you are not a
rich/vain/asshole, living proof of the observation
sentiment: love of money is the root of all evil.
An example is this art you are reading, ... here is a
tale i 'n I picket up from a post on Facebook: From/in
the recent TV series on SunDance:
Cleverman, the aboriginal living on the other-side
permanently - the older "Cleverman", is teaching his
student - still stuck most of the time on this side, and
when new guy keeps complaining about what the fuck just
happened older
guy sez ... to new guy (more or less):
That that IS, being as it happened, which ought
to be a lesson since a given is that what is dancing
in you/us is greater than we - yet - dying into us too
- feeding our becoming, but still the What's Next
needs your attention more than your current waste of
breath in blasphemous song, in the tune of why me.
In Geoetheanism,
part of the practice is to unite changing form, into its
natural unity in terms of the total changes over time -
now-time marries linear-time, so I've learned to read
American Arts&Literature as a kind of script of what
Art Sees, but cannot reduce to abstractions, and other
vanities. I wrote short pieces on what could be
seen by such a practice, for example" In the Western, a
particularly unique American art form, something deep in
the American Soul/Character was exposed. I was
even published in an Anthroposophical publication, a
news-for-members three or four times a year, money
available ... folks editing there appear as if they are
busy in love with a German guru they quote all the time
- not much of America to be found in print, except:, ...
Where my
article: Learning to Perceive the American Soul
(subject: the Western) was preceded by a review by
William Bento, of my book: American
Anthroposophy. Although, wasting breath is
one way to play. Words on pages. Lives
facing spiritual ruin. Fires burning the world to
ash. Steiner has all the answers - NOT.
In carrying out this activity, over the course of many
decades, I was, as with all of us, confronted by the
riddle of biographical existence itself. My
personal story/biography can be found below, as the
skeleton on which the flesh of my appreciations of the
meanings latent in the Collective Imagination - the
Dreaming, are set forth. In my book The
Art of God: an actual theory of Everything, is
developed how the world is organized, with the center of
all spiritual (non-material) activity being the
individual biographies - all of them
simultaneously. Cosmic Arts&Crafts. In
what follows I will tell of my individual biography, in
that I had a lot of help, ... well you'll get the point
if your bother to read on ...
Leading us to/through: Who or What am i 'n I? Urban
Dictionary sez "Ini = We ... In Rastafari,
Word, Sound, Power is Divine. So, 'in a way',
there is no 'I', no ego, just 'we'. OnE hEArt. OnE
lOvE. OnE blOOd. A metaphysical cousin to namaste."
All of us me's - we 'n me - the wider scope of
Everything? Stuck in the endless Now,
experiencing. Sent, this i, a poem to a Harvard
Publication - they wanted a “title”: “Drowning in
Wonder” walked by, and I wasn’t even stoned.
Seer-ing is knowledge-ing. One day i 'n I saw the
human biography as the Holy
Grail Way experienced over multiple lifetimes, a
tiny universal axis/shape/form - ..+.. - all the same,
this Way is not producing sameness but
individuality. We are kin in that we all share an
avatar physical body, and kin in facing more than one
life, death, and whatever is in between. Beyond
that, each is unique, and all are meant to suffer, to
feel, and thus to know. The Now/Experience cannot
be escaped, even through the
gates: of death, of sleep, of forgetting, or even of
madness. But a good book, some good company,
a bit of song&together: Why do we like
Hobbits?
What lives then in the individual biography? Since the
one I know best is my own, it will have to serve -- in
what follows -- as a key to appreciating the choices and
nuances we all know too well. My story told me
more than a few (but not all) tales of legends, in the
sense of the bones in graves of time and the endless
oceans of limitless inner-space. Gravitas is
essential, but without Silly we are not
alive.
Keep in mind, that like all of us, I was/have been
and will be battered and blasted by Fates unexpected,
and most amused when slow dancing ... It (the
universal/personal aspects of my biography) will have to
bare examination, because they/it was given to me as a
gift, in all senses, and by this the tale-trail of woe
and wonder being all that I have to give back --- the
story of a personality in the aegis of its
time. In an early Tarot reading, my younger
brother Doug unveiled that: my inner life is as The
Fool, my outer life is as The Hermit, and my life
destiny is as The Magician (or The Juggler, which is a
story of stories and story tellers, and the reason we
are in dangers waters, what with the young so
ill-educated and loaded with debt. WE SWIM IN SEAS
of lies&liars).
On the side, as a kind of appetizer: How can I, twice-born:
first in Montana in 1940 [joey - my body brother) and
then again in the San Francisco Bay Area Mystery School
- 1971 (Joel - me), having apparently (if you trust
visions and invisible voices) lived all of my recent
incarnate lives in the Americas, ... how then can I not
be a “native” American?
"rainbow warrior"
all bead art on these pages was created by my own
hand
A moment of
not-to-be-repeated advice dear reader, dropped
along-side the Way: Instead of
reading my story too much, start to write down your
own story - in my story there is little of you,
except in the most general way, but when I write
about where born and being there/then a teenager,
and the culture that surrounded me, you can do that
for yourself. Each of us is a book, that is
writing itself, and the occasional taking of notes,
thoughts, and even bad dreams and strange knocks on
the door can be useful. Sharing is
optional, but has many virtues as well. All
the same, I try to write to entertain, and the links
below are just spices for the moment - not
authorities to follow. This is a meal not to
be rushed. AND, the reader gets to pick and
choose from a wide ranging menu, many diverse tastes
to follow, or not.
The only distinction, between me - the how can I not be
a "native" American, and modern First Nations peoples,
is Culture, in the sense of ideas known to be true, in a
particular style of language as is appropriately useful
for the purpose of joining that Way of
Vision-Journey. As explained in Clarke
(2017) - at least to my appreciation, don't blame
Stephen - to the extent that my “Christian” culture,
seemingly hung up on a Cross at the expense of the
Resurrection, ... that 2000 year old religious culture
has made it difficult finding a conscious path to the
Mothers may-i --- ... At the beginning of our shared
biography, joey did not even know the Mothers existed,
much less where to find an authentic guide - his
birth/culture/language omitted it.
Even science, as taught in school, shoos away any hint
of what came to be libeled paganism - Ways of knowing
the invisibles that surround us - there being nothing
that is not alive, self-aware, fully conscious, and on
occasion radically different - primeval even.
Unnatural science becomes a belief system-religion woven
of non-empirical theories, without being
Religious. Without an I-thou & me-thee
relationship, Nature is a thing, and can be treated as
such. Fires in Northern California.
Hurricanes all over the southeast coasts. Science
has no hope of helping us in the Face of Mother Nature,
until science recognizes Her as an Actual Living
Planetary-Scale-Amazing-Being, Who is quite able to
regulate Her own atmosphere/climate/breathing, using
vulcanism to change the abledo,
and cooling the world as needed. Carl Sagan was
right to fear (for unnatural science's sake as a
religion) Demon
Haunted Worlds.
And, for those infected with Steinerism, or any kind of
"ism", there can be a mind/prison, as in: being in
bondage to an idea not experienced, such as the ugly
axis/perception/division duality of Good&Evil.
Same with regular "Christians", e.g. protestantism and
Catholicism. Mote (a bit of fire) and Beam (a lot
of dry wooden-thoughts), seem in today's world to have
created extreme personal, national, and
inter-dimensional conflagrations. A world on fire
with intimations of end-times, various apocalypses, and
too many apparently out of our control acts of ... of
What - random chance gone amok?
What about the geological record? The human
embryo is life, before it makes its bones. The
Bones of the Earth, the left behind solid - layers
of metamorphosis, caterpillar to butterfly is
simple. The geological record is the left behind
bones of a sequence of massive scale living
metamorphoses. Nothing to Something, in total
sacrifice :=: More Cosmic Arts&Crafts.
Going to shock a lot of folks to get it that Mother
Earth (the first Word, wording), whose Infinite Life
Sphere (the Son - In It (the - second Word) was Life and
the Life was the Light of the World) ... the
mother-earth we seem bent on ruining, are actually
Cosmic Beings open to conversation and sharing, having
Themselves helped us along our own paths to
becoming. Do you, dear reader of this dread-noise,
Feel that when you look at Nature&Friends, they are
looking back? Artists know this, with instinct,
and much is Coming that are certainly "Stranger
Things" concerning the "upside down.". What
dark secrets of the human psyche can be seen in the
allegorically-maybe, but people cutting up other people
has been around as long as there have been sharp
instruments:=:horror movies, science fiction, and
Washington D.C.?
[bit of a spoiler alert, although the archetypes are all
rendered wonderfully - a very enjoyable bit of Art: In
Stranger Things a young girl is experimented upon by mad
scientists who force from her latent psychic powers,
which the madmen don't appreciate, one effect of which
is that she (#11) causes a breach in the threshold
between the Unseen and the Seen, and something dangerous
creeps through. As an aspect of the Collective
Imagination this is allegorical, but has some justice:
the Land of Faerie is not kind to
arrogant/ignorance. Check out Suzanna Clark's Johnathan
Strange and Mister Norell.<available on Netflix
streaming, and in DVD etc...although, a
book in the hand is a very nice pleasure, at 846
pages no less.] The other Clarke, as in Stephen,
points in the direction of the Englishman
R. J. Stewart, for instructions practical, and
otherwise.]
Who you're going to call? 
In the Interior of the Earth Mother, as invisible and
wondrous as our own soul-inwardness (mind - tales
-tails), there is neither Good or Evil. Not there,
not at all. But Steiner (a king) said otherwise,
as do preach the Churches (shepherds) endlessly.
What do the Artists have to say, in response to their
understanding of the speech of the existing "what is",
amidst the trials of trying to be human, when there
arises that moment of
looking within the own dark, to discover that it is
looking back at us, suggesting we may be IT, a
duo. Besides Columbine's Eric Harris and Dyland
Klebold, ask Heath Ledger and Marlon Brando. Ask
the broken soul that shot the fuck out of Las Vegas.
Yes, they all being Dead, that's a problem,
although not in the Dreaming Beyond.
Something is coming, ... the forgotten dark is unveiling
itself. All the songs of the modern world contain
this base-beat rhythm - even Hip-Hop. Is it the
Beast from the Abyss, or is even that Idea lacking
wisdom? In the movie "Arrival",
Old Ones manifest, able to turn space/gravity/time on
their/our heads, and H.P.
Lovecraft dines out with Benjamin
Whorf, played by a woman. The Collective
Imagination here delivered an odd message: first, after
the Old Ones giving away their whole language/secrets to
the "translation" expert, they announce that in 3000
years, they will need our help. As current mad
scientists rediscover an Other-Country of the Lands of
the Mother - which are right in front of us all the
time, will we try to invade, control, wipe-out?
What if part of the embodied in matter -human folk, want
a stronger barrier/threshold, and more control in an
effort to continue and/or advance human dominance?
How far will the Gods&Goddesses go in giving away to
us all that they are/were/and ever might be?
The Divine Feminine is Unsettling Everything, bringing a
Broom for the tidying up of much confusion - in Her
Visage as the sensual aspect of Eros,
leaving the mind's/perceptions to its own devices.
The first
Tree Huggers were called Druids - a very
interesting art. Nature will be Touched, even if
by flood and fire, and dread pirate Roberts returns to
the dreaming we call death. Then, the miracle, ...
the surviving new uprooted/endangered, human being finds
his/her deepest self in caring and sharing and being
just company. We need less things and more each
other. The aftermath of the grave weather and
earth events (hurricanes, earthquakes, and maybe even
flying saucers), gives birth to changes in human
consciousness. People make choices-hard, and find
then in themselves something they forgot - kindness,
empathic-concern, and a will to help as costs/risks to
themselves.
a misty morning outside my study window - November 2017
What lives there gazing in, while I am looking out?
All the same, I do not find evidence of there not being
a Journey to the Mothers (going beyond Good&Evil)
writ large in my biography, as well as obvious - though
with great variety - in a lot of other
biographies. I/We may well have
mis-labeled/named experiences, - hard to see what your
culture does not notice in its Language.
Meanwhile, ... the True Source still not holding Herself
back from catching me when I fall; and, as with all of
us, there is a lot of falling to be had.
joey
, whose physical, astral and
ethereal bodies I inherited in the Fall of 1971 (he
would have been 31 that coming December), was
acculturated in a small community,
consciously/culturally led/shaped/guided by Masons
(Shriners), with/along side the Knights
of Columbus, both building stuff in our town such
that it has many Public&Catholic Schools, and a
Public&Catholic Hospitals or two, while the dominant
places to party remained hangouts for lodge brothers
(with secret handshakes) of all kinds: bars, nightclubs,
drive-in movies and eateries. Our biological
avatar source-Dad was a 33rd degree Mason (as in
Freemasonry) = a Shriner, with a funny hat/fez thing
worn in parades. Mom gave me (Joel) a Freemasonry
book of Dad's a couple of decades ego, wherein it was
taught to Dad&Friends that we humans were immortal
spirits experiencing many incarnations. A heresy
to the Knights Columbus by the way, as well as to a lot
of so-called ordinary protestant churchgoing folk.
Church-wise joey was confirmed at 12, as a Lutheran, a
ceremony attended by an Angel, but by then he knew
better than to share those moments of wonder.
Next, came mom&dad changing our "church" to
Congregational, for the reasons that among the German
rooted Lutherans everyone was old, whereas among the
Congregationalists, there were more young family folk,
nearer to mom&dad's age and our (the three brothers)
ages as well. Church every Sunday, sort of, with
Easter being a time of getting a new suit of clothes,
perhaps even new shoes. Mom taking pictures of her
boys, just before getting in the car to go.
When joey was about 14, he was elected (by some girls) -
as a freshman - to be the president of the local Congregational
Church Youth Group: Pilgrim Fellowship.
The minister was disturbed at the sly games of teenage
girls, but for joey a stroke of fate with many
branchings - looked good on his college
applications. The Town also provided baseball
diamonds, a huge swimming pool, and staff support
everywhere. Winters included helping a friend
(Mike 0.) with his paper route. Outdoors a lot, in
all kinds of whether/weather.
some winter fairies dancing cold, left
circles in the ice, outside of River
House, above the waters of the Assabet
Meanwhile, for the teenagers, the Masons created/named a
youth center, and it seemed to be religiously/monetarily
neutral territory. A bowling alley, a cafe, a
basketball court/arena with a stage for both the game
and the sock-hops - very ‘50‘s, called The Demolay
Memorial. It was dedicated to our town’s recent
fallen warriors, and built a few years after WWII.
I suspect, this being Montana where a prime virtue is to
be good neighbors (as long as you’re white, and - even
if poor or otherwise - “safe” - moms&dads rules -
modeled, not spoken), ... this virtue led to all the
recent fallen being named in a bronze tablet covering
one brick wall at the Memorial entrance-way, ... that
this was done without religious exemption was assumed,
no doubt even included some Jews. joey’s favorite
identified-as-Jewish neighbor (joey had no idea what
being Jewish meant) ... the man owned a very large
garbage and scrap collection operation, such that one
nice summer afternoon this kind person drove through the
neighborhood a Fire!Truck!, just sold to him for scrap,
to go on its last ride about town all covered over with
boys, no girls allowed. Even out on the highway -
Sirens and Lights and all. Santa has many names,
and works all year long, 24/7 as we say, being a spirit
of giving and all.
>>>except, ... some of the fallen may be
not-listed ... what might have been hidden by the
massive culture-wide lie about who Native Americans
truly were? A path to being away from abject
poverty, and alcoholic brutality has always been just
down on the corner, where the Army Recruiter’s hang out,
wherever kings and insane politicians (taking no risks
themselves) need soldiers to die away from home.
See Clint Eastwood's fine film on Iwo
Jima: Flags of our Fathers, for a mostly true
story of a Native American soldier in WWII. An
"indian" was among those who raised the flag:
Growing up in small town culture in Montana, home of the
free and the brave - starting in the Season of Christmas
1940, was to be taught a lot just by omission.
joey/Joel have two brothers, and various cousins by the
linkage of blood - the avatar stream. The two
brothers are two major teachers for us. Some vague
categories as an introduction - they will visit on
occasion later in the story. All the brothers
(Looney-Lou, Puny-Doug, and Snoony-joey) are born in
December, suggesting a regular Easter-tide fertility in
mom. Twin-Cousin Joy Ellen Olson was born
on the same day as joey/joel Allan Wendt
(12/23/40), about two hours before or after, and 1000
miles apart. Grandma Edith was the first to hear,
from letters arriving after the first of the year 1941,
and on the same day, ... one from her own daughter and
another from her daughter in-law. People always
didn't have easy phone service in that way back then,
...
Lou, older by five years - now 82 - a wanderer by
instinct, gets into serious science, succeeds, but
something is missing. He and I lived different
times together as adults, often talking science.
You could say that Lou's heart was a bit broken by
having graduate students that wanted to be spoon fed
answers for a test, and who don't give a fuck about
learning how to think/practice actual scientific
inquiry. Lou ran away from teaching and research,
and his own family, a sensitive soul in a cruel
age***. He often later worked for the
National Park Service, being expert in skiing and
mountain climbing, thus available for mountain rescues
and such. These days he lends his
mind to the mysteries of strange objects on Mars and the
Moon, while hanging out in the company of others his
age, all needing some degree of medical care - while
being mostly just broke and poor. A modern
business model takes care of our aging folk, as long as
the owners get to dip their beaks in the flow of
government tax money, being recycled.
Still, hardly a community these places, where a
life-times' wisdom and such remains closed books because
the young were/are often not taught to honor their
elders, at the same level which/of Aboriginal Peoples.
from:
a sensitive soul in a cruel
age***:
***A second spring
within life's matrix
alternatives branch, bud
flower
and wither.
The delicate lace of
fine new leaves against
a patched gray sky suggests
the pattern.
Many branches and growing points
exist together.
Farther north and west
where winds exposed to
snow chill the
air
and lives
and winter's death has not
yet
been rescinded.
A second spring will come
new buds flower
the soft rains warm
chill soil.
This promise lies implicit
In the earth's course.
Somewhere within the matrix
as on earth
winter
is always ending.
lou w wendt
winter-dressed trees, in
still beauty, a cocktail party down in the roots:
River House.
Doug, behind joey by 8 years, youngest-biggest, artist,
KSAN disk jockey: Midnight Dread,
musician. Now dancing as fast as he can to make
ends meet, he still finds time to perform/create his Ghost Town Sound.
As of the writing of this he is 68, and furious about
what evil the arts of publicity (paid liars all) have
done to our Country (a moral understanding he got from
dad-Wally, who was in the advertising business - which
was even then in a rush/tempation to sell by telling too
many not-true stories).
None of the three of us never figured out how to make a
buck, and remain poor today, although in far different
circumstances. Many of our children are doing much
better. All of us woke up to the missing culture
of our youth, each in our own way. Lou traveled
around looking for and at, Medicine Wheels, guided on
occasion by Bald Eagles sitting on a fence post out
among/in the other-wise empty plains and rough
hills. Doug, living several years now back in our
Home Town, fled with his family from San Francisco, when
rioters came too close; and, ... Once Home sought out
the spiritual depths of love of the Earth, as well as
the mysteries of local Spirits (see Ghost Town Sound).
Doug tells this story: In the last trip, old green
International Caravan fully loaded, with family (lady
and two youths), their pre-suv Suv breaks down on a
highway in Western Montana, and contrary to being
ignored, which is normal in urban/sub-urban area
freeways&streets, every single person/whatever that
drove by stopped. Everyone stopped and asked if
they could help. Montana's a different
place, and not the only such place either. Big Sky
Country. Two national parks. Shards of
ancient history as well - the fella in Spielberg's
Jurassic Park was based on a guy who dug up all manner
of old bones in the Plains of Eastern Montana.
Many visitors to the State, stop by the Custer's
Battlefield Memorial, wondering ... it's parked in
the southeastern corner of ... the State of Awesome.
All three of us lived with the Arts that killed the
silly savages every Saturday Afternoon at the
movies. TV was joining in. joey and
his buds played cowboys and indians, got permission
(around age 10 or 11) to own bows with arrows, and
bb-guns, although the first rite of passage was
receiving (usually from an older relative): a pocket
knife around the time it came to first attend
school. How could a boy play mumbletypeg if he
didn’t have a pocket knife? I had a favorite
one with a pearl handle, from our biological father,
which joey received after Dad's avatar's death, and
which was taken from me by the TSA at an airport - you
know the place - a Steel Temple to Fears, where domestic
governmental approved grade A terrorists-protectors
weave their arts of intimate search and destroy, and we
travelers suffer so that politicians can pretend to be
doing something real.
Would not want having to eat, pay my bills, and
otherwise keep the Wolf at Bay, - would not want that
job - anyone do you think makes a career there?
Fact is, most of my own person to person encounters felt
like a dance of mutual suffering - of "oh what the
fuck", lets us just get this over with, and avoid the
temptations to being assholes :-: Hello's, how are
you's, please and thank you's, and have a nice day, -
social kindnesses very much Mother-like.
>>>If girls had rites of passage, it was
probably learning to deal with boys, who were certainly
more dangerous than pocket knives.<<<
the
Grandmother
Tree, at River House, in the Fall - wonderful
conversationalist, true to the slowthinking of trees,
captured so well by Tolkien's TreeBeard.
Dad was a fly fisherman, and only hunted - with shotgun
- fowl. We ate what he caught, killed, and
cleaned. Sometimes a spheroid of copper/steel bird
shot was found by a young tooth. Going hunting
with Dad scary/exciting - walking stubble fields holding
a weapon that can kill, if not treated wisely.
Senses alert in the cool of the dawn light and colors of
late Autumn, chill winds, bird cries, and walking on
stuff that makes crunch/crunch/song each step.
We all belonged (including Dad's poker and fishing
buddies) to the local Country Club. Our family
dogs - almost - (Duchess and her many sell-able puppies
aside :-:? mom's pocket money?) - never lived inside,
even in the middle of the savage Montana blizzards and
40 below Februaries. These were always well bred
bird dogs and have their own story. They
easily came to the whistle, and had serious caves in
which to snuggle out of the wind with food and water
nearby, amidst generous piles of swell dog smelling old
blankets, many wool - none synthetic - yet alone, a lot,
perhaps Mom-banished for smelling up the house, while
the Duchess was always well groomed, and often allowed
inside.
Dad fed and watered them, personally - mostly - boys get
older, and dads&moms do too. Spoke to
them, touched them, asked them to sit and to stay, ...
trained them from about week eight, if weened to solid
food. Always had a word&pet on leaving for
work, and then again after coming home.
Dad’s last hunting queen, Gypsy Rose, an elegant
Wirehaired Pointing Griffon, 
outlived
him, spending her mellow years with our younger
brother’s family in San Francisco. She even
starred in a short humorous film Doug made (shown a
couple of times on Saturday Night Live), and spent one
afternoon at home staring into space for eight hours
after devouring a left in plain sight near-ounce of
Mexican weed. Do such remarkable creatures, so
unlike us "humans" - we being upright&uptight, - do
animals always live in the "dreaming"?
In Tarot, the Dog is featured on the Tenth Arcanum :=:
Wheel of Fortune,
on the right-horizontal-mid-line of the cross in the
circle of life, moving heavenwords, opposite the Monkey,
who is moving EarthWords. Dog, a companion, both
of us following each other out of the wild, and into
domesticity. Faithful are dogs. Selfless in
loving (Duchess - a black cocker-spaniel-with-papers) -
knocked down my little brother (he of the ganja left out
for Gypsy Rose), then aged 2 or so. Just before
Doug walked into a street of fast moving cars (the main
road to the East Base - where the Army Air Corp hung out
during WWII), Duchess knocked him down and sat on him,
his screaming drawing exited attention from several -
even neighbors. Unable to face the memory of whose
lapse it might have been as regards the leaving open the
gate to the fenced-in back yard.
Mom stayed home - a husband and three boys - lots to
keep fresh and clean and mended. Plus, when no one
else is home she can play her collection of classical
records, pick up a trashy detective novel (in hardcover
collections, once the money is there for that pleasure),
and lay back with some vodka in a tea cup. Smart
lady. Four men pissing every day in the same
toilet, so in the mom&pop designed new home
(the 40's warped into the '50's - where the "boys"
get to help/labor Ways of reducing cost - - - she
makes/invents a removable/washable clear-plastic cover
to hang down the nearest wall, part instinctive guilt
trip and saves on what you have to clean every damn day
over and over again.
I have found no memories of her being a tippler - a
sipper of the sauce over the course of the day, but my
older brother did that tea cup bit, and its the kind of
thing you learn by seeing someone else take some vodka
and make it virtually invisible as a
substance. In small amounts the vodka-sauce
can’t easily be nosed out by others, which multiplies
the virtues of this mild vice, what moderns have come to
call: guilty pleasures.
I am an addict. I will always be an addict.
We are all addicts. All of us burn with desire, -
for something - even if it is just continuing to be able
to breathe while some asshole is pouring water down your
throat. Buddha called this stuff: Noble
Truths. I'm of the traveler/gypsy school -
intoxicants help discipline the will, nor do all artists
Puny, writers Snoony, mountain climbers Looney, choose
traversing this Veil without medicinal aides, self
applied, since only we know the true state of the own
mind.
And, also for Mom, her own car, the Country Club,
traveling to Advertising Conventions in big cities
without the boys along - most of the time. Long
vacations at cabins on lakes in the Rocky Mountains of
Western Montana. She's achieved a life impossibly
far, from growing up dirt poor in the back end of a one
room school house in the grassy plains of Eastern
Montana, her own father having died of the flu in
1921. In the dry lands, where
farmers were in revolt against bankers - a still
unfinished much needed war, for/as most Americans are Wage
Slaves, &Commerce rules in D.C.
Mom was/had been also taught that her boys were animals
(evolution). She, growing up in the Eastern
Plains, was raised to know about "training"
animals. She had skill with her voice, that like a
lot of moms, stopped boys dead in the tracks, knifed
with guilt, even if not entirely guilty. Bottoms
got spanked, and on rare occasions, faces got slapped.
Mom and Dad met at college, at the start of the
depression. He’s a big
time basketball hero and when he graduates she has
only had two years, mostly on track to marriage and
kids. College sweethearts pranked in a famous
fake-real school annual. Off to his hometown, at
that time the biggest city in the State - Great Falls -
to become a business man, eventually buying his own
father’s advertising agency, which name is still
used today. Think about what that
means. Dad was a authentic pillar of the
community. Over 600 people came to his funeral,
including former Sigma Alpha Epsion brother Chet
Huntley, of Huntley
and Brinkley, Mike Mansfield - Senate Majority
Leader, and Montana Lt.Governor Ted James. When
Nixon came to town running for office, Dad was on the
stage - not alone, but all the same.
Me being white privileged 'n all ... He was saved (4F)
from WWII by bad knees from years of pounding up and
down the floors of basketball courts, and a lingering
kidney weakness, having had rheumatic fever as a
teenager - before there were antibiotics -
and kept home and out of school for a year.
His death in 1968, was accompanied by Martin Luther
King's death, Bobby Kennedy's death, the Chicago
police riots/end-of-a-Party at the Democrat
Convention - the death of a parent washing tides in
all souls - joey tries to master his
chosen-fate - a separation; an affair consummated
after the separation; quiting a strange job helping
Allstate Insurance Company cheat its own customers,
if they had a claim under their un-insured coverage;
washing dishes in a restaurant (first job like that
- how many people learn some of that kind of
trade). Dad dies, and it all goes to reboot.
Back to the famous fifties in GF: Curious boys gather
information. joey&friends having played at hunting
and killing, and had a few wrestles, we then graduate to CAR!
Friend's Dad sold cars for Ford. Best-buds
first car to play with,
a 6 years old used one of these, needed
paint. We were 15.
The car came out in 1949, and it was 1955, we were
getting driver's licences, but after school
borrowing keys, and using up gas
scared the owner/relative
would catch us out.
Riding about for the pure joy of it. Driver was
usually whose-ever relative owned it, usually ...
With! Girls~!?!~
- sometimes. We drive by a dark side street in
downtown GF, not much with street lamps. On one
darkened side a door, maybe colored red, illuminated from
above with a small cone of yellowish light - a tiny exposed
bulb, nested in a green tin shade, just like in the
movies. That’s where you can fuck an indian whore, we
teach ourselves, beginning the well known rite of bragging
our way to sexual wisdom, learned at the feet of older male
liars ... in a town with this proud story/legend:
Hill 57 was where real indians lived. Kind of in
a heap of trash too. Kind of place where a boy with
even a few beers finds a road, past/through/around a
fallen-over barb-wired gate, pointing to distant lights, and
in the better part of valor we turn around and go back to
town. Heard at dinner, from Dad: The Rotary Club
went out there and installed plumbing and running
water. Meant as a kind of late Fall Christmas
Gift. By the New Year, the men living there had taken
it all apart so as to sell it for liquor.
A dark seeming culture, mostly mentioned in the back-pages
of Montana Newspapers when there was tragedy, such as car
wrecks caused by drunk indians. Meanwhile, ... joey
did Boy-Scouts, and spent lots of time in both Glacier
National Park and Yellowstone - even into Canada for Banff,
in support of Lou's&friends mountain climbing
treks. Indians barely visible although highway signs
denoted some sort of land tribal stewardship/ownership, such
as: Blackfoot Reservation. Custer was famously on our
side - a hero and a fool. We only stopped for gas and
stuff on the main highways. Never drove into an actual
community. Never thought about it. Mostly didn’t
know such might even exist in an imaginable way.
Funny though, isn't it. How Scouts, boys and girls,
are an excuse to create safe organized camping experiences,
for kids that otherwise are born in hospitals, raised inside
houses with inside plumbing/electricity and go to brick and
mortar schools, where thoughts are planted, cultivated, and
for some even enjoyed. Western Civilization having a
very curious relationship to the Natural World - an
un-ensouled relationship. No I-thou / me-thee.
The two traditions (with a few actual practitioners) clash,
and yet, Aboriginal Wisdom, being closer to the Earth-Truth
(in practice - knowing all Seven Mysteries), while the
Elder-Wisdom/Stories, turned away from an
always-and-even-now ensouled world, ... tales of watchers,
tinkers, and experimentalists - trying to master the
stuff/thing/soul-less matter. The Gods of the Forge
Victorious, buoyed up by the Cruelty of Heartless Numbers
Dancing. Is there a better Way to convert plants into
thoughts, other than by setting them of fire, and then
taking their lifeless ash to a tool/of lenses for looking
closer? Electricity
and the Spirit in Nature.
There was an Indian girl in senior year history.
Didn’t seem to have a friend. joey was shy, and
blossoming girls too hard to make as new friends - how do
boys not acquire the habit of staring at chests, since they
are fresh from the miracle of watching daily these obvious
changes in a once upon a time icky girl's figure. I
scour his memory for her name, but there is only this
observation: she seemed to wear the same white blouse, dark
skirt, and plain flat shoes everyday, probably freshly
laundered.
One day she stopped coming. Rumor had it the village
males had decreed she needed to go to work for the benefit
of the .... what, .... ?
Life for joey was rich, College loomed, high school was in
its last year ... much to do, even worth being teased by the
highly plausible assertion of his best bud of all, Michael
O., which was “that the reason you got elected Senior
Class President was because none of the really cool people
bothered to run for anything, so when that girl behind you
in home room nominated you - not even telling you, and
there you were one morning on a ballot no one really cared
about. Do not get big headed.” Like I
said, Mike was joey’s best friend.
joey gets ready to breathe out: ... this event lived one day
at a time - while occasionally very intense - ... being here
reviewed while I who is writing this is breathing in the
memories still rich after all these years ...
In 1969 Tina and joey (seen below on their wedding day in
1962) ... reunited, after separation adventures,
self-divorce papers, and other impossible causes,
It makes sense - Altamont,
the anti-Woodstock
- if we consider celebrations magical, and that the trouble
there happened while certain musically inclined poet-drunks
and heroin addicts sang their Sympathy for the Devil - bad
ju ju, requiring a hell’s angel to knife to death a drunk -
sacrifice in blood - total of four people died that day. The
Dionysian ‘60‘s gives birth to a Nixonian hangover
‘70‘s.
Politically, ... the new culture of the left pushed, and the
right/white establishment Shoved Back. A Culture War
at its heart, although deaths of pride too many. The
‘60‘s won - no Way possible to stop the music, whether blowin
on the wind, we
shall overcome, or let it
be, ... and those, who yearned for a return to the
fantasy fifties they watched all the time on TV, ... those
folks lost children to wars, farms to corporations, while
the movies glorified sex, and violence, a march of slow
time, among/where the greatest virtues were everything
staying basically constant. Part of the Heart Land of
America had justifiable traditions, which all the same were
getting old and sclerotic - the children fleeing the dying
culture of farmlands and rural towns for the vital living
culture of the cities.
Two places where changes take place slow and/or fast -
urban/rural. Sometimes we have to move, and visiting
the rest of the world is good for Americans. Very
good, even if just out of town, and somewhere else than
where you have been spending most of your time. joey
bounced up and down the edges of the Rocky Mountains: Great
Falls to Colorado Springs to Denver to Missoula Montana to
Denver again, and then go west young man to SF. Bay
Area. I come on board, next move is to Sacramento,
then to near Mt. Shasta, .... then all the way across the
country to New England, and New Hampshire. Fires of
separation and more mommy/and daddy singing its
complicated ...
Only to go West again, all the way to SF/Sonoma, for a
couple of years, until once more a siren call and I've gone
East to NH once more - believing in a voice over a phone,
and a bunch of e-mails, that fortune was smiling. We
were together for less than a week ...
Moves are where we trust the stars of our own imagination,
unless drafted, in prison (physical and/or mental), or
running as fast as possible away, more than toward.
Rested in NH a while, tho' soon off
to the West again, stopping at Prescott AZ - note
feature in upper right, Prescott has a "natural sphinx",
which the Yavapi
Indians called: "lion lying down" ...
- ... for reasons of family and being near youngest daughter
[middle daughter Jennifer, having remarked it is not so much
what you do during a girl's adolescence, but that you are
there - around]. I met a new personal friend, a doctor
by trade, and when youngest daughter Brie was done with high
school (for graduation I gave her money for her first
tattoo, and pre-sold mom-Dawn the idea as well). Brie
is a social pioneer, throwing gender issues to the winds,
and plotting to be on the first Mars Mission as an
astro-engineer. We had a Facebook blow up, and
currently do not talk. I chastised her and some of her
friends for the abuse of language in the terms: "White
Privilege", which being racist on its face, is also a
complete abstraction that never fits real people.
Although, ... having come into our language, it must play
its role, however distracting it will be.
Prescott >>> DrFriend&I ... me going back to
Fair Oaks CA 21 years after I left (she'd been there as
well) . Then once more East, riding the fire of
biographical trials of rejection (7stageswork):
body/friend/A.Society/living space cusp - go/flee to
kids/family in SF Bay Area - i.e. go to the Past, or toward
the unknown, to NH (she of the Scottish/Aboriginal blood
lines-avatar - having an empty half-garage made into a
studio apartment, - stayed there 9 months, doing a lot of
writing, including American
Anthroposophy and Biographical
Necessity ... and finally then Concord, MA, where I
met my Lady, we finally Traveling to Paxton. joey
mostly bounced North and South, while I bounce West and
East. Some details lurk - see below.
Those souls of the American Heartland, upon loosing the
'60's cultural war, remained behind:
Rural&faded-suburbs/rustbelt - where they went on
yearning for an imaginary better than the present lost past
... and like a fruit too long ripening, became politically,
the Tea Party:
- a well aged soul-wine.
Then, after that brief last moment of sanity, their dreams
of a lost world were consumed/absorbed by the white money
establishment. These are churched folk who never
should have been made fun of, because that very stability
they provided was essential to any possibility that wanted
to be born. Ever know of a place where folks gather,
and there isn't a church. Without the folk born of
Depression, WWII, and the gasping for a break of
less-rapid-change '50's, there does not come into existence
the foundation for something Culturally New, a
revolutionary/dawning to say the least.
Without our ancestors, we are not. Without our
children, even if that "child" is just a bad drawing made by
a homeless person, or a triumphant terminal tower (and this
too shall pass) ... who are we without purpose? A
wonderful question everyone should be completely free to
answer in their own Way.
The Gods&Goddesses Having a Profound Interest in
Fertility, and at the same time being Gloriously Indulgent,
... we are free to screw up all of it, albeit within limits
- -- - one can only hope&pray. Social Existence is
Living, and an Art not of man's-making. Everyone gets
forgiven, or no one gets forgiven.
Social-politically, a worshiped past fantasy leads to a
regressive stance (lets go backwards instead of forwards),
which is a call for at least standing still and digging in
your heels where-ever there is a t00-risky-chance - change
being too fearful and out of control. Along the road
with the song nothing getting fixed, in the key of
failed promises, constantly, we find- -
->abortion still exists, and black and brown people are -
culturally - scary unknown with seriously bad reputations -
from this stew of frogs in a slow cooking pot, the
anti-’60‘s cultural conservatives became really angry, and
voted for, and remain devoted to: Donald Trump. Rough
Justice from the Spirit known as: Karma’s a Bitch.
the movement of the djin, in and out of bottles, has
always been involved in chaos = self containment is a
virtue
We, as a species unknown to itself, are confused, afraid,
and seriously discontent. Everyday the News shows us
all the fires. It is what they don't show - the wider
context, when not present makes for harm. Most people
did not die today, and there were more births than
deaths. Not everyone's house burned down, and when the
weekend gets here, there will be PARTY, or Church, or Both.
Maybe there's a purpose to what a so-called
transcendentalist called Lives of Quiet Desperation.
Lots of burning, but not everyone burns fast, or even burns
at all. Mote (tiny fire) and Beam (dry wooden
thoughts). Perfect storm for a Planet wide social
catastrophe. Are we having fun yet? (tip of the hat to
Bill
Griffith)
Want To Understand?:? ... try imagining Trump, McCain,
Pence, et. all. from the
Inside Out (see the movie) - somewhere/when/how in the
bowels of history's deep past has grown the freedom of all
folk to/do are/be given free reign to personalize the World
in their own image - Gods&Goddesses - they got to do it,
so then must humans be all the same/free. Is there a
risk? You-bet-cha. Untamed Freedom + carnal
desire = the Beast from the Abyss of the Unknown. If
choice is not real, than we are just a bad memory in someone
else's wet dream. Its a dark secret, or not, but all
that stuff in Vudu about Loa/Riders be true. Ask the
Las Vegas shooter. Looking for causes of local reality
dysfunctions? ISIS violence? A mindless
asshole sitting in the American Presidency?
We all are familiar with our Own Dark, and even so The Trump
Voters like him - those whose culture died to become the
compost for new culture, ... they like Trump almost as much
as he likes himself. Tear it all down fire and
brimstone, with just the right bit of cheeky noises - a
businessman playing at “Curb your enthusiasm”. I’ve
got this under control. Better times are coming.
Steve Bannon dancing to
liar liar hair on fire
Insectiod/dying soul-forms - 
... when the
Social needs dissolving into Chaos, people arise who are
self-tasked with tearing social order down, in part by
showering the world in thoughts more akin with the
bright/bloody knives in horror movies, ... thoughts which
slash at the Souls emerging - the Children, ... a
press/indulgent parade of ugly thoughts that are anti-human
thoughts. I
am not a Number.
The Great Internet's Shadow is loose in every hack and fake
news art. American Politics as a self-immolating
deconstruction, where prescription drug addled public
servants stumble in the dark fear of getting caught out, and
hung from a street lamp. Good&Evil dance all over
politics, as do Sane&Insane, or Healthy&Sick as a
Dog.
Ganja becoming legal, and alcohol intoxication burning out
through excesses on college campuses (modern partying not
new, but comes and goes in phases - usually connected to
people who dream big, seek joy, and need to blow off steam)
... an odd music to wars being fought over who gets to
control the food we eat, and the medicines we are being
forced to take. "the Third Event", as it is named in
the Hopi Prophecy. Consider the social implications of
changes in modes of intoxication. DrunkWhiteBaldHeads
falling ... while, little noticed, She catches them whatever
their purported sins. Monsanto, setting itself across
the grain of life, ... is about to run into a Medicine Woman
Knot, which will break the blade to pieces.
We’ve had a Revolutionary War, and a Civil War. We've
had a century of seemingly endless war/s to crown the 2nd
Millennium becoming the Third [WWI, WWII, Korea, Vietnam,
Afghanistan, Iraq - just the major base cords]. Can
there be a better War? A Grandmother War
- offering Tea&Company for everyone, just as long as
discussions are civil, and discourse sane. Star Wars.
(The Force). Star Trek (dreams of a more social
future). Aliens (women warriors manifest).
Monster Computers (machines in the image of man, who turns
out to be: god-becoming). Guardians of the Galaxy (We
are Groot!)
repeat chorus: The Force Dreams of a More Social Future,
Women Warriors Manifest, Machines in the Image of man
god-becoming, We are Groot! the kickass Goddess/God of Life.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EiArkpxCdtk
Baby Groot Resurrected and Dancing.
Wisdom Songs dominating the commercial Collective
Imagination, dancing in the debris of an increased failure
of governments to deliver on any level anything except
artless divisive rhetoric, and "zombie lies" (tip of the hat
to Bill
Maher). Thanks tho' for all the stand up comics.
Back/time/step to 1971, and to Trouble in the form of
changing the jockey of a reasonably healthy white American
male avatar body, around Michaelmas in the Fall of that
year. joey and I change places of
operation - I get his physical body, his astral body, and
his ethereal body. He gets a rest - a much too
sensitive soul, yet having in this sacrifice given me more
than one great gift. All the same, I’m not joey, and
the mix of Joel and Tina, as against joey and Tina starts to
fray on the edges of the already expectable and existing
wounds ...
from a work-friend of joey's, a girl
who saw, and touched ...
"There once was a man named Wendt,
whose mind become boggled and bent.
On fine sunny day,
Wendt went away,
and no one knew where Wendt went"
Four months later, moral gridlock. Stay in family
or walk away again from a difficult situation. The
situation where when a child needs/wants a simple
answer, the first thing adults say is: “its
complicated”.
I leave the house on Everett Street and start to walk,
... aimlessly. A couple dozen blocks away a big
isolated hill: Albany Hill. It is surrounded by
the flat straight street neighborhoods of the East Bay,
below the hills where money gets a better view.
Albany Hill ... an upthrust against the
horizon, as the distance lessens, She becomes a shape
not unlike a tiny wooded Ayers
Rock, ringed below with a bunch of developers' wet
dreams/ten story apartment towers, among which weaves a
road up through real woods to the crown, where only
trees, a few shrubs, and well trod trails
converge. Comes with a Cross, not too big
though. Some of the trees are taller.
I wonder what the local tribes of Native Americans saw,
gazing among the original (unbuilt-upon)
grassy-salt-mud-flats to where She stood, alone, garbed
in green, and then past Her - to and out the gate to the
sea. One evening at sunset, I was atop a
rise above Albany, and saw seaward how that sea gate
turned to gold as the Sun dropped directly behind it,
out of sight. The bridge non-natives have added is
not inartistic - steel taming a limit in the wild, at
dangerous costs, but still there after all these so few
years.
things fall apart, the center cannot hold, we need to be
told until we are sold ...
Arriving on the Crown of Albany Hill, a large rock offers a
place to rest from the walking. A first prayer since
many years ago when the magic was taken from joey’s heart,
... a plea for release against the weight of darkness - a
moral gridlock huge in its paralytic force. Stay with
Tina, or go, which joey had himself done just a couple years
before, and seemed to my/his emerging new-self something
wanting to repeat. What about the children?
Then Gone, ...
... so simultaneous that prayer and miracle are
indistinguishable. And lingering - permission to
choose, and to choose and not worry - either way stay with
Tina or not - either way will work out. Not just dark
removed, but worry as well. I walk home, go into the
room with our water bed in it. I’ve been gone many
hours. Tina comes in, sits, I speak from a soreness in
joey’s lingering echoing heart: Why didn’t you give me
any choices about these children. You know you know
exactly when you are fertile. And, its not
them - they are miracles, but you - you keeping choice to
yourself?
I start drowning the both of us in my/his tears, weeping too
a gift from the prayer answered. She can’t comfort
such pain. Doesn’t know how? Who would know how
to heal the seas of karmic wounds we see everywhere.
Everyone tries to do what they can, and suffer the
consequences, although not always silently. As a
parent we struggle with the heart tugs of caring to much or
to little. Given that Our Cosmic Parents do not grant
all prayers, this signals how stuck we are on such dilemmas
- compelled to hard knocks-learning in a deep school, which
includes learning to share the pain.
While there will not be many Navajo Blessing Ways done among
white folk, the personal biography is itself a passage in
the tradition of the Holy Grail. Neither the Holy
Mother, or the Son, stand off at a distance. They
could not be more close, as He baptizes us with Fire and
Holy Breath, and She Endlessly Replenishes the falling and
fallen.
Over time this miracle came to repeat itself, as I
discovered - through self-observation - The Second
Eucharist in the Ethereal. A big deal in a way,
although the shock of the first time becomes more normal as
we learn to trust the fires of our own heart, against the
social tides everywhere drowning sanity with untamed
hungers.
We divide the children. The two older - Marc and Doren
with Tina, who worked everyday and needed the kids to be as
self sufficient as possible, while toddler Jennifer went
with her out of work weekend hippie dad, who burned with a
fire to learn. We shared the three treasures every
weekend, one taking care of the immediate needs of them all,
while the other had a whole weekend off. The kids were
together each weekend in spite of us - something modeled for
us by others facing divorces, ... our church/community
fosters discussion, and asked to participate in a Church
Journal, I offered the name New Wine,
which was used.
I saw the School that was there - the San Francisco
Bay Area Mystery School, organized by Providence as School
Master/Mistress. Almost 14 years lay in front -
an adventure lived moment to moment.
Novels/music/movies/lectures by gurus/books to pass from
hand to hand/casual sex/ finding that I already could see,
so I looked. And looked, and looked.
A book is given to me: Seven
Arrows. My joeyechoing heart breaks, and tears
flow as I discover that Hill 57 was a scary mask set in the
way of supposed good Christian Folk. Those Indians of
our youth had wisdom ways easily equal - if not better than
- Tibetan and Zen Buddhism - - in 1971 all the
rage. Some of my
friends/companions/house-sharing spirit-speaking folk, went
landward in the mid ‘70‘s, via Rolling Thunder and such as
the American Indian Movement (AIM). By the time that
decade had passed, I had found Rudolf Steiner and his
serious students. Got some help in that ... the
Burning Bush visited me, personally. Kind of knocks
your head of off your shoulders for a good long time.
joey had gone to the [borrowed? imaged from?] 
, USAF Academy
for three years (straight out of high school in 1959) -
these folks want you to touch physics, math, and how to take
measurements on a running jet engine, all the while the
ice-cream of planes and rockets - all the boy-toys from
whenever. Sophomore (3rd Class) year joey became
uncertain as to whether he could actually drop atomic bombs
on people - being as he still believed those magic Gospel
stories of his youth - believed them deeply, and ... well
the Cold War is very real when you wear a uniform.
Fate saved him from an agonizing choice.
Like all star-crossed lovers, Tina and joey surrendered to
first son Marc’s need to get here before all the fun was
over. He was born the Spring of the year JFK was
murdered. The Air Force Academy is history, and three
years later, in Summer, in Missoula Montana (where Doren is
born/wrestled into flesh - a hard journey), an honorable
discharge and the nurturing Mother aspect of Divine
Providence sends a couple toward/through the ‘60‘s and ‘70‘s
without the threat of being drafted into foreign war zones,
although the one at home has its own agony as we see our
Dream of America actually get eaten by the Military
Industrial Complex, -- a hard landing that ... finding
just how powerless, to act effectively, one can be.
Although ... we did believe we were going to change the
world, for which the baby boomers get a lot of the
blame. Old wounds still unhealed, have degenerated
into slogans: White Privilege, Black Lives Matter, ... the
politics of bumper-snickers: I'm mad as hell and I'm not
going to take it anymore protest signage.
Law School in Missoula was endured, but what actually
beckons? ... ? ... although a Christmas gift from the older
brother with a PhD in microbiology has instructions [in two
pages for those friends who will trip-sit joey while he
partakes a very new eucharist]: A capsule of LSD. The
Trip was not as joey expected, for his anticipation was that
an hallucination would be outside the control of his own
mind. That was not the case, which raised some
interesting questions in the young lawyer mind - which had
gotten the High A in Evidence - the law’s rules of proof,
and the only course in Law School taught by a practicing
attorney, who later becomes a Federal Judge. These
rules were logical and strict and pure-in-ideal, although -
in practice - full of holes if the lawyer's client has
enough money with which to play.
For a dreamer, joey had an acute mind, he just didn't
display it. In the Spring of his junior year in high
school, his class placed in the 99th % on a national
examination, and in his class there were 30+ students that
were individually (not collectively) in the 99th %. Of
those, five underperformed, as it were. joey was
getting mostly C's and an occasional B. The day these
scores were announced, every teacher and every class he went
to gave him shit for not ... whatever they thought he should
be. Thing was standardized tests were a game to
joey. If he didn't know he'd, guess, and if he had to
guess he'd eliminate answers that didn't seem to fit.
Good scores, plus other this's&that's, and joey gets
picked to go the the AF Academy. Later, when it was
time to think maybe lawschool was a next thing to do, with
one son and a wife, and all the usual dreams of young
families, he scored 698 out of 800 on the LSAT, the law
school admission test, which tested only what is anyone's
guess. He got through, with only one A, and no law
review. At graduation he was recruited by All State
Insurance Company to become an auto accidentl investigator
in Denver. On Tina's wishes they left behind being a
big fish in a small pond (Montana with all his dad's
connections) to go to Colorado and be a tiny fish in a very
big pond.
So I inherit lawyer mind, & science mind, while
discovering myself in a real/living/Hogwarts/School where
the first course I seriously take is Hermetic Science,
otherwise known as Magic. I’m a natural.
Yet, She? leads me toward the grounded. Bread crumbs -
a booklet found in a friends car, that was about the Hopi,
which I stole, eventually lost, but when the time came there
were many sources for learning about: “From the
Beginning of Life to the Day of Purification”.
On the Easter Weekend of 1985, I travel back and forth from
Sacramento to the Hopi Mesas, to seek out and visit with
Grandfather David Monogye, and watch our conversation on who
might be the True White Brother of the Hopi Prophecy,
forcibly interrupted by the granddaughter of this 106 year
old blind gentle, she demanding I leave, and stop bothering
this old man's dreams.
this retired American elder's office window ....
Today I would have said: I'm sorry. He is an Elder
and I am an Elder. We have important dreams to
share. Would you like to hear a remarkable tale
about just how right the Hopi World View is? I have
traveled far, and have little time. What do you say,
keeper of this home? May a couple of old men share
the dreaming?
Whenever I look back, in memory, I can/often create a new
story, noticing the ordered beauty of events, since it is a
given how much I like what and where I am Now. I never
had any plans and / or dreams that foresaw such
possibilities. Too many branchings in the matrix of
life. She, who is the Mother of All, is the
One-who-is-Many that folk wisdom calls: never gives you more
than you can handle, or its variations: such as virtue is
its own reward/work hard/play by the rules/mind your own
business/take no prisoners/share the good, and the hope,/and
laugh your ass off at every opportunity. Thanks Mom,
for the trust in us/me/we's, evidenced with every Sunrise
& Sunset.
From the Sufi stories, I actually practice “The Increasing
of Necessity”. What happens in the stream of life,
when I give myself totally over to Surprise ... absent daily
worry/&/works. Which involves a kind of daily
practical surrender to what lives in the 23rd Psalm.
Each waking day a series of lessons, gifts and treasures
all. It is a question of attitude. Can the new
be present to experience, or is it all sameness? For
about four years I had the privilege of taking care of young
girl child Jennifer/Jenna, while she was delightfully
teaching me how to be a child again. She’s the middle
of five altogether, who are each my favorite teachers in
their own right/spot, although time and distance make for
yearnings in the tune of: anxious, butnotforgotten.
I'd buy a cell phone, but I like it that I'm hard
(relatively) to get a hold of.
In the first months of riding the made just for us avatar,
while having access to all memories, including from the
Gospels, my lawyer trained and science trained mind +=
tarot/magic/mind looks inside and finds that I am the
beam. Steiner described America souls as: wooden, but
on the Way to overcoming that native materialism. Mote
and Beam never go away, although Their meaning can grow upon
us. I was awake to the relationship of thoughts,
conscience and experience - as mystery, from the beginning
of riding the new/old avatar ... Trees&Forests - Endless
source of Wisdom, ... "wooden", I like being from Tree, and
Groot, and Teller of Harsh Tales. Paul Bunyan
and Babe the Blue Ox, dance with Pecos Bill, and the True
White Brother ... among the sands of Time ...
view from Hopi-Land prophecy rock, of
the nearby Painted Desert ... when I visited the sun was
near setting, the gardens on the mesas were blooming
(it was Spring after all), and the view was extraordinary
... good place to do/keepup the Ceremonial Works
Maintaining the Balance.
from Pintereset Search
creator not identified, ignored advice to check for
copyright, still ... I am a thief, I use words as well as
pictures ... I did not personally author .... so sue me,
be a lot of fun
I asked myself this though: If the ground of the
world is spiritual, what does that mean for mankind’s
social and political existence? It is after all,
1978, ... Nixon had blown up the White House, and a bunch of
crazy Arabs just took over an Embassy in Iran. Plus,
joeyecho was shy, while I was not, so I took to thinking
about, and practicing arts of seduction = sex, drugs, and
rock 'n roll. In the ‘70‘s, the first ten life-years I
was the learning-to-be-a-jockey of this avatar body (31 to
40), which/where/then the wild oats joey had been too shy to
sow were sown. Such as they were ... a ganja aided
doodle&poem from those years ...
"martian* meditation"
*as in Heinlein's: Stranger in a Strange Land
Three weeks later - it was 1978, after formulating my
(Joel’s) life’s riddle (If the ground of
the world is spiritual, what does that mean for mankind’s
social and political existence?), Lady Providence
introduced me to Rudolf Steiner, and I then (after first
getting a shocking visit from Burning Bush) dedicated the
next four decades to thinking about social and political
life, in the disciplined way of Steiner’s modeling of
organic and pure thinking, with lawyer mind and science mind
still having a say, to a base beat of magic mind. In a
certain sense I was acquiring a Mistress, yet one who was
Invisible, and too often thought of as male, but still real
whatever gender category is helpful: Anthroposophia?
All the same, a name is a trap for experience, birthing far
too many questions, although Aristotle seemed to prefer the
Names to the Beings (with whom Plato may have had a more
intimate acquaintance).
Yes, ... underneath the surface intellectual puzzles, there
was the earth, the urban earth, with its buses and concrete
and masses of folks. Inspired by Seven Arrows, I
changed how I dressed. How I lived, as in the decorous
- or not - nature of where I lived. For most of the
‘70‘s I had no car, and walked (or bused) all over the San
Francisco Bay Area. I started wearing a day pack
before there were day packs.
The weather is: changeable, even coy. I went to an
Army Surplus store and bought a large army-green sack,
nylon/canvas material, the size of a tall grocery bag, yet
designed for the long haul. It has multiple straps
with buckles everywhere. You could fill it up, close
it tightly, and then hang a poncho against the rain, or a
thick wool shirt against the cold, from different straps -
use and mix as necessary. Books, paper, pens, a change
of cloths, a little tin box with paper clips, pins etc -
tiny sharps. A knife or two. A copy of the
Tarot.
Shoes were/looked like soft leather moccasins, although the
sole was imitation-rubber for the rough concrete and
asphalt, while the inside had some kind of fluffy lambsy
warmth-home - didn't always need socks or underpants.
I wore corduroy for its softness as pants and had for awhile
a corduroy jacket. The jacket was decorated with
my own designs using seed beads, that were woven on a simple
loom I found described in a old boyscout camping book.
The coat was too powerful - 
... on its back was this borrowed from the internet
figure, done in seed beads, white for the solid surfaces,
and brown for the lines. It is M.C. Escher's version
of the Star of David.
I was dancing to the luciferic, and my costumes came and
then disappeared and/or reconstructed, as I more and more
faced the truth that for all my spiritual studies, and
gifts, I had a long way to go just figuring out: how to
be a human being - if there was anything I was
learning from Aboriginal folks, ... "how to be a human
being" was the only real question one need ask.
Fell a lot ... made selfish choices, ... that harmed
others. The sea of experience/chance seemed to point
this out, but I was still me, and often not paying enough
attention to the subtle. Actually thought I was
enlightened for several months, but family&friends were
giving me "you're being a serious asshole" comments and
looks. Saved my ass. Is such biographical Art
orchestrated, in advance, or does the "field" of
providential activity work entirely in the Now, with i 'n
I's present input in mind? I suspect variations are
infinite, as are the stars, and all the sands on all the
seas of all the planets.
If I could - safely - sleep outside, I did. I observed
the weather - could tell what was coming 2 or three days in
advance, just reading the Sky. Plus/and I saw a sign
once - on rising and looking out a window, house-perched on
a working poor - most everybody is renting - hillside in
Oakland, ... I looked toward San Francisco, saw there an
inversion of the colors of the morning sky. Where
everyday was night's fading blue shading to pink, this day
the pink was lower then the night's blue, after which above,
instead of the day's blue emerging from the pink, the day's
blue emerged from the night's fading blue. In
Goethean-speak, a building inversion in the levity/gravity
balance, produced an amazingly beautiful artistic effect in
the atmospheric colors. Earthquake happened that
evening, where earlier in the day a old friend had presented
me with her collection of Moody Blues
records (a band also startled by encounter with the Burning
Bush - the man with clear eyes): She of the Records=Jamie
& with chess-friend Paul - temporarily paired -
were leaving the next day for Boston.
I was reading the Illuminatus
Trilogy, finding Nightmares and Dreams, as Features of
the Collective Unconscious/Imagination, otherwise known
among the oldest memories as: The Dreamtime (which is always
Now) :and then later reading Orson Scott Card’s series of
books re-imagining
American History in terms of various psychic gifts,
including those gifts held by the Aboriginal peoples
here. Often while toasted. Small magics and
grander dreams hung about my desires. Immature, but
understandable. joey's imaginations of almost no
ambition but endless heroics were lingering, except for the
fact itself of the very high quality imaginative life.
He dreamed all the time - all through school and all through
life. In the imagination he had the power to change
the wrongs. We don't of course, the wrongs being a
perception, induced by Culture. Beam and Mote
stuff. The teaching mirror of life, a book to be read
- all of it open secrets.
Used many kinds of drugs. LSD when I could get it, and
one time I had three hits of window-pane (small clear
squares) over five days. Peyote? Once, puked.
Psilocybin? Once, stood for a couple of hours looking in a
mirror watching my face paisley-dancing, loosing form and
color/form, unside down inside out, asking me who was
I?. Cocaine? Once, worked for a guy, he needed
me to amp up at work (in restaurant), from hangover from
drinking with him the night before, ... ended up slicing my
thumb on the meat-slicer, going to the ER and coming back
with a cast to keep me from moving it. When decay set
in re the Summer of Love, street drugs became lies, and four
of us took some supposed LSD together, and got sick.
Checked the daily Height-Ashbury drug report on KSAN, to
find out that we been given speed, cut with strychnine.
Stuck to weed after that ...
in the mad-woman's garage, 2008, ... she Wise of the Ways
of Trouble for all White Idiots, needing further education
While my hair thinned, ... once no longer working in an
office it was never cut although there were women (and a
couple of daughters) that liked to trim the ears a bit, and
braid it once in a while. joey had had many odd ways
he walked and talked - habits of speech and posture.
Some were ways of being tense and shy and inoffensive, but
not obsequious. Protective covering of a sort - wounds
embedded in muscle and sinew. Tina said, about three
years after the change of jockey’s, that I was a completely
different person. I walked differently, stood
differently, sat differently, and talked differently.
Neither of us objected, nor at the time did I know more than
the wanting/needing to be more the me that I was seeking to
be. Seeing is a curse, ... isn’t it.
Seeing encompasses Doing. Can’t separate them.
“Blessed are they who do not see, and yet believe”
I gave away objects, once reducing over two hundred books to
seven on a whim/experiment - which seven would I keep and
why. Thought the people (group house folk) would give
the books a home at their workplace, and make the books
available for use to others. They had a sale to raise
some money, and sold the whole lot. I never saw them
again, and they included such works as R.D.
Laing's "Knots".
Traded a bunch of stuff to a lady upstairs for seven
small - each different - wicker baskets for the little stuff
Jennifer and I needed. A rope-tied bundle of sleeping
bags, pillows, and extra blankets. That lady had a
son, and he and Jennifer went missing one day (they were
four), and as we (lady and I) panicked into the rain
outdoors, there they came skipping down a sidewalk toward
us, hand in hand, wearing not a stitch of the clothing
we/they dressed in that morning
Along with the magic chest, which follows me everywhere,
from all the way back when I found it moss covered in a wet
shed in the back of the yard at Everett street, where the
change of jockeys itself appeared. Daughter Doren
remembers that house, in part because of a great wind
roaring past her bedroom door one night, followed by a dark
shadow - she was five or six, going on 47, and was just
beginning to lucid dream.
For over 46 years that piece of wood, and metal, cleaned up,
polished and repainted has traveled with me. Every
white/shaman/wizard has to have a ceremonial tool box.
A cornucopia of books&gear that has spread its riches
all over everything in my current study, and other parts of
the house, all the way to the blending of the edges between
illusions of a human dominated space, and the Forest just
outside, where Mother Rules the Wild. If I am a jockey
in an avatar body, then all embodiments in matter are of the
same nature, for the fire of consciousness has no limits
whatsoever.
I camped out in the City, which was my Forest then, and
traveled by bus and foot to the wonder of all manner of
sacred places and folks. I also had a lot of questions,
which are like/kin to those nested Russian dolls. Open
one up, there is another one inside. For example: If
anything is sacred, shouldn't everything be sacred?
Bookstores: From way back when, early 20th century: The
Metaphysical Town Hall in SF, where I got the third Bardon
book. Newer: Shambhala
Books, Telegraph Ave in Berkeley, where I got my first
three Steiner lecture cycles. Serious: Fields
on Polk Street in SF, where I got Lehrs
and Hauschka
and Thomas Taylor's The
Theoretic Arithmetic of the Pythagoreans.
Mercurial&Magical:
Sunrise Books, in North Oakland’s bit of Telegraph
Ave. A book seller whose touch was so light, that he
knew your tastes, and made sure the enticing and the rare in
your dreams was on display when next you came to
visit. Owen
Barfield, George
Adams, and Olive
Whicher's remarkable Projective Geometry. were met
there, along with Steiner's Spiritual
Science and Medicine - 22 lectures, as well as Victor
Bott's Anthroposophical Medicine.
While the Steiner students I was beginning to meet, were all
reading Steiner lectures, I was reading his students,
particularly the scientists.
There’s the eucalyptus grove on the
campus of UC Berkeley, with Strawberry Creek running
through it, that I suspect lives on in Le
Guin’s Earthsea stories as the Imminent Grove =
where the master patterner sees the whole in the song of
a well-studied part. Upper Telegraph Avenue, where
it butts up against UCB, lined with street vendors of
crafts&such, weather and holidays creating a huge
festival for a couple of decades, although through civic
neglect it eventually becomes a heroin users
hangout.
Hippie, weekend and otherwise, were much in
the local news in Bezerkly, as we affectionately called
the town the was home to huge cultural/change explosions
- including death and violence - at the drop of a
hatehat. When Reagan was governor of CA, he
ordered the campus gassed from the air. Not on his
watch these drugged (just say no) out hippie anarchists
taking over. Then there were Sundays, at UCB, a
lower level plaza, open on many sides, where the
drummers and dancers and wonderful echos would hang
out.
The University of California at Berkeley, where my elder
brother Lou did his post-doc studies, was a place where I
walked, hung out, engaged in all manner magical arts leading
to/of learning-there, from what I have come to call: the
telephone pole school. You walk the streets, Berkeley
and other places, but Berkeley the most - every single
wooden pole, usually telephone, had posters advertising
someone's thing stapled, on top of other posters, stapled on
top of more posters. Folk made money going around
putting up posters.
I walked those streets, and/or that campus nearly everyday
possible, in whatever weather. In the Jennifer/Jenna
era, she rode on my shoulders a lot, and she taught me about
the magic invisible string, that loops back and forth from
child to parent, where each holding the other in their
attention, knows that the other is also aware of us.
Slowly she (ages 3 -4), stretches out that string, until she
and her upstairs buddy, named: Mann-john, disappeared on a
rainy day in glorious four-year-old rebellion.
and then there is Sproul Plaza:
...!!!...: birth place of the Free
Speech Movement, which was not unlike a very large
chaotic School of Athens attended by the serious and the
playful. [I like the sound: Sproul ... it seems to echo The
Sprawl, from William Gibson's Neuromancer
- ... - acute visionary thinker be Mr. Gibson ...
birthed the word/idea "Cyberspace". Very in tune with
the Collective Imagination. A natural anthroposopher
for sure.].
Walking down upper Telegraph, in tan corduroy shorts, and an
open light wool red shirt, both beaded with beads from a
trip to New Orleans, to teach Reparenting, during the season
of mardi gras ... I carried on my shoulder a battery
run tape deck (with radio), playing Jimmy Cliff's "You can
get it if you really want it", from the movie: "The
Harder They Come", when I got pan-handled for my last
quarter.
When possible, I found ways to live without needing to pay
rent. Finding unused spaces with indoor facilities,
and asking to be allowed to put them to use. One house
had a basement, and I went to a party there - three friends
lived there, one a mom with a child. I saw the
basement’s potential, mostly dirt floor, some concrete,
spiders and dust. Ask and you shall be answered.
Had to clean it up. Brought in a mattress, my chest of
course, made a table from a door borrowed from the house's
old used-for-storage garage. Found a chair somewhere,
people leave stuff out with a sign: "take/free", ... it was
padded, although no arms. Practiced Bardon exercises
daily, up to the level of whole-body breathing in and out of
the Fire Element, when Lady P dropped Steiner in my lap - I
had gone to Shambhala looking for some books on
plants&stuff, needing to improve in that field in order
to be a magician, picked up Steiner's Agriculture and was
then off to the races.
It was a time when Jennifer needed to start regular school
and so the three treasures lived with Tina/mom/superlegal
secretary, and best friend of many years, both joey’s and
mine. Married, we were out of whack. Friends, we
enjoyed sharing the raising of three originals. That
sharing - we did well, although all have gone through the
mood of I wish we had more money DAD!, and did you really
get that hot dog package out of the dumpster by the
Supermarket?
Then other adventures, crab lice, strange older man dropping
by - speaking in rhyme and giving away food saved from the
grocery store's outside thrown away good useable food
bins. He took out a small tin of tiger balm, rubbed
some on his forefinger, then on my forehead, mentioning - in
the 23rd Psalm, what it means to be anointed with oil.
Grandfather John I called him. He left me five loaves
of bread, five heads of lettuce, and five lbs of yellow
cheese. He had shopping cart full of rescued
food. Showed me how to clean any mold/penicillin
off the cheese should the taste bother me. It was a
morning I had only 35cents, some raman and peanut butter for
me and Jenna, when on going out the door to spend the
35cents to get a loaf of bread I spy the shopping
cart. A nearby public telephone booth door slams open,
and a voice becomes louder. That's his I divine, and
go back inside. Five minutes later he knocks on my
door asking if I want some food. I invite him in, and
offer some hot tea&company.
Roaches Ubiqutatus often invade homes of less middle class
integrity, but fortune of that sort also smiles - even had a
conversation with an outdoor mouse one stoned night.
While Jenna was with me, she had a pet white mouse, which
got loose, and we were feeding he/her by leaving cheese and
lettuce about the base of the stove, in the space between
that and the wall. Linoleum, flaking paint.
One stoned night, Jenna in bed, I hear this loud thumping
running back and forth across the floor. I light a
candle, sit back, wait. After a while more thumping -
an outdoor mouse of shiny vivid brown coat, was chasing cute
white lady around the house, banging his tail up and down on
the linoleum. He stopped and visited. My
mattress, on boards and mason bricks, had a same-way built
side-shelf, where outside dude jumps up, and down from, then
across the sleeping bag near my feet, to the floor and
circles around again, sometimes just pausing on the shelf
near my feet, vibrating. Nervous creatures mice.
Known be capable of being scared to death, but this mouse
man was wild, and took risks. Good example for little
children, in the right culture where the wild gets to be a
lot closer. In my Mt. Shasta days met a jumping mouse
in a similar modus operadus - ganja-mind.
Frank
Herbert in Dune, describes such creatures in the
deserts of Arakis, as the teachers of children.
Herbert another of those natural anthroposophers, in his
case a goethean-ecologist and planetary social engineer.
In Seven Arrows (and elsewhere), there is an Aboriginal
teaching story about "Jumping Mouse" and his curious journey
after he accidentally sees a Mountain.
I was washing dishes in a restaurant in Oakland, a job found
for me by Tina, when she walks in during lunch and tells me
she is moving out, and I am moving in with the need to
provide for our teen-aging brood. The not peace but a
sword Dude separating mother and eldest daughter, as each of
the bonded pair expressed their individual passions and
demands at the table provided by Life. Families
everywhere exploding from within. Not a problem, I was
stoned most of the time, almost daily for two years.
Different views on the con-sequences for the kids'
adolescence. Made amends much later, but ... they
survived me being a lot in the dreaming, which is no mean
feat - their's that is.
Marc, Brie, Jenna, Dad, Adam, Doren
(Jenna's wedding to Curtis Day)
California Dreamers All
Culture
individualized context when possible
My back yard today is a Forest/Forest, and we are becoming
fast friends, although ticks and stones, and plants that
bite, along with an uneven ground and an uneven gait, make
studies of Marjorie Spock’s: “Fairy Worlds and Workers: A
Natural History of Fairyland” a delightful bridge of thought
to the Middle Kingdom. Here too a fourfold tale of
levels: the spirits of the elements.
New&Unknown
Culture - Continuous Creation
Two years after arriving in California, all joey’s hungers
became mine, to the extent they had left their etchings on
our shared astral/desire body. Main problem for me
was/is/having been being created a natural spiritual
nerd. Some folks dance easily, however, having a mind
that dances lively by nature can make some conversations
difficult. After three years of me in the early '70's,
one girl friend dumped me because I was changing too
fast. Takes a long time to learn how to listen ... how
to take dancing mind and calm it with an open heart.
Later, more and more on purpose - the changing continues,
but mostly in the invisible. Outwardly, again
chronically poor, working on the arts needed to survive the
accepted biographical surprises. I learned of joey,
and to notice the differences between him and me. His
three deepest wounds from his management of our life, I
eventually recognized as his greatest gifts, and sought
thereafter to find understanding for us both. Words
cannot contain the pains acquired in his innocent passage:
Why is there evil? Why has Christianity Lost its
Magic? And, what is happening in America, a place of
such promise and so much yet to be known spiritual
future-history?
joey was everyone’s friend, because as an empath he felt
what they felt, and heard and saw their soul in their speech
and gestures. He never intellectually understood
why. Still, his first encounter with cruelty - in the
School Yard - left him almost senseless, for how was it
possible to treat the your-other-self with such
stones. He learned to live with these wounds of
not-understanding, a sensitive landscape of memories and
thoughts into which I am drawn as moth to flame. He
also lacked a certain killer instinct in the business
world. Too honest and self-effacing for the corporate
ladder.
MagicPowers tempted me. I lacked a certain knack,
though. Reached too far, got slapped back.
Lessons, always lessons - if you are open to having
them. All biographies the same in that, just a lot of
folks not so philosophical and/or introspective. Lots
of variations in the weavings from the Four
Directions.
Thoughts and words on the other hand - there I discovered
gifts. Mostly, I was troubled as to the dreaming, and needed
drugs, until I didn’t. In the meantime, I gave up
magic, to seek knowledge, as modeled by Rudolf Steiner
. A spiritual nerd, living in many a strange community
- becoming More&more over time, powerless in fact.
A friend who saw, and had invented categories, said I was a
seventh level priest, learning acceptance, and would achieve
enlightenment in this life.
Spent two years at the base of Mt. Shasta. Can a
Mountain ever be a he, while clearly the Sun and Stars Are
Hymns? Read there, for the first time, Tomberg’s
Meditations on the Tarot, and in the midst of that journey I
was visited by the Son - that ‘tag-your-it’ was clear.
I was going to join the Catholic Church, in large part so as
to be able to directly experience Christ’s Presence in the
Mass, whatever was the soul-state of the Church or its
priests and nuns. Although it was five years before
the "joining" transpired, one primary effect of this
"tag-your-it" was that I no longer carried the antipathy
toward Catholics and Catholicism that had infested joey's
consciousness growing up in a religiously divided culture in
Great Falls, Montana.
More than a couple of decades later I re-imagined the Third
Fatima Prophecy (Saving
the Catholic Religion from the Roman Church).
She was pleased, and sent to me dancing squirrels - 50 to
60, running/jumping/dancing/singing back and forth across my
path, when I went walking to the mail box at the end of the
driveway, at River
House ...
... just after loading that essay (and another: Barack
Obama and the reality of the anti-Christ spirit - what
might happen if you begin to insert reason into Christian
discourse, on questions of public life) up to my
website.
The night before we drove away from Mt. Shasta's sphere of
influence, I was driving down a dark dirt road, along side a
river, and there appeared, illuminated by the car lights, in
the middle of the roadway, his/her back to me, yet looking
over the left shoulder, a single, standing, Blue
Crane. We (Dawn,Adam,&I)’d seen the pair of them
flying the river in daylight - being neighbors and all, but
this one seemed to be saying goodbye, and that more will be
clear later. I’m, in that-then, still not appreciating
the respect I need to give to my feelings as they sing
within. Too much life of mind sometimes.
I had wanted to flee the City at one time, to go to the
woods and there find a missing wholeness with trees and
stars - more latent gifts. With some friends visited a
campground in Northern California, next to an obscure Indian
Reservation/Nation. There were some folk living in the
public campground - car'd-homeless etc - a couple of
functioning motor vehicles, for five or six or seven
including kids. Seemed not eating well, so I gave them
a bunch of my food stamps, and they went out, bought some
stuff, and cooked us all up some marvelous chilli.
Next-day: Encountered/shocked by backside-toward-front
Hawk-flyover my head, so low it made a breeze in my hair -
in my thoughts, what purpose/meaning to the growing
skills? Over the next couple of days I had the
following conversation with a snake.
I was walking from the campsite down a trail to the creek
that divided the public campground from Indian
Country. A snake was there, heard/felt air movements,
and slithered off the warm trail, and into the brush.
The next day, wanting to go down to the creek, and maybe see
if snake-dude was sunning that day too. Careful in
turning a corner, I see him, and slowly crouch down on my
heels, feet flat beneath me. We watch each other.
I see him looking at me from one eye, so turn my face away
to be just looking out a side eye too. His tongue
flicks in and out fluttering. I imitate. He cocks head
to the side, I copy. A noise below by the creek,
someone coming up the trail. Snake dude slithers right
at me, I nearly shit my pants, say a prayer - kill me if you
have to but hoping not, and he/she gracefully glides right
over the toes of my moccasins.
Yet, my faith was in Providence, so Providence taught,
pushed, made impossible, guided, and blessed - trusting is
part of acceptance. Providence, the inescapable
territory of change over time, and like Dorothy riding in
the Tornado in the Wizard of Oz, a surprise is a gift from
“others”.
Back to the road at the Foot of Mt. Shasta, and my
stationary Blue Crane visitor ... I opened the car door, and
just got out - no hurry or slow, just did it - not thinking
mostly. She/he pause for that, and then a leap, the
unfolding spread of great wings, and she/he jumps/dives up
and over the shrubs between road and river, and then
silently onward into the dark away.
As we drove over Donner Pass, on Hwy 80, heading out of
California&Mt.Shasta, and on our way to Concord, MA,
Adam - age 4 - sitting between me and his pregnant with
sister-Brie’s mother, Dawn, on the front seat of the huge
Ryder Trunk pulling our crazy car full of pets - three cats
and a dog - Adam
turns to me and asks: “Why are we leaving America’s Heart,
and going to America’s Head?”
This next formulation I had by then worked out in the
magical environs of Mt Shasta, seeking
ceremony in thinking, as inspired by Steiner and too too
many diverse cultural resources, of place and time. I
gave this inner "ceremonial" doing-thingy the name:
Sacramental Thinking:
a) Preparation: these are exercises, such as those
practices in control of thoughts, developing inner quiet
(meditation practice plays a role here) and so forth. Its
like the stretching one must do before beginning serious
physical exercise.
b) Sacrifice of thoughts: letting go preconceptions;
overcoming habitual patterns. Nothing will prevent new
thoughts from arising, as easily as already believing one
knows the answer.
c) Refining the question: the moral atmosphere, why
do we want to know; fact gathering and picture forming. It
is an artistic activity. What moral color do I paint my
soul, what factual materials do I gather as I prepare to
form an image - i.e. think in all that that act can imply.
d) Offering the question: acknowledging Presence, and
not needing an answer. Tomberg urges us to learn to think
on our knees.
e) Thinking as a spiritual Eucharist: receiving and
grace. We do not think alone. It thinks in and with me
(Steiner).
f) Attitude: sobriety and play.”
Donner Pass was 1987 - three decades ago. The
beginning of thirty years without the Ganja Goddess, who I
had left behind in Sacramento, California, needing often to
be wasted when near the anti-dreaming cultural morass:
Rudolf Steiner College in Fair Oaks, CA. A place where
American Souls were assaulted by well-meaning ignorant
European folks. These semi-conscious
anthroposophy-know-it-alls, were believers in Steinerism as
the one true answer to everything. I was stuck there
like a bug on karmic-flypaper, until fire in my own belly
made me more obviously a necessarily discontented
source. For example, I said things at a special 35th
anniversary meeting of the Faust Branch to which, out of 150
present, only two people applauded - the rest, eye's trained
on Rene Q, who was not applauding, - what did the two/three
of us model? There's additional details&stuff
here: Manure
for the Garden of Anthroposophy
In that short speaking, I asked questions, as a kind of
Socratic/irritant/short set of observations, built out of
what local members had taught me about the history of the
Faust Branch in Sacramento, California. I told
the story question-wise suggesting a future and how to heal
an obvious breach (Carl Stegmann's America research impulse,
drowned by the dominance of a karmic pair of wannabe
teachers of the Spirit (every euro-lecturer, warped in
imitation of the Good Dr - via endless quotes - missing the
point of: They are not being/living in Europe anymore!).
Who the F' in their right mind names the branch of a
school seeking the spiritual, in America: Faust? - but a
bunch of lame-brained eurocentric Europeans, carrying
Mephistopheles - in the form of Steinerism, in a not-hip
pocket in their minds.
I've purged my antipathies over and over again, - from
closely reasoned endless quoting of Steiner, to fiery
polemics on Facebook, ... all to little avail. Freely
Thought Anthroposophy.
While I was there in Fair Oaks, where resides: Rudolf Steiner College,
accredited no less ....
.... for the first time (1983), just after leaving the San
Francisco magic school of Juggler/card nodes of
consciousness, - generally having a party on any excuse ...
where the Summer of Love, births the Grateful
Dead, drunk on LSD via Ken Kesey and the Merry Pranksters.
But in Fair Oaks, this Party didn't happen, or in a way ...
didn't show up.
A retired Dutch anthroposophical physician who I met there,
told me that he didn't understand why the Americans he knew
socially were not the Americans that walked into the
presence of "anthroposophical work". "They left their
souls at the door" he said.
No backyard barbecues, or cocktail parties, among
anthroposophists there. No holding hands either.
Certainly no mind altering drugs. So Fair Oaks' own
Faustian Bargain misses the chance to name itself - a
central magical act - in accord to the Festivals. Us
stupid Americans didn't do two of them St. John's Tide and
Michaelmas, and then when we gathered for Christmas, we were
given German Xmas Carols to learn. Germans have two
words for "you" - it involves a declared change of level of
social intimacy. Americans wear their hearts on their
sleeves, having stopped bowing to their betters sooner,
until a small few get Steinerized/Sanitized/Formalized, and
start seeking status in an split-brained club. Society
Branches are full of members of the Christian Community Folk
& Vice-Versa. Nobody paying attention to what Steiner
said about "that" [Lecture
Six: Awakening to Community].
Back to this When, then ... seems like just yesterday, a
fall from flying too High. No medicine since July 23rd
2017. It is now October, and on the 12th just passed I
gave up on grumpy old man, having no fun, and we decided I
had learned my lesson, and since having retired from
everything possible, except breathing, me and the medicine
are back to writing up a storm. Emerson: “In self
trust all virtues are comprehended”. Or: " Keep on
Truckin' " sez Robert
Crumb, America's Picasso of the Comic Book.
Me, white
Christian shaman, - self made. First “indian” name
certain me’s-in-I gave ourself: Lazy Bear. Second,
White Eagle.
"When the white eagle of the
North is flying overhead
And the browns, reds and golds of autumn
lye in the gutter dead
Remember then the summer birds with wings
of fire flame
Come to witness springs new hope, born of
leaves decaying
And as new life will come from death
Love will come at leisure
Love of love, love of life and giving
without measure
Gives in return a wondrous yearn for
promise almost seen
Live hand in hand and together we'll stand
On the threshold of a dream"
Songwriters:
Graeme Edge / Janis Ian
The Dream lyrics © Sony/ATV Music Publishing
LLC
if desks are - or: to/be altars, what then is
worshiped there?
A shaman serves his folk/tribe. Where he was born
tells him who his tribe is. Travels&Trials are
often necessary. Love of the Land is essential.
An old friend, now crossed over, Sue G., on seeing me
girding my mental loins for battle against the
insanity - she who had fled to the Sierra Nevada’s to
raise sled dogs and avoid helter-skelter - Sue asked me:
“Please save the Green. Save the Green.”
Serving the Ancestors, the Sky People. For a white man
this can be a bit of crazy - WTF are those. I follow
the blood line back first - remembering family and guides
like the Mason “Dad” joey had as a Demolay, or the
grandfather who played with joey and his cousin bobby, at
family events, by slapping their faces, and talking about
their needing to toughen up. It was done kindly yet
the slaps stung, and gracefully were very few.
Wrote in poem: Lazy Bear’s Spirit Song.
A line: “please family touch”, having observed many
years of social existence, while becoming acutely aware of
nurturing touch at Group House - the power of physical
intimacy - hugely over-sexualised, lost to most "privileged
? whites”, all of whom older conservative folk have had the
bejesus scared out of their social intimacies by generations
of anti-drugs, sex, and rock ‘n roll preaching.
November Winds rearrange what Life has given, yet wishes to
rework - a living art the Seasons - Decay is Divine
resurrection of matter, not essence which is
immaterial. Kicked out of the garden, and not
remembering when we-of-many-previous earth-lives wore more
primeval avatars. Evolutionary thought without a
poem, does not recognize what conscious Will inhabited all
past forms of Her material body. I once upon a time,
wrote: "The
Quiet Suffering of Nature", urging environmentalists
to engage in an encounter with Steiner students, magicians,
and fools.
Meanwhile, for all our versions of religion, whether
Christian or not, hypocrisy rules - everybody is human after
all. Why are we surprised that preachers, presidents,
and titans of industry are all assholes? Aren’t we
assholes too? And: bitches as well. For reasons
only Gods&Goddesses would care to admit, everybody has
to figure out how to be human, and we are given 70x7
incarnations, in matter, to figure out Why, How, Who ...
good grief Charlie Brown. And those sometimes too
rocky travels are coming to an End. Anyone really not
seeing what is going on? In the 50's women stayed home
and dressed in skirts. Today, they enlist and go
off to fight wars.
There we are, people, on this planet thingy so scary we run
from its germs, and wild dangerous creatures that might eat
us, - survival of the fittest a nightmare's version of a
past that never was. I want to touch the wild.
When they visit me, for whatever mysterious reasons, there
is that pause, that moment, and thank Mom-Nature for helping
us have cats, and dogs, and mice, and rats, and rabbits, and
food-for-us animals, ... Don't we just - ever-the-child -
just want to be a monkey in trees, or dolphins in seas, or
hawks in the skyhigh? What about a Dragon? And,
by the Way, what is that Night Sky about?
When shamaning - we -- "all people", do this the same, with
only cultural variations: - a question: Who are the
ancestors of what has come to live in my
mind’s experience? The
Worcester Hills Gazette.
editor's ganja bar
Culture ... >
Clarke
2017 writes:
“ ... the traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation,
Creation, Formation & Existence as depicted in
shorthand in Genesis) can be seen as having their parallel
“tree-rings” in the building up of successive inner-earth
layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon, and, finally,
the surface world of Nature, all inhabited at their core
and in every particle by divinity in its immanent maternal
aspect.”
For years, going back to the change in 1971, I have seen and
then articulated that there are two essential books, which
are both non-material. Everything “needed” is
there. The Book of Life, or the story that our
bibliographies tell, and the Book of the Own Soul, the
stories that our inner life tells. In both cases it is
not so much our individual version, but rather the universal
elements that should be observed.
I hope I never fear to see - the unknown infinity from where
I flee; til' caught again in nature's spell, while coming
home to Forest's dwell. Hobbits Past, star seekers
next? Whatever our human future, we will not need for
Company.
We are right to wonder why...?... the books of life and the
book of the own soul...besides the obvious fact that the
Divine Mystery does not need books to teach us anything - we
are already the best books self-becoming ... we are art ...
As above so below. To seeking to learn of the
universals in ourselves - the microcosm, we gain the
possibility of learning of the Universals Within the Cosmos,
having been created in the like and the image of the
Divine. If, as Steiner tried to point out, what my
liver does is something analogous to the Cosmos’s own
activity, how do I go into the
Arts of the liver function, in such a way that I don’t
miss the whole for the part. Steiner left behind clues
in his “Anthroposophy
- a fragment”.
Is/are the Gods and the Goddesses just us in another
masque? Do we have to know all that there is to know,
in any single lifetime?
Clarke
(2017) contemplates Easter Week. If the
deep-truth of the weight of Saturday's and Sunday's Events
were borne in the true West - the Americans, and lost
thereby to Western - European - Civilization, what story is
told by the Events that transpired on Monday through Good
Friday - out in the historical-open, yet not in the
West?
Steiner thought that Christianity was becoming - not yet
what it could/might/would become. How is it that we
have lost the Mother? Why did She's import wane like a
changing moon. Oh, yea, we wanted to be kicked out of
the Nest, so as to dance on our own. Everyone has to
leave home, in order to learn to want to return. The
Culmination, out-of-time, a creshendo marking the
end/beginning of a great 1000 year age, but not the end of
either life or dangerous fun. Delphinic
moondancing monkey's look skyward for new planets to
conquer.
In 1980, after a ten hour shift sort of managing a small
restaurant ... (cooked, cleaned the grill and mopped the
floor at the end of the day - all for $5 an hour cash
under the table that enabled my dreaming habit) ...
ganja and clouds danced and in the heavens I saw in
Vista: right to left: A large cloud from which the
Father is upward surging, while from the same cloud, a
left pointing arrow-like star tipped staff pierces the
sky. His visage is wild, and He points a finger as
captured by Michaelangelo in the ceiling of the Sistine
Chapel. My mind makes a connection between the
forces of the imagination, and the lower
reproductive. What is pointed toward by both hand
and star tipped staff, are two words, written in single
small circles of cloud, one for each letter. On
the far left: Matthew, and next to that. in/near the
mid-center-right, the word Washington.
A scourging of my psyche with temptations to hold highly
my own nature, were these to be truly lives I had
previously led. An eye blink, a re-look and the
line of dark small round clouds has lost its letter
nature (supplied from within my own soul), and of the
Father/star-shaft only memories remain. Just one
more riddle/task/weight/barrier to carry. One of
dozens of dozens, which makes for a pattern: We are
shamans - we are books, becoming miracles, day by day,
hopefully mostly getting to laugh at our own magic
juggling of the never seeming to end ebbs and tides of
living. At the end of the day, I say to my Lady -
as we get ready for rest: "well, I've survived being me
another day. How did your's fare?"
Christian-Rosicrucian tradition speaks of the Seven
Stages of the Passion of Christ: Washing the Feet; the
Scourging; the Crowning with Thorns; the Carrying the
Cross; the Crucifixion; the Entombment; and, the
Resurrection. Some details of this in a recent
essay: "Cowboy
Bebop: and the physics of thought as moral art"
Aftermath Atlantis:
three cultures born, wisdom divided.
One post-Atlantean Culture will be new to most of those
reading this. For those fresh to this Mystery, the
traveler Patrict Dixon sang this: America:
the Central Motif.
The Younger Brother people, as remembered in the Hopi Oral
History, went to the West, to go as far North, South, East
and West in the new land, leaving behind rock writings and
ruins so as to remember that we had once all been One.
The Elder Brother People went to the East, and only Steiner
has so far told us of those folks in his descriptions of all
the post-atlantean civilizations that eventually tried to
run over all the far older aboriginal civilizations ...
Western Civilization failing, according to Clarke 2017, to
expunge the true West’s actual role in the Magic of the
Incarnation and AfterArts.
The Hopi expect that now is the time for the Elder Brother
people “to come to aid” the Younger Brother people.
This “true” “white” “brother”, inter-connected via the Red
Symbol (the Rose-Cross - Steiner, and the Sacred Heart -
Tomberg) “will take command of the four forces of nature
(the Mehe) for the benefit of the Sun”. The Shepherds
and the Kings join forces within the white/aryan Christian
folk, “for they are Sun Clan, they are the Children of the
Sun” (the Cosmic Christ).
The Christ Events, from Monday through the Gate of Death on
Good Friday, involve price/karma/mystery/song. Christ
did not die to save us, but to imitate us. The God of
Love could not be Love, unless He too surrendered to earthly
life so as to become fully human and then die. Why?
The Star-Home of the Father God, - the Starry
Firmament - is the Father yet unfinished in the sense
of all thoughts not yet done manifesting themselves.
The individual stars, that’s us (Fermi
Paradox Resolved). We, now humans, are star
people tasked with finishing the Art of the Creation.
All the same, this does require some careful thinking.
Next time you look in the mirror, part of what you are is
E.T.
Why do we take the name of god in vain? Why do we
curse and swear? Whatever we are, even if just “billion
year-old carbon”, we are aware that we were made,
because if anything should be clear to anyone, we didn’t
make this mess all on our own. We’ve had a lot of
help. I can move a middle finger, but I can’t make
one. Humanity has barely touched what truths always
lie before/outside/and after Horatio's
philosophy. We experience. We didn’t create
experience, or experiencing. Or did we? Yet, all
the same, here we are right in the fucking-damn-shame of
being around everyone else’s shit, for god’s sake!
Some of that shit is Modern
Physics and Biology, filled with the anti-Christ Spirit
(which denies the Father and the Son)
Saturday and Sunday (of Holy Week) there is first the
experience of a near absolute paralysis of the will - the
limbs having been nailed to the Cross. The only Way
through that That is complete Surrender, which is why She
catches Him in the Pieta. At that moment of
Resurrection the ghost of the human in the god has one last
deed: we must forgive ourselves, for only we know ourselves
truly. True forgiveness of another must be won through
facing, and then forgiving, the own dark.
Dying is Becoming
still art photography, using found objects
Had a personal Saturday and Sunday, centered on Epiphany,
2008. A large choir, weaving echo's both before and
after in the biography. In surrendering to earth and
being willing to die, I found myself in heaven, where each
single word of each single prayer stopped by to warmly
sing/say hi!, and lets talk for a bit ... Our (all that
exists) Father (our author) Who (what is not this "who"?)
Art (damn, what a beautiful Idea, joining art and are in a
single expression) etc. Caught and Reborn.
Each human being today, in his/her biographical life -
during this Time of the Day of Purification during which
Christ baptizes all with Fire and Holy Breath - each of us
is met with precisely the Love and Justice which we need.
Now for the juicy
stuff ...
Atlantis also had a seafaring aspect. Islands many,
huge and small. Some Atlanteans lived all their lives
at sea. So there were not just migrations West into
the Americas, and then East all the way across Europe
arriving in the Gobi desert. There was also a
dispersion - as the seafaring folk first ruled, and then
intermarried, with the folk of the Coastal lands
everywhere.
Known as very powerful, the seafarers were the first
teachers of what later became Hermetic Science (Magic) in
Egypt. Yet, something culturally different, which is
why in some depictions of what today we call the Tarot
(their most ancient and only book of symbols) the Master of
Magic is a Juggler. A showman. A singer of
tales, and maker a music. Travelers.
Gypsies. Wise men from the East. Fools of God
(the word: silly, used to mean: possessed by the sacred).
A world of billions of people, most of whom would be
satisfied with fewer things, and saner human
relationships. The ones not satisfied ... well actions
have consequences, and as the current vanity falls to
pieces, a good way to survive is creating and/or joining a
troupe of fools, singers, actors, and story tellers (see
Clint Eastwood’s “Bronco
Billy”). Misery
loves Company, and a show is often worth a meal and
sometimes even a warm dry bed. Contemplate David
Brin’s wonderful work of sentimental American patriotic art,
in the hands of Kevin Costner (he of Field of Dreams - a
good face for hope and wonder): “The
Postman”. The social weaving mysteries of true
enlightening/enlivening entertainment, via the gifts of
skilled playing and dancing (note carefully the First and
Last Cards of the Major Arcana = Play&Dance)
concentration without effort 
We need such seafarers on all our seas of troubles,
moving/sharing integrating/saving all the cultures of the
whole world. I still dream the impossible, don’t you?
When the change from joey to Joel happened, I was/seemed to
awake from sleep, into a maelstrom of plans, dreams, needs
of the next day of my oddly virginal
mind/soul/astral/ethereal/physical existence, the content of
which in terms of habits of the desire body, and memories of
the day before in the mind/astral matrix, as well as the
collection of thoughts and mental pictures that hovered
nearby, ... these invisible elements were all on their Way
to becoming the debris of joey’s lessening of his hold on
the totality. Except for momentum and inertia.
We move mountains and build forests one day at a time.
I'm still learning how-to' s that revise/warm&pleasure
(keep healthy - 76 and counting) these three bodies I
inherited: physical, ethereal, astral.
Basic Practice (some nursery/rhyme, no doubt created by a
traveler in England/Ireland/Wales et al.):
The best six doctors anywhere,
and no one can deny it.
Are sunshine, water, rest, and air,
exercise and diet.
These six will gladly you attend
if you are only willing.
Your mind they'll ease,
your will they'll mend,
and charge you not a shilling.
My first birth experience was of the lessening of the
cohesion of what appeared to be my ideas/concepts of who I
was. Without joey, there was from day to day less of a
mirror-order of the actors that were my “me’s”, not
his. All the same, it never occurred to that me that I
was something not-joey. The change, which could be
labeled a kind of in-cooperation, where the original
final-source of order faded, while the new final-source was
more awake within, he/she = the surround was also full of
the gravitas, culturally induced inertia, and biological
momentum, bathed in a biography surrounded by others, from
which there emanated tendrils of wonders, and pains in the
ass. Juggler's Dancing all.
Yet, where joey had adapted, I was discontent.
Feelings - the most acute matters of the heart - were
immediately in the foreground. I saw how I-me-joey had
compromised in our relationship with Tina, mostly not having
a forceful point of view about a lot, for there was a fiery
will next to him in bed, that had captured joey’s
eros-magic, when he was a virgin Cadet in the AF Academy.
Where joey was passive, I would be active - a primeval
instinct of the will, aided and abetted by whatever
invisible community hovered over this mystery.
Outwardly, on purpose, my restless Fool of the heart, wore
the costume of the Hermit. During a later LSD
trip I experienced them - invisible communities of interest
often bothersome. They were considerably attentive
when I tried my hands/mind at writing a more modern Declaration
of Independence. When it thinks in me, it also
is looking over my shoulder - are we an us?
The
Burning Bush clear eyed man, and names in the sky in
clouds while intoxicated, awake and asleep at the same time,
I hear them ... “interested folk” taking advantage of a
particular moment of high&vulnerable - fighting amongst
themselves over the next choices in life I was about to
make. What was real and what was drug remained a
riddle, for the powers of the winds in the dreaming are
great, ... although the earthly arts of the telling of tales
are even greater.
An example of story telling: Missed my Jennifer's
adolescence, then had an opportunity to live with her and
her husband, for about three months, broke of course, before
finding a job as a live-in aid to Paul
Longmore (lasted 18 months). Got to watch their
collection/tapes of all the episodes of the TV series: Star
Trek: the Next Generation. A main feature from
first to last, "Q", = Mephistopheles as played by John de
Lancie. Archetypes from the Collective
Imagination. Favorite episode: "The
Measure of a Man", where we discover that at whatever
level of sentience, as gained by our machines, that our
turning them into slaves really tells the story of who we
are, not who they are.
When I first stepped away from the marriage, I was brought
to a particular School of which I/joey had had no previous
contact, but through - all the same - led there through the
offices of a woman concerned for my future. Men need
help. What do women need? Someone to help.
Works out fine then, doesn't it.
Twenty years later, during an unanticipated fast-induced
dreaming (45 days at age 63, sez me bragging), I saw, in the
zone between sleeping and waking, all of the women in my
life as if they were living tarot cards, each teaching
me aspects of Her, ... a story too great to be contained
thereby, but worth attending to within as part of the
writing of my first book: “the Way of
the Fool” I took notes during the fast, which
was begun to loose weight, but turned into an adventrue ...
afterwords then, spent more than a year writing the book.
... a step and a twirl back to 20yrs-erlyer - University
Ave. in Bezerkley, ... as opposed to 2003-4:
Prescott/fasting, and rising in the morning to go outside
and pray in the company of the "lion lying down" ... : In
this free-psychological school: Group House (for three
years, 1972 to 1974), I was taken through my/joey’s past, to
review and see in what way any present dis-satisfactions
might be resolved by finding the wounds of childhood, and
healing them, through: Re-parenting.
It was a powerful version of nurturing, among adults almost
all of them lost in the Fallen Eros of the Age. We mostly
gave and received nurturing touch: being held in a variety
of ways, amidst a sea of feelings. We used language to
model an alternative inner landscape, which we were
exploring in the context of that social-political moment,
... when as outer life flew apart over the Vietnam War, all
the guru-streams (the invisible communities of mystery
schools ancient and new) sent to the San Francisco Bay Area
some of their Best and their Worst. Sure, New
Agey-speak is easily mocked, but all the same people are on
purpose changing themselves, and the Times.
Looking back at one point I created this Cross of Love,
which has a vertical and horizontal Cartesian coordinated
shape. Vertically - heaven above, and earth
below. Horizontally - in the social/moral as Catherine
MacCoun puts it.
selfless human love [agape to the
Greeks]
nurturing love [storge] +
comradeship&brother/sisterhood love [phileo]
erotic (of the mind) & sensual (of the
senses) love [eros]
Meanwhile, Rock ‘n Roll went East, on an train of LSD,
dragging back something fresh and alive, so much the
opposite of Masons/Knights of Columbus Ways of raising the
young - the true means by which social life lives.
Raising the Young is everything. It is the single wise
heart of any civilization. We humans, as a group, are
still young, and being raised by Gods&Goddesses ... so
... can we learn to raise our own with the same level of
knowledge, concern, and care? Has Western - European -
Civilization lost the ability to touch-family? Is this
one of the sacred/secrets of the Younger Brother? My
seer/shamaness of NH, Candace of the Wheel Chair and rape
victim of the US Government, a little girl who refused to
talk (very stubborn&brilliant) taken as a child of
Indian Blood, to be experimented upon - being more treated
as a savage "thing", then living person, ... she told me
"anglos" didn't know anything about sex. Very sick we
were. Sent me on the path of learning to make-okay my
own male nature. Accept it. Be it. Wonder
it. My/joey's birth culture had given birth to Fallen
Eros, all spilled over with that ancient elitist Victorian
gunk - that's the one: St. Paul, and preachers of sin and
guilt, without redemption, ... in such a context,
where would I find a Way to unFallen Eros?
Man Desires, Woman Responds. Arts involved,
however. Native Cultures mean to teach these Arts -
arts of being human. Western - European -
Civilization, within its Christian/church's flavors, very
hypocritical about sex. Aboriginals know this as one
of the Seven Mysteries, & Holy.
Today we see the wreckage everywhere. Why?
Evolution/humanstory Mother&Father teaching. Long
story. Wisdom had to separate after Atlantis, and then
come back together - each seed new&changed, so their
social intercourse could then make even more
new-not-yet-wonder. The Collective Imagination is
speaking everywhere - all over whole World. Same
lessons. Come
together, right now, over me [Beatles/Marley et.
al. natural born
travelers/jugglers/righteous-magic-tricksters, weaving
cultures together.]
disorder is a necessary precondition for new order
As the world entered the ‘70‘s through the ‘60‘s, artistic
genius descended from their individual stars (each unlike
any-other persons own/have sown their own whole star,
..-..> where willed wavinglights reach out and Touch <
all the other stars as needed - is that not cool, or what?
Don't you ever sort of want to always look in a particular
direction in the Skyhome? I'm drawn to Orion
myself. The Ancient Egyptians had a thing about Sirus,
which was all over the world way-back-when, taught by
travelers. Then there are the rumors about what can be
seen from the Southern Hemisphere: Southern
Cross Review, as well as Crosby
Stills Nash.
... the new age remembered it in the idea of Cosmic
Consciousness) - but some moments in Time are glories for
their Parties&Celebrations, and here we are at the Turn
of the Second to the Third Millennium, where Steiner had
written, out of the spirit of the new (projective)
geometry:
“Think on it: how the point becomes a sphere and yet
remains itself. Hast thou understood how the
infinite sphere may be only a point, and then come
again, for then the Infinite will shine forth for thee
in the finite.”
Rick “Who are you really and
what were you before? What did you do and what did you
think?"
Ilsa: “We said no questions."
Rick: “Here's looking at you,
kid."
Casablanca
the meditation room in River House, and my collection of
movies on VHS, circa 2010
All the constellations send their collective consciousnesses
toward the Mother, spread over seas of time as each nascent
spark made peace with themselves, having rested in between
incarnations, in the Grace of the Father-One. So many
millions, becoming billions - so many avatar bodies created
over eons of human non-terrestrial intelligences - Us me’s,
defining the nature of the each next
incarnation. Are we having fun yet? Do you
dare remember those times in the Neanderthal bodies,
constantly spreading avatar seed, while singing trees and
rocks? It took a long time to breed a body in which
the failing/falling human spark/spirit could finally begin
to land its own private/individual/personal divine nature -
an individualized version of the Word, we named in English:
Self-Consciousness.
Ganja dancing one late morning, I thought about the image of
the Great Turtle on whose back rests the Earth. I
began to think-turtle having caught more than a few over the
years, both for my own and my children’s adventures in
touching the wild. What meaning was there to be found,
for this was a serious/playful? symbolic speech of ancient
quite literal minds - the Earth Resting on the Back of a
Turtle. The Sphere of our experience, stands on
something that Itself Moves.
I picked the following concept from my quiver of turtle
observations, and asked - not expecting an answer: “Why are
you so slow?” At bit cheeky was my attitude but still
I was taged right back with this question: “Human, ... why
do live you so fast?” Once upon a time, back in the
wonder of days of the Goddess Religions, we were "in
communion with" and then the Hebrew patriarchs, fearful of
their women's intelligence, changed Genesis to saying about
us&nature, that we would have: "dominion over", instead
of be "in communion with" Nature and all Her
Creatures. Will we reclaim that gift, or leave it
behind, not wanting to share existence with anything lesser
than ...
Gravity. Gravitas. Grandiose. GranDamme -
Gradually getting Grander, ... although Her Avatar Body is
being mal-treated, we remain held-dear to our seats and
beds, even when "rockstone
was my pillow". Earthfarts and weather
grandstanding aside, mostly we be well taken care of, in
spite .... the godparticle is really
allgoddessparticles. All well ordered by the
way. " ... the Infinite will shine
forth for thee in the finite."
Clarke
2017 quotes Rudolf Steiner (in italics) this
way, about the “interior” of the Earth, onto which scheme I
insert some personal observations [in brackets], well aware
that dreaming is much singing these days:
“The occult science of all epochs says the following
about the interior of the earth…
[Clarke found this an unworthy and necessarily
exaggerated assertion: "of all epochs". Odd that
Steiner says this at all, given that it is an easily
disputable claim, and one that is very self-serving at
that. Just tell the story, Rudi. We already know
you are a brilliant clairvoyant artist, speaker, and
writer. Just be you. The rest will sort itself
out. But that's where the Steiner-said confusion
begins: With Steiner's routine assertions of scientific
certainty, and an antipathy toward mystical, even "pagan"
Ways.
In my research, central human experience/layer
above/around/inside-outside/beside this Interior: The Thrice
Bordered Sphere of the Prison of the Now - one border Above
- airless matterless heaven-space, the other Below -
hellfires/burning/fluid/space, and the third border-inside -
the Inner Soul-Threshold between the visible material and
the invisible non-material, where only I stand with my
collection of invisible&visible friends.
Steiner lived there, yet within his hothouse occult/esoteric
middle-European sub-culture, a central figure for some even
today - a hundred years later - still known to only a small
portion of the billions dancing. That which Is must be
given credence just for existing, and amongst that which Is
the dominant culture Now - regular folk having a cautious
not yet much use for Dr. Steiner&friends. Always
any claim to be an answer to all questions must be suspect,
unless an Irony has been otherwise clearly implied. In
my case, I write this from a state of cultivated ganja
intoxication, claiming drunk poet's privilege, but certainly
no final or ultimate truths.]
The topmost layer, the mineral mass,
is related to the interior as an eggshell is to the egg.
This topmost layer is called the Mineral Earth.
[inside me-avatar got dem’ bones, and the brothers and
sisters of bones - like iron and zinc = the solidity
of Stuff - what is their interior like? Does zinc have
an interior?]
Under it is a
second layer, called the Fluid Earth; it consists of a
substance to which there is nothing comparable on Earth.
It is not really like any of the fluids we know, for all
these have a mineral quality. This layer has specific
characteristics: its substance begins to display certain
spiritual qualities, which consist in the fact that as
soon as it is brought into contact with something living,
it strives to expel and destroy this life. The occultist
is able to investigate this layer by pure concentration.
[so, there’s this dude, a really
seriously smart dude, who calls himself an
“occultist”. How cool is that? He modeled: That
to do spiritual research you had to shed your
personality. Pure concentration is the opposite of
personal surrender. It was Surrender Herself that
resisted Steiner’s too forceful/not-a-caress, and was then
misunderstood. Light is surrendered Life. Plains
Indians speak of the “give away”, a great teaching the world
sings to us every day.
The “Air Earth”. This is a substance,
which annuls feelings: for instance, if it is brought into
contact with any pain, the pain is converted into
pleasure, and vice versa. The original form of feeling is,
so to speak extinguished, rather as the second layer
extinguishes life.
[bull-taurus in a china shop - “will”
again, because the "choice" Behind that "will" is being
constantly reflected, and if the will was to seek to know
(ask seek and knock in ignorance and love) that region he
encountered, which boilingly reacts to pain, ... If seen in
the right mood (not-an-occultist) maybe you might just
see/notice the threshold fire from which the Mother and the
Son convert our darkest deeds into Love. Now that’s
occultism! One morning on my retreat hill in Prescott
Arizona, in self-guilt agony-filled prayer I ask what do
They do with all our dark deeds, that They must intimately
know from both the victim feelings and the feelings of the
oppressor, and She warms me with this quiet Song: We turn it
into love.
The “Water Earth”, or “Form Earth”.
It produces in the material realm the effects that occur
spiritually in Devachan.
Jugglers first song .... The Emerald Tablet ....
0) Here is that which the priest Sagijus of Nabulus has
dictated concerning the entrance of Balinas into the hidden
chamber... After my entrance into the chamber, where the
talisman was set up, I came up to an old man sitting on a
golden throne, who was holding an emerald table in one hand.
And behold the following - in Syriac, the primordial
language- was written thereon:
1) Here (is) a true explanation, concerning which there can
be no doubt.
2) It attests: The above from the below, and the below from
the above -the work of the miracle of the One.
3) And things have been from this primal substance through a
single act. How wonderful is this work! It is the main
(principle) of the world and is its maintainer.
4) Its father is the sun and its mother the moon; the
5) wind has borne it in its body, and the earth has
nourished it.
6) the father of talismen and the protector of miracles
6a) whose powers are perfect, and whose lights are confirmed
(?),
7) a fire that becomes earth.
7a) Separate the earth from the fire, so you will attain the
subtle as more inherent than the gross, with care and
sagacity.
8) It rises from earth to heaven, so as to draw the lights
of the heights to itself, and descends to the earth; thus
within it are the forces of the above and the below;
9) because the light of lights within it, thus does the
darkness flee before it.
10) The force of forces, which overcomes every subtle thing
and penetrates into everything gross.
11) The structure of the microcosm is in accordance with the
structure of the macrocosm.
12) And accordingly proceed the knowledgeable.
13) And to this aspired Hermes, who was threefold graced
with wisdom.
14) And this is his last book, which he concealed in the
chamber.
[Anon 1985: 24-5]
There, we have the
negative pictures of physical things. In the “Form Earth”
a cube of salt, for example, would be destroyed, but its
negative would arise. The form is as it were changed into
its opposite; all its qualities would pass out into its
surroundings. The actual space occupied by the object is
left empty.
[The thoughts of Gnomes are ... gnomish -
a disdain for uttering words that are not poetry, with a
salting of obscurity for flavor. More exact than even
Steiner can do. More awake. They are more
skilled at seeing stuff. Truth so obvious, such that
they wonder if we are entirely sane.]
The “Fruit Earth.” This substance is
full of exuberant energy. Every little part of it grows
out at once like a sponge; it gets larger and larger and
is held in place only by the upper layers. It is the
underlying life which serves the forms of the layers above
it.
[Undines and Sylphs - the borderland of water and air in the
Underworld. Talk about Playing&Dancing with
fruitful abandon. If you have been raised to be highly
intolerant of the mystical arts, and the pagan-magiks, which
are just products of normal spiritual desires, this region
of Dance/play requires more than the ability to waltz, or
fornicate in private. Are Goddesses Ever Ashamed?]
The “Fire Earth.” Its substance is
essentially feeling and will. It is sensitive to pain and
would cry out if it were trodden on. It consists, as it
were, entirely of passions.
[Salamanders~!~dancingthedancing-dreaming~!~~!!~Leibniz’s
own logical mind on ~@!~ fire insisted: Were the world
consistent, the very smallest of entities would have
consciousness and will - he called them
monads.]
The “Earth-mirror”
or “Earth-reflector”. This layer gets its name from the
fact that its substance, if one concentrates on it,
changes all the characteristics of the earth into their
opposites. If the seer disregards everything lying above
it and gazes down directly into this layer, and if then,
for example, he places something green before him, the
green appears as red; every color appears as its
complementary opposite. A polaric reflection arises, a
reversal of the original. Sorrow would be changed by this
substance into joy.
[Steiner, “the seer”, had sadness - his
visage in film cannot hide this, nor his words. He was
unfulfilled in many ways, and through that, when he met the
aspect of Her that likes to play/tease with showing you what
you brought to the encounter ... more and more Steiner is
forgetting what he knows, which is that language is the
prison of experience, and a page is a tomb for thought]
The “Divisive” layer. If with
developed power one concentrates on it, something very
remarkable appears. For example, a plant held in the midst
of this layer appears to be multiplied, and so with
everything else. But the essential thing is that this
layer disrupts the moral qualities also. Through the power
it radiates to the Earth’s surface, it is responsible for
the fact that strife and disharmony exist there. In order
to overcome this disruptive force, men must work together
in harmony.
[“developed power” - maximum will. Knowledge only
comes from Love, for if as a lover we wish to know the
beloved, only love opens both doors. If, under the
influence of Pauline fear/hate of the corpus (the holy
avatar body blessed by uncountable genius), we harbor
antipathies not managed, coming not as a lover but rather as
an occultist seeking secret lore ... this being the core of
Tomberg’s argument with Steiner. The mystery is
not just science, but pagan magic and mysticism as well.]
That is precisely why this layer was
laid down in the Earth – so that men should be enabled to
develop harmony for themselves. The substance of
everything evil is prepared and organized there.
Quarrelsome people are so constituted that this layer has
a particular influence on them. This has been known to
everyone who has written out of a true knowledge of
occultism. Dante in his Divine Comedy calls this layer the
Cain-layer. It was here that the strife between the
brothers Cain and Abel had its source. The substance of
this layer is responsible for evil having come into the
world.
[Steiner, the seer, was imprisoned in how he describes his
own skills and hopes and dreams. He named
- he, the archetypal Aristotelian, - Everything his mind
touched, including at his own cost/pain/sorrow, With the
label of being a “teacher”. The wayfarer
folk spirit was not in his cultural blood. He’d
met a herbalist, but not a gypsy. He
read of mystics, and so wanted to be scientific that he
shamed that part of his soul, except for a Calender and some
Drama’s. Oh, and a seriously big bit of
sculpture. Sadly, in the sexually uptight social life
of his time, Steiner’s pan-like avatar memories [Enkidu] had
no place for expression. Eros restrained, except for a
lot of talking all the time, in a Sun-Moon social pattern
... a lecture is not a conversation, nor is an essay or a
book?!?.
Ah, but as to Art, fine ... but poets - at their best - do
not make Sunsets, although on occasion they might make a few
new words&such ...
collage by me, mask by Alicia
LaTores,
ancient images from the Smithsonian Magazine,
and pieces of old tech from failed machines,
being resurrected as art
Until the Ark, at the time of The
Culmination, when once/when was Steiner came back, As
Not Himself - oh god that would have been awful. Yet all the
same - gloriously other - Harvey we never knew ya.]
The “earth-core.” This is the
substance through whose influence black magic arises in
the world. The power of spiritual evil comes from this
source.”
[My first lessons in the Bardon Magic - old Egyptian and
before - is that magic is neither white or black, in the
same fashion a knife can be used to create art, or kill a
mind. Magic is just stories of the oldest no longer
secrets connected to the four elements, written in a
delightful style, beneath the surface of which is a great
deal of needed irony. What folks do with those
secrets, from which Steiner believed he needed to keep
separate, that’s on them. For Steiner, it was actually
his culture that was all goofy over powers. Best to
makeup some bogeymen wherever possible, a bit of magic art
that might well have been Steiner's purposeful foggier
notions in the face of the Ships of Fools, who kept placing
their tiller in his hands, even after he died.]
Clarke comments: “Good grief; only the deviant or
mentally disturbed would want to muck around in this; why
bother?”
Harvey, the former Steiner, saved/compelled at the
Culmination to sit in an electronic Circle/Ark among the
Platonists (touchers/dreamers/singing-dancers, along with
Aristotelians (knowers/namers/categorizering-thinkers),
wrote this, which is the first bit in
the book were i'nI saved his/Hymming:
"that was then, this is now (and tomorrow) - was: Sex
and the City of God
"In behalf of we who cannot author light, love and
awe within the focus and intent to birth and share beauty,
thank you indeed for plaguing the cyber-air waves with
such rabidly ecstatic cosmic salivations, brawl disguised
as revelation. Perfuming us with this gonadically-enhanced
ripoff is just the devout archetypal food we who have no
interior lives have searched the wide world over since
Atlantis has sunk, hoping against hope to perk up and
inspire unmalicious wonder and abiding trust.
"Please do not steal the Carpenter's Drills to bore
holes in the Ark. Misuse of genius is a crime against your
own Manas. There is a difference between rapture and
rupture, between a throne and a highchair. Become part of
the solution, not the Occult National Enquirer."
Who is Rudolf Steiner is an excellent question. Most
today have little sense of who "he" was, in that
incarnation, but all the same the future
aristotelian-thougth will remark of him this Way: Rudolf
Steiner is the John the Baptist figure of the Second
Coming of Christ in the Etheral - the voice crying in the
wilderness of scientific materialism. Anthroposophy
and the Anthropoopsophistical Society will both be in the
dust heap of history, but Steiner's role in humanity's
amazing future, which is yet to come in connection with the
Christ "Events", that deserves to be remarked upon even now.
In fact, the A. Society would do well to understand that, as
quickly as possible, if they wish to stop serving
darkness/past-art -//- words on pages in their
minds/memories from an aversion to work and through their
weak and lame clinging to Steiner-thought, rather than
developing their own.
Steiner gives 9 distinct-seeming “layers”.
Clarke/scholar/wanderer-in-person that-there: counters
with four processes, that can have different names: again -
as Clarke writes/wrote
“ ... the traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation,
Creation, Formation & Existence as depicted in
shorthand in Genesis) can be seen as having their parallel
“tree-rings” in the building up of successive inner-earth
layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon, and, finally,
the surface world of Nature, all inhabited at their core
and in every particle by divinity in its immanent maternal
aspect.”
It is possible to look at echos-everywhere, such as the twelve
steps of alcoholics anonymous and see that it reflects
three processes - each seen from four directions. The
processes: Surrender / Confession and Contrition / Practice
leading to Service). If we put in front of those
three, our condition before seeking recovery, - let’s call
it “lost in the world of self created wounds” We
get four again, which is the number of the elements: Fire
(will), Water (feeling), Air (mindasintellect), Earth
(consciousness/experienced).
The reality of falling down, as process-natural in many
biographies, means, in terms of Christ’s not peace but a
sword, that His Baptism of the Folk of the Earth is with
Fire and Holy Breath (the Second Eucharist in the Ethereal),
or as the Hopi recall: The Day of Purification.
9 Layers 8 notes 7 intervals/stages of the Passion of
Christ, Who is following us, for we contain the seeds of the
Father. Washing the Feet, the Scourging, the Crowning
with Thorns, the Carrying the Cross, the Crucifixion, the
Entombment, the Resurrection. Yes, this happened to Him -
birthing the Story, He followed us ... this is the path
we/All generated in the Fall-together.
Trungpa-ne-Tibet, he of the name of the Moon is not moon,
said: (I was there): be like a rock in a waterful ... he
was a traveler, born in Tibet, fled there as the head of a
large clan, thousands of priests and folk, children and
young (some of whom died) from the Chinese thence into
India, taking a rest in England, surving a car accident
there caused by driving while enlightened (like an 11 year
old), ends up wandering the Americas, where I cross the path
of his students at: Group House.
Oddly, we fall down into The Current that rises up.
We surrender to what we are, falling into Her Surrender to
Who She Is, and as/since our biographies, which are a
chrysalis for the spirit (personal gospels: -- time-burning
in the Fires of existence/experience, each earth-life is a
metamorphosis -- when we return to rest at our StarHome, we
are not who/what we were when we left it the last
time. Yet, even falling is to have His
Company. He never leaves our side, ever, however alone
we may sometimes feel. We are right to ask ourselves
however, why we so easily become a stranger to Him? To pray
in secret outloud, is to hear him in your own thoughts,
answering back. But first note this: Falling//failing means
Risiing.
image stolen from the Internet, so sue me
He Falls with Us. Dying into Lending His Life Spirit
as Holy Breath, by which we are forgiven, for the trials of
life that we must author ourselves. The tiniest embers
in the Soul, of couraged-to-birth moral deeds out of: To
thine own self be true - ... to these so very personal
embers, He is oxygen, and we then burn even brighter.
Our will becomes His Will, by His Choice to follow us.
“I and the Father are one/You can’t get to the Father,
except by me”. A Eucharist of Holy Breath.
Our Planetary Condition is Evolving through Involution.
In all the fires we see, floating in all the oceans of
troubles everywhere, ... everyone’s biography burns with the
light of self-evolving seeds, pouring will into the World in
which they find themselves at birth - the World Which is
Him, the sword not peace dude, who threw the money changers
out of the Temple, just as a warning about the need to be
careful concerning that which you choose to worship.
There is also Her, the Force of Forces declares the Emerald
Tablet. She does penetrate everything. A
stitch in time, saves nine, has-to-have a secret
meaning when drunk poets insist. When the
truth of the 9 Spheres, 8 notes, seven intervals of the
Passion&Resurrection has been forgotten (Hopi prophecy
fate of younger brother) and when the elder brother
wanders by, needing to meet and rejoin the two different
aspects of the broken tablets of wisdom, of Heaven and
Earth, flute and drum, breath and blood, ... that When
is now.
... When this truth is remembered, a break in time, needing
to be stitched back together also needs stitchers, saves
everyone from having to seek the knowing of the so-called 9
Spheres as 4 deeds. The stitching however much needs
celebration, the flute and drum in rhythmic harmony - the
true heart needs no name. Deeds are always
enough. Travelers dancing&singing.
A stitch in time, saves nine. The double of
Anthroposophy (Steinerism) having not been understood at
all, clings to the not-true meaning of good and evil, in
spite of all the herculean efforts of Rudolf Steiner
hinting. Much can not be maintained against the
errant flood of the duality of good and evil, flowing from
St. Paul, and approved by the Churches, and most everyone's
individual beam.
Human beings falling into a new becoming. The eye of
the real spiritual/shit-storm of our time is/was the
Ceremony at Standing Rock, where warrior/children of the
Land, met face to face warrior/children of Western
Civilization, each form of soul owning its particular
aspects of the book of the Mystery of
Christ&HolyMother. A Story not yet finished in its
Telling.
When will the Shamans of the Land (Younger Brother), and the
Shamans of Western Civilization (Elder Brother) speak
together? Is there already the needed marriage
broker? The Dreaming has its own answers to all our
questions of the heart, yet when do the tales of the
different dreamings get properly together. Who can do
that? Who would participate?
"the spirit of the
four directions*"
I originally gave this to my Mother. She
later gave it to my eldest Son,
who returned it to me, after which I gave it to the
Lady described below.
What is the role in This-Our meeting of a triad of
different/separated stages in the Evolution of Consciousness
(the Younger Brother and the Elder), And what is the
role of the third - forgotten travelers [ voice by
Jeff Buckley} by Tim] and words by gypsy {Leonard Cohen}
folk? The weavers of cultures-together. A tale,
with hints ...
Part of Raven’s nature was to be a whisperer of
spirit, from the hermit living in a cave near the top of
the mountain, to the people living in the village below.
Raven saw in two Ways, ... one Way out of her left
eye, and another Way out of her right eye. This was
her Gift from the Wind - the double seeing.
The hermit did not live alone. While he was
naturally aging, his companion was clearly younger.
Mature, but younger. This the Raven Saw out of her
right eye: two people living together in a cave high up
near the top of the mountain.
With her left eye Raven Saw something entirely
different. The hermit had a double animal-like
nature - he was two people at the same time. The
animal-like quality was a kind of visible to the Wind
metaphor - a Way of expressing a Gift. He
remained fully human, and his heart was akin to that of a
great bear, sitting quietly. This aspect of the
hermit's Gift might on occasion roar, but basically this
lazy bear style was harmless. On the bear’s head,
however, was the Gift of an eagle nature, his feathers all
white - a bit like the snowy owl. The eagle nature
Saw Far.
When the bear quality spoke from out of the
eagle-nature his speech was fearsome. It was so full
of the truth’s of the Wind, that its brightness blinded
people in the village. This was why the people in
the village mostly stayed away from the
cave.
When Raven looked at the woman with her
left-eye-seeing, what Raven Saw was even more
fearsome. The woman, always quiet and gentle, was in
fact very ancient ... more ancient than earth and
sky. Raven saw a picture once that was like this
ancient being ... in a book in a library in the village
when Raven was perched outside looking through a
window. The book called this Being, a Sphinx.
Where the hermit had a double nature, the woman was
three. In the Raven's left-eye Sight, she had the
body of a great lion, the wings of a great bird, and the
face of a human-like angel.
Sometimes the woman would go to the village, because
her kinder nature made her less threatening. The
hermit seldom went. Many people did not like to be
around someone whose speech was full of the fierce light
of truth.
The villagers lived in a state of confusion.
Something was happening. Their world was changing
too fast, and even though they clung with great force to
their traditions, the Wind swept through the village, over
and over again, tearing the traditions away, as if these
traditions were vanities written carelessly on rice
paper. Some days the Wind was so fierce, stones were
torn from buildings, roofs collapsed, and lives
disrupted.
The hermit was old. He was born old. He
was dying. He was born dying. His bear-nature
- his physical being - was older, and slowly fading.
His eagle-nature - his spirit being - was a bit younger,
and as the bear aged, his spirit became more and more
free.
In the quiet of the cave the hermit sang spirit
songs. Raven heard them, as best as she could, and
then carried them to the village to share with the other
birds there. Most of the people didn’t listen to the
conversations of birds, although a lot of the children
did, until they became to old to dance and play. To
hear the speech of birds one had to be like a bird -
moving on the Wind, with feet disconnected from the
Earth. A few of the older people still heard the
songs of the birds, but often were thought mad when they
spoke of them.
In the village then all was confused, although if the
hermit’s stories and poems were listened to, the confusion
would be far less. The Wind helped Raven carry the
songs from the cave near the mountain top, to the village
far below. But not all the people any more even
believed in the Wind. You had to be like a child,
and to believe as children do in magic, if you wanted to
hear the wisdom of the birds as carried on the Wind.
trials
flower/ganja dancing excess 
Seventy-six years old avatar body, hasn't done too
bad ....
We recently lost 70 lbs.
my Lady, in the November Light, on the deck - on
her way to Church ...
her meditation room is just behind the camera, so this
is part of her every day view ...
daughter, mother, not-yet grandmother,
former-but-now-prozacinated OCD artist, divorced,
... I saw her walk through a door into the
Trustees Room at the Concord MA Public Library,
clothed in a golden halo.
Lightening/thunder/struck - i 'n I, we shortly dined
Chinese, talked for about five hours,
until the happy noises of staff eating and
waiting to close up shop ... early in courtship we
occupied near space on
a couch, in her home - others about, five inches
separated, we'd never really touched physically,
then we together lean in, resting shoulder to
shoulder, and all need for anything other than
days and nights of being close - fled - all hunger
gone, we were home ...
she's my personal goddess of kindness ... I've
run out of words ...
The adopted dog, sort of tea-cup poodle, whose color
is like a wild bunch of dust bunnies risen-up from
underneath the bed,
which of course has truth, for pets are also primeval,
fires ~!~ in their own write -- Schotzie needs his own
video - serious ants in his pants
Bill
Watterston, wise wise triple wise, car -- tune up
your heart-artist
... willed water and stone, that Watterston dude ...
ink&pen still far mightier than knife,
for
touching the heart/hurts
nine-inch nails via J. Cash
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4N3N1MlvVc4
Mad Word - Gary Jules
Stairway
to Heaven
Led Zeppelin
culture cannot be stopped
the music and the dance cannot be stopped
its core is candle/flame/light
invisible/indivisible
and veryvery
foolish
silly-on-fire
better to do, and appologize later,
then get hung up on asking all the
time. who is responsiblie
in this cultura with a
language of
flirts?
the goddesses have to stop this:
the gods are
male-mess fucked up
and still puking all over the place,
and they - They! The Ladies&Mothers
...
wanted be like men?
men need help ... to be human,
&
women need to help men, to be human
the aliens are here, and we are them
For those who
have lasted this far - the cherry on the top:
an imaginative/magical/heretical/pagan
explanation of flying saucers and crop
circles. Time
for a ganja intoxicated poet to stick my nose
in the profitable/face of ancient alien
theorists, who having all the answers before
hand, never got around to any of the Right
Questions.
My Lady likes
TV shows about hauntings, big feet folk,
reincarnation, and aliens. She also once learned
Sanskrit. She got me to watch a documentary on
the general history of flying saucers, and atom bombs,
and such - all more or less contemporary phenomena of
each other.
Take as a given that the physicists who brought this
atomic-feat to us, did not know what they were really
doing, spending a lot of time counting things, and not
paying too much attention to whether or not "things"
might have their own kind of consciousness. Not
a simple question there, to which I wrote an essay in
the Journal of Borderline Sciences: "There
is no free energy".
I also have a copy of Clarke 2017's earlier
unpublished work: "Close Encounters of the Fifth
Kind", about how he learned to love alien-presences,
only to find out they were more authentically
shamamystically perceived (on his part) as residents
of the lands of Fairy and the Underworld.
Suppose (let us theorize) the hidden alchemy of an
atomic bomb is to momentarily open a gate between the
material
world and the upside down (see Stranger Things).
From
Lovecraft and Giger,
somewhat co-joined artists of some gates to the
seeming nether regions of the Collective Imagination,
previously occupied by Hieronymus
Bosch = the
Creature in Aliens is birthed.
Beginning around 1945, when human beings broke a hole
in the threshold between the material and the
non-material worlds, something fell through. The
Collective Imagination has a darker-side of the forces
of Nature, if viewed abstractly as "things". The
Earth is lined with Forests&Caves, and the stories
of the Little People should be trusted. Farmers,
Miners, Foresters, Healers - all up to their elbows in
the invisible arts. City dwellers on the other
hand, attract the Folk of Forges and Technical
Arts. These invisibles have a different
character.
someones'great picture curtesy Google Images
focused/becomingt00fastt00passionedbl00dlettingeverythingpresent,
even space and time
Nothing can be in the material world that is not
embodied :=: there always will be a ghost in the
machine, even if it just a puppet for its
designer. Entities leaked into the material
world from "the other side", upside down, underworld
land of faerie. A kind of mini-big bang in the
absence of a deity-community willing to sacrifice
themselves to certain rules of form. Some core
of the hidden wild now loose on Earth, latent with
strangeness.
This may help with understanding our folly: matter
comes from a cosmic derived condensation process -
born in: (Clarke 2017 again)
... the
traditional kabbalistic worlds of Emanation,
Creation, Formation & Existence as
depicted in shorthand in Genesis) can be
seen as having their parallel “tree-rings”
in the building up of successive inner-earth
layers corresponding to Saturn, Sun, Moon,
and, finally, the surface world of Nature,
all inhabited at their core and in every
particle by divinity in its immanent
maternal aspect.
One reason ancients could construct their
giant temples was that matter was previously
less dense, and a well tuned flute could score
it into as needed. We have so many sad
assumptions about the ancient times.
This densification process came to an end,
when radioactivity appears - the process of
densification into Existence reaches a
limit. Matter, a kind of sacrifice of
Lebnizian Monads, could no longer adhere to
itself. Its' "center" did not
hold. Our time measures based upon
carbon-dating are all wrong, but not to worry,
it will all work out and/or end anyway.
So, ... protons/neutron/photons have
Being&Consciousness. However, having
discovered the "type"/kind of the tinyest
folk,their primeval labors done, now
letting-go their labors as leaves do every
Fall, their original
cohesion/membership/sisterlyness/dancingfree,
we started to collect mass quantities of these
folks we abstractly named (uranium ore -
yellow cake etc). Why ... well because
we could, and we needed to cross certain
thresholds in knowledge. We, as a
species, grow new capacities all the
time. "It matters to me, for Matter
to be, and that I, to Matter, do matter."
Along this road, having been induced into
forgetting that consciousness is everywhere,
by the Gods&Goddesses Themselves, boys
with toys and girls with causes tend to
disagreeable behaviors - from bar fights to
civilization ending wars. So in
ignorance we start to test and use nuclear
weapons, around which time of testing and
experimentation flying saucers are suddenly
everywherewhen. Maybe there's lessons
here, but there is also no evidence that
should lead us to panic. Try as we
might, we cannot unmake the creation.
Having dis-encouled the WorldStar, the Word
before the Word, She ... according to remarks
by traveler Clark 2017, waits for us to come
visit. A bit like most of the time we
only really appreciation Mother is when she
leave us alone. Still, look around at
all the priestess the world be growing.
I have it on good authority, from my
travelling grandson, that:
Faerie Land leaking some of its older, and
more immature in some cases, citizens into
having a million
year picnic among the embodied of Planet
Earth. Some few of which have
beenapparently meeting with various official
government folk, as well as playing/toying
with the ordinary ones. Steven
Spielberg, a master of reading his cultural
time, and revealing its themes in images,
produced a 20 hour movie for TV, called: "Taken",
which tried to imagine what this all means.
picture by someone - thanks for that, analysis
symbology and word notes ??? thanks for that as well
thoughts that fell into this head, follow
Crop Circles are more simple, and even the
human imitations have some artistic
merit. Plants swoon - soften/faint/give
over to gravity, collectively, should it be
wished too happen by the wider community in
the Surround. Those who have paid
attention are aware of the place where the
"bend" occures and that the stalk of the grain
is not broken, just goes/leans-over
horizontal, instead of reaching for the
Sun&Light&Warmth - reaching verticle -
clearly a "swoon" to lay their seeds/sense
againt the earth, the ground, and thus
commesterate with the Mother in these Lost
Days. This is their only way their
song/speech to the thoughtless embodied idiots
trying to wreck the Mother's Life Sphere -
i.e. crucify Christ again. There being
just one The Plant, while the grain/family,
serving gladly as food for us, still have
feelings (fairy's carry them), and wish we
could remember once more to celebrate and
honor the Gifts of Harvest. A good
source for that last casp of the Goddess
Religions in England, was in the tale: The
Mists of Avalon, from traveler
Marion-Zimmer-Bradley, a
long lovely book, as well as a reasonably
good television program, which focuses
not on the men&Arthur, but on the last
remaining echo of the Old Ways of
priestess&priests of the Mother, and what
the arrival of Christianity mean to them.
After reading this to my Lady, she reminded me
of her studies of many books of Crop Cirlces,
and the oddity of the not only no breaking of
stem, but the presence of tiny
crystals. In the Dreaming I saw
that the gnomes had taken the carbon-people
out of their home, helped them remember
themselves out of community, yet be nature
their continued avatar body would need new
form, via undines and slyphs, with
fire~!~adding passion to the
calculus-adoration of the form as it would
appear to the human eye.
The last time we human-beings-evolving went to
our current level of ingratious excess, the
breath-of-life sphere cried salty tears for 40
days, or as the traveler
Patrick Dixon Tales it: "this fall of
the sea out of the sky", and the once upon
great Civilization of Atlantis was sweep
clean, until little was left except for those
who find memories of ancient-amazing-knowledge
in the Dreaming.
falling,flying
rhetoric
astronomy
geometry
arithmetic
The
Mystery of Lust
music
