The Cascadian Wanderer

It’s been a week since our trip from the mountains down into the Portland metropolitan nexus with Charlie the Lab. My experience in the finely-tuned machinery of the vet clinic we took him to is something I’ve thought about – which means written about, because that’s part of the way I think things through – and I’m done with it now.

A lot of those written thoughts will join volumes of others in what I generously refer to as “personal archives.” It’s actually a dead-letter box stuffed with… dead letters. Tomes and tomes of missives written to myself and then put away.

One thing I will share is this: never end a piece of writing with the phrase “more to come.” An exception to that would be if it’s the end of a story that you don’t care to end, or if you intend to remind your reader that there is always more to come after every story:

“So the Prince and Princess were married in the castle on the pyramid of dragon heads while the people of the kingdom rejoiced and the evil wizard swung like a circular metronome from the palace gibbet.

 “More to come.”  

Let’s all just carry on with our lives now.

Down through the years I’ve had my share of educational moments. As I got older I got better at being the sort of person who takes his beatings cheerfully, registering the lesson, and moving on.

Today I had another. I have no such lofty response to this one. It will take awhile, I suppose, and eventually it will fade.

Where do I start? My experience today reminded me of so much that is sad about this country we live in and the values it finds itself mired in. It reminded me that there are good people caught in the ways and means of the American profit machine, following its patterns for their own livelihood and sustenance in the absence of an alternative.

I’ll start at the beginning.

Our Labrador Retriever Charlie, a beloved family member – and that phrase does little to describe the depth of love and respect we have for him – developed a lip tumor earlier this year. We took him to the vet and he had surgery to have it removed. The post-surgical histopathology report characterized the tumor as a malignant plasmacytoma. Six weeks after the surgery it came back.

When the tumor reappeared I undertook to educate myself about Charlie’s condition. Up until then my wife Lenore and I had relied on the expertise of the vet, who was quite good, and we still have a high regard for the expertise she brings to all of us.

When the tumor came back our next option was a more aggressive, disfiguring surgery which would remove an area of his lip about 2-1/2” long and an inch and a half high. It would have left Charlie’s canine tooth and gum in that area exposed.

We decided not to do that. The vet then referred us to an oncology clinic where the specialists there could inform us as to chemotherapy and radiation therapy treatment options available to treat and/or shrink the tumor.

During that time we began to treat Charlie’s condition ourselves, using the knowledge gained from our own research. The tumor continued to grow, but soon after we started our own treatments it started to show some signs of breaking down.

Last night the tumor began to bleed profusely, and the corn starch treatment we were using to stop bleeding wasn’t working very well. Combined with pressure it did help us stop the bleeding then, and again early this morning. Realizing we needed something better than the corn starch I located a Chinese Herbal store in Portland that carried Yunnan Baiyao, an extremely effective agent to counter bleeding, and planned to go get some.

Then the damn thing started bleeding again, profusely, and only pressure held it back.

So we called the oncology clinic – one of two in the Portland-Vancouver area – for an emergency appointment, citing the referral of our primary vet and letting them know who to contact for Charlie’s records so they could have them when we arrived. They were about 45 minutes away from where we lived

I asked if an oncologist would be involved in the emergency visit and was told that the triage vet would review the records with a staff oncologist and that a list of optional treatments and their costs would be given to us at the end of the visit. I asked if they by any chance carried Yunnan Baiyo, and they did, and the cost of the emergency visit would be $99. It all sounded good to me. We’d even be able to pick up the Yunnan Baiyao there, too.

It was a big clinic. The parking lot was full, and it was a big parking lot. As a provider of emergency services as well as being one of only two commonly referred local providers of pet oncology services in the area, the place was a hive of activity. The front desk was in a common entrance area for all services, and the staff there ran the desk fast and efficiently. Calls for “the next available triage vet” came often, folks with appointments were handled quickly and well. All in all it was a well-oiled machine running at peak efficiency.

I might have thought it all a bit too well-oiled had I been in better shape, but Lenore and I were both short on sleep, nearly exhausted, worried about Charlie.

A vet tech appeared promptly and took Charlie back to be assessed by a triage vet. Less than ten minutes later another tech reappeared, told us they had stopped the bleeding – with two caps of Yunnan Baiyao – and we were conducted to an exam room. Shortly after that our triage vet appeared.

He was about twelve, I’d guess. Well, not that young, but obviously new to the trade. He was earnest and informed and obviously well educated in veterinary science and told us Charlie’s bleeding had been stopped. After he briefed us on that it looked like we were going to be ushered out to pay our bill.

I had a few questions. Was an oncologist consulted? No. I told him we were told on the phone that a staff oncologist would be involved during our visit, and that we would be given a list of our options and the costs for further treatment. He said he could talk to an oncologist before he prepared his final report, and would since I asked. That sounded good, so I gave him some background on the tumor to pass along to the oncologist. He was aware of plasmacytomas, but it became obvious as I spoke to him that his knowledge was only general knowledge, and I was glad he’d agreed to talk to an oncologist. It was jclear that although he had Charlie’s records in hand from our vet, he had not looked at them at all, and so I gave him a brief description of Charlie’s history.

A cutaneous plasmacytoma in lip tissue like Charlie has, even with a high mitotic index characterizing it as malignant, is not necessarily or even probably a tumor that will metastasize to other parts of the body. It’s also not typically a metastasized extension of another deeper tumor. It’s a skin cancer that grows fast in the area it appears in. I’d learned that one oncology protocol involved a prednisone and melphalan treatment which might help shrink the tumor without the disfiguring surgery, and I wanted to know more about that and the costs involved. The young vet took it all in and said he’d talk to the oncologist about what I’d said.

I asked about an antibiotic then, citing the apparent break down and degradation of the tumor which produced the bleeding. I thought there might be a chance of bacterial infection present. He agreed with that assessment and prescribed an antibiotic. And I had to remind him that we wanted to get the Yunnan Baiyao while we were there, and he made a note of that as well.

We were then taken back to the waiting area to get Charlie and the vet’s report, and about 20 minutes later had both in hand and I went to pay our bill.

Suffice it to say that the bill was large, much larger than I expected. I was tired, worn down emotionally, sleep-deprived, worried. I was exhausted, and sad, and troubled by the interaction I’d had with the vet and the concentration it had taken to call his attention to things I’d expected him to know. I could feel the well-oiled machine running all around me, pushing me through it.

I thought about questioning the amount for just a moment. Any other time I would have been able to discuss it. In that moment I couldn’t. I just paid it. But I didn’t just pay it. I gave up, and then I paid it. In that moment the hammer came down and my spirit truly broke. I didn’t care about the damn bill. I just wanted to get the hell out of there with Lenore and Charlie and go home. And that’s what we did.

There’s an iceberg beneath the tip of that moment. I’ve been plumbing the depths of it ever since.

More to come.

This post is an off-the cuff unedited response to a post on my friend Louis’s blog, Ralston Creek Review. Louis is a musicologist and intelligent guy and accomplished scholar, among other things, and I recommend his blog highly.

I am responding to Louis’ post here rather than there because of the length of my response and also because I haven’t taken the time to clean up my own rambling, loose-limbed expressions and produce a reasonably coherent piece of work. I don’t want to pollute his meticulous blog anymore than I already have. His post is located at: http://ralstoncreekreview.com/song-of-the-week-silver-threads-and-golden-needles/ .

Here is the part of Louis’ post I am responding to:

My wife Cathy and I attended a wedding last weekend. The bride was an elementary school teacher and the groom a former tax lawyer who quit his practice to open a chain of marijuana dispensaries. As we drove into the parking lot at the wedding venue, we saw in the spots reserved for the bide and groom a Ferrari sports car and a Porsche SUV – which is a couple hundred thousand dollars worth of transportation. I had no idea that grade school teachers are paid that well.

It was a very nice ceremony and reception, but a few things struck me as sort of strange. For example, the officiant (it was not a very religious ceremony), thought it appropriate to include an old joke in his remarks. It was the one about a woman who accompanied her husband to a medical appointment. After the husband had been examined, the doctor asked to speak to his wife in private. He told her that her husband’s condition was very precarious, and that virtually any stress could have disastrous consequences. The doctor told her that she would have to care for her husband with great love and tenderness, cook him carefully planned meals, prevent him from doing strenuous household chores and generally “baby” him for several months. The wife said she understood, and went to meet her husband in the waiting room. As they were walking out to their car, the husband asked, “What did the doctor have to say?” The wife replied, “He said you’re going to die.”

And here’s my response:

Dear Louis,

I would have the same thoughts you express if I were exposed to what you witnessed that day. And I have more, of course, which will follow.

A parking lot serving as a trophy case for conspicuous over-consumption by folks who, as they say, just have “too damn much money” is both a sign of the times and a sigh-inspiring observation that things are the same as they ever were in the human paradigm.

And the joke, with its undertones of egocentric precedence and unencumbered, uncommitted selfishness at a ceremony where traditionally two are selflessly united as one is humorous in that sort of subtle, unfunny way which tickles the fears of people and incites nervous laughter – but to me it is more an expression about the overweening sense of personal entitlement which has become prevalent in America, and the larger fatal flaw present in humanity which requires conquest and triumph rather than cooperation and coexistence.

Paul Simon said, observing the empty rounds of unsatisfied, unconscious seekers, “I don’t find this stuff amusing anymore.” Neither do I. I just look at it and think, well, that’s just the way it is – for them. And it affects us all.

Your observation is a single, small picture containing things which inspired an extrapolation of a much broader perspective for me. I recently watched the movie “Little Big Man” again, and a documentary series about the development of the American west. Your observations and the reminder of the native American perspective also led me to remember the movie “Koyaanisqatsi”. And of course we both share a good knowledge of human history which can be brought to bear in a larger perspective on this single snapshot, and my musings included that as well.

I think homo sapiens has indeed finally reached the place where it is evident to some of us that all the silver threads and golden needles developed by humanity cannot mend the heart of our evolutionary mandate and what it has delivered us to.

In Little Big Man, the character Old Lodge Skins (played by Chief Dan George) observes: “…the human beings (i.e., the native Americans), my son, they believe everything is alive. Not only man and animals. But also water, earth, stone… but the white man, they believe everything is dead. Stone, earth, animals. And people! Even their own people! If things keep trying to live, the white man will rub them out.”

The native Americans saw the projected outcome of destructive over-consumption, and were bewildered that the social paradigms of the invaders had made them ignorant of the eventual result of their predations on others and the planet.

In the Hopi language, the word koyaanisqatsi means “life of moral corruption and turmoil” or “life out of balance,” and certainly describes the modern ways and means of homo sapiens. In the American documentary film (1982) of the same name, a clear pictorial record of that unbalanced life is presented. Here’s an edited excerpt from Wikipedia describing the film and how the director, Godfrey Reggio, described it:

Reggio stated that “these (the Qatsi trilogy) films have never been about the effect of technology, of industry on people. It’s been that every[thing] – politics, education, things of the financial structure, the nation state structure, language, the culture, religion – all of that exists within the host of technology. …It’s not that we use technology, we live technology.” In other words, we are technology.

And when I realize the final, clear point of all of this – that we have become what we are – I am reminded of Robert Oppenheimer’s observation when the first atomic bomb was detonated, when he quoted the words of Shiva from the Bhagavad Gita: “…now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds…”

We are what we are. If the ways and means evolved in the human paradigm in the past six thousand years or so were a social paradigm and not an evolutionary imperative that goes to the very bone of our DNA, my thoughts on the future of homo sapiens might be moderated some. But I don’t think that’s the case. Homo sapiens has realized its own potential and simultaneous downfall in a genetic mandate which calls for its own extinction before it can assume the grace of its origin as depicted in myth by the Garden of Eden.

There is now a demonstrated level of probability that the current human species homo sapiens will prove to be an unsuccessful evolutionary development and will become extinct. Human adaptability as well as the evolutionary development of alternate subsets within a species both constitute a counterbalance to that ultimate development and produce a certain value of hope in the calculation of that probability.

There is a small chance that current levels of homo sapiens adaptability will prove to be capable of effecting long term proactive efforts rather than being simply reactive to developments after the fact, and will collectively rise to a level which will manage a massive transfiguration and readjustment of the ways and means of their present nature and history. But it doesn’t seem to be much of a chance.

Overall it seems to me that even if homo sapiens as a species finds its place in creation and learns to live in balance with the source of its sustenance – the planetary biosphere – there will have to be a cataclysmic adjustment, a culling of population numbers on a nearly unimaginable scale. I think it’s become a nearly unavoidable probability. And I don’t think that homo sapiens will survive the cut.

I do have one solid hope for the future of humanity. The thing is, it doesn’t include the survival of homo sapiens as a species.

Homo sapiens has had a good run, and for awhile its evolved nature has proven successful – at least for a certain value of “successful.” But the timeline of the universe is nearly eternal, and the duration of the human experiment a mote on that scale. If homo sapiens proves, after a seemingly successful run of ten or a hundred thousand years, to in the end be an unsuccessful development, the earth and the universe will not even blink when it disappears. New species will appear, and have their turn.

I think that there is evidence in the historical record of the past six thousand years that a new evolutionary line is developing in the human species. Just as Cro-Magnon superseded the Neanderthal, I think there is a human species already present on earth which shares a great part of the gene pool of homo sapiens and yet has a certain measure of divergent, alternate characteristics which effectively distant it from homo sapiens.

I also think this new species is only just beginning to identify itself and the presence of like others, and that the threshold of conscious recognition of its divergent nature is approaching in part because of the end homo sapiens is arriving at, and in part because the increased connectivity of the technological world has made it possible to see like others in spite of their relative rarity in the masses of homo sapiens.

They are not the reconstituted Übermensch of Nietzsche and the Nazis, or Olaf Stapledon’s “Odd John,” or Heinlein’s “Stranger in a Strange Land.” The early history of Heinlein’s Valentine Smith as the child raised by wolves and the characterization of Smith as “homo superior” offers a slight description of what the new species might appear to be in the eyes of homo sapiens, but it is only an inkling.

It has been observed that the internal mental processing environment of a person with a given IQ level can be unfathomable to another person with an IQ level removed as little as ten points either way from that baseline. I think that in the same way it is unfathomable for homo sapiens to divine the nature of the new species within its midst. The hope I have for humanity is not that homo sapiens would identify the new line of “homo nova”, but that these new humans would discover and see each other, and survive the end of homo sapiens, and carry their own human line forward.

The fall of the old line and the ascension of homo nova will be a birth in every sense of the word, an explosive paroxysm, as homo sapiens succumbs to its fatal flaw and homo nova rises from those ashes. It will take awhile. The transcendent vector will be obscure in the short term, and a proven fact in the long run. All we can see right now are the inklings, the precursors, the path behind us, and what it has led to. What comes next is unimaginable to most of us, but it does hold hope for a future for a branch of humanity which is viable, and better than its antecedents.

All of these thoughts probably seem to most as an odd flower to be seeded by the picture you shared, but to me it is as clear and plain as can be.

Anyway, that’s what I thought about in response to your post.

PS: If you’re interested, at one time I was enamored of the cyber punk genre and took a bit of time to attempt it myself. The end result, preliminary and sparse and unfinished, languished in my files unpolished and forgotten, and when I discovered it again I didn’t think much of it and decided it was too much of a mess to mess with. Later I decided to put the thing on the net as a rough seed for something called “The Cyberpunk Novel Project v. 1.0”. It is located at https://novageddon.wordpress.com/ . It has languished in the back channels of cyberspace ever since, and for quite awhile, with nary a taker.

After writing the above thoughts I revisited the site because it does have some of what I’ve reflected on here incorporated into it, particularly in sections which are excerpts from the “Encyclopedia Cumulatus, 2165 (Gregorian)”. Have a look, if you’re so inclined, and perhaps there will be enough substance there to engender some thoughts of your own about the present and future nature of the human species.

I’d be interested in what you think about the subject.

Preface

“A Course in Miracles is a self-study spiritual thought system that teaches that the way to universal love and peace — or remembering God — is by undoing guilt through forgiving others. The Course thus focuses on the healing of relationships and making them holy. A Course in Miracles also emphasizes that it is but one version of the universal curriculum, of which there are “many thousands.” Consequently, even though the language of the Course is that of traditional Christianity, it expresses a non-sectarian, non-denominational spirituality. A Course in Miracles therefore is a universal spiritual teaching, not a religion.”
(1995, Foundation for Inner Peace)

In the mid 1990’s there were several cyberspace bulletin boards carried on list servers which were devoted to discussion of this version of the universal curriculum, which gained widespread popular attention when Marianne Williamson’s book “A Return To Love”, based on the author’s personal interpretations of ACIM _TM , hit the best-seller lists in 1994.

I participated on one such list server made available by La Trobe University in Australia from early in 1994 until sometime in 1998. I first encountered ACIM in 1982. When Lenore and I met in 1984, I started studying it more with her.

The Latrobe group’s heyday was between ’94 and ’96. It was the era just before the internet population exploded and the quality of online commentary sunk to the lowest common denominators of egotistical humanity – profanity, attack, and crudeness.

In those days the best “flamers” were self-deprecating humorists. When we made fun of ourselves it made it easy for others to see the same things in themselves, and we all had a good laugh and carried on from there.

“The Course” has many devoted students who have found much that is good in their study of it. While I participated on this list server there was a lot of serious, earnest discussion about the principles of ACIM which the participants benefited from. One of my “serious” works found its way to publication in New Zealand, of all places. Some of the participants on the list were, and in certain cases still are, regarded as good resources for ACIM students.

There was also a lot of disagreement and contentiousness, and we benefited from the resultant flame wars as well. One of the things the Course teaches us is that the people who are a big pain in our neck (or elsewhere) are our teachers. Another thing it teaches is the illusory nature of what we perceive to be “attack thoughts.” The personalities on the list server gave us all plenty of exercise as we learned those lessons. The major theme was always the same basic one: “Would you rather be happy or right?”

I fondly recall the Gender Flame-Wars of ’95, when severe injuries in that epoch (torched egos and over a dozen sprained middle fingers, hindering typing ability) brought the course of the Course list server to a grinding halt, and subsequently engendered the short-lived Rehabilitative Truce of ’95 ½ . This conflagration was started by someone who took umbrage at the male pronouns used in ACIM.

There was a lot of that sort of thing. The group was not homogenous like most groups become as they age. It was young and comprised of personalities and perspectives ranging from Authoritarian Experts to meek seekers. There were minds present which were closed, half open, and open. There was a lot of energy present in the continuum, and when the participants collided there were moments when new particles of consciousness appeared.

There was a small group of students who wandered from time to time, just having some plain old fun. Were we doing some kind of subversive Rajah Yoga? A Buddhist thing? Sufi maybe?  An esoteric form of spiritual judo where we expertly threw ourselves on our own butts so that others could see how it’s done? I think so. There were some who regarded us as just unruly buffoons, farters in church, silly children. It all depends, as the Dalai Lama observes with a laugh, on your perspective. But whatever we were, we were the pros. We were serious students, and we didn’t forget to laugh – a thing the Course also advises us to do.

Some of my favorites on the list were Ted and Richard and Wayne. They were all very much “awake” by my standards, wise and insightful often and occasionally exasperated by the strongly self-convinced, sleeping egos holding forth loudly on the list. It was an exasperation I joined them in from time to time. They were great to have around, and together, along with others who joined us from time to time, we had a lot of fun. And learned things, too.

Regardless of the finer points of what was being taught or learned, it can be seen that elements of the universal Spiritual curriculum were present in a robust, rollicking form from time to time. The Course says, “The Holy Spirit is the Spirit of Joy.” Sometimes it all starts with just a good laugh. Or a good flame. Or making yourself a good target for “attack thoughts” from others.

–**–

From:   OBIWANB-o-b

Hi All!  I haven’t  been here for awhile!  I’ve been living and letting the whole deal go down the way it will. About two weeks ago I read through a recent series of posts and was glad to see many old friends still here.  I did notice, however, that everyone seems to be thinking way too much before they post, and talking even more. I believe I’ll just take care of that right now.

After reading your posts I knew I had to come back. The eruption of intellectual punditry and noisy, self-righteous trumpeting of opinion just sounded like too much fun.  So I reckon I’ll jump right in.

Those of you who remember me will be glad to hear I still carry my flame-thrower with the u-shaped barrel, and still take pot shots at the mirror whenever I think I see a target.  It’s how I learn.

Imagine my delight when I picked up all your posts and found what I can only gleefully describe as a target-rich environment of like-minded egos, all firing away at themselves.

Wow.

Let the games begin!

Bob

PS: I’m baaaaaaack. I installed a new computer chip with a heat sink the size of a Mazda motor. I got a brand new flame-proof asbestos suit down at the Survivalist Surplus Depot. Attack thoughts no longer exist for me. I’m covered. Come on, you punks. Make my day.

–**–

Subj:    Re: Nomination…
In a message dated 96-05-22 15:55:26 EDT, Wayne writes to Sherry:
>It has come to my attention that the bored of directors of the “OddFellows” branch of ACIM is considering nominating you for inclusion in the OddFellows.>

Dear Sherry,

This is Bob. As President of the almost-aforementioned sect it is incumbent on me to clarify and correct certain statements made by Wayne, who apparently has managed to sneak away from Kaye undetected and has obviously been fooling around with the computer without adult supervision again.

First of all, we are not the “OddFellows” of ACIM.  We are the “OddBellows” of ACIM, Revised, LaTrobe. Among other things we reflect a genderless political propriety which we devoutly and desperately hope will discourage any flare-ups of the Gender Flame-Wars of ’95.

For those of you who are new here, severe injuries in that epoch (torched egos and over a dozen sprained middle fingers) brought the course of the Course to a grinding halt, and subsequently engendered the Rehabilitative Truce of ’95 1/2, which we all recall fondly as just this really syrupy New Age extravaganza of feather-soothing, apologias ad nauseam, and tons of butt-kissing.

It was great. But I digress. I’m correcting Wayne now, I have to stay on task. Wayne wrote:

>As the acting secretary of the “fellows”, I have been asked to forward to you some of our rules so that you may properly assess your interest in becoming an OddFellow.>

It’s “Bellows”, Wayne! BELLOWS! Think AIR, Big Guy! We move a lot of AIR!

>Should you decide to become a fellow, the bored will consider your qualifications and then vote on your inclusion or knot.>

Actually, that’s “occlusion”, as in noun: “the complete obstruction of the breath passage in the articulation of a speech sound.” This is like what happens when somebody on the list ticks you off so bad that you just want to foghorn-scream them to death and you get so pissed and tense that the veins in your head and neck get really, really big and then your throat clenches shut. When you try to yell you just manage to blow yourself up like a big balloon, which hopefully the Holy Spirit will deflate before you explode yourself. It’s a very popular learning technique here.

>and then vote on your inclusion or knot.>

What Wayne refers to is our Initiation, aka The Teaching Right Rite.

If you’re found worthy, we flame you until you’re occluded, and you learn to teach others the same way, knowing you are absolutely Right and they are not.

If, on the other hand, you’re found wordy – well then, we just bash you over the head and go about our self-inflated business, leaving you to assess the quality of your lumps and improve on the technique in your own unique way as a fully fledged member of The OddBellows of ACIM.

>Should the bored nominate you for membership you will be eligible to wear the OddFellows pin to all ACIM functions. (it looks a little like Jesus with a big grin on his face).> 

Actually, it’s a 278 pound concrete cross. You have to carry it on your back while commenting. And you have to sigh in dejection at the errant ignorance of whoever it is you’re correcting. At least three times. We call that the trinity.

>You will also be entitled to our monthly newsletter, “That’s Odd!”  as well as a 20% discount on all ACIM healing tapes.>

Which you will need. Along with a premium-grade first aid kit.

>Well that’s it. Let us know if you’re interested.>

Wayne always has been a bit of an optimist. But we’ll fix that!

signed, ObiwanB@aol.com, President, OddBellows of ACIM

–**–

Subj:    Re: Nomination… Date:    05/24/96
To:       siskiyou@snowcrest.net
CC:      acim@latrobe.edu.au

Dear Wayne,

In a message dated 96-05-23 15:38:05 EDT, you write: >My Most Magnifi-scent and Worthy Exalted President, Please forgive my errors.>

Not on your life. This is Miracles. Serious stuff. Correct yourself according to my criteria or you’re toast.

> You can be assured that I won’t make that mistake again.

Good, good! We must be vigilant, and avoid redundancy. So many mistakes, so little time. You know. Well, we must simply do the best we can, and carry on with a bumbling and catastrophic vigor for… something or the other. I forget what.

I think perhaps it’s related to, uhhh…  no, that’s not it. I seem to recall a,  uhhh…  no, that’s not quite right either. Well, that’s not important. We must simply carry on. Yes, that’s it, carry on and … something, something, and then something else, and then there’s a bit in there I forget, but it’s about caterwauling and such, and then there’s a piece about… whatever, and then it finishes up rather nicely, actually, as I recall. Heaven seems to be the upshot of the whole thing, but really, I’m just terribly busy with whatever it is this is, and I’ll simply have to deal with those other bits later.

>If it please your highness, a Ted (Hawkhill) has requested membership in the Lodge.  I informed him that I would pass on his request to you.  It seems that Ted wants to join but has some questions. He also would like us to make some changes.>

That will be fine. I will change into my chartreuse and cardinal-red vespers frock and you can wear the fur Conan jockstrap.

>To wit, he asks us: If we’re really OddBellows, how do we know it?>

Ted is rather advanced for an initiate. This sounds a lot like the third level koan we sent old Smitty to the rubber room with last fall.  I wonder if he’s making any progress yet?

>Also, was the founder, Max Mackeral, the authentic Max Mackeral or an imposter?>

An imploder, actually.  He got so upset with the second incarnation of Stephen that he actually blew himself out his own rear end.

>Ted also asks if it isn’t true that we really stole our rituals from the Masons and the Knights of Columbus.>?

We tried.  But they caught us, and jeez, did they make us pay for’em. We had to do ten Proud Mary’s and ten Our Faulters.

I remember it like it was yesterday… or WAS it yesterday?  Just did the time warp again…  Now, how did that go? “Got a good job in the city, working for the man every night and day, never had a minute for thinking ’bout nothin’, always had somethin’ to worry about…”

Or something like that. I usually just find the thumper line, sky up on the riffs and dance my brains out. You know.

>Will we admit that we are dualistic in that our name is comprosed of two words?>

We will admit that we are duel-istic, and willing to take on all comers at any spiritual competition anywhere in the world, anytime.  ANYTIME, DAMMIT!  (BTW, comm-prosed has two m’s and a hyphen in it.)

>Additionally Ted would like to know if he can sell tickets to the annual St. Josephs Catholic Charity Ball at our meetings.>

If Ted can do that he can sell refrigerators to Eskimos. Unless there’s a beer garden. In which case I’ll take twelve.

>Pending your decision most holy won, I shall get back with Ted who informs me that I may find him usually fishing out on Lake Latrobe.>

That’s a nice place for a troll. When you get there, just remember to cast your net on the OTHER side of the boat, and you’ll haul in ALL the worms. And don’t forget your DuPont Spinner. It’s dynamite.

>Your most loyal servant,
wayne>

Yeah, yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don’t forget – I’M The PRESIDENT.

–**–

From:   OBIWANB-o-b
In a message, (Saul) writes: “Speaking of bumper stickers . . .[snip]… our new one reads,  ‘May  The  Course  Be  With  You’”

HEY!

Saul, THIS IS PLAGIARIZATION OF MY ONLINE PERSONA AND i WILL NOT STAND FOR IT!  You WILL pay for this!

God is laughing at me again and i am not amused.  i’m sick and tired of this deal. i mean, i go and spend all that time learning how to tap into that buzzy little ribbon of  information floating through the cosmos, i begin to pick up broadcasts, next thing i know i’m tuned in and primed and i get the old legal pad out and while i’m writin’ it down some other earth-bound clod who isn’t even remotely as spiritually conscious as I am but who just happens to have the luck to be born in a universe where every moron has a share in the mind of God– and THEN has the additional good luck of having a daisy wheel and an editor somewhere– gets the word to the printed bumper while i’m still licking the stamp!

i’m certain this is part of the international God et al conspiracy to convince me that i’m not upset for the reason i think, which is a sneaky way for THEM to make bucks off of me and keep me from noticing it, and cut me outta the deal at the same time. i know the score, and i’m right. that’s right, Right! Right, d’you hear? RIGHT!

and i’m not happy about it, either. Life stinks, i’m glad it’s an illusion. the Course is right. And you’re all right, too. “Happy” is for idiots and bliss bunnies or whatever the heck that really clever phrase is.

i just gotta say that even though we all have our little spats i can see that denominationally speaking we’re approaching common ground, and i saw in a dream recently where we all became this like one… right… group of people and HS didn’t have to do any more for us, we’d all convinced one another of something – i don’t remember what it was, but heck, you can’t have everything in this stinkin’ life, you know? – and there we were, uh… what was it… oh, yeah, we were RIGHT!

We were like this great BIG brain in this really huge jam jar and we were throwing off blue lightning bolts and everything was just disintegrating, you know, like we’d all become this primal ultraviolet electronic bug zapper, and boy did we have them bugs terrified. God went first, a really cool flat-plane totally silent nuclear thingy, and then it all escalated just like in “War Games” and the next thing you know we’re the only thing left in the universe, everything else is just this completely useless protoplasmic spray fading into black, and the credits came up and every one of our names was listed as Creator, which i kinda liked, but the font could have been bigger and they should have used caps. It was perfect anyway.

There was a bad split second there when the Holy Spirit piped up from somewhere and said, “Hey guys, I think maybe that’s all just an ego reflection from the inside of the jam jar!”

But we located his position and nuked him stupid with our Advanced Look Down, Sneer, Search and Destroy thingy. It was grand.

Bob

PS:  Saul owes me a 10% royalty check for his bumper sticker if he believes in doing the right thing. And if he’d rather be happy then… then…  well, all I can say about that is, well, that’s just Perfect!

–**–

To:       OBI WAN B
I feel you have demonstrated an understanding of the course far beyond that of any other participant (teacher) on this BB. Would you consider becoming our leader? Would you consider doing commentary on the daily lessons? How about a weekend seminar. I will be a faithful follower and I know that at the proposed weekend seminars your offerings will be excellent. Please consider the above, we need you to complete us.

Dear Ted,

(incredulous) Really? Gee, that’s awfully sweet of you.  I wish I could, I really do, but I’m just so busy right now. I mean, I’ve got a universe to run, judgments to make, maintenance on all levels. Just between you and me, I don’t think I’ll do the “levels” thing next time. It just sort of clutters up the whole creation thingy, if you know what I mean.

It’s all the Really Big Stuff, you know? It takes a lot of time. And then Mrs. God is always after me to take the trash out on Thursday mornings, and that can take like ten days, the stuff builds up so fast. No, no I just can’t do it right now. I’d like to, but it’s out of the question. Thanks for asking, though!

Today’s Lesson: Dessert

I pulled the same old dessert card (a small box of two hundred cards with quotes from ACIM) today for about the millionth time. It’s a personal favorite:

“Do you prefer that you be right or happy?  Text, p. 573”

I tend to get a little edgy when I pull the exact same dad gum card out of a deck of 200 for like thirty seven days in a row. I begin to hear that long, droning network tone and a voice saying, “This is a test.  This is a test. This is only a test….” And I’m muttering under my breath, “Yeah, but if you’d flunked it 36 times in a row you might re-think your use of the word ‘only’… I’m thinking’ maybe I screw up one more time and I get karmic detention for like, what, maybe a millennia or so? I’m getting test anxiety disorder here.

What would be so tough about giving me a break? Like say maybe we lay this card over here, and I just… sort of… pick another one. Like this one!”

And out I pull: “Every thing is for your own best interests. Workbook, p. 38”.

Well, I can hack that. Yeah, right. Everything is for my own best interests. Cheery little thought, that. But there’s some scribbling down here at the bottom of the card.  It says…  Pick another card? So I do.

Yeah, you guessed it. Right or happy. Happy or right. Whatever. I begin to think maybe Mrs. God has been stacking the deck again. I get it from all sides, you know?

Anyway, I give it a shot. Hmmmm….  “Right” can be nasty. I recall my last attempt at being Pappy Yoakum: I plant my size 10-1/2 firmly on the ground, raise my index finger to the sky, waggle it menacingly and proclaim, “I Has Spoken!”

Next thing I know Mammy Yoakum has that “I may just have to slap your face clean off” look in her eye. So OK, not right. Right is not right. I’m no rocket scientist, but I can figure out what the other possible answer is. Happy is good. Fine.

But Hey! Wait! I got it!  Right and Happy! Now you can’t beat THAT with a stick! THAT’S my preference. THAT’S my answer.  I’ll go with that one.

Gee, I’ll bet I’ll get a different card tomorrow!

–**–

From:   OBIWANB

Hi All,

I’ve always liked groups, because they always bring such a wide variety of peoples and experiences together. Here are some observations about spirit-based groups that I’ve made:

1.Truth is recognizable immediately.  I “Know” it when I see/hear it.

2. I can “take what I need and leave the rest”.  Spirit sees that I’m served what I require.  I am attending a banquet for many where only certain dishes have been prepared particularly for me.
3. Sometimes ego doesn’t get checked at the door. It takes over the floor for awhile, but it never lasts. I may be tempted to dance with it, but I’ve learned that it’s best to stay close to the One who brought me.
4. Teachers have the most to learn, and Learners have the most to teach.
5. Everybody, no matter how new, has something valuable to share, and everybody, no matter how old, has something valuable to learn.
6. My source is The Source. My group is my “Re-Source”.
7. Preachers move a lot of air.  It doesn’t bother the air.

–**–

From:   OBIWANB
In a message dated 95-11-06 21:10:50 EST (   ) writes:

> And he adds that many Course students make the mistake of become fundamentalists about the Course.>

Not knowing whether this is a direct quote or a paraphrase makes it difficult for me to get as upset about this statement as I would like.  If it is a direct quote, however, then I am appalled, outraged, and fundamentally opposed to the use of the word “become” when “becoming” is so very much more appropriate and in keeping with Our Doctrine.

If this sort of sloppy expression continues everyone will start confusing the unreal with the Real and I will be obliged to buy a whole bunch of white-and-gold-gilt Louis XIV furniture, design a crest with like these really neat griffons on it, run over my face with a truck stop, grow big hair, and rent a satellite just to set the record straight.

Fundamentalists are people too, and the sooner this Bashing of the Righteous ends, the better!

–**–

From:   OBIWANB
In a message dated 95-11-07 02:52:50 EST, (     ) writes:

>Please don’t get serious on us 🙂  Did you see my TV/Course trivia question? Which TV show character or characters best embody the principles of the Course and why? (e.g. Floyd the Barber, Mr. Ed, My Favorite Martian, Joe Friday).>

Hi!  Nope, I didn’t!  I’ve been feeling lately as if some mail directed to me is getting bounced.  I’ll look into that.  Serious?  Was I serious somewhere? Jeez, I’ll have to look into that, too!  Hmmmm.  TV show characters. Lessee….

I think Opie Taylor from Mayberry best embodies the Course, ’cause he continually was saying, in one form or another: “Gee, I dunno. Whatta you think, Paw?”

But then again, Foghorn Leghorn, that great big chicken with the heart of gold and his “Ah say, ah say, now listen here to me, boy, I got somethin’ to teach ya here….” was a fine Course fundamentalist, always trying to impart his particular wisdom and experience to that little chicken hawk.

–**–

From:   OBIWANB
Subj:    Re: Ecology and the Course
In a message dated 95-11-08 02:28:08 EST (     ) writes:

>Open Question from a Tragically Confused Path Mixer (“TCPM”): Do you believe it is important to not poison the earth with pollution?>

Yes. But I tend to comment anyway.

>Do you personally take steps in your life to live in harmony with the environment?>

Yes. More steps than the environment takes to live in harmony with me.  Last year up on the lake while sailing our little boat we were beset with “stinkpots”- all those fossil-fuel-burning whiz-bang holes in the water. I sprained my middle finger preaching the Truth to every damn one of ’em…  Judgment hurts!

–**–

Subj:    The (smoking) Target on Ted’s Back.
From:   OBIWANB

Hey, that’s not a target!  It’s a smiley face!  It just looks like a target! Hold your fire!

Oops. Too late.

Ted, I would like to give you a hand. You’ll have to go back a ways for this one, but you’re going to like it.

Remember the days when we were all running’ around short on words and short on pants, but long on the intuitive wisdom of God?  We had a succinct way of stating the mirror principle, remember?  It went like this:

“Nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah nyah,
I’m rubber and you’re glue,
What you say bounces offa me,
an’ sticks to YOU!”

You know what I think, folks?  I think if our moms walked around the corner right now and saw all this crap we’ve got stuck all over us, they’d march us by the EARS into the nearest bathroom and tell us to clean up our act Right Now!

And I for one would be giggling for all the fun it’s been, and the price of a sore ear and a good chewing out would seem like a fair enough trade.  I may NEVER learn… Oh well.

ObiwanB-o-b

The sport of cricket has avid followers in India and there has always been a lot of spirited give and take between fans about games and players. In the early 1990’s a BBS (Bulletin Board Service, for you youngsters out there) had a newsgroup, rec.sport.cricket, devoted to and populated by cricket fans. It later was transferred to Google, and is still active today. This particular post I saw back in ’94 shortly after it appeared. It was one of the early virally propagating pieces on the ‘net in those days and showed up in a lot of places.

In 1994 one of the cricket players of that era was interviewed by a reporter from the Deccan Times, and a parody of the interview was posted within the newsgroup, causing feathers to fly in much the same way they do now when slightly off-topic posts appear in response to posts and comments made on the web.

I found this parody hilarious. I was intrigued by the way the author combined the perils of both cricket and the sport of engaging in “flame wars” on the internet. I didn’t regard it as a “flame attack” upon the soccer player the original post was about, but some folks on the rsc BB did.

As a writer I thought that the parodist had found a sports story which lent itself well to a humorous re-telling from the viewpoint of an “athlete” on the web instead of the cricket pitch, and was a deft way of poking fun at the humorless, serious contingent which is always present in any group, anywhere. The parody was not taken very well by those folks on the cricket BBS rsc, and I don’t think the person who it was aimed at took it very well either. One of the serious ones.

I laughed out loud reading the interview of a cyber jock engaging in the internet sport of flame-war, and his allusions to his “sport” in cricket terms, much the same as a hacker might characterize their own skills in terms of Bruce Lee kung-fu metaphors. Obviously both cricket and web engagements have their perils…

For those of you who are curious, I will include the actual interview excerpt upon which the parody was based after the parody itself. Here’s the posted parody:

Date: 14 Mar 1994 02:04:58 GMT
Newsgroups: rec.sport.cricket
From: pvfafat@gsbphd.uchicago.edu (Vijay Fafat)
Subject: Re: Interview with Shyam Prasad Talluri
Interview by Joseph Hoover
Source: Deccan Herald
‘I want to come back as an all-rounder’  — Talluri

Q. It must have been a great feeling to be chosen as the Champion bozo on rsc (rec.sport.cricket)…
A. Surely, I was elated. It was a great honour.

Q. How does it feel now, especially when you have been ignored by the net?
A. I wouldn’t say that I have been left in the church. I am recovering from two serious injuries – a ligament tear caused by Shivanand Bhajekar when he called me a ‘tandoori chicken’ and a cartilage damage on the right middle finger I sustained during a flamewar with #$%#$% Fafat.

Q. When did the injury occur?
A. It happened after I wrote about the vintagely classy innings Gavaskar played in the backyard of his Mahim home when he was 3 years old. O, what a match, what style! In Bobby Tallyarkhan’s words, “simply graceless!” Even Neville Cardus was just as speechless as Tallyarkhan after watching the video I provided. But Bhajekar, nonsense fellow, only picked on my normal speeling mistakes and typos. He isn’t understanding my sentiments for Gavaskar. But I told him left and right, “you are not even a Ranji-reject like me to know the game so stop writing”. Put him in proper place. But hurt my ego badly. I was in peak form at that moment. From January to September 1993 there was absolutely no cricket for me. Naturally, I missed the net. And now that I have returned to the competitive atmosphere, I feel rusty.

Q. It must have been depressing? How did you take it?
A. I must admit the flames were frustrating. I was, however, glad that the injury did not occur much earlier than it did in my career. Had it been so, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to achieve so much writing on the net.

Q. Have you recovered from the brain damages?
A. I am really happy that I have recovered fully. I have lasted the whole domestic season (1993-94). That gives me confidence and I think I am now good enough to compete for a spot in the limelight. I will try harder to regain my place. I am glad that my thoughts have held together..together..duh..what was I saying?

Q. Do you, in retrospect, feel that you shouldn’t have returned to the net?
A. I came back too soon. Perhaps, had I not returned, my second injury would not have occurred. I regret it now.

Q. Isn’t it disappointing being flamed repeatedly?
A. Honestly, I am not worried about it. I believe in myself and the rest should not be a problem. Nevertheless, I am happy that I have gone through the current season without further flame damage to my kidneys.

Q. How have you shaped up over the season?
A. My writing and grammar form has not been satisfying, I need to work hard in that area. As far as exaggerations and superlatives are concerned, I know I can always do well. I have scored around 800 of them this season itself. I need to watch more fade-out videos. Play and replay more often. Watch things from different angles so that I can give my best analysis to rsc.

Q. How do you want to comeback as?
A.I want to comeback as an allrounder because I believe I am capable of doing both, gaffes and spills. I have tonnes of confidence in my gaffes. But if I turn out good performances with the spills, it should motivate me. I am confident of realising my potential.

Q. You were captaincy material at one stage of your career. Everyone spoke so much about your astute observations. Suddenly this slump. How would you explain it?
A. Well, things don’t remain the same forever. Times change. The flames have turned the table around. What can one do with a flame injury? You miss out on a lot of things. It saps your image, your credibility.

Q. Which has been your best article?
A. The one in which I described how Chandra’s googly, bowled from 3 feet from the stumps during a Ranji match, didn’t turn at all. This would have fooled any ordinary batsman, who would actually expect a googly. But who was facing Chandra? None other than the greatest of great, Gavaskar! The little master, champion of this glorious game of uncertain cricket. The king of the willow, the knight with shining pads. He waited for the ball to zip thru and then sweetly cut it late from almost the wicketkeeper’s hand. How it (the ball, not the wicketkeeper) rocketed towards the fence! In Raj Singh Dungarpur’s words, “The fielders were left standing, O they were just left standing helplessly!”

Q. How do you see your future?
A. I won’t be upset if I get flamed again and again. I will not be frustrated either. All I want to do is realise my potential as an all-rounder. If I can gain satisfaction from my performance and contribute to whichever net I write on, I will be happy and contented man. I have been writing on soc.culture.indian.telugu also, and that’s very fulfilling also. If I train hard and lame duck smiles upon me things will be very different. My cricket is all about determination. I play hard and I give no quarters or ask for any. As long as I believe in my ability, I will never give up.
_____________________

That’s the parody. Here’s the original excerpt of the published interview upon which the parody was based:
Q. It must have been a great feeling to be chosen as the Champion of Champions?
A. Surely, I was elated. It was a great honour.

Q. How does it feel now, especially when you have been ignored by
the National Selection Committee?
A. I wouldn’t say that I have been left in the lurch. I am recovering from two serious injuries – a ligament tear and a cartilege damage on the right knee. Thus, without me being fit, there was no way the selectors could pick me.

Q. When did the injury occur?
A. It happened during my double hundred against Australia at Sydney.
I was in peak form at that moment. From January to September 1993 there was absolutely no cricket for me. Naturally, I missed the game. And when I returned to competitive cricket, I felt rusty.

Q. It must have been depressing? How did you take it?
A. I must admit it was frustrating. I was, however, glad that
the injury did not occur much earlier than it did in my career. Had it been so, it wouldn’t have been possible for me to achieve so much.

Q. Have you recovered from the surgeries?
A. I am really happy that I have recovered fully. I have lasted the whole domestic season (1993-94). That gives me confidence and
I think I am now good enough to compete for a spot in the national
side. I will try harder to regain my place. I am glad that my knees have held together. There have been many other cricketers whose careers were cut short due to injuries. Take the case of Jeff Thomson. He injured his shoulder while taking a catch and could never return to bowl again.

Q. Do you, in retrospect, feel that you shouldn’t have returned to Australia after the orthopedic surgery?
A. I went back too soon. Perhaps, had I not gone, my second injury would not have occurred. I regret it now. Had I taken time out, I could have recovered from the first injury.

Q. Isn’t it disappointing being out of the national side?
A. Honestly, I am not worried of not being in the Indian squad. Getting back one’s place depends on one’s own ability and mental toughness. I believe in myself and the rest should not be a problem. Nevertheless, I am happy that I have gone through the current season without further damage to my knees.

Q. How have you shaped up over the season?
A. My bowling form has not been satisfying, I need to work hard in that area. As far as batting is concerned, I know I can always do well. I have scored around 800 runs this season.

Q. On your comeback, do you want yourself to be considered as a specialist batsman or allrounder?
A. I want to comeback as an allrounder because I believe I am capable of doing both. I have tonnes of confidence in my batting. But if I turn out good performances with the ball, it should motivate me. I am confident of realising my potential.

Q. You were captaincy material at one stage of your career. Everyone spoke so much about your astute captaincy. Suddenly this slump. How would you explain it?
A. Well, things don’t remain the same forever. Times change. The injury has turned the table around. What can one do with an injury? You miss out on a lot of things.

Q. Which has been your best innings?
A. The ton(107) against the mighty West Indies at Barbados in 1989.

Q. Why do you rate it so high amongst the other knocks, especially
your 206 against the Aussies?
TA. he situation was bad. We were tottering at 60 for six when I stood
up against the pace battery. Moreover, the quality of the attack – Malcom Marshall, Ian Bishop, Curtley Ambrose and Courtney Walsh – was fantastic.

Q. How do you see your future?
A. I won’t be upset if I don’t make it to the Indian squad. I will not be frustrated either. All I want to do is realise my potential as an all-rounder. If I can gain satisfaction from my performance and contribute to whichever team I am picked for, I will be happy and contented man. At the moment my aim is to bowl well. I believe in myslef. If I train hard and dame luck smiles upon me things will be very different. My cricket is all about determination. I play hard and I give no quarters or ask for any. As long as I believe in my ability, I will never give up.

I’m still sorting down through old boxes and files. I found this in an archaeological layer which dates back to around the late 80’s or early 90’s. It made me smile.

–**–

God Sighted at 7-11

Yeah, really!  I pulled into 7-11 down the street and there’s this old guy making his way from the gas pumps through the parking lot puddles with a cane. Absolutely fearless. Cars pulling in, cars pulling out, and this guy is going for it. He’s going at a pretty good clip, too. I’m guessing probably five, maybe six feet an hour. So I stop for him, and he never looks up, just keeps going, and pretty soon (maybe a half hour, give or take) he’s far enough along I can pull around him, so I do.

But the place is jammed. There’s like one parking space in front of the entire store, it’s smack dab in front of the door, and of course that’s where this guy’s shortest-distance-between-two-points vector is. I say to myself, “Jeez, I can’t wait all day for this guy, I gotta find a different place to park.” So I go all the way down to the end and park in front of the dumpster/fire lane/ definitely-do-NOT-park-here area where all the tow truck drivers hang out and have coffee and wait for idiots like me to show up.

I head for the door and just as I get there I sense Mr. Natural coming up behind me and suddenly my manners get the best of me and even though he’s still three feet from the door and it’s gonna be like fifteen minutes before he gets there, I …sigh… hold the door open for him. So I’ve got some time on my hands. I reflect on the situation. This is a nice thing I’m doing. I’ll bet I’m on the verge of busting a link in my karmic chain. I know what’s gonna happen next. This guy’s gonna say Thanks! Yeah, he’s gonna appreciate this, because he couldn’t possibly ever get the dadgum door open by himself. He probably depends on the kindness of strangers to get past doors.

So I’m holding the door open for him and he edges his way on in, but just before he clears the door– I mean JUST before he clears the area where I could let the door go without it hitting him, he stops! He peers around the edge of the door at me. Takes the whole picture in an instant. Me, standing there, a nice guy, waiting for my thanks for being that way. Our eyes meet. And he looks waaaaaaaay down deep inside me, and twinkles at me, this just really amused, tickled, happy little twinkle, and he says, “Good boy.”

The next thing I know, I’m the one – me! – saying “Thanks.” Can you believe it?  All of a sudden I’m standing there having a hearty, out-loud laugh at me because this guy has managed to straighten my dumb ego out with two words! He reminded me that it’s my job to serve, and be grateful for the opportunity to do just that without getting all puffed up and self-glorified about it. I get it from all sides…

Don’t trust old people. They’ll teach you stuff.

PS: It costs $167.50 to bail your wheels out of the impound lot here. Is this out of line?

Part 1: Divine Chaos Derived from Divine Order

So. More stuff from my archives. I found a stash of words from 2007, and the two pieces which follow this preamble are a part of that parcel. More to come, as this blog takes on more unruliness. It is already sticking its tongue out at my efforts to impose some sort of organizational order by way of topic, category, subcategory, page, etc. to the developing sprawl and tangle of words here. That’s as it should be.

The written word by my lights needs to be true, and representative of the author, and nothing is more true or representative of me than thoughts which careen from topic to topic, and stumble into the river of life over and over again. A crisscrossing path takes me from one side of that river to the other on rambling, far flung excursions out into the mountains and woods and deserts of human experience.

While I’m out there I pick up things and put them in my backpack; a rock, a leaf, a handful of sand. I come back, falling into the river yet again, not paying attention to where I’m going while watching a cloud, or calculating the seasonal angle of the sun, or observing two geese flying together in invisible synchronicity and a third, behind, speeding to catch up with the formation. Perhaps later it will become an avian aerodynamic metaphor for the trinity, the lagging bird a partial and imperfect representative of my own wandering holy spirit, which I will try to leverage into a page somewhere.

I clamber out of the river and dump the contents of my backpack, now a mash of material soaked in the water of the river. I spread it out to dry upon the page, and sort it into words.

It’s a thing that happens over and over again in my life, and in my mind, too. It’s divine chaos derived from divine order. If you know that, I reckon that’s enough to understand what it is I do with words.

As far as my “style” goes, well that vexing, verbose, garrulous and seemingly pompous and arrogant aspect of my words will have to be covered, if ever, in a later post. Sufficient unto the day is the evil hereof.

And so, onward. The virtues of the geezer are extolled by a fellow known as the Rant Writer in this first piece.

 Aging in America

Conventional ignorance about oldsters in America tends to deliver us geezers and near-geezers to a box, the societal equivalent of training wheels for our very first coffin. We’ve either made it, or we haven’t. We’re smugly snug or desolate and desperate. We live in gated golf communities and languish casually, or we are worn threadbare and languish tragically. We drive restored classics and are shod by Nike, or we drive sleds and beaters and wear Wal-Mart sneakers.

When Dennis Hopper’s untalented but eminently recognizable head sounds the clarion call to not go gentle from our flat screen plasma or fish-bowl-faced Magnavox, some of us pump our fists and go skydiving in Kathmandu, and some fall into despair and self-loathing. In many precincts we’re characterized as a bunch of used-up, useless doddering loonies, and the best we can hope for is to have arrived in this state with a wad of cash, which is the conventional ticket to the easy greased slide into old age and eventual disappearance.

Well, it’s all a bunch of horse manure. There’s a whole universe around us, and we have gained much more than the returns on our fiscal balance sheet. The planet harboring the strut and angst of capitalism gained or lost may suck with a lot of gravity, but it’s a small place. Humanity lives in a cosmic nova, vibrant and dangerous and beautiful and chancy, a place where black-hole hells and starry heavens mark the waypoints of our careening, sojourning souls.

Some don’t see it, some won’t see it. Many do. And the longer they’ve been here, the more they know about it. Their old age is hard-earned capital, rich in experience and wisdom, and you can find them living richly everywhere.

–**–

In this second piece the Rant Writer observes a manifestation of the principle that evil is often unaware of its own nature, an insight driven home like a nail into this writer’s skull by the political administration of George W. “Shrub” Bush.

Habeas Corpus: We Have a Corpse

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 4, 2007

Good news. Impeachment isn’t necessary anymore. The god-awful worm that gnaws incessantly upon democratic principles in the brain of incompetent bureaucrats has managed to suspend habeas corpus for certain individuals, with happy collateral developments.