the condition of being flesh

There’s been a lot of the sharing of opinion in my valley lately. More about that here. Folks are sharing what they think. I appreciate this because we are not entitled to know one another’s opinions. Sharing them is a gift, a glimpse into the mysterious process of becoming who are in the process of Being.

“Be thou being made holy, even as thy Father in Heaven is holy.”

Late last week, I sent out some opinion of my own. I wasn’t hoping for anyone’s agreement. I just thought some folks – particularly those now living away from our home town – might like to take a whiff of this suspicious stuff that we found in the back of our collective fridge.

The responses, and the sharing around town and on the phone and on message boards – has been very interesting. Got me thinking about communication again.

I fear that without sharing, we are all locked away and apart in our little rooms, in silence. But communication is so hard. We open our windows to feel upon our spirits the rare press and flutter of transpersonal discourse. We pretend to be amused or enraged, saddened or uplifted, by a presence in the dim distance of another of our kind. But the human mind is a singular entity and there is no unseen, ephemeral organ of sympathetic, shared neurology at work.

We long for the thoughts and expressions of others to impact us. We pray that some line of poetry will make us weep for beauty, that a joke will force laughter from our mouths, or that some perceived insult will propel us to indignation. We pretend: We say “No one can offend me unless I let him, and please God let him, because between grief and nothing I will choose grief.” But in the end, each man is alone with the static in his skull.

Some of us butt our heads and hearts repeatedly against the intransigent carapace of solitude, tacking lines upon the millions of lines of hopeless, infinite literature.

Others, perhaps as a means of self defense to such futility, resort to censorship. (“Hey, you can’t say that! You can’t put that there!” … Remember the Christmas trees removed from the Seattle airport last year? … Who can blame them?)

It is all so difficult, this life, this intractable Being. In the words of Stegner:

I am concerned with gloomier matters: the condition of being flesh, susceptible to pain, infected with consciousness and the consciousness of consciousness, doomed to death and the awareness of death. My life stains the air around me. I am a tea bag left too long in the cup, and my steepings grow darker and bitterer.


So I envy those who sport a fine, clear, dogma. I used to have my own, but it has drifted away like fog on the Rincon. I just don’t know anymore. It seems like every damn story has two sides to it. And I fail to trust my own subjectivity, let alone that of others. I find myself grasping for syllogisms which have more premises than conclusions. And often I find myself like Diogenes The Cynic – Diogenes the Doggish – dipped in darkness, feeling for the light switch and muttering,

He who thinks he knows does not know. He who knows he does not know, knows.


So as much as I’m into the Progressive movement and its concomitant Change, some days our society is one big soggy, stinky diaper of existential angst. Then I don’t know if we’re up to the task of changing this.

While we ponder how long we can all hold our noses, I refer you to the words of The Chink:

“I believe in everything; nothing is sacred, I believe in nothing; everything is sacred, …Ha Ha Ho Ho Hee Hee.”

gin, tv, and time

A really clever read:

If I had to pick the critical technology for the 20th century, the bit of social lubricant without which the wheels would’ve come off the whole enterprise, I’d say it was the sitcom. Starting with the Second World War a whole series of things happened–rising GDP per capita, rising educational attainment, rising life expectancy and, critically, a rising number of people who were working five-day work weeks. For the first time, society forced onto an enormous number of its citizens the requirement to manage something they had never had to manage before–free time.

And what did we do with that free time? Well, mostly we spent it watching TV.

Link

let him not breed in great numbers

The other day, I was sitting here behind my desk in my little room on the trembling lip of the bland continent, when I began to think about failure. Not just mine, but yours, and theirs and ours. I sat here and thought about cities: Venice and Fresno, St. Petersburg (the one in Russia) and Muskogee. And about nations, all of them.

I thought about what it means to be human, and to live as we have presumed we ought to live: in groups – cities, states, nations – in birds’ choirs, in bees’ hives. And hanging like bats from the rafters of our glass and metal caves.

What a beautiful idea, this getting along, finding and making what we need. So I hate to be the one to bring this up, but civilization is a failure. The grand experiment our ancestors began some five thousand years ago – one species living together in groups, with tools and stuff – has turned out to be a complete flop.

I think it’s apt that I post some thoughts on civilization the day following the death of Charlton Heston. I never met the man but I didn’t care for his politics. He was a fine actor, no doubt, and in many great films. Perhaps the most telling of his own character was his performance in Bowling for Columbine. But the most prescient for the rest of us was a film he starred in as an astronaut named George Taylor, when I was seven.

Beware the beast Man, for he is the Devil’s pawn. Alone among God’s primates, he kills for sport or lust or greed. Yea, he will murder his brother to possess his brother’s land. Let him not breed in great numbers, for he will make a desert of his home and yours. Shun him; drive him back into his jungle lair, for he is the harbinger of death.
[The Planet of the Apes, 1968]

Civilization has some primary functions, on which I think we can agree: Shelter, food, water, defense, and a decent provision for the helpless and the sick. You can throw in education if you like.

Shelter: Civilization does not provide it. It provides the means – for those who have means – to buy it. Many others are on the outside looking in on a subsistence quality of life they seem doomed never to attain. And many of those who have homes are – even now in the 21st century after Christ taught us to care for everyone – in sight of losing them. The moneychangers are still running the show.

Food: It seems we can’t produce what we need to eat without destroying the space essential to doing so. You would think that human–planted crops would be an indefinitely renewable resource. Not so. We’ve laced the soil with pesticides, herbicides, infanticides. The meat industry, besides being cruel and resulting in a product that’s nutritionally pretty dead, is simply a universal and unqualified ecological disaster.

Which brings up the topic of biofuels. What a monstrous trick. The amount of grain it takes to produce the ethanol for one fill-up of one large car could feed a human being for a year. Yet great swaths of land are being killed to feed, not us, but our insatiable compulsive need to keep moving. I say the land is being killed, because the poor little morons in South America are denuding the jungle for this fraud.

Water: We are running out of fresh water. What we haven’t polluted or mismanaged is being lost to drought, related to global warming. The rainforests, which produced and retained so much of our fresh water, are being bulldozed. And all the while, the demand for water is rising exponentially to meet the demands of exploding human population. So civilization as we know it is helpless to provide water for our species.

Defense: The best defense is a good offense, right? That’s certainly the new paradigm under Bush. Well, I shouldn’t say it’s new. There have always been tribes whose business plan was brutally aggressive and acquisitive. Rape and pillage, pillage and rape, loot and burn, and drag home the survivors as slaves. The problem is that we’ve learned nothing, grown in heart and mind not a whit.

Since we came down out of the trees, we’ve been murdering one another for our resources. You’d think that if land or food, oil or gold or whatever was worth killing for, we might learn how to take care of it, at least hold on to it. Maybe we’d learn to be stewards of these things, treat them as investments. And if ideology – religion – is grounds for homicide, we might at least evolve to practice what we preach. But no. We still commit murder for what someone else has, and for what he fails to believe, and in spite of what we claim to believe. And we call it defending ourselves.

What do the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan have to do with national defense? You tell me. I dare you.

Education: The topic is academic, don’t you think? The purpose of education is to give people the ability to think critically. At least here in America, it’s a joke. The society that keeps Survivor, Wife Swap, and American Idol on the air has abdicated all responsibility for teaching, all interest in learning. The vast majority of Americans initially believed Bush about Iraq and 9/11. And the fact that his approval rating isn’t at flat zero, even now, speaks to a systemic knuckle-dragging stupidity. Present company excepted.

A Decent Provision:

“A decent provision for the poor is the true test of civilization.”
– Samuel Johnson

Tonight, millions of people are homeless, hungry, unfed. What we Americans spend on our wars in a few days could provide health care for every one of our children. We could be curing diseases, building homes, developing truly sustainable sources of food. But we don’t want to. That’s the only explanation that one can draw from the willful waste that defines us.

So we’ve been at this for several thousand years now, and I just don’t see much progress. I don’t think the civilization of human kind is working. The meaning we’ve sought in our art and philosophy, in our governments and laws, eludes us no less than it did a thousand years ago or more.

We have had wise people among us, trying to show us the way into compassion, love, and a meaningful life with our fellows. We’ve killed most of them, listened to none of them. There is no help from the Lawgivers; they just make us weep. Our politics is a sick joke of universal suffering. Our science is like the twittering of birds, high in a naked scaffolding, because we do not really fund and nourish it for our betterment. For our profit, yes; for our betterment, no.

Our advancement as a species is a pale priority, compared to our will to do battle. And all of our building is just a tearing down.

Where do we go from here? I don’t know. Maybe a dozen people will read this post, and click away thinking, “Gee, what a cynical asshat.” And you’d be right, perhaps. You might come to my home and note the water pumped to my faucets, the electric toys, and my insulated, heated comfortable space. All gifts of a civilization which I claim has failed to evolve. But don’t come without calling first, after dark, or you might find me crouched by the door, brandishing a rock.

Cornelius: Well Taylor, we’re all fugitives now.
George Taylor: Do you have any weapons, any guns?
Cornelius: The best, but we won’t need them.
George Taylor: I’m glad to hear it. I want one anyway.

mother jones, kiss my blog

I’m cheesed off at Mother Jones magazine.

Tonight, I watched Extreme Makeover Home Edition, as I often do on Sunday night. It was pretty cool. They built a home for a family in Vermont with a very disabled two year old kid. And as always, they did a great job. Beautiful house.

Not 2 minutes later, I open an email from Mother Jones about how bad and nasty the show is, how tasteless and crass because they go overboard in building stuff for people that’s too nice. No kidding, I’m not making it up. Moronic.

A few people try to make a difference for others. I don’t care what their motivations are, or what they get out of it, or how much or little they give relative to what they have. As far as I’m concerned, if you’re involved in making the world better for anyone besides yourself — better in any way when the sun sets than when the sun came up — you get an A+. Automatically, top of the class.

Because most people don’t do anything to help anyone else. They just sit there, not giving a wet slap. They get a C. You don’t have to care, but you just get to pass.

Some people steal and hurt and even kill others. They get a D-, right? There’s still some hope of reform.

If you want an F in my book, just sit there on your fat butt and do nothing except badmouth somebody who does good. Tell me they could give more, or differently, or question their motives. That’s how you really piss me off. Criticize someone who gives something away; stuff or money or time or anything.

Oh, it makes me mad. I could go on all night. I think I’ll make some tea and try to calm down.

Y’all don’t be sending me any links to Mother Jones, thank you kindly anyway.

9.11

When I woke up this morning of September 11, 2007, I did something pretty unusual for me. I reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Maybe my sleepy subconscious knew the date is 9/11 once again. And there was the vast gray ocean of smoke heaving up from Manhattan and drifting out over the sea. My mind reeled for a few seconds – Oh what fresh hell is this – until I understood that I was seeing history. Six years now, and still an appalling anniversary.

I’m sure I needn’t add much clink to the claxon of reminiscence being proffered for the occasion. But I will say that I remember. Somehow seeing it on waking, as I did when it was broadcast live, made it feel freshly horrific. Just for a moment, to be honest. Then I turned it off. It was a great day for a morning walk.

I’ve seen that terrible day, 2190 days ago, played out too many times for watching the videos again to make any sense, much less make a difference in what I think or how I feel.

I am mindful of the national grief; I feel it too. And I’m cognizant of the anger that lingers, so often reflected in the emails I’ve received, many with images like screaming eagles superimposed on the burning towers. Old Glory is coming after you, get ready. And haven’t our leaders done a splendid job of securing our vengeance, so we can feel better?

I suggest we take two lessons from the day:

First, that life is simple and fragile. None of us has the promise of a tomorrow.

Second, that the Powers that Be used the shock of 9/11 against us. They used our national grief and stunned, shared anger as an opportunity to push a nefarious social, political, economic and military agenda to the manifest detriment of America and the world.

We may never get closure, much less revenge, for what the infinite stupidity of mankind wrought six years ago, but maybe we can gain some wisdom. Our only hope is, as Ghandi said, to learn to be the change we wish to see in the world.

Disaster Capitalism?

How those in Power use the shock of terrorism and disaster to effect social and economic change.

“…present-day global capitalism took hold when its advocates learned to exploit disasters. After a disaster (war, tsunami, terrorist attack), you can push your agenda for worsening labor conditions, looser regulation, and pocket-lining exercises (Enron, Halliburton) while the reeling, disaster-struck population of the world has its attention elsewhere.”

[Naomi Klein’s Disaster Capitalism video: exploiting disasters for globalism – on Boing Boing blog]

boo, y’all

Over at Nothing But Love, Bill says he’s heard his first Christmas song of the season.

I can confirm that the holidays insanity is upon us here as well. I was in the local Rite Aid drug store yesterday and had to stop and check my watch: Yep, 9.7.2007 … Whew, guess I didn’t slip into a catatonic state for a month, again. (I hate it when that happens.)

I needed to confirm because there, amassed and arrayed before me, was a vast display of Halloween crap.

Later, in Starbucks, about a dozen teenage girls appeared, lookin for lattes in all the right places, and all decked out in their Halloween costumes. In fairness, that might have been something else, like freshman hazing maybe … still …

What pitiful manner of moron is so tickled by the itch of the world’s second stupidest holiday (the first being the running of the bulls in Pamplona) that s/he needs to costume up 7 weeks in advance?

Great googlymoogly. Western civilization is crumbling like a giant plaster wiener, atop an abandoned hot dog stand.