The Putrid Smell of Disease

You know how old people have a tendency to smell bad? You know, that whole cliché about smelling like an old geezer, or an old biddy, smelling like urine, BO, bad breath, and dirty crotch. Sorry to be so blunt, but you know what I mean.

The elderly. Usually it is assumed that the smell is the result of poor hygiene. Being unable to wash properly, either due to poverty, of not having people care for you and unable to care for yourself, or of laziness, not having the energy or the strength to care, each breath a hardship, getting up is a struggle, walking around, a struggle in balance, a broken hip waiting to happen. They lose their hair, and their coordination, and their ability to reason, their ability to speak, like their reverting back to infancy, like a drooling baby, with no knowledge about the world, unfamiliar with their body and the laws of gravity, totally at the mercy of the elements and the goodwill of strangers.

But the difference is that the bright light animating the infants zest for life, being open to it all, smiling, because everything is new and wonderful and beautiful and brilliant and creative, and they are eager to learn, to love and to be loved and to become a part of this life, a wonderful adventure awaiting them, is missing from the elderly falling apart, dying not because they choose, but because it is a written death sentence; the ground is breaking away beneath their feet, the organs are collapsing, the skeleton support of life is disintegrating, and it is entirely out of their control, and they are unprepared for it.

Disintegration while still living, little by little things stop working properly, like an impending computer hard drive failure, things slow down, start acting strangely, chaotically, programs don't boot properly, they freeze up, like a glitch in the system is causing complete chaos and malfunction, and eventually the computer is dead, it just won't boot anymore, nothing you can do but replace it.

The insight is, that the horrible smell so often encountered in the elderly, is not simply a matter of poor hygiene, poverty, or laziness, but rather, it's the odor of decay, of disintegration, of sickness and disease, of organ failure, and of death, eating them away as they live, gradually gnawing away at them, until nothing is left. You see, you start dying long before you actually die, sometimes even before you actually start living, in the sense that life is experienced in the full awareness of your heart. It can go on for years, this disintegration, being a very gradual process, but the signs are there for those who know what to look for, what to smell for, and what to listen for.

The smell of urine reveals much. A great depth of insight can be had, for those trained, or intuitively receptive, to know the signs, to recognize the differences between healthy urine and unhealthy urine. The smell of death and disease is always unpleasant and putrid. No perfume or cosmetic can cover it up, it is exuded in the pours of the skin, in all bodily fluids and secretions, it shows in the eyes, in the nails, the complexion, the voice, and the breath. It is fully visible with no place to hide, except in plain sight to those who fail to see it.

Seeing Orange

Been reading The Adding Machine, a collection of essays by William S. Burroughs.

Some essays are pretty good, most are nothing special, but there was one essay that described a writing exercise, or rather an exercise in paying attention, in observational awareness, that he used during his brief stint as a creative writing teacher at a college in New York City. Which was to pick a color, take a walk, and look for the color. Look for any traces of the color within your field of vision. 

So if, for instance, you choose orange, you spend the next few minutes or hours, paying attention to things that are colored orange. Seeing orange cars. Seeing orange lights. Seeing orange t-shirts. Bicycles. Flowers. Paper. Billboards. Balloons. etc. etc.

That's what I did today. Well, not the only thing I did. Only did it for like twenty minutes, en route to running my daily errands: post office, bank, store, library, etc. etc.

Thinking maybe I should do an exercise in seeing green, try to materialize some money out of thin air. Yeah, next time, I'll keep you posted.

I go to the post office to buy stamps. I leave, walking through the parking lot, I hear somebody shouting: "Can you push my wheel chair for me?" I keep walking, then realize that there is a woman in a wheel chair on the storefront sidewalk, not wearing orange, nevertheless, she is speaking to me. And I'm not the only person around either, there are other people walking to stores, cutting through the parking lot, but this woman focused on me. Me. She wanted me to push her wheel chair to the post office, the post office I just came from, to buy stamps. How weird is that? I'm hardly saying anything, and she's just talking non-stop, about needing surgery, where she lives, which is just down the street, about her husband being ten years younger than her and having stage three cancer, etc. etc.

I don't know this woman, but I've seen her before, at the library, at the grocery store, I helped her once at the library reach a book at the top shelf, a book about the Dead Sea Scrolls. Intriguing, but honestly the woman is annoying. She talks too loud, in what I believe to be either a Long Island or New Orleans accent, and she stinks. Sorry, it's true. I tend to avoid her, but I helped her out today. Seeing Orange.

Reading Bukowski

I've just finished reading my third Charles Bukowski novel, which are all semi-autobiographical. The first, and so far the best, Ham On Rye, I read last year, and the last two, Post Office, and Factotum, I read this week. I was originally also planning on reading Women, his sequel to those books, and started to, but gave up, having concluded that reading Bukowski is a waste of my time.

Why? Because it's all pretty much the same. If you've read one, you've read them all. Bukowski is an alcoholic. All he cares about is getting drunk and getting laid. Sure, he writes about different job experiences, from working over a decade for the U.S. Postal Service, to working dozens of temporary menial labor jobs across the country, but it all centers around his obsession with getting drunk and getting laid. That's pretty much it, the end all be all of his existence. And it gets a bit tiresome after awhile.

Perhaps his essays are better, I may give them a try, but his novels are shit. I really don't get their popularity. Maybe it's because he uses the word "fuck" a lot, and gives graphic descriptions of his sexual experiences, at a time when perhaps few did, which maybe gave him a sort of countercultural appeal, I don't know. He does on the other hand have a very easy to read style, but ultimately its very shallow, that when its over you feel like you've gained nothing.

The only thing I really liked about it were some of his insights concerning the absurdity of certain types of jobs, and the humorous ways people adapt themselves to it.

Here's a good quote, probably the best quote out of the entire book, from Factotum:

--- "How in the hell could a man enjoy being awakened at 6:30 a.m. by an alarm clock, leap out of bed, dress, force-feed, shit, piss, brush teeth and hair, and fight traffic to get to a place where essentially you made lots of money for somebody else and were asked to be grateful for the opportunity to do so?"

"I had elaborated on my work experience in a creative way. Pros do that: you leave out the previous low-grade jobs and describe the better ones fully, also leaving out any mention of those blank stretches when you were alcoholic for six months and shacked up with some woman just released from a madhouse or a bad marriage. Of course, since all my previous jobs were low-grade I left out the lower low-grade." ---

I've been there, unfortunately, if you are a hardcore alcoholic who follows this line of thinking to its logical conclusion, you'll likely end up an unemployed wino sleeping outside on park benches or living under a bridge begging for spare change and eating out of dumpsters. Or if, like Bukowski, you happen to win the lottery and manage to make millions of dollars off of mediocre writing, you can drink yourself into an early grave without ever having to work another day of your life and without ever becoming homeless. But you'll still be just as pathetic, except you'll be too drunk to care.

That's Bukowski, everybody: alcoholic, sexaholic, bum; with an occasionally good insight, but mostly not worth reading. That's my assessment. It's something that would only appeal to alcoholics, sexaholics, slackers/bums, or people under 25.

Well, it's not like I didn't already know that going in, but was hoping that maybe there was something more to it that I might have missed had I not read it. Guess not. Most people read this shit when their sixteen, I waited until I was in my thirties. Better late then never, and good riddance. Burroughs is a dirty old bastard too, but definitely more interesting. I'll be reading him next.

The Yage Letters

Just finished reading The Yage Letters, it's the fourth book I've read so far by William S. Burroughs, and it was a major disappointment. Not good at all. It sounded intriguing, the search for a drug that is said to stimulate sensitivity to telepathic communication; that's something that is totally up my alley. In fact, if you know of any books that deal with that subject matter, please do send them my way, via email or the comments, I'll look into it immediately.

Anyway, Burroughs lived many years south of the border in Mexico, mostly to escape prison time in the U.S. for long-time opiate addiction and dealing, and during his time there traveled extensively through Central and South America. This book, presented as a series of letters to friend Allen Ginsberg, chronicles his search for the hallucinogenic vine Yage, also known as Ayahuasca.

His experience with it was nothing special, and mostly negative. Though I have to say his documentation of the experience, not only of using, but the whole process of finding it, and the cultural folklore, encounters with shamans and such, acquired along the way was very brief and incomplete. Read more like informal letters to a friend, rather than an anthropological survey, which of course is I guess all that it was intended to be. But based on his other writings and ideas, which I believe are best captured in his interviews, where his extensive knowledge and intellect really shines, he could have done a lot better than this.

It's just that there wasn't really enough there in my opinion to even publish it as a book. The whole thing was less than eighty pages, and most of it, despite the title and description, centered not around the search for Yage, but the search for casual sex with young men, who in some cases were still what you would call boys, teenagers, barely legal. Okay, I don't care about Burroughs' homosexuality, doesn't bother me, but men who are over forty-years-old cruising for one night stands with 15 year old boys is in my opinion disgusting.

Its value is primarily autobiographical, but as far as providing information about Ayahuasca, and being a travelogue of 1950s Latin America, its value is minimal.

I don't know why, but I always seem to gravitate to reading dirty old men, people who, like Burroughs, Bukowski, Miller, in real life I would find so repulsive and degenerate that I'd have nothing to do with. I guess it's my shadow, such interests, that manifest purely in literary form, a fascination with inferior men with brilliant minds, tarnished by perverse, decadent habits and thoughts.

I'm not done with Burroughs just yet, but this one has turned out to be the least interesting and most disappointing book of his so far. Though I have to say, his books Junky, Queer, and The Yage Letters should all be read together, they were all written, though not published, around the same time, and deal with the same subject matter, that of addiction, gay cruising (despite the fact that he was married to a woman) and travels, and read like they could have been combined in one big autobiographical novel; with The Yage Letters being better as an appendix, rather than a stand-alone work; though I can understand why they did it that way. Junky was, after all, his first novel, and almost wasn't published. Its autobiographical value wouldn't be realized until many decades later.

I'm looking forward to reading more of his interviews, his novel Naked Lunch, and then moving on to other things for awhile. But I will be back.

Everybody is Watching

Watched a movie last night, its name is unimportant, but what caught my eye was that several people in the movie were using smartphones, taking pictures and video clips of strangers on a plane and uploading it to social media; which would later be misconstrued as proof for a crime, used against them, making them look bad, but who would later be found innocent.

It could admittedly go either way, amateur video footage has both helped and harmed, but the fact of the matter is that it's everywhere, and there's no escape.

Everywhere you look people are doing that, or have the capability of doing that, of being amateur journalists and spies; filming people without their knowledge or consent, and sharing it online. This, coupled with the fact that reality TV is becoming the most popular type of television content, is normalizing this intrusion of privacy, making people more comfortable with the idea that it is okay to be watched, to always be watched, and to have our private lives a matter of public record.

I had this insight that the prophecy of the Orwellian Police State, where everybody is under constant surveillance, is not necessarily something that must be imposed by governments or corporations, but is more likely realized by the hands of ordinary people equipped with smartphones and blogs, doing the dirty work for "them".

Timelessness

What is timelessness?

It comes down to perception. How fast or how slow time appears to move, or not move, depends entirely upon your perception of it. Awareness shapes reality. But what shapes awareness? Like dreams, it may seem like a few hours have passed, but in actuality, or rather on the objective level of ordinary reality, perhaps only a few seconds have passed.

It is possible for a few seconds to feel like a few years, and for a few years to feel like a few seconds. An entire lifetime looked back in retrospect from the perspective of old age, viewed as a memory, may feel like seconds, like many years compressed into a few seconds, highly dense, concentrated, instant knowing, super fast data compression, that is memory, and without memory there would be no awareness of time.

Timelessness is the perception of stopping time, or of time moving very slowly, or perhaps so fast, that it appears to stand still.

What remains is the now, containing future and past, overlapping the present, not as separations in time, but one vast experience of potential energy, of what happened, what could happen and changes along the way, modifications of actuality, modifications of memory, modifications of perspective.

What has happened has happened. Can't undo anything, ever, just as the blowing of the wind, or lightning striking, cannot be undone, but you can change the way you see it, the way you remember it, what you look at, what aspects you focus on, what you consider important or unimportant; that is entirely changeable, alterable, malleable.

The experience of timelessness removes the boundaries separating the importance between yesterday and tomorrow. They are like wind currents and waves in the sea, changes of direction and velocity, like boundaries on the map; countries and capitals; points of reference useful for navigating the world in abstraction.

Memories are a lot like dreams; phantoms, yes it really happened but, after the fact, looking back, it's like a shadow. The reality of it has evaporated, has become as seemingly intangible as the wind.

We have time to measure our lives, to give us a sense of order and coherence, and a feeling of permanence and control, but ultimately the actual essential experience exists in a state of timelessness, real life lived in the now, what we experience in any given moment without regard to past or future.

You read this now. Ten minutes later. Tomorrow. Next year. Whenever. It doesn't matter. If you are here, whenever you are here, reading this, you have just transcended the barriers of time. Congratulations: you are a time traveler! Different times, different positions in space, and yet we are both perceiving it as happening now.

Reading Burroughs

So, as mentioned two earlier posts down, I've been taking advantage of the public library's interlibrary loan service, and am presently devoted to reading William S. Burroughs.

I've only read one book of his, that would be Queer, which was okay, but certainly not great. That was not through interlibrary loan, but something I picked up locally. Believe it or not I have not yet read Naked Lunch, which is probably his most famous work, but I do have some familiarity with it, after having seen the movie by David Cronenberg. Not bad. Been awhile since I've seen it though. Not since the late 90s, actually.

Anyway, I'm currently reading The Job: Interviews with William S. Burroughs, via interlibrary loan. It's not a great book, but it's definitely worth reading if you're interested in learning more about Burroughs.

My feelings about the man are mixed. I'm undecided. Not sure if he is a genius or a raving lunatic. Seriously. There are clearly some things I disagree with, some things that bother me about him. My main problem and primary area of disagreement, is with his apparent dislike, disregard, and blatant misogyny concerning not just the female sex, but with the feminine principle in general. As a female, I feel that basically anyone who states a belief that females are a curse, that the world would be better off without them, is going to get a huge red flag of skepticism and doubt hovering over all that they say, no matter how good and enlightened the rest of it is.

I almost think that I could have been born a man, but instead chose at the last minute to be a woman in order to prove firsthand through experience exactly why advocating the supremacy of the male principle is false. Only a man could believe that woman is a curse. Basically it suggests some major mommy issues, like ah, not getting enough attention or something, or else getting rejected by some other woman that he loved, but didn't return the love, and blaming every other woman that comes along for their lack of love and attention, lack of a strong mother/son bond.

Anyway, there's that, and there's also his rejection of the positive value of the family unit, that I would disagree with completely.

Other than that I would say he's brilliant, especially concerning his understanding of the mechanisms of control, the way governments function, the role of nations, police states and thought control, it's all very interesting. Don't agree with it completely, but it's definitely worth reading. Too bad there are so many brilliant men, that have little regard for women, beyond perhaps their sexual or procreative role, as mothers and lovers, and little else. Too bad. If they were females with the same mind, it would be totally different. It's the same mentality of the white racist. If they were born black, with the same mind, they would cease to be racist, in the sense that they would cease to view a person as inferior solely based on their physical appearance alone.

Don't get me wrong, there's still plenty to love. And I'm planning on reading everything he ever wrote. Pretty much everything except his opinion of females and the family unit is exceptionally interesting.

It's Good to Have a Bullshit Detection Kit

In an article I recently read on disinfo.com, which explored the possibility of Charles Manson being a Zen Master, I found this reader's comment in response to it exceptionally enlightening:

Buddhist koans challenge conventional wisdom in order to expand our insight into the human condition.

Sociopaths do it to avoid responsibility and--maybe more importantly--establish Alpha male dominance over others by confounding them with bullsh*t.

I thought that was very interesting, and the second sentence in particular is a really good observation that could also be applied, not just to sociopaths, but potentially to anyone using cryptic language, or who is overly vague and non-specific; as if speaking in riddles and koans is the hallmark of wisdom, but in actuality the person could just be confounding you with their bullshit, being intentionally obscure because it adds to their guru mystique, making them appear wiser than they actually are.

The less you say, the more you may appear to know. The more you say, the less you may appear to know. That's because if you are specific, any errors in your thinking will be more visible to detection. And if you are vague, there is less to refute.

What better way to avoid answering a question then to claim "there is no answer," especially if presented with an aura of expounding some deep philosophical truth. It's a con man's trick, an act of subterfuge, hiding the fact that you don't know shit, but you're fronting as if you do.

Some people use mysterious language to make themselves appear wiser and more powerful than they actually are. Which is not to say that all riddles and koans are bullshit, or that there is no value in retaining an element of mystery, but just that you need to be cautious, because sometimes it's hard to know which is wisdom and which is bullshit posing as wisdom under a veil of mystery, especially if you don't know the person, have never met the person, have no way of knowing if they actually live in a wise manner and practice what they preach, or if it's just theoretical words on the screen not grounded in real experience, that sound really wise but aren't really.

In other words, just because someone looks like a Zen master, with a long beard, crazy eyes, and shit eating grin, doesn't mean they are; nor is the liberal use of riddles and koans proof of enlightenment.

This is a main reason why I stopped reading and taking seriously spiritual advice type blogs, especially those concerning Zen, Taoism, and New Age spirituality, because I have found that many of them, though not all, are written by people with wannabe guru complexes, which I find annoying, who seem to believe that because they call themselves this or that, purporting to represent a particular wisdom tradition, that anything they say, too, will be wise, and the more obscure their insights, and the more they speak in riddles and in vague non-specific generalities, the more enlightened they will appear to be.

I'm not saying this is the case with all "spiritual advice" type blogs, but I would say that it does pay to be extra cautious when dealing with anyone who communicates in an exceptionally obscure manner, because rather than communicating wisdom, it very well could just be bullshit disguised as something profound, but actually when you dig really deep you'll find that there isn't anything there of any real meaningful substance at all.

In other words, it's good to have a bullshit detection kit.

For a related post, and more information to help you build your own bullshit detection kit, please see: Fake Gurus Versus Real Gurus.

And also: The Difference Between Experience and Theory, which could have just as easily been called "The Difference Between Knowing and Believing."

Coming To My Senses

Obviously posting here has tapered off quite a bit, from every other day to once a week or less, but at the same time I have been writing regularly in my paper journal almost everyday. Mostly it's just notes from what I'm reading, interesting quotes, and stuff to look up later in greater depth, but lately, or at least ever since I started a new paper journal in May, I've been combining my reading notes with personal diary entries in the same place, and gradually refining my system of organization.

Anyway, I've decided that in light of the fact that I've been writing more frequently in my paper journal, and have had nothing to say here, I figured that I would occasionally post something from my handwritten journal, and that is what I thought I'd do here now. I wrote it last month while sitting out on the patio sometime after ten o'clock at night on the 23rd of May, and divided it into 6 parts here for improved clarity.

Transcribed Journal Entry Dated 23 May 2013

Part 1 

Lately I have been having a very hard time finding a book worth reading. I've checked out dozens of books over the last couple of weeks, and most went back without being read. I'd read a few pages, even as much as 50 pages into it, only to slam the book shut, dismissing it as a waste of my time.

A book I was reading earlier today, which I started yesterday, Coming To Our Senses, by Jon Kabat-Zinn, about mindfulness meditation. It was over 500 pages long, and I read the first 50 or 60 pages, something like that, and that is when I suppose I came to my senses that the author used way too many words to get their point across, that everything they said in 50 pages could have easily been said in 10. It felt like a lot of feel good airy fairy new age rainbow family save-the-world-with-kindness crap. I have a low tolerance for self-help guru bullshit. Even that Zen Habits guy is irritating to me, because it has that same tone, sort of like spirituality and simple living advice intended for an elementary school audience, where everyone has this goofy grin on their face, sitting in their magic circle, sharing hugs and feel good stories before nap time, like f*cking Sesame Street for adults.

I've become rather disgusted with the people I read online, almost as much as the people on TV, but not being able to find a good book to read, that I actually enjoy reading has left me in the slumps.

Part 2 

What shall I do with myself if I haven't anything to read? If I haven't anything to read, and I haven't anything to blog about, and it's too hot to go outside, what the hell am I going to do with myself? Should I just focus on making a lot of money, finding as much work as possible to pass the time, working 60 plus hours a week, 12 plus hour days, nothing but working, manual labor, stocking, cashiering, answering phones, typing, etc. etc. until my mind goes numb?

Have you ever had a mind numbing job? I feel somewhat resentful towards people that never had to do manual labor, that never had to work for minimum wage, who didn't get their first paying job until after College - straight from school to a high paid professional job, never having worked for shit wages around shit people. Shit people, what are they? Oh you know, the people who live to get wasted, to think as little as possible, and when not working all time is devoted to finding sources of pleasure at the expense of consciousness. The objective is mindlessness, filling up every second of your time with activities that distract you from reality.

I guess it's the same for people who play a lot of video games. The majority of video games are just as mindless of an activity as getting drunk. It can be fun, yes, but it doesn't really add any lasting value to your life, other than passing the time in an artificially induced state of consciousness resembling sleep.

Part 3 

I used to play video games. I had an old Atari 2600 way back in the early 80's, but that was really basic, the games weren't very realistic or absorbing. In the 5th grade, I befriended a computer nerd, well actually his older brother was the computer wiz who eventually went on to MIT, but he had all the latest computer gadgets, and games from the 80's like Bard's Tale, King's Quest, I forget all the titles, but eventually he ended up getting a Nintendo Entertainment Center, was the first person I knew to get one, and I often came over to his house to play it with him, games like Legend of Zelda, Super Mario Brothers, Metroid,  Ninja Gaiden, Mike Tyson's Knockout. Eventually I knew about five friends who had a NES, with different games, so I was able to play a lot of them without ever actually owning an NES of my own.

Finally when Christmas came around, probably around the age of 12 or 13, instead of getting an NES I asked for a Sega Master System, and then a year or two later I got the Sega Genesis. I chose Sega over Nintendo because at the time the graphics were better, but I was the only one I knew among my friends and cousins who had one, everyone else had the Nintendo, so I was sort of the odd one out. Problem was is that although Sega's graphics were better, Nintendo had better games, and more to choose from. But that didn't matter so much, because my parents weren't very wealthy, I hardly had any games, and rarely ever got new ones, maybe only about two or three a year, whereas my wealthier friends seemed to get a new game every month. So I was very selective about the games I asked for, carefully researching them, reading the video game reviews, strategically looking for games that offered the most amount of game-play for the money, and two of my favorite games I had were Phantasy Star 1 and Phantasy Star 2. They were role-playing games offering hundreds of hours of game play. I played it all the time, really got sucked into it. RPG's were my favorite genre, but Sega hardly released any new RPG's, so as time went by not having any new games to play I gradually stopped playing, and by the time I entered the 9th grade I didn't play video games at all, other than occasionally dropping a few quarters at the arcade while hanging out at the mall.

Part 4 

It wasn't until my mid 20's - I forget exactly how old I was, but maybe around 25, that I started playing video games again. I bought a Sega Dreamcast, and soon after that I got an Xbox, and got into playing a lot of video games for a couple of years, and also played a few games on my laptop, but by my 30th birthday I would say that other than playing poker and a few other simple browser based games like word games and cards I had pretty much stopped playing video games, at least nothing like before. When I used to play RPG's and First-Person-Shooters it was like entering another world, it really sucked you in. The last RPG I obsessively played, as in spending 12 hours or more playing it on my days off from work, was The Elder Scrolls 3: Morrowind. But one day, sometime in my upper twenties, probably around the time that I discovered blogging, ironically enough,  I decided I had had enough of it, saw it as a totally nonconstructive activity. It felt like I was wasting my life playing video games.

So I stopped, sold all of my games and consoles, and have had no desire to play those kind of games since. I'm completely off it.

Part 5 

A lot of people, usually people who are themselves video game addicts and looking for anything to justify or defend their habit as being good, try to defend video games saying that they are stimulating to creativity, and that they also help with issues of depression or loneliness. But I myself, as an ex-video game addict, consider most of it - especially RPG's and First-Person-Shooters, the kind of games that really pull you in to the story, that are more realistic, that are like escaping into an alternate dream world - as a huge waste of time.

I decided, upon having this realization, seeing that I had spent thousands of hours playing games with absolutely nothing to show for it - that I did not become smarter, kinder, richer, stronger, or more prosperous, that I did not become a more knowledgeable person as a result of playing all these games - I realized that it was all for nothing. Even if it was fun at the time, it was a lot like dreaming, like chasing shadows, indulging in illusions as if they were facts, I figured I would be better off reading books. Even reading fiction would be more valuable than playing video games, because there is more to be learned from them, as far as improving verbal fluency, vocabulary, insights into human psychology, and basic facts about the world.

Part 6

Well anyway, I decided that from that point forward instead of playing video games I would read books. I've always read books, but when I was playing video games I spent more time doing that than reading. Now, I read maybe 30 or 50 books a year, and before I read just a few.

So I went from obsessively playing video games to obsessively reading books, but reading books felt like a more constructive use of time, not just about acquiring more information and better information, but improving my literacy, my vocabulary, and to some extent my communication skills. That the more I read, the more I'll learn, and the smarter I'll become. And I don't get that from playing video games.

I suppose there is probably nothing wrong with playing video games, per se, but there is only so much time in the day, and any time spent playing video games means there is less time available for doing other things that are potentially much more useful. It all comes down to what you want to do, of what you wish to accomplish, and how you wish to use your time. Personally I see video games as being pretty much equal to watching television. It's okay in moderation, but spending several hundred hours doing it is probably not going to help you build a better life for yourself. You'd be better of reading a book, exercising, or going for a walk.

The People on TV

I've spoken of the virtues of tuning into the immediacy of the moment. You know, being more mindfully aware, more fully conscious and present to whatever is happening right now. Well, what about the idiocy of the moment.

Think about it. "The idiocy of the moment." The thought occurred to me just a few minutes before while switching through the television channels and not being able to find anything worthwhile to watch, and realizing that at that particular moment in time, at least from my particular point of view, idiocy completely ruled the television airwaves. Every single channel was a medium for idiocy.

What do I mean by idiocy? Complete and utter mindlessness. Ignorance. Like babies crying, with the yearning to be fed, comforted, and held. But in this metaphorical scenario, there is no one there to hold them. No tangible way to feed them. No way to teach them, communicate with, or get through to them. All that you can do is passively watch them, crying, helplessly...and this is supposed to be entertainment?

You see, this is when you're supposed to turn the TV off. When you realize that a) you are not being entertained, and b) you are not learning anything useful, and c) you are hating every moment of what you are seeing. Yet, you continue to watch, because you are enslaved to the boredom and the misery of this televised absurdity of life.

Television. Not all of it is bad. But very little of it is good. In many ways it is a mirror of the darkness, the confusion, and idiocy endemic to the collective consciousness of humankind. What I dislike on TV, I dislike face to face and in the flesh. People acting like ignorant, stupid assholes. Yeah, not everybody is a super intelligent, intellectually, morally, spiritually evolved, advanced form of life.

I'm not saying that I am. I lack compassion. I feel hatred in my heart more often than not. But if you are looking for the best that humanity has to offer, you are likely not going to find them on TV. Which is not to say that they'll never make an occasional appearance, but for the most part, more often than not, the people you see on TV are about as clueless and lacking in wisdom as they come.

Pilgrimage as Purification

"The more difficult the journey, the greater the depth of purification."

This is an old Tibetan saying recorded by Austrian mountaineer Heinrich Harrer in his WWII era travel memoir Seven Years in Tibet. I read the book a few years ago, and it stands out in my mind as being one of my all time favorite adventure travel books.

I bring it up because a couple nights ago I watched the movie adaptation, starring Brad Pitt, which is not nearly as good as the book, but being a fan of mountaineering movies in general and anything to do with Tibet, it was worth watching again for that reason alone. Well, this was the second time I saw the film, the first time was shortly after its theatrical debut back in the late '90s. So it had been awhile, was almost like seeing it for the first time. And like I said, while I enjoyed the book version very much, the movie version, though it has some merit, is not really anything special, but on this second viewing one line stood out to me that I found thought provoking enough to write it down in my journal and share it with you here.

"The more difficult the journey, the greater the depth of purification."

I thought that was an interesting line. It was in reference to the fact that the Tibetan people as a whole, both peasant and priest, were culturally orientated toward going on regular pilgrimages. It was believed that the act of pilgrimage, walking long distances over difficult terrain to visit sacred sites, while enduring numerous obstacles along the way, would help cleanse one's sins. That the more difficult the journey, the more rewarding that journey would be. So it was like an act of atonement, a way of finding forgiveness and consolation and strength in moving forward, helping one to discard, however large or small, the bonds of guilt and grief and discontent accumulated from past misdeeds and mistakes.

Though I suppose that's true of all pilgrimages, not just Tibetan, about it being an act of purification; that regardless of which spiritual or religious point of view one is aligned with, a pilgrimage is fundamentally about seeking clarity through the purification of negative thoughts.

Kind of reminded me of the Catholic concept of purgatory, that intermediary stage between death and resurrection, except that the pilgrimage is a sort of a purgatory one experiences while still alive. You could say that it's a way of dying, without dying, to be reborn again in this life; where pilgrimage provides a means of purification along the journey to enlightenment.

As a hiker, who also considers myself to be a spiritually minded person, what I find exceptionally interesting about pilgrimage, is that not only does it involve travel and adversity as a means of purification, but that walking in particular is considered an essential component of it. And I think that is not simply because of the fact that walking is more challenging, particularly because it is slower, and a greater hardship if you must carry your own gear, but that it is also because of the very specific state of mind that walking tends to inspire.

For instance, walking is more humbling, because you are more vulnerable, being momentarily homeless, living out of a bag, perhaps sleeping outside, and at the mercy of the hospitality of strangers. But another reason is that walking is essentially a moving meditation, which helps to ground you to the immediacy of the ever changing landscape of the moment; where there is struggle, but also exceptional clarity and mindfulness which makes it all the more conducive to the task of mental and spiritual purification.

Musings on Diversity and Localism

"Cotton kills."

I'm sure you've heard that before. It's in reference to wearing cotton based fabrics in cold weather conditions, in that, cotton loses its insulating ability when wet, which could be deadly when worn in freezing temperatures.

I don't know why I was thinking about this, but it just popped into my mind last night completely out of the blue. I guess maybe it was because it was so unbearably hot outside that I was thinking about taking a vacation near an iceberg. Contemplating the adage, "cotton kills," lead to a long chain of associations in my mind, about the materials we use in various products, such as clothing, building materials, etc., being most suited for the climate of the materials origin.

For instance, cotton clothing is probably most suited for the type of climate where cotton plants grow, which is generally hot weather conditions. Which means that the statement "cotton kills" is only applicable to cold weather conditions, and not at all true in hot weather conditions, or those conditions where the cotton plant naturally thrives.

Okay, we all know this right? Nothing new here. But the essential insight I got from this, is that the same general principle is true I think for all things, at least in reference to natural materials. Synthetics, on the other hand, are a crap shoot, their efficacy depending entirely on whether their design matches the needs of the climate. Generally the best materials to use for any given place, are those that are either locally obtained, or if imported, come from, or are adapted to, an environment having similar climatic and geographical conditions.

That generally, what's best for the south, comes from the south. What's best for the north, comes from the north. What's best for the desert, comes from the desert. What's best for the tropics, comes from the tropics. What's best for the mountains, comes from the mountains. What's best for the forests, comes from the forests. What's best for the plains, comes from the plains. Or what works well in dry conditions, probably will not work well in humid conditions. What works well in cold conditions, probably won't work well in hot conditions.

It's so obvious, right? But look around you, and see how much stuff follows a standard homogeneous cookie cutter design, used everywhere the same way, even when it is not appropriate to the local conditions.

This is another example of the importance of diversity. Not diversity for diversities sake, or solely for the appearance of diversity, but diversity in the sense of different places having different strengths and weaknesses, and different needs, which require using different methods, that invariably produce different results. Diversity in the sense that the world should not look the same everywhere, or use the same materials or methods wherever you go.

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But diversity is not just about appearances, it is about adapting to different conditions in ways that are most appropriate to those conditions. Doing things the same way, when it is in fact the best way for the present conditions, is not wrong. Doing things in different ways that don't work well for the present conditions, just for the sake of valuing or promoting diversity, may be wrong. That is a distortion of diversity. Misunderstanding that diversity is a product of environment, and should not be reproduced in environments inappropriate to it. Or in other words, what works here, may not work there, and to force something to fit in the name of diversity, is like forcing a square peg into a round hole, and not at all a healthy form of diversity at all.

It is not healthy diversity to import building materials or clothing that is most suited for humid conditions, if it is to be used in dry conditions.

I'm wondering if there is some greater truth here, concerning diversity and localism, that extends beyond material resources, that applies to systems and cultures and intellectual ideas, about how to build cities, how to manage businesses, how to organize societies, and how to govern people.

This is not at all a complete idea, but was just an example of the associations that came to mind last night as a result of contemplating the idea that "cotton kills," but not always, sometimes it is actually the best and most suitable fabric around, depending on where you live and how you use it.

What I learned by thinking about this is that the factors that determine the suitability of any given material or method, and which is also the primary shaper of cultural diversity, is more often than not the actual environmental conditions and unique physical geography of the earth itself.

Attempting to make everyone the same in all places, is just as unhealthy and counter to true diversity, as making all places equally diverse representations of all things; that is, importing diversity simply for the appearance of diversity, like for example, encouraging the use of different building materials or clothing, even though they may be inappropriate for the local conditions, is not real diversity. It is a mockery of diversity, because real diversity is a product of the natural adaptation to different physical environments over time, where culture is the result. Culture is the effect, environment is the cause. When you put different people in one place together, over time, this group of people becomes something completely different than what it used to be, where they become more alike than different, but completely different than what they were before.

Example, you can export a bunch of cotton clothing to cold weather climates, but eventually people are going to figure out that the local materials, that grow well in that environment, like wool, for instance, is much better. People adapt to the land, and if they don't, they have a difficult time, or they don't survive at all. Diversity is a direct response to the land. Different land, materials, and methods produce different culture.

A multicultural rainbow means absolutely nothing, other than being a shallow façade of diversity, if everybody looks different but thinks the same, or if the way we think and act is out of harmony with the needs dictated by the environment.

Gemini Dreams and Insights

Metallic Toad Dream

I had a dream last night that I was sitting out on my patio and noticed a spider web up above me. It extended from a corner of the patio's ceiling with strands of webbing attached to some of the potted plants in front of where I was sitting. The webbing was sort of in the way, that someone could accidentally walk into it, so I cleared it away, just the bottom strands, and left the uppermost part of the web attached to the corner. Finally I see the spider curled up into a ball in the deepest shadow of the corner. It was white and large, with almost a squarish body, and my first thought was that it may be poisonous.

I looked away for a moment, but when I looked again in the same spot, instead of a spider, it was now a round silver coin, which appeared to be very old and of foreign currency, attached to the web. The spider appeared to have changed into a coin, or perhaps I had doubts about it having been a spider in the first place. As I'm thinking this, the coin turns around to its other side, and reveals itself to be not a coin, but a small metallic looking toad. Not a lifeless object, but a living creature. No sooner than revealing itself, or shape shifting into a toad, it quickly moves further into the shadow, and disappears completely into a hole in the wall. And that was it. End of dream.

Random Insights

I had these random insights a few days ago. The first one occurred to me while watching a movie. Just completely out of the blue, unrelated to the subject of the movie itself, I was looking at a woman on the screen and this thought spontaneously popped into my mind:

"The Body is a Spacesuit For the Soul"

Assumption being that there is a non-material essence underlying the fundamental being of each person. Perhaps you could call it a mixture of consciousness and spirit, spirit being the energy that animates the body, soul being the individual personality of the spirit, and consciousness being what links spirit to matter, as a self-aware being living among other self-aware beings.

Nothing too revolutionary here, and I'm sure anyone who doubts the existence of a non-material reality or spirit, would think the idea completely absurd and dismiss me as being a naive flake, but either way I thought it was interesting to think of our bodies as being like spacesuits perfectly adapted for earthly travel.

Just like astronauts can't walk on the moon without wearing a spacesuit, people can't walk on the earth without a physical body. But the body is more like a vehicle or a specially fitted outfit of clothing, than the actual person. The body as a tool essential to our survival in this environment, is an extension of our being, but it is not the source, or the fundamental substance of who and what we are.

"The Power of Will"

This other insight I had shortly before going to bed a few nights ago after having had a couple of beers. I was holding this almost empty bottle of beer in my hand and thinking about what was stopping me from throwing this bottle of beer against the wall. I had no intention of doing so, but just as a sort of thought experiment, the idea entered my mind. Well, of course, thinking about the consequences of it is what stopped me. The broken glass. The spilled beer. The mess. The noise. The anger it would cause my housemates. It would be a totally senseless act, with absolutely no good reason for doing so. But what was really stopping me? The power of the will, that's what.

The power of the will is extremely strong. It's like a superglue. Once an idea sticks, it's very difficult to get it unstuck. Thinking about this beer bottle and the choice not to throw it against the wall, got me thinking about the greater role Will plays in the physical laws of the universe, and to what extent Will is a defining ingredient in determining whether something is possible or impossible.

What role does will play in things like gravity, and not being able to walk through walls? What role does will play in the aging process, in what is considered to be the natural lifespan of the human being? Perhaps it is possible to change reality and to redefine the limits of what is possible and impossible, by changing and refocusing the power of the will. To walk through walls. To astral project your consciousness thousands of miles away without "physically" leaving the room you are in. The ability to see with microscopic vision, with telescopic vision, to see into the future and the past, and to do these things without the use of external technological devices like telephones and computers, but purely through the conscious manipulation of your mind and the power of your will.

The power of the will is not just a matter of thinking differently or trying to convince yourself of something, but is actually a matter of really believing it with all of your being on both a conscious and a much deeper subconscious level. You have to really actually believe it. As long as you "know" that it's impossible to walk through walls, either through personal experience or because all the scientific studies say so, your will shall reflect that impossibility. But as soon as a scientific breakthrough is made in that area to enable that to happen, it will revise your entire thinking on the matter, and what was previously considered impossible, becomes possible, because the information needed to support that idea, to confirm it in your will, has been modified.

Because the power of will is not just an individual matter, but is shaped in great part by the power of consensus, or collective agreement, reinforced by way of authority, popular culture, science, religion, and the law. The more people who believe in something and are told it is true, the more powerful and the more real this something becomes.

Addendum (added a few hours later):  The point of this insight, concerning the power of will, is that physical laws operate according to a similar principle, and that by observing the power and influence of your own will power in action, you can gain a better understanding of how the universe works. Or something like that. Just thinking out loud here, trying to retrace the line of thought going through my mind a few days ago, and writing about it here after the fact.