Quantum Thinking

There is a vacuum in modern education. If we have made the left brain into the sole focus of our educational process, then the left frontal cortex is the rock star. Conversely, the right brain has become the retarded second cousin we keep locked up in the attic: throw it a bone once in a while to keep it alive, try to ignore the weird howling noises in the middle of the night, and  pretend with all your might that it does not exist when the neighbors come to visit.

When we do talk about the process of the right brain, it is hard not to fall into the language of the occult and the arcane, for the simple reason that we have ignored our retarded little second cousin for so long, the only language, the only words that exist that can even approximately describe its processes rise from our more primitive and superstitious past.

It is only now, as we begin to understand the mathematics of quantum space and time, that we begin to realize that the seemingly disjointed and ofttimes insane babble coming from the attic was in fact the learned instruction of our Uber Einstein brain, a brain that exists not only in the attic but beyond any physical wall, touching all of space/time. With it, we can turn corners into other dimensions. We can communally share information with all other lifeforms. With just a thought, we can remember all the knowledge that has ever existed and that will ever exist, being limited only by the sophistication of our ever evolving consciousness.

Call this vast extension of the right brain the Uber Library. The first trick to accessing information in this library is not to get overwhelmed by the amount of information that exists there. Do not be fooled by the apparent chaos. All things, even this, have a pattern and a direction, a point and a purpose. The second step is to understand that you already have the tools to navigate here. You just have forgotten how to use them. You were born fully connected to the Uber Library, after all.

Consider how we problem solve with the left brain. Here we find the seat of our perception of Time. A leads to B leads to C, D, E, F, G on down the line until we reach Z. If we were to solve a problem, exclusively using our left brain, we would start at A, form a hypothesis and then investigate that hypothesis, step by step until those steps led us to a conclusion. If we are lucky, that conclusion solves the original problem. Unfortunately, odds are good that the conclusion will have only told you that your original hypothesis is wrong and that you failed to ask the right question at the very beginning of your long and tedious study.

Now, let’s problem solve using our right brain. Here is the seat of our perception of infinite space. Imagine deep space. No atmosphere or gravity wells to hinder motion. Imagine that you stand at point A. All around you, in no particular order, lies a cloud of infinite possibilities, call them B through Z. A is not a problem to be solved. A is the point of existence. A just “is”. To get to point Z, one then merely lets go of all preconceived notions, imagines the existence of Z, thus establishing a link between point A and point Z and simply goes there. Free of constraints, the space between point A and point Z folds to accommodate that wish. Ta da! Problem solved.

The hardest part about the right brain problem solving process is convincing your left brain that the answer is correct. The left brain will still want to investigate all the possibilities of B through Y but the most difficult part of the process has already been done: Knowing the correct answer, one merely reverse engineers the issue to arrive at the right question.

A whole mind, a holistic mind is the perfect balance of left brain and right brain thinking.

Having a holistic mind is part of our acquired skills in the evolutionary arms race of survival. Think of it this way. Our left brain, diamond faceted, linearly logical, and clear sighted,  gives us the ability to perceive change as action or motion along a vector. Unfortunately, there are an infinite number of vectors to choose from. That is where our right brain steps in. It acts as our internal compass by pointing us in the right direction, thereby assuring that all decisions are the correct decisions, and no motion is wasted. As an added bonus it also assures us that every action is in harmony with the OnePattern since it is the OnePattern that allows us to perceive order in chaos.

Women’s Country-core concepts for building a better future

if we truly wanted to change the status quo, if we recognized that the system we lived in was irreparably flawed, if we wanted to shift this crazy world into the next level of understanding, we would seek to live in a matriarchal society in which women as well as men could self actualize, embracing the power of their true selves. If we lived in a truly matriarchal society, there would be separate laws governing men and women. In fact, right now, if we wanted to shift the consciousness of our civilization, there are a few easy steps we could take.

Rule of Law

First: Recognize that all laws are laws made by men to govern the behavior of men and that none of these laws actually pertain to the female consciousness. Separate out the women offenders from the male offenders. create a court system separate and unconnected to the male law system. (akin to Juvenile Court)

Second: Recognize that women who deviate from the social order do so for very profound reasons and therefore must be judged, not by an arbitrary set of rules, but by female peers who understand how her heart has been broken and her soul has been shattered, a wounding that has backed her into a physical, emotional and psychic corner from which her only course of action is violence against society in the form of violence against herself or another individual.

Women’s Court would not have judges and lawyers. Women offenders would have advocates. Instead of judges, there would be a panel of wise women. Elder women in service to their community would volunteer to sit on these tribunals and decide the best course of action that would facilitate the healing of the broken and injured women who come before them.

Prostitution would be legal, going back to the honored profession it once was. Prostitutes would be set free with a cautionary warning to get regular medical check ups and to report abusive male behavior to the proper authorities and encouraged to take a small business course. (I see a Prostitution Guild with a universal database of costumers. ID cards for johns would enable blacklisting the offending males. they would have to appear before the Women’s Tribunal to get reinstated. But that is another article….)

Thieves would be either allowed to make restitution and appointed a mentor or placed in educational classes that would teach job skills, business skills, and be asked to join a neighborhood cooperative of women who were facilitating female run businesses, daycare and elder care, education, etc.

Assaults and Murderers would have to be weighed on a case by case basis. Some people deserve killing. Some people deserve to be killed by the people who they have tortured the most. Such volcanic episodes in women are singular events, therefore there is no reason to lock such a person up for the rest of her life. the person who has done her wrong is now dead. So too with euthanasia and mercy killings. Women, after all, must be the final arbiter of their own population control. It would even be conceivable that the Women’s Tribunal would sanction such killings. (yes, women, left to their own devices can be ruthlessly pragmatic, which is why men are frightened to death by these ideas and which is also why the last matriarchy was wiped off the planet thousands of years ago. the idea of culling for the common good appalls them.)

There would, of course, be no prisons for women. (prisons are a crime against the OneMother, after all.) There would be no walls, no soul destroying jobs, no male guards to remind her of the system of male dominance that is responsible for the tortured state of her soul. For the truly shattered women, there would be self supporting communal farms maintained by a core group of Elder Women volunteers. The fences would be to keep the men out, not to keep the women in.

No men would be allowed in without a two member escort. Inside these compounds, a broken woman would be given space and time to breath free. She would get a room of her own in which to meditate, a place to bring her children when she was ready, a daily routine of exercise, meals and food preparation, laundry, child care, gardening, farming, animal husbandry. She would be given one thing to nurture, whether it be plant or animal and be tasked with keeping it alive and helping it thrive. She would be outside in the sun, under the sky, watching things grow, every single day. she would get touch therapy to bring her back into her body. she would be taught to enjoy her body and thereby learn to enjoy the planet that birthed it. she would be encouraged to find one beautiful thing every day to love.

Through communal interaction, she would be encouraged to find the strength to delve into her past history, learn from her past choices and encouraged to make healthy choices in the future. She would be encouraged to find an identity that was not defined by others. (ie. you are not someone’s girlfriend, mother, wife, employee. You are not your body or your sexuality or your politics. you are not defined by the things that you own that own you. you are a sentient being with point and purpose who deserves to be happy.)

She would be given a piece of cloth or a piece of yarn or a hunk of clay or a piece of paper and encouraged to create something beautiful.

She would receive a proportional part of any profit of the farm accrued during her stay. She could choose to stay forever and help. She could choose to stay until her heart was healed and she had acquired the skills to survive outside, away from the safety of a women’s company.

for the women who, after all this nurturing love, could not find her true self again, well….did I not say the Women’s Tribunals would have to be ruthlessly pragmatic? They, more than any other force on the planet, would be responsible for the common good.

and who knows, perhaps men could learn by example and create a Men’s Country in which all men were encouraged to self actualized. One can only imagine the delights of mind and flesh that could be created, there at the border between countries.

of worms and hooks and fishermen

does the worm on the hook think about the process of fishing? Is it conscious of being part of the grand scheme of the fisherman to catch his dinner? Does he think about acting the part of a desperate worm trying not to drown?

I think not. The worm is a worm. the hook is truly sunk into its guts and the air is running thin in its blood. The need to escape is all-consuming.

such, sometimes, is the lot of those who move the agenda of the Uberconsciousness, the Onemind, forward, along the path intended.  the worm has no possible way of understanding his part in the greater process, a bit part in the drama between fish and fisherman, hunter and prey.

sigh. but this is no comfort, is it, when the times are troubled and the earth beneath your feet shakes you to your knees.

but then again, the fish and the fisherman are not any less compelled. there will always be hunters and there will always be prey who throw themselves upon the hunter’s arrow.  How else can the world continue?

Arms Race

evolution, especially in the planet’s oceans, has always been about an arms race. the fossil records are full of the things of nightmare. it is a record of stimulus/response. Big teeth created heavier armor created bigger teeth. Increased size created bigger predators created even larger prey created social hunting created gargantuan plankton eaters. when the limits of teeth and speed and size were reached, they went into jungle warfare. Camouflage and stealth replaced the brutish and mindless.

some say the first fin turned into a forelimb so that the fleeing prey species might retreat to the shallows and then retreat even further up onto the muddy bank. (I, personally, don’t buy that. the fossil they have run up the flagpole as an example has forward and upward pointing eyes. Predatorial traits. I think the first land animal happened because something with teeth got tired of waiting for all those fat, juicy bugs to come flying over the water and got proactive. Why, I wonder, is everyone so afraid of pointing out the fact that our ancestors were part of the food chain, and therefore very good hunters? why are we afraid of our ancestral teeth?)

in the modern oceans of today, the finest killers are those who have extended their senses beyond the mundane five. they can hunt in the dark and see under sand and mud.

but

what if…..

what if that was not the end of the finesse of nature. what if, not wanting to be found, one could go one step beyond camouflage and use your neurology to produce the illusion of “not there”? Does the elk calf, frozen in the tall grass, close its eyes and think “nothing” thoughts as hard as it can?

what if…..

not being satisfied with a bio-luminescence lure in the deep dark oceans, the angler fish began thinking “food” thoughts as hard as it could, sucking in the prey that heard the psychic lure?

what if….

a wary fish stuck somewhere in the middle of the eat-or-be-eaten ladder needed to make sure the thing it was about to strike was actually what it appeared to be and not something far more menacing with a bigger set of teeth and an endlessly expanding stomach?

what if….

that muddy fish with the rudimentary forelimbs crawled out of the seas with a fully developed psychic sense about what things were beyond the illusion of sight and smell?

what if….

humans did not descend from trees but being predators with big teeth hunting in the high grass, rose up on two legs and developed thumbs that they might more successfully hunt and kill the prey we have been pursuing across billions and billions of years of planet history.

what if….

what it is to be human is not as nice as we would all like to think?

what if….

the human species woke up one day and remembered who they were, shook off our docile sheep’s clothing, and took back the power and the responsibility that entails, of being human.

this is not as far fetched as one would believe. After all, we have the ability to control our brain chemistry. We also control the DNA triggers that control our physiology. To what extent is still undetermined.

but what if…..

you were truly limitless and history, even prehistoric history, did not control who you are? could you not become anything you wanted, if you thought it hard enough?

Matriarchy

……And truly, stripped of all our social trappings and baggage, in the deepest, darkest part of the night, do not all women yearn, with all their being, to belong to a sisterhood where they are wanted and needed and respected and loved; where we know our children will survive even if we do not; where we are free to be who we are without the artificial constraints of the judgmental patriarchy; where passion is not censured and love can be freely given without fear of reprisal; where competition for food and lovers is minimized, where our sensuous nature and our ability to nurture and our skills as a channel for the Oneverse are virtues valued above all else.

Male or female, it is to everyone’s advantage if the Divine Feminine is unchained and allowed to dance her dance upon the planet once more.

the rest of the essay

alien

The Hawaiian Islands are a bone of contention, right now, between the native populations and the more recent immigrants. The traditional Hawaiians would be perfectly happy throwing all the Howlies off the islands and returning their culture to the agrarian hunter gatherer system they had before Captain Cook tore down the walls of their isolation and infected them with the ideas of the imperialistic corporate state. There is just one problem with the Hawaiian’s idea of ownership. Technically, the “natives” are not actually native, but immigrants themselves. The islands, being volcanic in origin, cannot truly be claimed by any but the sea. Since rising from the ocean, wave after wave of species washed up upon Hawaii’s shores and took root. Each wave claimed its place and defended its claim against all subsequent invaders.

So too, the planet Earth. You are not indigenous to this place. You are descendants of seeds carried here on the winds of the stars. It is not just one such incident but many that has seeded this planet. Even the OneMother, rider of the Dark Currents of space, is an immigrant of sorts. It is she who ate the Sun and birthed Life, turning this dark little cinder into a big blue marble that has attracted so many.

Like Hawaii, the Earth has taken hold of the immigrants and shaped them to her own purpose. We no longer bear any resemblance to the thing that drifted out of the Dark and fell to earth. Evolution cannot be denied nor can it be forestalled.

Blame the current state of your malaise on the fact that, misbegotten and misplaced as you are, the planet has taken you into her heart and tried to assimilate you into her OnePattern. She dances the dance of evolution and change with the very fabric of your beings, trying to change a sow’s ear into a silk purse, or a human into a Na’vi.

It is useless to resist this. She is a sentient planet and you are merely human. The only power you have is the power she grants you. All else is illusion.

Fierce Things

Might it be

that butterflies

confined by their

chrysalis jail

come to hate the walls

that serve their birth

and in that hate

beat with butterfly fists

against the rigid stuff

thereby setting themselves free?

And perhaps

the caged chick

must come to rage

in impotent fury

at its perfect porcelain cell

gnashing and biting

until the crystals shatter

and the next generation of bird

rolls free.

If this is so

for small things

what then

of the truly fierce?

Terrible

must be their anger

infinite

their rage

as they suffocate

inside their soft prison

ineffable desire

to breath free

smoldering

until at last

spontaneous combustion

ignites

their fiery sword

slicing through the ties

that bind.

Ahhh

but freedom

does not always

assuage the rage

nor quench the fires of hate.

No

A fierce thing

upon being born

emerges screaming

berserker screams

brandishing its bright sword

only to turn

and slash the womb of its birth

into dust

venting its fury

upon the very thing

that held it close

and dear

for so very long

Walk wary

about the birthplace of

fierce things

their blood is up

and they are on the lookout

for the next thing

that needs killing.

Neda and Amanda: The Goddess Unchained

It will not leave me, this conviction, that the stories of Amanda Knox and Neda Soltani are connected somehow.

It will not let me go, this belief that these girl’s stories represent the tip of the iceberg. An iceberg of hate and repression and twisted yearnings.

Neda drowned in her own blood, shot through the chest by a thug hired by an oppressive ruling party intent on its quest to gain absolute power to match their absolute corruption. That her death was the tip of an iceberg is under reported. The iceberg I talk about is the fact that she was singled out of the crowd, followed down that alley for the purpose of murder and that she would not have died if she were plain instead of beautiful, male instead of female, veiled instead of uncovered, actively defiant instead of subservient; that the band of thugs went out of their way to single out women, young, beautiful women who were fearless in their expression of the power of the free divine feminine, a fact that was becoming common knowledge on the streets of Tehran but not yet known to Neda.

Amanda was convicted of murder in a court system so broken and corrupt that from the moment they arrested her she was doomed to spend the rest of her child-bearing years in a cold, dank cell and that the last two years of trial was really a bizarrely twisted form of torture of such sublime skill that one would venture to say it makes the priests of the Inquisition look like amateur hacks. I believe she was arrested, not because of any evidence, as there was none, nor for any motive, except that thought up in the dark and twisted brains of the prosecutor and his goons, but because she refused to play the shrinking violet. Not only did she not show fear of her captors, she barely registered them on her radar screen as existing at all. Her only crime was that, in her innocence and being without guilt, she did not perceive her peril.

Neda and Amanda are the most public examples of the army on the forefront of a planetary revolution comprised mostly of girls in the first blush of womanhood. They are not revolutionaries, per se, (a revolutionary would have to be actively trying to destroy the power base of the status quo) but more the forerunners of the species of human that has already evolved, budding silently in the womb of the old guard and bursting forth, unconstrained by the old patterns and rules which burdened the previous generation. No matter how one beats them or tortures them, they will not bow down and worship at the feet of the old gods. They will not value what the status quo values. Truly, they have stepped through the veil and continued the journey down the path that evolution has preordained for the human species. And, truly, they do not see the people stuck behind the veil, unable or unwilling to follow. The old guard is a rapidly fading ghost on the radar screen of the newest version of the human species.

It is a very dangerous time to be a Neda or an Amanda. The old guard, the ossified purveyors of the old way of doing things, do not like to be ignored, especially by the very beings they lust after most. Imagine being the perverted old prosecutor who has spent a lifetime of corruption establishing a fiefdom in which his power is unassailable. Imagine him seeing a bright and pure and free soul. He cannot possess it. So he does the next best thing. He very publicly tears off its butterfly wings and pulls the legs off one at a time and then when the thing can no longer react to the pain he inflicts, he squashes it, grinding it underfoot. One can imagine the boner in his pants every morning, just by reading the headlines. But secretly he simmers in impotent rage. He is not angry at the bright soul. He is angry at his god for betraying him, because, no matter how many butterfly wings he collects, he will never capture what he has so willfully destroyed.

So too, with the thugs enforcing the will of the dictators. They are the misfits and the malcontents. The unloved and the unchosen. They are the perpetual “sneaky f_cker” because they have neither the skill nor the will to become a dominant bull. The thing they hate the most is the thing they will never have: the bright and shiny new girls, so full of life and passion, who laugh when they should fear, who question when they should mindlessly accept, who leap and dance in the bright sunlight, just out of reach, there, beyond the veil.

Cruel Lover

Soft

is the sound

of the ‘Verse

winding its way around

the silence of this world

a vibration

not heard by the ear

nor perceived by the mind

but felt

deep in the core of me

down in the deep places

beyond the doors of this world

a sound that brings a sigh

of pleasure

a feeling that bubbles up from inside

I throw my head back

and moan

no lover

can touch me

as the ‘Verse can touch me

ahhhhh

cruel lover

I am ruined for any other

Twilight Loathing

You would have to have been living on Mars for the last couple of years not to know about Bella and her sparkling vampire lover, Edward, from the Twilight books, written by Stephanie Meyers one summer between wiping noses, changing diapers and cooking for her Mormon husband. The works are flawed by Meyer’s total lack of experience and writerly skills. Add to that the haste in writing and the lack of a good editor and the books become painful to read for anyone with any understanding of the art of language.

But then the genre is teen romance. The books are not meant to be good. They are meant to be consumed by young readers who don’t know any better. Its like watching a porn movie. Nobody expects good dialogue or a coherent plot. Like porn, teen romance books are meant to manipulate the reader and satisfy the immature and barely formed sexual fantasies of the average hormonally challenged teenage girl. For what they are, the books are wildly successful. Girls love them. Older women, seduced by the fairy tale, have become extreme fan-atics.

Stephanie has explained the source of her inspiration. She had a dream in which she was eavesdropping on a couple, lovers perhaps, as the man told the woman he had an overwhelming urge to kill her and every moment was a struggle to overcome this urge. Classic hunter/prey sex fantasy. The man being the predator, the girl being food. The books came from Stephanie’s need to explain the paradoxical behavior that kept the hunter at bay.

Why does Edward love Bella? To quote a fan site: “A ridiculously potent scent to demand his attention, a silent mind to inflame his curiosity, a quiet beauty to hold his eyes and a selfless soul to earn his awe.”  Classic drivel from romance porn story plots. It seems that Stephanie, herself, never delved any deeper into this idea. The unformed and inexperience heart of the emotionally immature has no real understanding of love except as some unexplained magical attraction. Which is just fine. People need to mate. Babies need to get made. The human species needs to continue.

We know why Bella loves Edward. He is the classic unattainable guy. The prince in Cinderella and Snow White. Vaguely drawn, remote, powerful, a cartoon prop to sing about and dance around. Made brainless and mindless and without will because of….what? Beauty? Beauty tamed the beast. Pure fantasy ala Disney cartoons. Bella is a nobody. A wall flower. Neither talented, nor remarkably beautiful, nor athletic, nor smart. She is…what?…Good? Every girl’s fantasy is to be pulled out of the faceless crowd and  put on a pedestal just for being who she is. Every little girl wants to be adored as her father adored her. Every child needs to believe that innocence counts for something.

We also know why Bella should not love Edward. He is a vampire, conflicted by his nature, (he’s vegetarian fergawdsake!). To serve her fantasy, Stephanie created Edward and then emasculated him, that he might dance a ridiculous dance about Bella that is silly, offensive and utterly without logic.

You would have to have been living on Mars not to know that there are as many Twilight hater blogs as their are Twilight fan sites. The hater sites are fueled and run by the spouses and boyfriends forced to submit to reading the books and watching the movies by overly enthusiastic women. Men walk away angry. The unspoken message is that you, as a man, will never measure up until you tame the wild thing inside you, cut off your balls and deny your very nature. Twilight loathing is understandable.

But I think the hate goes deeper and touches things more visceral inside the human mind. Lets consider Edward. Here we have an 89 year old magical being who is more powerful than his human counterparts, who has managed to subdue his natural blood hunger, and like a recovering alcoholic, consume vegetables instead of blood. (Really? Dear Stephanie, could you not think of anything more original than that? Vampires are not real. If you intended to rewrite the genre, why not take it to a whole new level.  Convert the mythical aversion to sunlight into an undeveloped ability to manipulate its energy. Something. Anything.) Yet, with all that age, wisdom, ability and other worldliness, we find him hanging out in a public high school, stalking virginal idiot girls.

This is like the fox hanging out in the chicken coop. Or the alcoholic hanging out in a bar. One has to question the motives. Knowing foxes and alcoholics, one would have a hard time believing their motives innocent. One would even go so far as to question that individual’s sanity. Are they a masochist, that they require the torment of being so close to the very thing that is denied them?

The real problem, I think, is Stephanie’s misinterpretation of the dream and her confusion about power and powerful things.

The universe is in a perpetual dance that seeks balance. Love is like gravity. Objects in motion alter their path to accommodate other objects in motion. Powerful things, massive things catch bodies that fall into its area of gravitational influence. Those objects not massive enough and fast enough simply get drawn in and consumed. Stephanie assumes that a vaguely defined “goodness” can keep her heroine from getting sucked into the furnace of power. A classic virginal mistake tainted by too much Sunday school propaganda. Every patriarchal religion strives to keep their women ignorant and powerless. There is nothing scarier on God’s green earth, than an educated, self aware, powerful woman, apparently.

In interpreting the dream, one must ask: what power does the woman have that prevents the predator from devouring her? The predator nature is intrinsic and cannot be subverted as Stephanie would like to believe. She created Bella but forgot to give Bella power equal to Edward’s that he might be relieved of the crushing responsibility of reining in his natural instincts so that he might be free to enjoy the relationship as much as Bella.

Edward and Bella are like those publicity stunts pulled by zoos in the Orient. Throw a lamb or a piglet into the tiger’s cage to sell tickets. Those with a religious bent love crap like this. It somehow proves the existence of god. (???) Just keep the tiger well fed and plan on replacing the lamb frequently, because instinct, even in maternally inclined big cats, is a hard thing to keep at bay.

Ah, but immature and inexperienced women do not want to be reminded that relationships are a lot of work or that predators, in the end, will eat you and that you should not date outside your own species. Where is the fantasy in that? Where is the danger? Where is the romance? They all want to be Bella. They want to be powerless and dominated. They want to be relieved of the responsibility of their own stupidity. They want men to rescue them from said stupidity. They want life to happen to them, like some cosmic car wreck, and have it all turn out fine in the end. Nobody bothered to point out that virginal and innocent lasts about five minutes and is gone from the moment you wake up in your lover’s bed for the first time, stinking of sex and sweat.

Stephanie failed to give Bella a power (wisdom, deep spiritual knowing, her own internal sparkle to match Edward’s. Something. Anything). That made Edward a sick pervert who dates his food. We usually lock those people up and keep them away from our children. The Twilight hate is well deserved.