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Posts Tagged ‘change’

forgotten stones

forgotten stones

 

They say there would be no gods if man did not worship them. Where have the deities of the Egyptians and the Greeks and the Romans gone? They are ghosts, forgotten and grown silent in our neglect. This is the nature of sentience in a consensus reality. A thing only has power when we grant it that power by believing in it. The more believers a thing has, the more powerful and autonomous its sentience.

Man has invented, embraced and then discarded more organizing systems in the last ten thousand years than can be counted.

This is the nature of humanity, that he never stagnates. What we believe today is not what we believed yesterday and it will certainly not be what we will think tomorrow.

Some say that if you are unhappy with the current socio-ecomonic-political climate then you should be patient because it is bound to change.

I say your unhappiness is a sign that you have already moved on.

Look around. You are not alone in your unhappiness. No one ever is. We are a social animal with a shared Hive Mind. Someone, somewhere, out of sheer necessity, has invented The Next Thing. One by one, we will discover our new path and change direction. We call this phenomenon the Wave of the Future. It is a tsunami that will wash over all of us, eventually. Change is inevitable.

The temper tantrums of the fading systems become more violent, more bizarre, more laughably, ludicrously insane as their believers stop believing in them. Can you blame them? Even mindless, soulless sentient systems recognize the act of dying. They are living things with no higher self so dying is a terrible and terrifying process. The irony is that their death struggles only drive their believers away faster, thereby speeding their demise.

You know the end is near when the systems begin to rot from the inside out. People like Bradly Manning and Edward Snowden are symptoms of a particular kind of cancer that afflicts organizations that have long since ceased to serve a purpose. How bad can it be when the very people who depend upon a system for their livelihood would much rather take a suicidal leap into the unknown abyss than continue to align themselves with energies so out of sync with reality that they seem to create a vacuum filled dissonance around themselves as a protective barrier.

Soon the Hive Mind will shake itself free of the constraints of the old systems and move on. It has happened thousands of times before and it will happen a thousand more before man is done and gone. Like a snake shedding its old skin, we will scratch the itch until the vacuum between the new us and the old us is broken open and the old us falls away.

Now is not the time to be sleepwalking through life.  The last thing you want is to be caught on the wrong side, clinging to detritus while the rest of the world moves on with Life.

the ruins of history

the ruins of history

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I have seen things you people wouldn’t believe

Who else hears the old stories, the myths and the legends, the bible stories and the explanations of how things became the way they are from the native cultures of North and South America and Africa and thinks they are sanitized versions of a really great scifi potboiler? I am convince that Moses, who purported wrote the first five books of the bible, was a failed scifi writer akin to L. Ron Hubbard.

Take the human origin story. Not nearly so dramatic as Superman’s origin but still, who reads the story of Adam and Eve and not think: Wow, this is actually more like the story of The Secret of NIMH. Adam and Eve were not thrown out of Paradise but were actually escaped lab animals. Far more plausible and much more fun. That, on one level, explains our emotional connection to the dying clones in Blade Runner. Are we not all running around trying to mend our brokenness like Roy Batty on the hunt for his Maker?

What story has been done and re-done more in the scifi genre than Noah’s Ark? Titan AE is a classic. Cut out the cowboy antics in the middle and you have a story of a dying race, (the Flood being an allegory for the self destructive emotions that would lead two space faring species to wage war upon each other,)  landing on a new planet and bringing the remnants of everything, animal and plant, that they will need for a new beginning. What if the planet Earth was like the Hawaiian Islands, a lonely rock in the vast ocean of space being colonized by wave after wave of things drifting in on the space tides? What if not long after Pangaea broke apart, Noah’s ark landed.  It makes Australia’s odd flora and fauna much more understandable if you think that a panoply of invader species took hold on the rest of the continents.

What if every story about gods is actually a story about Earth humans interacting with immortal or near immortal space faring beings who can take advantage of the time differential between space and light speed travel and that of those living in a gravity well? They would be like us in that some of them would be benevolent, some of them not, some of them kind and some of them total dickwads?

Thinking of ourselves as escaped lab rats, much abused and as a result, highly paranoid, we could understand the motivations of the dickwads better than the ones that want to help. Which explains why Christians cling to the god of Abraham when common sense tells us he is a total asshole. Better an abusive asshole we can understand than one who wants to get all up in our shit and make us change because they love us.

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The story of Heracles (Hercules) is a wonderfully twisted tale of gods, demi-gods, madness, murder, infanticide, sin and penance. In the middle is this story, Hercules, an indentured servant serving his sentence under the Mycenaean king, Eurystheus, is ordered to clean out the Augian Stables. According to the tale, Eurystheus had 1000 immortal cattle locked up in this building, doing nothing but eating and pooping for 30 years without anyone thinking to grab pitchfork and a cart to haul off the dung to the compost pile. I am thinking this is a bit of poetic license or else the poets of the day were city boys who had never seen the back end of a cow in their entire life.

More than likely, the Augean Stables did not exist but was an allegory for something else; perhaps the hearts of men, the politics of the royal court, or the chaos of human existence.

Whatever. Hercules had to clean out the stables and he only had one day to do it. His boss, who hated him, meant to teach him humility. Hercules was a lot of things but no one ever accused him of being humble. Instead of grabbing the mighty pitchfork of the gods, he cheats. He diverts two rivers from their course to run them through the stables. OK, already the poetic license is tripping me up. All that work, digging the canals, engineering the sluice gates, and so on, could have been put to work with a pitchfork, to my way of thinking. Only a guy with the soul of an engineer would design a Rube Goldberg contraption to run two rivers through a stable just so he wouldn’t have to smell poop all day.

Nowhere in this tale is there the mention of the minor logistics: Moving the herd to temporary lodging. Sorting out the tools and feed from the piles of dung. Dealing with the downstream pollution. Hercules was something of an ass. It can be assumed he didn’t bother with those details. The bet was to clean the stables in a day. Technically, that’s exactly what he did. He ignored the small details, knowing someone else would sort them out.

There is a name for the guy who thinks up ways not to work hard. We call him an efficiency expert. It was just such an engineering mind that thought up the idea of a remote control because he was too lazy to get up off the couch to change the channel. The Roomba didn’t get invented until 2002 when a man wanted to sweep his floors without actually having to, ya know, sweep. One can only presume he was one of those ‘forever alone’ guys who could never even get a girlfriend to make him a sandwich so therefore had no one to do his laundry or clean his house.

If Heracles had been female, the story would have been different. (For that matter, if King Eurystheus had been female, there would not have been a story at all. No queen in her right mind would have let things get so messy.)

It is the female mind that keeps the universe together, making sure things run like a well oiled machine, because, of course, it is they who are working endlessly behind the machines doing the oiling. It was a woman who first said ‘A stitch in time saves nine’, knowing full well that her plate was already too full, what with cooking and cleaning and doing the laundry and changing baby diapers and wiping snotty noses and teaching the kids reading, writing and arithmetic, all the while keeping herself fit and trim so she could play the seductress to her man every time he came home from the proverbial wars, therefore she had no desire to repair a destroyed seam if a few well placed knots could forestall it.

The female Hercules, being a demi-god, would have been a hearth witch by nature. She would have taken a broom and made a small clean spot in one corner of the stables. Hearth magic would have done the rest.  This is the magic of the female mind. It is the logic of the right brain and can be applied to any mess, no matter how intimidating. It works like this:

The broom is the broom of intention, the intention being not so much to clean the spot but to drive back the chaos and reestablish that spot’s anchor to the Patterning of the Universe. This she does with her will and her love and the purest of intentions. It is also these qualities that allow her to wade through the fetid mess without getting any of the stink on her. The stink does not bother her. The source of her power rises from the fermentation of life in the dark places of the Universal Soul. The stink just tells her that her brew is working.

Back to cleaning up the mess. The one clean spot, now put into order and anchored, causes the adjoining spots to spin around it, igniting change as a catalyst ignites change in a soup of reagents. What follows is a cascade of reactions that alters the whole until the whole is uniform once more. In other words, the change happens until the change can find no other thing to change and then it stops. Time, as is the way with all things in the Universe, is relative. This transformation can be instantaneous, like a flash fire or as slow as stalactites growing on the roof of a cave.

Hercules saw the Augian Stables as one single problem and solved it with catastrophic results. Hercules’s alter ego, in a distaff universe, ignored the big picture and broke the problem down into one manageable bit at a time, knowing full well that before she was through, she would do less work than Hercules and end up with a well ordered stable in which the useful remained and the detritus had been swept away on the tides of the Universe.

One clean spot can make all the difference.

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generic empath definition

the above article is a description of the passive state of empathy. In a nut shell, empathy is the act of extreme listening, using all the tools at your disposal. Empaths are the equivalent of a sensor array on the mast of a battle cruiser.

the active state of empathy falls under the roommate rule–roommate rule: if the mess bothers you and you are the only one to notice it or the first to notice it, or the only one who cares, guess what, you get to clean it up–that is to say, if you can effect change, you do.

if one is jacked into the chi of the OneVerse, the power to effect change is considerable. With practice, that energy can be channeled like lightning–point it where it wants to go and get out of the way.

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this journey is not unlike a bus ride.

normally,

most everyone is asleep, content to let the bus driver do his job.

some doze, one eye open, somnambulantly aware.

a few stay awake, witness to the journey.

but normal is such a relative word.

lately, not a few of the passengers have been woken by the bumpy ride,

wondering,

who the hell is driving this bus?

(that is a good question, by the way. Complicated to answer, but a good question, none the less)

sometimes, the driver is just as sleep as the passengers.

sometimes there is no driver at all.

sometimes, the bus is being steered by committee, (and if that isn’t a clusterfark, I don’t know what is….)

but I digress.

the bus is barreling down a bumpy road and you look up just in time to see the “Dead End” sign whip past.  Dead. Death. End. Over. Kaput.

Wait. What?

you can waste time figuring out who to blame (who was it? the sleeping driver? the lack of a driver? Driving by committee? The creepy sabotage guy? A little bit of all of them, I suspect….)

or you can do something.

do something

do anything

risk making a mistake

leap before you look

so you open a window and leap off the bus.

landing on your ass, you look up as the rear of the bus disappears in its own dust.

it is only then that it hits you….

oh, wait. Everything you love is still on that bus.

damn

now what?

get back on the bus and try it again

what can you change that will change the fate of the people on the bus zooming down the path to extinction?

you might try getting the communal mind, the “driver by committee” to come to a consensus, thereby turning the bus around.

good luck on that one

(you see, even with the edge of the impending cliff rapidly approaching, I would venture to say that if you put a statement before the committee such as “we are going to fall off the cliff and die”, you still would not be able to get a clear majority to agree that this was true and once you had convinced them of the fact, you could not get them to agree that this was necessarily a bad thing. … sigh.)

You could stand in the middle of the bus and scream, “We are all going to die! Somebody needs to do something!” and then look around to see who volunteers.

“Dude, it’s not my problem. I am just along for the ride,” someone invariably says from the back of the bus. (I hate that guy. Don’t you just hate that guy?)

How about this? Why don’t you go up to the front of the bus, clock the driver with a brick behind the ear as hard as you can, and start steering.

….. What?

Now you want to protest that you have neither the experience nor the skill to drive a bus. Phhht. Technicalities. You can see the cliff. Is that not enough? Grab the wheel and steer towards anywhere that is not cliff. How hard is that?

You need to save yourself and everything you love and you need to act now. What, exactly, are you waiting for? Permission?

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Let’s pretend. Let’s pretend that you have stepped through the door and embraced your own evolution.

So, there you are, looking about you, at this place you used to call home, with your new and improved eyes, with your evolved perception of what is real, and you shake your head. How did it get this bad? Where did it all go wrong? How can I fix what appears to be patently unfix-able?

Well, the answer to that questions is problematic, (paradoxical, if you will).

We are like a snake having just shed our skin. Exhausted. Cranky. Soft skinned and overly sensitive. Just plain pissed off and not sure who to blame.

We’ve been slithering along thinking we had learned to accommodate a skin that pinched under the arms and stretched tight over our ass, making us look fat, thinking we could learn to live with just about anything, even this, when, damn, our nose starts peeling and everything starts coming loose all at once and there is nothing to be done but hook the loose bits into something solid so we can work our way free. A wise snake slithers free and never looks back.

But we are humans, not snakes. We think we need to look back, to understand why.

So we turn and look. There it lies, that empty skin, along with any tick or parasite that we happened to pick up along the journey, and we think, wow, what is that? That looks nothing like me. Why did I resist the change for so long?

That’s the healthy response.

But some of us want to cling to the old form of being. The ones who are good at denial and self delusion try to wiggle back into the skin, to no avail. Perhaps we gather it up, staple it back together, and duct tape it back on, hoping no one will notice the frayed edges and the new skin peaking out. When that does not work, we get angry at the skin. Stupid skin, getting all small and constraining. Why couldn’t it keep on doing what it was meant to do?

There are those who say that humans seek their own demise, that all our behaviors, no matter what the intent, take us inevitably towards that point of dissolution between snake and skin. Negative labels are applied this inevitable change, because all change is bad. Right? Right? They point fingers at the corrupt and dysfunctional institutions and social systems as the cause of this change. They say the belief in Armageddon becomes a self fulfilling prophesy, ensuring that we are doomed to the future that we fear the most.

Perhaps it would be better to think the opposite. Perhaps it is the tick tock clock of our own evolution that has caused the failure of the social order. If you look around and discover that things have ceased to serve their function, rejoice. The change is upon you.

In the face of epic change, let the broke stay broke. Trying to fix the unfix-able only postpones the inevitable outcome.

Be the snake. Slither free and don’t look back.

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There is a lot of opinion and analysis written about why George Lucas wrote Star Wars Episodes I, II, & III, thereby eviscerating the story of the first three movies and ripping their iconic magic to shreds before our collective eyes. The critiques could literally fill volumes. Here is a recently published rant about the sheer wrongheadedness behind the invention of the concept of midichlorians. link

To sum up the argument, the Force went from a universally understood concept laid out in Episode IV with a few succinct lines of dialogue, (“It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.” ) to stupid and unexplainable wharrgarbl (microscopic life-forms inside the cells of all living things. Little go-betweens used by those who wish to manipulate the Force.)

Some say he wrote in the concept of midichlorians after he cast the part of young Anakin Skywalker (or miscast, if you will; I cannot help but think this choice was made in a room full of marketing executives intent on maximizing the profit of the toy sales. The actor was a jarringly too young kid of six or seven, forced to say dialogue obviously written for an adolescent or at least a pre-teen) and then had to justify the kid’s rejection by the Jedi council as being too old through the use of the midichlorian argument.

Is it possible that George was trying to rip off Orson Scott Card’s Ender’s Game, hoping he could write Anikin as an Ender clone, brilliant, calculating, pragmatically ruthless, who believes the ends justify the means, bent on surviving at all costs? An unfortunate choice, if this was his source, as the reader of Ender’s Game can overlook Ender as a killer and still love him because Card puts you inside his mind so that you understand his unassailable innocence and know intimately how torn and conflicted Ender becomes, a thing almost impossible to communicate using the media of cinema  and using young actors unable to portray the subtleties of that particular kind of angst effectively

It is hard to understand the source of the whole excruciatingly ill-conceived script of Episode I. The midichlorian concept stands out amidst all the other dreck as a sign post pointing down the track to the impending train wreck to come. Personally, I think it came about because George was faced with a truly daunting task. He had invented the ultimate bad guy in Darth Vader, bad to the bone, embracer of the Darkside, dealer of death without remorse, quintessentially evil in the beginning but watered down later to become repentant in the end, redeemed and restored to the Lightside by the love of his son. With Episodes I thru III,  he needed to give Darth a backstory in which the audience could connect with the character of the young Anikin and care enough to sit through three movies knowing at the end he would be seduced by the Darkside and lose his soul.

Perhaps he couldn’t do it. I can imagine the writer’s block. George, sitting there in front of a blank screen, trying to imagine what kind of accident of luck or what series of bad choices would lead a child, firmly entrenched in the innocence of childhood, safe and secure in the Lightside, to go to a place so Dark that the Force could become a tool of death. Oh, mind you, it is not hard to imagine, because we see it every day on the nightly news, but remember, he had to keep the content innocuous enough for a PG rating.

On the other hand, perhaps the words flowed like water out of his fingertips but what ended up on paper was too close to home. Perhaps he wrote about the seduction of power and wealth and the almost sexual pleasure one got from holding people hostage with that power. It is a heady thing, having the power of life and death over those in need of one’s beneficence. George need only write about his own ascent into the halls of the powered elite of Hollywood, place a thin veil of scifi over its bones and he would have had a viable script. I am sure everything he wrote became painfully autobiographical.

Oh, it is not like the Darkside got George all at once. I am sure he could not point to any one decision and say, yeah, that was a mistake, that is when the Darkside won. In the beginning, after the original Star Wars movie, he fought to maintain his autonomy tooth and nail. He succeeded for a while. His only mistake might have been that he thought he could play with the big dogs of the Darkside and not walk away with their dung stuck to the bottom of his shoes.

Poor George. His alter ego, Luke Skywalker, never resolved the paradox, never understanding that the Lightside and the Darkside are two sides of the same coin and that one cannot exist without the other, that death is just as seductive as life, and that to truly own great power one must embrace both without reservation.  Perhaps that is why Luke comes back from Jedi training with an almost sinister arrogance that George must excise with the loss of a hand. Even George could not imagine someone with all that power not being corrupted by it.

Perhaps, as he wrote Episode I, he looked in the mirror and did not like what he saw. He needed to come up with an idea that would justify what he perceived as his own failures.  He needed something that would buffer him from the responsibility of his own actions. He needed a fall guy, something he could point at and say, hey, it wasn’t my fault, it was all those pesky things that I could not control. He invented a middle man. He invented the midichlorians.

With a single brush stroke, George Lucas transformed the Star Wars world from a magical place where anyone could embrace his own godhood to a universe where only the special few might control all the power, those few being the ones who were genetically endowed with the ‘right stuff’ in the shape of these unseen midichlorians.  A universe full the haves and the have-nots in which the haves had justification for any abuse that might follow. Hitler would have been proud.

There is a place in Hell for those kinds of beings who justify their actions with the argument: ‘If the universe didn’t want me to do it, it would not have given me the power to do so’. Ask any man with power, why he abuses it and the universal response will be “Because I can”.

Do you not think that the purveyors of death, destruction, famine, and poverty, on some subconscious level, blame the people who are their victims? If only they had not opened the door and invited the apocalyptic horseman in, thereby becoming co-conspirators in their own demise, then I would not have needed to destroy them, they think. Is it not the common cop-out of any conman as they declaim their innocence, that one cannot con an honest man? Do you not think that Hitler, if he had lived to come to trial, would have tried to turn the tables on his victims, blaming the Jews for allowing themselves to be herded into the gas chambers?

The only time George Lucas is comfortable with portraying power is in the writing of the elder Obi Wan Kenobi in Episode IV. There he was, living out in the wastelands of Tatooine, as far from temptation as possible, using the power of the Force to open an occasional pickle jar but not much more. Powerful yet having no compunction to use that power, innately aware of the subtleties of shifting the whole universe with a thought, yet content to do nothing.

See. It is easy to think of a thing being good when its exists in a vacuum.  Why do you think monks who take vows of celibacy and/or silence shut themselves up behind the cold austere walls of monasteries, far from temptation? Because the minute your will meets the will of another, conflict arises. People are like stars. We come into existence by consuming the stuff that birthed us, and then immediately set up housekeeping by clearing our personal space and organizing all the crap around us into planets and orbits and belts of debris. The violent act of will that births us sets up a series of consequences that  ripple out through the Oneverse like waves in an infinite sea, rewriting the history of everything. Being alive is an act of ruthless will. There is nothing kind and gentle about it. Neither is it wrong or evil.

Perhaps it is time we as a species stopped apologizing for our inherent nature, stopped hiding behind the midichlorian veil of false innocence, and owned up to the fact that we are powerful beings whose very existence causes collateral damage. The only difference between the Lightside and the Darkside is that the Lightside owns up to the responsibilities that go with being powerful beings in a powerful universe and the Darkside invents midichlorians so they might pretend at innocence and blamelessness.

Maybe that is why we think of it as the Darkside. Where as the Lightside lives their lives in open, honest introspection, the Light of the Oneverse passing through them unhindered, those of the  Darkside must operate in shadows and subterfuge, lest they look into the depths of their own souls and are destroyed by what they find there.

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