Saturday, March 27, 2010
In Search of Honey and Salt
Tomorrow I visit Chicago to watch my son's dog a week or so. I will try to visit my philosopher friend rrushius from the philosophychatforum. Hmmmm, maybe get Lincoln to sign his book as I am but a couple of degrees from people that know him.
I do not have much to write about today- and maybe need a vacation of sorts, I mean I watched some old television and this side of the story and technology compared to back when it seems at the same time hoakey and profoundly predictive. The Korean war era consoles and aircraft seemed dated even in the sixty's. In particular two Outer Limits shows this morning- just when I am thinking over what my roommate said about turning his demons into friends in the Jungian manner I presume- well a lady in the show is marked by her childhood monsters- I concluded myself that our brain is such a thing it goes through these states of "dislocation" the show said which may have been a movie, also an episode OL on mystics and scientist and the reversal of his hand in a magnetic field to some fourth dimension!. I mean we all seem to have that night terror stage of development- her shrink said. In any case that we write at some stage of ideas pretty much the same thing and find it intelligible probably does tell us something about our deep psychology.
Thing is, if my post of yesterday is true then all who have said religion is the source of the world's deep wars and struggle. then this, dividing the world up or not into compartments of being or energy, reason or mystery, that the nature of how we view science and its foundation even secularized in these objective but quasi-mystical terms, is also a cause of great strife and evil in this world. Take away the religious metaphors and some scientists are political bigots with meaningless or arbitrary agendas- very much the politicians.
I hope to take a few photos there also. If inspired and the ideas worthy I will continue posting.
When I return here it will be Easter- May all your chocolate bunnies not be hollow. If any of you desire to visit for coffee when I am there notify me on facebook or comment here.
The accompanying illustration contains the dark copper rocks of the river around here in Western Wisconsin. These make good natural aquarium gravel.
I keep wondering and struggling to recall what it was like to live in a big city again. Just how windy is the Windy City? and What happened to all the top hats and machine guns? How odd if I had chosen one of two rides that I would not be making this trip because those I will visit would not be there.
* * * NEXT DAY March 28, 2010
Well, it looks like I will not be taking pictures this time around. I am waiting at the coffee shop now for the bus but wrote more along these lines this morning:
The Persistence of Vision
My freedom is your freedom
your freedom is not my slavery
My slavery is not your freedom
your slavery is my slavery
How persistent is our being
universal our struggle unto vision
The hour dealt anew, poker faced our God in all beginnings
half full or empty spring surrounds your heart
Into which I cannot see directly light and passion
save if I recall my own first awakenings and
Yet this too my struggle to see beyond my own heartbeats
I to you, also part vanished shell of shadows
our expectations frozen to melt too soon, short or long our time
May all your chocolate bunnies be not hollow, my child of Earth
* * *
Your calling is not my calling
my calling is not your failure
Your failure is not my calling
my failure is your failure
The spinning sea of many, lukewarm or as cultures clash
reduced to one flesh exercised unto God's face of nothingness
To enter the distant higher Kingdom, Heaven brought to Earth\
that we be born again, survive the baby killers
History's myths open or closed, the Mover sinks into sleep
or stumbles in stampede, relives one of His pillars
Crave you the raven safe in the arms of abandoned hope
on what branching tree of life hangs the endless rope?
The hares run by the hounds for fun and for the fox his fur
the nests of colored eggs their meadow children we infer.
* * *