Monday, June 30, 2008
I Think I Like What I Don’t Know About You – Tim Rogers
This whole day was useless
Next one's gonna be worse
Cos I'm wearing this badge of fortune like
A criminals wears a curse
I want to chase that rabbit right off the rails
And rip this metal keeping my mouth in check
But I need that muzzle like a razor and a stubble
Cuttin' all this history from my neck
Do you remember the gear I first saw you in
Eating Mexican in '92?
In between your folks and a birthday toast
It was black from your fringe to your shoes
I'm picking apples out of paintings
And making record covers in the sky
I missed my boat sitting here imagining
Your face when you cry
Don't be cruel, come on be sugar in my tooth
I think I like what I don't know about you
This whole day threw up some tickets
None I'd ever choose
The sky's so heavy it hangs like a beer gut
Spilling stuff on my shoes
Don't get me wrong, I ain't complaining
I still got my legs like a cheap Christmas tree
But if I got faith why am I so scared
Of everybody dying on me
Don't be cruel, come on be sugar in my tooth
I think I like what I don't know about you
Don't be cruel, come on be champagne in my shoe
I think I like what I don't know about you
Fish and chips stall down the south coast ready
I can show you what I'm worth
So set me up a bottle and salt and vinegar
If you get there first
I said if you get there first
Don't be cruel, come on be sugar in my tooth
I think I like what I don't know about you
Don't be cruel, come on be champagne in my shoe
I think I like what I don't know about you
Saturday, June 28, 2008
Friday, June 27, 2008
Thursday, June 26, 2008
La Civilización Occidental y Cristiana
Chin Up
I'm pissed at you because you're supposed to be my bro'.
When your blood met mine we made a promise,
a promise that that we'd always sweep eachother's path.
A promise.
Between us.
A promise that's now little more than a hazy memory…
… oh, a hazy memory
and the asshole of this elephant in the room.
We worked fucking
hard
to get so hardly fucked, and I don't want another
lesson in how to suck it up.
I don't want another lip to chew.
I want a shoulder to cry on.
A shoulder whose veins carry my spirit
when I'm too weak to remember it inside.
I mean, c'mon motherfucker!
If I dared swallow the panacean advice you snore at me these days,
my chin'd be so 'up' that the rest of me might take flight!
Ah, wait on.
Is that it?
D'you reckon I'd be better off without my feet on the ground?
Better off forgetting the root of this longing?
Better flying in the cloud of dreams and belief with
everyone else fighting
for a payrise and an extra week's rest leave?
They're OK clouds, man.
Honest.
I'm happy for you.
Honest…
… but honestly, can't you hear us both looking for a place to land?
Don't you remember when it was you dreaming?
Way back before they started writing the stories for you.
Please tell me you do, bro'
'cause I'm not sure I do.
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
When all is done
when all is done,
when our boyhood strivings
venture beyond their zenith,
when our grandest deeds
and our best laid plans
come to pass and leave us to remain,
when the wound of our youth
and the labyrinth it sews
is walked to its centre,
when all is done,
old friend, when all is done,
what will remain?
Monday, June 23, 2008
Sunday, June 22, 2008
Varieties of Religious Experience - William James
Siegfried Woldhek, 2008Tuesday, June 17, 2008
The More Things Change…
"I see no hope for the future of our people if they are dependent on the frivolous youth of today, for certainly all youth are reckless beyond words. When I was a boy, we were taught to be discrete and respectful of elders, but the present youth are exceedingly wise and impatient of restraint."
Hesiod - 800-720 BC.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Nathan Barley
Today I realised that:
My favourite character, Nathan Barley, from my old favourite website, tvgohome.com, has been
mIGHTY B OOSH
\http://www.tvgohome.com/
http://thegestalt.org/simon/cunt/ compendium!!
Friday, June 13, 2008
The Mystical Cookbook
"The only good function of a book on Zen should be to persuade the reader to engage in zazen.
In the same way, the only major purpose of a book on mysticism should be to persuade the reader to engage in mystical practice.
It is precisely like a cookbook: You give recipes and invite the reader to go out and perform the recipe, actually do it, and then taste the results. You are not supposed merely to learn the recipes, memorise the recipes, and then claim you're a cook".
Ken Wilber
Eye to Eye
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Who is he?
Is he waiting for civilisation or past it and mastering it?
Walt Whitman
Leaves of Grass
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Skeletons - Ollie Brown
... and if we forgetall our ways
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Newton - William Blake
From Wikipedia: "Blake's Newton (1795) demonstrates his opposition to
the "single-vision" of scientific materialism: Newton fixes his eye on
a compass (recalling Proverbs 8:27) to write upon a
scroll which seems to project from his own head".
"Energy is Eternal Delight"
- William Blake
Spiritual - Johnny Cash (famously covered by Spain)
I don't wanna die alone
Jesus, oh Jesus
I don't wanna die alone
My love wasn't true
Now all I have is you
Jesus, oh Jesus
I don't wanna die alone
Jesus
If you hear my last breath
Don't leave me here
Left to die a lonely death
I know I have sinned
but Lord I'm suffering
Jesus, oh Jesus
If you hear my last breath
Jesus,
I don't wanna die alone
Jesus, oh Jesus
I don't wanna die alone
My love wasn't true
Now all I have is you
Jesus
Oh Jesus
I don't wanna die alone
Jesus
Jesus
All my troubles
All My pain
Will leave me
Once again
All my troubles
All my pain
Will leave me
once again
All my troubles
All my pain
Will leave me
once again
Once again
Monday, June 9, 2008
Smirking at the death rattles of Howard's failed culture war...
It's hard to miss the welcome return of socially democratic leadership since KRudd's landed. Despite a minor slip-up on the Bill Henson debacle (a debate which might have been a touch ultra vires for our reliably nerdy, Christian diplomat - especially with Killface in the Arts ministry), a questionable approach to the working conditions of his staff, and a mere mismanagement of media when Brendan Nelson thrusted his flimsy foil around FuelWatch (check out that double-headed alliteration!), I've been consistently feeling the relaxation reflex as our lower quadrants get the Rudd treatment.
After all those years of disquiet while Brows ruled the roost, the relative warmfuzziness of our honeymoon's almost daily dish of progressive policy initiatives is just what my doctor ordered... which is a stunning segueway into the point of this post: Today, reading my daily Capital Monitor feed from the Federal Government, I noted Nicola Roxon MP (Federal Minister for Health and Ageing) announcing that the Government is developing Australia's first ever National Men's Health Policy "in recognition of the fact that men often have poorer health than women, are likely to die earlier, and are at greater risk of suicide".
I was chatting about it with my friend Simon at lunch today, and we were both genuinely surprised to read in the press release that:
- Men are expected to live 4.8 years less than women
- Men are three times more likely to commit suicide
- Men experience 70 per cent of the burden of disease related to injury
- Men are over-represented in deaths related to HIV/AIDS.
- The health of Indigenous men is also significantly worse than for any other group in Australia, with an average life expectancy of only 59 years – some 20 years less than non-Indigenous Australian males.
I was a touch turned-off by the narrative of the press release. Notwithstanding my strong support for measures like this, I found it a little disheartening that the Government saw it necessary to explain the "specific health needs and challenges" of Australian men by reference to women. I'd feel far more comfortable with a position that merely recognises discrete gender observances which generate from census data without pitting it against the other.
But, my petty nitpicking on narrative issues aside, the broader import of the initiative is wonderful. To mark the start of International Men’s Health Week, the Minister is launching the paper "Setting the Scene: Developing a Men’s Health Policy for Australia".
As an initial downpayment on a broader approach, the Government will invest:
- $122,000 for the Men's Health Information and Resource Centre Men's Shed, University of Western Sydney;
- $80,000 for the Toowoomba Older Men’s Network (TOMNet);
- $150,000 for OZHelp Tasmania, a workplace program;
- $117,000 for INCOLink in Victoria to undertake suicide prevention with apprentices in the building and construction industry;
- $460,000 to help prevent suicide in men, through the National Suicide Prevention Strategy; and
- $95,000 to encourage men to see their GP.
That last measure rang alarm bells for me. As is well documented on this blog, I'm recovering from terrible bout of illness born largely from a (completely unconscious) macho zero-self care policy I held for many years. I was discussing it only yesterday with a friend of mine who at 30 has just been diagnosed with testicular cancer. He'd been noticing his testicle increasing in size for about a year, but maintained a "she'll be right" mentality while the cancer took hold. It's shocks like these which are bringing me so deeply into my own of late. Shocks which remind me, at this thankfully crucial crossroad of age and development, that I need to take good care of myself.
So why don't we? For me, it's been the recognition that I'm not superman, and don't have to be. The recognition that I can be loved without first performing. That I don’t need to overwork myself. That I don't need to be everything to everyone to receive affection and affiliation. It’s taken years for me to realise that, after being enculturated to cop it on the chin and keep moving. I feel deeply for all those who don’t realise it before they’ve crossed over the point of no return. I see them everyday, broken, alone, overworked, confused, and I’m scared of them – scared of what I could have so easily become.
Simon and I spoke at length today about a core manifestation of this take-no-prisoners approach to living: our respective bouts with work-addiction. It’s cost us both a lot more than we’d bargained (or earned in the process). Like me, he was depressed and anxious for three years while his clumsy pleas went unheard by those he loved most. Busted, broken, forgotten, we weren’t of any use to eachother either. We were both talking about the dismay we’d felt in coming to terms with the way a public sphere dominated by conservative social policy permeated our private spheres so silently. We both lamented the aspirational pressure we’d felt trying to fit a mould we weren’t raised fit in: demanding careers, failing families and financial uncertainty despite hitherto unimaginable incomes. We both buckled to the bemusement of our hypnotised friends and families. He said beautifully: “They didn’t know either, they didn’t have experience with ‘those words’ coming from ‘my voice’”.
But the conversation wasn’t all doom and gloom. He’s got help, like me, and things are on the up. We spoke about the how the promise of our new outlook, our new jobs, our new loves, our new leaders, our new dreams – of the new times – might actually finally bolster us in our new selves.
And then we paused together for a moment, for what seemed like the first time since we were boys (from Bankstown).
I Remember
what was get in the way
of what's next.
Oh, don't forget
that what's to come
hasn't come yet.
- Devendra Banhart
Friday, June 6, 2008
Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell
But the moment never came
All the billion other moments
Were just slipping all away
I must have been tripping
Were just slipping all away
Just ego tripping
I was wanting you to love me
But your love it never came
All the other love around me
Was just wasting all away
I must have been tripping
Was just wasting all away
Just ego tripping
I was waiting on a moment
But the moment never came
But the moment never came
- Flaming Lips
Light - Ben Lee
You are a dream I've had forever
You know exactly what I'm wishing
You're gonna love me into submission
Feelings I had
While at your feet
Those kind of things
I cant repeat
You're gonna fill their world
With light
You put the point in exclamation
You took a day to build a nation
You're gonna teach me how to live
You're gonna teach me how to give
Feelings I had
Well who can say?
I cant explain them
Anyway
You're gonna fill their world
With light
You're gonna fill their world
With light
- Ben Lee
Dirty Work
"Keith Thompson, in one of his essays, described himself at twenty as a typical young man "initiated" by women. His parents divorced when Keith was about twelve, and he lived with his mother while his father moved into an apartment nearby.
Throughout high school Keith was closer to women than to other men, and that situation continued into college years, when his main friends were feminists whom he described as marvellous, knowledgeable, and generous, and from whom he learned an enormous amount. He then took a job in Ohio state politics, working with women and alert to the concerns of women.
About that time he had a dream. He and a clan of she-wolves were running in the forest. Wolves suggested to him primarily independence and vigour. The clan of wolves moved fast through the forest, in formation, and eventually they all arrived at a riverbank. Each she-wolf looked into the water and saw her own face there. But when Keith looked into the water, he saw no face at all".
In all its requisite partiality, I found a deep resonance with this passage from Robert Bly's Iron John and a few recent stations on my journey, when I was reading it last weekend. He was discussing the absence of old man initiators in contemporary Western society, and the documented effects this has had on the acceptance, ownership and growth of a healthy masculine in young men.
I've felt such absence of support, and therefore a tiring defiance, around this in my life. My Father was a hard-working and loyal wage slave for thirty-five stiff-lipped years. He didn't have the nurturing, social evolution, financial backing, economic climate, access to diverse educational outlets, travel opportunities, and freedom I've been gifted, to know how to claim his golden ball from the Wild Man's cage. My Grandad had also fought that long, lonely battle, alongside the Gentleman's error of play-acting civility and denying the fire in his belly. That left me at the mercy of the well-intentioned, but fatally-flawed maternal therapy culture of the 1970-80's, and its enemy #1: Wild Men's wisdom.
"When women, even women with the best intentions, bring up a boy alone, he may in some way have no male face, or he may have no face at all. The old men initiators, by contrast, conveyed to boys some assurance that is invisible and nonverbal; it helped the boys to see their genuine face or being".
It's been an interesting battle. I've claimed my face, but with a very hard fought theft of the key from under my Mother's pillow. In that defiance, I had to battle many destructive forces on my ego and relationships, which were in addition to the road of trials that the standard birther of wild wisdom faces. I've looked for mentors in the wrong places, I've wound up desperate and listening to false prophets, and I've gone it alone to the edge of annihilation… and I've done it without trust or care. It's been a powerful journey of challenge, but I often wonder whether the battle needed to be as difficult as karma had decided.
Like suffering a simultaneous existential crisis and ego-dissociation/borderline regression without any therapy in the third world for half a year. Like spending $200,000 of savings on trying to mend old wounds and serve the highest ethic I could, and coming out with jack shit beyond knowing I've stayed true to my (longing) centre. Like having a broken jaw, dismantled back muscle structure, inverted spinal problems, and pinched nerves, and continuing to work to pay for my life against all alarm bells and warning signals to pack it in. Like doing fucking furniture removal work with a broken shoulder when I'm a practicing solicitor of the Supreme Court of NSW! It's a question I can't seem to answer rationally… it was crazy… but it mended the alienation. I needed to run with my wolves.
"There's no sense in idealising pre-industrial culture, yet we know that today many fathers now work thirty or fifty miles from the house, and by the time they return at night the children are often in bed, and they themselves are too tired to do active fathering.
The industrial revolution, in its need for office and factory workers, pulled father away from their sons and, moreover, placed the sons in compulsory schools where the teachers are mostly women. D.H. Lawrence described what this was like in his essay "Men Must Work And Women As Well". His generation in the coal-mining areas of Britain felt the full force of that change, and the new attitude centred on one idea: that physical labour was bad.
Lawrence recalls his father, who had never heard this theory, worked daily in the mines, enjoyed the camaraderie with the other men, came home in good spirits, and took his bath in the kitchen. But around that time the new schoolteachers arrived from London to teach Lawrence ands his classmates that physical labour is low and unworthy and that men and women hold strive to move upward to a more "spiritual" level – higher work, mental work. The children of his generation deduced that their fathers has been doing something wrong all along, that men's physical work is wrong and that those sensitive mothers who prefer white curtains and an elevated life are right and always have been.
During Lawrence's teenage years, which he described in Sons and Lovers, he clearly believed the new teachers. He wanted the "higher" life and took his mother's side. It wasn't until two years before he died, already ill with tuberculosis in Italy, that Lawrence began to notice the vitality of the Italian workingmen, and to feel a deep longing for his own father. He realise then that his mother's ascensionism had been wrong for him, and had encouraged him to separate from his father and from his body in an unfruitful way."
It's been terribly hard – perversely so – and yet, there's always been the wild man inside who holds the wisdom and knew what needed to be done. My karmic pit was trans-generational, and there's nobody to blame (I still think we should all Fuck the Man for certain, even if I now know there is no Man). I was gifted the circumstances to develop the power of foresight, of the longview, and the strength in many facets of my being to be able to do the deep work of healing my ancestors didn't have the conditions to face. As acutely painful as that has been.
Where to from here? Physical work, mental work, spiritual work. Isn't it obvious?
It was a fine synchronicity to receive an email from Trevor Grey this evening calling Men who've been through his Trusting the Masculine to farewell our "initiation ground" at Thump Boxing on June 18. See you there.
Thursday, June 5, 2008
More from Gilad...
He was lamenting some sad aspects of the collective interior which arose while inside the Big Mind process. He especially emphasised an upsetting anticipation which was revealed among the retreatants of their fragile individual and collective peace being dismantled, and how their self-structure and the culture defended against that with an aggressive, discontented scepticism of others, and a guilt about enjoying life and opening to fun.
The way the ice was broken on that painful space was simply hilarious: “As was said in the Big Mind session, as the voice of the chosen people: "Fun? We, the chosen people? We can't have fun. Fun is for Italians!”.
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
White People for Peace - Against Me!
Ben Lee recently did an acoustic cover of the whole New Wave album by US rock outfit, Against Me!. I heard him doing two covers on the radio about three months ago and got hooked. They've been on heavy rotation ever since. Here's the lyrics to my favourite cover, White People for Peace.
- - - - - - - - - -
East and west could not agree
So their generals gave a call and gathered at the border
With guns ready, drawn and aimed
each side was praying to a god to bless them with strength and courage
it was in his name that artillery lit the sky on fire
the people sang protest songs to try and stop the soldier’s gun
Protest Songs in a response to Military Aggression
Protest songs to try and stop the soldier’s gun
But the battle raged on...
Sirens filled the air and the ground shook with war
Civilian casualties has been a cost that was predetermined
when interviewed for report victims pleaded in frustration
Their claim: That this was a war without reason
Bureacrats enraged in debate to try and reach a resolution
the people sang protest songs to try and stop the soldier’s gun
Protest Songs in a response to Military Aggression
Protest songs to try and stop the soldier’s gun
But the battle raged on...
The Broadcast like their prayers went unanswered and ignored
god, like the rest of the world, just watched in silence
There was purpose to be served, there were fortunes to be earned
before a peace could be called to stop a war
Protest Songs in a response to Military Aggression
Protest songs to try and stop the soldier’s gun
But the battle raged on...
- Against Me!
Subtle Body Abuse
- Sofia Diaz
Integral Centre in Sydney Launches
Monday, June 2, 2008
TagGalaxy
I searched my name, and sure enough it came up with a litany of Skywalker links. One stood far above the pack, however. Oh, yes it did.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Amusing (and this time, embarrasing) Errors in Predictive Text Messaging #3
Mate, that’s never been my responsibility. They decided in January to ship that off to Asian.
Flying Solo
Check out http://www.flyingsolo.com.au/ for a mature offering on the nature of small business, and for collective intelligence and support in the process.
Also check out this link, for news on how to get a copy of the book written by the website’s owners. It looks excellent for this kind of thing, and even has a word of support from Carl Honoré, author of the lauded book, In Praise Of Slowness.
Saturday, May 31, 2008
God, Make Up Your Mind
God make up your mind
God make up your mind
Do you wanna play fair
Or should I take what's mine?
Like everyone else
Why am a teacher on the street sign
has done so much more than politicians
than musicans
You wanna help someone you gotta be a no one
that's what I figured out the cat in the street meant
You gotta make up your mind
make up your mind
make up your mind
- Cold War Kids
"You Cretin!"
From Timothy McSweeny's Internet Tendency – "Lacanian Jokes of the Day":
Lacan once had a patient who believed he was a chicken.
At last, the man was cured. When he was released from the asylum, he crossed the road. Lacan called out, "Why are you crossing the road?"
"To get to the other of the Other," the patient replied.
"You cretin!" Lacan said. "The other of the Other does not exist."
"I know," the patient replied, "but tell that to the fox!"
"I guess he's cured," Lacan thought to himself, "at least by Parisian standards."
_ _ _
And for those of you who know me well, this has superb interwoven meaning:
_ _ _
"The Chosen Ones" - Diane Hamilton in Tel Aviv, Israel
"we did a powerful "bigmind" with the "voice of the chosen people"- a cultural pathology for Jewish people at times - and we moved this voice from ego, to tribe, to ethno, to world, to planetary and then kosmic-centered - that was AMAZING! I really experienced how it is to feel like the chosen planet".
World Press Photo 2008
I'm hoping to get to the World Press Photo Exhibition at the State Library before it finishes on 5 June.
The bus shelter advertising for this exhibition has been lighting up my neurons every morning for a fortnight. There's a number of stellar shots on view, but by far my favourite is this one of locals in the Congo evacuating enormous dead mountain gorillas with makeshift stretchers.
Finding the Father - Robert Bly
My friend, this body offers to carry us for nothing - as the ocean carries logs. So on some days the body wails with its great energy; is smashes up the boulders, lifting small crabs, that flow around the sides.
- Robert Bly
All You Who Sleep Tonight - Vikram Seth
All you who sleep tonight,
Far from the ones you love
No hand to left or right
And emptiness above -
Know that you aren't alone,
The whole world shares your tears
Some for two nights or one
And some for all their years.
- Vikram Seth
Untitled - Kabir
I talk to my inner lover, and I say, why such
rush?
We sense that there is some sort of spirit that loves
birds and animals and the ants--
perhaps the same one who gave a radiance to you in
your mother's womb.
Is it logical you would be walking around entirely
orphaned now?
The truth is you turned away yourself,
and decided to go into the dark alone.
Now you are tangled up in others, and have forgotten
what you once knew,
and that's why everything you do has some weird
failure in it.
A Moment - Ruth Stone
Across the highway a heron stands
in the flooded field. It stands
as if lost in thought, on one leg, careless,
as if the field belongs to herons.
The air is clear and quiet.
Snow melts on this second fair day.
Mother and daughter,
we sit in the parking lot
with doughnuts and coffee.
We are silent.
For a moment the wall between us
opens to the universe;
then closes.
And you go on saying
you do not want to repeat my life.
Nunc Dimittis - James Laughlin
Little time now
and so much hasn't
been put down as I
should have done it.
But does it matter?
It's all been written
so well by my betters,
and what they wrote
has been my joy.
Nothing But Death - Pablo Neruda
Death is inside the bones
like a barking where there are no dogs.
- Pablo Neruda
Monday, May 26, 2008
It's Grand
And lie in the Domain,
And wake up every second day -
And go to sleep again.
. "It's Grand" - Banjo Patterson (1902)
Saturday, May 24, 2008
"Lord, grant me one honesty" - Michael Dransfield
difficult to be whole. The uniy of self
is riddled through by doubt, which
devours concentration as small insects
might tunnel through a book seemingly
intact, but torn from certainty.
And there are interruptions. The sun
is torn from me by the wind of seasons changing
merging, breaking, a branch rasps
against the window, voices of children.
Lord, grant me one honesty. What I ask
is not the valour of being sure; perhaps
to hear again the mind, itself, a rivulet
flowing or falling. Yes, even that, and know
it is divinity. But there is nothing
as positive. Only from time to time
when there is no-one near
comes a small sound, as a child's voice,
which I take and pass on to reed and string,
hoping for the one note to appear, and be
wind on high stone, or a river; hoping
somehow to please You with my song.
Friday, May 23, 2008
… that seems to exist in a fourth dimension beyond jeans
Sass and I went to see a couple of readings at the Sydney Writer's Festival tonight. Anne Enright did a superb reading from her recent book of short stories, charting a stoic Irish wife's response to her husband's intermittent "relapses" of cheating. Junot Diaz spoke after her, also waxing about cheaters. True to form, he delivered a cracking yarn spoken from his signature Domincan voice (and done in an interesting second person voice).Alma is a Mason Gross student, one of those Sonic Youth, comic-book-reading alternatinas without whom you might never have lost your virginity. Grew up in Hoboken, part of the Latino community that got its heart burned out in the eighties, tenements turning to flame. Spent nearly every teen-age day on the Lower East Side, thought it would always be home, but then N.Y.U. and Columbia both said nyet, and she ended up even farther from the city than before. She is in a painting phase, and the people she paints are all the color of mold, look like they've just been dredged from the bottom of a lake. Her last painting was of you, slouching against the front door: only your frowning I-had-a-lousy-Third-World-childhood-and-all-I-got-was-this-attitude eyes recognizable. She did give you one huge forearm. I told you I'd get the muscles in. The past couple of weeks, now that the warm is here, Alma has abandoned black, started wearing these nothing dresses made out of what feels like tissue paper; it wouldn't take more than a strong wind to undress her. She says she does it for you: I'm reclaiming my Dominican heritage (which ain't a complete lie—she's even taking Spanish to better minister to your mom), and when you see her on the street, flaunting, flaunting, you know exactly what every nigger that walks by is thinking. You met at the weekly Latin parties at the DownUnder in New Brunswick. She never went to those parties, was dragged there by her high-school best friend, Patricia, who still listened to TKA, and this was how you got the chance to strike while, as your boys put it, the pussy was hot.
Alma is slender as a reed, you a steroid-addicted block; Alma loves driving, you books; Alma owns a Saturn (bought for her by her carpenter father, who speaks only English in the house), you have no points on your license; Alma's nails are too dirty for cooking, your spaghetti con pollo is the best in the land. You are so very different—she rolls her eyes every time you turn on the news and says she can't "stand" politics. She won't even call herself Hispanic. She brags to her girls that you're a "radical" and a real Dominican (even though on the Plátano Index you wouldn't rank, Alma being only the third Latina you've ever really dated). You brag to your boys that she has more albums than any of them do, that she says terrible white-girl things while you fuck. She's more adventurous in bed than any girl you've had; on your first date she asked you if you wanted to come on her tits or her face, and maybe during boy training you didn't get one of the memos but you were, like, umm, neither. And at least once a week she will kneel on the mattress before you and, with one hand pulling at her dark nipples, will play with herself, not letting you touch at all, fingers whisking the soft of her and her face looking desperately, furiously happy. She loves to talk while she's being dirty, too, will whisper, You like watching me don't you, you like listening to me come, and when she finishes lets out this long demolished groan and only then will she allow you to pull her into an embrace as she wipes her gummy fingers on your chest. This is me, she says.
Yes—it's an opposites-attract sort of thing, it's a great-sex sort of thing, it's a no-thinking sort of thing. It's wonderful! Wonderful! Until one June day Alma discovers that you are also fucking this beautiful freshman girl named Laxmi, discovers the fucking of Laxmi because she, Alma, the girlfriend, opens your journal and reads. (Oh, she had her suspicions.) She waits for you on the stoop, and when you pull up in her Saturn and notice the journal in her hand your heart plunges through you like a fat bandit through a hangman's trap. You take your time turning off the car. You are overwhelmed by a pelagic sadness. Sadness at being caught, at the incontrovertible knowledge that she will never forgive you. You stare at her incredible legs and between them, to that even more incredible pópola you've loved so inconstantly these past eight months. Only when she starts walking over in anger do you finally step out. You dance across the lawn, powered by the last fumes of your outrageous sinvergüenzería. Hey, muñeca, you say, prevaricating to the end. When she starts shrieking, you ask her, Darling, what ever is the matter? She calls you:
a cocksucker
a punk motherfucker
a fake-ass Dominican.
She claims:
you have a little penis
no penis
and worst of all that you like curried pussy.
(Which really is unfair, you try to say, since Laxmi is technically from Guyana, but Alma isn't listening.)
Instead of lowering your head and copping to it like a man, you pick up the journal as one might hold a baby's beshatted diaper, as one might pinch a recently be-nutted condom. You glance at the offending passages. Then you look at her and smile a smile your dissembling face will remember until the day you die. Baby, you say, baby, this is part of my novel.
This is how you lose her.
Earl Grey
hidden world
we disclose
through
the simple joy
of being noticed
I wouldn’t
dare admit
how the
bergamot on
your tongue
conjures
childhood
reminders of
Grandad’s
aftershave.
Thursday, May 22, 2008
All Day Practice
The Integral Spiritual Centre recently posted a video of Father Thomas Keating and Diane Musho Hamiltion talking about spontaneous practice outside the consecrated space of prayer or meditation. I loved the way their chat coursed around an underlying theme of unconscious competence being the hallmark of stabilised transformation.
The video caught my attention mainly because I've been noticing a marked improvement in my ability to carry the embodied wisdom cultivated in mediation and prayer into my daily interactions since recommitting to daily practice a few months back.
The big one's been finding innovative ways of practicing 'not this, not that' with the thought process that seeks to define categories and concepts outside of my proximate self as I (e.g. judgements or expectations at work or old concepts of who I am in relation to family). I've been finding that I can hold that mind in a not this, not that state to reveal a deeper level of presence, and then from that state of presence, allow the conceptual mind to do its work. It's been great practice. I'm finding myself aware of my self system as an undefinable process, and then in not suppressing any part of it, I'm able to experience a more unconditioned presence as self and a healthy self concept in perpetual motion.
When doing it today, I noticed an interesting way of returning to consciousness which is able to be found when I try to not define myself. I open myself to the realisation that everything is in flow, then notice it through my thinking processes (which is where my attention is when I feel the need to return to consciousness other than thinking!) that this is true, and then commence the not this, not that from there. What happens is that my thinking mind is satisfied that it has worked out that the entire universe is flow, then turns to defining me, and from that spot quickly realises that the rules outside also apply inside, and then rests. It's a nice neutraliser for my neuroticism!
Resting as open presence at work has been really pleasing for me. It's given me the ability to get through this rather incongruent temporary compromise with more equanimity and also allowed me the space to challenge my assumptions of what "this is". The mix of the two has been a critical insight. In the past I've thought that being in deep presence would just end up pointing out the pains of this compromise, and so I engaged in avoidance. I've also existed in the concepts of what I think this thing "is" so deeply that I've not been able to locate my presence beyond the clockwork universe I'd sealed myself in. With the two together, I get to notice that I'm not stuck beyond the inevitable slips into unconsciousness, and that I'm also able to inhabit perspectives relating to this work which are pleasing and productive for my health and wellbeing.
Beyond that, I'm also noticing that through holding this practice throughout the day, I'm also able to see the distinction between presence and the self-structure more. It's given me a cool insight into application of a Wilber-Combs matrix type analysis of my own path forward. From the distinctions I'm inhabiting, I'm able to be my present less-conditioned self anywhere, and yet, I also need to have a healthy ego which is happy and engaging in activities which are developmentally appropriate. This has been a big shift for me. I've been trying to overcome a horrible greeny/spiritually pluralistic defence inside me which has been either seeing wide presence and thinking that all is manifest so there's no good grounded reason for allowing myself to do things which are at my edge (a terrible neurosis around seeking permission for being myself to avoid the revocation of love in previously contingent relationships), or seeing my edge of development and then losing presence in the sole identification with that ego. This healthier space between the two is very bright indeed.
It's a place where I can intersect my own state capacities with my own stage capacities (across various lines). It's a bit like the triangular conception done by Terri O'Fallon at Pacific Integral on charting through the matrix what you can and can't see. To me, by knowing where my presence is, I don't have to be at the mercy of the self-concept all the time. By not being at the mercy of the self-concept, I can get enough subject-object distance on it to engage in transformative work, anywhere, in real time. With that, I'm able to be in process while I engage with the ways my stage-structure conceptions (rather than my defences and disillusionment) want to interact with the world(s) that stage-concept discloses to my perceptions and analysis... and all that's happening across my self-system continuum (proximate, distal etc). It's a very liberating practice for a dude who has been stuck in emotional and physical turmoil (and the scripts inside that turmoil) for a while.
Blessing of history, as first woman bishop consecrated
(From smh.com.au) - IN THE presence of her husband, her twin sons, the head of the Australian Anglican church, archbishops and bishops and veterans of a 30-year campaign for women in ministry, Kay Goldsworthy made history last night when she was consecrated the nation's first woman bishop.
Bishop Goldsworthy broke down the barriers at the male-only ecclesiastical office at Perth's St George's Cathedral, where she was ordained as a priest in 1992.
She wore to her consecration symbols and gifts of her church life. She carried a mitre, designed by a close friend and mentor, Father Nigel Wright. Around her neck was the pectoral cross, a gift from her family and from the Parish of Applecross that she received when she was made deaconess in 1984. Her episcopal ring was a gift from women deacons and priests in the diocese of Perth, and other supporters of women in ministry.
The Archbishop of Perth, Dr Roger Herft, said after the ceremony that when he offered Bishop Goldsworthy the nomination she asked: "Why me?"
"After several weeks she met with me and her response is etched in my memory: 'I can only say 'yes' because God has already said 'yes' to the world and to me in Jesus. The 'yes' to this call to be bishop scares me as will all the other 'yes-es' that God will place upon me. I rest in God's 'yes' and pray that I can be a channel of blessing for others."'
He added: "I pray that Kay's 'yes' tonight will give women in particular the confidence to say 'yes' knowing that the 'yes' that God offers in Christ as portrayed in this church and in its expression of ordained ministry is beyond gender, class, colour, culture and nationality."
The long-time campaigner for women bishops Dr Muriel Porter said she never thought the moment would happen in her lifetime and the symbolism of the event was "beyond telling".
"Tonight is like another Easter eve. A new fire has been lit and the candles lit from it are the Light of Christ dispelling the shadows that have lingered over women for far too long."
The Australian Anglican Primate, Phillip Aspinall, said Bishop Goldsworthy's service pointed to the church's inclusive nature. "The fact that today you are the first woman admitted to this office in this church points to the ongoing overcoming of barriers in the ever-widening embrace of God."
The archbishops of Adelaide and Brisbane attended but missing was the Sydney Archbishop, Peter Jensen, an outspoken opponent of women priests and bishops.
http://www.smh.com.au/news/national/blessing-of-history-as-first-woman-bishop-consecrated/2008/05/22/1211183001218.html
Wednesday, May 21, 2008
Present Centred
... and she writes a great turn of phrase.
This is a recent post which really got me:
"There are fingernail marks in the tight grip I have on the words of a beautiful angel called Ana, who a month ago told me to stop doubting the validity of my perceptions. It's healthy to doubt the knowledge that I have about those perceptions, but don't doubt the seeing".
http://calmclarity.blogspot.com/2008/05/present-centred.html
A work in progress
lightforms against
the foam ceiling and
airconditioner vents
defiantly entertaining
an otherwise vacant hour
yet feebily binding me
to the memories of a
distant life lived before
my hours became
my only commodity.
If his humanity
was apparent
I’d love to know
if he was ogling
the expanse from
his harbour view
or the shallower
waters in his reflection.
Friday, May 16, 2008
A Cartoonist Talks to God
God bless our contradictions, those parts of us which seem out of character. Let us be boldly and gladly out of character. Let us be creatures of paradox and variety: creatures of contrast; of light and shade: creatures of faith. God be our constant. Let us step out of character into the unknown, To struggle and love and do what we will.
Monday, May 12, 2008
Integral Cente, Integral Foundation - Sydney, Australia.
A 5-Day Retreat
Friday 5 – Wednesday 10 Sept 2008
This five day retreat gives you space and time to explore the depths
of Big Mind and Big Heart through an Integrally-framed range of
meditative, psychodynamic and body practices.
Diane Musho Hamilton Sensei is the dharma successor of American Zen
Master Genpo Roshi, and is his first successor in the Big Mind
lineage. Diane's program will lead you through Zen meditative
practices, psychodynamic shadow work, and the Big Mind process. The
retreat will also include bodywork and energetic practices to
provide you with a rounded transformative experience that engages
the full depths of your self through mind, body, spirit and shadow.
effective method of self investigation designed to give you an
experience of your unconditioned nature. This process is a new
synthesis of methods from western psychology and the non-dual wisdom
traditions which successfully navigate core aspects of your psyche
to reveal the compassionate nature of your heart and to cultivate a
better understanding of the limitless wisdom and presence of your mind.
Zen sensei, Big Mind process facilitator, and as a key teacher with
Ken Wilber's Integral Institute. She is also a professional
mediator, group facilitator, and trainer in conflict resolution.
presents a rare opportunity to study and practice with Diane on her
first teaching visit to Australasia.
*Dates:* Fri 5 – Wed 10 Sep
Scholarship places are available.
http://www.integralcentre.org/bigmind
email: integralcentre@gmail.com
/Visit and retreat sponsored by The Integral Centre, Sydney/
Sunday, May 11, 2008
Loesch mir die Augen aus
Extinguish both my eyes: I see you still;
Slam shut my ears: I can still hear you talking;
Without my mouth I can implore your will
And without feet: Towards you I keep on walking.
Break off my arms: I shall still hold you tight;
My heart will yet embrace you all the same.
Suppress my heart: My brain knows no deterrent;
And if at last you set my brain aflame
I carry you still on my bloodstream's current.
- Rainer Maria Rilke
Friday, May 9, 2008
Theopoetics
In researching for a poetry project I've been working on, I happened this morning on the interesting work of the theopoetic movement. I'll let them tell you more about it:
Madeleine L'Engle: … I sometimes think God is a shit-and he wouldn't be worth it otherwise. He's much more interesting when he's a shit.
Melinda Henneberger: So… to you, faith is not a comfort?
ML: Good heavens, no. It's a challenge: I dare you to believe in God. I dare you to think [our existence] wasn't an accident.
MH: Many people see faith as anti-intellectual.
ML: Then they're not very bright. It takes a lot of intellect to have faith, which is why so many people only have religiosity.
--Newsweek, May 7, 2006
Theopoetics offers us another path, another tool to help us deepen our faith and challenge passivity and oppression toward a deeper becoming. And unlike the proof and comfort of assurance that the tools of religiosity can seem to provide, theopoetics replaces certainty with Beauty and sureness with Art. It lets us open old drawers and crates, unpack grandmother's theology, great-grandfather's books, and read them in the light, their dust swept aside by the movement of the breath: Spirit.
For all that it offers, theopoetics is not a readily found idea, and as such, has not garnered as much attention as perhaps it might be due. In fact, without access to a specialized library, much of the information pertaining to it, and certainly direct access to its literature, is not available. Should one begin their search online, the smatterings of reference to it are few and far between.
A handful of articles and texts are repeatedly found, and yet they are just a few facets of the jewel.Consequently, after I had begun to look around for theopoetics materials, and found them to be relatively rare and far flung, I came to believe that there should be a means of corralling the available information so that it was more accessible to those seeking. After some months I decided to move on the idea and make a site (even if an asynchronous, non-spatial one) from which people could begin to explore. From that point forward, working, reading, and exploring for the site has only made me more certain that there needs to be more work, reading, and exploration.
I believe that the site can become the digital nexus for what I imagine will become an increasingly covered and interesting topic. While I am unabashedly Quaker, it is not. Though my selections are undoubtedly influenced by my Membership in the Religious Society of Friends, I intend for this little corner of the web to be useful to a broad range of spiritual and poetic thinkers; my desire is that it serve as a crossroads for all those interested in the field, process, and potential of this Art as theology. I would like it to become a ready reference for all things theopoetic. For students and teachers and for all of us that read, aware of the Breath.
While what I present here is not complete, I believe it covers most of the major work and workers to date. I will continue to update content substantially in the following months: in the future I plan for, there will be more names, texts, details and conferences to add. To that end, if there are desires for additional information to be included here, or clarifications/corrections, I hope to learn of them and will do my best to accommodate. The only thing I ask is that you send me an email if you find this site useful and/or interesting. Contact from others helps to lubricate the gears.
There's also a really interesting article co-authored by process philosopher Catherine Keller here.
Thursday, May 8, 2008
China by Bob Perelman
It's always time to leave.
