You are not a camera, and you are not a consumer.

Is thinking: TV, film and media... commercials, with it's constant -seeming- focus on you, and on your emotions, on how special and important you are.. How much damage to our psyche and general sense of self, and our well-being has been done... have we allowed to and sought to be done to us.

You are not a camera, and you are not a consumer.
You, are You.

Be not afraid... but be not confused.

This sense of dependency, of approval, and of sometimes deserving or priviledge... Who are we, when the power goes out?  Who are you, really?  Who am I? Where am I, when my imaginary audience lies naked there, and exposed.

Awaken. Be you, and be ready.
Be ready, for You.

J.R.R. Tolkien: Mythopoeia

To one [C.S. Lewis] who said that myths were lies and therefore worthless, even though 'breathed through silver'.
"Philomythus to Misomythus..."


http://mercury.ccil.org/~cowan/mythopoeia.html

the instrument of our song

The days we have lived, they're no longer ours. 
The days ahead belong to no one. 
Even today isn't ours... 
Today, is only the instrument on which the song of our lives may, or may not be, played.
-XV Oct4 2011

our virtues, have scars...

No Idol or Concept compares,
To the Beautiful Mess that We are:
All of our Scars have their Virtues,
And likewise, our Virtues, have Scars...
- XV, August 2011

This slight grimace,

This slight grimace, not wholly withheld so that you may notice, although born of my own hopeful, expectant and longing yet frustrated expectations of you not being met, is that same scornful frown of judgement and disdain you see each time I heartlessly, cruelly and self-righteously criticize your very best efforts and attentions.  We think less of each other now, though more of our own private ideas of each other, and become tired of our thoughts, blaming each other for our fatigue.

Reciprocal resentment thrives amidst our egoist entitled expectation.

Celebra o llora. Celebrate or moan. 6/3/11 XV

to know, is to cease to know.

to know, is to cease to know.
filed yet frustrating, stunted yet growing, obvious yet unexplainable.

dynamic, organic, tentative and evolving - These words comfort and threaten.
fear taints clarity.
accept awareness and cease to fear.
be.

Wind sans dust, a blank rust,

Wind sans dust, a blank rust,
bottom of the pond, sight gone.
Cater neither muffin nor baker.
Drawing air, sweat inspiration. Dig?

---
context:
nocturnal wired mystical awareness,
weights, walks, planks, water and diet(stone+nutrient) research.,
Prov 24:16,

Lament the one with answers and no questions left.
Better to be lost in Ignorance than Certainty. 
Better to wander in wonder. XV.

Dreamt and Learned May 16th 2011

Dreamt and Learned May 16th 2011

Traversing a dusk, or dawn wilderness, between windswept hillsides and bare, rocky shores.  Alone, with the cold mottled sky above, and this constantly draining light rain clouding my vision, chilling face, head, and neck... I have to move, to extend forward, compelled to be, ...to manifest... to prove, something.

Towards this stony sea-side way, I found on the ground dirty, weather-beaten camo pants. They fit. Another person, a familiar woman is floundering, as one who has just awoken in an unfamiliar place. She looks to me in this desolate place, for guidance, from confusion. I lead our way onward, as best I can.

The wild ocean tide encroaches suddenly from below, as we struggle away both for safety, and from this compulsive need to move forward, continuing to scale and pass one blistering climb after another.

Upon our arrival, my peer is sternly questioned, not having any answers. A moment passes. I am aware, attentive and cautious, intimidated and unsure in this brief silence, awaiting my interrogation. Quickly then, I am derisively, repeatedly questioned, and chastised for my condition, as it is found lacking. Searching myself for some reason, and not sure what exactly is happening or why, the only reasoning I can manage is to say: "I got lost on the way."

Upon awakening, I pray for wisdom and analyze this dream. Things felt, believed but not recognized are served here for my consideration, from that mystery beyond waking awareness. The day and the coming hours bear fruitful reflection, and a metaphor develops later on in the evening, in the same revelatory spirit - giving eyes for the obvious which had previously gone unnoticed.

This metaphor, brought on by desperate vocal reflection in the night air outside causes me to consider how the pain of an organ taken for the whole of the problem in place of an underlying illness merely detracts from an awareness of this illness, remaining part of an affected whole whether alarming pain, or not.  It is not the underlying illness in and of itself, and even if it were to be as healthy as possible, it can never repair the disease affecting the whole.  This metaphor applies to my family, and perhaps to other societies as well.

XV Spring 2011

go and make peace

It was difficult to get to church tonight.  The means I had - clothing, a car...  I didn't want to go.  I didn't desire the service, the anxiety, of what others may be thinking of me, or if they are uncomfortable... the announcement to come 'on time, and dressed appropriately.   The concrete modern slapped-together structure... I didn't want to go.  Even the Sacrament, the Eucharist... God is always with me.  Just put on the sock... put on the shoe... oh, the pants, of course.  The palm of my hand, warm, tinted reddish with circulating life so late in the day... such a tool, praiseworthy. 

It was a quiet battle, but praise be to God, I was listening...

I got what I needed... rushed, late.  But I went.  I got in the car and left.  30, 35, 45 miles per hour.   Church is there. I am here...  God is now.

I didn't attend Mass.  I got there late, and never entered...  I stayed in the parking lot, and called my mother.  We hadn't spoken in so long, though we see each other daily.  I wouldn't get out of the car... my heart was restless...  unresolved business, and hurriedness... want and need, desperation, normalized...

What could be done there was done.  A breath, and toward the church I went.  Across the dark and full parking lot I walked, slowly, yet decidedly, accepting what was.  Knowing and needing to and being. 

Entering the anteroom to the temple, I went to the restroom.  The ladies choir was siiingiing... I looked alright, nothing special.  I clear my eyes, making contact with who I pass by, smiling meekly, but honestly. 

This desperation to be inside, this pride... a cultural fear, of judgment, of hellfire, of pathetic-ness... what god would want that?..  A false, broken religion, that...  shuddering, trumpeted noise.  No, God wants us, all of us, here, together, just As We Are... Mass, or no Mass. 

I continue back toward the door I came in from, walking calmly.  The blood bank woman pleading 'save two babies!  ...Plaasma!.. safe THREE bay-biees!..'  The bulletin, and the paper... I take them as I exit, and walk outside, looking for some kind of appearance of church in this building.

The Steel-tube statue of St Michael, welded, on a baby-blue tile-shard background, with his big metal-wire wings, almost like it was inserted, or placed here from another place, and it's missing from it's previous location.  The white crime light a compliment by the small side exit, in contrast to the utter utility of the structure.  This spot, outside... this seems better.  Here, I read the bulletin announcements and, as Mass ends and the expectant to leave couple pushing their backs against the side door exit, like greyhounds ready to run... well, as those in attendance begin to flow out, I too consider doing the same.  Sauntering back to my vehicle, walking again, slow, but decidedly, if slow, I hear blood-lady again seeming to cry, pleading for the baybeese..  Now, I'm in this body undeniably, then.  I get in the car, letting the couple in the whimsical little european car I parked next to go before me.  How that tall man fit in that, who knows? 

Now, onward toward, if not directly to, home.  My house... whatever it holds tonight, whenever I get there.

I don't stop the car, but leave it idling a moment.  It rolls through the neighborhood at idle speed a while more, taking in the neighborhood, the windows down.  The smells, the sounds... locked and open doors, garages, lights on, and off...

This, is what I want to do.

-XV Feb 20 2011
---

FEBRUARY...

FEBRUARY... 
What does this month mean? 
What is February, beyond and beneath this slick and thick glossy veneer
of commerce glamorizing emotionally pleasing dependency and fear of
loss? Buy diamonds! Buy roses! Buy satin & lace, and chocolates &
champagne! Some R&B, and potpourri... One would think it began
sometime mid-January. 
Where and what, is this month - 
February? 

I'm not Google-ing a damn thing for a week. Maybe a month.

A week is weak. I'll make it a month.  This should be interesting...
I'm not going to drop off the internet completely, just no Google-ing.  This means when I come across something new, I ask about it, check an online or paper dictionary, or remain as I was.

Trying to catch up all the time, or feeling like it... I dunno. I'm just thinking: the universe, societies, the world - it's a very big place... but it's just too big without an observer, and actor, in relationship.

Knowledge is a great thing, but it's not all the same, or necessary, nor does it all bear the same cost of acquisition. Not all knowledge makes me free, and I need freedom.