Escape From a Swarzschild Radius of Insanity

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I have finally become a refugee.

From Twitter and Facebook, that is.

Last night I deleted both accounts before I went to bed and woke up this morning with such a sense of relief that I knew I’d done exactly the right thing.

I started out years ago on Twitter with 40 followers and ended up with over 1.5K of the buggers. This is not a good thing, as anyone conversant with the horrific phenomenon of Twitter can attest.

Twitter. It’s a great tool for keeping up-to-date on whatever news you’re interested in; you get the latest breaking stuff first, plus much of the as-yet-unverified speculation. But with that comes a clamouring clinging of hanger-on demons which will eventually deeply wound your sanity if you’re even halfway in your right mind to start with.

Some issues, let’s face it, are bound to be emotive. Transgender Rights, the Patriarchal control of the globe, Donald Trump…So you make a resolution to rise above the gutter-wiping of the basest Tweeps. I’ll just observe, you tell yourself, and take in arguments from both sides – to which end, you include a broad spectrum of class, race and political affiliation in your Follow list. Sounds about right.

But gradually, over months and possibly years, you find yourself taking sides. taking umbrage at the others. Taking seriously the emotionally immature rantings of a faceless archon who uses 140 characters to inflict as much pain as possible. And you find yourself doing this, too; becoming habituated to being as pithily nasty in as short a text as humanly possible to someone you don’t even know.

This is the template for all 9 rings of Dante’s Hell to coalesce and eventually collapse into a screaming, barking mad black hole of insanity.

And Facebook? With even the best of intentions of keeping it confined to family, you find yourself scrolling through endless reams of photographic saccharine memes, brain-deficient repetitions of somebody else’s endless idle time…nope. Just Nope.

And so I left those places. Threw them to the West, iconic icons and all, turned on my heel and walked away.
Because I can’t be having with this any longer.

Pic: Paul Kidby’s rendering of Esmerelda Weatherwax

Absent The Human Race

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With a damned-near last quarter Moon opposing my natal Saturn and Mercury running retrograde all over my Sun, Ascendant and 12th House, I had a bit of a turn today.

A genteel, non-full-retard Moment, granted ; but trying out a new bit of coding on a brand new data problem in the midst of an office-furniture-moving, colleagues-yelling-at-each-other circus was not conducive to my peace of mind.

In fact, I felt downright depressed, which is fairly unusual for me.

This was probably exacerbated by the discovery yesterday of the death 12 years ago of an old, intense friend of my AA days. I think I had known for a while that he was no longer in this density, and I was not at all surprised. Maybe a little sad. The poor bugger didn’t even make his 60th birthday.

And so, in this suitably gloomy and angst-torn atmosphere, I’m about to give Guy McPherson another go. He has a fairly new book out, “Going Dark” , the blurb of which,on Amazon,reads :We are the last individuals of our species on Earth. How shall we respond? How shall we act?

If industrial civilization is maintained, climate change will cause human extinction in the near term. If industrial civilization falls, sufficient ionizing radiation will be released from the world’s nuclear power plants to cause human extinction in the near term.

In the wake of this horrific conclusion, conservation biologist Guy McPherson proposes we act with compassion, courage, and creativity. He suggests we act with the kind of empathy for which humans are renowned. In other words, he suggests we act with decency toward the humans and other organisms with which we share this beautiful planet. “

It seems like exactly the sort of gently sad, unarguable set of visions of the future – absent the human race – which will cheer me up right now.

Diffraction Pattern

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Well, now – that was fun.

Within the huge building which houses the company I work for there is a barrier between the elevator hall and the canteen consisting of a centre glass gate at waist height and two waist-high turnstiles flanking it.

I came down the stairs for my 10 am smoke, debouching directly before the barrier, where there was a melee: 4 or 5 people coming from the canteen with arms full of snacks, half-a-dozen folks on the elevator hall side trying to get into the canteen, and myself, paused in the doorway.

We sorted it out. But for a minute there, I was pretty certain I was going to have to diffract between the two turnstiles.

Alas – my wavelength is not of the same order as the gaps in the barrier, so it would have been fairly messy.

World Without End, Again

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Straining my brain to follow a previous coder’s logic around the block – and around the block some more – today, but that feeling of having finally cracked it is worth all the pain.

In a similar vein, thinking about how this culture has identified Order as the field which arises from Chaos. And I don’t think that that is so – especially given our insane way of trying to Be in the World by dominating it. I think it’s more like our collective wishful thinking which sees order forming from chaos.

I tell you, what I see is a primeval matrix which generates the field of Love.

Chaos looks very much like Love at its most primal – everything Being Itself, unconstrained, random and headed Nowhere.

 

 

From this primary matrix it is possible to see the arising of a somewhat secondary – although from where we stand it looks pretty fundamental – field which some who have experienced call Eros, and some, like myself, simply Love.

And that’s where everything else originates: light and shadow, polarities and dualities and singularities. All children of Eros, Chaos made conscious of Itself and falling in Love, over and over, with itSelf. World without end.

 

Chaos found here

We Don’t Have Time

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There’s a bird sitting on the roof of the Legendary Car. I think it’s an Olive Thrush. I can see it from where I sit at the keyboard through the growing network of outdoor cameras we keep stringing around the place. Not so much for security, perhaps – if we capture an intruder’s image we probably won’t recognise him and neither will the cops – but more out of a sense of something fun to do.

I make it sound trivial, fatuous – but it’s not. Really, it’s not.

Shopping this morning on this Heritage Day national holiday ( also known as Braai Day, which kind of makes me mad; we’re not all Boers) was surprisingly stress-free among the crowds. For once, we knew what we wanted, found it and purchased it. For once, the hapless fellow shoppers didn’t make me angry – with them and for them – at all. I just let them go.

Thinking now about how Frank Herbert hit on something necessary when he dreamed up the Bene Gesserit. The stated goal of the Sisterhood was (is!) the maturity of humanity. Their every action was shaped towards overseeing the successful transition of humankind from adolescence to adulthood, over several thousands of years.

And it’s a worthy goal. We are very, very much like unintegrated children. Killing each other while we yell into each others’ faces about our liberties being trampled on. Grabbing what we can, while we can, thrusting elbows into each others’ chests and trampling on the fallen. Indeed – pushing one another over before we trample each other.

We desperately need to grow up. Or at least, start to grow up. But there’s a problem here. We may not have the time.

We almost certainly don’t have the time.

Following the utter failure of the space program (in any country) to deliver us into Star Trek, we find ourselves with still just this one, lonely planet as Home.

This one place which supports us, gives life to us..this planet we are murdering in our childish viciousness.

We have to stop the Earth dying out beneath us – or destroying us all in her death-throes – before we can take the time and patience necessary to Bene-Gesserit ourselves into mature adulthood.

So, first things first. Stop the psychopathic kids among us from devouring the one foothold we have in this Dimension. Then get down to some integral maturing, perhaps?

 

Pic: Before the Deluge, Rankle and Reynolds

The Deep Mid- Winter

A colleague at my (new! 3 months only!) place of work mentioned this week that there were only 12 weeks until Spring.

Being the new girl in the district, I hesitated to make a ‘thing’ of it – although I was tempted.

You see, it’s one of my triggers : how we mark the seasons of the year. It irritates me that many people can’t see how beautifully simple it is.

We have 52 weeks in a solar year, with 4 seasons. That’s 13 weeks per season

When each season starts appears to vary from person to person. Here in the southern hemisphere, the Winter Solstice is celebrated on or around June 21st. Now here comes the nub of the whole “season” matter:

If you call this day “MidWinter”, you have just fixed a point around which you will have to configure all the other seasons.

I have no idea what’s so hard to understand about “mid” and “Winter” coming together in one word. It’s the mid-point of Winter, right? So in another 6 and a half weeks it will be the end of Winter, right? That’s around the first week in August, and I get to call it Imbolc.

Unfortunately for me, most Seffricans believe that Spring starts either at the beginning of September, or else on the Vernal Equinox, around 21st September.

But how can that be? Unless you are counting Winter as starting either at the beginning of June or at the Solstice…which we’ve agreed to keep calling Mid-Winter, OK?

“Mid” does not mean “start”. It means the bloody middle, people.

So, figuring from this fairly rock solid premise (and assuming 4 seasons of roughly equal length, unlike the Celts, who really only had Summer and Winter), the Vernal Equinox would be the middle of Spring, the Summer Solstice the middle of Summer (or MidSummer!) and the Autumnal Equinox on around March 21st would be the mid-point of Autumn.

That leaves 4 points as ending/starting days for each of the seasons. And as luck would have it, many Pagans already celebrate on these days – Imbolc, Beltane, Lughnassad and Samhain. The start of each season.

So pardon me while I revere the very depth of Winter – when the apparent Sun reaches its lowest point in the heavens as seen from Earth – as MidWinter. That’s in just one week from today.

And Imbolc, the start of Spring, a scant 6.5 weeks later, in the first week of August.

Makes frighteningly proper sense to me.

More sense-making goodiness here.

Just In Itself

Sometime in this week, between the enforced observance of a holiday which has little meaning for me and the knuckling down to some real, meaty work at my new place of employment – somewhere in there I suddenly realised, with a bit of a shock, that I was actually happy.

I know that sounds a little strange. Sure, I’ve had my periods of deep grief, spiritual torture and incandescent rage. But I’m still a highly privileged person, able to make my way materially in this culture without too much pain. Although that ability has, let me not deny, come at a price.

But it seemed to me, sometime last week, that I had paid my dues in great gobs by now, and that there was absolutely no reason for me to be a miserable old fart any longer.

Certainly, this culture is killing its landbase -and thus itself – at a rate which will cause us, and all the other life forms on the planet, much sorrow well into the future.

Certainly, the Patriarchy is clinically insane and we are turning on each other like overcrowded lab rats.

That’s all very true – and yet…as an individual, I have my health, enough wealth not to have to worry about it, beautiful and beloved companions to share my personal space, and -lately – a job which I take great joy in doing, in an environment which doesn’t stretch my survival resources to the limits every single day, the way they were stretched at Osiris Trading.

There is no necessity for me to be grumpy and depressed in my personal self. And yet I think I was giving the impression – to myself – that I was.

Let me face it: I can work to take down the culture as well -perhaps even better – in a happy, joyful frame of mind as I can in an enraged one.

And so I shifted my attitude.And in that shift, I noticed that the veneer of the world became a little more hazy than it had been. Outlines wobbled, and perspectives shifted. Starting to see the illusion of what we’re walking around in, from a clear and deeply contented soul-set, has become much easier. I listen more deeply and see more clearly to what is real. And that is the essential god-ness , the precise and unmistakable mark of creator divinity of every last living energy we’re swimming among. And that is a further joy, just in itself.