Coral Castle

And i thought i had covered all the wierd and wonderful places, apparently not.

Here's the most fascinating account of a man who built a whole playground our of coral. 30 ton blocks arranged in what clearly was a personal taste, but more astonishingly, one man alone seems to have achieved that.


The Incredible Mystery
Of Coral Castle
By Christopher Dunn
From Atlantis Rising
7-14-3

Go have a look and see what you think!!

Bad jokes

So against my initial thoughts, i'm going to talk about the rapture, the one that didn't happen, ergo, small r.

Now it's all very bizarre to someone like me, who likes things to kind of make sense, sometimes. So when you want to talk about the "rapture", you are looking at christian teaching, as based on the bible. So we look at the bible and discover that:
a. The "rapture" isn't actually stated, just inferred by 20th century thinkers
b. The bible explicitly states that no one will know when it is, until it is.
It's very clear to me, it's a minor theological point of discussion with the only certainty being it's uncertainty.

So when someone, anyone stands up and says "i know when it's going to be, based on the bible" ... they're bullshitting ... everyone, including themselves. It only remains for the rest of us to ignore such stupidity, and carry on with hopefully more meaningful pursuits.

But despite that, there is an even worse aspect to the whole story, which i want to examine. The aftermath, not really all the now poor and suicidal idiots who believeds the story, i'm actually reffering the the millions of others who didn't, YET STILL GIVE THE WHOLE STORY VALIDITY. How do they do this? By actively engaging in the story, by making jokes about it, laughing and deriding it. Now i do need to tread carefully, because the rapture doctrine is something that has affected me personally very strongly in the past, but same time i don't actually accept it as such.

Anyway, the point is the complete mockery applied to ALL aspects of the situation. From "jesus" jokes, to "christian" jokes" to EVERYONE talking about the rapture like it was a cold morning, not some theological gray area. As i'm typing this, someone sends this:
http://www.hayibo.com/rapture-happened-but-only-rick-astley-fans-taken/

Now before i get pilloried for being an overly sensitive christian apologist, i'd like to make the same complaint about the alleged death of bin laden.

Now to me the entire bin laden story is a bad joke. From his rich family background, to it's cia kickstart, to what we have come to accept as 9-11 to the truly monstrous security state we all seem to live in now, to his death, and even more security for our safety., it's a macabre story. Even the final chapter, containing scenes of him being shot in the head unarmed and his wife also being shot, for "lunging" at these "special cunts" ... it's inhuman.

So after all the news stations had run their rubbish repeats of propaganda feeds from the white house, the jokes started. From actual jokes to stupid fucking gif images that everyone seems to think is funny, except me. I mean, it's like laughing at a cripple .... wtf?

I get accused sometimes of being overly serious, a charge i accept gladly. But this is not the same, i mean it's not about having a sense of humour, it's about exercising a selection process as to what is funny. Men being "double ttapped" naked in their bedroom isn't funny. Ever. For anyone. Under any circumstances. Ever. There's a silent scream of anguish that escapes me over all this. It's not only about watching people DEHUMANISE themselves, and dehumunising others, which is what they are doing, but also about the completely narrow perceptions they have, completely preprogrammed mentality, down to the off colour jokes.

Somehow despite us all being unique and driving our own colour and make car, we are surrounded by this ... sludge mentality that pervades those around us. All the same mindsets, and it's not a utopia of thinkers and artists and mystics, it's a dirty polluted river where each square metre perhaps appears different, thanks to same unique item of rubbish to be found, but right under the thin surface bubbles the same turgid, smelly thought patterns. And the jokes have the same smell.

It's a rant i know, but i appeal to those who read this to stop and think about these issues for a moment. Is a dead man funny? Is a deranged 90 year old who has ruined thousands of lives funny? I keep hearing my voice of reason say things like: humour is a means of dealing with "trauma" which could be a very good argument, but i cannot accept it. Humour in this case is nothing more than a deflection of intent. While people are amusing themselves to death, the death is only coming closer.

So please, next time you get a stupid joke about something that's not funny, don't send it, ok?

The Pig Farmer

It's not often you find a truly beautifully written story, complete with moral and happy ending. But i found one this morning, and couldn't stop reading until i was done. A story which is fairly common in fact, but usually just dismissed in our daily bustle, and the deeper issues glossed over like cheap paint on a picket fence.

A sincere thanks to Running cos i can't fly for reposting from the orgional story to be found on John Robbins Blog.

I'm not going to repost, or even print excerpts, the story must be read and enjoyed as a whole, so when you have your drink of choice, and a comfy chair, and some time for a good story, please go have a look and read and feel the hope that shone through to me.

peace and love

Tiger, tiger, burning bright ...

William Blake. 1757–1827

489. The Tiger

TIGER, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Could frame thy fearful symmetry?

In what distant deeps or skies
Burnt the fire of thine eyes?
On what wings dare he aspire?
What the hand dare seize the fire?

And what shoulder and what art
Could twist the sinews of thy heart?
And when thy heart began to beat,
What dread hand and what dread feet?

What the hammer? what the chain?
In what furnace was thy brain?
What the anvil? What dread grasp
Dare its deadly terrors clasp?

When the stars threw down their spears,
And water'd heaven with their tears,
Did He smile His work to see?
Did He who made the lamb make thee?

Tiger, tiger, burning bright
In the forests of the night,
What immortal hand or eye
Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?

Don't play the blonde ...

Yes i know it's a stripshow, yes i know it's a very good strip show. However, have a listen to the music, if you can :p

Very cool, my new theme tune for a while, just happy .. you know?

peace

Will power

There's been a thread of thought lately about the Will, yes, with a capital W. Our will, as people, how to harness it, activate it, use it in some way. It's starting to look remarkably like the holy grail to me. While pondering a post and how to present my thoughts, i quite accidentally found the following essay, entitled Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith by macthephi.

About the accidental: through a google image search i found an image which resonated, i then scrolled through the image directory, and finally to the homepage, where i found the essay. Well thought out and presented, extra points are scored by his referencing Kierkegaard (!) amongst others. It's an existential crises that is coming to the fore of consciousness, over a centuries long awakening in our minds. But it's here, i sometimes take solace in pretending to be a medieval serf, and try imagine the simplicity of thought he might have had. But it could only ever be a fanciful flight and never sustainable for long. Ever more into life ... through it ... to the other side, to see if it perhaps is anything.

Something worth mentioning briefly, which happened on the way to work this morning. Lane splitting along the highway, the high clouds bubbling between patches of deep blue sky, the rising sun casting patches of bright orange between the gray. It wasn't cold, and the traffic was remarkably docile for this early Monday dawn. The sun peaked out from behind a cloud, shining straight into my visored face. I could feel the warmth, feel the energy and power of this celestial marvel, and as much as the light pierced my vision, it's rays pierced straight into my soul, and for just a brief moment, i felt the most wonderful joy bubble up inside. I think it was Maslow who first used the term "peak experience", but that's what it was. Of course, as soon as i realised it i was over analysing what i felt, as much as trying NOT to zone out while doing 50km/h through standing traffic.

An almost ritualistic task, a calm collected countenance, and the wonder found every morn ... and i am drawn back to Blake:

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

This ... door to a new world was opened to me in traffic this morning, very gently but unmistakably. I guess the modern man reaction is wtf? But i'm left laughing at the irony of it. The buddha is as comfortable in the cylinder head as he is at the top of the mountain, to paraphrase Robert M. Pirsig.

I think the point i'm reaching to, is that we hold the keys, every moment of our lives we are able to access this ... hidden world, but we don't. We are enslaved to ourselves as much as to others, and yes, freeing oneself from oneself is infinitely harder than freeing oneself from another.

The Will to Power essay lays hold on one of the primary reasons for our weakness, and yes it's external to us, and yes, it's something that can be overcome, but only at the price of your sanity, which is your "acceptance of socially condoned behaviour and thinking". which brings me back to one of my favourite phrases in all literature, from Herman Hesse Via the Treatise of the Steppenwolf:

PRICE OF ADMITTANCE YOUR MIND. NOT FOR EVERYBODY.

Please go read Will To Power: How The Public Corrupts Us To Act In Bad Faith - macthephi and think about where your power and will have gone.

Freedom ... reprise

“Don’t you wish you were free, Lenina?” he asks.

“I don’t know that you mean. I am free, free to have the most wonderful time. Everybody’s happy nowadays.”

He laughed, “Yes, ‘Everybody’s happy nowadays.’ We have been giving the children that at five. But wouldn’t you like to be free to be happy in some other way, Lenina? In your own way, for example; not in everybody else’s way.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” she repeated.

From 1984, By George Orwell.

Freedom

Existentialism

One sticks one's finger into the soil to tell by the smell what land one's in; I stick my finger into existence - it smells of nothing. Where am i? Who am i? How did i come to be here? What is this thing called the world? What does the word mean? Who is it that has lured me into the thing, and now leaves me there?
... How did i come into the world? Why was i not consulted, why was i not made acquainted with its manners and customs, but was thrust into the ranks as though i'd been bought from a kidnapper, a dealer in souls? How did i obtain an interest in it? And is it not a voluntary concern? And if i am compelled to take part in it, where is the director? I would like to see him.

More from Soren Kierkegaard, from his novel "Repetition".

I'm really starting to like this guy.

Boredom

The Gods were bored, so they created man. Adam was bored because he was alone, so Eve was created ... Adam was bored alone, then Adam and Eve were bored together; then Adam and Eve and Cain and Abel were bored en famille, then the population of the world increased, and the people were bored en masse. To divert themselves, they conceived the idea of constructing a tower high enough to reach the heavens. This idea itself is as boring as the tower was high, and constitutes a terrible proof of how boredom had gained the upper hand.

Soren Kierkegaard, Translated by D.F. Swenson.

William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand,
And a heaven in a wild flower,
Hold infinity in the palm of your hand,
And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage
Puts all heaven in a rage.

.........................................

Every night and every morn
Some to misery are born,
Every morn and every night
Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,
Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie
When we see not thro' the eye,
Which was born in a night to perish in a night,
When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light,
To those poor souls who dwell in night;
But does a human form display
To those who dwell in realms of day.

William Blake - Auguries of Innocence