Ask Dr. Druid . day 28 . The K1 Project part 1

Posted on September 24, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 28

The K1 Project part 1

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Gleek and Rat Tooth glanced at each other with that fierce wry which was the psychic wampum between them. Dr. Sal Iva was outlining the Milk Team’s upcoming billion-year K1 Project. From the galactikally gigantic sweet home-sea of hula-sloshing and mesmerizing holorealitys which formed and transformed with the lyric of thought, the Milk Team was damned determined to sculpt a K1 stable dimension. A place, the first place really, where things were not air in weather, did not mogrify at whim.

That this notion strained galactik credulity, was scoffed at and reviled is part of the Chronicle. Sea people greeted the idea of a ‘solid,’ sturdy, stable. K or Kinesthetic with the derision that sleek and gliding sea-bound fish later greeted the clunky and dread-fomenting idea of horribly and cruelly lurching around in thin air on dry land on dear Earth. How truly awful. What kind of loonland weirdoes would want to do that?

After the initial busted-beehive furor, the Milk Team devised and revised evolutionarily in a backwater dimension field where nobody bothered them for the best part of a billion years.

Long long before K1, the glory of 90% of the manypoem rhapsodic interwoven galaxys songs was the hulasweet plasticity of thought and stuff, its high K, its mogriffity. It was like weather and mood made manifest. It was a deep and effervescent glee to dwell in these blessed, dreamy galaxys of ultra-infra-radiant leisure and pleasure of being.

In the Periodic Table of Psychik Elements, Ferrus had discovered Irony, that element which saved people from treacle sentiment and from despair. Like men had the enzyme testosterone, clowns or gleeks had irony. They could mock themselves which most people would just as soon stick an icepick in their left eyeball as do.

In honor of her discovery of the psychik element Irony, Ferrus was vouchsafed the title of the K ranges Scale. The Ferrus K Scale indicated the intensity of persistence in matters of matter. It all matters. A slight from your beloved probably matters more than stubbing your toe on a stone. This chapter cannot detour to elucidate all the textures and meteorologies of the Ferrus K Xcale, but the curious can find more at Appendix I.

Why did a gang of master metamorphs get so obsessed with the grail of K1? (Kzero is always talked about in hushed tones of ecstatic terror so we’ll leave that to Appendix I.) K1 is the remarkably stable dimension of pleasantly predictable and persistent kinesthetic. K11 is the remembered rainbow, a legerdelight, an illusion within an illusion. If you saw the rainbow with your beloved on a zephyred afternoon in the Month of Ripening Pumpkins when the air by the sea was nuage soft as two pelicans skimmed just above the wave tips, a K11 could matter a great deal to thou, but its K1 solidity or persistence is ispso facto evanescent.

To weave temporal and locational stuffs together and not have them giddily, gleefully, glimmeringly mogrify was and remains a physio-psychic engineering task of astonishing ingenuities. Think of sculpting a statue of water – the damned stuff won’t stand still! Until you persuade it to, charm it to be ice, it’s a seemingly hopeless and wet task.

Getting stuff to remain sturdy, still, and steady, under the onslaught of thought rage, blandishment, and bludgeoning that those accustomed to higher Ks would cast at the K1 creation was a fabulous feat. Stuff naturally wants to mogrify with the winds, the tides, of mood and desire.

Entering one of their early experimental K1 spheres, Dr. Sal Iva, Gleek, Rat Tooth, and Ferrus all got the bends upon return to K5.5, the home dimension for most master metamorphs. They all almost died as the lethal champagne of so much less K boiled in their blood. Manipulating semi-permeable membranes is the name of the creation game. In the blackground, the black screen stuff gets real to one degree of K or another.

Comfor Table, an apprentice metamorph, a fledgling gleek, saved them all by telling a flurry of holojokes, little acted hilarious silly scenes which made them laugh so hard that their bloodstorms became katotl tatotl again. (The knowledge & tranquility of the moon or lune or luna, the truth & tranquility of the moon, a pearlescent talisman as soft as moonlight on your face in the face of grief or otherwise impenetrable darks; an elf promise, like Galadriels’s vial of elflight for Frodo, a light for when all other lights go out.) Katotl tatotl — there has been hell, there will doubtless be hell, even soon, but now is an oasis of such dear beauty, such sweetness of dates and of honey, that place in your heart, that Avalon, that island of apples. That healing, as deep as whale song. The pearl of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />midnight moonlight falls as soft as snow and melts nuagewarm onto your upraised face.

What most of us don’t grok is that the Milk Team spent that billion years asking, coaxing, beguiling mogrificants, holohula stuff, to participate in the K1 experiment. Our familiar realm could dissolve back into the salty sultry sea of the wave realms of molasses-sweet becoming-into-becoming wherein most stuff dwells in spangled languorous harmonys. Yet for you here, the wall is willing to stay the wall, your weight-bearing feet to walk for year after year. Your reverence for K1 would be alert, keen, complete if you had a clue what ontological miracle of collaboration was being wrought and sculpted out of the vast AllWays so you could have this precious experience where you can itch and swallow, eat a kumquat, and view a kangaroo.

Remember the Norse story of the beautiful and mild Baldar. He was so beloved by all of creation that it was a game to throw a rock at him, and in order to do Baldar no hurt, the rock would swerve and fall harmlessly at his side. All things on Earth had been searched out one by one and told of Baldar’s sublime, sweet mildness and to do him no harm. Loki, however, the sometimes mischievous, sometimes wicked, the wild card, the coyote, hunted out the single thing on Earth which had not been whispered the sweet secret of the blessed Baldar. Hidden high in the topmost branches of the great oak, the mistletoe alone was ignorant, untold.

At a festival when everyone was pelting stones and lances and every manner of missile at Baldar, and at whose goodness all things turned aside from harm, Loki secreted under his skyblue cloak a dart of mistletoe. With the heat of all his envy, he flung the terrible dart into the left eye of Baldar, and the unknowing mistletoe slew our dear Baldar thus.

In a happier tale, similarly, the Milk Team sought out each thing a world would want and cajoled it into, in interlaced enchantment, playing its kinesthetic part for the allotted and necessary time for the K1 world to work. Like a great holographic dynamic hieroglyphic song, the leaf notes, the cat’s whiskers’ notes, the guffaw notes, the strawberry notes – the cosmic symphony is composed for you if you would but hear.

…!^!..

Notes

.. wampum .. wampum is the bead medium of currency, transactions of value for North Turtle Island originals. Turtle Island is what white, rabidly monotheist invaders call, imperially, America. Wampum has an aesthetic component that invader money abstracted out. Wry is a wampum, a stuff of value which the new physics must deny but which is as real to Gleek and Rat Tooth as a flash of lightning. Ah, again we see evidence of how we need both science and psyence.

.. Milk Team .. ‘Galaxy’ might be called ‘Place of Milk.’ Once after billions of years, TheAll began to include more splotches or patches, Sargasso Seas of K1, the Seers (those who could see) imagined the vast splashes of stars by the billions dreamily kaleidoscoping to look like spilled milk. So the inventor/explorer Team that crafted the grail of K1 stole the Milk moniker for grins.

.. mogrify .. transmogrify had notes of transmute, modify, transmigration. But ‘mogrify’ is the element where the droll and awe lie. The sluggy larva mogrifys into the impossible heartbreaking glory of the flutterby. You must perceive them as an unbroken sequence of mogriffity or becoming.

.. katotl tatotl .. “the knowledge & tranquility of the moon,” the truth & tranquility of the moon, The Amahuaca, Peru. p. 142 Shamanic Voices for the quoted phrase;

.. Ferrus .. ferrum is Latin for iron.

.. gleek .. a gleek is a jester.

.. manypoem .. multi-verse = many-poem.

.. treacle is saturatedly sweet; implies exceedingly sweet & sentimental; pron:tree-cull;

.. metamorphs .. cf metamorphosis, transformation masters.

.. zephyr .. soft mischievous breeze.

.. nuage is French for cloud; pron:new-ahhjuh.

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Ask Dr. Druid, 66 Days from Lead to Gold, Secrets of Alchemy You Can Use, a druid shaman’s playbook .. Intro; Prologue; Day 1; Days 2 & 3; Day 4; Day 5; Day 6; Day 7; Day 8; Day 9; Day 10; Day 11; Day 12; Day 13; Day 14; day 15 Review 2; Day 16; Day 17; Day 18; Day 19; Day 20; Day 21; Day 22; Day 23; Day 24; Day 25; Day 26; Day 27; Day 28; Day 29;

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If you know or are an agent, aspiring agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

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<^>..

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.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 27 . Horizontal

Posted on September 16, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 27

Horizontal

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Horizontal

The Horizontal Model & the art of collaboration

An introduction: equality of qualities

G.Ro TesQ had been rescued from the thin air of the Grueling Heavenly Realms. Back home on Earth in new-washed if not new-minted simple humble happiness, G.Ro had returned to laud the Horizontal.

“I am G.Ro TesQ,” she said quietly as she gave the keynote speech at the ConCon in the millennial Earth Year 3000. ConCon was the global Consciousness Convention that convened annually in these times. “Most of Earth's old troubles came from the Vertical Model which had

kept its heel on the throat of the human spirit for centuries.

“Simply turning the axis of understanding to horizontal solves 99% of both human horror and human awkwardness.

“First consider the range of densities our consciousness crisscrosses in a day’s, a life's experience. We have spaceless/timeless thought. We have dreams, daydreams, fantasy, imagination, memory. We have the precious moving K1 kinesthetic present, seemingly sequential and solid. Now, in the dominant Vertical Model, as invisible as space, our Religions have posited a non-solid, spiritual realm which is above us — is putatively better, purer, less gross than our terrestrial experience, all muck and rut.

“Of course, conveniently, the priests, monks, gurus, and shamans had the key to our escape.

“What I'm about to tell you is radical because I have searched the literature of the globe and that literature is invariably full of the higher self or the soul or spirit, all more valuable and more wise than we sluggish, lesser, benighted earthdwellers who will 'ascend' in death or enlightenment to our truer selves.

“If we see consciousness vertically, a ladder to be climbed, we are falsely forced to see ourselves on the lower rungs staring up at the compassionate rump of the priest, guru, monk, shaman who precedes us to the heights.

“If, on the other hand, we rotate the axis of consciousness to be sideways, we can more correctly and coherently see the spectrum of our consciousness as including all the densities with no greater value implied. Just as in light, ultraviolet is not better than infrared, our less-dense experience is not better that our solid K1 experience, only different.

“The old Vertical Model organized millions, then billions of people for millennia. In a rough sketch, the Vertical Model puts God up in Heaven & the Devil down in Hell. Some God & His Angels in idealized pure Heaven and us down on gross, coarse Earth. The lower chakras are coarse energy, the upper increasingly more sublime. We are basically a colony of Heaven.

“And when and if we refine our grotty earthly selves ourselves enough, we'll get a white robe, join the junior ranks of the choirs of angels and be allowed to kiss the big toe of God. And then when we've really refined our unruly consciousness, we get to dwell in the vast seamless rippleless nirvanic stillness for our Good Behavior.

“Thus, depending on the phase or fullness of my rage, the virulent or pesky Vertical Model came about because the daggone Head got an inflated or puffed-up view of its importance to the whole system though it can not even digest a single groat — not a single grain of barley or grow a single toenail.

“The higher self doesn't have digestion and mucus and dirt under the fingernails. One could wax as rhapsodic about digestion as about Christ Consciousness if we were less prissy and overfastidious about what qualities we invited through the spiritual front door.

“A simple shift of 90° puts us in the new Horizontal Model where all the considerable ills of the vertical hierarchical model fall away. The Horizontal Model shifts the axis of metaphysical, ethical, epistemological, psychological, economic, and sociological understanding from hierarchical to equal-and-various.

“The Horizontal Model is a model of collaboration. In the Horizontal Model we discover the preciousness of the immanent vs the transcendent. The immanent is an indelible relationship with the brilliant manifested world, recognizing mobius how it's lit from within. The transcendent energy is too thin, not sufficient, not sufficiently engaged, leading to spiritual anorexia. True compassion must be horizontal. No judgment, only evaluation.

“The body is not neurotic or restless or even greedy. It is the ethereal which, for its vicarious delectation, keeps pushing the adrenalin button or drives the body to eat when it is not hungry. All sins are sicknesses of the soul. The excesses of the soul. The most natural state for the body is joy. What body would choose suffering?

“It is the confused or thwarted soul which incurs morbidity. The ethereal drives the body to visceral or lower chakra disturbances or distress when it pushes the sweetness buttons past grace and elegance and delight. The ethereal drives the body to anorexic or upper chakra disorders when it idealizes deprivation and detachment.”

G.Ro TesQ chuckled, “Certainly constructing the Horizontal Model requires a lot of naps. Perhaps it is because, catlike, I take so many naps that I don't have this head/intellect/spirit prejudice that infests the holy and alternative literature. Napping, my head's not at the top, it's not higher, it's just to the left and my feet to the right. These distinctions are not trivial. The hidden prejudices in the language deeply affect our profound mostly unconscious feelings of value. I sometimes think I should wear a shoe upside down on my head as a hat to remind us to keep our heads on the ground.

“Your horizontal waking brings democracy not just to politics, but to thought and feelings, an equality of qualities. We need to bring all our qualities and talents — woven — to bear on the moving present. The emerald earthflame in each molten molecule. The honey in each enchanted molecular dance.

“We need to internalize and eternalize this new model, the horizontal spectrum. Co-llaborate. Co-amaze. Co-applaud. Co-kindle. Co-ignite. Co-weave emerald strands of enchantment from whatever qualities apply to the precious moving present.

“Co-cheetah. Co-wall. Co-play.

“Immanent not transcendent. Co-radiant.”

..!^!..

…!^!…

If you begin to listen for the vertical prejudices, you’ll be shocked at how frequent and embedded they are in our assumptions. How anti-Earth they are. Higher self, piffle. Less-dense self – not necessarily notably wiser, tho often puffed-up by all the terrestrial forelock-tugging. Note them in your log as you notice them.

A leitmotif of the druids is their respect for the earth experience as astonishing. Druids are definitely not detached. They are deep in irony, however, which prevents them from enervating envies. Nothing can change your life more suddenly than grokking the wide freedoms of the horizontal model. (Of course, the yet truer model is spherical, but that’s a bit more psychically vertiginous than we want to assay until we consolidate the horizontal shift first.)

..!^!..

Notes

.. astonish .. the root is to strike with thunder;

.. ethereal .. the disembodied or less dense aspect of our being;

.. enervate .. weaken, sap the strength of;

.. leitmotif .. a key theme, leet-moh-teef;

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If you know or are an agent, an aspiring agent, editor, or publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy Goldsworthy

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I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 26 . Planette

Posted on September 9, 2007 by wendy fleet

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 26

Planette

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Planette

    I was rooting through the Philanderer’s Philological Pharmacy the other afternoon when I came across the definition of planette. The Pharmacy is a trove of a tome. A tasty word is a sure cure. That was the motto of Alitter Rae Shin, the greatest word miner of the early 21st century — a merry fat lady with curly red hair and disturbingly intent eyes as if she were the first person to have really seen you.
   Alitter Rae was the one to remind us of rhapsody whose derivation is woven song. Now that’s a tonic. She unearthed halcyon which means the kind of day so soft that a kingfisher can make her nest on the bosom of the sea. Celadon, the blue-green in the curl of a breaking wave. Coprophagous — relating to certain beetles which feed on fossilized dung. A quirky diet.
   One of the triumphs which made Alitter Rae the cat’s meow of word diggers was her lucky coup with delirious. Even apprentice worders in 2011 knew that the ancient Greek word delirious derived from out of the furrow. It was by the keenness to know what she had and by great luck that Alitter Rae dug the miniature story imbedded in delirious out of an aged woman in California whose unusual childhood farm experience would essentially disappear from the planet probably with her very self when she died.
   Ms.Maxwell was a rotund elder with an impish wit who told Alitter Rae about how before tractor farming you used placid workhorses (in ancient <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Greece it would have been oxen) to pull the plow. Hour after sunbaked tranquil hour, you and they would plod up and down the field turning furrows.
    Once every year or two, the docile beasts would suddenly bellow, mouths wide, and gallop wildly out of the furrow, harness slapping, the plow bouncing crazily behind them, stampeding until, sweat-frothed and exhausted, they finally just stopped.
   Ms.Maxwell scoffed at the stung-by-a-bee theory. She put her chubby still-steady hand on Alitter Rae’s knee and said, “My dear, I was there. They just plain bolted out of the furrow — it was simply a spate of delirium.”
Alitter Rae loved Greek-based words because they are image-laden — a miniature story, a tiny tale, is crystallized in the heart of the word. Delirious brought her fame, but it is planette which will keep her in history.
   It wasn’t until Alitter Rae Shin’s discovery of planette in a moldy 14th-century Celtic magician’s manual, Cynifer Cywydd, that the secret of the multiverse came to light and the study of the different densities and realms and planes of experience and meaning became as common and respected as the study of Chemistry or Zoology.
    Alitter Rae’s monograph on planette was like a pebble in a pool. The concentric rings lapped out through the society until the acceptance of the reality of many planes of density became as ordinary and obvious as the assumption that the Earth is round.
   Our planette Earth, our K1 solid daily spaceship, was now seen to be only one layer or plane of our fabulously faceted experience. At last children were taught to act in their ‘dreams,’ — dreams being another plane or planette of kaleidoscopic experience which came to be understood to be as real as a stroll to the post office or smelling one of the gloriously fat cream-and-pink roses of the first bloom of Spring.
    Because of our ignorance of layers or planettes, we had been spectators or puppets in much of our multi-level experience. Discovering that the universe was a multiverse with a multitude of planettes of which our solid-seeming, tamely sequential daytime experience was but one very precious manifestation, one flower in the garden of ebullient creation, gave us back our explorer's pluck.

It was Alitter Rae Shin who found the key. She was the Columbus of the New Multiverse Worlds we would come to explore with new daring, bravado, and doggèd courage. The key was that our perspective had been skewed for centuries, that we had been misled by our truncated name for our intergalactic base camp — planet.

The night that Alitter Rae read the Celtic magician’s manual, Cynifer Cywydd, and the word planette leapt out at her and branded her mind, she recalls that her blood ran cold, ran hot, her heart beat like a big drum.

¡Yes! just one plane of many! — planette! All the newly honored realities came out of the shadows. Our heads burst with the gladness of all this delicious new stuff to contemplate and appreciate.

Years later Alitter Rae was asked why she called her definitive work Philanderer's Philological Pharmacy? She grinned slyly, “You got a better idea on how to get ’em to sneak a peek into a big ol' book on words? Gotta pique their interest ¿no?”

…!^!..

….!^!…

With our Inner Perf off grogging it up in Fiji, we’ve been getting our K1 attentions and eclectics more fit, more electric, more keen and preened. This should have grounded and bound and bonded you with your only completely constant and faithful companion, the all but unbearably fabulous AllElse. Now it’s time (or timeless) to make more deliberate forays into the multiverse, manypoem, the multidimensional, multitemporal worlds, the Dream Nations, the Imagi Nations, as real a part of our experiences as beloved K1, but neglected in study and exploration. We really are one planette among many.

Adding deliberate study and honoring of the less-dense worlds can be disconcerting, literally disorienting. I have to count on you to manage your attentions so that K1 AllElse remains delighted and stable, and that you don’t drift or hurtle into LoonLand, woe-begone and palely loitering.

When you re-discover your wider heritage untrammeled by the cocoons of Religions, the Creeds and Greeds, the delight & freedom can be intense. Grok wisely.

….!^!..

Notes

.. Cynifer Cywydd, [keen-i-fer cow-ith], roughly many poem.

..woe-begone & palely loitering is from Keats la Belle Dame Sans Merci. Intra-realms study can strand you in twilight elfin grottos if you aren’t alert and grounded and re-grounded in K1.

Just like the slippery delusion of Romance, the archetypal worlds can be damned seductive and dangerous. Cleave to common sense and Keep your discernment. Then you can be enriched and enlivened. Huge quaffs of Irony-laced Humortinis are required. It is my belief and experience that conscious travel in Otro, in other realms, from Fantasy to Dream to Poesie is healthier and heartier than sly or slimy forays half-known.

If you find yourself feeling off-balance or your physical vision blurring (a sign of too much trance work), back out into as much fascination with K1 AllElse as you can imbibe. There are reasons these matters have been kept occult for centuries. They aren’t without considerable danger. I am convinced that in the long run people are healthier dealing out loud with whispered matters and can take the elixirs of honey and of venom if trusted to Keep their darn feet – and head! — on the ground.

If, however, you go lurching off into LoonLand, you’ll just get all the nambypambys tuttutting and breathing fire about pagans and witches. Which is piffle of course, but stay smart as we begin our travels further afield.

…………<^>…………

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy Goldsworthy

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article title lsu quantum

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>……………

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 25 .. Vulture Culture

Posted on September 2, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 25

Vulture Culture

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Vulture Culture

The Ords (who had shortened their name from Ordure) were odd ducks. Well, they weren’t really ducks, but they were damned peculiar. They worked for Lord Ord who was the Cosmic Keeper of the Odd, the Angels Too Fat To Dance on the Point of A Pin. His emblem was, proudly, a turkey buzzard in pink, rampant on a magenta field — the colors of entrails as the Lesser Ords scoffed cheerfully. Vultures liked guts and gluck; rot was ripe to them. Suppuration was succulent. The more stinking the ooze, the more toothsome.

Lord Ord had begun liking what the other Planet Designers liked. Babbling brooks. Roses, orchids, panthers, and emeralds. Smashing glorious snazzy gorgeous show-stoppers. But to have all the living things work, there was an engineering Unavoidable. Living things were lively, but in some span they ran down, wore out, fatigued. Their élan waned. Death was invented; despised, but required.

Lord Ord became, reluctantly at first then ravenously, rapturously interested in the Behind-the-Scenes necessities that support the splendid on-stage Show. When he had invented the vulture, he had felt a deep marrow-tingling pride. There are many quirks in the K1 solid Earth dimension. There were surprises such as the glamorous peacock’s awful cry. Lord Ord’s ugly vulture of ghastly mien could soar so sweetly that all gaped, envied. It was sufficient recompense.

When the gods wished to soar, they became vultures, effortless, cloudstalkers. Hot sun on the top of the bold broad feathers, the rise of the ebullient air under your wide wings. If you wanted to do enormous, you did elephant, hippo, rhino, whale. If you wanted to soar, you did vulture.

Some gods were too fastidious, too tepid of imagination to pay the gustatory price. Lord Ord’s sense of humor escaped many. Putting the galaxy’s most fabulous soaring with the galaxy’s most repulsive and rancid cuisine was a mobius twist trick that the prissier gods couldn’t follow.

Lady Onyx, his brilliant, deft partner, had also become intrigued by the design of the Odd. Her tour de force had been spiders. The challenge had been to devise a vertigo-less creature whose webs were art and worked as well.

Lady Onyx remembered fondly the morning when she and Lord Ord woke and she watched him gaze happily around the bustling planet which was getting quite habitable by now. He glanced up at the corner of their large sunny room and he was silent. He watched the patient tiny predator on its remarkable silvery web, the first spider seen by any other god than its designer. He shook his head in delight and applauded, “Wonderful, my dear Lady Onyx.” He leapt up to peek more closely at this new ingenious tiny toy.

Lord Ord and Lady Onyx had collaborated on the crocodile. Lord Ord had devised the massive musculature, the crushing jaws, whittled the interlocking teeth. Lady Onyx had devised the turreted hide.

The Lesser Ords were devoted to their Patrons. Once you got a feel for the Onyx and Ord touch, you could always pick out their practical, clever solutions. There was pride in dealing with ordure, preventing the spread of pestilence.

Much later after the planet’s bio-layer matured, Lord Ord and Lady Onyx were saddened to hear that their favorite, the majestic vultures, were no longer fed the felled biped. Strange religions had proliferated. The quarrelsome biped was the only creature which hid its dead in boxes. Few remembered that the path of the vulture was the only way to completely free the soul from its planet-bound bonds.

…!^!…

…!^!..

Our American culture is hysterical about ‘prettiness.’ It glorifies young models who, tho vapid, are pretty and airbrushed. Norman Rockwell tended to go for the aww-puppy factor.

We are obsessed with bathing and odorlessness. When I was a child, I lived in the country on a dairy farm. <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Holsteins mainly, the black & white modern-art-on-the-hoof cows. I must have been about 8 years old when I went to spend a Wednesday Halloween night with a little blonde, blue-eyed china doll town kid, Peggy.

I was an only child. I was a useful child. I fed the calves. I’d get up at 4:30am every morning and walk across the fields with Dad to feed the calves while he did the milking. Cows have to be milked twice a day 365 days a year. Cows don’t take weekends or vacations. I loved being useful.

Dad had studied agronomy at Cornell and beginning in the late '40s was a visionary and pioneer in promoting commercial organic farming. (How I think of him every single time I buy organic milk in the supermarket now.) He was clearly an earth shaman tho he never would have known those words. He had his science training, but he spoke with the earth, the beloved and rare and fragile soil, and the roots and the nematodes. I watched him do it. Which may have been why I was always so comfortable talking to trees, listening to trees. (No, they don’t speak English. they speak Tree. One translates. I was bilingual. You swallow or taste and smell the meaning as much as hear it.)

I usually wore my knee-high rubber boots and my bluejeans. (I may have been the first female on the planet to wear bluejeans in public. Gods know it was considered scandalous. When we went to town once a week for marketing, earnest mothers scurried their little useless china-doll daughters across the street to avoid the pollution of the uncustomary. Change was dangerous. And they were right about that. I was about 12 years ahead of my time and look what them '60s wrought.)

Suitably clad in a stupid and useless little cotton dress, I arrived for my first and last overnight visit to town on Halloween eve for trick or treat. You can’t do trick or treat in the country. Places are too farflung down red dirt roads.

Mother, tho a brilliant sculptor, was lousy at costumes. I was swathed in an old sheet with eye holes cut out, the annual ghost costume. I recall nothing of the trick-or-treating, but with icepick horror I recall getting ready for bed. Mrs. Wilson said, “Come along girls, it’s time for your bath.” This being Wednesday. I looked at her matter-of-factly and said, “Oh no thanks, I take my bath on Saturday.” Both mother and child recoiled. True. They didn’t just start or flinch. They recoiled. They did a reflex full-body lurch a step back recoil of disgust and dismay. I knew at once I’d breached some invisible law of nice people. Not unlike when I learned that you didn’t tell people about talking to trees. I don’t recall if I took the bath or was allowed to rest filthily on the gloriously pristine whitest sheets the colored maid had ironed.

I do shower at least once a week still. I suspect most of my friends obsessively bathe daily, stripping their largest precious organ of essential oils so they have to scratch their poor dry skin in the winter.

Farm kids learn early that there is a lot more muck and gluck – mucho mud, mucho manure – involved in getting them their milk and vegetables than they could bear to imagine.

It is very hard to get unaddicted to the pretty. So try this week to make a special effort to greet spiders and other not pretty clans with interest and applause. No cringing, no recoiling.

…!+!….

Notes

ordure .. the ten dollar word for dung; the amusement is in its formality;

elan .. verve, passion, spirit, enthusiasm; juice;

mobius .. a magic figure eight figure, interaction;

mien .. face, bearing;

vapid .. devapor, as in flat stale wine;

obsess .. at root, besiege, from ob/against & sess/sit; also haunt;

colored maid .. in the horror still in 20th century USA, the Maryland town near where I grew up still in the early '50s had water fountains labelled Colored and White. Luckily I was born knowing this was sickening for soul, heart, and mind.

…!^!…

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

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Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

excerpt image guillaume dargaud

article title image mike holliet 1gorilla

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Industrial Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 24 .. ShapeShifter

Posted on August 26, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 24

ShapeShifter

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[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

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ShapeShifter

“You mean you're finally going to tell us what it's like to be a ShapeShifter? Before we burn you at the stake? Now while the orange flames lick high waiting to eat you alive?”

“Yes,” she said, “I will tell you now. ShapeShifters, seem, of course, monsters to the flat-minded. Being a ShapeShifter is like being a photographic negative, as if your skin, your flesh, were some magic emulsion upon which experience imprints, engraves itself. As if you were a soft, warm wax in which events impressed themselves like a seal. You are like some spy's 'multi-sense bug' which overhears oversmells, oversees, overfeels, overtastes, holds, records, keeps the vibrations of people's souls, of sentients' souls. And all is sentient. ShapeShifting is why you seem to know their deepest secrets. You do. Because to a rare degree, you *are* them.

“We are not monsters. To a ShapeShifter, this coalescence is natural. It's *how* we know — by identity. Not dispassionately, but rhapsodically. As Indians used to take on courage by eating the raw hot liver of the bear, we take on all the qualities of what we observe directly, intimately. I suppose you could say it's a kind of cannibalism, of theft — certainly many do say that, and we have been burned, dismembered. But we do not consume you, use you up. It's more like putting you in an art book, an holographic (holo-audic, holo-olfact, holo-kino, holo-gusto) museum. Some see us as thieves, pirates, some as art collectors, archivists of your unique pattern, melody.

“I have looked out of so many alien eyes, smiled so many other smiles. It's a strange sensation. My flesh sensors, circuits can get clogged with you all “The tenderness of the knowledge, however, and the relative completeness is enchanting. I do not think we would choose the more flat, veneer way of knowing that the non-empaths employ. My eyes are like fingertips to touch you. Like an ice cream cone, I lick you. I am a very good pickpocket. You do not know I have stolen you. If I say nothing, you do not know, and it is painless. Only if I speak echoes of your own secrets then you resent being transparent when you thought your disguise was so impenetrable your camouflage so complete. “You see, we don't mind people's filthy little secrets. We have filthy little secrets too. It could be funny. We could laugh and shrug together. But you all are so defensive.Mortified. “Yes, ShapeShifters are certainly protean, able to shift shape. It's as if our being-stuff is magnetized to 'shape.' It feels like a kind of invisible embrace, as the very air embraces us. Or as the bird's wings feel the shape of the air as it flies.”
The burly brownhaired priest who guarded her wondered if he would dare give up his safe powerful position for the radiance she wore like a glory, an aureole. He doubted it. Radiance was dangerous. Yet had the pagans really lost? Somehow true art always still seemed slightly pagan, even in the sanctuaries. As if these fierce and radiant people wove their secret signs into the sacred text, as if there were lines between the lines that such as he could not see.

   His scarlet hood hid his keen blue eyes. He leaned toward her and whispered hoarsely, “Have you ever met another one?” This close, the huge fire was very loud. She smiled at him wickedly and tossed her thick glossy hair which looked the color of fire itself in this vivid light.
    “Yes, I've known three. What could I tell you before the even bigger bishops come to hurl me into your fine fire?
    “Imagine if you had been ice in the winter, lovely latticed cold crystals, still and abiding. You'd practiced that, were excellent at ice. Imagine then that you were twenty-five and by some magic Spring came upon you for the first time and all that abiding stillness melted into a bustling stream careening down the greening hillside past trees arrayed with apple blossoms. The hot yellow sun shone and you rose up into clouds which floated like lotus blossoms of mist across the sky. Now, because you had met another Changer, you knew all the forms of water. Meeting another ShapeShifter is the most simple thirstquenching delight sentience can devise. The knowledge of all that possibility of form, freedom of form, is a treasure your bishops cannot steal or torture from me.

“We are your future, you know, even if you kill us prototypes. Sentience must unfold to shapeshifting. ShapeShifting is intuition made manifest. It is the implacable black of coal transforming suddenly into the splendid imprisoned fire of diamond. Quicksilver quick playing of the spectrum from opacity to transparency — ahh. Remember tonight. Fare thee well. Be lucky. Next time round, let's be friends.”
. . .
. . .

Now that you’re beginning to grok that attention is a substance, a patterned, shape-able, plastic, elastic substance, shapeshifting will begin to sweetly, surreptitiously, and mysteriously make senses to you.

The rudiments of shapeshifting are something you already do constantly with the ease of breathing. You examine & explore your environment with unconscious empathy at all moments. You listen, you smell, you watch. (Your ‘senses’ are, of course, not really separate, but more on that anon.)Your senses manage, guide your attention stuff – it is to be hoped with symphonic grace.

Symphonic grace is probably a stretch right now, but we hope in this first month we’re moving you past cacophonic blundering or insolent or oblivious inertia with your attentions.

Remember that it’s expected that learning new skills will be awkward and lurching along the way. Be kind to your mind. Check that there’s no insidious whispering from your pesky Inner Perfectionist. Shoo it back to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Fiji to grog out.

As you incorporate more consciousness, more deft alertness, more keen and delighted awareness into your experience, you’ll dwell in the blissed & blessed state of quantum attentions, of lambent appreciations. You’ll feel yourself shapeshiftily as wave in addition to particle. You’ll become halcyon with and within yourself.

‘Halcyon’ is the Greek word for ‘kingfisher,’ the bright bird. The word 'halcyon,' in the words as gems way of the Greeks, words as micro-vignettes, describes the kind of sweet day wherein the kingfisher can build her nest upon the bosom of the sea.

‘Lambent’ is a sweet watercolory awashed, with a hula of light, is when you grok the effervescent champagne of extralight that the opener lens of your attentions can now perceive, if not constantly, at least more frequently. Oh frabjous joy. Oh mirthmost merriment.

You see, if you begin, as a discipline, consciously distinguishing between AllElse and People, you will always have this fascination, this lavish oasis of unlimited perception and mobius thrill and delight to refresh you for the much more algebraic and baffling interactions with People. There will come, quite soon, a time when you know that that quicksilver, that molasses sweet AllElse part of your life can not be tarnished nor soured. This is a fierce, dear, and indelible freedom. Appreciation is the universal solvent.

Having this Wild Game Preserve in your mind and heart, a place of untamed attentions where you can be wildly wholeheartedly enchanted is essential to give you the delight, the courage, and the adaptability to not be felled or emptied by the advertent or inadvertent betrayals of People — who – Drat it! – so seldom seem to have read the clearly excellent script you’ve so elaborately written for them.

. . .<!>. . . . . .

Notes:

..see mobius in glossary.

..vignette is a little story, usually charming or quirky;

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

excerpt & slice images terry pyles.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Industrial Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid day 23 Review 3 gateau nature

Posted on August 25, 2007 by wendy fleet

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 23

Review 3 . gateau nature

This piece will read best for you

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[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

It is disconcerting to begin to accept least of all explore our gateau nature, our layer cake of multi-D and multi-T experiences. Multi-dimensional & multi-temporal. Most of us prefer the less vertigo of amnesia or what the Greeks call Lethe, the river of oblivion, of forgetfulness; or a half-live lethargy.

It is essential to always honor K1, our shared kinesthetically persistent layer of reality, and be able to move among suitable awarenesses with care and discernment (which is why drugs are so ugh for serious study. I don’t mean serious as in grim but as in concentrated/distilled.)

Introducing you to Itshehimwe will have upped the hullabaloo, the octanes of your attentions. Your attentions will begetting more lithe, gallivanting beyond kindergarten.

Your Inner Perfectionist should be snoozily, woozily, groggily tipsy in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Tahiti, only sending postcards saying, “Hear you’re doing grand! Keep up the good play! Will have learned the hulahula by the time I return! Agog in grog, Your Inner Perf.”

Panda Bare is an intrepid explorer of extraphysics feastrealms of ecstatic tumult. Take part in art. Even if you never draw, sculpt, pen, or soufflé a mote, I will say you have a delicious responsibility (ability to respond!) to take part in the art of besotted appreciation. Get drunk drunk drunk with the delight of the champagne light in which you’re immersed, the brandy of daffily, daffodilly rapt attentions. Oh mirthmost merriment.

Of course our immersive, drunk with fascination adventures are subversive! It’s why druids went underground, undersky, behindleaf. The iron, ironyless, corporate manacles, the iron, ironyless, Religious prison bars prefer the dull, the narrow, the unwinged. Zombyoid suits the Profit Margin, the Pious Purposes.

The RatMinded Religioneers seldom dwell in Droll. They seem not so keen on your singing your own songs of raging praise, of delicate impeccable unique devotion. If your devilishly mischievous deity is named LaughMore, the story changes.

Resavor dearest Keats’ unclenched-mindedness, the not grasping irritably after certainty. Pick a favored thing — a daffodil, a soufflé, a vulture – and musing upon the Penetralium of mystery, meet the deity-inventor/s of that marvel. Then write a short fable in your journal about its invention or admiration. You don’t have to make anything up. Just listen and scribble.

Druids chose the riches of attentions, the conquest of the Imagi and Fasci Nations. Killing dullness by filling it with shine. Live in a turtle mansion. One you always carry with you. Obviously you should prosper comfortably in the Outer Nations. But it is my job to illuminate and ignite your tyger riches burning bright for which you need nothing but your keened and preened wits, an eclectiking knowledge of the treasure hunt, the world and worlds as your private palace. This abundance is your birthright. Gambol on it.

Art – heART, eARTh. Art is just carrots. It’s what let’s you see brilliantly. Eating muchas carrots enlivens your vision. Eating muchas art enlivens your life-sight. The druid point is to give you the key to a sea of glee and enchantment in your daily round. If you also get to go to Paris France, more’s the thrill, but being eclectically electrically thrilled serves your life butterly better in a wholehearted and holohearted way. The electric eclectic makes for less ennui, less envy, and less inchoate longing. The perfect democracy of perception where all are equally free and rich and powerful – that’s where druids put their ingenuity. Eclairs of clarity all 'round.

. .<!> . . . .

Notes

..gateau is cake in French (gat oh);

..ennui is boredom in French (awn newy);

..eclectic is choosing the best from all possible sources;

..resavor is re-savor, as in savor again;

..gallivant & gambol are both what exuberant lambs leapingly do in the Spring;

..Imagi & Fasci Nations ..imagination, fascination;

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

article & excerpt images wayne thiebaud

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Corporate Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 22 .. Rhapsodology, the study of meaning

Posted on August 5, 2007 by wendy fleet

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 22

Rhapsodology, the study of meaning

This piece will read best for you

if you read it with your mouth as if out loud

[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

“The study of ‘meaning’ is more pertinent and poignant than the study of ‘reality.’ The Eskimos, for instance, discriminate twenty-six words worth of snow variations or escapades of crystalline water. The Eskimo dialogue with snow is more complex in hues and shapes of ‘meaning’ than ours, though the presenting ‘reality’ through which you and I also scrunch is doubtless the same.”

Bunga Low was the favorite daughter of the famous fin-de-siècle low-cost housing architects Pavi Lion and Ken Nel. In the new century Bunga was being interviewed for the cover story of Galactic Gazette, a fiercely progressive rag. Bunga was transfixed by the architecture of consciousness — How do you get people to fling open their doors and windows to the zephyrs of awe?

The interview continued, “My night’s dream might sway me to sweat or to ecstatic flight — it might have intense meaning, but the ‘reality’ students would fret and feud over whether dreams are ‘real.’ The feud vanishes, and we can just get down to what’s interesting when we hark to meaning.

“Once we free ourselves from the blinders imposed by the stubborn and exclusive study of reality, of metaphysics, we step into the simply magic world of meaning, of rhapsodics.

“The world is awash, saturated, exudes, blooms, is radiant with meaning. The world is ebullient, rowdy, raunchy, arrayed, fraught with meaning. The question becomes not What is real, but How it’s real. How do we employ all the flavors and qualities of the spectrum of realities, of meanings, that we vividly inhabit?

“Rhapsodology, the study of meaning, the love of meaning, reveals to us that we dwell in a sphere, an atmosphere of swirling, cascading, parading meaning. It’s above, within, below, behind. It’s right at the end of the proverbial nose; the nose itself. Our senses collaborate to describe, to translate, to unpackage the present of our luscious experience. This gallimaufry, this wonderland.

“Rhapsodics, the study of meaning, of course includes intimate and unflinching knowledge of horror and power and their temptations and stupidities. Rhapsodics does not, however, dwell upon the lost and ghastly. Every rhapsodist has been to <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Atro City, tasted ashes and eaten the rancid meat they serve there. We have each had maggots in the soul.

“The cure for atrocity and its fetid ilk is celebration, is gratitude, is deft rapture.

“Atrocity wins when we do not train and keen and sheen ourselves to the tender splendor of details, to the facets, the fascinations of our hallowed home, our dazzling planet.

“Another sinister danger is the stealthy drip, drip, the leaking away of vitality from the pernicious self-indulgences of guilt and boredom.

“Distracted by our own pathos, we litter the psychic journey with the debris, the trash of unreconciled, unrecycled self-pity, that plutonium of personal toxins.

“At various crossroads, Rhapsodics may also be a cold wintry wind cleansing the soul, but we replenish our stores of verve and nerve when we turn our study outward. (There is, of course, no actual outward; it’s all a matter of perspective, a trick of the light, legerdelight.)

“I’ve watched people being bored, and I’d rather watch them being beaten. If they knew that time was emeralds, that it fell through the hourglass like an avalanche, gone so sudden and quick, they would be loath to waste jeweled time on boredom and guilt.

“You might say that sustainable rapture is the missing enzyme. In constant minute doses, it frolics the soul, as green grass gambols the lamb. I’ve wondered if rapture ought not be given to us like hemoglobin, but have concluded that it can not be, that it is a by-product of art, that it must be wrought. Wrought by the art of deft attention.”

Bunga concluded, “By limiting ‘degree’ of importance to either the readily real or the elusive ineffable, we miss half the carnival. Some times I want to shake people vigorously by the lapels proclaiming, ‘It’s all bloody fascinating. It’s all potent, poignant.

“All bushes burn. All tigers, kingfishers, dragonflies, palm fronds burn. We live in an incandescent world. Let it capture you, the rapture.”

…
…

As we gambol down the vivid paths, the paths of lucid waking and lucid dreaming, we’ll need to wean ourselves from a narrow knowing of meaning. It’s one thing , though quintessential, to become more intellectually eclectic – for instance, when you begin to coax the mind of the body in remreal to be more daring, more physically eclectic and empathetic. To embroider, to embellish your comprehension of what’s real and what’s possible. Eventually we add the mind of the heart, the mind of the foot, the mind of the feather. A gallimaufry of vivid, lucid minds. Oh frabjous joy.

As you become more seized by glee, we'd like to coax you to try some fabling in your journal or log. Fables dwell in a magic-struck reality between worlds, the corpus callosum of story. Honored Aesop used animals to have a little moral adventure. We’re beguiled by animals – and disarmed. It’s an end-run around our ever ready to porcupinally bristle ego. We take in the 'notion' being illustrated without the imperious intellect pontificating or retaliating.

For my part, I have to know the name of a character before I can write her/its/his fable because my writing is so closely, not to say obsessively, woven with sound, with euphony & cacophony, assonance & consonance, the mime of melody. The names just appear, like faeries or chickadees, presents from my dear The Blue, wily tender mordant Le Bleu, my pal. Sometimes the names-&-characters arrive with fables, little gem stories, attached, sometimes they just wait to be in the cast of another fable yet to come.

Dan Gero is a philosopher journalist from South Mars. His name fell out of DanGerous.

Bunga Low, the favorite daughter of fin-de-siècle low-cost housing architects Pavi Lion and Ken Nel just tickled me flamingo. I only knew that she was going to talk about the architecture of consciousness as I set pencil to white white paper. Because they aren’t saddled with a laden label like Mabel, these characters are usually magical or intraworlds travelers. They bring the greatest intraworlds’ coin, currency, treasure: knowledge and observation with them in unexpected packages. Because they’re not named Bill and Jane, they shake your brain out of its ruts. What the heck, science studies quarks; psyence studies quirks.

So consider inviting some character to just show up in your log or journal. Write down an interview with them. Be of good glee, they always come bearing fables. You just have to transcribe them.

You’ll learn along the way to do less steering, to do more listening.

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Notes:

.. rhapsody — the root of the word rhapsody is woven song, includes strands from all the worlds;

.. gallimaufry = a stew, a ragout, an hash, a medley;

.. fin de siecle = end of the century;

.. re architecture of consciousness, the joak is Bungalow, Pavilion, & Kennel;

.. tickled flamingo — a flamingo is very pink;

.. Atro City, atrocity;

.. quint-essential = the fifth essence;

.. gambol = the fearless exuberant frolicking dance of galloping leaping lambs where you're so glad you can't even keep your hooves on the ground;

.. zephyrs = sweet breezes;

.. fetid = stinking, & slimy like forgotten vegetables left to rot to black gluck in a plastic bag in the refrigerator, yuck;

.. Le Bleu = The Blue in French, pron Luh Bluh;

.. hemoglobin = the stuff that makes our blood red and holds oxygen for delivery to our cells, a quintessential ingredient of la vie, our life;

.. ilk = is a disdainful way to say 'of that kind.' There is a sense of stench when one says it, that one's sensibilities are insulted by said group. I use it without fail when I say 'Cheney et Ilk.' The little joak is that typically one would say 'Cheney et al' meaning Cheney and others, Cheney and his posse, his cabal, his odious lickspittles — all that is implied in 'et Ilk.'

.. corpus callosum or quickpearl is the nerve-ends-rich tough gristly stuff that joins and communicates between the two hemispheres of the brain; quickpearl in alchemy & druidry;

…………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

……………….….<^>……………..

If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

……….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

excerpt image is alice munman

article slice is michael parkes

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Industrial Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid …… Day 21 …… The Part of Art 1

Posted on July 22, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 21

The Part of Art .. 1

This piece will read best for you

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[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

What part does art play in solving the quantum equations of the next human leap into a kinder destiny?

Art is as important as air in this glory of attentions, your life. Art is the brandy of attentions, distilled, golden, intoxicating. Among Dr. Druid’s subversive and blatant goals is the inoculation of your heart with art, with the haunting, daunting necessity of art. Art ain’t a luxury, for other people. I’m not saying artists cannot be belligerent morons who monger war and gigagreed, but 99% of art is a start away from being willing to do killing. Art can soak up & transmogrify the energies people otherwise insanely use to hate and to obliterate.

As Lord Byron would have it, “We thus dilate our spirits to the size of what we contemplate.” I add that we also distill our spirits to the intensity of the tiny glory we contemplate, say an ant or a grassblade.

Hinged

<?xml:namespace prefix = o ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office” /> Part of the point is to do as much art as you can and stay hinged. (The temptation is to dali or to bosch and to pterodactyl into the paisley skies of a benign madness.)

One of the rottenest and stupidest things is that people have attached success in art to frilthy lucre. Pifffle. Start your damn art today and be awful at it in the beginning. Bloody persevere. Eventually you get better. (I sometimes think that everyone should have an art that no one will ever see so they can just putter happily making mudpies in it and not worry what the spouse or the neighbor or any bloody anybody will say. People are so horrifically judgmental. Please allow yourself to be in kindergarten.)

The tender bud of creativity is snuffed out by other people’s Idiot Perfectionist, and your own. Not that they have ever even probably done any foray into the forests of art. Or maybe you’ve got them in the one they have a knack for. They should be required to try something they ain’t so handy at. (Like baseball players trying to play golf. Or in a class of 7^th & 8^th graders I had 38 years ago – all the language-kids wrote this riveting prose and when they read their stories out loud, the non-verbal shrank back into their shells. There was this kid in the fartherest away back corner who doodled fabulous flame-burning cars all day. I had the inspiration to have everyone illustrate their stories. From being the helpless worst, this kid was the fabulous best. When I stood with him showing his brilliant drawings at the front of the class, everyone got a glimpse of how we are all gifted and all clumsy.) I always honor most the folks who lurch out of their comfort zone and take that dangerous chance on the brave awkwardness of actually learning something entirely new.

I will give more evidence along our way, but I know, as a teacher and as a learner, everyone can learn everything. Drawing was my one exception. And Dear Rafaello in one weekend tricked me into my drawing brain and there is my running shoe, laces, holes and all still on a page to prove that anybody can learn anything. Now I didn’t stick with that trick, but I know it’s there. And you can be tricked by a nifty teacher or your nifty self into learning anything if you just unclench your brain and say, “By Golly, I will kindergartenilly persevere until I figure this out, tra la la.” It may take a long time, but you can get Very Very Good.

When I finally figured out how to teach writing, every single kid ended up writing killer stuff. Because I learned how to trick them into being real, not derivative. There was one kid who wrote about stereo components every night. I couldn’t wait for the next installment. Of course you can’t give a damn about grammar and spelling in the early going – any clod can fix that. What you want is their reality on the page, not yours – their passion for stereo components. (Once you hook them on the juice of the Zone, you can rather easily persuade them into the usefulness of grammar. The other way around never gets to zeal.)

To remind you to begin, renew, or sustain your journal/log or whatever other art you pursue: there only a few tricks to learning to write. First, you need to write every day. Make a vow. Put the whole date. (I have boxes of stuff that are dated May 6 or March 15. When I wrote it, I knew what year. Uhh, but now I have no clue. So 03.15.07 is good. I like to put 03.15.07 sunmon 2:14am. The date is necessary. The rest is idiosyncratic.) Your vow is to write something every day even if it’s “I’m too darn tired to write.” I have never actually written that though in my vow I have permission to.

Now I’ve done this vow for about 30 years so I ought to have it down. (Because I write allegorical philosophy, I wanted to make sure what I was saying would turn out to be true in a life before I foisted it on the public. I’m in a foisting mode now at last.)

So, write every day. And never write when you can’t write: If you can’t write it down, don’t think it. You’ll never get the pristine phrasing back. When I’m out and about, I’ll jot down a phrase or two, but I’ve trained myself not to indulge in turning the faucet on. I wait until I’m at a page or computer screen. Of course I often go out to write. That’s fine. I’m talking about when you’re driving or walking with no notebook. Observe. Don’t write in your head. Jotting is OK, but not full-fledged open the flood gates.

You write every day. You don’t write when you can write it down.

Some days you write literature. Some days you write glorified shopping lists. It’s the keeping faith with the Muse that counts. She (or he) ruthlessly believes in your honoring the relationship. You will be rewarded for keeping faith. This is a grail quest and you gotta be pure of heart. You don’t have to be smart or a natural sentence-slinger in the beginning. You do have to keep faith.

Write only for yourself and the Muse. Your horrid friends or family seldom have anything useful to say. You’ll find your writing friends along the way, and they only whisper sweet somethings into your ear. Say what you like about someone’s work and elsewise Shut Up. You’d be amazed at how many ‘friends’ read with a machete and think they’re being ‘helpful.’ Oh Gods, ugh.

Then, the best proofreading and editing you can do of your stuff is to read it out loud to yourself. Then you’ll see where it doesn’t work.

Remember, editing is easy. Flame for ink, ice for ink, blood for ink – that’s the trick.

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more The Part of Art .. Hie thee

I want to tell you about the kilim exhibit. Some years ago in the De Young Museum, I think. I wandered through the immense marbled halls hung with remarkable kilim or ‘Turkish rugs.’ The work, the dedication. They were beautiful. They were compelling. Their intricate symmetry spoke of a holy determination to honor God. Everything had to be tended — the sheep, the thread, the dyes, the wood of the loom. The apprentice becomes the master. How many moons rose gold and set silver? The songs chanted. The water fetched in a battered wooden bucket after morning prayers. The rugs appeared in a powerful and obedient symmetry.

There were rugs more than 700 years old. Some men worked on cathedrals. Some men worked on kilim. Honor was paid to the Creator.

After more than an hour of rapt contemplation, I came around a corner and saw yet another kilim. It hit me with such a shock, like I’d been struck by lightning — seared like that. From the 14th century, there like a message straight to the secret center of my heart was this magical, astonishing, asymmetric kilim. It was wildly celebratory, and broke all the rules. I felt a surge of joy so deep and fierce I wasn’t sure I could live past that very moment. Yes, oh yes, one could be different. I was not ever completely alone again.

S/he dared. I dared. As long as we sought as much beauty as we could stand, it was wonderful. Tears just ran silently down my face in greeting, in gladness. People swarmed thru the galleries, but somehow I was alone around this corner as if the universe wanted to grant me this special audience with this kindred spirit from the deep past.

Hie thee to a museum. You will always be changed, rearranged, usefully deranged.

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Notes

+ Please remember the portable wisdom of my hypnotism teacher, Dobson: “Respond only to positive suggestion from any source . . . including yourself.”

+ hinged vs unhinged ..

+ If you do a google image search on Dali and Hieronymus Bosch, you'll see the sublime slide into the surreal.

+ images in excerpt & slice, anthony mccall (If you live near SF & you see this before 09.28.07, go to sfmoma & see mccall’s stupendous interactive installation You & I, Horizontal on floor 4. You’ll always remember it utterly.)

+ If you don't live near any museum, haul out a huge art book from your library and root thru it.

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Industrial Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid …… Day 20 …… 77 Qualities of Gladness

Posted on July 16, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 20

77 Qualities of Swift Gladness

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This piece will read best for you
if you read it with your mouth as if out loud
[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

I know of some folks who have been meditating for a few years on the 26 qualities that the Gita’s Arjuna said were necessary to master for a noble life or somesuch. They have taken each quality like 'fearlessness' or 'forgiveness' and meditated &/or chanted it for forty days for each quality. Life-changing they claim. Well, who can gainsay that, per se?

I just happened today to be looking up ‘frolic’

to see if my latest e-dictionary fav Online Dict at DataSegment properly had the root meaning of ‘frolic’ as ‘swift gladness.’ This dict puts synonyms at the bottom of the definition page and there was:

Moby Thesaurus words for “frolic”:

antic, beam, caper, caracole, carouse, carry on, cavort, celebration, chirp, chirrup, clap hands, curvet, cut a dido, cut capers, cut up, dance, delight, disport, escapade, exult, festivity, flounce, fool around, frisk, fun and games, gaiety, gambado, gambol, glory, glow, have fun, hell, high jinks, horse around, horseplay, jollification, jollity, joy, jubilate, lark, laugh, lilt, make whoopee, merriment, merrymaking, mirth, party, partying, play, practical joke, prank, radiate cheer, rejoice, revel, revelry, riot, roister, rollick, romp, shenanigan, shenanigans, shines, sing, skip, skip for joy, skylark, skylarking, smile, sparkle, sport, spree, tomfoolery, trick, trip, waggish trick, wassail, whistle

Hmmm, I thought, Why not in some random periodicity, nimbly (imagine an sure-footed mountain goat on a steep hillside) improvise some commentarying on these 77 qualities of mischievous swift gladness, a non-creed, anti-creed, post-creed commentary? How droll and perhaps even glittering, sequined for all we know.

Since our babbling-brook stream of consciousness sometimes has the attention span of a firefly, relishes small delightful illuminations, this forty-day gig on a single quality ain’t on per se, but I thought I’d leave the timing in the legerdemains of the dear Greatest Deity Drolloa, patron deity of Vitamin I.

So, I thought I’d do my initial exploring and commentarying on ‘frolic’ for you.

Frolic is of course 1^st & 4most my panbeloved cat palanddream Frolic who is like patting a sunwarmed nuage (new-ahj) – an iridescent pewter-colored cloud of silvery softness, so soft indeed that if you close your eyes you think your fingers are passing over a fluff of warmed, sweet, whipped cream. The root of ‘frolic’ is ‘swift gladness,’ a perfection of cat description that was fortuitous, a gift from The Blue, who pours presents upon us from the gigantic cosmic constellation, Cornucopia.

[[In the interests of the rollercoastering chaos which the 77 qualities of swift gladness of mischief and of fun foments for us, nuage & nuée both mean ‘cloud’ in French. At the other end of the cloud spectrum from the whipped cream nuage, we find Nuée ardente (new-hay are-daunt), that ferocious pyroclastic (broken fire) flow of burning cloud which violently pours down from a volcanic eruption and is more sudden, savage, and lethal than the lava flow. In the great volcanic death events(e.g. 79 Mt Vesuvius; 1902 Mt Pelée; 1980 Mt. St. Helens) in history, it is the nuée ardente that encases and incinerates people and cities, and no doubt goats and spiders and chickadees too. From Wiki, nuées ardentes are “fast-moving fluidized bodies of hot gas, ash and rock (collectively known as tephra) which can travel away from the vent at up to 94 mph. The gas is usually at a temperature of 212-1472 degrees Fahrenheit.”]]

If we weren’t grim, if we couldn’t be grim, grimy, tarnished of heart, if silliness were our unsolid state, our legerdepieds, then we wouldn’t and in deed couldn’t daggone kill collateral (aka people) damage. We would sicken ourselves. $820,000 per minute on the bloated insane Military-Corporate Budget and the additional $233,000 per minute flushed in a war like Iraq would have been better spent if troops of brightly costumed clowns with enormous bulbous-toed pink plastic shoes had just stood on the corner of al Thawra & al Kulafa streets and the corner of Qutuiba & Waqas streets in Baghdad and just handed out fistfuls of cash. In a mere 48 days, we could have given each of the roughly 5,772,000 Baghdadians $10,000 apiece. Does anyone think this wouldn’t have won more hearts and minds than the turning of gold into rubble and bones and Zones?

Instead of all this cordite, a ferocious fascination with the permutations of fun, the facets of silliness, obsidian and nuage, vulture and dandelion, would serve our darling planet so much more nobly in preposterity.

Grok on, Frolic on, dear reader. If LJC, Siddhaha, MoHam, Jehovaha et al can’t frolic, can’t be swift of gladness, can’t do a vaudeville turn or twain, fire’em and hire up some jollier and more insistently kind deities. I am become so allergic to faux piety that I break out into a fever of irritation if I’m exposed to one pppm (piety part per million) – gimme arsenic or heroin before killers’ piety, thanks.

8888888

So, consider picking some qualities to contemplate in your log or of a musing afternoon or of a musing <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />midnight. I recommend keeping to the sillier side of qualities so you don’t get inadvertently drawn into the dreary or pompous seriousness so often falsely associated with ‘spirituality.’ Gods forfend we get bogged down in seriousness.

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Notes:
+ the 26 Arjuna qualities – most of these are much nicer and more serious than I am:
Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 1: The Blessed Lord said Fearlessness, purity of heart, steadfastness in Knowledge and Yoga, almsgiving, control of the senses, sacrifice, study of scriptures, austerity, and straightforwardness

Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 2 : Harmlessness (Ahimsa), truth, absence of anger, renunciation, peacefulness, absence of crookedness, compassion towards beings, freedom from covetousness, gentleness, modesty, absence of fickleness

Gita, Ch. 16, Verse 3 : Vigour, forgiveness, fortitude, purity, absence of hatred, absence of overweening pride – these belong to the one who is born with Divine treasures.
+ palanddream .. pal-and-dream
+ legerdemain .. light of hand, slight of hand in magic; cf coined legerdepieds, slight of feet, as a lamb gambols.

+ image of slithy tove above from drew bond, aka co nz

+ images of greys .. paul klee, google images.

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

You may comment anonymously.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

I'd be very grateful if you'd send pogblog’s link to a friend:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

..<^>……

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military-Industrial Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid . day 19 . Negative Capability 1

Posted on July 9, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 19

Negative Capability 1 . A Handful of Air

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This piece will read best for you

if you read it with your mouth as if out loud

[Ask Dr. Druid is designed to begin at the beginning. Click here.]

Please take it a little extra slow with this piece, as if licking molasses from a spoon.

A single handful of air doesn’t weigh much, but you surround a planet with an atmosphere and it adds up. Similarly (tho not identically), your memory of, imagination of, dream of a landscape has a photonic mass that has to be accounted for – it is most of barklian existents. (K1 is the kinesthetic or standard e=mc² daytime physics about which narrow-end physics obsesses and to which it grants sole proprietorship of the reality label.) Most of what I ‘know’ and experience has no K existence whatever. It may or may not have had a brief K component.

Repeatable science is important essential work. It should have funds and university departments up the yang. However, the 90% of our experience which has no immediate K1 component (& may indeed never have had a K1 flint moment of tactile, olfactory, gustatory or t-o-g interface at all), that 90% is all but discounted in its mass qualities. Masses of this photonic water flows through the brain pipe and does have complex physiological effects, but the correlations are hard to measure and impossible to repeat.

So we diss &/or ignore the physics of 90% of our real if glancing and evanescent experience. Chaos theory legitimizes the study of the turbulence of water through a K1 pipe, but we aren’t even at the stage of accepting the vast photonic universe at all, least of all allowing arcane or niche creeks of study off an established river of supposedly-repeatable flow.

Our established K1, repeatable Theoscience is very papal and dogmatic, and I think the initial insistent separation from other magics was a very good and necessary clarity at the time. But it is false – the baby was thrown out with the bathwater. It all interdwells and until we add the fabulously vast sea and the dainty filigrees of photonic psyence, we will know least of all honor little of the seamless truth. It self-evidently is unified whether we can explain it or not.

It is no doubt true that it is very hard to stay objective when studying the mischievous, seductive photonic realm. You can ask for smart and for wise perhaps — but objective, nah. (Objective is a crock anyhow which Heisenberg got.) You only get to study tame stuff in the repeatable-is-real mode. If you want to study tigers burning in the forests of the night, you need different scopes.

So what do you want in a photonic scientist, psyentist, or knower? I would say that an affection for the abzurd is handy. And especially useful is dear Keats’ Negative Capability: “ . . . which Shakespeare possessed so enormously – I mean Negative Capability, that is, when a [person] is capable of being in uncertainties, mysteries, doubts, without any irritable reaching after fact and reason — Coleridge, for instance, would let go by a fine isolated verisimilitude caught from the Penetralium of mystery, from being incapable of remaining content with half-knowledge . . . .”

In my experience, K1 science is dog-like – predictable, obedient. You can put a leash on it. Photonic matter or e=mc∞ or photonic mattergy is like a cat – it purrs, it likes to be stroked, but obedient? Repeatable? ¡HaHa! Nada, nunca. Never. There are patterns and fields one can discern and mention – but the sensitivity and malleability and shapeshiftiness of the photonic mattergy, the holopaint, makes and creates so sleekly and rapidly and rampantly that you can’t bottle it.

You can, however, teach people to keep some of their wits about them while exploring and studying it. First, we’d have, in the West, to learn to honor play as much as work. Of things useless or criminally-insane-equivalent in PhotonicVille is the Protestant Work Ethic. We’d also have to recognize the rampant flak of a huge and often appallingly puerile, sometimes enticing amount of raunch.

We are not souls trapped in gross earthly bodies. That’s way too staid and prettyfied. We are rambunctious, fractal holokaleidocopic coalescences of energy & pattern inhabiting an unexpectedly stable bio-suit for a tidbit of time. The linear qualities of ‘our’ life are a useful fiction. I’m all for lucid waking, defined and refined by science and art. We need to add lucid photonics and psyence (dreaming; memory; fantasy; imagination &c).

We spend a lot of tasty fluids and other substances to relax or vanish the walls between us and the wilder sea. (These walls or levees are very darn useful – full-bloom schizophrenia or helpless dimensions-confusion isn’t fun. If, on the other hand, we are taught whole life skills [which I would dub hololife skills to more pointedly include the whole 24 that we do indeed live], we can have choices of walls, or not — just like we put up and down the venetian blinds on the sunny side of the house.)

In 50 or 100 years, all these skills are taught in Druid Quantum Schools, but for the nonce, I’m plunking the more oneiro-skills, the photonics into Druid Clown School InterDimensional. The <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Quantum School stuff will take a smaller leap into schooling many more people better, but closer to the best of the prevailing model. Those of us who particularly love the future and the dear Penetralium of mystery can work on getting these fractal photonic science, psyence, skill-sets translatable to those linear folk still made vertiginous by free fall. The coming time will not allow them to remain in their familiar mode; there will be vortexes and torques of mind&emotion that require the new skills.

Today, with this holo-info in mind, notice & contemplate just how much of what is moving your piece around the Cosmic Chess Board is not K1, is not science fodder. This will begin the development of your Negative Capability organ, your unclenched, no irritable reaching after fact and reason organ. You’ll begin to add the delicious capability of being able to see the brilliant but shy denizens from the Penetralium of mystery.

…<^> …….

Notes

+ barklian existents .. Irish Bishop Berkeley (pronounced Barkly) thought & I agree with him that all we could testify to were mental constructs of one kind or another. But there is the semi-consensual hallucination and then there are the photonic psyence realms where we don’t yet share enough conscious experiences to make a lot of tests and claims tho we can poetically attest and resonate.

+ narrow-end physics – narrow-end refers to the narrow end of the telescope. A wry tho not unkind suggestion that standard science is leaving out a whole lot of reality in order to preserve the exclusive sanctity of this repeatable thing. Damn, us poetry witches & wizards either got burned or spurned. But our time is comin', darlin'.

+ holo-paint .. The photonic worlds are as if magically painted into existence by a paint which is 3D rather than 2D. It paints landscapes you can walk in rather than look at on a wall. Very tricksy stuff holopaint.

+ oneiro-skills .. oneiro = dream in Greek.

+ images title & excerpt Harry Tjutuna, australia dreaming art;

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If you know or are an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of druid material, please let me know at .. askdrdruid@gmail.com. Please put ‘agent’ in the subject line.

………….<^>……………..

It’s an honor to have you visit pogblog. Do comment.

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

It’d be great if you sent pogblog’s link to your friends:
http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.for bombadilobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

.. let’s spend the $820,000 per minute Military Budget on education instead ..

………….<^>…………….

Ask Dr. Druid

Druid thought; obsidian humor; radically sane politics;

Category Archives: Ask Dr. Druid . Intro thru Day 28

Ask Dr. Druid . day 28 . The K1 Project part 1

Ask Dr. Druid . day 27 . Horizontal

Ask Dr. Druid . day 26 . Planette

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 25 .. Vulture Culture

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 24 .. ShapeShifter

Ask Dr. Druid day 23 Review 3 gateau nature

Ask Dr. Druid .. day 22 .. Rhapsodology, the study of meaning

Ask Dr. Druid …… Day 21 …… The Part of Art 1

Ask Dr. Druid …… Day 20 …… 77 Qualities of Gladness

Ask Dr. Druid . day 19 . Negative Capability 1