Category Archives: Dreams — Here … & There

Readin', Writin', 'Rithmetic, and Dreaming

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Readin', Writin', 'Rithmetic,

and Dreaming

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I'm definitely an optimist in the longish term. I am convinced that the integration of DayLand & DreamLand, the cosmiNet, will re-orient our energies in a sustainable way. We'll have a 'place' where violence and aggrandizement don't kill & impoverish.

 

We'll be able to afford to be our brothers' keepers Earthside — or more elegantly in these wiser times, the keepers of our kin — bipeds, in other words.

 

Please, as you would ask your spouse, How was your day?– in the morning, set your alarm 1/2 an hour early for a mutual muse and ask her/him How were your dreams last night? We are ineluctably involved in a larger, very multi-faceted consciousness & it's time for us learn all our capacities.

 

Similarly you can ask your child at breakfast, How was your night at school? They are learning every night from a fabulous reservoir of cosmic experience, and if you attend to their TV & Books & Music, why aren't you attending to their Dreaming? (Tho, of course, they are unlikely to be 'kids' in their dreams!!)

 

There is no skill and distilled joy and fascination that will serve your child or spouse or friend better than to encourage them in active or lucid dreaming to go along with their lucid waking.

 

I recommend giving folks of any age, Dreaming True by Robert Moss, a wonderfully readable master of multiple worlds — grounded, sane, funny. (I was particularly interested to find that Harriet Tubman used lucid dreaming as you might a folded paper map to guide her Underground Railroad folks safely past the hounds and ravening overseers. Not taught to us in our history books.)

 

I know some people think Oh my life is so busy and hectic, I can’t take on any more information. Piffle. We use a trifling 10% of our brains if we’re Einstein. We have storage and comprehension to burn. Think brandy. Distilled. You’ll find dream travel vivifying as much as any possible trip to the sea side or mountain peaks. And good for the fossil fuel crisis, by the way.

 

The 90% of our brains, fallow for most, is hanging out waiting for you to wake up to your multiD, superfab, holovideo game. Sony, XBox – what jokes they are compared to the gig in your head – or full body really.

 

It is true that we will have to be prepared for an emotional calculus that we aren’t in the slightest trained to be aware of least of all grok. We must figure these 5D chess games out tho or the undertones and undertows of our DayLife will be distorted by our self-imposed blindspots. We will be compelled to develop an obsidian sense of humor as vivid as seeing, hearing, touching, tasting, smelling – obsidianing – the 11th sense, astwere. Our shuttered normanrockwell worlds will be shattered – but they are false anyway and the hum below our hearing tells us that. At some point we have to unclench our minds, get out of the cocoon, & find what we find.

 

It is the complex configurations of friendship and ‘love’ that are baffling & bone-aching to our sentimental day minds/hearts. Let’s say that things are more beautiful, but not so pretty?

 

We’re already in the adventure. A question is whether we’ll open our eyes like on the roller coaster or keep them clenched shut?

 

You have to imagine that you’re on at least three interlacing roller coasters at the same time. That’s what all those extra synapses are there to grok. It’s not harder than breathing; you just have to accept that you can breath out of the homewaters. There is a certain vertigo or discombobulation or vortexiness sometimes, but like sealegs, you get dreamlegs, and you can shift from hither to yon and back from yon to hither. Be fascinated and have fun, and you’ll be fine of fettle and mettle too.  

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

3 Earth . Caban . Earthquake. Heron . East . tzolkin 236 01.24.06 wed

ffwofw587§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Odious George Bush et Ilk & Nicer Nancy

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Odious George Bush et Ilk & Nicer Nancy

 

Why am I so nice, sensible, strategic? It’s driving me nuts.

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I had the dream with George Bush I told you about where OtherLand-I was so much more civil and diplomatic and, yes, wiser, than DayLand-I am about the loathsome Present Menaces. DayLand-I  hate that odious-they are rapaciously aforethought stealing from pleasant dear ordinary people — crippling & delaying the constructive future. (The mantra: $820,000 per minute/Military Budget; additional $200,000 per minute.)  

 

To add insult to insult, I had a dream yesterday in which I was telling Nancy Reagan about the $820,000 per minute/Military Budget & etc. I was being so charming and affable. In my dream notes I said, “I was very respectful and friendly. I told her I knew people who ‘simply adored her.’” Ye gods. This is the woman who chewed each bite of food 35 chomps. Yowsa. Yet I have to say that in terms of our getting our butterier world, it’s a much better tactic than my blissed-out but self-indulgent rampaging in venom.  (She did have the guts to stand up to the Right Wing Bleats about stem-cell research.)

 

This dual consciousness of me & my dreamself is fascinating. Me & my brightness, I guess? Or me & my glistening shadow?

 

It is an odd sensation to ‘wake up’ or return to K1 – our DayLand, the Land of the persistent kinesthetic, and be still of two brains or two beings in terms of immediate action for world cooperation v. world domination. Neither of me feels like a role. I feel of a piece, yet I act in these different ways? Is there a hub of the jewel of which these intimate identities are facets?

 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2006 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

5 Death . Cimi . Twins . North . tzol 226  01.13.05 fri

ffwofw577§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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The Perception Beast

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The Perception Beast

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I’m interested in following my shapeshifting Perception Beast forth & back across the border from DayLand to OtherLand. I am a perception addict. The kaleidoscopic infinitude depends on being deftly intent all the time.

 

Because we only honor and teach DayLand perception in the West for the most part, our OtherLand awarenesses tend to be less willed and more sporadic when we have them at all. (Please start asking your kids, “How was <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Dream School last night?”)

 

You can either consider my Perception Beast to be a shapeshifter or a menagerie. Vivid perception is the key that unlocks empathy, the grokking of  the pulse of the so-called Other – it is only Other so we can love it without being hopelessly narcissistic, perhaps?

 

Anyhow, in a Dream which is to me just an OtherLand experience as real or maybe realer than a trip to Safeway (except when I’m buying Butter Pecan ice cream which is as real as it gets.) In a dream, I found myself sitting in a seat in the back of a theatre and then in a seamless re-location I am sitting more over on the side nearer you. So we have seamless re-location.

 

Also in this episode, “I” have a variable perspective – sometimes eye-centric & sometimes out-of-body. Or a variable view. (EC, OOB, VV). My perception beast roams around the dimensions. I need to be a better cartographer and zoologist. I need to map and catalog the qualities of perception in the whole HoloLand which includes the whole shebang, all the precious pulses, repulsive and charming alike.

 

With the delicacy of a butterfly, the quickness of a hummingbird, and the ferocity of a jaguar, my perception beast hunts the wild perception, knowing Blakily that it is all and any always new and shocking. Anything less is my tarnish – it is always polished.

 

Probably it would be wise to intracede (cf pre-cede) every contemplation with a startled ‘oh my gods!’ Ohmygods, shadows & shine; spleen & tenderness; leathery bat wings and Frolic’s downiest belly-fur which is as near to warm, soft, cloud-like nothingness as something can be. It’s recklessly ravishing. I am besotted.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

10 Flint . Edznab . Knife . North . tzol 218  01.05.06 thur

ffwofw355§26d2h33m11s33.84g3.25g; 

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Dream With George Bush

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Dream With George Bush

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I had a long dream in which I was being nice to George Bush. No, no, not biblically nice. We were alone in a rustic place. I was talking to him about the original simple palaver of radical Jesus before it got all hyped up with the poison of power. And most poignantly I was talking about Ho Chi Minh, the winning <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Vietnam general, saying, “We live here. We would have fought you for 300 years.” Mr. Bush said, “He said that?”

 

What surprised me was how kind and warm I was – genuinely diplomatic – a whole lot more diplomatic than I feel in DayLand. I touched his shoulder and held his hand. Good for me for putting the cause of peace before the vain desire for vengeance.

 

You’d have to grok the rabidity of my disdain for the zealoted Mr. Bush to ingest the alchemical slow shock Day-I felt at Other-I’s diplomacy. It was a lesson, no question, to inhabit-observe a more sweetly and deeply accomplished self. I haven’t figured out what to do with it yet. Day-I is still fraught with venom. Other-I was sincere. It wasn’t an act she was using for purposes. Day-I did manage to anti-heisenbergally not interfere with all my pent-up umbrage and recoiling. The chance to do a purer act for peace was clearly too profound to fuck up with bile.

 

I can see and agree with the necessity of that transaction for peace, but tho I grok the revelation, I do not now inhabit that perspective directly — which is quite a bi-location phenomenon. I mean is it an attitude I can put on like a cowgirl hat? Or inhabit like a gehry house instead of my velarde st. house? How do Day-I relate to this clearly wiser, better-tuned, further, Other-I? She was centrally ‘me’ – it wasn’t that I was outside her watching her like she (or I) was a clone. The whole event is a phenomenon I don’t understand yet if ever – I’m just reporting to you as honestly as I can find the sentences for in a nation which doesn’t honor the daily experience of multiple dimensions unless they’re acceptably Religious.   

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

1 Night . Akbal . Hearth . West . tzol 183  12.01.05 r3 thur

ffwofw 364§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you

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The Psychic Spy & the Cure for Milito-Theism

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oneiro is the Greek root for dream

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the Psychic Spy

& the Cure for Milito-Theism

 

 

      Two of the main projects on pogblog are the Burning Child .. Shifting from the Military Industrial Complex to the Education Instructional Complex (Let’s spend the $820,000 per minute on education instead). And the Integration of Lucid Waking & Lucid Dreaming.

   The hope is to pry open your mind for the pearl of wisdoms and delights that you hide from yourself because you were brought up in a culture which never taught you about Dreaming in the way that it taught you about riding a bike or how to decipher these black squiggles on a page. Both worlds are actually your birthright – an integration will make you happier, saner, and startlingly aware of your true equality in the cosmos.

   One of the immediate benefits of attending to your OtherLand experiences is the disappearing or radical diminishment of envy or feelings of deprivation. When you have such spectacular  inner riches, you don’t fuss yourself about needing another Hummer.

    Another benefit is a quantum leap in humor. A pleasure in sloth and silliness. Below is an instructional confection for your Clown Mind.    

 

     One of the most festive ways to change the outer reality is to plant clown flowers and clown forests in OtherLand. <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Clown School taught silly songs to eager plants who were sick of being solemn. To wheat and rice, they implanted a flavor of the absurd so that the new bread from the Clown Bakery made people chuckle. Cows who ate giggle grass gave milk that allowed people to laugh out loud so cheerfully that it was called the full montypython syndrome. The Clown Oneiro Products were so popular that Digrif and Flan could afford to subsidize oneirotists who were searching for a vaccine to wipe out the Serious Disease and the Megalo-religiophoid Disease. These epidemic diseases destroyed the natural happiness of billions of Earth inhabitants on every continent planet-wide.

     Alohaha was Digrif and Flan’s favorite parrot friend and an absolutely brilliant oneirotist. “Pina colada,” said Alohaha when Digrif asked what was her favorite flavor of the new ice laughter made of the thick cream from cows grazing on the lush giggle grass. “Coconut and pineapple, muy yum.”

     Just as all the creatures had been asked not to harm Baldar in ancient times, all the furred and feathered and finned and even the cosmically retarded bipeds were asking the local plants to mutate their genes to montypythonize themselves – thus giggle grass and anti-ava-rice and chaffing wheat. Black Adder Beer made people drunk with laughter, hopped up on fun. People were laughing themselves well. Guffa Wing products flew off the shelves. Joy was ordinary. Salacious, delicious, topsy-turvy, somersaulting joy. You could infect people with it. It was great. The Giddy Revolution had begun beyond the rainbow, turn sharp left at the left-most star of Gata Grande’s constellation.

     Alohaha ruffled her shocking feathers. Her head feathers and ruff were a glistening green, her wing shoulders scarlet, her long wing feathers alternating scarlet and ripe banana yellow, her soft belly feathers a shimmering chartreuse. “These pious suckers earthside are seriously serious,” Alohaha said, rolling her eye. She probably rolled both eyes, but you never saw both of her eyes at once so she often seemed to be winking at you. “We’re trying to cleese the vaccine – it needs to mutate its wit at lightning speed to outwit the ever-dirging seriousness of this megaloreligiophoid virus that is epidemic on Earth. Brave Pog surreptitiously collected some, ahem, ‘samples’ of Fuller’s genetic material from some rags in his trash and we’ve been trying to isolate that radiant hilariens mutation so we can graft it onto our virus for our vaccine. We re-hydrated his, ahem, fluids and put them in that new clownclone holofuge that Aunt Silly designed.

     “Homo hilariens. Viv Id said he was new. Homo hilariens. I like it,” Digrif gave a quick private glance at Flan. He continued, “Alohaha, we can’t emphasize the urgency, the panic really to develop this vaccine.” Flan grinned and grimaced, “No joke, Alohaha. Earth is fucked if we don’t figure this out and soon.”

     Alohaha stretched her shocking wings, “No clown rests. All of Gata Grande is tinkering and napping and puttering. And vats of ice laughter are being licked and spooned. With you two as, ahem, exemplars, there is giga-mating going on. All creative resources are being brought to bear. Everything to stir the dream, bestir the dream.” She clicked her bright blue beak three times which is how you know a parrot is laughing.

     “Flan did a vision for us which we put on holovid. Now we can study the frightening pathology of their auras.”

     Flan shuddered. For a clown to get that close a sample of the radioactive aura of a person afflicted with full-blown megaloreligiophoid was completely dangerous. She still had flashbacks she hadn’t told either Digrif or Alohaha about.

    “Tell us again, honey,” Digrif said softly, his turquoise eyes watching her with special concern. He knew something was wrong. “Maybe we missed a clue.”

     Flan flicked her deft to the megaloreligio she had deliberately encountered for study. Like many beings brought up by animals, Flan used her sense of smell in a symphonic spectrum that people brought up by bipeds could never fathom. It was partly why she was so smitten with Digrif who smelled of late summer grasses and salty waves splash and the bittersweet smell of their mating. Gods know that was better to swim in than the sickly sewage stench of the fear-sweat megaloreligios.

     “Unnatural fear,” Flan murmured. “Unnatural fear. That’s what hunts and haunts them. Natural fear alerts and protects you. It has a real beginning and a real end. Unnatural fear is self-generated and self-perpetuated and the copious stale adrenalin toxic-rots the flesh, the body-flesh and the psychic-flesh. These poor pizzles are rotting alive – you can smell it. That’s what we need – in addition to the cleese hilariens element, a vulture element to clean up the rot at the molecular level so the hilariens can take hold. That’s what it smells like.”

     Digrif put his fingers on her forehead and moved them slowly and lightly. Flan far away heard the whisper of his fingers on her skin and her nausea at the grim smell subsided.

     She said, “A megaloreligio’s aura looks like a dense layer of grimy white coagulated exhaust with many prongs of barbed wire flailing in it. A ‘normal’ aura has huge varieties of weather, of flux patterns but it isn’t this styrofoamic foot-thick mummy wrapping of frantic static and flak that isolates them, insulates them from fun or spontaneous thought. They’re safe from the challenges, the choices good and bad, of the novel, the quixotic, but they are the living dead. And anyone different from them is a menace to them whom they hunt down in slavering hyena packs. They are so fear-ridden, so fear-laden.” Tears ran down Flan’s still face. She fainted. Digrif looked at Alohaha, “Do you have what you need?” “Yeah, some new clues. She’s never fainted at anything. I don’t like it. Getting too close to the megaloreligios is damned dangerous. Put somebody else on this until Flan clears up. Give her some ice laughter. Some sunshine. Take her to the damn beach.”

     “She’s the best and toughest psychic spy we’ve got,” said Digrif. “She has to foray again soon.”

     Alohaha clicked her bright blue beak three times. Except for the connoisseur, it was hard to tell the difference between parrot-laugh beak-clicking and parrot-vexation beak-clicking. But this time Digrif had no doubt and was chagrinned. “Take her to the beach, Digrif. She won’t do you or us any good dreared and dimmed, heart-dead. She needs to breathe salt. Do you hear, take her to the beach.”

     “I hear. I will,” said Digrif as Flan woke slightly and looked at him dully. Digrif felt a chill crawl his skin as he thought of the mind parasites infecting their beloved Earth. The clowns would win. But at what cost, at what loss? Pizzle the megalos. Grinning, he put his finger in the carton of Pina Colada Ice Laff and wiped it across Flan’s lips.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

12 Eagle . Men . West . tzolkin 155  11.03.05 thurs

ffwofw 1362§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1121

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Fencing .. the Duel For Deftness

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Fencing ..

the Duel For Deftness

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Sam Breeze throttled back on his snazzy new HelioJetter, the latest two-seater sport jetabout. He settled the tiny craft on the rooftop jetter pad at Max Thorn's InnerSpace MindGym, ISMG. Sam's previous full-passage Earth Trip had been in a cruder era, but he had made his useful mark in that lifetime. He'd been a pretty good portrait artist and had invented the telegraph which had revolutionized outer-world communication at the time. He came out of each lifetime with a deeper conviction that art had an essential part in any constructive endeavor.

 

Art, fencing, and invention all shared a creative quality or posture that Max coaxed into your body's and psyche's muscle memory by merrily hollering or hissing “Au point” at you for an hour every instant your body and mind lost the perfect deft balance good fencing requires. “Au point.” (Oh pwa-n. The 'a-n' sound is like the beginning of 'angle' just before you put the 'ng' sound on.) Poised. Equally ready to pounce or to retreat. Not relaxed, but not tense. It is this deft state that Max cajoled and bullied his fencers into maintaining. Properly performed, it became nearly effortless.

 

Sam grimaced cheerfully at the memory of the early days when he'd all but collapsed from the effort to make no effort. Learning like a butterfly to let his attention alight on things,  to hover like a hummingbird sipping nectar.

 

 “Breeze,” Max would hiss suddenly behind his left ear, “Are you a humming bird? Do you skim like a swallow? Are you a zephyr?” Christ no, Sam would think, I'm a waterlogged, weak-kneed, lily-livered lump. At first, all these alertness exercises made him feel even less competent, kindergarten awkward. Perhaps it was not worth feeling this ridiculous?

 

“Dogs waste effort, cats waste none,” Max would insist. “Purr. Cats are always balanced, au point, poised. Watch them and admire. Learn.” The thing Sam liked best about Max was his refusal to guru. “I'm just a technician, kid. A batting coach. Keep your eye on the ball. Everything is a ball,” he'd cackle. Wise guys always cackle.

 

In fencing, your weight is not on either foot. It goes straight down from the top of your head through your spine down between your two widespread feet. Though this position is physically useful in fencing, the au point, poised attitude is also always required in order to live vividly. Alert.

 

With his white canvas fencing jacket open, Sam waited for his turn on the piste, the arm-span-wide special fencing strip laid out on the Gym floor. He recalled when he had learned to fly in his own body in the less-dense Realms of Experience, and the first time he had levitated in his own room at home. What both adventures had in common was an un-gravity, a not-grasping, a not-clenching.

 

Levitating, he had floated up like some large Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade balloon and bounced gently off the ceiling, feeling at once delighted, incredulous, and entirely a fool. He was like a baby in this action. He couldn't control his motion yet. When he flew in dreams, he had careened and hurtled, and when he was about to run into a wall or a mountainside, he would flinch, duck, but dream-crashing never hurt anything except his terran pride and expectations. He got grace when he stopped trying so hard.  

 

ISMG, the InnerSpace MindGym, was for people who found samuraiing a tad belligerent. All the disciplines and arts sought the Zone. The monk who illuminated the manuscript, the baseball player who had to concentrate but must not squeeze the bat too tight, the fencer on guard. The Zone.

 

ISMG with a certain glee disdained 'peak experiences,' that treasure hunt of the previous century. Max had put his huge ruddy hooked nose up to the end of Sam's aquiline one and gazed owlishly at him, “Bloody hell, kid,” he whispered, “I want a peak life.”

 

ISMG made every client keep a journal to remind them that all action, all repose was equally a chance to practice or perfect being au point, lightly intent. “If you can't do it washing the dishes, y'ain't gonna suddenly do it here on the piste,” Max chided. Like a photograph, each action has to become focused.

 

Sam thought that perhaps our blessed eyes were too well-engineered for our own good. If we actually had to “manually” focus our nifty dual full-color, 3-D bio-cameras on the front of our faces, we might better appreciate the infinite adjustments of attention required to really focus on each thing. Visually we are lazy because it is done for us so automatically.

 

As Sam took his place on the piste, the special fencing strip on the Gym floor, drew up his fencing foil before his face, Max cried gleefully, “Au point, Mr. Breeze, au point! Deftly, please.” 

 

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.blogharbor.com

Cane . Ben . Reed . East . tzol 153 . 11.01.05 tues

ffwofw 808§8941/24d17h28m25s31.98g5.1g/1119

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Make a Poetry .. MAP .. elan waking x elan dreaming #1

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Make a Poetry .. MAP ..

elan waking x elan dreaming #1

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     “Attention is a substance. Attention can travel amongst the intersecting spheres of densities. Monsieur Einstein fussed about his e=mc2 which holds up pretty well in K1, the semi-standard shared steady or fairly predictable and persistent solidity. But attention — the attention point can travel jaguar-like thru the forests of the night and of de-light. A=ec8″.

      Purrs Nickety, the feline assassin specializing in felling hypocrites, had a planet-side putative pal called Spiteful Puffadder. He was cute, sexy, and asked good questions once in a maroon moon, but he knew exactly how to needle her. She knew that when she wrote up the Make a Poetry MAP chapter for the Elan Waking x Elan Dreaming Manual, there would be a flurry of knives that would all impale the bullseye of her tender heart. But, press on regardless was the assassin’s creed even if ridicule and sweet talk were your only weapons in a mean world.

    Purrs said, “Lucid or elan or lively waking (& lucid or elan or lively dreaming, sooth said) is all a matter of deft attention. I put together a whole nice package of pogbloggian angles on deft, deft attention, and deftly intent for you to consult.

       “It’s the awww-kitten theory. When you see a kitten being held by someone, you feel safe. You go , “Aww, how adorrraabble. (Well, I do and many people do. Spiteful Puffyadder would probably like to, but it would de-cool his imagined tuff-guy image (pronounced im-ahhshuh). I use this aww-kitten example because once you get onto the recognition of attention as a thing, as a substance, you can experiment with it, or at the very least observe.

    “Compare also,” said Purrs, “That NLP I think said in some seminar, ‘Notice where you somatisize anger.’  Get over the horrible word somatisize (about which EB White said something like, ‘I’d as soon Simonize my grandmother'). I assumed I knew where I somaticised anger – in other words where in my body did anger concentrate? I assumed my chest, my shoulders, my jaw. But the next time I actually got angry, I realized that I somaticized anger in my forearms. Who knew? So we need a PestPatrol utility scanning our attentions to check out if they’re genuine or have gotten lifeless, juiceless, or just mis-taken.

   “You can send your attention anywhere in time. Or anytime in where.  Now, we like to allow our attention to be manipulated by stories and dance and song and stock tickers I suppose for some. That’s fun and I like it too. It would add to the repertoire of your consciousness though if you began to pay attention to your attention. Not with a furrowed brow tho, nor gritted teeth, but deftly – with no more effort than it takes a butterfly not to crash into the flower upon which it’s landing.

     “Attention that is euphonically and harmoniously deftly formed is often called the zone. Now, a baseball pitcher can be in the zone with his slider but almost slice his thumb off cutting a grapefruit in half. Pitching he can handle his attention brilliantly — tres zone. Halving grapefruits – not-so-zone. I swear that one summer there was a rash of baseball players hacking themselves up trying to halve grapefruits. Anyhow, attention is an undersung substance until you begin to grok it. Have you ever had the phenomenon of learning a new word and then for a week you suddenly hear it being used all over? As you add attentions, it’s like that.

   “Ye owls, now I’m in for it from Spiteful Puffy. But we gotta remind you about the Eskimos and their 25 words for snow. The Eskimos have a refined attention for many more qualities of snow than you and I do because snow is a life or death issue for them. All learning is refining and distilling attentions. And the astonishing thing is that you can have a zillion of them and it’s only more fun.

     “Properly funesed and grokked, attentions are nada but cool. We get tripped up when we lose deft. Deft is the lodestone. There’s a certain effervescence to deft. If we, as we are wont to do but don’t want to do, fall into a leadenness of attention, we are bored or angry or irritated.

   “Obsidian humor may be required to keep the quantum skipping up – when the self-evident stubbornness or stupidity of others seems to be ripping the wings off one’s butterfly of attention on some subject. or other. Obsidian humor is the Advanced Class – harrowing hell is nifty work and if you can’t asbestos up your heart, y’gonna char.

      “But happily and luckily, there’s a lot of attentions honing that all of us can do before we have to throw the lamb chop of our heart to Cerberus. Deft and droll attentions.”

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

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

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2 Serpent . Chicchan . East . tzol 145  10.24.05 mon 

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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Deftly intent ? the secret of enlightenment & endarkenment

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Deftly intent –

the secret of

enlightenment & endarkenment

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The gigantic & glorious & terrifying planetary changes of the next six years or so will be a lot more, well, fun for you if you both frantically and serenely gobble down the glamorous and nifty tricks, slick & delicate & brazen, of interweaving lucid waking & lucid dreaming, amigo, amiga.

 

In the juggling integration of lucid waking & lucid dreaming, the octessential leitmotif epistemological or practical trick is being deftly intent. The following tidbits give you a gist of what deft grokkedly means. You can always check with pogblog’s Glossary to see what other coined words or unexpected usages mean.

 

I have linked the essays/stories/articles so you can read the rest of them as you wish. 

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from Eclectic .. muy yum

. . . really deftly intense immediate perception. If you want to have gazing at a feather gouge your eyes out and rip out your jugular. Put your fingers into the socket of the universe. All bushes burn. All kingfishers burn. After the Rapture carts off all the really Boring and Judgmental people, the TutTutters, we can have a picnic of perception on our pretty planet.

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from How Much does Your Mind Weigh?

It was ridiculous to take drugs in the Sixties – an invitation to synapse-snafu, but the impulse was completely understandable. People knew immense amounts of experience were being neglected or ignored. With proper training, you can be lucidly awake – deftly intent – all the time and see that the whole world is burning in the forests of the night and of the day. With proper training you can lucidly do alternate experience without crapshooting your faithful synapses – you can learn to shift gears or shift dimensions.

    There are a lot of vaganzas we can have for some practice and if lucky some instruction. (Avoid serious instruction like the plague. Serious instruction must be false. Carpe comedy, however obsidian.)

     Ah, extra vaganzas. Muy yum. Starting with licking everything  as if it were an ice cream cone which is what good poets do and is a good beginning. 

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Homo Hilariens .. obsidian humor .. we evolve at last ..

 

Flan flicked her deft to the megaloreligio she had deliberately encountered for study. Like many beings brought up by animals, Flan used her sense of smell in a symphonic spectrum that people brought up by bipeds could never fathom. It was partly why she was so smitten with Digrif who smelled of late summer grasses and salty waves splash and the bittersweet smell of their mating. Gods know that was better to swim in than the sickly sewage stench of the fear-sweat megaloreligios. 

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Education , Ultraband & the End of Militarism

 

    Great education is like putting a permanent IV in your arm renewing you with a plasma of fascination, with an ignited enthusiasm. Great education doesn’t teach you anything except how to learn, an earnest deftness of mind and heart which you can apply to the electric present. It’s splendid and lucky to be confidently curious all the time.
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Brown Bird of Happiness

 

    Of course. I knew at once the breathtaking truth. Our ideas of happiness are quite rigidly conditioned. We are all searching diligently or frantically for versions of happiness, items of happiness, that are imposed upon us by the subtle tyranny of the past. Birds of happiness are blue, we are quite sure. This tyranny is distinctly insidious. It prevents what’s happening right under our noses from being happiness. Instead we have restless, inchoate longings for happinesses defined, not by our own present deft attention, but by other agents. Parents, friends, movies, books, religions, the patterns of our own past. 

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50.5% Crazy

 

    The way that a butterfly (I always thought flutterby was a better name) lands on a flower is the hieroglyph of the word deft. We must become deftly mad. Right now. Swiftly and deftly mad. If you think you prefer the comfort of being a lemming, do remember that the cliff edge is near and will suddenly appear. You are already indirectly participating in horrible acts. Immense tax cuts for the revoltingly rich and we have no universal single-payer health care. This is a not-so-distant evil from your door, pilgrim. We need more squawking. A vote is a squawk. Friends don’t let friends vote Republican. Friends make friends vote. But the key to changing from a ‘good American’ who stands by, who complies with the evil of others, is to begin to feather by feather build your wings of subversion until like a wiser Icarus you can fly from the charnel prison they are slowly making America into.

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Hector ..Psychic Assassin & the Abolition of War

 

    He had powerful benefactors, did Hector FerdeLance whose knowledge of subtle neurotoxins became legendary in rumor. He played the stringed zambal, attended the king, was a pretty, winning youth. Who was to know for sure that he wielded death so deftly? He was not employed to snuff the sparks of little lights, there were crude minions enough for that. His use was to outwit the shielding wards, those protecting woven words, that rhapsody of other kings.

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Fegg .. Quantum Perception

 

   Fegg. F[aberge]egg. Fegg. Simple, splendid, extravagant, delicious, reverent, jeweled. Fegg. It is seeing and tasting that richness in the little world that is fegg. One of the Earth Decorator's most fegg is, of course, the hummingbird, an outrageous jeweled miniature envied on all planets of all stars. “Ah, Madame Deco,” an offworld Designer would sigh, hardly concealing stark envy, “How did you do it!?” Planet Designers are a good lot on the whole in spite of their universally being riddled with admiration twinned with envy. It's just that when you see something unbearably well done — the concept, the craft, the flash, the diligence, it haunts the heart with gratitude that it has been done–and envy that you didn't think of it first. Gratitude and applause minutely outweigh envy. .. .. The Faberge Imperial eggs (particularly the ones by Perchin) are fabulous, and the notion of fegg derives a portion of its charm from the pleasure that human artisans can be so deft. But the planet's Designer has simply strewn our path with marvels upon marvels, has all but stuffed riches down our throat like fat corn down the foie gras goose's gullet.

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the Third Thing .. Photonic Physics

 

    Pal Ace said, “Between us we might be able to make the chariot and the black and the white horses tangible enough that our audience can actually get the lively sensation of the Third Thing. We can explain that all great thought is in stories because people there get images which give force and vitality to ideas. Abstract ideas are about as attractive as plucked chickens.”

   Ri laughed. “I know, abstraction is so false, so tepid, so pallid. The darling universe itself couldn’t stand the emptiness and loneliness of concepts. It poured its lonely heart into the violent and vivid art of the stars and the jewels of foxes and cats. It adores its creation. You can hear it purring on the cosmic subsonics. 

   From the audience Sherrard Gray said, “I watched you and Pal Ace give a Third Thing demonstration. I was astonished at the quick bright deftness of your shared creation. It was as quick and layered as seeing a magic deck of cards shuffled — two halves swiftly, layer after layer, became one thing.

    “I just wanted to know how the interaction felt for each of you subjectively? I wondered if we Earthers could get accustomed to that brisk, maybe brusque exchange — if it might not be too strong for us?.

    Pal Ace answered smiling, “That’s a perfect question. The Third Thing provides protection from personal injury.

    “It’s true that Risma and I know that, often, the stronger we are there in the Globe, the sooner the chaff of our personal thought blows away, and we’re both left with a truer kernel.

    “We are focused on the Third Thing, not ourselves.” Risma smiled at Sherrard Gray, <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />NorthEast Kingdom, Vermont, USA. She said, “The way it feels is that there, between us, is a land ne’er seen, an air pristine, in which we two can now create a new wonder to fascinate our fellows later. This place alive, this Third Thing is our refuge from our only selves.

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Church .. deftly intent

 

   Lowering her voice, Bunga continued almost slyly, “You never know what it will be, so you have to stay watchful lest you miss it. Not greedy or demanding or clutching at things, just watchful.

   “‘Urgency’ is too stirred up to maintain all the time, but with a little practice you can be deftly intent all the time. Then you begin to notice each thing’s pulse and gossip. It all chats and chirps and sings and preens.

   “One of the big ‘inside’ church mistakes is imagining that humility is dull or solemn. Obedience is dull and solemn. When you get humble and start attending to your fellow miracles, it is a pleasant, riveting din. The palm frond, the gear shift handle, satin, crayons, they all have a story to tell.


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 the Universe Moved or reality ain’t what you think –

or is ..

How I learned the universe is made of mind-rubber . .

 

    I’d made an agreement with myself when I was 7-years-old to stay alert and pay deft attention to whatever happened. I was studying Jung and Freud and Plato and Aristotle that year, and I took my epistemology and metaphysics with the earnest seriousness of youth.

     You’ll need to stick with the details of this small, but universe-shaking story. What makes it so rocking and shocking is its ordinaryess. How entirely un-woo-woo it is.

     I had been studying dreams with no guidance and studying an expanded reality with a stubborn earnestness. So I wasn’t unaware that the universe is more facetted and layered than presented in your usual school.

….

     If I hadn’t been so not daily but hourly, minutely, universe-in-a-grain-of-sandily trained to stay unpredjudicedly alert, I would have missed it or discounted it. All of my life had led to those two grail seconds. What made them grail was not some even fabulous coalescence of insight — but the nexus, Aristotelian I suppose, of supposedly reliable matter and brain. I’ve had lots of insights which flowed and ebbed. This was an outsight which, like Galadriel’s vial, gave me tangible confidence in all the adventures to follow.

    I’ve always wanted to stay sane as an artist on the FarFar edges. You can glean a lot of interesting stuff as you go mad. But I was and am only interested in durable truth – though often not repeatable. But not just stuff that will strand people in cul-de-sacs of cold and wet madness.     

    I admire the rigor of Science, and the doggedness. But we alchemists who were your fathers and are your children have rigor and doggedness too. We just don’t exclude anything from our deft attention. We’re scientists doing the dishes or doing the Twist as well. One is always the butterfly on the wall, observing, considering, fondly. 

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You are being taught stuff every moment as you move through the holo-hieroglyphs of living experience, but the big fish of meaning will strike the hook at any moment. If you’re not always deftly intent, the major & minor magics will pass you by.

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Vulture Culture

 

    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 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.

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

1 Lizard . Kan . South . tzol 144  10.23.05 sun 

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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The theo-Military Budget & Militant Ridicule

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The theo-Military Budget & Militant Ridicule

the Marshmallowists ..

the intergration of lucid waking with lucid dreaming  

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    Purrs Nicety addressed a seminar of clowns about to be deployed into the Dream Scheme to terrorize the Insane Leadership of the USofA Inc with sneak barrages of marshmallows.

     Purrs was a master strategist of guerilla Ridicule. “The RovBuCondRumsChenian Ilk can be howitzerily guarded in the K1, the full kinesthetic, solid-density, daylight plane,” said Purrs with a sly, if not snide, chuckle. Purrs sported the Puss in Boots look, complete with large blue hat with swashbuckling pink feather. Feline-pirate chic. She was, however, a Ridicule Assassin who fought fang and fought claw to embarrass the Putative Mighty.

    “Do you realize,” growled Purrs, “that they steal the happiness of their kittens to build weapons systems?” Her hackles bristled with furry fury. “No one – and I mean no one – dares speak out against the bloated, obscene, insane military budget. Not a chirp, not a squeak, not a bark, nor a howl. Either the hypnotism or the intimidation is complete.

    “Last class I told you all to memorize the Far Looney Bleeding Heart Extremist Agenda. Lobosuave, can you recite it for us?” Lobocake was something of a teacher’s pet, it must be said. Purrs clearly preferred him to any other comrade-in-marshmallows.

    Lobocake gave her his taunting wolfish grin, “That pesky Far Looney Left Extremist Agenda is universal healthcare; a superb, public K-College education for every child; a treasured and revered environment; a robust living wage; and nationwide free wireless internet ultra-broadband. We’re asking those who generally agree to memorize these and blurt them out to friend and foe at every opportunity. Healthcare, Education, Environment, Wages, Ultraband.”

   “Thanks, Lobo,” preened Purrs who was clearly smitten. “Now, these jerkbeciles are talking cutting Medicaid and the prescription drug benefit, closing schools, and gutting American civil rights, and we may not talk about – even mention – the next-generation DDX destroyers or more Trident submarines or more D-5 missiles or F/A22 fighters or V-22 Osprey aircraft or the strangelovian Robust Nuclear Earth Penetrators or any of that fantasy Missile Nonsense aka Star Wars program? Their present destroyers, submarines, aircraft, bombs are going to be challenged by whom?

    “We could put a non-maintenance moratorium on all Weapons of Mass Mutilation development for 5 years. Simply buy out all the workers and companies affected and re-deploy them to build super schools and the infrastructure of the WiFi Nation. We’re spending $820,000 per minute on theoMilitarism, not counting the extra $200,000 per minute on rubbling the rubble in the quagsands of <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq.

     “Fundamentalist Christianity is an anti-jesusian, virulent sidebar. The real 8000 lb gorilla in America is the Church of Militarism. To speak out against it is a burn-at-the-stake heresy-equivalent. They do you with the gatling gun and finish you off with a flamethrower.

    “Dare to suggest that 99% of military spending is a colossal waste of money and in come the bunker-busting bombs, soon to be nuclear for cruds sake.” Purrs derisively settled her bright silver fur with a quick shake.

    “Sir Nickety,” said Lobo with that insolent droll drawl, “Before you outline the Dream Scheme marshmallow raid, Operation Pelt, can you elaborate on the stealth psychology of theoMilitarism in 21st century USofA Inc?”

    Purrs cheshired. The clowns at Clown School InterD were a droll rowdy and raunchy lot. The nice thing about traveling in OtherLand was that you could change your body style as handily as the earthbound could change from a denim workshirt to an Hawaiian shirt. Last night she and Lobo had shapeshifted into human guise for some claw hammer and tongs recreation. Because their passions were medieval, he called her Sir Nickety as a kind of petitchouism.¹ Last night between bouts of smackdown, they’d discussed the sickening dangers of theoMilitarism.

    “ It’s probably easier to use the magic glasses of the view back from Y3000,” said Purrs. “In the Year 3000, we do not mutilate the children of strangers to solve adult disputes. We do not allow overwrought young men to drive suicide cars, the cheaper death, nor suicide tanks, the expensive death. The accumulation of stockpiles of WMM, Weapons of Mass Mutilation is seen as obscene and stupid.

    “The cult of Militarism is a very very virulent disease, and sadly its extirpation takes all of human and cosmic ingenuity to accomplish. It takes a drug cocktail of 3 parts Ridicule, 1 part Kindness, and, for the caretakers, huge doses of Vitamins OH and DD. Vitamins Obsidian Humor and Vitamin Damned Doggèdness.

    “All addicts’ hallucinations hijack the basic bio-survival circuits. Similarly the paranoid is unshakably convinced of the perils because the seamless internally-generated evidence is so intimate. External evidence does not access the theo-romanti-spiritual-sublime circuits where the self-generated molecularly-intimate tinctures are enzymily oozed, igniting a conviction for which people will actually end their existence. When these constellations of hallucination are lemming-amplified by fellow cultists, koolaid will be swilled.

   “Even most of the white-hats in 21st century America are either semi-infested themselves with milder forms of the theoMilitarism disease which are still potent enough to distort vision — or are clear-eyed and justly damned afraid.

    “Luckily, in OtherLand, Marshmallowists can be deployed with Weapons of Mass Ridicule and begin the psychic rehabilitation these hijacked entities, the Ilk, need to begin recovery. Their oneiro-security is negligible. We invade their sleep with our improvised marshmallow devices, our IMDs. Into each doppelsleeper’s gaping and snoring mouth, the Ridicule Counter-Militarism squad leader drops a marshmallow. The rest of the clown troops glide by, and marshmallow by marshmallow bury an Ilk’s dreambody in derisive marshmallows. The caboose or last clown out leaves a small keyring-sized plastic pineapple as a sign that it could have been grenades instead of marshmallows, but the uninfected soul goes for k-suave.

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to be continued .. ..

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quik Glossary .. petitchouism = petit chou is little cabbage in French, an endearment; extirpate = uproot; k-suave (k = K1 or solid earth day-density/suave – soo-ah-vay  = sweet, mild, smooth, gentle, harmless, uninjuring);

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If you know an agent, editor, publisher person who would handle this kind of pogblogian material, please let me know at .. pogblog@yahoo.com

………….<^>……………..

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

…………….<^>……………..

Check pogblog’s Glossary for brave & nefarious words.

copyright pogblog 2005 all rights reserved

Please send pogblog’s link to your friends:

http://pogblog.myblogsite.com

6 Vulture . Cib . Owl . South . tzolkin 136  10.15.05  sat

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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A Handful of Air .. Photonic Physics

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A Handful of Air .. Photonic Physics

    

    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.¹ Most of what I ‘know’ and experience has no K existence whatever. It may or may not have had a brief K component. (K1 is the kinesthetic or standard e=mc² daytime physics about which narrow-end¹ physics obsesses and to which it grants sole proprietorship of the reality label.)

     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 flow.

   Our established 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 science, 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 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 man 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,¹ 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 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 am all for lucid waking, defined and refined by science and art. We need to add lucid photonics (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 will be taught in Quantum Schools, but for the nonce, I’m plunking the more oneiro-skills,² the photonics into 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 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.

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¹ + 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 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 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 lookat on a wall. Very tricksy stuff holopaint.

 

² + oneiro-skills .. oneiro = dream in Greek.

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7 Lizard . Kan . South . tzol 124  10.03.05 mon 

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the pro-peace world begins today with you

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