Ask Dr. Druid . Day 36 . Paris, France

Posted on January 2, 2008 by wendy fleet

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 36

<?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Paris, France

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.]

Druids have always believed in an absolute democracy of knowledge – or more important of knowing. (Not so much the stuff, but the process.) The treasure, the golden, the untarnishable joy is knowing and sharing it with abandon and glee, with reverence, reverie, and revelry.

I imagine it would be levitatingly fine to go to Paris, France. But not everyone gets to see the Seine. Yet they must not have lives of regret. The druid point is to be jolly and amazed wherever you are. Not some ‘positive thinking’ abstraction, but honed & honeyed perception. Besides, think of how well that’ll serve you if you get to Paris, France.

It is the eternal birthright of consciousness to bloom. A fine and dandy and handy curiosity. Rhapsodic outsight & insight, a woven song. Freedom of knowledge/knowing is the 1^st freedom or the zero freedom, the foundation and the vault, the out-of-which all incandescence.

I taught in Adult Education for twenty-five years and I saw people not value their band because they weren’t Mick Jagger. Not value their vacation because it was never Paris, France. Not value their painting because they didn’t make a living at it. How rotten is that? Where did we get so knee-jerk in welding money or fame and value?

When I started doing stained glass, I thought I would die with the beauty of the colors and the chickadee/small bird glee in making a box or mirror or clock where I had cut all the shimmering glass and laid all the solder. I learned to do both the lead and Tiffany styles. I learned it well enough to exhilaratedly teach it in Adult Education. Then I fell into the terrible trap of thinking that I had to validate my stained glass by selling it. I came to hate doing it. I had to make the same or similar items over and over for economies of time and scale. I never got to experiment with bizarre but instructive failures.

I met this guy who had made cool and eccentric bird houses. He sold a few now & again at a local flea market for grins but his mother talked him into trying to ‘Get Serious and organized and really sell a line of bird houses.’ It all but broke his heart. He had loved and crafted his unique bird houses and now the zigzagging originality, the quixotic fun had gone out of it. Think how Mick Jagger feels that all anyone really wants to hear is ‘Satisfaction.’ Nobody gives a damn about his new ballad, ‘Buried in Ostrich Feathers.’

You may get to go to Paris, France. You may get to be Mick Jagger. That’ll take care of itself. I’m interested in the hours when you aren’t in Paris, France and aren’t Mick Jagger. Druidry has to do with the kind of cooking chefs do for themselves and their friends at home. Expert but daily.

The Brits have this concept of the gifted amateur. Someone good enough to be a professional, but who does something else for the rent and pursues the craft or the game or the art for its own exact and quirky sake. Remember, someone is going to be fixing the car, washing the dishes in the restaurant, digging the ditches, washing the windows. All this hurrah about everybody following their bliss for money is blindered codswallop. Billions of people on this VuraEarthGoo have beastly or not so grand jobs. Those jobs exist. Those jobs are going to be done by some body. Those folks have the right to as much bliss as the next doodette or dood. Bliss what you follow. The art and the job for rent. Myself, I wash windows for the rent. It’s honest work. And proves my point. That we could share the grottier jobs around and still all get grokked out with mirthmost merriment.

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Notes:

I haven't put my mind to the distribution scheme of the necessary work, but guess it'll be something like a fab Russian sci fi story I read once where every six months in the mail you got a note about your job for the next six months. (If you know the author of this story, I adore to find it out again. Pls leave in Comment.) Neurosurgeon three weeks a month and dishwasher at the Ritz for one week a month, or somesuch. I'm not wed to any scheme yet — just to the principle that all bipeds are actually created equal. What a novel idea to mean it.

I've long felt we should require all elected public officials to live on minimum wage and take public transportation for one week of every month, they're in office. See oh see how quickly minimum wage would Rise and how much oftener clean buses would show up.

.. VuraEarthGoo .. Vuravura, Earth, & Jeegoo are all names for our Home Planet.

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; Day 30; Day 31; Day 32; Day 33; Day 34; Day 35; Day 36;

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If you know or are an agent, 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.

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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

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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 & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Ask Dr. Druid . day 35 . M.E.O.W. .. Moral Equivalent Of War

Posted on December 26, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 35

M.E.O.W. .. the Moral Equivalent Of War

This piece will read best for you

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

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I daresay we’ve illuminated enough more of our enchanting consciousness now to assay a foray druidesquely into a wider context, beyond the strictly personal. This may be a shock. After the unassailable trust we’ve been revealing & forging between you and the whole wide AllElse worlds, to, with that opened mind, leap d’artagnan-like into understanding our druid duty toward W.A.R. is a shock. Pero c’est la vie verdad. But that is actual life and its juggling. Why you’re learning to be an expert clown. Why we take so much Vitamin I.

What we have to figure out each of us is Meow MEOW, meow – meow is the mnemonic device for the Moral Equivalent Of War. An antidote to what A.Einstein in 1932 calls “the war menace”; “the dark places of human will and feeling”; to taking the “latent” hatred and destructive passion and raising it to “the power of a collective psychosis.” S.Freud replies to A.Einstein that we cannot suppress “man’s aggressive tendencies . . . — what we may try is to divert [‘the war impulse’] into a channel other than that of warfare.” (My emphases.)

In 1906 William James called this kind of transmogrification “the moral equivalent of war.” “War is the strong life,” how men can exercise their “hardihood.”

I can understand this dyspepsia against what James calls the “mawkish and dishwatery,” a desire for life’s more “bitter” and salty flavors.

What can we druids bring to the war on war? A quotidian discipline so exacting and eclectic and exciting that its very delicacy, its deftness becomes robust.

As a droll but instructive example of the interface between the empath’s private necessity (Mutilated children are never collateral damage) and the batterings and buffetings of a frequently psychotic society, I had made up for me a teeshirt that says militant pacifist. Why? Because so many dear folk in the peace movement are so annoyingly ‘mawkish & dishwatery.’ I’d, say, swear like a sailor when describing our lunatic leaders. (If you make $50,000 a year, it’s gone in four seconds in the <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Iraq debacle. That’s nuts.) One of the treacly souls with whom I was sharing a lucid and pungent rant would give me the kicked-spaniel look and say, “Why can’t you be nicer?” “Because I care zero about nice. What I care about is not-mutilated. Not-mutilated. In mind, heart, or body.”

Meow/moral equivalent of war is a mnemonic device, a memory trick, a memory meme. Because juxtaposing meow & moral equivalent of war is absurd, it reminds our mentality to hone the tools and weapons of fierce mind rather than the weapons of mutilation.

Don’t mistake me. Ungrounded ‘intelligence’ and cleverness are no per se protection against the war psychosis whatever. “War hath no fury like a noncombatant.”

Marianne Moore speaks of poetry as being “imaginary gardens with real toads in them.” Every fierce poetry-act of electric perception you construct, inhabit, perform, engage in is the meow, the moral equivalent of war. The equivalent of war which is, instead, moral. When you seize seeing, you tyger your life. You do the alchemy, you replace the reigning madly contagious psychosis with electric sanity.

You have to be able to be alone with your fullness with AllElse or they(family, churches, nations, pals) will be able to bribe or bludgeon you with temptations, demands, commands whereby you submit or succumb to the psychosis(warism, racism, sexism, theism etc.)to keep approval, to keep belonging. (No, no, I’m not suggesting some strange isolation. Just a startled awareness of what we will sacrifice in order to belong. We will allow mutilated children to be called collateral damage and gaze, if regretfully, the Other Way.)

Understanding that your hero’s journey is the daily meow, the exact and devoted and constant curiosity consistent with the marvel & magic of being alive. The war on war, the m.e.o.w, the moral equivalent of war, can not be won with their mutilating weapons, but in another quantum. Neither the right brain nor the left brain, but the rhapsodic center, the zone where Vulcan & Venus join fierce & tender forces of shocking, startled appreciation. Honor paid not in some fantastically sentimentally recalled war-struck past where you trapped juice, mystery, and mischief, but remembrance of things present, honed, honeyed, by all the earlier insights and outsights, angles. Jabbing skillfully at your day with a brush full of shocking color, wheat, sky, crows, like Van Gogh painting the ordinary scene as if it were illuminated suddenly and unbearably with lightning. Seize seeing.

When daily life is shocking, terrifying, absurd, delicious, our poetry-eyes ablaze, war will seem as wasteful, coarse, revolting as it, in gruesome fact, is.

Meow is a handy meme, a portable talisman to remind us that each act of attention, each breath, each heartbeat is an act of tyger peace, of fierce peace. Violent perception for peace. The joak’s on the boring warring. Sooner than you think too.

Some scoffing is allowed. War? Piffle. Dreary. Dull. Loud. Leaden. Mainly vastly stupid. Impaling his entrails on your bayonet. Again? Really? Ho hum. War loses because it isn’t as savage as a violet.

You are a Prometheus of perception. When you burn your hand on your cat’s fur, you know you’re beginning to wake up. Meow.

…!…

Notes:

. shock .. The war on war will be a shock if you’ve pried open your consciousness to put the pearls inside. If you do the exercises and keep a log, your openness will make you more vulnerable. Empathy actually increases the neural pathways. You get used to it.

.d’artagnan .. (dar tan yaw[n]) d’Artagnan was the captain of the Three Musketeers, a swashbuckling hero;

. pero is 'but' and verdad is 'truly' in Spanish;

. mnemonic device .. roygbiv for the colors of the spectrum & rainbow is a classic mnemonic device. Roy. G. Biv – red orange yellow green blue indigo violet;

. dyspepsia .. deranged, impaired digestion, grumpy guts, heartburn, nausea;

. mawkish means sickly sentimental; from 1702; mawk = maggot;

. I got the Einstein, Freud, James & Montague quoted tidbits from Laptham's Quarterly Vo1 1.

. quotidian (quoh-tidian)is the amusingly $20 word for ‘everyday’ or ‘daily’;

. militant pacifist .. a pacifist is not a passive-ist, but like the mighty western ocean on an halcyon day, a pacific-ist. To me, it’s about using resources for ingenious & determined construction.

. treacly .. (tree-clee) treacle (tree-cull) implies excessive sweetness; think of too much molasses;

. “War hath no fury like a non-combatant.” .. C.E.Montague 1922;

. Van Gogh ripped his ear off because it was so clear to him, the complete glory of wheat. Now, self-mutilation ain’t wise but it speaks to the passion inherent.

. savage violet .. a dandelion puff is rough stuff;

. Vulcan & Venus .. Vulcan is the Roman god of fire, a lame blacksmith, therefore forger, crafter; husband of the goddess of Love, Venus;

. Prometheus . Prometheus stole fire from the gods and gave it to humankind.

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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.

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I’d be very grateful if you’d send pogblog’s link to a friend:
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email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

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 34 . Rats, Ice Cream, Pigs, Granny, & Gandhi

Posted on December 24, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 34

Rats, Ice Cream, Pigs, Granny, & Gandhi

This piece will read best for you

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

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Ah, mnemonic devices .. When you need a restorative spate of recreation, play with mnemonic(knee-mahn-ik)devices. A mnemonic device is some nifty trick so you can remember something. A lifetime later I still remember A Rat In Tom’s House Might Eat Tom’s Ice Cream as the mnemonic device whose first letters spell arithmetic. George Eaton’s Old Grandmother Rode A Pig Home Yesterday spells geography. Muy yum (the only palindrome I ever invented – a palindrome meaning that it reads the same backwards as forward, the most famous probably being ‘Madam, I’m Adam.’)

The enduring quality of a mnemonic device speaks in miniature to the astonishing power of story to the human brain – we really prefer stories to crack or even chocolate. The rat sentence is a tiny story in which we rather gleefully & shiverally fear that a Rat might be stalking Tom’s ice cream. Then there’s George Eaton, Granny, & the pig. It is this bardic, storyness that makes us rich – those who spend their time accumulating paltry bottomlines wear emperor’s clothes. Stories don’t rust or get stolen or shame your lucred soul.

My doggèd pal who wanders the Earth with her Teach Peace sign sent me the following mnemonic device for remembering Gandhi’s 9 steps for decreasing violence, increasing non-violence or conducting cooperation. Gandhi was very practical, not mystical. In this case, the first letters highlight a key word in the practical steps or seeds that increase cooperation on our sure if zigzagging path to peace.

Dancing Penguins Should Have Long Nights Doing Fancy Polkas

1. (D) Define the conflict.

2. (P) It isn’t you against me .. it’s you and me against the problem .. the problem is the problem.

3. (S) List the things we do share. Need for food, shelter, water, safety, & art, for instance. Need cats too.

4. (H) Don’t ask antagonists for the self-justifying ‘What happened?’ Ask for a factual list of ‘What did you do?’

5. (L) Practice active Listening Skills..not passive brooding sullen hearing.

6. (N) Resolve conflict in a neutral place. Treaties are not made on the battlefield. Too toxic & hot there.

7. (D) Proceed with doable steps. Don’t try to swallow the pumpkin whole..Have a single piece of pie to start.

8. (F) Practice forgiveness skills, not vengeance skills. Go quickly to neutral..on the way to eventual forgiveness.

9. (P) Purify my heart. Purify my own heart. Easy to see stubborn flaws, lousy attitude, & blindness of others…

[10. Practice active Laughing skills. Sweet sweet irony cools the melon. This is a bonus step.]

..adapted from pp.40-41 Colman McCarthy I’d Rather Teach Peace

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These steps unfurled show you can teach peace indeed! I hope you'll copy the little piece & send it along to people. Some folks put it on their websites. I’ll gloss this more or meringue this more soon. Am too sleepy at the mo. Whatever time of the 1440/86400 (minutes or seconds of your daynight) this finds you deliciously in, don’ let the 12-ft-tall lizards getcha down. The poets and the poetry-eyed do win. Because we’re more fun, & the multi-verse or many-poem place finds calculating success in money bizarre. Eat lots of buttered toast.

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Notes:

. muy yum .. muy is very in Spanish (pron mmmwhee); yum for yummy;

. lucred . verb coin from lucre, ill-gotten gain; In the 16^th century, Tyndale translated a slur re money in the Christian bible as ‘filthy lucre,’ giving it the cast we feel today.

. 12-ft-tall lizards .. There is a group on an island somewhere that is convinced that those greedy leaders of today who extol the corporate over the person are really 12-ft-tall lizards in disguise. The notion has an undoubted resonance and is divinely droll at the very least.

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If you know or are an agent, 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

email: askdrdruid@gmail.com

.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo & diablobo.

<^>..

the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

………….<^>…………….

Cool presents 2007: immersion blender, finch sock, 3% milk

Posted on December 10, 2007 by wendy fleet

Friends —

IF you're looking to give yourself or an other a darn nifty & handy present, consider the KitchenAid Immersion Blender KHB100. I was surfing and saw America's Test Kitchen rating immersion blenders and they said the $50 KitchenAid with the metal wand had it all compared to any at twice the price. (This is not the one with fifty attachments. This one immerses and blends. It doesn't whisk.) It has 9 speeds or somesuch tho.

I got one listed at $69 for $49 in Los Altos at Cooks Junction. They come in white, red, & black. I need one so I don't have to puree batches of soup in the Cuisinart. I can do the pureeing right in the pan all at once. Its wand is much easier to wash than all the Cuisinart apparatus. (It's true I do a lot of puree soup because I don't chew so well these false-teeth days . . . .) The metal wand is crucial so you can do still-hot soup, gravy etc. It does smoothies & all that kind of stuff too. I haven't thought of doing super bittersweet cocoa til this instant but it comes with a mixing beaker — which I now see is obviously designed to let you start with organic 100% unsweetened cocoa powder & make a delectable drink. It's always hard to get the cocoa to really mix in. [aHA!! I just went & tried the cocoa trick and it's the best easiest cocoa I've ever made or had. (Control of the sugar is the key. 3 tables spoons of 100% (therefore sugarless) cocoa powder to 1 flat tablespoon of organic fair trade alter eco sugar is about right for 16 0z cup of milk. If you do cocoa, let me know & I'll go thru the triumphantly easy tho not intuitive steps. Yippee!]

/// The Kaytee Super Finch Sock is daggone adorable. It's about 10 bucks at Orchard Supply Hardware. Only finches & not squirrels or bluejays like it. May take a week or ten days for them to find it if you haven't been feeding birds previously. You re-fill it with the nyger seed. I now have 5-8 finches nibbling at any given time. The super finch sock comes in a 3″ diameter plastic tube about a foot high. The white tough net tube sock within is filled with nyger seed which finches obviously dig. You hang it from a hook or somesuch. The additional Kaytee nyger seed sack is about 16 dollars I think, & looks like it would last about 2 months if they eat at this rate & have to refill once a week? I'll know more in a month.

cheers + milk + honey + a little nutmeg + . . . some cheap brandy?

.. pogblog

ps. re cocoa, fer gawds' sakes use whole milk. Milk comes out of the cow at 3%!! [three percent] The greatest marketing scam of ALL time is the idea that if you drink 2% milk, you're losing 98% of some imagined fat. Ha double Ha. A basic Holstein cow gives 3% milk. So your gain (or loss) is minuscule & you can't absorb the calcium without the modest natural amount of fat. (I just happen to know this insider's stuff because I grew up on a dairy farm & the “Milk Tester” came & stayed at your farm every 6 months and tested the milk of each cow in a centrifuge to get its butterfat amount. Typically 3 to 3.2%. Your herd got paid a bonus or not depending on the butterfat average. Anyhow, the raw milk we drank straight from dear ole Bossy was 3% milk. Adding lowfat milk to your coffee is a Joke. chortle guffaw)

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questions — comment or email askdrdruid@yahoo.com

Ask Dr. Druid . day 33 . Walking with Sherrard

Posted on November 24, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 33

Walking with Sherrard

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My dear friend Sherrard Grey now gallivanting in the FarStars was the one person I could go grokkingly in the woods with. Many folk are pleasant or even riveting to hang out with. But only Sherrard could walk two feet down the sylvan path and with me exclaim again, “Oh look at the scarlet hogwort leaf!”

Most folk quail or dim at constant daffy “Oh, look!” Sherrard could take it. It was a giga-treat to have someone besides The Blue and one’s own Jolly Brain to share the stupendousness with. The stupendous shock and surprise.

With most companions, I recommend only stopping astonished in your tracks periodically. It’s not that one minds being thought mad. Perhaps one even prefers to be thought glad as a hatter. But sharing unbearable joy with unshaman folk can make them cranky. As your eyes get more vivid and poetry, you may find yourself being simply crushed at other folks’ dismal lack of enthusiasm. Fret not – or at least it serves no purpose to fret. Share every 1000^th treasure and note the rest for The Blue or whoever your Secret Pal is.

It can be daggone tricky to become more eclectic and more electric and then find your companions as alert as logs. You must navigate this conundrum, this riddle. You ought not be more dull to fit in. Nor may you begin to despise your slumbering fellows who will wake in their own time. Believe me, there will be fellow see-ers along the way & you’ll have a jolly recognition and immersing laugh so deeply true that you will know and re-know that the bizarre narcolepsy of the darling planet Earth is a puzzle that you are solving.

Remember how bloody lucky you are to ever be awake alert stunned. Your gratitude must make you humble or you will just be an alert jerk. Which sucks. You are not are not superior for being alert, for having honed and honeyed attentions–you are l.u.c.k.y. You came across influences and confluences. It’s always your fault you can’t translate your new experiences to your friends or beloved. If you were so daggone smart, you could figure out how to entice them with crumbs like little birds.

You do lead a double (octable?) life. Every single person (wall, old sock) has many things to teach you. You may be grand and fab at what you’re good at, but you ain’t good at what they’re good at. And if you are a real see-ker, you’ll patiently unfold what treasures and tricks each person each wall each old sock has got. And remind yourself to watch out for the hubris of humility too.

I know, gods don’t I know how frustrating it can and will be to not be able to share instantly and straight across your electric mosaic of insights and outsights. Pick your moments. Remember how dim you are about playing the xylophone. Keep your eye on the xylophone when you begin interiorly or horrors! exteriorly to evince contumely. Experienced shamans know their luck. Prideful and preening fledgling shamans are not patient, are not generous and amusing. The puffed-up or faux humble ain’t got it yet. Avoid them pitfalls, friend, so you won’t look back upon yourself in excruciating embarrassment.

The ancient Egyptians assumed that the stargods would weigh your heart after your life and if your heart was not light as a feather, you wouldn’t be honored. Pride and greed make your heart heavy. The stargods actually put your heart in a golden scale with a feather on the pan opposite your heart. This is a daunting adventure in lightening of your heart.

I’ll never forget my several walks in the woods with Sherrard. They gave me courage and delight in the tiny fegg world at just the moment when I thought for sure it would be an utterly lonely adventure, this distilled perception thing. We never saw each other again for 40 years after that. Nor phoned. We mailed each other occasional letters which appeared out of the blue. Knowing a fellow see-er is out there is a lot. If one other person has seen a unicorn, it’s enough.

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

You may comment anonymously.

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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 32 . Fencing

Posted on November 18, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 32

fencing

the duel for deftness

This piece will read best for you

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

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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 hummingbird? Do you skim like a swallow? Are you a zephyr?”

'FarStars 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 photographs, 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.”

…..!…

…!…..

Samuel Finley Breese Morse was a portrait painter, inventor of the telegraph, and of Morse Code. In Fencing we find him incarnated in an unstuffed shirt, one of the greater joys of modernity – being unstuffed shirtwise, that is. He is a distant ancestor of mine, and I always have felt the wells of invention and of codes and languages and arts across the zephyry ethers – resonances, unexpected echoes.

Your attention can be piercing or tender. It is the precious stuff whereat your life occurs, or neglected, fails to occur. An unfit attention doesn’t serve you well in either delicate work or more landscape, global work. A fabulous attention is the birthright, the untollable riches of each conscious creature. It needs to hie itself to an InnerSpace MindGym for aerobic practice in extrospection and introspection, both fueled by wry, lest you take yourself too seriously. Levitas is the attitude of attention that will delight you whether you’re in your own cozy hovel or in <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Paris, France. I’m more interested in what happens to you in your own cozy hovel because only a few of the denizens of the darling planet get to visit Paris, France and everyone would like to be able to decorate their cozy hovel with the glories of perceptioning delight. Druids are staunchly not to say stubbornly egalitarian in opportunitys to thrive in verve, to excel in élan vital.

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 31 . fegg

Posted on November 9, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 31

fegg

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    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.
    It is no accident that having a clear sense of beauty, style, and fittingness is called ‘taste.' Fegg is the unpretentious exhilarating quintessence of taste. The eclectic rollicking embrace of teleology–the appreciation of design.
    Remember that the rose bush lavished with luxurious blossom is but a fantastic conjuror's trick–dormant dirt, water, sun animated by a pinch of some damn good design–and presto: roses. Fegg. The real question is not how we can find reverence, but once we open-open our eyes, how we can avoid being paralyzed by awe?
     You would think that if a person woke from being a wraith in the twilight worlds to this technicolor extravaganza in which we dwell that that person would run around going WOW, GEE WHIZ. Somehow a lot of us got fegg-impaired. Forgot to surrender to delight
    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.
    Faberge eggs usually hinged open to reveal some remarkable surprise, a spray of milky white chalcedony windflowers in a basket made of platinum and tiny diamonds, for instance. When your eyes have been pried open-open, you wake in the morning, look sleepily out the window, and put your hand to your heart in amazement. You are living inside a magnificent Faberge egg and you yourself are the surprise. You have been placed here tenderly by the same Artists who designed the stars. Fegg indeed. Not only are you here in this ingenious astound, a fact so impossible as to be miraculous, but you work. You can dance or sing a song. You can somersault. Do.
    We are so bombarded by idiot doctrines which distract us from the simple sustainable radiance which is our birthright, that we forget that we’re a miraculous jewel set in a miraculous jewel. It's not just the big showy stuff like the exultant unbearable ocean or the wide wings of a hawk in the sapphire summer sky. It is the dainty spider who can walk upside down on the ceiling and the familiar grime around the kitchen light switch.
    You must start slowly because as you realize it is surprise within surprise, and the knowledge multiplies crescendoing, the jolt of electricity searing in your blood can terrify you. The churches neglected to mention that the ecstatic vision and sensation is at your own fingertips, eyetips, tonguetip, nosetip, eartips. Your body can stand this surging power. Your body is designed to run at many mega-feggs of raw radiance. If you haven't tampered with the mechanism by drink, drugs, or stupid doctrines, the body has all the necessary safety systems.
    You can get as high on air as you like. You were designed for awe and delight. You were given senses and sense to be a co-designer in this blooming magic world. You cannot over-fegg.
…….!….

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Notes:

It doesn’t matter how many times your poetry eyes are opened-opened. When you re-connect with that daffodil, with that patch of splotched wall, you will be re-shocked. Every time. As you explore in GrokLand and FeggLand, you’ll keep being startled by new pearls of outsight. You’ll realize with your real eyes that you cannot be reverent, thrilled, giddy enoughenough.

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 30 . Review 4 . holohula

Posted on October 27, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 30

Review 4

holohula . katotl tatotl

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Review 4

shapeshifter . vulture culture . planette . horizontal . k1 project . ethereals

Remind yourself to practice shapeshifting your attention. Pay attention to your attention. Truly ingest, imbibe, embrace, caress – grok! – what you do your pas de deux with in the along of your every day. Pas de leaves. Pas de cat. Pas de pieds. Leaf dance. Cat dance. Feet dance. Keenly recall that if you lived in a featureless vacuum or even drifted in the starstudded reaches of vasty space — to be set down in the impossible Faberge Egg of our beloved planet would take your breath away in marveling. So practice marveling. Not the occult, but the oh!cult, the breathtaking, indelible knowledge. The only veils between you and skipping delight, somersaulting delight are what the Hawaiians would call the aka of tangled dismays with People, personally and societally. “Beauty is truth, truth beauty.”

The jungianesque version of how to leapfrog into well behavior would have you practicing the shapeshifting of your attention, doing what happy-enough, well people do. The freudianesque version of getting you more hale and more hearty of psyche, your curiosity cured, would require the all-but-endless worming over what prevents you from bloody leaping joy. Some knowledge of the structures of habitual unconscious dismay can have its uses, but the point is undocking from the gigantic baggage scow of your past woes and unillumined angsts and shinily practicing the art of your present instead. Or to greedily gobble up the feast of all the presents that The Blue has fashioned for your delectation. (We do get to the People challenges in detail in Book 2, but you won’t really change those dynamics until you have a spangled treasure chest of collaborative untarnishable value to bring to the Dynamics Table. If you have a collaboration between you and AllElse, you bring strength and delight to bear on the intrigues of the often unfathomable interactions with People.)

The People (past, present, imagined future) have influences you might or might not allow, but they have no inherent right to be in the sanctuary of the center of your head. Not your friend, your spouse, the politicians of the day, your boss, your deity, and so on. The point, the bullseye is to give you a foundation, a fountain, from which to have true rather than false and frantic relationships with the People who occur in your version of [Your Name]’s Drama 21^st Century Edition.

The only reason you don’t admire spiders and vultures is because somebody neglected to nurture your enchantment for the electric eclectic. No, I don’t love spiders crawling over my pillow, but I do try to gently grasp them in a piece of tissue and place them tenderly outside. If you unlock your heart from the shuddering which was written upon your parchment by others, you might incline to be more kind. Hast thou indeed “entered into the treasures of the snow”? Hast thou “numbered the clouds in wisdom”? “Gavest thou the goodly wings unto the peacocks?” If I can’t make it, I’m reluctant to break it. I am nowhere near as harmless as many. I do try to be less dimly aware of the denizens with whom I share this spectacular planette. It takes only tweaking my attitude, a tiny effort I can afford. If you practice applauding the ingenious tho unpretty with less cringing and recoiling, you’ll be startled at how much more appreciation, like snowmelt treasured, waterfalls into your days.

Continue noticing the varieties of densities, the planettes of experiences that your life encompasses. The exploration of your Fasci Nation and Imagi Nation, those continents, those wildernesses full of fjords and vermilion lichen will multiply the horizons of your intellect and your earnest heart. It is startling how nifty a mountain goat your dear consciousness is as it leaps from material mountain range to remembered mountain range to imagined mountain range in twinklings, seamlessly. If you pay attention, you’ll become aware of these traverses, and your élan or liveliness will by this increase of light-bloom.

Review the vertical prejudices you noted in your log. Continue to notice how beastily the prejudice to the Vertical, to the kneejerkedly hierarchical pollutes the structures of our personality, our society, our perceptions. The main difference between the deep future and our present is this very vertical prejudice. In the deep future, we have learned to grok stuff, situations, schemes, spherically rather than vertically. Shifting the axis of our appreciation to horizontal is a first huge step toward the genuinely eclectic, the spherical eclectic. Consider in every situation how it might be consoled or made more enchanted, more lyrical by grokking it in an horizontal way.

As we can’t give you a brain transplant, we’re sneakily and cheerfully implanting the burgeoning acceptance of multirealities in your current dear brain. Giving you a passport to intraworlds travels. You do this swiftly, constantly, and easily now. You just aren’t very conscious of it often. The notion is lucid waking and lucid dreaming. For fun and verve, and some nerve. The universe probably only weeps a single tear or maybe two if you live a vegetative narrow-minded robotic life. Multi-D’s for your own juice and lucidity. And so you might have some elation to share with those around you.

It can be rather daunting to realize that the only K1 moment is this very present. It slides back to K11 and before us are vistas of K11. The stable solidity is a moving moment – as rare as hens' teeth in the sweep of realitys. The moment just past is as gone as a melted snowflake. We maintain its value in our moth-eaten memorys generally, but the actual toe-stubbing world is vanished each moment. Please contemplate reality facets other than the present moment with grounded care. If your physical vision begins to blur or you find yourself daydreaming a lot a lot with whatever purpose, do get grounded and do the dishes or some such. Keep your discernment. A lot of the reason much of these matters has been coded or occult is that you can become unhinged from your basic path and tasks – which can be more bruising and confusing than enchanted trance. The point is to illuminate your days, not derail them.

The relationship between you and your ethereal or less-dense selves is an endless and intricate study. I implore you not to fall for the Vertical Model claptrap that daily-you is coarse, gross, less fine than your 'soul.' What a con job that has been thru history. You are courageous and gallant and talented in this realm in a way that your 'soul' can’t begin to appreciate except thru you. A bossy or domineering or contumely 'soul' is like a chicken hawk — a person who doesn’t sweat or go to the war but is chock full of stentorian advice about how the actual soldiers should feel and act. Without exception, whoever you are, I can safely say that your ‘soul’ could do with being more humble and more helpful. It’s exhausting and exciting to be embodied. It would be handy to have a cheerful and ingenious genie or 'soul' on one’s side instead of some nag who fills your cup with guilt and remorse.

I’m very grateful that the camaraderie between me and my 'soul' is pretty daggone cheerful and enheartening on the whole. It’s no doubt because of this reasonable relationship that I am so keen for justice cosmos-wide. Sentient Rights.

..<!>…………………………………………..

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Notes

I do these Notes because I remember reading TS Eliot’s big poems and they’d have these passages of Greek or Latin. I wanted to know what they meant. I was happy to learn, but had no way to find out in those days. I like to be able to use idiosyncratic or coined words, but for the curious reader, it feels fair to give an occasional explanation fuller than what one can deduce from the context. Tidbits for word nuts, I suppose, and for fellow thought-weavers.

[notes vasty tempest; vermilion; jung, freud, Faberge egg, pas de deux, lichen, delectation; stentorian; contumely; ]

.. vasty .. vasty deep is from Shakespeare, & Prospero in The Tempest can conjure spirits from the vasty deep. Your conjuring is to use the wand of your attention to ignite each thing you just short of staggeringly encounter.

.. vermilion .. the molten red-gold color of an ember; In The Windhover, darling <?xml:namespace prefix = st1 ns = “urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:smarttags” />Hopkins says “…blue-bleak embers, ah my dear,/Fall, gall themselves, and gash gold-vermilion.” In other words when the ash-covered ember in a fire falls and knocks off the ash, we see in that gash the shock of the vermilion.

.. a lot of the tough little mossy lichen stuff is vermilion.

.. Re Jung & Freud in the most simple terms – Jung was more inclined to teach the person a widening more ebullient version of themselves. Freud liked worming over the paltry past, lifting up inner rocks to see what writhed there. I know folks who have indulged in this tedious examination twice weekly for years and have remained as neurotic as they began.

.. “beauty is truth” Keats, Grecian Urn;

.. treasures of the snow, Job Bk 18 38:22; clouds in widom 38:37; unto the peacocks 39:13, King James Bible;

.. Faberge eggs are exquisite crafted tiny worlds, like the darling planet; especially the more lyrical eggs by Perchin; (fah-bear-jay; pear-sh-an .. [the first sound of answer before you add the ess sound]);

.. pas de deux is the big dance for the two principals in a ballet, steps for two, dance for two; pas de leaves would be dance with leaves, & so on.

.. realitys, memorys – I just think the look of the 'ys' is so much more fuerte or strong than the pallid 'ies'. I know I can’t do it all the time or your traditional sensibilitys would be affronted, but I like to sneak the form in sometimes. I have no idea why we changed from the original form.

.. delectation .. when something is muy yum, tasty, delicious, delectable.

.. contumely .. very swollen with pride.

.. stentorian .. too loud & bossy; from Stentor, a herald in the Trojan War with a voice as loud as 50 men.

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Ask Dr. Druid . Day 29 . Ethereals

Posted on October 7, 2007 by wendy fleet

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 29

Ethereals

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Dan Gero’s Interim Evaluation

Regarding Terran Incarnates

Report to the South Mars Gazette

Presently Terran Incarnates have no inherent rights under Galactik Law. Presently Terran Incarnates have no inherent rights under Galactik Law. Only recently have Incarnates developed sufficient consciousness to be considered Galactiks rather than merely humans, the galactik slang for clever pets.

     The raging Question that divides the Galactik Council is where the line is drawn for full sentience privileges. Terrans have been considered spiritual chattel, and few of these Earthers are given more than minimal attention by their occasionally resident Ethereal or Noncarnate. Among the Sentient Rights Party, those rare earnest Ethereals who do bother to honor and tend their Terrans, there is an outcry against Incarnate abuse — abuse of the human creature
    Most other Ethereals are indifferent to the well-being of their Terran hosts. Many Ethereals use Incarnates or solid Earth bodies as an amusement ride or as an experiment. Too few bother to weave a mutuality of experience that gives a steady and reliable élan to the Earthbound.
    It is inconvenient to tend your Terran creature. Their reaction time is slow. They do not speak Galactik which is an holographic multi-dimensional oneiro-language. Terrans can be — well, usually are — stubborn and sulky, and, in relative terms, it must be admitted that they are one degree or another of just plain stupid.
    It is hard to resist wanting to see them react in a frenzy to the most simplistic propaganda. It is especially fun to give them a jolt of cupid juice and watch them make fawning fools of themselves. If you have not forged an irrevocable empathetic bond, it is easy to dismiss them as a gaggle of clever geese.
    At best, most of the multitude of Ethereals can be brought to pity these Terran beasts, these vessels, but damn few respect the creatures.
    It is the contention of the Sentient Rights Party that Ethereals should be denied access to a personal Terran unless the Ethereal is willing to have some training and to sign a set of Incarnate Interaction Guidelines, the flaunting of which incurs genuine repercussion.    The kind of behavior suitable and amusing in a disembodied or ethereal condition can be from hurtful to grotesque in the solid K1 terrestrial state.

The kind of behavior suitable and amusing in a disembodied or ethereal condition — in oneiro-density — can be from hurtful to grotesque in the solid terrestrial state.

     Spiritual physics and spiritual psychology are very different in density, intensity, and consequence from those of the solid K1 Earth Realm, and the Ethereal who thinks the Terran can recover from mayhem, mutilation, and misery with the quickness that it does in the more protean, less-dense lands is deluding itself.
    You enjoy the Terrans’ augmented sensitivity, and though you can, you may not torment these tender creatures for your own kicks. Perhaps worse is the boredom you inflict on your Terran partner when you erratically withdraw the élan of your attention in order to pursue quicker, slicker galactik games.
    No one requires that you partner a solid realm K1 Terran, but if you do, you must comprehend at least the rudiments of how they experience time. To you, time is in most regards ephemeral and holospheric, a quixotic erotic zephyr. To them it is largely sequential, a river, and what to you would seem sluggish.
    The Sentient Rights Party insists that if you spend some least effort, Terrans can learn some of your quicksilver ways, and you for your part can swim in delicious thick water that could actually drown you. The consequences of ethereal action and of the more dense incarnate action are so different. You give Terrans glimpses of a quicksilver and golden life and they call you angels who live in heaven and you are so flattered that you accept the superiority and bask in their adulation when in fact Terrans are better, more accomplished and more gifted and doggèd in their own dense realm than you can ever be.
    If Terrans had full Sentient Rights, if they joined the Galaxy, you could speak together in respect, you could each impart your special knowledge. Incarnate abuse poisons the whole Galaxy in the end. Incarnate abuse cannot be kept a filthy little backwater-world secret forever. It stains our souls.
    You don’t care if you slaughter them in warring herds, crush and splinter them in car wrecks, twist them with disease. It’s all a frisson to you: you get a vicarious buzz from their flood of adrenalin. You are detached from their terror; they are embedded in it.
    It is that creature’s only direct life, and there ought be limits to how you toy with that precious span. Terrans have become sufficiently sentient to deserve Galactik recognition as Sentients with Protected Rights.    Early on, it was a cool trick to inhabit the more dense realms and to discover the particular spectrum of experience that a solid body and linear experience gives. As the creatures developed culture, civilization, and history, you shifted from being their masters to being their partners, or those without hellish arrogance did. It became their world while we weren’t watching.
    The ethereal experience may be the pearl in the oyster, but when you’re hungry, it’s the oyster itself that gratifies.

….

Dan Gero is a Martian philosopher and journalist who travels undercover to Earth to study all its menagerie. He specializes in observing the biped mammal nicknamed human. His contributions to the South Mars Gazette have been highly influential in keeping Mars from voting on the Galactik Council to send the frequently toxic Earth to the maw of the Black Hole Garbage Scow.

…!!

..!.

As we move along the shaman paths of enhanced and enchanted perception, as we develop the natural disciplines of enhanced and enchanted attentions, we must be not quite wary but keenly aware of the deep seductions of the enhanced, the trance worlds.

It’s a significant when not overwhelming challenge to be in a body. Things ache; get sunburned if you’re a paleface; itch. There are pleasures and trials. The relationship between your LifeSoul and your EtherealSoul is fascinating and complex. As you’ve guessed my EtherealSoul is of the Sentients Rights Party in an evidently fierce way. As I fight for K1 humane rights, we fight for a saner, more knowledgeable interface or interlace between the vast freedoms of times and manifestation – and the K1 density, intensity, and sense of consequence.

My druid task has been to stay balanced consciously with my left foot in K1, as it were, and my right foot in the Ethereal Reals, the wholehearted, wholeminded, wholegutted life. This gives glamour and giddy, radiant delight to each leaf and immensity to each grief.

I have seen so many Terrans or Earthers whose Elan has cut out when things get hideously tough or tedious in DayHere.

Instead of keeping Mirth or Wry or Fascination a solace in the storm or an oasis in a drought, the Elan abandons the Earther because it is too busy or too refined. It disdains dirt, discomfort, despair – or, more rarely – makes a fetish of them.

Those of us intraworlders, as awake in our nights and awake in our days as we can astonishedly accomplish, fight like tygers our sisters, wolves our brothers for K1 respect.

Druids walk in both wakings the amazed paths of the electric eclectic. If they err, it is to defend the rights of K1 sentience against the Ethereal pride, contumely. Against abstraction. There is no such thing as an abstract heartbeat – not one single one in your whole life.

As you awake to your wholer life, these matters will begin to unfold, as a flower bud unfolds to a bloom, in your awakening awareness of justice justice justice.

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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.

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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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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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blog title image is a piece of andy goldsworthy

excerpt image hiawatha belt wampum

article title milky way, hubble heritage

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.. keep your heart bright. beauty is rising.

.for bombadilobo.

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the education-obsessed world begins today with you ..

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

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Ask Dr. Druid

Druid thought; obsidian humor; radically sane politics;

Category Archives: Main Page

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 36 . Paris, France

Ask Dr. Druid . day 35 . M.E.O.W. .. Moral Equivalent Of War

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 34 . Rats, Ice Cream, Pigs, Granny, & Gandhi

Cool presents 2007: immersion blender, finch sock, 3% milk

Ask Dr. Druid . day 33 . Walking with Sherrard

Ask Dr. Druid . day 32 . Fencing

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 31 . fegg

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 30 . Review 4 . holohula

Ask Dr. Druid . Day 29 . Ethereals

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