Auguries

Strange Synchronicities… Three of our pictures tonight were tied to “Auguries of Innocence” on Google … including Robert Venosa’s work. The Blake Painting I could understand of course… 8o)

More rain today. Woke up at 2:30 this morning, fell back to sleep at 5:30 until 8:45. Mary has been painting Rowans’ room. I have been working on the Magazine and other projects. Nephew Andrew came by, stayed a few hours. He seems well. We talked about Magick, and where free will and predestination might coincide/collide.

Listening to the new David Gilmour album, courtesy of Gordon. Wonderful Stuff! Good for rainy evenings.

On the Menu:

The Links…

Quote of the Day: Bill Hicks

Sophia’s Light

The Poetry: Auguries of Innocence – William Blake

I hope you enjoy…

Gwyllm

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The Links:

London’s heart of stone

Visualizing Sound

Animusic 2 – 03 – Resonant Chamber

Colombia’s ‘lost war’ against cocaine

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Quote of the Day:

Such a weird belief. Lot of Christians wear crosses around their necks. You think when Jesus comes back he’s gonna want to see a f’ing cross, man? “Owwwwww”. May be why he hasn’t shown up yet. “Man, they’re still wearing crosses. F**k it, I’m not goin, dad. No, they totally missed the point. When they start wearing fishes I might show up again, but… Let me bury fossil heads with you Dad”…you know, kinda like going up to Jackie Onassis with a rifle pendant on, you know. “Thinkin’ of John, Jackie. We love him. Just tryin to keep that memory alive, baby.”

Bill Hicks

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Sophia’s Light (A nighttime prayer) (AGCA)

In darkest night, when lights are dim,

and all in sight seems sad and grim,

I find you there, your arms surround me,

your spirit fills me and it grounds me.

I look to you, Lady of Truth,

most ancient One, yet eternal youth,

to keep me safe, protect my heart,

and with the wisdom you impart

fill up my empty mind and soul

so that, my Lover, you can make whole,

all that was broken in this day –

and that is what I ask and pray.

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Auguries of Innocence – William Blake

To see a world in a grain of sand

And a heaven in a wild flower,

Hold infinity in the palm of your hand

And eternity in an hour.

A robin redbreast in a cage

Puts all heaven in a rage.

A dove-house filled with doves and pigeons

Shudders hell through all its regions.

A dog starved at his master’s gate

Predicts the ruin of the state.

A horse misused upon the road

Calls to heaven for human blood.

Each outcry of the hunted hare

A fibre from the brain does tear.

A skylark wounded in the wing,

A cherubim does cease to sing.

The game-cock clipped and armed for fight

Does the rising sun affright.

Every wolf’s and lion’s howl

Raises from hell a human soul.

The wild deer wandering here and there

Keeps the human soul from care.

The lamb misused breeds public strife,

And yet forgives the butcher’s knife.

The bat that flits at close of eve

Has left the brain that won’t believe.

The owl that calls upon the night

Speaks the unbeliever’s fright.

He who shall hurt the little wren

Shall never be beloved by men.

He who the ox to wrath has moved

Shall never be by woman loved.

The wanton boy that kills the fly

Shall feel the spider’s enmity.

He who torments the chafer’s sprite

Weaves a bower in endless night.

The caterpillar on the leaf

Repeats to thee thy mother’s grief.

Kill not the moth nor butterfly,

For the Last Judgment draweth nigh.

He who shall train the horse to war

Shall never pass the polar bar.

The beggar’s dog and widow’s cat,

Feed them, and thou wilt grow fat.

The gnat that sings his summer’s song

Poison gets from Slander’s tongue.

The poison of the snake and newt

Is the sweat of Envy’s foot.

The poison of the honey-bee

Is the artist’s jealousy.

The prince’s robes and beggar’s rags

Are toadstools on the miser’s bags.

A truth that’s told with bad intent

Beats all the lies you can invent.

It is right it should be so:

Man was made for joy and woe;

And when this we rightly know

Through the world we safely go.

Joy and woe are woven fine,

A clothing for the soul divine.

Under every grief and pine

Runs a joy with silken twine.

The babe is more than swaddling bands,

Throughout all these human lands;

Tools were made and born were hands,

Every farmer understands.

Every tear from every eye

Becomes a babe in eternity;

This is caught by females bright

And returned to its own delight.

The bleat, the bark, bellow, and roar

Are waves that beat on heaven’s shore.

The babe that weeps the rod beneath

Writes Revenge! in realms of death.

The beggar’s rags fluttering in air

Does to rags the heavens tear.

The soldier armed with sword and gun

Palsied strikes the summer’s sun.

The poor man’s farthing is worth more

Than all the gold on Afric’s shore.

One mite wrung from the labourer’s hands

Shall buy and sell the miser’s lands,

Or if protected from on high

Does that whole nation sell and buy.

He who mocks the infant’s faith

Shall be mocked in age and death.

He who shall teach the child to doubt

The rotting grave shall ne’er get out.

He who respects the infant’s faith

Triumphs over hell and death.

The child’s toys and the old man’s reasons

Are the fruits of the two seasons.

The questioner who sits so sly

Shall never know how to reply.

He who replies to words of doubt

Doth put the light of knowledge out.

The strongest poison ever known

Came from Caesar’s laurel crown.

Nought can deform the human race

Like to the armour’s iron brace.

When gold and gems adorn the plough

To peaceful arts shall Envy bow.

A riddle or the cricket’s cry

Is to doubt a fit reply.

The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile

Make lame philosophy to smile.

He who doubts from what he sees

Will ne’er believe, do what you please.

If the sun and moon should doubt,

They’d immediately go out.

To be in a passion you good may do,

But no good if a passion is in you.

The whore and gambler, by the state

Licensed, build that nation’s fate.

The harlot’s cry from street to street

Shall weave old England’s winding sheet.

The winner’s shout, the loser’s curse,

Dance before dead England’s hearse.

Every night and every morn

Some to misery are born.

Every morn and every night

Some are born to sweet delight.

Some are born to sweet delight,

Some are born to endless night.

We are led to believe a lie

When we see not through the eye

Which was born in a night to perish in a night,

When the soul slept in beams of light.

God appears, and God is light

To those poor souls who dwell in night,

But does a human form display

To those who dwell in realms of day.

(Roberto Venosa)

135 Years Ago…

Sunday Night:

Thunderstorms, torrential rains… dreams of strangeness. Dark now, with very heavy rains. Lightning all over the place. Went to a party on Saturday night, a Brazilian Party to be exact. Discovered I liked Brazilian Rum. Discovered Sunday morning that it doesn’t always agree with me. Aiyeee. A slow Sunday that proceeds into the distance now…

Rowan headed off to camp for a week of counselling 6th graders at OutDoor School, along with his friend Ryan at 11:00 in the morning. Kinda miss him already. He went in a flurry of hurry and forgotten items. He rolls and tumbles towards his future in such a funny way. Watching him move forward with his life has taken some great turns lately. If I had only known what fun this all could be. He holds up a mirror for me, like no other person ever has. The moments I spend with him are some of the best, and sometimes the hardest. I have to walk my talk with this one…

So I sit here, in the darkening night, listening to Kate Bush’s latest album. Eric Satie a bit earlier. The house is quiet, but for the rain. The fullness of the season, and the beauty of it all.

Tonights’ Entry is in memory of the Paris Commune, of 1871.

A blessing to you and yours.

Gwyllm

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On the Menu:

The Satanic Links…

The Article: 135 Years Ago, The Paris Commune

The Poetry: Rumi

The Art: Illustrations from The Paris Commune of 1871 by Eugene Schulkind

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The Satanic Links:

10 Things I Hate About Commandments

Satan’s Ipod….

Church of Satan Versus Apple…

Eurovision!

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135 Years Ago…

A brief history of the world’s first socialist working class uprising. The workers of Paris, joined by mutinous National Guardsmen, seized the city and set about re-organising society in their own interests based on workers’ councils. They could not hold out, however, when more troops retook the city and massacred 30,000 workers in bloody revenge

The Paris Commune is often said to be the first example of working people taking power. For this reason it is a highly significant event, even though it is ignored in the French history curriculum. On May 18 1871, after France was defeated by Prussia in the Franco-Prussian war, the French government sent troops into Paris to try and take back the Parisian National Guard’s cannon before the people got hold of it. Much to the dismay of the French government, the citizens of Paris had got hold of them, and wouldn’t give them up. The soldiers refused to fire on their own people and instead turned their weapons on their officers.

The PNG held free elections and the citizens of Paris elected a council made up mostly of Jacobins and Republicans (though there were a few anarchists and socialists as well). The council declared that Paris was an independent commune and that France should be a confederation of communes. Inside the Commune, all elected council members were instantly recallable, paid an average wage and had equal status to other commune members.

Contemporary anarchists were excited by these developments. The fact that the majority of Paris had organised itself without support from the state and was urging the rest of the world to do the same was pretty exciting. The Paris Commune led by example in showing that a new society, organised from the bottom up, was possible. The reforms initiated by the Commune, like turning workplaces into co-operatives, put anarchist theory into practice. By the end of May, 43 workplaces had become co-operatives and the Louvre Museum was a munitions factory run by a workers’ council.

The Mechanics Union and the Association of Metal Workers stated “our economic emancipation . . . can only be obtained through the formation of workers’ associations, which alone can transform our position from that of wage earners to that of associates.” They also advised the Commune’s Commission on Labour Organisation to support the following objectives: “The abolition of the exploitation of man by man… The organisation of labour in mutual associations and inalienable capital.” Through this, it was hoped that within the Commune, equality would not be an “empty word”. In the words of the most famous anarchist of the time, Mikhail Bakunin, the Paris Commune was a “clearly formulated negation of the state”.

However, anarchists argue that the Commune did not go far enough. Those within the Commune didn’t break with the ideas of representative government. As another famous anarchist, Peter Kropotkin said: “if no central government was needed to rule the independent Communes… then a central municipal government becomes equally useless… the same federative principal would do within the Commune”. As the Commune kept some of the old ideas of representative democracy, they stopped the people within the Commune from acting for themselves, instead trusting the governors to sort things out for them.

Anarchists argued for federations of directly democratic mass assemblies had been set up just like the people of Paris had done just over a hundred years previously (must be something in the water!).

The council became increasingly isolated from those who’d elected it. The more isolated it got, the more authoritarian it got. The council set up a “Committee of Public Safety” to “defend [by terror]” the “revolution”. This Committee was opposed by the anarchist minority on the council and was ignored by the people who, unsurprisingly, were more concerned with defending Paris from invasion by the French army. In doing so, they proved right the old revolutionary cliché of ‘no government is revolutionary’!

On May 21st, the government troops entered the city and were met with seven days of solid street fighting. The last stand of the Communards took place at the cemetary of Montmartre, and after the defeat troops and armed members of the capitalist class roamed the city, killing and maiming at will. 30,000 Communards were killed in the battles, many after they had surrendered, and their bodies dumped in mass graves.

The legacy of the Commune lived on, however, and “Vive la commune!” (“Long live the Commune!” was painted over on the walls of Paris during the 1968 uprising, and not for the last time we can be sure…

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Poetry: Rumi…

If you can disentangle

yourself from your selfish self

all heavenly spirits

will stand ready to serve you

If you can finally hunt down

your own beastly self

you have the right

to claim Solomon’s Kingdom

You are that blessed soul who

belongs to the garden of paradise

is it fair to let yourself

fall apart in a shattered house

You are the bird of happiness

in the magic of existence

what a pity when you let

yourself be chained and caged

But if you can break free

from this dark prison named body

soon you will see

you are the sage and the fountain of life

Gone to the Unseen

At last you have departed and gone to the Unseen.

What marvelous route did you take from this world?

Beating your wings and feathers,

you broke free from this cage.

Rising up to the sky

you attained the world of the soul.

You were a prized falcon trapped by an Old Woman.

Then you heard the drummer’s call

and flew beyond space and time.

As a lovesick nightingale, you flew among the owls.

Then came the scent of the rosegarden

and you flew off to meet the Rose.

The wine of this fleeting world

caused your head to ache.

Finally you joined the tavern of Eternity.

Like an arrow, you sped from the bow

and went straight for the bull’s eye of bliss.

This phantom world gave you false signs

But you turned from the illusion

and journeyed to the land of truth.

You are now the Sun –

what need have you for a crown?

You have vanished from this world –

what need have you to tie your robe?

I’ve heard that you can barely see your soul.

But why look at all? –

yours is now the Soul of Souls!

O heart, what a wonderful bird you are.

Seeking divine heights,

Flapping your wings,

you smashed the pointed spears of your enemy.

The flowers flee from Autumn, but not you –

You are the fearless rose

that grows amidst the freezing wind.

Pouring down like the rain of heaven

you fell upon the rooftop of this world.

Then you ran in every direction

and escaped through the drain spout . . .

Now the words are over

and the pain they bring is gone.

Now you have gone to rest

in the arms of the Beloved.

—-

REALITY AND APPEARANCE

‘Tis light makes colour visible: at night

Red, greene, and russet vanish from thy sight.

So to thee light by darness is made known:

Since God hat none, He, seeing all, denies

Himself eternally to mortal eyes.

From the dark jungle as a tiger bright,

Form from the viewless Spirit leaps to light.

—-

DESCENT

I made a far journey

Earth’s fair cities to view,

but like to love’s city

City none I knew

At the first I knew not

That city’s worth,

And turned in my folly

A wanderer on earth.

From so sweet a country

I must needs pass,

And like to cattle

Grazed on every grass.

As Moses’ people

I would liefer eat

Garlic, than manna

And celestial meat.

What voice in this world

to my ear has come

Save the voice of love

Was a tapped drum.

Yet for that drum-tap

From the world of All

Into this perishing

Land I did fall.

That world a lone spirit

Inhabiting.

Like a snake I crept

Without foot or wing.

The wine that was laughter

And grace to sip

Like a rose I tasted

Without throat or lip.

‘Spirit, go a journey,’

Love’s voice said:

‘Lo, a home of travail

I have made.’

Much, much I cried:

‘I will not go’;

Yea, and rent my raiment

And made great woe.

Even as now I shrink

To be gone from here,

Even so thence

To part I did fear.

‘Spirit, go thy way,’

Love called again,

‘And I shall be ever nigh thee

As they neck’s vein.’

Much did love enchant me

And made much guile;

Love’s guile and enchantment

Capture me the while.

In ignorance and folly

When my wings I spread,

From palace unto prison

I was swiftly sped.

Now I would tell

How thither thou mayst come;

But ah, my pen is broke

And I am dumb.

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Homeric Hymns…

On the Music Box: Liquid Sound Company…

Almost Midnight… Thursday:

A lovely warm day here in Portland. Worked up a ladder on a wall, of course with the warmth on the south side. Semi-Toasted in the solar way this evening…

Mary rented a unique little film from Netflix, “Ushpizin”, taking place during the Sukkot feast. Kind of a very hip, Hassidic moment in our spaced-time continuum. Worth the time, and really very, very good. Recommended.

Todays’ selections are from Homer, Hymns for various Goddesses. It is not a large entry. I have been putting out rather large ones lately, so I thought something simple might be good for Friday…

Earthrites now has a guest book:Drop a message Kids!

Cheers,

Gwyllm

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Piano buried on UK’s highest peak

More Stupidity From DARPA

How I see the Universe at times, as Information!

Can This Black Box See Into the Future?

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To Earth, Mother of All

Of Gaia sing I, Mother firm of all,

the eldest one, who feedeth life on earth,

whichever walk on land or swim the seas,

or fly; sustaineth She each from Her Wealth.

Through Thee the folk are blest in child and fruit,

O Queen, who giveth and reclaimeth Life

of mortals; rich whoe’er it pleaseth Thee

to honor; all abundance is for them;

their fertile land is fruitful; through the fields

their flocks do thrive; their house is filled with goods.

They rule well-ordered states with women fair,

and ample wealth and riches follow them;

their sons exult with youthful merriment;

their daughters play in dances flower-strewn

with happy heart, and skip through fields abloom.

Such givest Thou, Holy Rich Divinity.

So hail, God-Mother, Starry Heaven’s Wife;

repay my song with pleasing sustenance!

Of Thee I’m minded – and another song.

—–

To the Mother of the Gods

The Mother of all Gods and mortals, laud

Thou clear-voiced Muse, Thou daughter of great Zeus.

The din of drums and rattles, shriek of flutes,

delight Her, like the call of bright-eyed wolves

and lions, heard through hill and wooded stream.

So hail to Thee, and all the Goddesses!

—–

To Hestia

Thou, Hestia, in ev’ry lofty home

of deathless Gods and folk who walk the Earth,

hath gained a seat eternal, honor grand;

Thy prize is fair and noble; lacking Thee,

feast not we mortals, if both first and last

we offer not sweet wine to Hestia.

Thou, Argus-Slaying Zeus’ and Maia’s Son,

Gods’ Herald, giving goods, with rod of gold –

be kind, You two, and help us, awed and fond.

Inhabit this fair house as mutual friends;

for You, who know the noble deeds of folk

who walk the earth, sustain their wit and youth.

Hail, Kronos’ Child, and Hermes with the rod!

I will remember You and one more song.

—–

Aphrodite

Demure and lovely Aphrodite, crowned in gold,

I praise, who holds the battlements of Cyprus, sea

girt, where the humid blowing breath of Zephyrus

propelled Her o’er the tumbling rumbling ocean waves

in gentle foam, and golden-diademed Hours received

Her willingly, and wrapped Her ’round with clothes divine.

Upon Her deathless brow They placed a well-wrought crown,

both fair and golden; into Her pierced ears They put

adornments made of orichalc and costly gold;

around Her tender neck and breasts as white as snow

arranged They necklaces of gold, like those with which

the golden-diademed Hours adorn Themselves to tread

the charming dance of Gods, or walk Their father’s halls.

And when She’d been adorned with every finery,

They led Her to the Gods, who saw and welcomed Her

with outstretched hands; and each implored that She

might be His lawful wife and come into His house;

They gaped at violet-diademed Cytherea’s form.

Hail, Thou sweetly winning one, with fluttering eyes;

and give the victory to me! Enhance my song!

For I remember Thee and yet another song.

Mansur al-Hallaj

“When a mans sleep is better then his waking – it is better that he should die”

(Mansur Al Hallaj)

A big Thanks To Mike Crowley for helping to inspire this edition. He alerted me to a quote I had put in yesterday’s entry… and so here we are with another Sufi Poet Saint, Mansur al-Hallaj. Except for the quotes, everything in this edition is his writings…. Really, his works are quite beautiful.

Have a good day, and enjoy this entry!

Gwyllm

On The Menu:

The Links

The Article: From The Tawasin of Mansur Al-Hallaj ,The Garden of Gnosis

Poetry: Selected works from al-Hallaj

Bio of al-Hallaj

The Art: Various Persian Minatures…

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The Links

Your Bollywood!

Cartoon

Guess I will pass on the Blue-Ray…

Saving Secular Society

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From The Tawasin of Mansur Al-Hallaj

The Garden of Gnosis

Abu ‘Umara al-Husayn ibn Mansur Al-Hallaj, may Allah purify his soul, said:

The definite noun is included in the understanding of the indefinite noun, and the indefinite noun is included in the understanding of the definite noun. Non-definiteness is a mark of the gnostic and ignorance is his form.

The external form of gnosis is concealed from the understandings and returns to them. How does he know Him where there is now ‘how’? Where did he know Him where there is no ‘where’? How did he reach Him and there is no idea of union? How did he separate from Him and there is no separation. Pure definiteness cannot be the object of any limited or numbered object, nor does it have need of maintenance nor is it worn out.

Gnosis is beyond the idea of beyond, and beyond spatial limit and beyond the intention, and beyond awareness, and beyond received traditions, and beyond perception. Because all of these are something which was not in existence before being, and came into being in a place. He has never ceased to be, was and is before dimensions, causes and effects. So how can these dimensions contain Him, or limitations comprehend Him?

He who says: ‘I know Allah by my lack of Him,’ how can he who lacks know Him who always is?

He who says: ‘I know Him because I exist’ – two external absolutes cannot co-exist.

He who says: ‘I know Him because I am ignorant of Him’ – ignorance is only a veil, and gnosis is beyond the veil. If not, there is no reality to it.

He who says ‘I know Him by His Name’ – the Name is not separable from the Named because He is not created.

He who says: ‘I know Him by Himself’ – this alludes to two objects of recognition.

He who says: ‘I know Him by His works’ – that is suffice oneself with the works without looking for the One who made them.

He who says: ‘I know Him by my inability to know Him’ – this one is unable to cut off, so how can the connected perceive the known object?

He who says: ‘As He knew me, I know Him’ – that is to allude to formal knowledge (‘ilm) and to return to the known which is different from the Divine Essence. Being distinct from the Essence how can it perceive the Essence?

He who says: ‘I know Him as He has described Himself.’ It is to be satisfied with traditional authority without immediate confirmation.

He who says: ‘I know Him by the anti-thetical Attributes’ – the known is one thing which does not admit of being confined or cut into sections.

He who says: ‘The object alone knows Himself’ – He confirms that the gnostic is tied by his difference, because the object never ceaces to know Himself in Himself.

Oh Marvel! Man does not know before a hair of his body how it grew black to white. So how will he know He who made things exist? He who does not know the summary or the analysis, nor the First and the Last, nor changes, nor causes, nor realities, nor devices, it is not possible for him to have knowledge of He who does not cease to exist.

Praise be to Him who veiled them by the Name, the definition and the mark! He veiled them under a word, a circumstance, perfection, and beauty from the One who always was and will be! The heart is a piece of flesh, so gnosis cannot take residence there, being a divine substance.

Understanding has two logical dimensions: extension and breadth. The pious spiritual life has two aspects: traditions and obligations. The totality of the creatures of creation is in the heavens and on the earth.

But gnosis has neither extension nor breadth, no seat in the heavens nor on the earth, it does not abide in the exterior forms nor in the interior intentions as do traditions and obligations.

He who says: ‘I know Him by His reality’ – he makes his existence superior to that of the Object. Because whoever knows something in its proper reality becomes more powerful than the simple object of which he has knowledge.

Oh man! Nothing in creation is smaller than the atom, and you do not perceive it. How can one who cannot recognize the atom be able to know He who is subtler than the atom to perceive?

What is exluded goes to the side which perishes and that which is enclosed remains on the side of the essential knowledge. The essence of gnosis is concealed in its name by its gnosis. It remains disjoined and severed from the thoughts, objects of distraction, and forgetfulness.

He who wants gnosis fears them, and he who fears them frees himself from them, and draws apart from them. Its East is West and its West is East. It does not have a place above the higher world and it does not have a place below the lower one.

Gnosis is removed from the existential things, it remains constantly with the Divine permanence. Its paths are narrow, and there is no road of access to it. Its meanings are clear but there is no guide to it. The senses do not perceive it, and the descriptions of men do not attain to it.

He who possesses it is solitary and he who mixes it becomes a heretic. He who strips it away becomes blind and he who attaches himself to it, perishes. Its lightning is an unceasing supply of water, its blow gives freely, and its arrow sticks, and when it throws to the ground it silences. One who fears it becomes an ascetic and it makes a watcher of the careless. Its tent-ropes are the gnostics and the means of ascent.

Gnosis has no other analogy that itself. Allah has no other analogy than Himself, and He resembles it. He is like it and He is like Himself, as it is analogous to itself. He is only like Himself and it is only like itself.

Its edifices are its supports and its supports are its edifices. Those who possess it are those who possess it, and its edifices are to it, in it, and by it.

It is not Him, and He is not it. And there is no He except it and no it except Him. There is no gnosis except Him. There is no He except Him!

So the gnostic is ‘the one who sees’ and gnosis resides in ‘he who remains.’ The gnostic stays with his act of cognition because he is his cognition and His cognition is him and gnosis is beyond that, and the Object is still further beyond that.

The story is the business of the story-tellers and gnosis is the business of the elect, and affectations of behavior are the business of individuals and utterance is with the people of delusion, and meditation is with the people of despair, and negligence with the people who are wild.

Allah is Allah. Creation is creation.

And it does not matter!

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Poetry By Al Hallaj

” For your sake, I hurry over land and water:

For your sake, I cross the desert and split the mountain in two,

And turn my face from all things,

Until the time I reach the place

Where I am alone with You.”

—-

Kill Me, My Faithful Friends

Kill me, my faithful friends,

For in my being killed is my life.

Love is that you remain standing

In front of your Beloved

When you are stripped of all your attributes;

Then His attributes become your qualities.

Between me and You, there is only me.

Take away the me, so only You remain

—–

I am the One Whom I Love

I am He whom I love,

and He whom I love is I:

We are two spirits

dwelling in one body.

If thou seest me,

thou seest Him,

And if thou seest Him,

thou seest us both.

—–

The Sunrise Ruby

In the early morning hour,

just before dawn, lover and beloved wake

and take a drink of water.

She ask, “Do you love me or yourself more?

Really, tell the absolute truth.”

He says, “Theres nothing left of me.

Im like a ruby held up to the sunrise.

Is it still a stone, or a world

made of redness? It has no resistance

to sunlight.”

This is how Hallaj said, I am God,

and told the truth!

The ruby and the sunrise are one.

Be courageous and discipline yourself.

Completely become hearing and ear,

and wear this sun-ruby as an earring.

Work. Keep digging your well.

Dont think about getting off from work.

Water is there somewhere.

Submit to a daily practice.

Your loyalty to that

is a ring on the door.

Keep knocking, and the joy inside

will eventually open a window

and look out to see whos there.

——

HALLAJ

Hallaj said what he said and went to the origin

through the hoe in the scaffold.

I cut a cap’s worth of cloth from his robe,

and it swamped over me from head to foot.

Years ago, I broke a bunch of roses

from the top of his wall. A torn from that

is still in my palm working deeper.

From Hallaj, I learned to hunt ions,

but I became something hungrier than a lion.

I was a frisky colt. He broke me

with a quiet hand on the side of my head.

A person comes to him naked. It’s cold.

There’s a fur coat floating in the river.

“Jump in and get it,” he says.

You dive in. You reach for the coat.

It reaches for you.

It’s a live bear that has fallen in upstream,

drifting with the current.

“How long does it take!” Hallaj yells from the bank.

“Don’t wait,” you answer. “This coat

has decided to wear me home!”

A little part of a story, a hint.

Do you need long sermons on Hallaj!

—-

Al Hallaj says about God:

“Before” does not outstrip Him,

“after” does not interrupt Him

“of” does not vie with Him for precedence

“from” does not accord with Him

“to” does not join with Him

“in” does not inhabit Him

“when” does not stop Him

“if” does not consult with Him

“over” does not overshadow

Him “under” does not support Him

“opposite” does not face Him

“with” does not press Him

“behind” does not limit Him

“previous” does not display Him

“after” does not cause Him to pass away

“all” does not unite Him

“is” does not bring Him into being

“is not” does not deprive Him from Being.

Concealment does not veil Him

His pre-existence preceded time,

His being preceded non-being,

His eternity preceded limit.

If thou sayest ‘when’,

His existing has outstripped time;

If thou sayest ‘before’, before is after Him;

If thou sayest ‘he’, ‘h’ and ‘e’ are His creation;

If thou sayest ‘how’, His essence is veiled from description;

If thou sayest ‘where’, His being preceded space;

If thou sayest ‘ipseity’ (ma huwa),

His ipseity (huwiwah) is apart from things.

Other than He cannot

be qualified by two (opposite) qualities at

one time; yet With Him they do not create opposition.

He is hidden in His manifestation,

manifest in His concealing.

He is outward and inward,

near and far; and in this respect He is

removed beyond the resemblance of creation.

He acts without contact,

instructs without meeting,

guides without pointing.

Desires do not conflict with Him,

thoughts do not mingle with Him:

His essence is without qualification (takyeef),

His action without effort (takleef).

—-

“I saw my Lord with the Eye of my heart,

And I said: Truly there is no doubt that it is You.

It is You that I see in everything;

And I do not see You through anything (but You).

You are the One Who owns all places.

And yet no place is You.

And if there were a place given by You for the place,

That place would know where You are.

And if there were an imagination for the imagining of You.

That imagination would know where You are.

I understand everything, and everything that I see

In my annihilation is You.

My Lord, bless me and forgive me,

For I seek no one but You.”

—-

He was born around 858 in Tur, Persia to a cotton-carder (Hallaj means “cotton-carder” in Arabic). Al-Hallaj’s grandfather may have been a Zoroastrian. His father lived a simple life, and this form of lifestyle greatly interested the young al-Hallaj. As a youngster he memorized the Qur’an and would often retreat from worldly pursuits to join other mystics in study.

Hallaj would later marry and make a pilgrimage to Mecca, where he stayed for one year, facing the mosque, in fasting and total silence. After his stay at the holy city, he traveled extensively and wrote and taught along the way. He travelled as far as India and Central Asia gaining many followers, many of which accompanied him on his second and third trips to Mecca. After this period of travel, he settled down in the Abbasid capital of Baghdad.

During his early lifetime he was a disciple of Junayd and Amr al-Makki, but was later rejected by them both.

Among other Sufis, Hallaj was an anomaly. Many Sufi masters felt that it was inappropriate to share mysticism with the masses, yet Hallaj openly did so in his writings and through his teachings. He would begin to make enemies, and the rulers saw him as a threat.This was exacerbated by times when he would fall into trances which he attributed to being in the presence of God. During one of these trances, he would utter Ana al-Haqq أنا الحق, meaning “I am the Truth,” or “I am God” and also, “In my turban is wrapped nothing but God?” which was taken to mean that he was claiming to be God, as Al-Haqq is one of the Ninety Nine Names of Allah. In another statement, Hallaj would point to his cloak and say, “Maa Fil Jubbati Illa-Allah” meaning “There is nothing inside/underneath the cloak except God.”

This utterance would lead him to a long trial, and subsequent imprisonment for eleven years in a Baghdad prison. In the end, he would be tortured and publicly crucified (in some accounts he was beheaded and his hands and feet were cut off) by the Abbasid rulers for what they deemed “theological error threatening the security of the state.” Many accounts tell of Al-Hallaj’s calm demeanor even while he was being tortured, and indicate that he forgave those who had executed him. According to some sources, he went to his execution dancing in his chains. He died on March 26, 922.

_________

The Execution of al-Hallaj

On the Morning Shore…

—–

When all visible light is extinguished, one finds the light of the self.”

– The Upanishads

“The Sun of the One I love has risen in the night,

Resplendent, and there will be no more sunset…

I saw my Lord with the eye of the heart, and I

said “Who are you?” and he said, “Your Self.”

– Al Hallâj

—-

A short note…

A big hello to Graham in London, and to Doug as well. A hello out to my sister Rebecca, and Deva.

Lots to read, the mind is wandering a bit. Summer is coming on so nicely. Beauty abounds.

Have a sweet Day.

Gwyllm

On The Menu:

The Links

On The Month of May

The Articles: The Horned Women & The Fairy Dance

The Poetry: LI T’AI-PO

The Art: Arthur Rackham

Arthur Rackham was born September 19, 1867, in London, England. He studied at the Lambeth School of Art, was elected to membership in The Royal Watercolour Society and the Société Nationale des Beaux Arts, and became Master of the Art Workers’ Guild. Books he illustrated included Rip van Winkle (1905), The Ingoldsby Legends (1906), Alice in Wonderland (1907), and many other children’s books and classics throughout the years until his death in 1939. His last work, for The Wind in the Willows, was published posthumously. He won gold medals at Milan (1906) and Barcelona (1911), and his books and original art are now collected in many countries throughout the world.

“In imagination, draftsmanship and colour-blending, his work stands alone. His deep understanding of the spirit of myth, fable, and folklore affords him a transcendent range of expression.” [Arthur Rackham, a Bibliography, by Sarah Briggs Latimore and Grace Clark Haskell, Los Angeles, Suttonhouse, 1936]

Rackham has been called “the leading decorative illustrator of the Edwardian period…. We see him…. in 1905 at the outset of twenty years of the most prolific and prosperous creative work ever enjoyed by an English illustrator.” [Arthur Rackham, His Life and Work, by Derek Hudson, Charles Scribner’s Sons, New York, 1960]

“Rackham’s illustrations to Grimm, Hans Andersen or Poe show him at his most imaginative and observant of human nature, while his gnomes, fairies and gnarled anthropomorphic trees in Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens or A Midsummer Night’s Dream represent his more fantastic side…. He was – and remains – a soloist in front of an orchestra, a player with the responsibility to interpret and add a personal lustre to great works with variations of infinite subtlety and grace.” [Arthur Rackham: A Life with Illustration, by James Hamilton, Pavilion Books, Ltd., London, 1990; published in New York by Arcade Publishing, Inc. as Arthur Rackham, A Biography]

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_________

The Links:

MORPHIC FIELDS AND MORPHIC RESONANCE

Fishermen find Utah Lake Monster

A Vast New Map of the Universe

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On May

O Day after day we can’t help growing older.

Year after year spring can’t help seeming younger.

Come let’s enjoy our winecup today,

Nor pity the flowers fallen.

– Wang Wei, On Parting with Spring

—-

May is a pious fraud of the almanac.

– James R. Lowell, 1819 – 1891

—-

‘Sap which mounts, and flowers which thrust,

Your childhood is a bower:

Let my fingers wander in the moss

Where glows the rosebud

—–

‘Let me among the clean grasses

Drink the drops of dew

Which sprinkle the tender flower, –

– Paul Verlaine, Spring

—–

Spring – An experience in immortality.

– Henry D. Thoreau

—–

The year is ended, and it only adds to my age;

Spring has come, but I must take leave of my home.

Alas, that the trees in this easter garden,

Without me, will still bear flowers.

– Su Ting, circa 700AD

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From Old Ireland: The Horned Women

A RICH woman sat up late one night carding and preparing wool while all the family and servants were asleep. Suddenly a knock was given at the door, and a voice called–” Open! open!”

“Who is there?” said the woman of the house.

“I am the Witch of the One Horn,” was answered.

The mistress, supposing that one of her neighbours had called and required assistance, opened the door, and a woman entered, having in her hand a pair of wool carders, and bearing a horn on her forehead, as if growing there. She sat down by the fire in silence, and began to card the wool with violent haste. Suddenly she paused and! said aloud: “Where are the women? They delay too long.”

Then a second knock came to the door, and a voice called as before–” Open! open!”

The mistress felt herself constrained to rise and open to the call, and immediately a second witch entered, having two horns on her forehead, and in her hand a wheel for spinning the wool.

“Give me place,” she said; “I am the Witch of the Two Horns,” and she began to spin as quick as lightning.

And so the knocks went on, and the call was heard, and the witches entered, until at last twelve women sat round the fire–the first with One horn, the last with twelve horns. And they carded the thread, and turned their spinning wheels, and wound and wove, all singing together an ancient rhyme, but no word did they speak to the mistress of the house. Strange to hear, and frightful to look upon were these twelve women, with their horns and their wheels; and the mistress felt near to death, and she tried to rise that she might call for help, but she could not move, nor could she utter a word or a cry, for the spell of the witches was upon her.

Then one of them called to her in Irish and said–

“Rise, woman, and make us a cake.”

Then the mistress searched for a vessel to bring water from the well that she might mix the meal and make the cake, but she could find none. And they said to her–

“Take a sieve and bring water in it.”

And she took the sieve and went to the well; but the water poured from it, and she could fetch none for the cake, and she sat down by the well and wept. Then a voice came by her and said–

“Take yellow clay and moss and bind them together and plaster the sieve so that it will hold.”

This she did, and the sieve held the water for the cake. And the voice said again–

“Return, and when thou comest to the north angle of the house, cry aloud three times and say, ‘The mountain of the Fenian women and the sky over it is all on fire.”

And she did so.

When the witches inside heard the call, a great and terrible cry broke from their lips and they rushed ‘forth with wild lamenta­tions and shrieks, and fled away to Slieve-namon, where was their chief abode. But the Spirit of the Well bade the mistress of the house to enter and prepare her home against the enchantments of the witches if they returned again.

And first, to break their spells, she sprinkled the water in which she had washed her child’s feet (the feet-water) outside the door on the threshold; secondly, she took the cake which the witches had made in her absence, of meal mixed with the blood drawn from the sleeping family. And she broke the cake in bits, and placed a bit in the mouth of each sleeper, and they were restored; and she took the cloth they had woven and placed it half in and half out of the chest with the padlock; and lastly, she secured the door with a great cross-beam fastened in the jambs, so that they could not enter. And having done these things she waited.

Not long were the witches in coming back, and they raged and called for vengeance.

“Open! Open!” they screamed. “Open, feet-water!”

“I cannot,” said the feet-water,” I am scattered on the ground and my path is down to the Lough.”

“Open, open, wood and tree and beam!” they cried to the door.

“I cannot,” said the door; “for the beam is fixed in the jambs arid I have no power to move.”

“Open, open, cake that we have made and mingled with blood,” they cried again.

“I cannot,” said the cake, “for I am broken and bruised, and my blood is on the lips of the sleeping children.”

Then the witches rushed through the air with great cries, and fled back to Slieve-namon, uttering strange curses on the Spirit of the Well, who had wished their ruin; but the woman and the house were left in peace, and a mantle dropped by one of the witches in her flight was kept hung up by the mistress as a sign of the night’s awful contest; and this mantle was in possession of the same family from generation to generation for five hundred years after.

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From Old Ireland: The Fairy Dance

THE following story is from the Irish, as told by a native of one of the Western Isles, where the primitive superstitions have still all the freshness of young life.

One evening late in November, which is the month when spirits have most power over all things, as the prettiest girl in all the island was going to the well for water, her foot slipped and she fell, it was an unlucky omen, and when she got up and looked round it seemed to her as if she were in a strange place, and all around her was changed as if by enchantment. But at some distance she saw a great crowd gathered round a blazing fire, and she was drawn slowly on towards them, till at last she stood in the very midst of the people; but they kept silence, looking fixedly at her; and she was afraid, and tried to turn and leave them, but she could not. Then a beautiful youth, like a prince, with a red sash, and a golden band on his long yellow hair, came up and asked her to dance.

“It is a foolish thing of you, sir, to ask me to dance,” she said, “when there is no music.”

Then he lifted his hand and made a sign to the people, and instantly the sweetest music sounded near her and around her, and the young man took her hand, and they danced and danced till the moon and the stars went down, but she seemed like one floating on the air, and she forgot everything in the world except the dancing, and the sweet low music, and her beautiful partner.

At last the dancing ceased, and her partner thanked her, and invited her to supper with the company. Then she saw an opening in the ground, and a flight of steps, and the young man, who seemed to be the king amongst them all, led her down, followed by the whole company. At the end of the stairs they came upon a large hall, all bright and beautiful with gold and silver and lights; and the table was covered with everything good to eat, and wine was poured out in golden cups for them to drink. When she sat down they all pressed her to eat the food and to drink the wine; and as she was weary after the dancing, she took the golden cup the prince handed to her, and raised it to her lips to drink. Just then, a man passed close to her, and whispered–

“Eat no food, and drink no wine, or you will never reach your home again.”

So she laid down the cup, and refused to drink. On this they were angry, and a great noise arose, and a fierce, dark man stood up, and said–

“Whoever comes to us must drink with us.”

And he seized her arm, and held the wine to her lips, so that she almost died of fright. But at that moment a red-haired man came up, and he took her by the hand and led her out.

“You are safe for this time,” he said. “Take this herb, and hold it in your hand till you reach home, and no one can harm you.” And he gave her a branch of a plant called the Athair-Luss (the ground ivy). [a]

This she took, and fled away along the sward in the dark night; but all the time she heard footsteps behind her in pursuit. At last she reached home and barred the door, and went to bed, when a great clamour arose outside, and voices were heard crying to her–

“The power we had over you is gone through the magic of the herb; but wait–when you dance again to the music on the hill, you will stay with us for evermore, and none shall hinder.”

However, she kept the magic branch safely, and the fairies never troubled her more; but it was long and long before the sound of the fairy music left her ears which she had danced to that November night on the hillside with her fairy lover.

[a] In Ancient Egypt the ivy was sacred to Osiris, and a safeguard against evil.

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Poetry: LI T’AI-PO

SHE SPINS SILK

Far up river in Szechuan,

waters rise as spring winds roar.

How can I dare to meet her now,

to brave the dangerous gorge?

The grass grows green in the valley below

where silk worms silently spin.

Her hands work threads that never end,

dawn to dusk when the cuckoo sings.

IN THE MOUNTAINS ON A SUMMER DAY

Gently I stir a white feather fan,

With open shirt sitting in a green wood.

I take off my cap and hang it on a jutting stone;

A wind from the pine-tree trickles on my bare head.

—-

WATERFALL AT LU-SHAN

Sunlight streams on the river stones.

From high above, the river steadily plunges —

three thousand feet of sparkling water —

the Milky Way pouring down from heaven.

—–

TO TU FU FROM SHANTUNG

You ask how I spend my time —

I nestle against a treetrunk

and listen to autumn winds

in the pines all night and day.

Shantung wine can’t get me drunk.

The local poets bore me.

My thoughts remain with you,

like the Wen River, endlessly flowing.

—-

SELF-ABANDONMENT

I sat drinking and did not notice the dusk,

Till falling petals filled the folds of my dress.

Drunken I rose and walked to the moonlit stream;

The birds were gone, and men also few.

______

LI T’AI-PO

701 – 762

Chinese Poet

Poetry was the most celebrated art during the golden age of the Tang dynasty. The collection of Tang poetry included 48,000 poems written by 2,000 poets. Li T’ai-Po ranks together with his friend Tu-Fu as the greatest Chinese poet and one of the greatest poet’s in world history.

Li Tai-po was one of the most popular poets during the T’ang dynasty. His lyrics are characterized by spontaneity and vivid imagination. He was a pleasure lover. He drank continually, travelled a good deal and used to stand in drunken amazement on arched bridges and among the ruins of ancient palaces where he would conjure up the past before his minds eye. Popular legend has it that he drowned when, sitting drunk in a boat, he attempted to seize the moon’s reflection in the water. So even his death became a poem.

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Exit now, through here….

Tomorrow?

Gwyllm

A Floating World?

On The Music Box: Steve Roach, Strata…

Zen does not confuse spirituality with thinking about God while one is peeling the potatoes. Zen spirituality is just to peel the potatoes.

– Allan Watts

______

First off, a big hello to our friend Vera down in California, and to Nestor just around the corner. Thanks for reaching out to me on Monday. You both were there just in time!

I also want to thank all who have written lately excited about what has shown up on Turfing.

Hot Days in Portland, some 95f Monday in some areas. I was going for a run and thought better of it. I worked for 6 hours on The Invisible College only to find I had blown the whole thing. I tend to over complicate things, like repeatedly. Back to the drawing board!

Todays’ entry is somewhat influenced by “Memoirs of a Geisha”, which we watched over the last couple of days. Wonderful film. Seeing the film reminded me of my early love for Koans, so the poetry wanders in that general direction.

I must wander off now, it is late nearing Midnight.

Bright Blessings…

Gwyllm

______

On The Grill:

The Links

The Article: THE BOREAL CROWN and THE DOWNFALL OF CIVILIZATION

The Poetry: Daoist & Zen… from back when…

The Art: for some of the illustrations: The Floating World…

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The Links:

The Boys in Blue are protecting you!

Images of the unexpected…

DWARF DRACULA KNEE-HIGH ANKLE BITER TERRORIZING SEATTLE!

White Line Fever???

Dr. Toon: Dis-band-ed

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THE BOREAL CROWN and THE DOWNFALL OF CIVILIZATION

by Anonymous

In 1808 the illuminated theorist and “Utopian Socialist” Charles Fourier launched the first fullyrealized and consciously revolutionary attack on CIVILIZATION by publishing his Theory of the Four Movements in France. No one noticed — any more than anyone noticed the books of William Blake, the only thinker of the era comparable to Fourier. In this brief text we cannot attempt a full report of Fourier´s brilliant utopian system of society, which he called HARMONY. But we could at least recall his programme involved the reorganization of human life into large groups, called Phalanxes, arranged in “Series” according to “Attraction” — that is, according to shared “Passions”. For Fourier, Passion was the sole possible organizing principe for utopian life. In brief: if everyone were free always to do exactly what they desire, all reason for social discord would vanish. Scarcity of any good — material, spiritual, erotic — can only be artificially imposed on society by CIVILIZATON, For Nature is naturally “generous”. Marriage, poverty, work, morality, loneliness, alienation, violence, boredom — these civilized miseries constitute the perverse results of a system which benefits a few at the expense of the health of Earth herself.

Fourier believed not only that humans are the desiring subjects of a desirable object (i.e., Terrestial Harmony), but also that the Earth and all other celestial bodies (planets, stars, etc.) are also living, sentient, desiring beings. The “force of attraction” that holds the universe(s) together can only be described as Passion, Erotic desire organizes not only the microcosm of human society but also the macrocosm (e.g., our solar system) in mandala of Harmony — the “Lineaments of gratified desire” as Blake would say.

Thus everything, quite literally everything, is moved solely by erotic attraction. In Harmony we shall work only at that which satisfies a Passion — and we shall be free to choose “Attractive Labor” — and since humans are inherently oassionate beings, Harmonian economics will replace the illusion of scarcity with the reality of super-abundance. Everyone will be “rich. Everyone will eat like a 18th century french gourmet (but the food will be healthy because it will be prepared according to the Harmonian science of Gastrosophy) — and everyone will enjoy at least “utopian minimum” of erotic pleasure. This immense intensification of animal/animate life will soon produce beneficial mutations even of the human body: — we shall need only a few hours of sleep per night, we shall grow taller and more beautiful, and within a few generations we shall each have a tail with an extra “hand” at the tip, and an extra eye in the palm of the hand . Moreover the climate will change and the seas will turn something like lemonade. Most of these changes will occur not through evolution and its endless eons, but almost immediatly, spontaneously, virtually overnight — as soon as we abandon CIVILIZATION and institute HARMONY in its stead.

One reason why these changes will occur so rapidly can be explained by the fact that Civilization has literally knocked Earth out of its true position in the cosmos. normally, since stars and planets are sexual beings, they enjoy sexual intercourse. Their sex organs — so to speak — consist of great cosmic rays (which Fourier calls “aromal rays”); celestial bodies project these rays at one another and thereby experiencethe bliss of fertilizing potency of erotic contact. In former times Earth also possessed an aromal ray and enjoyed its benefits — which manifested in the peace and plenty, gender harmony and sexual freedom of the hunting/gathering (or gardening) economy of the Old Stone Age. But Civilization disrupted the aromal ray. Earth lost its orgasmic potential. As Wilhelm Reich would put it, Earth was cut off from the cosmic source of orgone energy; Civilization equals sexual repression and erotic scarcity.

Now clearly, if human society were to overcome the malign local effect of civilization and institute the Harmonial Era, our planet would at once recover its cosmic sexuality and its aromal ray. Immediatly Earth would bathed again the perfume or illumination or jizm of the stars. Revivifying effects would begin to appear almost at once, and the initial eforts of the first Harmonians would be rewarded a thousand-fold through the vast new reservoirs or cosmic energy now available via Earth aromal ray.

in Theory of the Four Movements Fourier also revealed that Earth´s aromal ray — or rather its shattered fragments and dispersed remnants — can still be seen in the polar aurorae. the Northern and the Southern Lights (Aurora Borealis and Australis) resemble torn curtains of light. No Wonder! At one time they constituted coherent rays of brilliant color abd scebt which penetrated the yoni of the aether like an infinite lingam, and served as the pathway and vaginal gate for the infusion of subtle illumination-juices from everywhere in the multiverse. [ Incidentelly, this theory could be used to suggest that UFO´s are not extraterrestrial but consist in fact of local manifestations of “deadly orgone”, just as Reich feared]

Now it has occured to us that if the downfall of Civilization and the establishment of Harmony would result in the restauration of the “Boreal Crown” (as Fourier called it) to full coherence, then perhaps the opposite might also prove true. THE RESTAURATION OF THE BOREAL CROWN MIGHT RESULT IN THE DOWNFALL OF CIVILIZATION AND THE TRIUMPH OF HARMONY.

We believe it´s worth trying . But the big question facing us is — obviously — how? How does one go about repairing the Aurora Borealis?! If we knew the answer to the question we´d simply go and do it. The purpose of this text is to share our findings so far and to propose a framework for future research and action. We are convinced that this project will necesserly involve a certain amount of coordinated action by a great many people. We envision participation at many levels. Moreover, wehave no intention of acting as the center of this participation. We prefer to remain anonymous, and it is possible that our specific actions will be carried out more-or-less clandestinely. We will publish no address; so if you want to share ideas with us please send texts to the publication in which this communique appears – or else find out who we are by word of mouth and contact us directly.

So far, we have arrived at the following understanding. The popular aurorae are connected in some way with the with the magnetic poles rather than the geographic poles. The North Magnetic Pole is currently the more accessible of the two, since it is currently moving very slowly across northern Canada. As of this writing it is near Barthurst Island. The latitude of peak auroral activity is actually described by an oval ring whos center is a few degrees off the magnetic pole inthe direction of midnight. [See maps -Ed.]. The lights glow most intensely during magnetic storms, caused by an increase in the solar wind interacting with Earth´smagnetic field. At such times the auroral oval grows both southwards and toward the pole. The greatest auroral activity occurs at the peaks of the eleven-year sun-spot cycle, one of which, unfortunately, has just passed in the last year or two. It should be possible, nonetheless, to determine certain times and spacesat which our chance of acting on the Boreal Crown would be optimal. For example, if we determined that our action should take place at the magnetic place, we would calculate a time when weather conditions and geomagnetic activity would coincide to offer a maximal “window of opportunity”. If we decided that our actions should occur within the auroral oval, then a different set of space/time parameters would come into play.

Besides the questions of time and place we also face the question of effective action. At present we believe that we should consider the probable necessity of installing one or more “aromal devices” at one or more key points connected with the auroral/magnetic activity. These aromal devicesshould be concidered “machines” for the repair and restoration of the Boreal Crown. At present we remain uncertain aboutthe design of such devices; but we intend to uild at least one, and to install it at the chosen time and place. We hope that other groups and individuals will work on their own theories and also produce their own devices. Then, when a time and place have been determined, we will make this information publicly known. We will proceed to carry out an expedition, let´s say, to the Magnetic North Pole, timed to arrive at a certain day or period of days. We hope that others will launch their own simultaneous expeditions and that we will all rendezvous at the appointed moment and location. There and then we will carry out all our planned installation, actions, rituals, etc., together, inthe context of FESTIVAL.

Obviously a certain element of psychic technology enters into this project — and it is precisly on this psychic and “astral” level that many wish to participate in the action. Energy can be added to the activities of the Arctic expeditions (and to the acual installations or aromal devices) by the though projections and sympathetic actions of supporters and well-wishers all over the globe. We consider the possibility of a GENERAL STRIKE on the day of the festival, as the vital component of the operation. Everyone who cannot be with us at the installation of the site can carry out some symbolic and/or material action against Civilization, against Work, against oppression, boredom and alienation. This might consist of nothing more than wearing a symbol of the Festival (button, badge, flower, color, scent, etc.). Some participiants might simply wish to take a day off work and loll around, thinking about the Northern Lights. Group might want to organize actuall strikes or demonstrations against miseries of Civilization, and in favor for Attractive Labor or the Utopian Minimum. Artists and creative groups might errect sympathetic installations or perform supportive rituals, whereever they might happan to be at the appointed hour.

Our project at present calls for the further refinement of all these ideas, and for their widesat possible dissemination. These tasks are perhaps best carried out by many groups and individuáls simultaneously and more-or-less anonymously, so that the best ideas and images will have a chance to circulate by word of mouth and by various informal networks. In this way they will have a chance to take a life on their own and to circulate under their own power, so to speak, in anatural, organic manner. In order to succeed this Festival and General Strike needs to belong to everyone and anyone. Already this text is the product of a group — a group that believes that its ideas will sink or soar solely according to the degree of Attraction they radiate. The one central idea of the idea is the restorationof the Boreal Crown to its primordial coherence as Earth´s aromal ray; around this center the event must come into being spontaneously, like the mandala of a snowflake, like atrue holiday, like an uprising. The evnt therefore, must create itself.

We might, however, speculate in more detail about our vision of the aromal device or machine for repairing Aurora. Certain themes have already been touched on, and we expcet the full structure of the device to precipitate and crystallize around this or other related themes: Magnetism, the Sun, the Earth´s magnetotail, magnets (the first compass was amagnetized needle floated in water), “animal magnetism”, sexual attraction, sexual fluids, aromas, perfumes, colors, lights, the North, the Arctic, hunting, gardening, the Old Age, night, stars, te North Star, the Moon (measurement of time), clocks, gold, crystal, ice, rays, coherent light, curtains and ribbons of light, heraldic emblems (symbols of the events) such as flowers, colors, geometric shapes, hieroglyphs, banners, music, dance, ritual, arctic shamanism, the Millennium, the end of Civilization, restoration of Harmony, peace, brilliance, delicious food and drink, transformation, the esoteric, the clandestine, the hidden, mutation, orgy, the erotic manias, performance, opera, alchemy, the mythology and the folkloire of the Northern Lights, mental energy, the visualization of coherent light as aroma, energy from the stars, orgone, blue, mirrors, maps, invocations…….

Imagine a “machine” with such “moving parts”, miniaturized to the size of a small box, taken to the North Pole, installed — and activated. Imagine it as a focus for the concentrated desire of a world sickened by Civilization — work, oppression — a vast desire channeled into one image: the Boreal Crown in full glory — and one goal: the downfall of Civilization. In combination: a Festival of Light.

– Anonymous

____________

_____________

Poetry: Daoist & Zen… from back when…

Returning to form today. Some of my earliest poetic readings were Japanese Koans, via Mr. Suzuki’s most excellent book: “Zen Flesh, Zen Bones. I haunted the local Japanese import store when I was a young one. It was as close as I could get to the culture at that point.

The pieces I have selected today are some of my old favourites, from the Zen and Daoist Traditions. I hope you enjoy.

Gwyllm

Bitter rain soaks the pile of kindling twigs.

The night so cold and still the lamp flame hardly moves.

Clouds condense and drench our stone walled hut.

Broken rushes clog the reed gate’s way.

The stream gurgles, a torrent in its bed.

That’s all we hear. Only rarely, comes a human voice…

But oh, how priceless is this peace of mind that fills us

As we sit on our heels and put on another Chan monk’s robe!

– Bitter Rain by Master Hsu Yun

There is a reality even prior to heaven and earth;

Indeed, it has no form, much less a name;

Eyes fail to see it;

It has no voice for ears to detect;

To call it Mind or Buddha violates its nature,

For it then becomes like a visionary flower in the air;

It is not Mind, nor Buddha;

Absolutely quiet, and yet illuminating in a mysterious way,

It allows itself to be perceived only by the clear-eyed.

– Daio Kokushi, 1232 – 1308, On Zen

In the awakened eye

Mountains and rivers

Completely disappear.

The eye of delusion

Gazes upon

Deep fog and clouds.

Alone in my zazen

I forget the days

As they pass.

The wisteria has grown

Thick over the eaves

Of my hut.

– Muso (1275-1351)

Asking without knowing.

Answering, still not understanding.

The moon is cold, the wind is high–

On the ancient cliff, frigid juniper.

How delightful: on the road,

He met a man who had attained the Path.

And didn’t use speech or silence to reply.

His hand grasps the white jade whip.

And smashes the black dragon’s pearl.

If he hadn’t smashed it,

He would have increased its flaws.

– Hsueh-tou (980-1052), Roaring Stream

The Anarchist Century

(Stéphane Mallarmé painted by Manet)

This edition of Turfing is dedicated to my friend Morgan, whose revo/evolutionary spirit has deeply moved me over the years. He works incessantly with social/politcal/art issues, touching many lives. He always brings a fresh viewpoint, rooted well in historic and often humourous precedents. To know him is to love him!

As you can tell, Turfing has a new look. I am cracking the PHP code slowly but surely. Necessity is the Mother, I must tell you.

More later, working on The Invisible College and falling behind.

Hot today here in Portland. 90′s plus predicted.

Blessings,

Gwyllm

_____________

On The Menu….

The Links

The Article: Power and Revolution: The Anarchist Century

Poetry: Stéphane Mallarmé

_____________

The Links:

‘Brazilian Stonehenge’ discovered

Born Into Cellblocks

Massive Attack – Special Cases

The musical Mr. Hatch…

Everything, is under Control

Wanted: a warning to last 10,000 years…

_______________

Power and Revolution: The Anarchist Century

by Andrej Grubacic

{This paper is a revised version of the essay co-writen with David Graeber: Anarchism or the Revolutionary Movement for the 21st Century. It is revised and will be revised further for the presentation for the June 1 – 7 2006 Z Sessions on Vision and Strategy, held in Woods Hole, Massachusetts. }

(Jonathan Talbot, “Large Anarchist Patrin,” )

It is becoming increasingly clear that the age of revolutions is not over. It’s becoming equally clear that the global revolutionary movement in the twenty first century, will be one that traces its origins less to the tradition of Marxism, or even of socialism narrowly defined, but of anarchism.

Everywhere from Serbia to Argentina, from Seattle to Bombay, anarchist ideas and principles are generating new radical dreams and visions. Often their exponents do not call themselves “anarchists”. There are a host of other names: autonomism, anti-authoritarianism, horizontality, Zapatismo, direct democracy… Still, everywhere one finds the same core principles: decentralization, voluntary association, mutual aid, the network model, and above all, the rejection of any idea that the end justifies the means, let alone that the business of a revolutionary is to seize state power and then begin imposing one’s vision at the point of a gun. Above all, anarchism, as an ethics of practice-the idea of building a new society “within the shell of the old”-has become the basic inspiration of the “movement of movements”, which has from the start been less about seizing state power than about exposing, de-legitimizing and dismantling mechanisms of rule while winning ever-larger spaces of autonomy and participatory management within it.

There are some obvious reasons for the appeal of anarchist ideas at the beginning of the 21st century: most obviously, the failures and catastrophes resulting from so many efforts to overcome capitalism by seizing control of the apparatus of government in the 20th. Increasing numbers of revolutionaries have begun to recognize that “the revolution” is not going to come as some great apocalyptic moment, the storming of some global equivalent of the Winter Palace, but a very long process that has been going on for most of human history (even if it has like most things come to accelerate of late) full of strategies of flight and evasion as much as dramatic confrontations, and which will never-indeed, most anarchists feel, should never-come to a definitive conclusion.

It’s a little disconcerting, but it offers one enormous consolation: we do not have to wait until “after the revolution” to begin to get a glimpse of what genuine freedom might be like. Freedom only exists in the moment of revolution. And those moments are not as rare as you think. For an anarchist, in fact, to try to create non-alienated experiences, true democracy, is an ethical imperative; only by making one’s form of organization in the present at least a rough approximation of how a free society would actually operate, how everyone, someday, should be able to live, can one guarantee that we will not cascade back into disaster. Grim joyless revolutionaries who sacrifice all pleasure to the cause can only produce grim joyless societies.

These changes have been difficult to document because so far anarchist ideas have received almost no attention in the academy. There are still thousands of academic Marxists, but almost no academic anarchists. This lag is somewhat difficult to interpret. In part, no doubt, it’s because Marxism has always had a certain affinity with the academy which anarchism obviously lacked: Marxism was, after all, the only great social movement that was invented by a Ph.D. Most accounts of the history of anarchism assume it was basically similar to Marxism: anarchism is presented as the brainchild of certain 19th century thinkers (Proudhon, Bakunin, Kropotkin…) that then went on to inspire working-class organizations, became enmeshed in political struggles, divided into sects…

Anarchism, in the standard accounts, usually comes out as Marxism’s poorer cousin, theoretically a bit flat-footed but making up for brains, perhaps, with passion and sincerity. Really the analogy is strained. The “founders” of anarchism did not think of themselves as having invented anything particularly new. The saw its basic principles-mutual aid, voluntary association, egalitarian decision-making-as as old as humanity. The same goes for the rejection of the state and of all forms of structural violence, inequality, or domination (anarchism literally means “without rulers”)-even the assumption that all these forms are somehow related and reinforce each other. None of it was seen as some startling new doctrine, but a longstanding tendency in the history human thought, and one that cannot be encompassed by any general theory of ideology.

On one level it is a kind of faith: a belief that most forms of irresponsibility that seem to make power necessary are in fact the effects of power itself. In practice though it is a constant questioning, an effort to identify every compulsory or hierarchical relation in human life, and challenge them to justify themselves, and if they cannot-which usually turns out to be the case-an effort to limit their power and thus widen the scope of human liberty. Just as a Sufi might say that Sufism is the core of truth behind all religions, an anarchist might argue that anarchism is the urge for freedom behind all political ideologies.

Schools of Marxism always have founders. Just as Marxism sprang from the mind of Marx, so we have Leninists, Maoists,, Althusserians… (Note how the list starts with heads of state and grades almost seamlessly into French professors – who, in turn, can spawn their own sects: Lacanians, Foucauldians….)

Schools of anarchism, in contrast, almost invariably emerge from some kind of organizational principle or form of practice: Anarcho-Syndicalists and Anarcho-Communists, Insurrectionists and Platformists, Cooperativists, Councilists, Individualists, and so on.

Anarchists are distinguished by what they do, and how they organize themselves to go about doing it. And indeed this has always been what anarchists have spent most of their time thinking and arguing about. They have never been much interested in the kinds of broad strategic or philosophical questions that preoccupy Marxists such as Are the peasants a potentially revolutionary class? (anarchists consider this something for peasants to decide) or what is the nature of the commodity form? Rather, they tend to argue about what is the truly democratic way to go about a meeting, at what point organization stops empowering people and starts squelching individual freedom. Is “leadership” necessarily a bad thing? Or, alternately, about the ethics of opposing power: What is direct action? Should one condemn someone who assassinates a head of state? When is it okay to throw a brick?

Marxism, then, has tended to be a theoretical or analytical discourse about revolutionary strategy. Anarchism has tended to be an ethical discourse about revolutionary practice. As a result, where Marxism has produced brilliant theories of praxis, it’s mostly been anarchists who have been working on the praxis itself.

At the moment, there’s something of a rupture between generations of anarchism: I would like to express my affinity with what might be loosely referred to as the “small-a anarchists”, who are, by now, by far the majority. But it is sometimes hard to tell, since so many of them do not trumpet their affinities very loudly. There are many. in fact, who take anarchist principles of anti-sectarianism and open-endedness so seriously that they refuse to refer to themselves as ‘anarchists’ for that very reason .

But the three essentials that run throughout all manifestations of anarchist movement are definitely there – anti-statism, anti-capitalism and prefigurative politics (i.e. modes of organization that consciously resemble the world you want to create. Or, as an anarchist historian of the revolution in Spain has formulated “an effort to think of not only the ideas but the facts of the future itself”. This is present in anything from jamming collectives and on to Indy media, all of which can be called anarchist in the newer sense.

The new anarchists are much more interested in developing new forms of practice than arguing about the finer points of ideology. The most dramatic among these have been the development of new forms of decision-making process, the beginnings, at least, of an alternate culture of democracy. The famous North American spokescouncils, where thousands of activists coordinate large-scale events by consensus, with no formal leadership structure, are only the most spectacular.

Actually, even calling these forms “new” is a little bit deceptive. One of the main inspirations for the new generation of anarchists are the Zapatista autonomous municipalities of Chiapas, based in Tzeltal or Tojolobal-speaking communities who have been using consensus process for thousands of years-only now adopted by revolutionaries to ensure that women and younger people have an equal voice. In North America, “consensus process” emerged more than anything else from the feminist movement in the ’70s, as part of a broad backlash against the macho style of leadership typical of the ’60s New Left. The idea of consensus itself was borrowed from the Quakers, who again, claim to have been inspired by the Six Nations and other Native American practices.

Consensus is often misunderstood. One often hears critics claim it would cause stifling conformity but almost never by anyone who has actually observed consensus in action, at least, as guided by trained, experienced facilitators (some recent experiments in Europe, where there is little tradition of such things, have been somewhat crude). In fact, the operating assumption is that no one could really convert another completely to their point of view, or probably should. Instead, the point of consensus process is to allow a group to decide on a common course of action. Instead of voting proposals up and down, proposals are worked and reworked, scotched or reinvented, there is a process of compromise and synthesis, until one ends up with something everyone can live with. When it comes to the final stage, actually “finding consensus”, there are two levels of possible objection: one can “stand aside”, which is to say “I don’t like this and won’t participate but I wouldn’t stop anyone else from doing it”, or “block”, which has the effect of a veto. One can only block if one feels a proposal is in violation of the fundamental principles or reasons for being of a group. One might say that the function which in the US constitution is relegated to the courts, of striking down legislative decisions that violate constitutional principles, is here relegated with anyone with the courage to actually stand up against the combined will of the group (though of course there are also ways of challenging unprincipled blocks).

One could go on at length about the elaborate and surprisingly sophisticated methods that have been developed to ensure all this works; of forms of modified consensus required for very large groups; of the way consensus itself reinforces the principle of decentralization by ensuring one doesn’t really want to bring proposals before very large groups unless one has to, of means of ensuring gender equity and resolving conflict… The point is this is a form of direct democracy which is very different than the kind we usually associate with the term-or, for that matter, with the kind of majority-vote system usually employed by anarchists in the past. With increasing contact between different movements internationally, the inclusion of indigenous groups and movements from Africa, Asia, and Oceania with radically different traditions, we are seeing the beginnings of a new global reconception of what “democracy” or “revolution” should even mean, one as far as possible from the neoliberal parlaimentarianism currently promoted by the existing powers of the world.

Again, it is difficult to follow this new spirit of synthesis by reading most existing anarchist literature, because those who spend most of their energy on questions of theory, rather than emerging forms of practice, are the most likely to maintain the old sectarian dichotomizing logic. Modern anarchism is imbued with countless contradictions. While small-a anarchists are slowly incorporating ideas and practices learned from indigenous allies into their modes of organizing or alternative communities, the main trace in the written literature has been the emergence of a sect of Primitivists, a notoriously contentious crew who call for the complete abolition of industrial civilization, and, in some cases, even agriculture. Still, it is only a matter of time before this older, either/or logic begins to give way to something more resembling the practice of consensus-based groups.

What would this new synthesis look like? Some of the outlines can already be discerned within the movement. It will insist on constantly expanding the focus of anti-authoritarianism, moving away from class reductionism by trying to grasp the “totality of domination”, that is, to highlight not only the state but also gender relations, and not only the economy but also cultural relations and ecology, sexuality, and freedom in every form it can be sought, and each not only through the sole prism of authority relations, but also informed by richer and more diverse concepts.

This approach does not call for an endless expansion of material production, or hold that technologies are neutral, but it also doesn’t decry technology per se. Instead, it becomes familiar with and employs diverse types of technology as appropriate. It not only doesn’t decry institutions per se, or political forms per se, it tries to conceive new institutions and new political forms for activism and for a new society, including new ways of meeting, new ways of decision making, new ways of coordinating, along the same lines as it already has with revitalized affinity groups and spokes structures. And it not only doesn’t decry reforms per se, but struggles to define and win non-reformist reforms, attentive to people’s immediate needs and bettering their lives in the here-and-now at the same time as moving toward further gains, and eventually, wholesale transformation. It rejects the very opposition between reformism and revolution.

(Yves Tanguy)

And of course theory will have to catch up with practice. The problem at the moment is that anarchists who want to get past old-fashioned, vanguardist habits-the Marxist sectarian hangover that still haunts so much of the radical intellectual world-are not quite sure what their role is supposed to be. Anarchism needs to become reflexive. But how? On one level the answer seems obvious. One should not lecture, not dictate, not even necessarily think of oneself as a teacher, but must listen, explore and discover. To tease out and make explicit the tacit logic already underlying new forms of radical practice. To put oneself at the service of activists by providing information, or exposing the interests of the dominant elite carefully hidden behind supposedly objective, authoritative discourses, rather than trying to impose a new version of the same thing. How to move from ethnography to utopian visions-ideally, as many utopian visions as possible? It is hardly a coincidence that some of the greatest recruiters for anarchism in countries like the United States have been feminist science fiction writers like Starhawk or Ursula K. LeGuin.

One way this is beginning to happen is as anarchists begin to recuperate the experience of other social movements with a more developed body of theory, ideas that come from circles close to, indeed inspired by anarchism. Let’s take for example the idea of participatory economy, which represents an anarchist economist vision par excellence and which supplements and rectifies anarchist economic tradition. Parecon theorists argue for the existence of not just two, but three major classes in advanced capitalism: not only a proletariat and bourgeoisie but a “coordinator class” whose role is to manage and control the labor of the working class. This is the class that includes the management hierarchy and the professional consultants and advisors central to their system of control – as lawyers, key engineers and accountants, and so on. They maintain their class position because of their relative monopolization over knowledge, skills, and connections. As a result, economists and others working in this tradition have been trying to create models of an economy which would systematically eliminate divisions between physical and intellectual labor. Now that anarchism has so clearly become the center of revolutionary creativity, proponents of such models have increasingly been, if not rallying to the flag, exactly, then at least, emphasizing the degree to which their ideas are compatible with an anarchist vision.

This doesn’t mean anarchists have to be against theory. It might not need High Theory, in the sense familiar today. Certainly it will not need one single, Anarchist High Theory. That would be completely inimical to its spirit. Much better, I think, something more in the spirit of anarchist decision-making processes: applied to theory, this would mean accepting the need for a diversity of high theoretical perspectives, united only by certain shared commitments and understandings. Rather than based on the need to prove others’ fundamental assumptions wrong, it seeks to find particular projects on which they reinforce each other. Just because theories are incommensurable in certain respects does not mean they cannot exist or even reinforce each other, any more than the fact that individuals have unique and incommensurable views of the world means they cannot become friends, or lovers, or work on common projects. Even more than High Theory, what anarchism needs is what might be called low theory: a way of grappling with those real, immediate questions that emerge from a transformative project.

Similar things are starting to happen with the development of anarchist political visions. Now, this is an area where classical anarchism already had a leg up over classical Marxism, which never developed a theory of political organization at all. Different schools of anarchism have often advocated very specific forms of social organization, albeit often markedly at variance with one another. Still, anarchism as a whole has tended to advance what liberals like to call ‘negative freedoms,’ ‘freedoms from,’ rather than substantive ‘freedoms to.’ Often it has celebrated this very commitment as evidence of anarchism’s pluralism, ideological tolerance, or creativity. But as a result, there has been a reluctance to go beyond developing small-scale forms of organization, and a faith that larger, more complicated structures can be improvised later in the same spirit.

There have been exceptions, such as the North American Social Ecologists’s “libertarian municipalism”. There’s a lively debate developing, for instance, on how to balance principles of worker’s control-emphasized by the Parecon folk-and direct democracy, emphasized by the Social Ecologists.

Still, there are a lot of details still to be filled in: what are the anarchist’s full sets of positive institutional alternatives to contemporary legislatures, courts, police, and diverse executive agencies? Obviously there could never be an anarchist party line on this, the general feeling among the small-a anarchists at least is that we’ll need many concrete visions and many utopian dialogues. Still, between actual social experiments within expanding self-managing, ungoverned communities in places like Eastern Europe or Latin America, and of the efforts of new anarchists all over the globe, the work is beginning. It is clearly a long-term process. But then, the anarchist century has only just begun.

___________

___________

Poetry: Stéphane Mallarmé (1842-1898)

SEA-WIND

The flesh is sad, alas! and all the books are read.

Flight, only flight! I feel that birds are wild to tread

The floor of unknown foam, and to attain the skies!

Nought, neither ancient gardens mirrored in the eyes,

Shall hold this heart that bathes in waters its delight,

O nights! nor yet my waking lamp, whose lonely light

Shadows the vacant paper, whiteness profits best,

Nor the young wife who rocks her baby on her breast.

I will depart! O steamer, swaying rope and spar,

Lift anchor for exotic lands that lie afar!

A weariness, outworn by cruel hopes, still clings

To the last farewell handkerchief’s last beckonings!

And are not these, the masts inviting storms, not these

That an awakening wind bends over wrecking seas,

Lost, not a sail, a sail, a flowering isle, ere long?

But, O my heart, hear thou, hear thou, the sailors’ song!

————

Anxiety

Her pure nails sprung up exalting their onyx,

Anxiety, this midnight, bearing light, sustains,

In twilight many dreams burnt up by the Phoenix

Whose scattered ashes no sepulchral urn contains

Atop the sideboards, in the empty room: no ptyx,

That voided toy of vibrant nonsense, left inside,

(Because the Master went to draw the tears from Styx

With that exclusive object wherein Naught takes pride.)

In vacant north seen through the casement frames, a gold

May agonize at times, within the setting, to behold

Fire-breathing unicorns arrayed against a nix,

She, lifeless naked mirror image, repetition

Whom in the twinkling framed forgetting, is to fix

Through sparkling timed in septet, composition.

————

Apparition

La lune s’attristait. Des séraphins en pleurs

Rêvant, l’archet aux doigts, dans le calme des fleurs

Vaporeuses, tiraient de mourantes violes

De blancs sanglots glissant sur l’azur des corolles.

—C’était le jour béni de ton premier baiser.

Ma songerie aimant à me martyriser

s’enivrait savamment du parfum de tristesse

Que même sans regret et sans déboire laisse

La cueillaison d’un Rêve au coeur qui l’a cueilli.

J’errais donc, l’oeil rivé sur le pavé vieilli

Quand avec du soleil aux cheveux, dans la rue

Et dans le soir, tu m’es en riant apparue

Et j’ai cru voir la fée au chapeau de clarté

Qui jadis sur mes beaux sommeils d’enfant gâté

Passait, laissant toujours de ses mains mal fermées

Neiger de blancs bouquets d’étoiles parfumées.

————-

The Faun

Those nymphs, I want to perpetuate them.

So bright,

Their light rosy flesh, that it hovers in the air

Drowsy with tangled slumbers.

Did I love a dream?

My doubt, hoard of ancient night, is crowned

In many a subtle branch, which, remaining the true

Woods themselves, proves, alas! that alone I offered

Myself as a triumph the perfect sin of roses.

Let us reflect …

or whether the women you describe

Represent a desire of your fabulous senses!

Faun, the illusion flows from the cold blue eyes

Of the most chaste like a spring of tears:

But the other, all sighs, do you say she contrasts

Like the warm day’s breeze in your fleece?

But no! through the still and weary rapture

Stifling the cool morning with heat should it struggle,

No water murmurs unless poured by my flute

On the thicket sprinkled with melody; and the

Only wind, quick to escape the twin pipes before

Scattering the sound in an arid rain, is,

On the smooth untroubled surface of the horizon,

The visible and serene artificial breath

Of inspiration returning to the sky.

————-

ONE TOSS OF THE DICE

NEVER

NOT EVEN WHEN CAST IN ETERNAL

CIRCUMSTANCES

FROM THE DEPTHS OF A SHIPWRECK

WHETHER

the

Abyss

whitened

becalmed

furious

under an inclination

glides desperately

with wing

its own

in advance refallen with a difficulty in setting up flight

and covering the outpourings

cutting utterly the leaps

very interiorly resumes

the shade buried in the deep by that alternative sail

as to adapt

to its wingspan

its gaping depth as the hull

of a vessel

tilted to one or the other side

THE MASTERoutside old calculations

where the maneuver with age forgotten

arisen

inferringlong ago he grasped the helm

of that conflagration at his feet

of the unanimous horizon

there is preparing

stirring and mixing

in the fist that might clutch it

as one menaces a destiny and the winds

the unique Number which cannot be another

Spirit

to hurl it

in the tempest

refolding the division and passing proud

hesitates

a corpse by the arm set apart from the secret it keeps

rather

than to play

like a hoary maniac

the game

in the name of waves

one invades the chief

flows like a submissive beard

shipwreck that direct from man

sans ship

no matter

where vain

ancestrally to not open the hand

clenched

beyond the useless head

legacy in the disappearance

to someone

ambiguous

the last immemorial demon

having

from null regions

induced

the old man towards this supreme conjunction with probability

he

his puerile shade

caressed and polished and rendered and laved

made supple by the wave and abstracted

from the hard bones lost between the planks

born

of a gambol

the sea with the grandfather tempting or the grandfather against the sea

an idle chance

Betrothal

whose

veil of illusion gushed their phobia

like the phantom of a gesture

will totter

will fall

madnessWILL ABOLISH

AS IF

an insinuation simple

in silence rolled with irony

or

the mystery

precipitated

howled

in some nearby whirlpool of hilarity or horror

flutters around the gulf

without strewing it

nor fleeing

and cradles the virgin index

AS IF

plume solitary distraught

save that encounters or skims it a midnight cap

and immobilizes

in velvet crumpled by a guffaw somber

that rigid whiteness

derisory

in opposition to the sky

too much

for not marking

exiguously

whosoever

bitter prince of the reef

puts it on like the heroic

irresistible but contained

by his little reason virile

in lightning

concerned

expiatory and pubescent

mutelaughter

that

IF

The lucid and seigniorial aigrette of vertigo

with invisible brow

scintillates

then shadows

a stature dainty tenebrous erect

in its siren torsion

time

to slap

with impatient scales ultimate bifurcated

a rock

false manor

right away

evaporated in mists

that imposed

a limit on infinity

IT WAS

stellar issueNUMBER

EXISTED HE

otherwise than scattered hallucination of agony

COMMENCED HE AND CEASED HE

upwelling but denied and closed when apparent

at last

by some profusion widespread in rarity

CIPHERED HE

evidence of the sum if only one

ILLUMINATED HE

IT WOULD BE

worse

no

more nor less

indifferently but as much CHANCE

Falls

the plume

rhythmic suspense of the sinister

to bury itself

in original foams

not long ago whence sprang up its delirium to a peak

withered

by the identical neutrality of the gulf

NOTHING

of the memorable crisis

when might

the event have been accomplished in view of every result null

human

WILL HAVE TAKEN PLACE

an ordinary elevation pours absence

BUT THE PLACE

inferior lapping whatsoever as if to disperse the act void

abruptly which if not

by its falsehood

might have founded

perdition

in those regions

of the wave

in which all reality dissolves

EXCEPT

at the altitude

PERHAPS

as far as a place fuses with beyond

apart from the interest

as to it signaled

in general

according to such obliquity by such declivity

of fires

toward

this must be

the Septentrion also North

A CONSTELLATION

cold from forgetting and desuetude

not so much

that it does not enumerate

on some surface vacant and superior

the successive clash

sidereally

of a total count in formation

watching

doubting

rolling

shining and meditating

before stopping

at some last point that consecrates it

Every Thought sends forth one Toss of the Dice

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Stéphane Mallarmé was born in Paris in 1842. He taught English in from 1864 in Tournon, Besançon, Avignon and Paris until his retirement in 1893. Malarmé began writing poetry at an early age under the influence of Charles Baudelaire. His first poems started to appear in magazines in the 1860s. Mallarmé’s most well known poems are L’Aprés Midi D’un Faun (The Afternoon of a Faun) (1865), which inspired Debussy’s tone poem (1894) of the same name and was illustrated by Manet. Among his other works are Hérodiade (1896) and Toast Funèbre (A Funeral Toast), which was written in memory of the author Théopile Gautier. Mallarmé’s later works include the experimental poem Un Coup de Dés (1914), published posthumously.

From the 1880s Mallarmé was the center of a group of french writers in Paris, including André Gide and Paul Valéry, to whom he communicated his ideas on poetry and art. According to his theories, nothing lies beyond reality, but within this nothingness lies the essence of perfect forms and it is the task of the poet to reveal and crystallize these essences. Mallarmé’s poetry employs condensed figures and unorthodox syntax. Each poem is build around a central symbol, idea, or metaphor and consists on subordinate images that illustrate and help to develop the idea. Mallarmé’s vers libre and word music shaped the 1890s Decadent movement.

For the rest of his life Mallarmé devoted himself to putting his literary theories into practice and writing his Grand Oeuvre (Great Work). Mallarmé died in Paris on September 9, 1898 without completing this work. (From Ubuweb)

Earth Prayers

A short entry for Sunday.

Hoping that this finds you at peace with yourself, and the world.

Take a couple of minutes today, sit outside and breath ever so deep of the gathering day.

Put your hands in the earth, and fill its living presence.

Listen to the wind, to the birds, to children playing near by if you are so lucky.

Live a prayer, live this moment.

Talk Tomorrow,

Gwyllm

On the Menu:

The Links

Decline and fall of the Roman myth

Poetry n’ Prose: Earth Prayers

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The Links

Marimba Ponies!

Study links guns and hormones in men

A party full of desperate people?

For Your Listening Pleasure!

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Decline and fall of the Roman myth

We were ‘barbarians’, but early British civilisation outshone the Roman version, says ex-Python Terry Jones. We just lost the propaganda war

Nobody ever called themselves barbarians. It’s not that sort of word. It’s a word used about other people. It was used by the ancient Greeks to describe non-Greek people whose language they could not understand and who therefore seemed to babble unintelligibly: “ba ba ba”. The Romans adopted the Greek word and used it to label (and usually libel) the peoples who surrounded their own world.

The Roman interpretation became the only one that counted, and the peoples whom they called Barbarians became for ever branded — be they Spaniards, Britons, Gauls, Germans, Scythians, Persians or Syrians. And, of course, “barbarian” has become a byword for the very opposite of everything that we consider civilised.

The Romans kept the Barbarians at bay for as long as they could, but finally they were engulfed and the savage hordes overran the empire, destroying the cultural achievements of centuries. The light of reason and civilisation was almost snuffed out by the Barbarians, who annihilated everything that the Romans had put in place, sacking Rome itself and consigning Europe to the Dark Ages. The Barbarians brought only chaos and ignorance, until the renaissance rekindled the fires of Roman learning and art.

It is a familiar story, and it’s codswallop.

The unique feature of Rome was not its arts or its science or its philosophical culture, not its attachment to law. The unique feature of Rome was that it had the world’s first professional army. Normal societies consisted of farmers, hunters, craftsmen and traders. When they needed to fight they relied not on training or on standardised weapons, but on psyching themselves up to acts of individual heroism.

Seen through the eyes of people who possessed trained soldiers to fight for them, they were easily portrayed as simple savages. But that was far from the truth.

The fact that we still think of the Celts, the Huns, the Vandals, the Goths and so on as “barbarians” means that we have all fallen hook, line and sinker for Roman propaganda. We actually owe far more to the so-called “barbarians” than we do to the men in togas.

In the past 30 years, however, the story has begun to change. Archeological discoveries have shed new light on the ancient texts that have survived and this has led to new interpretations of the past. In Roman eyes the Celts may have lacked battle strategy, but their arms and equipment were in no way inferior to the Roman army’s. In fact the Celts had better helmets and better shields.

When the Romans got to Britain they found another technological advance: chariots. It may seem odd to those of us brought up on Ben Hur that the Romans should have been surprised by chariots on the battlefield, but that was the case.

The Romans had chariots, but the Britons made significant design improvements and, as Julius Caesar noted, had thoroughly mastered the art of using them. So how come the Romans built roads and the Celts did not? The answer is simple. The Celts did build roads. The “Romans-were-greatest” version of history made the earlier roads invisible until recently. One of the best preserved iron age roads is at Corlea in Ireland, but it was not until the 1980s that people realised how old it is. It was known locally as “the Danes’ road” and generally assumed to be of the Viking period or later. It was not until the timbers were submitted for tree-ring dating that the truth emerged: they were cut in 148BC.

However, the really startling thing is that wooden roads built the same way and at the same time have been found across Europe, as far away as northern Germany. The Celts, it seems, were sophisticated road builders and the construction of these wooden roads was no mean feat of engineering.

Oak planks were laid on birch runners and they were built broad enough for two carts to pass each other. What’s more, Celtic road building is not necessarily predated by that of the Romans. The first important Roman road was the Appian Way, built in 312BC, but the so-called “Upton Track” in south Wales, a wooden road laid across the mudflats along the Severn estuary, dates back to the 5th century BC.

It is only now that historians are beginning to reassess the sophistication of Celtic science and engineering. From early times the Celts were the iron masters of Europe. A Celtic smith was regarded as a magician, a man who could take a lump of rock and transform it into a magical new substance — a cunningly worked steel blade sharp enough to cut through bronze or ordinary iron.

The Celts’ mastery of metal technology also enabled them to develop sophisticated arable farms. We know they had iron ploughshares in Britain from about the 4th century BC because in a shrine at Frilford on the River Ock, near Abingdon in Oxfordshire — a site that was occupied from about 350BC — an iron ploughshare was found under one of the central pillars where it had been buried, perhaps as a votive offering. It is a fair guess that the temple was one of the first buildings to be erected there and that the iron ploughshare was offered at the time that its foundations were laid.

The Celts’ use of metal even allowed them to invent a harvesting machine. Historians did not believe that it could be true until bas-relief sculptures were discovered that apparently show just such a contraption. It was a sort of comb on wheels that beat off the ears of corn and deposited them in a container rather like the grass box of a lawnmower. A replica was built and tested in the 1980s.

It has been easy to underestimate Celtic technological achievements because so much has vanished or been misunderstood. Of course, it was thoughtless of the Celts not to leave us anything much in the way of written records — they should have known that the lack of books putting forward their own propaganda would weight the evidence firmly in favour of the Romans.

Western society’s enthusiasm since the renaissance for all things Roman has persuaded us to see much of the past through Roman eyes, even when contrary evidence stares us in the face. Once we turn the picture upside-down and look at history from a non-Roman point of view, things start to look very, very different.

(From Terry Jones’ Barbarians by Terry Jones and Alan Ereira to be published by BBC Books on May 18 at £18.99. The book is available for £17.09 including postage from The Sunday Times BooksFirst on 0870 165 8585. Terry Jones’ Barbarians begins on BBC2 on Friday May 26)

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Meanwhile, back at Caer Llwydd’s Back Forty…

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Dance to Heal the Earth

by Dee Smith

Whenever you dance, wherever you dance, dance to heal the earth!

Dancing is power. Dancing is prayer. Some say that all is dance. Maybe. Now there’s a big dance coming, a dance to heal the earth. If you’re reading this, you’re probably part of it. You take part whenever you do whatever you do to help heal the earth. When you recycle. When you choose to show love, to fight for justice, to bring healing, to bring out what is good in others. When you avoid cruelty and dishonesty and waste. When you are outraged. When you speak out. When you give. When you consider the generations to come. When you protest to the oppressors and encourage those who feel the cutting edge of injustice. And, of course, when you dance. There is a tree that all the prophets see, and whenever you let your love show, you make the flowers grow.

Soon this dance will be done in a big way, in the old way, on sacred ground. All living things will take part. If you want to, you can take part. No one is twisting your arm. You can stop any time you need to, and start up again whenever you’re ready. If you’ve read this far, you probably know what I’m talking about. You’ve probably been doing it in one way or another for a good while. Soon will be the time to make no bones about it! Cut loose!

Anytime you dance, anywhere, whether at a party or in church, dance to heal the earth! Let your feet beat a healing rhythm into the earth. Let your feet beat a strengthening rhythm for those who struggle the hardest. Let your feet beat a life-giving rhythm for all peoples, regardless of race or national boundary, regardless of whether we’re human or whether we’re the trees, the air, the fish, the birds, the buffalo, the bear, the crow. We come out of hiding, we come back from the dead, and we dance, and our dance is a prayer, and our songs and our rhythms and our breath give life.

Is the music they’re playing some mindless jingle? Never mind, as long as it’s not bad music, and you can dance to the beat! Make your own words, and make the words a prayer. A prayer for the end of exploitation, a prayer for the end of lies, a prayer for healing, for justice, for life. Remember your prayer-song, feed it and let it get strong and pass it along. Dance and pray, whenever you dance, dance to heal the earth.

Have you seen anything? Wear it out! Make it so that all can see what you see! Take a white T-shirt and mark it with your dreams. Is there anything you’d like to tell the world? Take your shirt and mark it with your song! This is the way it has been done, so you can do it too. Use any color except black (there are reasons for that that will become clearer later), and you’ll probably find that a loose, pure cotton T is most comfortable for dancing in. Cos this is an actual dance, you dance hard, you sing and breathe hard and sweat. Wear it when you plan to go out dancing, to dance to heal the earth.

Some people do this dance while fasting, and dance for several days straight. But even a few minutes of dancing helps, and joins with all the other dancing going on, everywhere on Earth. Not everyone can fast these days. Besides, you never know when you’re gonna dance, and you have to eat sometimes! But if you plan to dance, hold off eating till later, or just have a little. It’s easier to dance if you don’t have a hotdog weighing you down.

Some people say, do not do sacred things where people are drinking and partying. But all the universe is a sacred place. It really doesn’t matter what others are doing, you can make a place sacred wherever you are, with your intention and your prayers. Some people use smoke to make a place sacred; a cigarette or incense stick will do fine. You can dance to heal the earth anywhere, even a party or a bar! The earth is everywhere, so you can dance anywhere to heal her. Only one thing. Please hold off drinking or using any other intoxicants till you’re done. It works better that way.

The Lie has gone far enough. It spreads and makes everyone sick. Now is the time for this dance to begin. It, too, will spread, and it will bring healing to all. In the beginning, they say, God put a rainbow in the sky, to let us know that Spirit never forgets. Now is the time for us to put a rainbow across the earth, to let God know that we, too, remember.

Dance to heal the earth. Not just when you’re dancing, but always. Live the dance, whenever you move, in all you do, dance to heal the earth.

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“The Earth Prayer”

Black Elk Oglala Sioux, Medicine Man

“Grandfather, Great Spirit, once more behold

me on earth and lean to hear my feeble voice.

You lived first, and you are older than all need,

older than all prayer. All things belong to you

– the two-legged, the four-legged, the wings

of the air, and all green things that live.

You have set the powers of the four quarters of the earth to cross each other. You have made me cross the good road and road of difficulties, and where they cross, the place is holy. Day in, day out, forevermore, you are the life of things.

Hey! Lean to hear my feeble voice.

At the center of the sacred hoop

You have said that I should make the tree to bloom.

With tears running, O Great Spirit, my Grandfather,

With running eyes I must say

The tree has never bloomed

Here I stand, and the tree is withered.

Again, I recall the great vision you gave me.

It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives.

Nourish it then

That it may leaf

And bloom

And fill with singing birds!

Hear me, that the people may once again

Find the good road

And the shielding tree.”

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I Live My Life

Rainer Maria Rilke

I live my life in widening rings

which spread over earth and sky.

I may not ever complete the last one,

but that is what I will try.

I circle around God’s primordial tower,

and I circle ten thousand years long;

And I still don’t know if I’m a falcon,

a storm, or an unfinished song.

—————

Kiss The Earth

Thich Nhat Hanh

Walk and touch peace every moment.

Walk and touch happiness every moment.

Each step brings a fresh breeze.

Each step makes a flower bloom.

Kiss the Earth with your feet.

Bring the Earth your love and happiness.

The Earth will be safe

when we feel safe in ourselves.

The Nisse

Had to take a friend to the Chiropractors this morning, so this is all a bit rushed. Gardening Madness, it has us all going at full tilt.

The days are ever so beautiful. The fullness of life is all around. Mary’s Robin has shown up again, hanging out with her as she gardens.

On the Grill:

The Links

The Merry Nisse

Gaelic Poetry: Two poems from modern times and one from the 1400′s

Enjoy, and have a good weekend!

Gwyllm

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The Links:

Neolithic man ‘had violent history’

The RFID Hacking Underground

Daydreams are different in autistic minds

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The Merry Nisse by Brad Steiger

The night that I encountered “him” proved to be a life-altering event. The presence of this entity provided me with my personal proof of the reality of other dimensions of being, and set me on the quest that has dominated my life path. That night, when I was a child of nearly five, I saw what is commonly referred to as an elf, a brownie-or, in the Scandinavian culture that is my heritage, a nisse. There are probably no cultures that do not have their own version of this often ancestral household spirit. Traditionally, Scandinavian families left a small portion of food out at night for the nisse to enjoy. I remember discussing the nisse with a friend in the Mesquaki (Fox) tribe, who said that they never forgot to leave an offering of food for their household spirit’s evening nourishment.

Tricky Guardians

In the Scandinavian tradition, the nisse look after hearth and home, a kind of guardian entity-but one with an attitude. Nisse can be extremely volatile if provoked, and they are very often mischievous little tricksters. I have spoken to many folks who remember as children having their hair pulled, their toys hidden, their cat’s tail pulled by the nisse. Although few of my friends admit to having seen nisse, a good many have strongly sensed their presence.

On that long-ago evening when I caught a nisse watching my parents, I believe that I suprised him as much as he did me, but he quickly regained his composure and gave me a strange kind of smile that was as benevolent as it was puckish. At the same time, I sensed that it was a conspiratorial kind of smile, as if we would forever share a secret that was profound in its simplicity. I don’t remember what happened after that, because his eyes suddenly became very compelling and seemed to grow larger and larger. And the next thing I knew, it was morning.

When I reported my experience to my parents, they were far more indulgent than one might suppose. According to my Danish mother’s family tradition, we were in the lineage of Hans Christian Andersen and such encounters with the wee ones were not unexpected. Grandma Dena often spoke of the “pantry elf,” another name for the nisse, and Grandma Anna reported seeing the entities as little bits of sparkling light.

As I have recounted my experience over the years, many listeners have expressed their opinions that I may actually have met an extraterrestrial alien-a “Grey”-or a ghost; but I suspect that I came face to face with a nisse. And although I have never seen such a creature again, I have never lacked for evidence of their presence in my home. And I must give full credit to my initial encounter with the being for my desire to learn more about the human psyche and our niche in the universe, and for my various psychic safaris to investigate a wide range of unexplained phenomena-from poltergeistic disturbances and haunted houses, to UFO manifestations and woodland monsters. Because of my childhood meeting with a nisse, I learned at an early age that our species is part of a larger community of intelligences, a far more complex hierarchy of powers and principalities-both seen and unseen, physical and nonphysical-than most of us are bold enough to believe.

Finer Points of Creature Lore

We must at this point make the distinction between nisse and trolls. Although a few years back some enterprising Danes made a fortune cleaning up the image of trolls and selling them to an unsuspecting public as cute little creatures with big bug-eyes, dolphin grins, and bushy red hair, real trolls are nasty buggers who can assume gigantic proportions and wreak havoc whenever they choose.

To be even more precise, they are fiendish giants, very often associated with hostile, darkside sorcerers. I have heard many an ill-informed salesperson refer to the benignly grinning troll dolls as Scandinavian elves or nisse. To be fair, however, among more contemporary and less traditional Danes there did develop a tendency to confuse the identity of the huldrefolk (elves often involved in changeling tales) with trolls, and to envision them as brownie-like beings. Though it is difficult to imagine how any entities involved in baby-napping could ever be considered cute and adorable.

Tiny Demons

I must admit, there have been times when I certainly didn’t consider our nisse as charming and adorable, either. Once when I was a teenager, the nisse decided to terrorize me when I was home alone on the farm. It began with doors opening and closing of their own volition, terrible poundings on walls and windows, and the palpable sense of a menacing presence. Interestingly, our dog, Queen, a collie/wolf mix who took no nonsense from anyone or anything, also sensed-or may even have seen-the wild and crazy nisse. Her hair bristled, she bared her teeth, and she directed her warning growls at an unseen troublemaker. It was incredible to watch her attention being directed and redirected at various places in the house as the invisible entity moved from place to place, thudding walls and scattering books and papers. Queen and I finally retreated upstairs, determined to make a brave last stand against our assailant. I will never forget kneeling with my .22 rifle, my faithful dog snarling at my side, awaiting the creature as it noisily ascended the stairs, step by step.

Thankfully, before I could shoot any holes in the walls, there was a peculiar “whoosh” of air around us, a tiny sound of tinkling laughter, and the spooky game was over. Queen shook her head and whined in puzzlement, and I felt an overwhelming sense of relief that there really was no monster in the house about to rend us limb from limb. It had all been a merry prank played on me by the nisse. As I considered the impetus for such an eerie demonstration, I recalled reading an issue of the great old pulp magazine Weird Tales, and my father remonstrating that such stories could pop back into my memory at the most inopportune times to frighten me. Of course I had scoffed at such an ill-founded paternal warning and laughed that a robust 15-year-old such as myself could not be easily frightened by anything.

Almost as I had spoken those words, I sensed an unseen presence accepting the challenge.

Peaceful Coexistence

As I became an experienced investigator of psychical manifestations, I eventually encountered the gamut of eerie displays-spectral appearances, ghostly voices, and a seemingly inexhaustible range of poltergeist demonstrations. For the past many years, the activity of our household nisse are benignly mischievous. Most often, a book or file that I have had in plain sight on my desk will suddenly not be there when I reach for it. After a brief search to prove what I already know-that I have not misplaced the objects-I will say aloud, “All right, guys. Bring it back right now!” I might wait a couple of minutes before I leave the room to get a drink of water or to check on my wife Sherry, and when I return, the missing book or file has been returned to the center of my desk.

Sherry, who also enjoys Swedish heritage among her United Nations ancestry of French, Italian, Irish, and Chippewa, soon caught on to the games that nisse play. I will often hear her shouting out from her upstairs office, “Nisse! That’s enough. Leave me alone now! Bring back my papers!”

In our household, we enjoy a very peaceful coexistence with the nisse. Some are obviously always concerned with our health and happiness and serve as guardians of our home. Others, well, they are a bit more fun-loving and will always delight in temporarily hiding objects that we had moments ago been using. Such behavior, though, is really not all that obnoxious. Annoying sometimes, yes, but, after all, the nisse keep our house from ever becoming the least bit boring!

Brad Steiger is a well-known author who has written on all aspects of the strange and unknown.

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Gaelic Poetry

The Old Live On…

Maire Mhac an tSaoi

They liked a high forehead on a woman –

The fashion for fringes on females was not prized –

And the broad separation of the eyes,

And the charming gap between the very white front teeth:

The canon of beauty laid down before the coming of Christ…

And I thought I would jot down their tidings,

For, when our generation is no more,

Who will taste the gentleness of their conventions?

I happened to be teaching school at that time in the West,

And there on the bench [sat] a child like a lily,

A conflict of roses on her cheeks

And her head of hair golden-yellow,

Her eyes blue and slow-moving,

Her brows precisely drawn,

And her small fresh mouth like raspberries in June.

She registered eleven years

And there wasn’t a spark of sense in her head,

Nor was she at all worried by that,

It was enough to be there and be thus.

The word for ‘muse’ cropped up during teaching;

‘That is a word you won’t know,’ the mistress declared to them.

The little hand shot up:

‘I know it…’

I unleashed the teacher’s heavy irony at her:

‘Tell it then to the class, Teresa, from the store of your knowledge.’

Bold and confident in her loveliness, she shot back the answer:

‘A woman with no clothes on!’…

Eoghan Rua laughed.

———-

Listen, People of this House…

Iseabail ni mheic Cailien

Listen, people of this house,

to the tale of the powerful penis

which has made my heart greedy.

I will write some of the tale.

Although many beautiful tree-like penises

have been in the time before,

this man of the religious order

has a penis so big and rigid.

The penis of my household priest,

although it is so long and firm,

the thickness of his manhood

has not been heard of for a long time.

That thick drill of his,

and it is no word of a, lie

never has its thickness been heard of

or a larger penis. Listen.

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A Child Born In Prison

Godfraidh Fionn O’Dalaigh (circa 1400)

A pregnant woman (sorrow’s sign)

once there was, in painful prison.

The God of Elements let her bear

in prison there a little child.

The little boy, when he was born,

grew up like any other child

(plain as we could see him there)

for a space of years, in prison.

That the woman was a prisoner

did not lower the baby’s spirits.

She minded him, though in prison,

like one without punishment or pain.

Nothing of the light of day

(O misery!) could they see

but the bright ridge of a field

through a hole someone had made.

Yet the loss was not the same

for the son as for the mother:

her fair face failed in form

while the baby gained in health.

The child, raised where he was,

grew better by his bondage,

not knowing in his fresh frail limbs

but prison was ground of Paradise.

He made little playful runs

while her spirits only deepened.

(Mark well, lest you regret,

these deeds of son and mother.)

He said one day, beholding

a tear on her lovely face:

‘I see the signs of sadness;

now let me hear the cause.’

‘No wonder that I mourn,

my foolish child,’ said she.

‘This cramped place is not our lot,

and suffering pain in prison.’

‘Is there another place’, he said,

‘lovelier than ours?

Is there a brighter light than this

that your grief grows so heavy?’

‘For I believe,’ the young child said,

‘mother, although you mourn,

we have our share of light.

Don’t waste your thoughts in sorrow.’

‘I do not wonder at what you say,

young son,’ the girl replied.

‘You think this is a hopeful place

because you have seen no other.

‘If you knew what I have seen

before this dismal place

you would be downcast also

in your nursery here, my soul.’

‘Since it is you know best, lady,’

the little child replied,

‘hide from me no longer

what more it was you had.’

‘A great outer world in glory

formerly was mine.

After that, beloved boy,

my fate is a darkened house.’

At home in all his hardships,

not knowing a happier state,

fresh-cheeked and bright, he did not grudge

the cold and desolate prison.

And so is the moral given:

the couple there in prison

are the people of this world,

imprisoned life their span.

Compared with joy in the Son of God

in His everlasting realm

an earthly mansion is only grief,

prisoners all the living.

A child of the past universe…

When a belief is widely held in the face of overwhelming evidence to the contrary, we call it a superstition. By that criterion, the most egrerious superstition of modern times, perhaps of all time, is the “scientific” belief in the non-existence of psi.

Thomas Etter

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Irish Blessings:

May the blessings of light be upon you,

Light without and light within,

And in all your comings and goings,

May you ever have a kindly greeting

From them you meet along the road.

May you work like you don’t need the money,

Love like you’ve never been hurt, and

Dance like no one is watching.

Dance as though no one is watching you,

Love as though you have never loved before,

Sing as though no one can hear you,

Live as though heaven is on earth.

Garden Times…

Worked up the ladder today, trimming off the dead branches on the Ancient Cheery Tree in our back yard (left over from the old insane asylum from the 19th century from the river up to Mt. Tabor) Branches were rotten, widowmakers if I ever saw them…

Trimmed the neighbors tree as well, in all the years we have been here, she just lets them go. Nice neighbor, bad pruning habits. It cost us quite a bit of growing space (due to the shade factor) in the yard. We grow moss the best, followed close behind by the dandelions.

We went to the nursery today, picking up veggies, herbs and poppies. I love poppies, but they are always being wacked by the pod thieves! Argh. Bad habits abound. I love the nursery. I discovered a new tobacco plant from Brazil. Mary nixed me getting it, sez it will mess with the tomatoes. I am looking for Tobacco Rustica to grow next year. Love the smell! The whole gardening meme is a lovely one. Ahhhh. Loam!

We are getting the garden prepared for summer events. Dale and Laura Pendell will be in Portland on the 1st of June, for a reading at Powells… My Father is visiting… Summer Salons and various gatherings are being planned. The Solstice of course, and PARTIES!

More tomorrow, of course.

Gwyllm

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on the Grill

The Links

Articles:

The Next Green Revolution

Universe ‘child of previous one’

Poetry: Jesse Lee Kercheval

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The Links

Evolution of Dance

1945 war debt to US ‘almost paid’ (expect a different relationship after that!)

Mapping a path for the 3D Web

What Price Freedom?

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The Next Green Revolution

How technology is leading environmentalism out of the anti-business, anti-consumer wilderness.

By Alex Nikolai Steffen

For decades, environmentalists have warned of a coming climate crisis. Their alarms went unheeded, and last year we reaped an early harvest: a singularly ferocious hurricane season, record snowfall in New England, the worst-ever wildfires in Alaska, arctic glaciers at their lowest ebb in millennia, catastrophic drought in Brazil, devastating floods in India – portents of global warming’s destructive potential.

Green-minded activists failed to move the broader public not because they were wrong about the problems, but because the solutions they offered were unappealing to most people. They called for tightening belts and curbing appetites, turning down the thermostat and living lower on the food chain. They rejected technology, business, and prosperity in favor of returning to a simpler way of life. No wonder the movement got so little traction. Asking people in the world’s wealthiest, most advanced societies to turn their backs on the very forces that drove such abundance is naive at best.

With climate change hard upon us, a new green movement is taking shape, one that embraces environmentalism’s concerns but rejects its worn-out answers. Technology can be a font of endlessly creative solutions. Business can be a vehicle for change. Prosperity can help us build the kind of world we want. Scientific exploration, innovative design, and cultural evolution are the most powerful tools we have. Entrepreneurial zeal and market forces, guided by sustainable policies, can propel the world into a bright green future.

Americans trash the planet not because we’re evil, but because the industrial systems we’ve devised leave no other choice. Our ranch houses and high-rises, factories and farms, freeways and power plants were conceived before we had a clue how the planet works. They’re primitive inventions designed by people who didn’t fully grasp the consequences of their actions.

Consider the unmitigated ecological disaster that is the automobile. Every time you turn on the ignition, you’re enmeshed in a system whose known outcomes include a polluted atmosphere, oil-slicked seas, and desert wars. As comprehension of the stakes has grown, though, a market has emerged for a more sensible alternative. Today you can drive a Toyota Prius that burns far less gasoline than a conventional car. Tomorrow we might see vehicles that consume no fossil fuels and emit no greenhouse gases. Combine cars like that with smarter urban growth and we’re well on our way to sustainable transportation.

You don’t change the world by hiding in the woods, wearing a hair shirt, or buying indulgences in the form of save the earth bumper stickers. You do it by articulating a vision for the future and pursuing it with all the ingenuity humanity can muster. Indeed, being green at the start of the 21st century requires a wholehearted commitment to upgrading civilization. Four key principles can guide the way:

Renewable energy is plentiful energy. Burning fossil fuels is a filthy habit, and the supply won’t last forever. Fortunately, a growing number of renewable alternatives promise clean, inexhaustible power: wind turbines, solar arrays, wave-power flotillas, small hydroelectric generators, geothermal systems, even bioengineered algae that turn waste into hydrogen. The challenge is to scale up these technologies to deliver power in industrial quantities – exactly the kind of challenge brilliant businesspeople love.

Efficiency creates value. The number one US industrial product is waste. Waste is worse than stupid; it’s costly, which is why we’re seeing businesspeople in every sector getting a jump on the competition by consuming less water, power, and materials. What’s true for industry is true at home, too: Think well-insulated houses full of natural light, cars that sip instead of guzzle, appliances that pay for themselves in energy savings.

Cities beat suburbs. Manhattanites use less energy than most people in North America. Sprawl eats land and snarls traffic. Building homes close together is a more efficient use of space and infrastructure. It also encourages walking, promotes public transit, and fosters community.

Quality is wealth. More is not better. Better is better. You don’t need a bigger house; you need a different floor plan. You don’t need more stuff; you need stuff you’ll actually use. Ecofriendly designs and nontoxic materials already exist, and there’s plenty of room for innovation. You may pay more for things like long-lasting, energy-efficient LED lightbulbs, but they’ll save real money over the long term.

Redesigning civilization along these lines would bring a quality of life few of us can imagine. That’s because a fully functioning ecology is tantamount to tangible wealth. Clean air and water, a diversity of animal and plant species, soil and mineral resources, and predictable weather are annuities that will pay dividends for as long as the human race survives – and may even extend our stay on Earth.

It may seem impossibly far away, but on days when the smog blows off, you can already see it: a society built on radically green design, sustainable energy, and closed-loop cities; a civilization afloat on a cloud of efficient, nontoxic, recyclable technology. That’s a future we can live with.

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Universe ‘child of previous one’

By Sarah Cruddas

A joint UK-US team has put forward an alternative theory of cosmic evolution.

It proposes that the Universe undergoes cycles of “Big Bangs” and “Big Crunches”, meaning our Universe is merely a “child of the previous one”.

It challenges the conventional view of the cosmos, which observations show to be 12-14 billion years old.

The new ideas, reported in the journal Science, may explain why the expansion of the Universe is accelerating, the researchers say.

“At present the conventional view is that all of space, time, matter and energy began at a single point, which then expanded and cooled, leaving the Universe as it is today,” said Professor Paul Steinhardt of Princeton University, New Jersey.

“However, this new theory suggests that there’s a continuous cycle of universes, with each a repeat of the last, but not an exact replica.

“It can be thought of as a child of the previous universe.”

Cosmological constant

The new idea builds on previous work by the same team, and is set to challenge the current model.

The cosmological constant represented an inherent pressure or force associated with free space, which would be resisting the gravity-drive contraction.

The concept was later abandoned when observations showed the Universe to be expanding – causing Einstein to label the cosmological constant as “the greatest blunder of my career”.

In 1998, a form of the constant was re-habilitated when it was found that the Universe’s expansion was actually speeding up.

Unanswered questions

Although the re-introduction of the constant enabled calculations to match theory, it also raised the question that there was something in physics that was “missing”.

Professor Neil Turok, of Cambridge University, told the BBC News website: “When the value of the cosmological constant was calculated, it was found to be much smaller than expected.

“The explanation as to why this constant is so small has become one of the biggest problems in physics.

“At present, the only explanation for this is that things just have to be that way.” This theory leaves many questions unanswered, but now Professors Steinhardt and Turok have developed a new theory to explain why the cosmological constant is so small.

They suggest that time actually began before the Big Bang, meaning there was a pre-existing universe.

This would also mean that the current Universe is much older than presently accepted.

Dark matter

“At present there may be an alternative ‘dark matter’ universe that exists at the same time as ours, but we could never reach it,” explained Professor Turok.

“The best way to think of this is to think of a pane of double glazing with a fly on it. The fly is unable to cross over from one side to another, just like we are unable to get from one universe to another.

“These two universes are drawn together by the force of gravity and will eventually collide.

“This means that things that are happening now will help to create another universe in the future.”

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Poetry: Jesse Lee Kercheval

Gav’rinis

5000 years ago & already religion over

turns religion—

fells a 16 ton menhir

carved with deer a running hare

& hauls it to the shore

onto a barge for the trip

to this shale island

lost among a sea of islands

buries the pictographs inside a fresh dug dolman

covers them

with pounded earth

because like Islam 3000 years later

this new faith does not show

its God in pictures

but rather in abstraction

in sweeping curves &

circles inside circles—

God with her daughters

resting in her—

They had come so far—these first human farmers

Plants grew & cows gave birth

when & where they ordered

Everything was possible—everything was new

So the menhir from the old believers

hunters/ gatherers was buried—

then time covered the new religion to

these people

their boats

as time will cover ours—

now we walk to board our boat

& find the tide

dropped

20 feet

leaving our poor boat stranded

in a bay of sticky mud

the earth sleeps

the sea never

so I’m left with time to wonder

why sit in the dark

etching circles into limestone

with nothing

but a sharp quartz pebble?

Why make the ordered marks

already fading on this page?

because you do not draw

a human head

to show the face

of God

—————

Children of Paradise

Paris is an egg. It is the egg.

Wide or narrow, it is a ribbon

of pastry, of moonlight, of butter.

Paris is the light

gliding over our eyelids,

sneaking in even when we try

not to see. We know ourselves

through Paris & in this

Paris is as private

as blood & as public

as humiliation in high school. I broke a molar

on a piece of popcorn

watching Les Enfants du Paradis

in Paris, watching that luminous cloud Arletty

playing the heroine Garance.

Like the flower, she says

after giving her name. What flower? the audience

always murmurs. Me too—

& that’s what I love—

the not knowing.

Just as no one in the Paris of the film

can truly know Garance.

But what with the cracked tooth,

watching this film about Paris

in Paris turned out

not to be the rush of paradise

I expected, but instead,

along with Baptise the mime,

I was in agony. Baptise

from his unconsummated love

for Garance. Me from my molar,

from the pain crashing through my nerves,

& for a moment I thought

ammonia & chlorine bleach

had come accidentally together

filling the whole theater

because I was crying,

because I couldn’t breathe.

Then Paris

took me out of myself & into the souls

of the stars, filled me with great pity,

with a sense infinite space as poignant actuality,

as the light from the projector

shone over the heads of the audience.

But there is more, much more

to Paris than that. In Paris, life

runs away, is a runaway

at play & passion is everywhere.

Paris dangles all possibilities before us,

clanging as loud as bells. The mind sees

as through a glass–Heaven.

The heart sees–as through a moving curtain—

worlds beyond the bones

of everyday.

———–

Isle de Brehat

In this garden enclosed

by a stone wall

on this stone island

where the stone houses

have stone roofs—

my son twists

on a wooden swing

In between cold

rock shore & cold rock

shore, this garden

bleeds w/ roses

the bruised kiss of fuschia

Beyond the wall, in

the low & marshy land

sheep crop the sweet

salt grass

This could be

my stone house—Kercheval

in the land where

ker means home,

It could be my

parents in the cemetery close

inside the church

yard walls—my father

grandfather

lost at sea

lost to war

their faces still young

in the enameled

photographs that grace

the cemetery walls

or hang in honor

in the Chapel of the Rescuers—

resting place for those

who died

searching for

neighbors/other islanders

lost in the slate grey sea.

Who have I saved

lately?—a Breton

300 years gone

from this stone land—

long ago set sail across

the wide and

salty sea?

No one, I admit

at least not

lately

&

catch my son

in my arms, hoping

love—mine or God’s—

will be enough save him

First him, then

my husband

& then

me

——–

Xylophones

I deliver my daughter to kindermusic.

The teacher has her theories:

how the body, so young,

already knows music.

Week One: the class—

two boys, four girls—

dances with ribbons

imagining themselves notes.

Week Two: they draw music,

slash, dashes, waves, wolves

across butcher paper

unrolled on the floor.

Week Three: they clap, they stomp

making their bodies mallets,

beating the floor,

the air, their drum.

At the end of each class

they get stamps—butterflies,

tigers, smiley faces

on the back of their hands.

Week Four: Finally they are given

their special kindermusik

xylophones, white plastic

with red metal keys,

are taught how to hold

the wooden mallets

how to hit each note

just so. No more improvisation,

no more roaring and dancing.

Ding, all together, ding.

At last, they’re making music.

Their teacher smiles and smiles.

________

Jesse Lee Kercheval was born in France and raised in Florida. She is the author of six books, including the poetry collection Dog Angel, the novel The Museum of Happiness, and the writing text Building Fiction. She is the Sally Mead Hands Professor of English at the University of Wisconsin, where she directs both the Wisconsin Institute for Creative Writing and the M.F.A. Program in Creative Writing. She lives in Madison with her husband and two children.