Wednesday, April 16, 2014

The important things

Hot tub heading to bend.  

On on.

Stoke and flow are the goal. It's never just physical. When they go off the mind is engaged and the body on fire. It's those days that a new scale presents itself or a book lights passion into a bonfire of curiosity. 

Yet it's the days when the flow and stoke are hard to find that create the peak moments. Days when I don't feel like reading but would rather watch Outside TV I make sure to put I n the time with a good book. If I'm feeling lazy I'll do a simple ten minute movement flow and the fire is ignited. Perhaps not a blaze but at least there is something to tend. 

Discipline yields the wild flow of spontaneous arising.  No paradox. 


“MAD, adj. Affected with a high degree of intellectual independence.”
―Ambrose Bierce, “The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary”


Bierce's "The Unabridged Devil's Dictionary" is all time favorite. Whenever I meet people who believe themselves to be witty and sardonic I try to steer then to his work so they can see how a master works. 

Friday, April 4, 2014

Hakim Bey

CHAOS NEVER DIED. Primordial uncarved block, sole worshipful monster, inert & spontaneous, more ultraviolet than any mythology (like the shadows before Babylon), the original undifferentiated oneness-of-being still radiates serene as the black pennants of Assassins, random & perpetually intoxicated.

Chaos comes before all principles of order & entropy, it's neither a god nor a maggot, its idiotic desires encompass & define every possible choreography, all meaningless aethers & phlogistons: its masks are crystallizations of its own facelessness, like clouds.

Everything in nature is perfectly real including consciousness, there's absolutely nothing to worry about. Not only have the chains of the Law been broken, they never existed; demons never guarded the stars, the Empire never got started, Eros never grew a beard.

No, listen, what happened was this: they lied to you, sold you ideas of good & evil, gave you distrust of your body & shame for your prophethood of chaos, invented words of disgust for your molecular love, mesmerized you with inattention, bored you with civilization & all its usurious emotions.

There is no becoming, no revolution, no struggle, no path; already you're the monarch of your own skin--your inviolable freedom waits to be completed only by the love of other monarchs: a politics of dream, urgent as the blueness of sky.

To shed all the illusory rights & hesitations of history demands the economy of some legendary Stone Age--shamans not priests, bards not lords, hunters not police, gatherers of paleolithic laziness, gentle as blood, going naked for a sign or painted as birds, poised on the wave of explicit presence, the clockless nowever.

Agents of chaos cast burning glances at anything or anyone capable of bearing witness to their condition, their fever of lux et voluptas. I am awake only in what I love & desire to the point of terror--everything else is just shrouded furniture, quotidian anaesthesia, shit-for-brains, sub-reptilian ennui of totalitarian regimes, banal censorship & useless pain.

Avatars of chaos act as spies, saboteurs, criminals of amour fou, neither selfless nor selfish, accessible as children, mannered as barbarians, chafed with obsessions, unemployed, sensually deranged, wolfangels, mirrors for contemplation, eyes like flowers, pirates of all signs & meanings.

Here we are crawling the cracks between walls of church state school & factory, all the paranoid monoliths. Cut off from the tribe by feral nostalgia we tunnel after lost words, imaginary bombs.

The last possible deed is that which defines perception itself, an invisible golden cord that connects us: illegal dancing in the courthouse corridors. If I were to kiss you here they'd call it an act of terrorism--so let's take our pistols to bed & wake up the city at midnight like drunken bandits celebrating with a fusillade, the message of the taste of chaos.

Thursday, March 27, 2014

From yin to yang

For a multitude of reasons we are decamping from Vashon to Bend, OR. What makes the shift most interesting is the best reason- the people we bought the home from want it back!

Kristin and I now see that Vashon is a bit too rural with a unique stew of provincial  hippie orthodoxy and isolationist pride. Not a damn thing wrong with the place but the unique purchase offer allows us to see Kristin needs a more urban vibe and I am not going to turn my nose up at the myriad trails and access to recreation Bend offer.

It is an interesting turn of events and one that is flowing smooth and fast. Being closer to trails and mtns with no ferry sounds nice. Bend was the first choice and we tried Vashon because of a great friend who lived here. With the offer from the owners any misgivings were given room to bloom. 

On, on...

Monday, March 17, 2014


There is a hard, meanness in me that only comes out around white males who have made the tacit agreement with other white males to revel in privilege and use the privilege to exclude and deny those who are not members of the club.

I cannot abide boring, overweight white men who cut their wives off with a glance, growl at their children and pretend they are rocking the world when all they are doing is operating at a mediocre level within the club of white male privilege. 

Because of how I look, tall, decent looking, white and male I realized early on I was seen as someone who belonged to this club. I remember a summer camp experience where the group of boys who ran the show, all sons of wealthy families, while I attended as the grandson of the school accountant, wanted me to be in their group. As they were all mean to other kids and acted like douches I wanted no part of it. They were vehement that I was going to be part of the group.  Members of the group were made to endure much teasing, and even punches, from the boys who were supreme alphas. I refused all their offers. 

In the end they became so mad at me for denying such a prestigious offer I was swarmed by six of the group,  wrestled to the ground and tied to a tree. I got some licks in and all it did was make them mad. 
My little sister had to get my granddad to cut me loose. 

After that day I was intent on avoiding such clowns. I saw the same behavior at every summer camp and school I attended. As these males age they realize they can't tie people to trees so they learn more subtle ways of control and domination. They are so deep within their milieu they can't see it. 

It's funny how many males I've known who bought into this male privilege role without even knowing. To watch them mock homeless people, the gentle and kind, super nerds and the weak is painful. Do they forget when they allowed the alphas to tease and mock them, perhaps even giving them a cruel nickname, so they could be part of the group? Or do they remember well and now they are glad to be able to heap out some faux alpha on others? 

When I'm around these kinds of men my hard meanness comes out. I used to suppress and deny it as the prevailing culture told me I was supposed to be part of this group of dolts. Over time I realized I loathe these men and their bro culture.  Their whole life is compartmentalized. Masks and shadows are the rule. 

I am so grateful to the people I know who aren't part of this social strata-kind people, hurt people, sad people, those honest enought to admit this life can be trying and willing to do the work to seek clarity and openness.

Stats and all

In a study I read a figure which intrigued me. According to the data ten percent of Americans strength train. 

As I told a friend yesterday this low figure was all the proof I needed to quit sharing my love of iron with others. 

So, if ten percent of Americans strength train how many practice sitting meditation?  1%? Less?

It took me a half century, lots of practice, a good bit of therapy, finding many dead ends and putting up with humans who only want a Panama City vacation to realize the vast majority of humans are not interested in investigation of the nature of existence or stoking the fire via practice.  It's so easy to think that what stokes me, fuels me, intrigues me must exist in more people. It doesn't. A cinna-bun and new episodes of " How I met Your Mother" are enough for a vast swath of human beings. I understand this now.