Monday, April 30, 2007

Calls from the wilderness (I)

In an ongoing, persistent plot I tried to lure my out of shape friend with me into the wilderness yesterday. I told him that I was in bad shape these days, and that he could easily keep up with me, which is true, to a point. I haven’t really been exercising much the last few months, due to a prevailing injury.

But afterwards, on my first trip to the wilderness for weeks I began thinking. Thinking always improves when I am out there, a breath of fresh air, an infusion of energy, in a present day world pretty much lacking such an essential component.

I walk up the hill, on the ragged trail, through the forest, and in spite of my fairly uncharacteristically ragged breath my footing is fast and firm. I don’t stumble in roots or waver in the uneven terrain. My body remembers better than my mind how to move here, here, in nature. I don’t need to consciously consider each step, not anymore.

It wasn’t always like this. Growing up I was pretty much a typical child of civilization. I was out of shape until my late teens and early twenties, until I finally began exercising, and as an additional bonus I began learning what we all have forgotten. I didn’t join a sports team or anything, like most people would, but my friends and I took off for the forest. We stayed for days and nights, and found something far greater than mere physical prowess.

I began learning. It took me years. I remember constantly stumbling in roots and falling on uneven and wet ground. Learning, understanding came slowly, painfully, but we did learn, did find awareness, and the insight that had eluded us. We could walk through the forest fairly easily in pitch darkness and that, at least to some of us was just the beginning.

So it takes time. For one that has never or hardly or only for sport ventured into the wilderness, mankind’s true home it feels awkward and hard beyond belief at first, to merely walk there. It took me about two years, in my estimate to learn basic moves, to get physically comfortable enough with myself to begin learning the true essence of the wilderness.

And that is something that never goes away, now. It was only slumbering in me, like it does in all humans. Persistence, stubbornness and longing made it return to me, after a prolonged battle, not with myself, but with the horrible surroundings we all grow up in, with the machinations of the World Grinder blinding us to all alternatives. And now it is the city streets that are unfamiliar territory to me, like it always was, like it is for all human beings.

It takes time today, to learn, relearn… how to be Human.

Sunday, April 29, 2007

Grief? Respect? Nausea

Some bloggers and others, all over the world feel we bloggers should keep our mouth shut on the thirtieth of April in grief and respect for those killed at Virginia Tech.

This happens every time something like this and similar transpires. People are elevating themselves as chief mourners to increase their own importance and anyone not following their clue is usually chastised for it. It just hypocrisy all of it, and the chief mourners grow angry because they are exposed as the hypocrites they are.

Do a single one of them know any of those killed? Do they feel grief? Do they have any reason to express grief over the death of complete strangers? I wonder what those who were shot did to deserve the world’s respect. Is it because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time? Is there another, indefinable reason?

This happens every time, and very few make any real attempt at understanding what happened and why it happened.

One can ascertain that grief and respect is a very selective thing these days. Why pick this particular case? Is it to protest against the United States’ arms policy? Are the arms to blame? Isn’t it possible, isn’t there a slight, slight possibility that there is a far more probable reason why people are dying like flies in the present day world?

Anyway, this, to quote Hannibal Lecter is incidental, a distraction to hide the deeper, true reason. Events like this will always happen in a world where both individuals and society as a whole are treating people like garbage. And I just have to express my deepest joy over the fact that they are happening, that the wild beast isn’t dead in us, that it is very much alive. Introduce the most rigid attempts at control over human life. There are those that will fold easily. The sheep will always do that. While others will grow enraged, like everybody should. I, for one see the murderer as the victim, at least as much as those he killed.

I didn’t know the dead. Very few did. Did one or more of them harass the murderer beyond the point of any return? Some of them certainly did. I am not saying any of them deserve to die. No one do. But that the murderer was provoked, and provoked to a degree sending him over the edge through days, weeks, months and years of harassment is an undeniable fact. How much can a human being take, before it says enough? This is what the blogs should discuss, before, during and after April 30.

Soldiers kill, in Iraq, in Afghanistan and everywhere, really. NATO troops, butchers kill indiscriminately and people in the member states beat their chests in pride. It is quite sickening or rather beyond sickening. Soldiers become heroes for killing children and older people. Individuals, «freelancers» killing in justified rage are typically condemned.

A massive amount of speeches are held, as usual, about what excellent students and human beings the dead were. A few of them was CLEARLY not that. That doesn’t mean they deserved to die, but people shouldn’t stand on a dais (or write a lot of crap in a blog) and praise people that fuck so much with a human being that he or she go totally bananas.

It is hypocrisy all of it, all the crap. If this is an example of bloggers (some has given this as one of the reasons for the suggested silence) dignity and reflection I won’t have anything to do with it.

I will blog like hell on the thirtieth, and I will keep seeking alternative and unofficial explanations in a world where the official and mainstream stink like months old horse dung, and I hope others will do the same. That is what I would like people to do. That is what I ask of them.

Thursday, April 12, 2007

Snapshots of a Life

That, to me, is modern existence in a nutshell. Imagine a camera with an enormously powerful lens, seeing only a slice of what your eyes see a given moment. That’s the narrow perspective we are taught to perceive from our earliest memories. This is the way we are forced to look at reality.

The stern teachers, deceivers have two main tools at their disposal. One is religion and the other is science, both, in their own way offering the deceivers the opportunity to divert people’s attention away from what is truly happening, what the world and the Universe truly is.

I have written before about how people see the world, existence itself as a brick wall, and how it absolutely isn’t. Many others do, too, without that making the deaf ears listen any better. But the truth is far more pronounced than even that. The world is fundamentally different from how we are taught to perceive it, and it causes suffering beyond belief, causes today’s horrible world to linger, to «grow» into an even more terrible nightmare. The truth, the many-faced truth of reality was and is the first casualty of the war civilization and its henchmen have waged against nature for so long, now. William Blake wrote about the chinks of people’s cavern long ago, about how, if they only opened their eyes, they would see the world as it is - infinite, and many people quote him, but very few truly realize what the significance of his words is. They quote art, but they don’t even try do understand it. Instead they speak meaningless, perceived intellectual phrases about «understanding art» and keep slumbering in their dreamless sleep.

One snapshot, two, three, a few thousands perhaps, that is all we are able and willing to perceive today, in a Universe, in a vast unbridled Reality where billions beyond billions of intricate, beyond deep paintings are interacting, changing, constantly metamorphosing. We see the world as static, but it is far from that. We see it as unchangeable, even as it shifts and burns.

It is Life, unimaginable dreams, and what the grainy, worn snapshot reveals is merely a coffin.

Tuesday, April 03, 2007

We meet in the forest

We meet in the forest, not far from the hill cleansed of trees. The forest is shrinking. It’s shrinking everywhere, except at humanity’s core.

We meet in the forest, a bunch of strangers joining the circle around the fire. The flames reach into the darkness and burn naked skin. We feel it, all of us, an uninterrupted flow, a sense of belonging, undeniable.

I entered the forest at dusk, leaving the emptiness behind, forever. The sight of the destruction faded in my inner eye. I imagined the mighty fire in my mind, and suddenly I was there. The other strangers appeared in the open clearing as I did, as if we had planned it all… and we had. I joined the other strangers, joined the circle around the fire.

We stare at each other across the fire, through the dancing fire at the eight other shadow creatures in the circle. Strands of night and fire reach for us and penetrate us. The nine live and do magick in the land of the moon. We are The Nine, and we live, in a world of the living dead. Five and four of each sex meet in the forest, far from civilization’s destructive, horrible reality. This is ours. We sing and speak meaningless words not words, doorways, wide-open portals to the unknown known, and we travel Time and Space, and limitation is only a word. We open ourselves, and thereby the world. A rift opens at the edge of existence. There is no border. The other, larger Other World is here, with us. We open ourselves to the world, and the world opens itself to us.

A mist flows from the fire and surround The Nine. We feel it, feel how the shimmering air grabs us. Ancient, meaningless words rise from quivering throats. We give them meaning, and thereby ourselves.

The Journey begins, free of the body and even thought. It is the «soul», the Shadow, our eternal Self, rising from the body, fading in the darkness. But we are not fading, not fading at all. We’re growing and are more than we were. Suddenly we are a completely different place, one I have visited before, a room not a room, but a place Travelers meet. The walls are not walls, but windows, displays of the eternity and infinity in our eyes. In countless flashes we experience entire lives, experiences we will never be able to describe, even with a million years at out disposal. This is Hyperreality, the true reality. The other we have left behind is the illusion, not in the sense that it doesn’t exist, but in its importance.

How long is the Journey? How far have we traveled? I can never quite decide and I don’t care. Both questions are meaningless. Those we ask ourselves in the thousand eternities we leave behind are of a far greater significance.

We are back in the forest and the trees and the growth and everything around us is alive, even more so than we remember a long, long time ago. We breathe hard, but every breath makes us glow with life. How long is the night? The reply is no reply, but a long row of questions, of loud howls resounding in the air. Countless mornings have come and gone, and it is still night.

The Nine live in the land of the moon.