Ever get the feeling you're being watched?
The sense of "being watched" can be real or imagined, and may be threatening or not. Most of us are uncomfortable with the sensation of being watched. It feels unnatural, like a violation of privacy. The sense of feeling "self-conscious" may occur, as your insecurity is heightened and you feel that you can't just "be yourself". There is a need to be on guard, to discover the source, and hopefully re-gain one's sense of privacy.
There are many occasions where being watched is expected. If you are a performer or public speaker, certainly people will be watching you (and a lot of people get nervous before crowds). The more well-known you are, the more watched you are, which is why celebrity seems like a bad trade-off for loss of privacy. At least it would to me. Some people love attention and thrive on being watched. In other cases, you can't help but to be watched, regardless of who you are. When I walk the streets of London, I know I'm being watched somewhere all the time. CCTV is in operation in most places, so it is likely that someone somewhere is monitoring your movements.
I'm watched in my own house every day--by my cats. When I get up in the morning, they are staring at me. I feed them, and go upstairs to get dressed--a few minutes later I turn around and they are in the bathroom with me, watching me. If I sit down at my computer, they situate themselves nearby. Sometimes they appear to be sleeping, but if I glance over, I see that there's always one eye on "Momma". If I think they're sound asleep and tiptoe upstairs to my own bed, it will take less than 5 minutes for them to come running upstairs and jump onto the bed next to me.
Sometimes being watched is a more sinister thing--the "stalkers" who look up details of your private life, follow you to your car, or to your front door, sometimes they send messages that are threatening or at least disturbing. Stalkers are willful violators of our boundaries, and they usually provoke a more violent resistance--getting police involved, restraining orders, perhaps even carrying a weapon. I have been stalked on a number of occasions, mostly connected with work, when I used to do public service librarianship. I've been told by patrons that I'm very approachable, and a lot of times, even if I couldn't get the information the person wanted, they felt better for having someone listen to them. That can be very rewarding, but in the case of the very isolated or mentally unstable, it can lead to stalking behavior. They misunderstand your general respect for them as people, and assume that now they need to be part of your life, that you care much more deeply about them than you actually do. For women, this can be a problem with men--they interpret your approachability as flirtatious behavior, and think they should act accordingly. It can make defining boundaries very frustrating--you don't want to shut the world out, but sometimes you have to. I think one of the things I like about London is the fact that people can be very polite to you, but then they go on their way. The Londoner's "indifference" can actually be a positive thing. I don't worry about being stalked in London.
In the category of "real" vs. "imagined", there is the sense of "being watched" in houses that are believed to have paranormal activity. A classic example is that of someone who goes into their basement to do their laundry, and is overcome with an uncomfortable sense of dread--they quickly do what they have to do, and run out of the room, refusing to go back unless they are accompanied by someone. No one is actually there, but the feeling is very strong, and one assumes that if they don't have a living person watching, they must have a dead person watching.
In many of these cases, paranormal investigators have discovered an electrical phenomena known as a "fear cage". They walk into such a room as described in the example above, and when they measure electromagnetic frequency (EMF), the meter goes off the charts. Regular EMF should be in the neighborhood of <1, getting a bit closer to 1 around electrical outlets and appliances. In the "fear cages", the EMF can be over 100, and can be traced to an electrical box that isn't properly grounded, faulty wiring, and/or some kind of conducting metal like copper that draws the EMF throughout the entire room. Side effects of high EMF include that sense of being watched, dizziness, nausea, headaches, and sometimes hallucinations. Geomagnetic energy (natural electricity that comes from sources in the Earth) can have the same effect.
When I think about the sense of being watched, real or imagined, I realize it all has to do with electricity. Even my cats staring at me and following me around has to do with electricity. Living beings (and non-living things, such as rocks) are made up of electrically-charged atoms, so sources can be natural or man-made. And, just as certain metals and minerals are better conductors, some people are more sensitive to the effects of electricity. In any case--the sense of discomfort that is interpreted as "being watched" comes from an intense concentration of electricity. The "fear cage" example aside, it is clear that when someone enters your physical space, their own "electricity" interacts with yours. This is actually the best way to get a sense of whether or not someone is interested in you--that "physical attraction" comes from the sense of attraction or repulsion that occurs when you are close to someone. The psyche is also electric in its own way. Consider the way it can interact with the pituitary gland in adolescents, causing poltergeist phenomena--objects that appear to move by themselves, or via "telekinetic" means. Or, less controversially--think about talking to someone who is happy and approaches you in a friendly way, versus someone who is very negative, and attacks you verbally. In the former case, you feel you have more energy; in the latter, you feel drained afterwards. This is true whether or not the person is standing in front of you, or has sent you an e-mail, or is talking to you on the telephone. The very fact that you are aware of the energy of that attention provokes a response.
Many yogic practices, especially those related to kundalini shakti, (which is in fact the electrical center of your being), are designed to condition the body to the electricity of consciousness and being that surround it. If you spend a lot of time physically sitting at the feet of a yogi or a satguru, if you yourself do not engage in regular yogic and meditative practices, you will find that you feel extremely dizzy and nauseous after awhile--similar to the effect of being exposed to high EMF. This has happened to me--if I spend 3 or 4 days around my guru, I usually go home with terrible body aches and a fever of about 105 degrees Farenheit. It's like the body is oversaturated with too much electricity. If you think about magicians and magic, magicians are fancifully portrayed in artwork as having lightning bolts come out from their hands, or some similar imagery. While this never happens literally, it does point to the fact that magicians deal with pure electrical energy--the psychical kind--and with the willful directing of that energy. Many adepts in magical societies practice yoga and Eastern meditative practices for this very reason. Experiences of the "numinous", or mysterium tremendum" (in Otto's terminology) produce similar reactions--there is a sense of dread and awe of something very powerful, more powerful than you by yourself.
So the question is--is the basis of our reality, beliefs, worship, and existence all based on electricity?
Sunday, August 09, 2009
Sonnet
I was reading the RSS feed at HTMLGiant this morning, and "pr" posted the image that came up repeatedly when he googled the word "sonnet" using Image search. He then wrote a sonnet about it. Here is the link to that post.
My first thought was about the weirdness and unreliability of Google image search. However, if you were to show this to most men, I imagine they would prefer to get these kinds of results rather than something relevant to their original search. What guy wants to do boring research when he can look at boobs?
You'll have to forgive my constant references to psychoanalysis, as I spent too much time in graduate school immersed in those kinds of writings. But as a woman who isn't particularly moved by the sight of women's breasts, I can't help but think Freudian psychosexual theory, even though a lot of Freud's stuff is bullsh*t. I'm particularly thinking of "infantile regression", a later consequence of the Oedipal complex.
I recalled an episode from about 10 years ago. I was still married then, and my then-husband and I went out to breakfast. The restaurant was rather crowded, as it was a Sunday, and it seems like everyone goes out breakfast on Sundays. We ordered breakfast, and when they brought it to us, my husband suddenly asked the waitress for a glass of milk. I thought it was an odd request. Neither of us hated milk, but it wasn't something we typically drank, either.
He and I conversed about various things, and the waitress came back with the milk. A few moments later, a family with a couple of children that had been sitting across from us got up to leave. One of the children was an infant. After they left, he leaned over and said in a quiet voice, "Did you see what that woman was doing?"
"No. What was she doing?"
"She was breastfeeding her kid at the table."
"No, I hadn't noticed. So is that why you ordered milk?"
He stared at his glass of milk, wide-eyed. "Holy sh*t, I never thought about that."
So, I guess Dr. Freud won that round...
My first thought was about the weirdness and unreliability of Google image search. However, if you were to show this to most men, I imagine they would prefer to get these kinds of results rather than something relevant to their original search. What guy wants to do boring research when he can look at boobs?
You'll have to forgive my constant references to psychoanalysis, as I spent too much time in graduate school immersed in those kinds of writings. But as a woman who isn't particularly moved by the sight of women's breasts, I can't help but think Freudian psychosexual theory, even though a lot of Freud's stuff is bullsh*t. I'm particularly thinking of "infantile regression", a later consequence of the Oedipal complex.
I recalled an episode from about 10 years ago. I was still married then, and my then-husband and I went out to breakfast. The restaurant was rather crowded, as it was a Sunday, and it seems like everyone goes out breakfast on Sundays. We ordered breakfast, and when they brought it to us, my husband suddenly asked the waitress for a glass of milk. I thought it was an odd request. Neither of us hated milk, but it wasn't something we typically drank, either.
He and I conversed about various things, and the waitress came back with the milk. A few moments later, a family with a couple of children that had been sitting across from us got up to leave. One of the children was an infant. After they left, he leaned over and said in a quiet voice, "Did you see what that woman was doing?"
"No. What was she doing?"
"She was breastfeeding her kid at the table."
"No, I hadn't noticed. So is that why you ordered milk?"
He stared at his glass of milk, wide-eyed. "Holy sh*t, I never thought about that."
So, I guess Dr. Freud won that round...
Thursday, August 06, 2009
Mirroring
I was thinking about people I’ve met within the last year, and my impressions of them. First-impressions and gut reactions aside, I realized that I have a tendency to define others in terms of what I see in them that resembles my own experience.
Let me give an example: I have a friend/acquaintance that I met last Fall. This person is very kind, talkative, and seemingly outgoing. Yet, the more I’ve interacted with this friend, the more I realize that this person is really an introvert. They put on a face for the public world, but they really would rather be by themselves, save a few close companions from time to time. We tend to think of introverts as being somewhat anti-social, but this isn’t the case—this said friend is very amiable towards friends and strangers alike. Still, one could call it “friendly but detached”. There is a boundary in those interactions, in spite of warmth displayed.
Now, in my mind, I go a step further, and from what I know about this person’s background, I decide what the underlying reasons are for their boundaries. People have boundaries naturally, but some are stricter about them than others. This person has been badly hurt in the past, and I presume that they have gotten themselves past that incident, but they now proceed with caution in their social interactions. This person is also a deep thinker, and I assume the introversion has to do with the need to live inside one’s own head—it’s like watching a film of yourself watching yourself, if that makes any sense. One’s inner life and outer work are deeply affected by such musings done in solitude.
Truthfully, I have never had a conversation with this person about this. All of my assumptions could be dead wrong. What exactly is the basis for these assumptions? The answering is: mirroring.
Mirroring is a psychological phenomena, also called “projection” by psychoanalysts, and particularly by Jung. Our interpretations of ourselves are always going to be different from the interpretation of those around us. The only context we have for interpreting the world we live in is ourselves and our experiences. So—when we meet someone who shares a perceived characteristic, we go the whole nine yards and assume that they have this characteristic for the same reasons WE have this characteristic. In short—we’re not seeing them at all. We’re seeing a mirror image of ourselves.
So, with my friend, I assume these things because I see qualities also present in myself (apparent extroversion, actual introversion), and I assume the reasons must be the same as my own.
It’s important to have an awareness of mirroring, as it is the basis of most social friction. We frequently get exasperated with people who don’t “get it”, who are afraid of irrational things, or who just have lifestyles or viewpoints that we don’t understand. You’ve probably heard the expression, “What you don’t like about someone else is what you don’t like about yourself.” We see what we perceive as our strengths and weaknesses in others, and are quick to judge them for it—when in fact, it’s about us and not them.
Unrequited love is one of the sufferings of mirroring. The one in love assumes the other must love them in return, because their own feelings are so strong. They look for any sign, any kindness or politeness is blown out of proportion. When the illusion is blown, the rejected lover often accuses the other person of “leading them on”. But that isn’t always the case. We see what we want to see, and if we don’t want to be disappointed, there needs to be some discrimination between your feelings and theirs.
Empathy ought to be a way around the dangers of mirroring, but empathy can only go so far. We are still limited by the fact that we are ourselves and not the other person, and still imagine how “we” would feel. Really, in all my years thinking about this on and off, the only solution that present itself is detachment. By “detachment” I don’t mean not caring about people or events. If you are too attached to your conception of a person and how they should behave, your relationship to them will become a controlling one—they must behave as you expect them to behave. If you detach yourself from that need to control, and to understand your own limitations in understanding that person, you’re more likely to develop healthy relationships.
Of course, I’ve been sitting here today, feeling annoyed at someone who seems to feel they don't have to show anyone respect because of their position. I've always respected everyone regardless of my station versus theirs. So this other person should do the same, right?
Old human habits die hard...
Let me give an example: I have a friend/acquaintance that I met last Fall. This person is very kind, talkative, and seemingly outgoing. Yet, the more I’ve interacted with this friend, the more I realize that this person is really an introvert. They put on a face for the public world, but they really would rather be by themselves, save a few close companions from time to time. We tend to think of introverts as being somewhat anti-social, but this isn’t the case—this said friend is very amiable towards friends and strangers alike. Still, one could call it “friendly but detached”. There is a boundary in those interactions, in spite of warmth displayed.
Now, in my mind, I go a step further, and from what I know about this person’s background, I decide what the underlying reasons are for their boundaries. People have boundaries naturally, but some are stricter about them than others. This person has been badly hurt in the past, and I presume that they have gotten themselves past that incident, but they now proceed with caution in their social interactions. This person is also a deep thinker, and I assume the introversion has to do with the need to live inside one’s own head—it’s like watching a film of yourself watching yourself, if that makes any sense. One’s inner life and outer work are deeply affected by such musings done in solitude.
Truthfully, I have never had a conversation with this person about this. All of my assumptions could be dead wrong. What exactly is the basis for these assumptions? The answering is: mirroring.
Mirroring is a psychological phenomena, also called “projection” by psychoanalysts, and particularly by Jung. Our interpretations of ourselves are always going to be different from the interpretation of those around us. The only context we have for interpreting the world we live in is ourselves and our experiences. So—when we meet someone who shares a perceived characteristic, we go the whole nine yards and assume that they have this characteristic for the same reasons WE have this characteristic. In short—we’re not seeing them at all. We’re seeing a mirror image of ourselves.
So, with my friend, I assume these things because I see qualities also present in myself (apparent extroversion, actual introversion), and I assume the reasons must be the same as my own.
It’s important to have an awareness of mirroring, as it is the basis of most social friction. We frequently get exasperated with people who don’t “get it”, who are afraid of irrational things, or who just have lifestyles or viewpoints that we don’t understand. You’ve probably heard the expression, “What you don’t like about someone else is what you don’t like about yourself.” We see what we perceive as our strengths and weaknesses in others, and are quick to judge them for it—when in fact, it’s about us and not them.
Unrequited love is one of the sufferings of mirroring. The one in love assumes the other must love them in return, because their own feelings are so strong. They look for any sign, any kindness or politeness is blown out of proportion. When the illusion is blown, the rejected lover often accuses the other person of “leading them on”. But that isn’t always the case. We see what we want to see, and if we don’t want to be disappointed, there needs to be some discrimination between your feelings and theirs.
Empathy ought to be a way around the dangers of mirroring, but empathy can only go so far. We are still limited by the fact that we are ourselves and not the other person, and still imagine how “we” would feel. Really, in all my years thinking about this on and off, the only solution that present itself is detachment. By “detachment” I don’t mean not caring about people or events. If you are too attached to your conception of a person and how they should behave, your relationship to them will become a controlling one—they must behave as you expect them to behave. If you detach yourself from that need to control, and to understand your own limitations in understanding that person, you’re more likely to develop healthy relationships.
Of course, I’ve been sitting here today, feeling annoyed at someone who seems to feel they don't have to show anyone respect because of their position. I've always respected everyone regardless of my station versus theirs. So this other person should do the same, right?
Old human habits die hard...
Wednesday, August 05, 2009
Anthony Peake lecture, Roosevelt Hotel, NYC
On Monday evening, I went into Manhattan to hear a lecture by author Anthony Peake. The daughter of one of my co-workers was organizing the event, and the author was going to discuss a new theory of consciousness based on psychology, philosophy, neuroscience, and quantum physics. As this all sounds terribly interesting to me, I decided to go.
Peake’s theory of consciousness is fascinating, and if his concept isn’t entirely unique, his spin on the concept might be unique. Peake talks about the theological idea of “eternal return”, which he distinguishes from theories of reincarnation. What he is suggesting is that we actually never die—at least our consciousness doesn’t— and we live our lives over and over again, and that we already know where our lives were headed, because we’ve lived them before. He refers to a “higher” and “lower” self, citing examples from various cultures. Peake prefers the Gnostic terminology, using “daemon” for the former, and “eidolon” for the latter. Research on the functioning of the temporal lobes of the brain, and studies of certain mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and temporal lobe epilepsy give some weight to the idea. The daemon is the part of you that has lived your life before, as it were, and “tells” through a sort of pre-cognitive intuition about what will happen in your future, or how to avoid a problem situation in the future.
Research on the functioning of the temporal lobes suggests that we retain everything about our past, even if we don’t consciously remember doing so. He also ties the idea into multiple worlds theory, which suggests that all possibilities for our lives are happening simultaneously in a multiplicity of universes. One thing he mentioned early on that was of great interest to me was a conversation he had with a particle physicist about multiple worlds theory. The physicist told him that they now believe they have a way to experiment and test the validity of multiple worlds theory. I find this very exciting, because it’s a remarkable theory, but I have never been able to wrap my mind around exactly HOW such a thing could be tested and proven. Peake promises to write a paper on this new development, and I am certainly looking forward to that.
Peake gave a lot of examples of pre-cognition and the apparent presence of a “daemon” in various public figures (politicians and writers in particular). He admits that “personal experience” doesn’t really hold up scientifically, so he is actively working to validate the theory through mathematics, physics, and neuroscience. (One of the banes of psychology and psychological research is that much of the qualitative data obtained doesn’t carry the same weight as many scientific studies and experiments with very tangible results).
The thrust of Peake’s theory is that if we are eternally returning, our lives can be like a kind of “Groundhog’s Day”—at some point we can manipulate negative outcomes and make them positive ones, if we are aware, and have awareness of the guidance of our daemon.
I have yet to read Peake’s book on the Daemon, so what sounds a little strange on the surface may not be so farfetched once I’m able to read the evidence. On a personal level, it doesn’t seem farfetched at all, though I am more of a reincarnationist, and don’t think we live the same life over and over, though we may meet people we’ve known before, and may run into situations we’ve encountered before.
I have no trouble with the idea of a daemon. I’ve always experienced that. He describes it as a “voice”, I’d say it’s more like a loud thought. Maybe that could be considered a voice, but I tend to think of voices as external phenomena, and if it’s internal, it can only be so in a metaphorical way. I can say that I’ve always had some kind of internal guidance about things, even to the point of serious, on-point precognition at times. Now that I meditate regularly, it happens almost all the time. The first time I really remember that extra-loud thought was before I got married. The thought was, “Don’t do this—you’re making a mistake.” Well, I ignored the thought, in spite of it getting to be more and more like an insistent voice, and I regretted it for the next 7 ½ years. Finally, though, I had another loud thought in June 2001—“time to get divorced.” I listened this time, and ended up being very happy as a result.
One thing about the “daemon”, if we accept that this is what’s going on, is that its message is often accompanied by a flurry of synchronicities. I’ll have the thought, and suddenly everywhere I turn, there are external references to that very thing. The more urgent and important the thought, the more synchronicities occur, and I will have precognitive dreams as well. I have dreamed entire conversations with people I’ve never met, and then when I suddenly meet them and have the conversation—well, it’s really weird. A recent example—I dreamt about having a conversation with someone, a relative of someone I know. I’d never met or seen a photo of this relative. Just a couple of weeks ago, I finally saw this person—and they matched the person I saw in the dream. I was a tad freaked out, though I didn’t say anything to anyone about it.
Peake extends the daemon idea to creativity and creative output, and I could see this as well. He cited an example of a (Percy Bysshe)Shelley poem written shortly before he died, that outlined the circumstances of his death. Just yesterday I was reviewing some of the short stories I’d written last summer, and realized that the characters—and their conversations—actually happened within the last month. Not all the stories, nor the whole story in any case, but just certain bits. It was enough to make me feel just a little creepy.
So, I am definitely intrigued by this theory, especially if Peake has found some solid scientific evidence for what seems like a kind of nutty phenomena. I don’t think that this sort of thing is connected with mental illness per se, though a mental illness could break down normal barriers to this kind of experience. In Jungian terminology, the “daemon” could almost be identified with the “unconscious”, maybe even the “collective unconscious”. In one of my graduate courses on Jung, I remember the professor describing schizophrenia as the condition of being totally overwhelmed by the unconscious. Similarly, Peake describes schizophrenia as the condition of seeing reality in all its facets and being totally overwhelmed by it. The brain is designed to keep a lot of stimuli OUT, to regulate what comes in. In the final analysis, I think it’s important to be able to open that door, but also to close it again when necessary.
Peake’s theory of consciousness is fascinating, and if his concept isn’t entirely unique, his spin on the concept might be unique. Peake talks about the theological idea of “eternal return”, which he distinguishes from theories of reincarnation. What he is suggesting is that we actually never die—at least our consciousness doesn’t— and we live our lives over and over again, and that we already know where our lives were headed, because we’ve lived them before. He refers to a “higher” and “lower” self, citing examples from various cultures. Peake prefers the Gnostic terminology, using “daemon” for the former, and “eidolon” for the latter. Research on the functioning of the temporal lobes of the brain, and studies of certain mental illnesses such as schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, and temporal lobe epilepsy give some weight to the idea. The daemon is the part of you that has lived your life before, as it were, and “tells” through a sort of pre-cognitive intuition about what will happen in your future, or how to avoid a problem situation in the future.
Research on the functioning of the temporal lobes suggests that we retain everything about our past, even if we don’t consciously remember doing so. He also ties the idea into multiple worlds theory, which suggests that all possibilities for our lives are happening simultaneously in a multiplicity of universes. One thing he mentioned early on that was of great interest to me was a conversation he had with a particle physicist about multiple worlds theory. The physicist told him that they now believe they have a way to experiment and test the validity of multiple worlds theory. I find this very exciting, because it’s a remarkable theory, but I have never been able to wrap my mind around exactly HOW such a thing could be tested and proven. Peake promises to write a paper on this new development, and I am certainly looking forward to that.
Peake gave a lot of examples of pre-cognition and the apparent presence of a “daemon” in various public figures (politicians and writers in particular). He admits that “personal experience” doesn’t really hold up scientifically, so he is actively working to validate the theory through mathematics, physics, and neuroscience. (One of the banes of psychology and psychological research is that much of the qualitative data obtained doesn’t carry the same weight as many scientific studies and experiments with very tangible results).
The thrust of Peake’s theory is that if we are eternally returning, our lives can be like a kind of “Groundhog’s Day”—at some point we can manipulate negative outcomes and make them positive ones, if we are aware, and have awareness of the guidance of our daemon.
I have yet to read Peake’s book on the Daemon, so what sounds a little strange on the surface may not be so farfetched once I’m able to read the evidence. On a personal level, it doesn’t seem farfetched at all, though I am more of a reincarnationist, and don’t think we live the same life over and over, though we may meet people we’ve known before, and may run into situations we’ve encountered before.
I have no trouble with the idea of a daemon. I’ve always experienced that. He describes it as a “voice”, I’d say it’s more like a loud thought. Maybe that could be considered a voice, but I tend to think of voices as external phenomena, and if it’s internal, it can only be so in a metaphorical way. I can say that I’ve always had some kind of internal guidance about things, even to the point of serious, on-point precognition at times. Now that I meditate regularly, it happens almost all the time. The first time I really remember that extra-loud thought was before I got married. The thought was, “Don’t do this—you’re making a mistake.” Well, I ignored the thought, in spite of it getting to be more and more like an insistent voice, and I regretted it for the next 7 ½ years. Finally, though, I had another loud thought in June 2001—“time to get divorced.” I listened this time, and ended up being very happy as a result.
One thing about the “daemon”, if we accept that this is what’s going on, is that its message is often accompanied by a flurry of synchronicities. I’ll have the thought, and suddenly everywhere I turn, there are external references to that very thing. The more urgent and important the thought, the more synchronicities occur, and I will have precognitive dreams as well. I have dreamed entire conversations with people I’ve never met, and then when I suddenly meet them and have the conversation—well, it’s really weird. A recent example—I dreamt about having a conversation with someone, a relative of someone I know. I’d never met or seen a photo of this relative. Just a couple of weeks ago, I finally saw this person—and they matched the person I saw in the dream. I was a tad freaked out, though I didn’t say anything to anyone about it.
Peake extends the daemon idea to creativity and creative output, and I could see this as well. He cited an example of a (Percy Bysshe)Shelley poem written shortly before he died, that outlined the circumstances of his death. Just yesterday I was reviewing some of the short stories I’d written last summer, and realized that the characters—and their conversations—actually happened within the last month. Not all the stories, nor the whole story in any case, but just certain bits. It was enough to make me feel just a little creepy.
So, I am definitely intrigued by this theory, especially if Peake has found some solid scientific evidence for what seems like a kind of nutty phenomena. I don’t think that this sort of thing is connected with mental illness per se, though a mental illness could break down normal barriers to this kind of experience. In Jungian terminology, the “daemon” could almost be identified with the “unconscious”, maybe even the “collective unconscious”. In one of my graduate courses on Jung, I remember the professor describing schizophrenia as the condition of being totally overwhelmed by the unconscious. Similarly, Peake describes schizophrenia as the condition of seeing reality in all its facets and being totally overwhelmed by it. The brain is designed to keep a lot of stimuli OUT, to regulate what comes in. In the final analysis, I think it’s important to be able to open that door, but also to close it again when necessary.
Tuesday, August 04, 2009
London Trip, Day 4
My last day in London was anti-climactic after the DNA opening the night before. I tend to be more of a morning person, but not when I’ve been out late at night. So, it should be no surprise that I wanted to sleep in—difficult to do, given that the hotel cleaning staff apparently begins their rounds at 7:00 in the morning. Why they cannot stay away until a more sane hour, like 10:00, is beyond me. Give everyone a chance to get out for the day, for heaven’s sake!
I spent much of Tuesday doing work in the British Library, which was down the street from my hotel. I’m working on a couple of larger fiction projects, as well as a research project on early Church history, and I hate to get behind on those things. Yes, I know it was technically vacation, but I really don’t like to get out of the groove of working—it’s nearly impossible to get back into the groove, or at least it takes me a lot longer than it should.
London is a city of paradoxes for me. On the one hand, whenever I go there, I feel like I belong there. There’s no sense of being a foreigner or a tourist. On the other hand, when my time is up there, I’m anxious to leave. I have a latent anxiety about the city. I don’t think I will be able to adequately describe it, but I feel like there’s a danger in staying too long. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, because I’m not uncomfortable there, nor do I feel threatened in any way when I am there. One of my conversational threads with John Foxx the previous evening had to do with the perceived danger of the city. “London is really very safe,” he told me. “You can walk around at night with no problem.” I haven’t experienced otherwise, so I do have to agree with him. But the “danger” I feel doesn’t have anything to do with being threatened by anyone—it’s just an undercurrent of anxiety. Perhaps it is part of the “feel” of London, the prospect of losing oneself in the city, being swallowed up. I think I consciously repress that feeling for most of my trips there, but by the end I’m worn out and anxious to get back to business in the States.
On this trip, I learned about the Picadilly line service to Heathrow. 4 pounds to get my tush to the airport in the morning sounded a lot nicer than 20 pounds, between the Tube and the Heathrow Express (more if I’d decided to take a cab to Paddington). Of course, that service takes almost an hour, and you’re basically on a Tube train, so if you have a lot of luggage it can be a tad inconvenient. But I left early Wednesday morning, so it was no problem. When I got to Heathrow, I’d discovered that I had finally achieved Elite status with Continental, which was a bonus. Of course, the rest of the day went downhill from there, as I descended into a chaos of faulty communication, botched gate assignments, delays due to overbooking—and then apocalyptic weather over Newark Airport, which resulted in my arriving back in New Jersey 9 hours late. I didn’t crawl into bed until 2 am—I am sure I drove home, but that drive was a lacunae—I cannot remember it. I then had to face two vengeance-bent cats, irritated that I dared to leave them for a several days once again. I was supposed to drive to Annandale-on-Hudson the following evening for Musty Chiffon’s set at Bard College, but between the flooding in that area and the fact that I still had trouble driving between the lines on the road all those hours later, I decided it would be prudent to stay home, with my sincere apologies to Dini Lamot. Annandale-on-Hudson is two and a half hours away, and I heard that the Metro North trains were shut down due to flooding, so that wasn’t even an alternate option.
On the whole, this recent trip to London was rewarding, but also exhausting. It’s funny how one can be caught up with things prior to a trip, then return to find themselves so far behind in everything once again. One of these days I’ll be fully back on track, but I haven’t really gotten there yet.
Last night I attended Anthony Peake's lecture on his new theory of consciousness. I was very interested, and have many thoughts about it. But tomorrow is another day...
I spent much of Tuesday doing work in the British Library, which was down the street from my hotel. I’m working on a couple of larger fiction projects, as well as a research project on early Church history, and I hate to get behind on those things. Yes, I know it was technically vacation, but I really don’t like to get out of the groove of working—it’s nearly impossible to get back into the groove, or at least it takes me a lot longer than it should.
London is a city of paradoxes for me. On the one hand, whenever I go there, I feel like I belong there. There’s no sense of being a foreigner or a tourist. On the other hand, when my time is up there, I’m anxious to leave. I have a latent anxiety about the city. I don’t think I will be able to adequately describe it, but I feel like there’s a danger in staying too long. It doesn’t make a whole lot of sense, because I’m not uncomfortable there, nor do I feel threatened in any way when I am there. One of my conversational threads with John Foxx the previous evening had to do with the perceived danger of the city. “London is really very safe,” he told me. “You can walk around at night with no problem.” I haven’t experienced otherwise, so I do have to agree with him. But the “danger” I feel doesn’t have anything to do with being threatened by anyone—it’s just an undercurrent of anxiety. Perhaps it is part of the “feel” of London, the prospect of losing oneself in the city, being swallowed up. I think I consciously repress that feeling for most of my trips there, but by the end I’m worn out and anxious to get back to business in the States.
On this trip, I learned about the Picadilly line service to Heathrow. 4 pounds to get my tush to the airport in the morning sounded a lot nicer than 20 pounds, between the Tube and the Heathrow Express (more if I’d decided to take a cab to Paddington). Of course, that service takes almost an hour, and you’re basically on a Tube train, so if you have a lot of luggage it can be a tad inconvenient. But I left early Wednesday morning, so it was no problem. When I got to Heathrow, I’d discovered that I had finally achieved Elite status with Continental, which was a bonus. Of course, the rest of the day went downhill from there, as I descended into a chaos of faulty communication, botched gate assignments, delays due to overbooking—and then apocalyptic weather over Newark Airport, which resulted in my arriving back in New Jersey 9 hours late. I didn’t crawl into bed until 2 am—I am sure I drove home, but that drive was a lacunae—I cannot remember it. I then had to face two vengeance-bent cats, irritated that I dared to leave them for a several days once again. I was supposed to drive to Annandale-on-Hudson the following evening for Musty Chiffon’s set at Bard College, but between the flooding in that area and the fact that I still had trouble driving between the lines on the road all those hours later, I decided it would be prudent to stay home, with my sincere apologies to Dini Lamot. Annandale-on-Hudson is two and a half hours away, and I heard that the Metro North trains were shut down due to flooding, so that wasn’t even an alternate option.
On the whole, this recent trip to London was rewarding, but also exhausting. It’s funny how one can be caught up with things prior to a trip, then return to find themselves so far behind in everything once again. One of these days I’ll be fully back on track, but I haven’t really gotten there yet.
Last night I attended Anthony Peake's lecture on his new theory of consciousness. I was very interested, and have many thoughts about it. But tomorrow is another day...
Monday, August 03, 2009
London Trip, 4th Day: John Foxx/DNA Exhibition Opening Party, Horse Hospital
On Monday evening, I headed over to the opening of the DNA exhibition at the Horse Hospital in London. I had been hoping to get a quick nap before the event, but no such luck—there were electricians in my hotel, drilling and making a terrific racket in the hallway. I wasn’t thrilled about feeling exhausted before the event. I think I was quieter than usual as a result.
There is a pub across the street from the Horse Hospital, and I spotted Rob Harris at one of the tables (Rob is the webmaster for the Metamatic and Ultravox sites). When I went inside, I realized that a whole group of Foxx fans and other exhibition attendees were meeting up for a drink, so I joined them, and Rob was kind enough to buy me a drink. I have never signed up with the Metamatic forum, so this was the first time I’d met a lot of the “regulars” on the forum. (I still haven’t signed up for the forum—have to do that one of these days...)
The exhibition opened a little late, about a half an hour later than expected. It ended up being really crowded, which is good for John and the other exhibiting artists, but I’m not much of a big-crowd person, so it was a bit overwhelming at times.
The exhibition had pieces on display and films from a number of artists. John Foxx’s grey suit was on display, the one that inspired the film, music, and writing connected with “The Quiet Man”. Gary Numan’s synthesizer was on display, as well as digital artwork by Nick Rhodes, and a whole section of works by Karborn. Video mixes and films by Karborn and Roger Spy played at the event, though the sound system was a bit overbearing, and the conversation of the crowd tended to drown out the film. I think the exhibition would have been best viewed on a non-opening day, to really get the best experience of it.
Brian D. took some video of this exhibition, which you can see here. (I’m talking to Karborn at about 5:58):
I saw Foxx when he first came into the exhibition, and he came right over to me. We didn’t talk long, because he needed to make the “rounds”, but I did catch up with him a bit later, and after the show. He is always very apologetic about the fact that he can’t spend more time talking with me, but I hardly would have expected that at this kind of an event. Karborn had made some special “VIP” editions of a DVD he was giving away at the event. The DVD has various video mixes/re-mixes made by Karborn; I’ve not had time to sit down and watch it properly (I hope to do that tomorrow), but he told me it was one of only 5 editions that he made, so I was well-chuffed to have received one. Karborn does some amazing video mixing work—you can see examples of it here.
The event was supposed to be over by 9:00, but I don’t think we all left the Horse Hospital until about 10:45, and we went back to the pub to grab a drink before last call. Once John was settled we were able to talk for about 20 minutes over a beer. Karborn was with us, as was Steve Malins (John’s manager), who very kindly bought drinks for everyone who came over.
I finally left the pub around 11:30 as they were closing, and everyone was heading for home. Overall, I was very happy to meet everyone, and I’m always floored by the hospitality that Rob, Steve, John, and Karborn display when I come to see them. Thanks guys, you always make it worth the trip.
I did learn a few things about some John Foxx events that have been ambiguous in their outcome. I should note, as usual, that the official sources are going to have the last word on these, but this is what I learned for what it’s worth:
Battersea Power Station: A huge multimedia event was announced a couple of months ago that was supposed to happen at Battersea Power Station sometime in September. The event is still going to happen, but whether or not it’s September remains to be seen—in fact, Steve and Karborn suggested March 2010 as more likely. John said it was all up in the air, so it might be then, might be sooner. The reason for the delay has been the size of the event, which is precedent-setting, and the interest in doing it right. Funding is an issue, and all of the different components of this rather complicated set have to come together before a date can be established.
The Vincent Gallo/John Foxx Collaboration: I’d wondered about this, since this was the first potential American gig that John mentioned to me last October. I’d heard from another friend that the Gallo thing was “completely off”, but John said it was another project on hold. He and Gallo have recorded either 6 or 8 songs (I can’t remember which number he told me—it’s “enough for an album”), and the collaboration was formed at Gallo’s behest. But not much has happened since; Gallo has moved out West, and Gallo is so busy with his own career that this project seems to be on the back burner. Whether it is permanently or not remains to be seen.
With regard to John’s “parallel career” in education, he’s stopped teaching, as he no longer has time for it, and told me that he really didn’t want that to be a “primary thing” in his career.
With no set date for Battersea, the next firm John Foxx event is at Leeds College of Music on October 29 (which I understand is more for the students there), and then the event at BCB Gallery in Hudson, New York on November 7 and possibly 8. John is also doing a “conversation” with writer and psychogeographer Iain Sinclair on December 5 at the University of Bath. More details on all events can be found here. Leeds is iffy for me—I may want to go, just because John is doing “Tiny Colour Movies”, a film/music set that I haven’t seen. I love the music for TCM, and I’d love to see John perform it, so it’s not out of the question...
One more day of London before my hellish trip home...I’ll save that for tomorrow...
There is a pub across the street from the Horse Hospital, and I spotted Rob Harris at one of the tables (Rob is the webmaster for the Metamatic and Ultravox sites). When I went inside, I realized that a whole group of Foxx fans and other exhibition attendees were meeting up for a drink, so I joined them, and Rob was kind enough to buy me a drink. I have never signed up with the Metamatic forum, so this was the first time I’d met a lot of the “regulars” on the forum. (I still haven’t signed up for the forum—have to do that one of these days...)
The exhibition opened a little late, about a half an hour later than expected. It ended up being really crowded, which is good for John and the other exhibiting artists, but I’m not much of a big-crowd person, so it was a bit overwhelming at times.
The exhibition had pieces on display and films from a number of artists. John Foxx’s grey suit was on display, the one that inspired the film, music, and writing connected with “The Quiet Man”. Gary Numan’s synthesizer was on display, as well as digital artwork by Nick Rhodes, and a whole section of works by Karborn. Video mixes and films by Karborn and Roger Spy played at the event, though the sound system was a bit overbearing, and the conversation of the crowd tended to drown out the film. I think the exhibition would have been best viewed on a non-opening day, to really get the best experience of it.
Brian D. took some video of this exhibition, which you can see here. (I’m talking to Karborn at about 5:58):
I saw Foxx when he first came into the exhibition, and he came right over to me. We didn’t talk long, because he needed to make the “rounds”, but I did catch up with him a bit later, and after the show. He is always very apologetic about the fact that he can’t spend more time talking with me, but I hardly would have expected that at this kind of an event. Karborn had made some special “VIP” editions of a DVD he was giving away at the event. The DVD has various video mixes/re-mixes made by Karborn; I’ve not had time to sit down and watch it properly (I hope to do that tomorrow), but he told me it was one of only 5 editions that he made, so I was well-chuffed to have received one. Karborn does some amazing video mixing work—you can see examples of it here.
The event was supposed to be over by 9:00, but I don’t think we all left the Horse Hospital until about 10:45, and we went back to the pub to grab a drink before last call. Once John was settled we were able to talk for about 20 minutes over a beer. Karborn was with us, as was Steve Malins (John’s manager), who very kindly bought drinks for everyone who came over.
I finally left the pub around 11:30 as they were closing, and everyone was heading for home. Overall, I was very happy to meet everyone, and I’m always floored by the hospitality that Rob, Steve, John, and Karborn display when I come to see them. Thanks guys, you always make it worth the trip.
I did learn a few things about some John Foxx events that have been ambiguous in their outcome. I should note, as usual, that the official sources are going to have the last word on these, but this is what I learned for what it’s worth:
Battersea Power Station: A huge multimedia event was announced a couple of months ago that was supposed to happen at Battersea Power Station sometime in September. The event is still going to happen, but whether or not it’s September remains to be seen—in fact, Steve and Karborn suggested March 2010 as more likely. John said it was all up in the air, so it might be then, might be sooner. The reason for the delay has been the size of the event, which is precedent-setting, and the interest in doing it right. Funding is an issue, and all of the different components of this rather complicated set have to come together before a date can be established.
The Vincent Gallo/John Foxx Collaboration: I’d wondered about this, since this was the first potential American gig that John mentioned to me last October. I’d heard from another friend that the Gallo thing was “completely off”, but John said it was another project on hold. He and Gallo have recorded either 6 or 8 songs (I can’t remember which number he told me—it’s “enough for an album”), and the collaboration was formed at Gallo’s behest. But not much has happened since; Gallo has moved out West, and Gallo is so busy with his own career that this project seems to be on the back burner. Whether it is permanently or not remains to be seen.
With regard to John’s “parallel career” in education, he’s stopped teaching, as he no longer has time for it, and told me that he really didn’t want that to be a “primary thing” in his career.
With no set date for Battersea, the next firm John Foxx event is at Leeds College of Music on October 29 (which I understand is more for the students there), and then the event at BCB Gallery in Hudson, New York on November 7 and possibly 8. John is also doing a “conversation” with writer and psychogeographer Iain Sinclair on December 5 at the University of Bath. More details on all events can be found here. Leeds is iffy for me—I may want to go, just because John is doing “Tiny Colour Movies”, a film/music set that I haven’t seen. I love the music for TCM, and I’d love to see John perform it, so it’s not out of the question...
One more day of London before my hellish trip home...I’ll save that for tomorrow...
Sunday, August 02, 2009
London Trip, 3rd Day: British Museum, and early Monday excursions
On Sunday I took a long walk from my hotel with the object of 1. locating the Horse Hospital, where the Monday DNA exhibition opening was to be held, and 2. to pay a visit to some other rooms of the British Museum. First objective was easily obtained, as the Horse Hospital was ridiculously close to where I was staying. I then made my way through the maze of London streets to find Montague and finally Great Russell Street.
One characteristic of moving through London is that everyone sort of moves together, but in a self-contained way. No one makes eye contact with anyone else, or really acknowledges anyone else's existence. Everyone, myself included, is in a hurry to get nowhere. Nonetheless, while walking I find myself people-watching. I do it while sitting in the pubs and cafes as well, and I couldn't help but notice the fashions of the twenty-something and younger girls, both the Londoners and the European visitors. There seems to be a resurgence of the baby-doll dress, along with those footless leggings, with or without lace on the bottom. I wore clothes in this style from approximately 1991-1994, though I think it may have been a trend that started in the late 1980s. In any event--I remember the old dictum about fashion repeating itself every twenty years or so. And when I realize it's been almost twenty years since that time, well...I started to feel a bit old. However, the fresh perspective of looking at a younger generation in those clothes make me realize what a dreadful look it was--not as dreadful as the spiral perms, feathered hair, neon-earrings and shoulder-pads of the eighties, but it really doesn't look so good. I'm rather glad that I've stopped caring so much about what is fashionable, at least in terms of my own dress.
Once again, entering the museum, there was a huge throng of tourists. I decided to check out the Greek and Roman collections first. On my last visit I had looked at the artifacts of Roman Britain. I found myself looking at a lot of tombs and monuments to the dead, and starting having deja vu from my Westminster visit the day before. In a room by itself stood the Nereid Monument, an old Greek/Lycian structure. I'm always fascinated to see these kinds of monuments up close. The Metropolitan in New York has quite a bit of Greek and Roman sculpture, but not anything like this, at least not recently.
I worked my way through these rooms, until I came to the huge statues and reliefs of the Assyrian rooms. These were very crowded, as they were right near the Ancient Egypt rooms, which always seem to be the most popular. I made my way over to the Southeast Asian collection, and was pleased to be looking at Hindu, Buddhist, and Jainist statuary. Among the statues of Buddhist lamas and bodhisattvas, there were images of Shiva, Vishnu, Ganesha, and deities of the Devi Mahatmayam, including Chamunda and Mahisasuramardini, the fierce aspects of the Goddess. I thought the Orissan sculptures were the most interesting--the portrayals of the deities are slightly different from the usual images, and somehow they felt more "on the mark" in demonstrating the qualities of those deities. Most of the sculptures dated from between the 15th and 18th centuries.
After leaving the museum, I was pleased to locate a pub that did not have loud music blaring, and wasn't crowded. I spent a lot of the afternoon reading and writing, and was tired out pretty quickly by evening.
The next day was the DNA event at the Horse Hospital. I want to blog about that separately, so I will mention my Monday morning excursions here. Some of them are not worth mentioning--however, I did head down to Berkeley Square to visit Maggs, the rare bookseller at number 50. (This was also the site of "the Horror of Berkeley Square". Which is just so awesome...) I'm a danger to myself in rare bookstores. I'd never seen so much original primary source material on things like the Catholic/Anglican split and the Albigensian Heresy. Of course my current writing area is early Church history, and I didn't dare look at those materials for fear I'd buy them. I'd gone to London pretty much on the broke side, and did not need to be racking up another thousand pounds in debt. I managed to restrain myself, buying only one small item that had been re-bound, and hence less expensive. In any case, Maggs is a wonderful place to check out, you just need an idea of what you're looking for in advance so that staff can guide you appropriately. I actually picked up a few books on this trip in general, which explains the bruise on my shoulder from extra-heavy carry-on luggage.
Tomorrow's posting will be on the DNA exhibition opening...
One characteristic of moving through London is that everyone sort of moves together, but in a self-contained way. No one makes eye contact with anyone else, or really acknowledges anyone else's existence. Everyone, myself included, is in a hurry to get nowhere. Nonetheless, while walking I find myself people-watching. I do it while sitting in the pubs and cafes as well, and I couldn't help but notice the fashions of the twenty-something and younger girls, both the Londoners and the European visitors. There seems to be a resurgence of the baby-doll dress, along with those footless leggings, with or without lace on the bottom. I wore clothes in this style from approximately 1991-1994, though I think it may have been a trend that started in the late 1980s. In any event--I remember the old dictum about fashion repeating itself every twenty years or so. And when I realize it's been almost twenty years since that time, well...I started to feel a bit old. However, the fresh perspective of looking at a younger generation in those clothes make me realize what a dreadful look it was--not as dreadful as the spiral perms, feathered hair, neon-earrings and shoulder-pads of the eighties, but it really doesn't look so good. I'm rather glad that I've stopped caring so much about what is fashionable, at least in terms of my own dress.
Once again, entering the museum, there was a huge throng of tourists. I decided to check out the Greek and Roman collections first. On my last visit I had looked at the artifacts of Roman Britain. I found myself looking at a lot of tombs and monuments to the dead, and starting having deja vu from my Westminster visit the day before. In a room by itself stood the Nereid Monument, an old Greek/Lycian structure. I'm always fascinated to see these kinds of monuments up close. The Metropolitan in New York has quite a bit of Greek and Roman sculpture, but not anything like this, at least not recently.
I worked my way through these rooms, until I came to the huge statues and reliefs of the Assyrian rooms. These were very crowded, as they were right near the Ancient Egypt rooms, which always seem to be the most popular. I made my way over to the Southeast Asian collection, and was pleased to be looking at Hindu, Buddhist, and Jainist statuary. Among the statues of Buddhist lamas and bodhisattvas, there were images of Shiva, Vishnu, Ganesha, and deities of the Devi Mahatmayam, including Chamunda and Mahisasuramardini, the fierce aspects of the Goddess. I thought the Orissan sculptures were the most interesting--the portrayals of the deities are slightly different from the usual images, and somehow they felt more "on the mark" in demonstrating the qualities of those deities. Most of the sculptures dated from between the 15th and 18th centuries.
After leaving the museum, I was pleased to locate a pub that did not have loud music blaring, and wasn't crowded. I spent a lot of the afternoon reading and writing, and was tired out pretty quickly by evening.
The next day was the DNA event at the Horse Hospital. I want to blog about that separately, so I will mention my Monday morning excursions here. Some of them are not worth mentioning--however, I did head down to Berkeley Square to visit Maggs, the rare bookseller at number 50. (This was also the site of "the Horror of Berkeley Square". Which is just so awesome...) I'm a danger to myself in rare bookstores. I'd never seen so much original primary source material on things like the Catholic/Anglican split and the Albigensian Heresy. Of course my current writing area is early Church history, and I didn't dare look at those materials for fear I'd buy them. I'd gone to London pretty much on the broke side, and did not need to be racking up another thousand pounds in debt. I managed to restrain myself, buying only one small item that had been re-bound, and hence less expensive. In any case, Maggs is a wonderful place to check out, you just need an idea of what you're looking for in advance so that staff can guide you appropriately. I actually picked up a few books on this trip in general, which explains the bruise on my shoulder from extra-heavy carry-on luggage.
Tomorrow's posting will be on the DNA exhibition opening...
London Trip, 2nd day: Westminster Abbey and the National Gallery
On Saturday, I'd made the decision to visit Westminster Abbey. I've always wanted to see it, but I've avoided it because it's crawling with tourists. I don't like going to "touristy" places when I travel--I usually prefer to discover something in a much quieter milieu. Plus, I was not excited about the fifteen-pound admission charge; that's tantamount to robbery, as far as I'm concerned. But, I ended up going anyway.
Recently I've been on an American literature and history kick, and I've always been a big fan of New York writer Washington Irving. Irving has a piece about Westminster Abbey in his Sketch Book, and I sat down to re-read it after visiting the Abbey, to see how things may have changed since he wrote the piece in 1819.
Irving started his visit in the Cloister, which is usually one of the last things the modern visitor sees. I started on the opposite side, near St. Margaret's Church. The architecture of Westminster is astonishing. It's a Gothic structure, and by design it is meant to direct your attention upwards. I found myself staring at the paintings, relief-carvings, buttresses and stained glass that were above me. I think I'm also taken by how old the structure is, or at least certain parts. The Abbey has burned down several times (like most of London at various points in its history), so this structure is comparatively more modern.
One of the first things you see on the modern tour is St. Michael's Chapel, and in it is a very striking monument known as the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale. A figure of death coming out from what appears to be a fireplace aims his spear at the unfortunate woman, while her husband throws out his hand to try to stop him. The monument was created by Roubiliac, and I found it to be quite disturbing in its depiction of death. It is certainly a summation of the Western view of death, a horror to be averted rather than a natural part of the life cycle. Irving also commented on the monument, saying "But why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors around the tomb of those we love?"
Walking through the Abbey from here, there are a great number of chambers containing tombs and effigies of the royal dead. The tomb of Edward the Confessor is towards the middle of the Abbey--Irving did visit this, but the modern visitor cannot, as it is listed as being "in delicate condition". On the outside of the tomb is the Coronation Chair where monarchs were officially crowned. It is an old oak chair, perhaps not as grand-looking as it was due to its age and wear, but it's placement outside the tomb is interesting. Irving also commented on this: "it was literally but a step from the throne to the sepulchre." There is much I could say about the social role of King or Queen here, and the truth of that statement, but I'll save that for another time.
Like Irving, I found myself spending the most time in Poet's Corner, which was surprisingly light on tourist traffic that day. Irving only mentions the Shakespeare monument, which is still there (Shakespeare is not in fact buried at Westminster--he is supposed to be buried at Stratford-Upon-Avon). Many of the tombs in Poet's Corner would not have been there in Irving's time--Keats, Byron, Shelley, Tennyson, Browning, Auden, T.S. Eliot, George Eliot, and Lewis Carroll. There are more modern monuments still to poet laureates and playwrights. Irving makes the suggestion that one likes to linger there because the writers are more familiar, like old friends--it is difficult to identify with the nobility buried here.
Lastly, I made my way over to the Cloisters. One of the oldest parts of the Abbey is there, the Pyx Chamber (Pyx being Latin for "small box"), and it was where the King's treasures were stored. Throughout the Cloisters there are inscriptions commemorating the early Abbots, which Irving believed would be obliterated over time. Yet they are still here, a fair number of have been restored, and newer memorials and inscriptions are there as well. Most of the newer inscriptions are dedicated to those who served in Britain's military.
Irving felt that the Abbey was a testament to the fact that no matter how great one is, they too are met with death and have nothing but crumbling memorials to commemorate them. I would have to agree, though I see it in a less pessimistic light--the transient nature of reality and what we think we are is greatly emphasized, but what remains of that still collect like an archaeological archive, still of interest to those who pass through years later.
In Ackroyd's work on London, he describes Westminster as being a "terrible" place in the time of Edward the Confessor. "Terrible" is meant in the numinous sense--there is a holy dread or awe of the sacredness of the place. That feeling, if it is still there, is largely muted by the touristy-ness of the area. Perhaps the architecture is one's only reminder of its holiness. Still, I was glad I at least went, and was happy to get away from the crowds to a small pub on the Embankment.
In wandering back towards Bloomsbury, I made a detour into the National Portrait Gallery. I didn't go through the whole museum--I was mainly interested in the portraits from the 17th and 18th centuries. The George III room in particular held my attention. Prior to taking on Ackroyd's work, I had just finished David McCulloch's "1776", which is about that year in the American Revolution when the war stopped being about unfair taxation by the mother country and started being about American independence. Naturally, growing up in America and near Morristown, I have been exposed to accounts of the conflict for years. Certainly I know the American take on the war. But I'm always curious about the British take on the war. That isn't often discussed, though I imagine that accounts of that conflict written today will differ greatly from those that are contemporary to the war. In the George III room, I looked at the portrait of the king. The description next to his portrait mentions how he lost the American colonies through his "obstinacy", a point of view which is certainly more modern. George Washington's portrait also hangs in this room, where he is mentioned as a pioneering policy-maker in the democratization of the United States. Nowhere does it mention him as a general and commander-in-chief. McCulloch had mentioned that the British barely acknowledged Washington's role at all in the war, and there still seems to be an unwillingness to discuss that. In the U.S., of course, Washington is a veritable god on all fronts, at least according to national mythology.
The rest of that day was spent relaxing in the pub and writing. Healthwise I wasn't in top shape on this trip, so I tended to need down-time by the end of the day. More to come on the next 3 days of the trip...
Recently I've been on an American literature and history kick, and I've always been a big fan of New York writer Washington Irving. Irving has a piece about Westminster Abbey in his Sketch Book, and I sat down to re-read it after visiting the Abbey, to see how things may have changed since he wrote the piece in 1819.
Irving started his visit in the Cloister, which is usually one of the last things the modern visitor sees. I started on the opposite side, near St. Margaret's Church. The architecture of Westminster is astonishing. It's a Gothic structure, and by design it is meant to direct your attention upwards. I found myself staring at the paintings, relief-carvings, buttresses and stained glass that were above me. I think I'm also taken by how old the structure is, or at least certain parts. The Abbey has burned down several times (like most of London at various points in its history), so this structure is comparatively more modern.
One of the first things you see on the modern tour is St. Michael's Chapel, and in it is a very striking monument known as the tomb of Mrs. Nightingale. A figure of death coming out from what appears to be a fireplace aims his spear at the unfortunate woman, while her husband throws out his hand to try to stop him. The monument was created by Roubiliac, and I found it to be quite disturbing in its depiction of death. It is certainly a summation of the Western view of death, a horror to be averted rather than a natural part of the life cycle. Irving also commented on the monument, saying "But why should we thus seek to clothe death with unnecessary terrors, and to spread horrors around the tomb of those we love?"
Walking through the Abbey from here, there are a great number of chambers containing tombs and effigies of the royal dead. The tomb of Edward the Confessor is towards the middle of the Abbey--Irving did visit this, but the modern visitor cannot, as it is listed as being "in delicate condition". On the outside of the tomb is the Coronation Chair where monarchs were officially crowned. It is an old oak chair, perhaps not as grand-looking as it was due to its age and wear, but it's placement outside the tomb is interesting. Irving also commented on this: "it was literally but a step from the throne to the sepulchre." There is much I could say about the social role of King or Queen here, and the truth of that statement, but I'll save that for another time.
Like Irving, I found myself spending the most time in Poet's Corner, which was surprisingly light on tourist traffic that day. Irving only mentions the Shakespeare monument, which is still there (Shakespeare is not in fact buried at Westminster--he is supposed to be buried at Stratford-Upon-Avon). Many of the tombs in Poet's Corner would not have been there in Irving's time--Keats, Byron, Shelley, Tennyson, Browning, Auden, T.S. Eliot, George Eliot, and Lewis Carroll. There are more modern monuments still to poet laureates and playwrights. Irving makes the suggestion that one likes to linger there because the writers are more familiar, like old friends--it is difficult to identify with the nobility buried here.
Lastly, I made my way over to the Cloisters. One of the oldest parts of the Abbey is there, the Pyx Chamber (Pyx being Latin for "small box"), and it was where the King's treasures were stored. Throughout the Cloisters there are inscriptions commemorating the early Abbots, which Irving believed would be obliterated over time. Yet they are still here, a fair number of have been restored, and newer memorials and inscriptions are there as well. Most of the newer inscriptions are dedicated to those who served in Britain's military.
Irving felt that the Abbey was a testament to the fact that no matter how great one is, they too are met with death and have nothing but crumbling memorials to commemorate them. I would have to agree, though I see it in a less pessimistic light--the transient nature of reality and what we think we are is greatly emphasized, but what remains of that still collect like an archaeological archive, still of interest to those who pass through years later.
In Ackroyd's work on London, he describes Westminster as being a "terrible" place in the time of Edward the Confessor. "Terrible" is meant in the numinous sense--there is a holy dread or awe of the sacredness of the place. That feeling, if it is still there, is largely muted by the touristy-ness of the area. Perhaps the architecture is one's only reminder of its holiness. Still, I was glad I at least went, and was happy to get away from the crowds to a small pub on the Embankment.
In wandering back towards Bloomsbury, I made a detour into the National Portrait Gallery. I didn't go through the whole museum--I was mainly interested in the portraits from the 17th and 18th centuries. The George III room in particular held my attention. Prior to taking on Ackroyd's work, I had just finished David McCulloch's "1776", which is about that year in the American Revolution when the war stopped being about unfair taxation by the mother country and started being about American independence. Naturally, growing up in America and near Morristown, I have been exposed to accounts of the conflict for years. Certainly I know the American take on the war. But I'm always curious about the British take on the war. That isn't often discussed, though I imagine that accounts of that conflict written today will differ greatly from those that are contemporary to the war. In the George III room, I looked at the portrait of the king. The description next to his portrait mentions how he lost the American colonies through his "obstinacy", a point of view which is certainly more modern. George Washington's portrait also hangs in this room, where he is mentioned as a pioneering policy-maker in the democratization of the United States. Nowhere does it mention him as a general and commander-in-chief. McCulloch had mentioned that the British barely acknowledged Washington's role at all in the war, and there still seems to be an unwillingness to discuss that. In the U.S., of course, Washington is a veritable god on all fronts, at least according to national mythology.
The rest of that day was spent relaxing in the pub and writing. Healthwise I wasn't in top shape on this trip, so I tended to need down-time by the end of the day. More to come on the next 3 days of the trip...
Friday, July 31, 2009
London Trip, 1st Day: John Foxx at the Apple Store
I'm finally home from London. I actually got home on Wednesday, but I'm only just starting to feel somewhat normal now. My Wednesday flight home was a catastrophe. First, there was a 2-hour delay at Heathrow. No one would tell us anything, and as it turns out, the delay was because of an overbooked flight. As a result of leaving late, we ran into some really horrific thunderstorms on the East Coast in the Newark, NJ area. We had to touch down for refueling in Albany, NY and Boston, MA. Long story short--we were 9 hours delayed getting home. I figured out with all of my travel that day and the time change, I'd been up and traveling for at least 25 hours. When I picked up my car and drove home, it felt like an out-of-body experience.
The great irony of that experience is that it was my first official Continental Elite flight. The only good thing that came out of my Elite status on that flight was that my luggage was among the first to come off the plane. For that many hours on a plane, I feel like I should be in New Zealand or something.
In any case, I did most of my Internet-checking from my Blackberry while overseas, so I did not blog at all, save the brief Friday entry. However, I have written pages of material for blogging, so expect to see quite a few posts in the next few days.
I arrived in London on the night of the 23rd. I had a spectacular headache for most of the flight, and I'd forgotten to bring my ibuprofen. Fortunately one of the flight attendants had some headache meds, so I survived. Looking down over London at night, I noticed how much the Thames looks like a striped snake, and surrounded everywhere by glittering lights. I also reflected on how I was landing in Essex at Heathrow, and had left from Essex (County, NJ, where Newark Airport is located). I arrived at my hotel around 11:00 pm--it was a rather dingy affair in Bloomsbury, but I got used to it pretty quickly. It reminded me of my living arrangements at the University of Reading, though I definitely had a nicer room at the University. I was right near St. Pancras Church, and enjoyed hearing the bells every hour.
Friday was an exceptional day--a few rain showers, but mostly sunny and cool. I went over to Covent Garden to meet my friend for lunch, and then to head over to the Apple Store on Regent Street to see John Foxx's showing of "The Quiet Man" and "Man Made of Shadows" (sequel to the Quiet Man). These are short films that are a work in progress, based on a novel John has been working on for some 30 years. He may seek to publish the novel in the next year or so. My friend and I were running late, and made it to the show about 5 minutes beforehand.
John has shown the Quiet Man before, but this was the first time I had a chance to see it. I loved it--I like the way that he mixes up ordinary daily routines with the idea of living in a film, or in an imagined world. As I said to Steve Malins later on, I've done that very thing my whole life and never thought that anyone else did it. Coincidentally, the latest book I'm reading is Peter Ackroyd's "London : a Biography". Ackroyd talks about the city--how dark it is, how it frequently overwhelms people, swallows them up. In earlier periods of London's history, it was very violent and savage. In the 21st century, it is not quite so savage, but it is very indifferent. Everyone goes about their business without a care for anyone else's. Reflecting on the Quiet Man, which takes place in London (and is based on other places, but London sites are specifically mentioned), it seems like the main character uses his daily regiment and imaginative forays as a sort of buffer against this dark tide of the city. Certainly it is a means of maintaining control of oneself--daily regiments are a means of providing structure amid uncertainty, and an imaginative retreat into film or anything else is also a world one can control with the mind. Quiet Man is still a work in progress, and I do hope that John does more with it on the film side.
I ended up talking to John for quite some time after the set--he was in an excellent mood that evening. John is always pleasant and kind; still, I don't think I've ever seen him smile that much in a 2-hour period. Among many other things, we talked about London and its myriad of streets and byways that go on forever. John noted that New York City is easy to figure out for the most part--the streets are laid out in a regular pattern, Greenwich Village notwithstanding. London is just a maze of random streets with no real plan; he said it took him 5 years to really figure out the streets of London.Which is fair enough, though you could switch that around when referring to the underground trains of both cities. London's Underground is neatly laid out, there are big maps at every station platform, and the stops are clearly laid out and announced. Whereas New York's Underground is a mess--if you don't know where you're going, you're pretty much screwed. At rush hour, all bets are off with signage, especially with local vs. express trains. Your only hope of knowing whether you're on the right train is to ask people already on the train.
Overall, it was a wonderful day, and I was happy to see Gem, Rob Harris, and Steve Malins as well as the magnificent Mr. Foxx. Rob showed me a few things on the Metamatic website, and we were drooling over the extra-large Mac monitors. Karborn was supposed to be at this show, but there were some problems, as Apple PR didn't want him using a PC to do the video in their store. I later found out from him that it was a huge mess trying to get a loaner, and in the end it was just easier for him to make a DVD of the video and let someone else run it.
Incidentally--John will be showing "The Quiet Man" in Hudson, New York at the BCB Gallery, 116 Warren St., on November 7, and possibly 8. If you're in the States, and in the New York area, I highly recommend coming to see it.
Thus ended a very pleasant Friday. Tomorrow I will write about Saturday...
The great irony of that experience is that it was my first official Continental Elite flight. The only good thing that came out of my Elite status on that flight was that my luggage was among the first to come off the plane. For that many hours on a plane, I feel like I should be in New Zealand or something.
In any case, I did most of my Internet-checking from my Blackberry while overseas, so I did not blog at all, save the brief Friday entry. However, I have written pages of material for blogging, so expect to see quite a few posts in the next few days.
I arrived in London on the night of the 23rd. I had a spectacular headache for most of the flight, and I'd forgotten to bring my ibuprofen. Fortunately one of the flight attendants had some headache meds, so I survived. Looking down over London at night, I noticed how much the Thames looks like a striped snake, and surrounded everywhere by glittering lights. I also reflected on how I was landing in Essex at Heathrow, and had left from Essex (County, NJ, where Newark Airport is located). I arrived at my hotel around 11:00 pm--it was a rather dingy affair in Bloomsbury, but I got used to it pretty quickly. It reminded me of my living arrangements at the University of Reading, though I definitely had a nicer room at the University. I was right near St. Pancras Church, and enjoyed hearing the bells every hour.
Friday was an exceptional day--a few rain showers, but mostly sunny and cool. I went over to Covent Garden to meet my friend for lunch, and then to head over to the Apple Store on Regent Street to see John Foxx's showing of "The Quiet Man" and "Man Made of Shadows" (sequel to the Quiet Man). These are short films that are a work in progress, based on a novel John has been working on for some 30 years. He may seek to publish the novel in the next year or so. My friend and I were running late, and made it to the show about 5 minutes beforehand.
John has shown the Quiet Man before, but this was the first time I had a chance to see it. I loved it--I like the way that he mixes up ordinary daily routines with the idea of living in a film, or in an imagined world. As I said to Steve Malins later on, I've done that very thing my whole life and never thought that anyone else did it. Coincidentally, the latest book I'm reading is Peter Ackroyd's "London : a Biography". Ackroyd talks about the city--how dark it is, how it frequently overwhelms people, swallows them up. In earlier periods of London's history, it was very violent and savage. In the 21st century, it is not quite so savage, but it is very indifferent. Everyone goes about their business without a care for anyone else's. Reflecting on the Quiet Man, which takes place in London (and is based on other places, but London sites are specifically mentioned), it seems like the main character uses his daily regiment and imaginative forays as a sort of buffer against this dark tide of the city. Certainly it is a means of maintaining control of oneself--daily regiments are a means of providing structure amid uncertainty, and an imaginative retreat into film or anything else is also a world one can control with the mind. Quiet Man is still a work in progress, and I do hope that John does more with it on the film side.
I ended up talking to John for quite some time after the set--he was in an excellent mood that evening. John is always pleasant and kind; still, I don't think I've ever seen him smile that much in a 2-hour period. Among many other things, we talked about London and its myriad of streets and byways that go on forever. John noted that New York City is easy to figure out for the most part--the streets are laid out in a regular pattern, Greenwich Village notwithstanding. London is just a maze of random streets with no real plan; he said it took him 5 years to really figure out the streets of London.Which is fair enough, though you could switch that around when referring to the underground trains of both cities. London's Underground is neatly laid out, there are big maps at every station platform, and the stops are clearly laid out and announced. Whereas New York's Underground is a mess--if you don't know where you're going, you're pretty much screwed. At rush hour, all bets are off with signage, especially with local vs. express trains. Your only hope of knowing whether you're on the right train is to ask people already on the train.
Overall, it was a wonderful day, and I was happy to see Gem, Rob Harris, and Steve Malins as well as the magnificent Mr. Foxx. Rob showed me a few things on the Metamatic website, and we were drooling over the extra-large Mac monitors. Karborn was supposed to be at this show, but there were some problems, as Apple PR didn't want him using a PC to do the video in their store. I later found out from him that it was a huge mess trying to get a loaner, and in the end it was just easier for him to make a DVD of the video and let someone else run it.
Incidentally--John will be showing "The Quiet Man" in Hudson, New York at the BCB Gallery, 116 Warren St., on November 7, and possibly 8. If you're in the States, and in the New York area, I highly recommend coming to see it.
Thus ended a very pleasant Friday. Tomorrow I will write about Saturday...
Friday, July 24, 2009
London (Yet Again...)
Just a quick note--I'm in London for John Foxx's reading of the Quiet Man at the Apple Store on Regent St., with visuals by Karborn. Reading starts at 5:00pm, I believe, first come first serve unless you got a reserved seat.
I will definitely be there, so say hello if you drop by...
I will definitely be there, so say hello if you drop by...
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Shradda
People frequently ask me how I manage to fit 2 hours of meditation/prayer into a day, along with my regular job, writing, and maintaining my house. There doesn’t seem to be enough hours to do all of those things well. With regard to the first set of tasks—I get up around 4:30 every morning, and that is when I meditate, for about 30 minutes. (After feeding the cats, of course). I then get ready for work, and leave at about 6:30, by the time I’ve gotten myself together and taken care of all the cats. While I am driving to work, I do my prayers. Yes, that seems odd, but usually I have almost an hour commute to work, and it seems like wasted time to just be sitting there grumbling about traffic. Plus, although you do have to be aware of your surroundings, most morning driving is on “autopilot”, so it’s a good time for mental exercises.
The prayers happen to be very specific chants—the first is the Sri Lalita Sahasranama Stotra, the second is the Sri Devi Khadgamala Stotra. Lalita Sahasranama translates roughly to “the 1000 names of the Divine Mother”. Amma stresses that devotees should chant this daily. It takes about 30 minutes to chant the Lalita Sahasranama, and it’s all in Sanskrit. I have recited it so many times over the years that I almost know it by heart (some sections I still stumble over), but I also have a CD of Indian pundits reciting the chant, so that I can “chant along” while I’m driving, and not refer to my book. If I screw up, at least the folks on the CD are saying the correct thing. The Khadgamala Stotra (translates roughly to “necklace of swords”) only takes about 5-6 minutes to recite, and I have that on CD as well. I include that one because it is a meditation on the Sri Chakra, which is a very powerful symbol for me.
While reciting to myself this morning, I was thinking about the idea of “devotion”. Amma has said about both meditation and prayer that if they are performed with “devotion” they are useful. Another Sanskrit term frequently used for this is “shradda”, translating roughly to “having faith” or “having attention”.
So what does this mean? That they’re not useful unless my mind is completely free of other distractions? That isn’t even possible for the vast majority of people. Even if I’m reciting in a group, my mind is always wandering to other things unintentionally. That is probably true of almost everyone, unless they are a swami/swamini, saint, or, well...Amma herself. And the former two probably have focus issues at times as well.
I’m not the only person who has asked this question, and I’ve heard different answers at different times. “Shradda” has a lot to do with purity and sincerity. Devotees are always questioning how much shradda they really have, especially when we’re also wrapped up in day-to-day concerns and relationships. Do we really care enough about what we’re doing?
I tend to think in similes and metaphors, so it’s helpful for me to think about it this way: When I meet people, I can always get a sense of whether or not they have an “agenda” regarding their interaction with me. This particularly happens in organization interaction—at work, in a religious community—any kind of community. Sometimes I am warmly befriended by someone who raises “red flags” for me. All appearances are good, they seem kind, sweet, sincere—but somehow I know that this person is using me to get something else or to further their own end. There is a political stench overpowering the sweetness of their interaction. People get very surprised when I terminate such associations quickly. “That person is so nice, works so hard, you’re just being unreasonable.” Then, later on, the ugly truth rears its head. I always trust my instincts on this, and so far I haven’t been wrong. It’s why I avoid politics and political people like a contagious disease. If you're being political with me, you also don't really respect me. I'm an object to you.
It occurred to me that this is similar to the idea of shradda with respect to sincerity. If one shows excessive devotion for a materialistic end or to gain some kind of power, then they’re not sincere in their effort. The person who occasionally gets bored or distracted but still keeps up their practices could run the risk of repeating empty rituals, but may also get to real shradda through repeated effort. Regardless of religion, almost all the accounts I’ve read from saints and holy people indicate that they went through periods of “spiritual dryness”, where they couldn’t care less about anything at all. At those times it’s easy to give up, to feel that you’re being insincere, but those are really the times to keep trying.
In this age of religious extremes, one might ask why a rational person would bother with such prayers at all. I can only speak for myself, but I do believe it makes a difference in how I am able to respond to life. I don’t meditate or pray with a “goal” in mind—that’s not the point. I find that being more alert, productive, and compassionate to others is a side effect of regular prayer and meditation. You focus on the ultimate just long enough every day to put everything else in context. Life is a series of ups and downs, and I would prefer to find my way to detached equanimity. Happiness doesn’t come from feeling ecstatic.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Food Taboos, or, Enforced Healthy Eating
Yesterday I was reading Scott Adams’ latest posting to the Dilbert blog. Recently he has been discussing a theoretical capitalistic communal society called “Cheaptopia”, where people could choose to live to save expenses, as well as having other benefits. Among the other economic and social policies of the community, he mentioned and quickly discarded the idea of mandatory vegetarianism. He stated that he is personally in favor of that, but that it was too controversial for inclusion.
The remark was more of an aside, but it got me thinking about vegetarianism. I am most certainly not a vegetarian, and would die if someone tried to mandate that. But it goes beyond vegetarianism for me—I eat hardly any vegetables at all, and the ones I do eat belong more to the starch family.
This revelation always comes as a shock to people, especially if they know that I have Hindu beliefs and that I am a strong advocate for animals and animal rights. It can make going out to eat at certain places somewhat awkward, as most places that serve sandwiches and salads are “right out” for me. I wouldn’t touch anything like that with a ten foot pole.
The inevitable follow-up question is always “why?” The assumption is that adults who don’t eat their veggies are somehow overgrown children, not mature enough to eat “proper” food. It’s amazing how much of a social stigma that can be at times. My friend Liz, who is very similar to me in this respect, once noted that the people who criticized her for not eating vegetables were the same ones going out to bars getting wasted every weekend, something neither of us does. Her question was, “How is that any healthier?” In short, don’t be critical of someone else’s health lifestyle when yours is also in question.
We’ve also pondered the relationship between food and sex. People seem to react with the same Puritanical vehemence against aberrant food choices as they would against licentious sex practices. What is so taboo about food?
In any case, it may surprise you to know that in my family, my grandmother and both of my sisters also maintain the same distaste for vegetables. (My grandmother lived to be 89 years old). We were certainly made to eat vegetables growing up, but none of us eat them as adults. My sisters both have children, and have made some compromises in the interest of balanced nutrition, but they still don’t eat veggies themselves.
Over time, what I’ve realized is that it’s not particularly the taste, but the texture of vegetables that is repulsive to me. Consider: I would eat tomato sauce on pasta, or on pizza, but I’m sickened by the thought of eating a raw (or cooked) tomato slice. Why? Because tomato sauce doesn’t have the same texture as a whole or sliced tomato. The crunchy texture of most veggies is a turn-off to me—I could never contemplate eating a salad. And you can forget about beans—lentils, peas, lima beans—the very thought makes me wretch. It’s like eating sandpaper, only more disgusting. The only way I can eat lentils is—you guessed it—if they are ground up into a bread.
Given that all the women in my family (except my Mom) have the same trait, one wonders if there’s anything genetic about it, but it’s difficult to know for sure. One thing I am fairly certain about is that one’s nutrition and health situation is unique. My own observations about health, food and longevity among my relatives suggests that one’s food choices have little to do with your health and mortality in the end. Sure, you should eat moderately and stay away from too much of anything—but it’s not necessarily going to prolong your life. Some health problems, like diabetes, do require a lifestyle change, but it’s often a genetic illness and isn’t fully curable. What I have observed is that some people strive to eat “healthy” their entire life, exercise, stay away from fats, sweets, etc.—and end up dying in their mid-fifties. Others drink Scotch straight from the bottle, eat nothing but fatty foods, and live to be one hundred years old with no serious health problems.
It’s exactly this sort of thing that annoys me when governments try to legislate what people should be allowed to eat. Banning trans-fats in cooking oils, trying to ban “runny eggs” (that didn’t last long), and other idiotic measures that Congress is wasting its time bringing to the table—leave my frigging food alone, please. Anyone with half a brain knows that food is going to be higher in calories and richer when eating out—that’s what you’re paying for, isn’t it? If I want to eat low-fat, no-sugar, no-taste whatever, I can stay home and do that. I don’t need to pay money for it. But those who do want to eat out and eat healthier—many restaurants offer those options now. And the ones that don’t—well, then don’t choose to eat there if that’s not what you want. What if the tables were turned and vegetarian restaurants were required to serve meat because people don’t get enough protein? It’s all silly, really—we have so many choices in this country. There is no need to make all restaurants conform to some “preventative health” standard.
Another trend I’m seeing is trying to legislate what school children can eat because they’re all becoming obese. Let me tell you something. When I was a child, I ate rich foods, baked goods, fast food and did not become obese. Why? There are at least a couple of obvious reasons. One is that children today do not spend as much time outside playing. We always rode our bikes, played kickball, hide and seek—we would go out after school and not reappear until suppertime. We went a lot of places, and Mom did not care where we went, as long as we were home at the appointed time. Today’s children are kept on a tight leash—parents seem to be more afraid of, I don’t know what. I do not believe that “things are worse now” than they were before. But kids have their playtime measured very carefully, and parents are often too busy to do anything but leave their kids in front of video games, or something non-exercise related. The other change is that parents are too busy to be at home to cook, so families order out or eat out very regularly, often for more than one meal. Less exercise plus more high-calorie food means fatter children. I don’t need to be a doctor to tell you that. But making restaurants change is not the answer. Simple moderation is good enough, and paying attention to your body. If you are craving something, or repulsed by something, your body probably needs the former and not the latter.
I leave you with Lewis Black’s hilarious and very true commentary on the issue. (Fast forward to about 7 minutes and 40 seconds into the clip):
Monday, July 20, 2009
Three Events
In the interest of being sure that I write every day even when I’m busy, I’ve been making a point of adding something to this blog every day. This weekend was the exception, as I spent a total of 16 hours sorting through everything in every closet, cupboard, and cubbyhole in my house. The end result was 6 bags of garbage, at least 8 boxes of stuff for “goodwill”, and a huge pile of items waiting for our town’s autumn cleanup day. I drove all the way to Trenton and back yesterday to donate aforementioned goodwill items, and I feel pretty good about having all this stuff out of my house. I still have a box of things that are collectible and therefore sale-able, and I will deal with these in August.
I’m off to London yet again this week for two more John Foxx events. One is at the Apple Store on Regent Street in London, where John will be doing a reading from his novel, “The Quiet Man”, along with visuals by Karborn. The other event is the launch party for the DNA Exhibition at the Horse Hospital in Bloomsbury. That is a private event, though the exhibition can be viewed at the Horse Hospital from July 28 to 31. DNA is an exhibition of works by artists and filmmakers who are influenced by the work of John Foxx. It sounds like a great presentation, so if you’re in London I recommend you check it out. I’m sure I will have a review of it as well when I return.
I was talking via e-mail with a friend about meeting up in London before the Apple Store event, and we ended up talking about the paranormal and “supernatural”, namely because she had read my blog posting on the Ghost Hunters series. I do have an open mind about such phenomena, though I don’t think everything put forward as a “haunting” is necessarily a haunting. There are probably rational explanations for most things. I don’t believe in the idea of “supernatural”—all phenomena are natural to some degree, even if they are “extra-ordinary”. Additionally—I don’t think that the occurrence of certain “paranormal” phenomena in a location necessarily an indication of a haunting, or even of regular paranormal occurrence.
By way of example, let me share a few things with you that have happened in my own house. My house is fairly old by American standards; it was built sometime in the 1850s. I live across the street from a cemetery, and from a house that more than likely has some kind of residual activity due to a father murdering his wife and children and then killing himself there in the 1960s. However, I have never felt that my house is “haunted” or is a magnet for paranormal activity. The three events I’m about to share don’t change that opinion in my mind.
The first event happened a couple of years ago. I currently spend about 2 hours per day on meditation and Hindu prayer, but a few years ago I also performed pujas (ritual worship) at least 3 times a week, if not daily. The pujas were usually to Ganesha, Shiva, and (mostly) Kali. At the height of my Kali Puja practice, I would lie in bed at night and hear footsteps in my living room downstairs, along with the jingling of anklets. My cats would hear it too—they would sit up, ears perked up, and watch the staircase, as the footsteps would inevitably head towards the stairs and on their way up to the loft where I sleep. I never saw anyone connected with those footsteps. It didn’t happen all the time, and I wasn’t afraid of it. I do think of it as a side-effect of doing extreme puja—it’s like something takes form and walks around the house. Since I’ve stopped doing regular puja I no longer hear the sound.
The second event happened a couple of weeks ago. I was sleeping, and having a strange dream, when I was suddenly awakened by a set of arms patting me down, going up and down my sleeping form. I was under the covers and saw them move with each arm stroke. I finally said, “leave me alone”, and it stopped. I had a distinct tingling sensation all over my body afterwards. I looked at the clock, and realized it was just past the time the alarm should have gone off—it wasn’t set properly. Weirdly enough, it was as though someone was trying to wake me up.
The third event happened yesterday, and could have a rational explanation, but it’s still puzzling. I have a root cellar underneath my house that needs to be accessed from a separate set of iron doors outside. My washer and dryer are down there, so frequently on weekends I yank open the huge door, and walk up and down the concrete stairs to bring laundry up and down. I have 2 cats that live down there, and they love to go out on nice days, so I leave the iron door open while I’m doing my wash in the summertime. I don’t close the door until it starts to get dark, and I’ve shooed both cats back into the cellar. As it was getting dark yesterday, I went to put the cats back in the basement—and found the door closed. I was home the whole time, and know I did not close it. If someone had come around back and closed it, I would have heard it—it makes a terrific creaking sound when it opens and shuts. It is possible that in my haze of doing 50 million things at once, I closed it and didn’t realize it. But my unconscious habit is to leave it open, so if I did, that would be really strange. My neighbors have no reason to come into my yard and close the door, and my next-door neighbor working outside would have noticed if someone else had been in my yard. So—there could be a logical explanation for it, but it was strange. The closed door did turn out to be a good thing, as a neighborhood stray cat was looking for a way in to get at my cat’s food dishes in the cellar, and those attempts often cause fights between the cats.
So, those are my three occurrences. You can make of them what you will. As I said earlier, I don’t think that the events are evidence of a haunting of any kind, as they are so circumstantial and spread apart chronologically. They are a bit on the “unexplained” side, but they are not frightening. They just add to my conviction that not everything has an immediate rational explanation and doesn’t necessarily need one.
I’m off to London yet again this week for two more John Foxx events. One is at the Apple Store on Regent Street in London, where John will be doing a reading from his novel, “The Quiet Man”, along with visuals by Karborn. The other event is the launch party for the DNA Exhibition at the Horse Hospital in Bloomsbury. That is a private event, though the exhibition can be viewed at the Horse Hospital from July 28 to 31. DNA is an exhibition of works by artists and filmmakers who are influenced by the work of John Foxx. It sounds like a great presentation, so if you’re in London I recommend you check it out. I’m sure I will have a review of it as well when I return.
I was talking via e-mail with a friend about meeting up in London before the Apple Store event, and we ended up talking about the paranormal and “supernatural”, namely because she had read my blog posting on the Ghost Hunters series. I do have an open mind about such phenomena, though I don’t think everything put forward as a “haunting” is necessarily a haunting. There are probably rational explanations for most things. I don’t believe in the idea of “supernatural”—all phenomena are natural to some degree, even if they are “extra-ordinary”. Additionally—I don’t think that the occurrence of certain “paranormal” phenomena in a location necessarily an indication of a haunting, or even of regular paranormal occurrence.
By way of example, let me share a few things with you that have happened in my own house. My house is fairly old by American standards; it was built sometime in the 1850s. I live across the street from a cemetery, and from a house that more than likely has some kind of residual activity due to a father murdering his wife and children and then killing himself there in the 1960s. However, I have never felt that my house is “haunted” or is a magnet for paranormal activity. The three events I’m about to share don’t change that opinion in my mind.
The first event happened a couple of years ago. I currently spend about 2 hours per day on meditation and Hindu prayer, but a few years ago I also performed pujas (ritual worship) at least 3 times a week, if not daily. The pujas were usually to Ganesha, Shiva, and (mostly) Kali. At the height of my Kali Puja practice, I would lie in bed at night and hear footsteps in my living room downstairs, along with the jingling of anklets. My cats would hear it too—they would sit up, ears perked up, and watch the staircase, as the footsteps would inevitably head towards the stairs and on their way up to the loft where I sleep. I never saw anyone connected with those footsteps. It didn’t happen all the time, and I wasn’t afraid of it. I do think of it as a side-effect of doing extreme puja—it’s like something takes form and walks around the house. Since I’ve stopped doing regular puja I no longer hear the sound.
The second event happened a couple of weeks ago. I was sleeping, and having a strange dream, when I was suddenly awakened by a set of arms patting me down, going up and down my sleeping form. I was under the covers and saw them move with each arm stroke. I finally said, “leave me alone”, and it stopped. I had a distinct tingling sensation all over my body afterwards. I looked at the clock, and realized it was just past the time the alarm should have gone off—it wasn’t set properly. Weirdly enough, it was as though someone was trying to wake me up.
The third event happened yesterday, and could have a rational explanation, but it’s still puzzling. I have a root cellar underneath my house that needs to be accessed from a separate set of iron doors outside. My washer and dryer are down there, so frequently on weekends I yank open the huge door, and walk up and down the concrete stairs to bring laundry up and down. I have 2 cats that live down there, and they love to go out on nice days, so I leave the iron door open while I’m doing my wash in the summertime. I don’t close the door until it starts to get dark, and I’ve shooed both cats back into the cellar. As it was getting dark yesterday, I went to put the cats back in the basement—and found the door closed. I was home the whole time, and know I did not close it. If someone had come around back and closed it, I would have heard it—it makes a terrific creaking sound when it opens and shuts. It is possible that in my haze of doing 50 million things at once, I closed it and didn’t realize it. But my unconscious habit is to leave it open, so if I did, that would be really strange. My neighbors have no reason to come into my yard and close the door, and my next-door neighbor working outside would have noticed if someone else had been in my yard. So—there could be a logical explanation for it, but it was strange. The closed door did turn out to be a good thing, as a neighborhood stray cat was looking for a way in to get at my cat’s food dishes in the cellar, and those attempts often cause fights between the cats.
So, those are my three occurrences. You can make of them what you will. As I said earlier, I don’t think that the events are evidence of a haunting of any kind, as they are so circumstantial and spread apart chronologically. They are a bit on the “unexplained” side, but they are not frightening. They just add to my conviction that not everything has an immediate rational explanation and doesn’t necessarily need one.
Friday, July 17, 2009
Pareidolia
It's interesting how many people pay attention to--and even worship--the phenomena known as "pareidolia". Pareidolia refers to images that appear in ordinary objects. The ones that really get attention are the ones of religious figures. One might see the Virgin Mary in a cloud, or a tree trunk. Jesus has been seen in a huge variety of bizarre objects and places. Sometimes non-Christian deities are seen (such as the Hindu Ganesha), or even deceased celebrities (cue the recent rash of Michael Jackson "paredolias", often called "Jackodolias").
Phil Plait, who writes the Bad Astronomy blog for Discover magazine, has a whole section devoted to this phenomena. Phil is a hardcore skeptic--I agree with a lot of what he says, but he truly dismisses anything that smacks of irrationality as completely false, and I don't always agree with him there. Just because some things don't measure up to scientific inquiry doesn't necessarily mean they have no merit. Basically--I am totally with Phil with regard to Creationism and the anti-vax movement. Some other things--ghosts, psychic phenomena, astrology--well, I guess I'm not as skeptical, and reserve judgment. I think the lines between believers and non-believers will always be strictly drawn there.
Back to pareidolia--with credit to Phil, here are some interesting pareidolia links:
Virgin Mary in a Marmite Jar Lid (or maybe it's Derek Smalls from Spinal Tap)
Virgin Mary in a Pancake Griddle
Jesus in a Piece of Toast (and Satan on the other side?)
Jesus in a Kit-Kat Bar
Jesus in a Meteorite
Jesus in the Skull of a Catfish
Virgin Mary in Bird Droppings
Phil has another post about randomness, and the mind's desire to see patterns in things, which is a very good summation of what happens not only happens with this type of pareidolia, but also explains images seen in many "ghost" photographs.
Recently I had a discussion with my friend's son about randomness and patterns. He pointed out that most people who find patterns in random events are unaware of probability and how it works. (Fair enough in my case--they never even covered probability in math class. I'd love to understand it). But the psychology behind it is what is fascinating to me. We do look for meaning in things--maybe that meaning is really there, some kind of "message", maybe it's just a coincidence. But I tend to think that even if something has a "message", it's a message from the unconscious mind. When we try to unravel questions in our minds, when we don't have enough information to make a decision, sometimes we do unconsciously know the right thing to do. In the same way that you might have a dream about something that challenges you, you may start "seeing" patterns in different places. They are probably meaningful to no one but you in that moment. But it's funny how our unconscious minds work to get our conscious attention.
I think the pareidolia phenomena reflects people's desire to have concrete, visible affirmations of their faith. I can't imagine any other reason why someone would pay $28,000 for grilled cheese sandwich that someone says looks like the Virgin Mary. (OK, to be fair, a casino bought that one as a piece of pop culture. But still...). No one would pay any attention to it, otherwise.
One of my Facebook friends made the point that Jesus and the Virgin Mary seem to appear everywhere but in Church. An excellent point, which I think adds credence to Jung's assertion that religion is designed to keep you from religious experience. God isn't meant to be found in Church.
Phil Plait, who writes the Bad Astronomy blog for Discover magazine, has a whole section devoted to this phenomena. Phil is a hardcore skeptic--I agree with a lot of what he says, but he truly dismisses anything that smacks of irrationality as completely false, and I don't always agree with him there. Just because some things don't measure up to scientific inquiry doesn't necessarily mean they have no merit. Basically--I am totally with Phil with regard to Creationism and the anti-vax movement. Some other things--ghosts, psychic phenomena, astrology--well, I guess I'm not as skeptical, and reserve judgment. I think the lines between believers and non-believers will always be strictly drawn there.
Back to pareidolia--with credit to Phil, here are some interesting pareidolia links:
Virgin Mary in a Marmite Jar Lid (or maybe it's Derek Smalls from Spinal Tap)
Virgin Mary in a Pancake Griddle
Jesus in a Piece of Toast (and Satan on the other side?)
Jesus in a Kit-Kat Bar
Jesus in a Meteorite
Jesus in the Skull of a Catfish
Virgin Mary in Bird Droppings
Phil has another post about randomness, and the mind's desire to see patterns in things, which is a very good summation of what happens not only happens with this type of pareidolia, but also explains images seen in many "ghost" photographs.
Recently I had a discussion with my friend's son about randomness and patterns. He pointed out that most people who find patterns in random events are unaware of probability and how it works. (Fair enough in my case--they never even covered probability in math class. I'd love to understand it). But the psychology behind it is what is fascinating to me. We do look for meaning in things--maybe that meaning is really there, some kind of "message", maybe it's just a coincidence. But I tend to think that even if something has a "message", it's a message from the unconscious mind. When we try to unravel questions in our minds, when we don't have enough information to make a decision, sometimes we do unconsciously know the right thing to do. In the same way that you might have a dream about something that challenges you, you may start "seeing" patterns in different places. They are probably meaningful to no one but you in that moment. But it's funny how our unconscious minds work to get our conscious attention.
I think the pareidolia phenomena reflects people's desire to have concrete, visible affirmations of their faith. I can't imagine any other reason why someone would pay $28,000 for grilled cheese sandwich that someone says looks like the Virgin Mary. (OK, to be fair, a casino bought that one as a piece of pop culture. But still...). No one would pay any attention to it, otherwise.
One of my Facebook friends made the point that Jesus and the Virgin Mary seem to appear everywhere but in Church. An excellent point, which I think adds credence to Jung's assertion that religion is designed to keep you from religious experience. God isn't meant to be found in Church.
Thursday, July 16, 2009
1979, and a Word on Visual Association
I’ve written before about finding patterns in events. Sometimes the patterns seem to be meaningful, or are meaningful in retrospect; other times they’re not. Meaningful patterns are probably better defined as “synchronicities”, the Jungian term that is defined as “meaningful coincidences.”
In the last couple of months I’ve had a string of coincidences centered around the year 1979. I was 7 years old in 1979, and hadn’t yet had the first “squelching” of my imagination and spirit. (I like to think I’ve regained most of it). For whatever reason, I had a vivid recollection of a particular day. I was at my best friend Cassie’s house. At that time she lived next door to me. Her mother had been an art major in college, and also had impeccable and eclectic taste. Their house and yard was amazing—rooms with oriental furniture, plush velvet sofas, a Zen garden out back, and regular gardens with exotic flowers. A wooden bridge stood between their back patio and their yard. I had a pretty happy childhood playing in that house and that yard.
In my recollection, it was an October day, and Cassie, myself, and her sister were in the basement of the house. The basement had the old-style wood paneling, and there was a wicker daybed and an oversized leather chair in front of a TV. A sectioned-off laundry area was on the other side, and on the wall behind the TV area was a tremendous psychedelic mural painted by her mother, that glowed under black lights. The three of us were watching a Halloween special on the TV. I recalled that it had something to do with the Legend of Sleepy Hollow, and offered an adaptation of the John Bellairs’ novel, “A House With a Clock in its Walls”. I remember being very engrossed in the program, and actually got the Bellairs book from the library later that month after watching it.
Why I recalled this particular day, I have no idea. I did go as far as to try to research the name of the TV program. I discovered that it was part of a program that aired on October 1, 1979 entitled, “Once Upon a Midnight Scary”, and featured Vincent Price as the host. (I’d forgotten that detail). Amazingly, someone did have a brand-new VHS copy of the program available via Amazon. It wasn’t terribly expensive, so I bought it. It was actually a bit of a disappointment—what I found really engrossing as a 7 year old I found to be a poorly-acted piece of crap as a 37 year old. Vincent Price was fine, but the actual adaptations of the stories were dreadfully overacted, or just plain wrong. I had a real distaste for the Bellairs piece—that is a really EXCELLENT children’s/young adult book, but the adaptation was hardly like the book at all. In fact, save the character names, it was nothing like the book at all.
That was the start of the 1979 business. The next thing I knew, references to the year 1979 were everywhere I looked, culminating with my trip to Liverpool, where I learned that the film “Awaydays” was set in Northern England in 1979. In yet another one of my blog postings, I mentioned a vivid memory I had of coming home at sunset and hearing strange music that I couldn’t place. I recalled that this also happened in 1979.
Whether this is a meaningful coincidence or not, I don’t know. I know that it was basically a happy year for me. I’ll have to keep you posted as to whether or not it turns out to have a retrospective meaning.
On another brief note—I was watching the new Ghost Hunters International episode last night, and I’m really liking the show a lot. They have a new investigator, a friend of Robb’s called Ashley. I don’t know that I have a strong opinion of her yet—she seems pretty grounded, if not a bit stiff, though I’m sure that’s probably a matter of adjustment to TV. However, my first instinct about her was negative, and I questioned myself as to why. I realized that she looks a lot like someone that I dislike. I’m sure she doesn’t know the person I dislike, or have any relationship to them at all. We have lots of “doppelgangers” out there—I am frequently told that someone has seen someone who looks EXACTLY like me in various places that I’ve never been. But it did make me wonder if this is why I like certain investigators and not others. It may have nothing to do with them or their presence/personality at all. And if I do it, I imagine others do it too. Visual association probably has a lot to do with our immediate judgments of people. There’s probably a study about it somewhere—I’ll be sure to share it if I can find it.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Worship vs. Reverence
Worship (v.): 1. To honor or revere as a supernatural being or power, or as a holy thing ; to regard or approach with veneration ; to adore with appropriate acts, rites, or ceremonies 2. To honor, to regard or treat with honor or respect 3. To invest with, raise to, honor or repute ; to confer honor or dignity upon
Reverence (n.): 1. Deep or due respect felt or shown towards a person on account of his or her position or relationship ; deference 2. A gesture indicative of respect ; an obeisance ; a bow or curtsy 3. The condition or state of being respected or venerated ; 4. “At the reverence of”—out of respect for, in honor of, for the sake of a person (verb form is “to show respect, obeisance, etc.”)
(Both definitions taken almost verbatim from the Oxford English Dictionary, 1933 edition)
The other day I found myself thinking about religious rites and doctrines, and in my train of thought I started to wonder about the difference between “reverence” and “worship”. They seem synonymous at first glance. But I think the subtle differences in meaning are reflective of the subtle differences in our beliefs. One can profess to be a Christian, Hindu, Muslim or whatever—but no two Christians believe the same thing, no two Hindus believe the same thing, and so on.
As the definitions above show, “worship” seems to be reserved more for the sacred, and “reverence” for the profane, at first glance. And in spite of what is shown, both words can be nouns or verbs (as in “performing the worship” with the former).
Let me back up for a minute and look at the different views of “God” or “deity” in general. In Western, monotheistic religions (typically Jewish, Christian, and/or Muslim) God is seen as a separate being, an intelligence behind the creation of the world, the universe, etc. In Eastern, monistic religions (Hinduism, Buddhism, etc.) God is seen as immanent—part of the world, part of the universe, and part of every person. The perceived separation between humans and their God is an illusion. Additionally, as the great Joseph Campbell noted, for Western religions, “God” is the “source” of everything. In Eastern religions, a god is a vehicle for the source, but not the source itself. The Source cannot be grasped by the mind, so it requires a vehicle for us to wrap our minds around it.
If one behaves with “reverence”, it implies honoring and respecting another person. One might show reverence to their grandfather, for instance. However, one would not go a step farther and claim to “worship” one’s grandfather. If one looks at the guru—in my case, Amma—I treat her with reverence, but do I “worship” her? In India, deities are worshipped by offering flowers, washing feet, and performing aarti (the waving of a flame). However, those same rites are performed when an honored guest or family member comes to the house. There is a thin line between “reverence” and “worship”, at least in the external sense. In our society, the distinction is much clearer. “Worship” only takes place with regard to sacred things, “reverence” is reserved for priests and ministers, or perhaps an exceptional person; we don’t tend to talk about having reverence for regular, average people.
I think this demonstrates the difference in attitude quite nicely. When God is seen as part of you, the line between reverence and worship is thin. When God is seen as something external and far away from the world, there is a very strict line between reverence and worship. Furthermore, if “reverence” implies “respect” and “honor”, and we don’t show reverence to ordinary folk, it suggests that some folks are worthy of respect and some aren’t. Which in turn would imply that some folks are “lesser” than others, and can be treated as “lesser”...
Perhaps that’s going a bit far, but I still think it’s interesting.
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
Defining "Writer"
I like to write. I do a lot of technical writing for my job, I write items for this blog, and I also write short stories, even parts of a novel or two in the works.
I’ve only recently started submitting work for publication. While I’ve not heard from all parties I’ve sent material to, I have had a number of rejections already. I don’t find that discouraging, because the odds of getting rejected are absurdly high. There’s no point in taking that personally.
But I wonder—if I haven’t published anything yet, but I write constantly, does that make me a writer, or doesn’t it? I talk about “wanting to be a writer”, but is that what I’m doing already as a sideline? Certainly writing doesn’t pay the bills for me—I have another job (or two or three) for that. Is money a criterion for being considered a writer? I suppose we connect these occupations with money—I’m thought of as a librarian, or as a digital archivist, or a professor, because that’s how I get paid. But I don’t particularly think of myself as fully identified with any of those things. I would think most writers are in the same boat.
John Foxx made a comment in a recent interview about his career, and he says that he got into music because he knew he wouldn’t be an artist. “There’s no such job.” I would agree with that, and I would also suggest that there’s no such job as being a writer. Sure, you might be hired by someone to produce artwork, or to write articles for a publication. Making a living at either of those things is pretty uncommon, especially in the "personal/creative" sense. Stephen Elliott recently shared some interesting thoughts on this in the Rumpus. There’s a difference between creating what you want, and being paid to create something.
My former husband used to (and for all I know still does) write poetry. He wasn’t bad at it, actually. Prose was difficult for him, unless he was inebriated. I don’t mean that derisively. He would get way too self-conscious about his prose, and it came across that way. The stuff he wrote when he was drinking was much better, very entertaining. He did manage to get a few things published. However, most of the time he was either looking for a job, or doing some kind of clerical work that really didn’t match his intellectual abilities. He was another person who “wanted to be a writer”. In spite of the fact that he had published a few things, I still didn’t consider him a writer. Why not? Because he hardly ever did it. He would write in spurts, and then not write anything for years.
Publishing is another gray area. If I publish a story to my short-story blog, does that count as “being published”? From a rights perspective, yes. Most electronic journals consider publication of a story to a personal blog as your “securing of first electronic serial rights”, and they will consider the item previously published. The Internet and Web 2.0 has created huge changes in the writing field, from journalism to traditional book publishing. Does one need to have a physical “book” to be considered “a real writer”?
It seems that “being a writer” involves some kind of financial exchange for the writing, actually getting something published (perhaps by someone other than yourself), and involves that you write often, not just occasionally when you feel like it. It may also involve writing things you don’t like. I think there are three basic types of writing: technical, journalistic, and creative. You are likely to find jobs and get paid for the first two (well, maybe not the second in this day and age), not so much for the third. So are all creative writers therefore non-writers, unless they manage to get published and noticed?
It’s a tough question. So few authors hit it big and become bestsellers, or even make enough to cover their life expenses by writing alone. Certainly for me, I’m not quitting my day jobs anytime soon. And I do like to think of myself as a writer—maybe soon I’ll be what’s considered a “traditionally published” writer.
I’ve only recently started submitting work for publication. While I’ve not heard from all parties I’ve sent material to, I have had a number of rejections already. I don’t find that discouraging, because the odds of getting rejected are absurdly high. There’s no point in taking that personally.
But I wonder—if I haven’t published anything yet, but I write constantly, does that make me a writer, or doesn’t it? I talk about “wanting to be a writer”, but is that what I’m doing already as a sideline? Certainly writing doesn’t pay the bills for me—I have another job (or two or three) for that. Is money a criterion for being considered a writer? I suppose we connect these occupations with money—I’m thought of as a librarian, or as a digital archivist, or a professor, because that’s how I get paid. But I don’t particularly think of myself as fully identified with any of those things. I would think most writers are in the same boat.
John Foxx made a comment in a recent interview about his career, and he says that he got into music because he knew he wouldn’t be an artist. “There’s no such job.” I would agree with that, and I would also suggest that there’s no such job as being a writer. Sure, you might be hired by someone to produce artwork, or to write articles for a publication. Making a living at either of those things is pretty uncommon, especially in the "personal/creative" sense. Stephen Elliott recently shared some interesting thoughts on this in the Rumpus. There’s a difference between creating what you want, and being paid to create something.
My former husband used to (and for all I know still does) write poetry. He wasn’t bad at it, actually. Prose was difficult for him, unless he was inebriated. I don’t mean that derisively. He would get way too self-conscious about his prose, and it came across that way. The stuff he wrote when he was drinking was much better, very entertaining. He did manage to get a few things published. However, most of the time he was either looking for a job, or doing some kind of clerical work that really didn’t match his intellectual abilities. He was another person who “wanted to be a writer”. In spite of the fact that he had published a few things, I still didn’t consider him a writer. Why not? Because he hardly ever did it. He would write in spurts, and then not write anything for years.
Publishing is another gray area. If I publish a story to my short-story blog, does that count as “being published”? From a rights perspective, yes. Most electronic journals consider publication of a story to a personal blog as your “securing of first electronic serial rights”, and they will consider the item previously published. The Internet and Web 2.0 has created huge changes in the writing field, from journalism to traditional book publishing. Does one need to have a physical “book” to be considered “a real writer”?
It seems that “being a writer” involves some kind of financial exchange for the writing, actually getting something published (perhaps by someone other than yourself), and involves that you write often, not just occasionally when you feel like it. It may also involve writing things you don’t like. I think there are three basic types of writing: technical, journalistic, and creative. You are likely to find jobs and get paid for the first two (well, maybe not the second in this day and age), not so much for the third. So are all creative writers therefore non-writers, unless they manage to get published and noticed?
It’s a tough question. So few authors hit it big and become bestsellers, or even make enough to cover their life expenses by writing alone. Certainly for me, I’m not quitting my day jobs anytime soon. And I do like to think of myself as a writer—maybe soon I’ll be what’s considered a “traditionally published” writer.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Interesting
The last few weeks have the odd distinction of being totally action-packed with the feeling that I've been doing absolutely nothing. Probably because almost everything I'm doing is so mundane--cleaning out the house, dealing with bills, taking care of my gardens and the outside of the house generally. There have been a few trips here and there, and I've been absorbed in various books now that I am on an American literature and history kick. (Don't ask me why. I honestly don't know).
I've been so busy that I've even cut down on social networking (i.e., Facebook, Twitter, etc.), though I still check in each day. One thing I haven't given up is my daily viewing of my RSS feeds, and of course fark.com.
Here is a compilation of the "interesting" items I've come across in the last couple of weeks:
1. House Cats Know What They Want and How to Get It From You
Well duh. As if I needed a science blog to tell me that.
2. Troublesome spirits? Don't call TAPS. File a lawsuit:
Family Sues Genie, Alleges Harassment
3. Speaking of lawsuits:
Wells Fargo Sues Self, Hires Lawyers to Respond
This sounds like that old joke about the Beatles (used in the Rutles), where they all sued each other and one sued himself accidentally. Only it's not a joke. All I can say is that I'm glad I sold off my Wells Fargo mortgage 5 years ago...
4. In religion news--this is VERY cool, I can't wait to take a look at it:
Oldest Known Bible Goes Online
5. Since we're talking about Western religion, we should balance discussion of God with that of the Devil. Of course, these are all literary and film devils:
A Mashup of Devils
6. And some science thrown in, oldies but goodies:
More Richard Feynman Explanations
7. Swearing apparently relieves pain. My Dad must be in a lot of pain when he drives:
Why the &*^% Do We Swear?
8. Lastly--what could be better than a cat and a physics joke?
I'm in yr space-time...
I've been so busy that I've even cut down on social networking (i.e., Facebook, Twitter, etc.), though I still check in each day. One thing I haven't given up is my daily viewing of my RSS feeds, and of course fark.com.
Here is a compilation of the "interesting" items I've come across in the last couple of weeks:
1. House Cats Know What They Want and How to Get It From You
Well duh. As if I needed a science blog to tell me that.
2. Troublesome spirits? Don't call TAPS. File a lawsuit:
Family Sues Genie, Alleges Harassment
3. Speaking of lawsuits:
Wells Fargo Sues Self, Hires Lawyers to Respond
This sounds like that old joke about the Beatles (used in the Rutles), where they all sued each other and one sued himself accidentally. Only it's not a joke. All I can say is that I'm glad I sold off my Wells Fargo mortgage 5 years ago...
4. In religion news--this is VERY cool, I can't wait to take a look at it:
Oldest Known Bible Goes Online
5. Since we're talking about Western religion, we should balance discussion of God with that of the Devil. Of course, these are all literary and film devils:
A Mashup of Devils
6. And some science thrown in, oldies but goodies:
More Richard Feynman Explanations
7. Swearing apparently relieves pain. My Dad must be in a lot of pain when he drives:
Why the &*^% Do We Swear?
8. Lastly--what could be better than a cat and a physics joke?
I'm in yr space-time...
Sunday, July 12, 2009
Amma in New York 2009
On Wednesday and Thursday of this week, I went into New York City to see Amma. As I've mentioned in other posts, Amma is my guru, by virtue of her giving me a mantra and a name. I've been going to New York every year since 2002, when Amma was still coming to Columbia University. That was her last year at that venue; since then, she's come to the Manhattan Center every year. However, from what I've heard (and can obviously see), the Manhattan Center has become too small for her events. There is talk of holding it at the Jacob Javits Center next year, which is immense.
Every year that I come, it is different. That first year I was skeptical of what devotees told me about Amma, and eventually was able to see for myself what she was about. For several years I worked at the program, doing various sevas (i.e., service). In 2007, I had a very bad experience with one of the national tour coordinators while doing what I was instructed to do with my seva, and have not volunteered for seva since that time. The problem was not someone yelling at me, or a misunderstanding--I can handle both of those things. The problem was that I was told to come back in 20 minutes to help the coordinator, as she was doing something else. When she spoke to me, I never saw such contempt in a human being's eyes before. When I came back with the group I had to do the work, she'd already started the work with a different group and totally ignored me. This really got me angry, especially since I was the designated coordinator of that seva for New York. If she wanted to work with another group, she should have just said so--instead, I was standing around for 20 minutes when I could have been helping another group with Devi Bhava setup. That and the completely unnecessary level of disrespect completely turned me off. I realize that this kind of stuff goes on at various levels all the time, and I'm usually willing to put up with it--but don't waste my time and the money I've spent on hotel rooms to stay in New York to then not have me do any work at all.
So, between this and some of the other vicious politics, unctuousness, and general mud-slinging type sleaziness that goes on in the satsang groups over sevas, I've sort of given up. I realize that I've harbored a real bitterness towards the local groups. I did not attend satsang for almost 2 years, even though the New Jersey group was not the crux of the problem. Part of me understands that this sort of thing goes on around Amma. You would think that being around a spiritual master, people would be peaceful and behave better. In fact, the opposite is true. It's not limited to Amma's organization, nor to our particular satsangs. It is a human problem. Knowing this, I should just shrug it off and not let it concern me. But it's very difficult.
This year ended up being very different from all previous years for me. But before I get into that, I should explain a few things about Amma. I know I've talked about her before, but the subject comes up over and over again as to why so many people come to see her. She is called a "saint", a "humanitarian", a "hard worker", and a "very kind and compassionate lady". These things are all true, but they don't even scratch the surface of what Amma actually IS.
One year at the program, I was chatting with a Buddhist monk who had come to see Amma. He told me that out of all the saints and gurus in the world, there was maybe only one other person like Amma--she was an absolute rarity. This is not to say that there aren't other saintly people who show others the way--it's just that Amma is different. How?
A new video has come out of Amma's visit to Kenya to open an orphanage and provide educational scholarships to the children there. Dr. P.L.O Lumumba, who is a human rights activist, gave a speech at that visit, in which he says, "I know that all religions believe in Avatars of God, I suspect Mama (Mother) that you are such an avatar." To be clear, he is not talking about the cute little icons people make for themselves on forums and IM programs. An Avatar is a God incarnation. To the Hindus, Jesus Christ is an avatar. Amma said once that "an avatar is like a great ship that can carry many souls to liberation. A saint alone cannot do this." In short, as far as I'm concerned, Dr. Lumumba is correct--Amma is most certainly an avatar, and I'm convinced more and more of it every year. She doesn't care whether you believe that or not--she has no opinion about what anyone thinks of her, she just sees the best in everyone, and attempts to help those who seek her help. But Amma is an avatar of the Goddess Kali, so the way can be fraught with chaos, difficulty and uncertainty. That said--it is still far easier under Amma to achieve liberation than it would be on one's own. She makes things comparatively easy. There is a Hindu belief that to simply be in the room with such a person can erase as much as 80% of one's past karma. And then to have this person physically embrace you...when you think about it in context, it staggers the mind.
So, that sums up what I believe about Amma, and as I've said before, I'm pretty skeptical and cynical about spiritual leaders. This year, I came to receive Amma's darshan (i.e., her hug) on Wednesday morning, and I arrived very early for that. I also came Thursday afternoon around 3:30-4:00 to hear Amma's talk and participate in the Atma Puja, which she performs with those gathered for the peace and harmony of the world. I brought a book with me both times, as I knew I'd be waiting on line for some time.
When I entered the hall on Wednesday, I saw some of the folks that I didn't not care for straight off. Somehow though, I felt a stillness settle over me, so I had no strong feeling about their presence. Suddenly I felt a great rushing in the center of my chest, which is the seat of the anahata (heart) chakra. It felt like a tornado was driving through the center. I alternately felt peaceful and sorrowful--I found myself crying for no reason on and off. I wasn't the only one--I noticed several people around me similarly affected during their meditations. Amma's darshan was long--she was talking to someone while she was holding me, which is what everyone hopes for--it gives you a bit more time than that 30 seconds with her. She never looked at me, though I've learned not to be concerned about that.
Thursday I was standing on line again, and was reading Ambrose Bierce, of all authors. Bierce is known for his bitter cynicism, and as I was reading, I was aware of how bitter I was in general. It almost took me by surprise, and caused me a lot of physical pain in my chest. I felt like crying again several times, though I was standing outside, so it would have seemed odd. Standing next to me on line was a woman I recognized from satsang, whom I hadn't seen in a long time. She was coordinating one of the sevas that I'd coordinated about 3 or 4 years ago, and it's one of the most difficult. She started talking to me about how difficult the politics were, and how uncertain she felt about whether or not it was the right seva for her to do--perhaps she didn't have what it took to do it. As we started talking, I realized that a lot of how she felt mirrored how I felt about the whole seva business. It made me feel a bit better about the whole thing. When we got into the hall, that sense of a great force rushing through the anahata chakra started again. By the time I left that night, a lot of my bitterness had evaporated, and I felt equanimity for the first time in a long time. I called my mother the next day, and found that a lot of the bitterness I've felt towards her for various things had also evaporated. That's no small thing. I was physically ill when I got home, but that is not unusual--it's like a massive purgation of bad stuff happens in the presence of the Master, and it happens every year.
So, Amma certainly did some interesting things for me this year, and as usual, they happen subtly, not overtly. During her talk, she said two things that stood out to me. One was that to achieve liberation, one had to develop dispassion. By dispassion she doesn't mean not caring--it means not feeling any attachment one way or the other to things of this world. There are 3 kinds of dispassion--temporary, gradual, and intense. Temporary is what we feel after an event gets us hyped up to "give up everything", but a few days later we go back to the way we were. Gradual is what most people on a spiritual path experience--not sufficient for liberation, but good nonetheless. Intense is really giving up everything and focusing only on God. I imagine that's the hardest--there are so many attachments...
Amma also spoke about our obsession with our bodies. She says the body is like a rented house--you should try to keep it clean and in good order, but you're not going to invest your life savings into fixing it up. Amma definitely has a way with simile and metaphor, and I like this one a lot. People spend way too much time on the exterior--if they focused more on their interior, they would automatically look better on the outside.
Well, back to my work at home, before this post gets TOO long...
Every year that I come, it is different. That first year I was skeptical of what devotees told me about Amma, and eventually was able to see for myself what she was about. For several years I worked at the program, doing various sevas (i.e., service). In 2007, I had a very bad experience with one of the national tour coordinators while doing what I was instructed to do with my seva, and have not volunteered for seva since that time. The problem was not someone yelling at me, or a misunderstanding--I can handle both of those things. The problem was that I was told to come back in 20 minutes to help the coordinator, as she was doing something else. When she spoke to me, I never saw such contempt in a human being's eyes before. When I came back with the group I had to do the work, she'd already started the work with a different group and totally ignored me. This really got me angry, especially since I was the designated coordinator of that seva for New York. If she wanted to work with another group, she should have just said so--instead, I was standing around for 20 minutes when I could have been helping another group with Devi Bhava setup. That and the completely unnecessary level of disrespect completely turned me off. I realize that this kind of stuff goes on at various levels all the time, and I'm usually willing to put up with it--but don't waste my time and the money I've spent on hotel rooms to stay in New York to then not have me do any work at all.
So, between this and some of the other vicious politics, unctuousness, and general mud-slinging type sleaziness that goes on in the satsang groups over sevas, I've sort of given up. I realize that I've harbored a real bitterness towards the local groups. I did not attend satsang for almost 2 years, even though the New Jersey group was not the crux of the problem. Part of me understands that this sort of thing goes on around Amma. You would think that being around a spiritual master, people would be peaceful and behave better. In fact, the opposite is true. It's not limited to Amma's organization, nor to our particular satsangs. It is a human problem. Knowing this, I should just shrug it off and not let it concern me. But it's very difficult.
This year ended up being very different from all previous years for me. But before I get into that, I should explain a few things about Amma. I know I've talked about her before, but the subject comes up over and over again as to why so many people come to see her. She is called a "saint", a "humanitarian", a "hard worker", and a "very kind and compassionate lady". These things are all true, but they don't even scratch the surface of what Amma actually IS.
One year at the program, I was chatting with a Buddhist monk who had come to see Amma. He told me that out of all the saints and gurus in the world, there was maybe only one other person like Amma--she was an absolute rarity. This is not to say that there aren't other saintly people who show others the way--it's just that Amma is different. How?
A new video has come out of Amma's visit to Kenya to open an orphanage and provide educational scholarships to the children there. Dr. P.L.O Lumumba, who is a human rights activist, gave a speech at that visit, in which he says, "I know that all religions believe in Avatars of God, I suspect Mama (Mother) that you are such an avatar." To be clear, he is not talking about the cute little icons people make for themselves on forums and IM programs. An Avatar is a God incarnation. To the Hindus, Jesus Christ is an avatar. Amma said once that "an avatar is like a great ship that can carry many souls to liberation. A saint alone cannot do this." In short, as far as I'm concerned, Dr. Lumumba is correct--Amma is most certainly an avatar, and I'm convinced more and more of it every year. She doesn't care whether you believe that or not--she has no opinion about what anyone thinks of her, she just sees the best in everyone, and attempts to help those who seek her help. But Amma is an avatar of the Goddess Kali, so the way can be fraught with chaos, difficulty and uncertainty. That said--it is still far easier under Amma to achieve liberation than it would be on one's own. She makes things comparatively easy. There is a Hindu belief that to simply be in the room with such a person can erase as much as 80% of one's past karma. And then to have this person physically embrace you...when you think about it in context, it staggers the mind.
So, that sums up what I believe about Amma, and as I've said before, I'm pretty skeptical and cynical about spiritual leaders. This year, I came to receive Amma's darshan (i.e., her hug) on Wednesday morning, and I arrived very early for that. I also came Thursday afternoon around 3:30-4:00 to hear Amma's talk and participate in the Atma Puja, which she performs with those gathered for the peace and harmony of the world. I brought a book with me both times, as I knew I'd be waiting on line for some time.
When I entered the hall on Wednesday, I saw some of the folks that I didn't not care for straight off. Somehow though, I felt a stillness settle over me, so I had no strong feeling about their presence. Suddenly I felt a great rushing in the center of my chest, which is the seat of the anahata (heart) chakra. It felt like a tornado was driving through the center. I alternately felt peaceful and sorrowful--I found myself crying for no reason on and off. I wasn't the only one--I noticed several people around me similarly affected during their meditations. Amma's darshan was long--she was talking to someone while she was holding me, which is what everyone hopes for--it gives you a bit more time than that 30 seconds with her. She never looked at me, though I've learned not to be concerned about that.
Thursday I was standing on line again, and was reading Ambrose Bierce, of all authors. Bierce is known for his bitter cynicism, and as I was reading, I was aware of how bitter I was in general. It almost took me by surprise, and caused me a lot of physical pain in my chest. I felt like crying again several times, though I was standing outside, so it would have seemed odd. Standing next to me on line was a woman I recognized from satsang, whom I hadn't seen in a long time. She was coordinating one of the sevas that I'd coordinated about 3 or 4 years ago, and it's one of the most difficult. She started talking to me about how difficult the politics were, and how uncertain she felt about whether or not it was the right seva for her to do--perhaps she didn't have what it took to do it. As we started talking, I realized that a lot of how she felt mirrored how I felt about the whole seva business. It made me feel a bit better about the whole thing. When we got into the hall, that sense of a great force rushing through the anahata chakra started again. By the time I left that night, a lot of my bitterness had evaporated, and I felt equanimity for the first time in a long time. I called my mother the next day, and found that a lot of the bitterness I've felt towards her for various things had also evaporated. That's no small thing. I was physically ill when I got home, but that is not unusual--it's like a massive purgation of bad stuff happens in the presence of the Master, and it happens every year.
So, Amma certainly did some interesting things for me this year, and as usual, they happen subtly, not overtly. During her talk, she said two things that stood out to me. One was that to achieve liberation, one had to develop dispassion. By dispassion she doesn't mean not caring--it means not feeling any attachment one way or the other to things of this world. There are 3 kinds of dispassion--temporary, gradual, and intense. Temporary is what we feel after an event gets us hyped up to "give up everything", but a few days later we go back to the way we were. Gradual is what most people on a spiritual path experience--not sufficient for liberation, but good nonetheless. Intense is really giving up everything and focusing only on God. I imagine that's the hardest--there are so many attachments...
Amma also spoke about our obsession with our bodies. She says the body is like a rented house--you should try to keep it clean and in good order, but you're not going to invest your life savings into fixing it up. Amma definitely has a way with simile and metaphor, and I like this one a lot. People spend way too much time on the exterior--if they focused more on their interior, they would automatically look better on the outside.
Well, back to my work at home, before this post gets TOO long...
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