Sunday, 26 September 2010
Wake Up!
There are some who influence our lives as models fit for emulation. Others simply burn brightly, dazzling and disturbing briefly with their incandescence, before leaving this theatre of life exhausted, the light extinguished seemingly before its proper time.
Into the latter category steps one-time poet and singer with the Doors, Jim Morrison. Some portray him as the great rock god, the lizard king, heir to the mantle of Rimbaud; others as a drunken, debauched caricature of rock music excess. Both are probably in their way correct. But it is in celebration of the lizard king that we come today.....
Jim Morrison's life is sometimes depicted as a tragedy. From first flickerings of success to death in a bathtub in Paris in six short years. I am inclined to read things differently, however. There is a certain 'rightness' about the trajectory of that meteoric life: every note, every one-night stand, every confrontation, each and every shot of whisky, have their place in a story that could be nothing else but short and sharp. It is as if the gods took as a vessel for communication a particular human life and, once done, discarded it by the wayside. It could be no other way. There is only so much daemonic frenzy a human soul can bear and pour forth before it burns out. The same goes for those others who came incandescent, before the fire was extinguished at an early age: Mozart and Schubert; Raphael and Giorgione; Shelley and Keats. Morrison joins their noble ranks. This is the Romantic reading, at least.
At a certain point in his onstage career, Jim Morrison took to berating the audience at the beginning of a concert:'Wake up!' he would yell into the midst of the collective candyfloss. And, while forcing people to awake from their psychic slumbers cannot be done, there's no harm in politely suggesting that maybe, just maybe, they are wasting away in the unwitting throes of a deep unconscious sleep.....
Forty years on, and the collective somnolence continues, now aided and abetted by all manner of socially-sanctioned tranquilisers, the like of which make diazepam seem like a pick-me-up tonic. Today's dumbers and downers come in the form of new technologies, all of which perform the major function of keeping us asleep and blocking the mental pathways into those most dangerous of territories, personal introspection and self knowledge. Take the texting and mobile phone culture: designed to keep the user incessantly occupied, hopping, skipping, and jumping, but always on the surface of things. Info bytes:'I'm on the train.' Never enquiry about the condition of the soul. How many people cannot venture beyond the front door without their constant companion clutched hard in their hand? Next up: multi-channel television and computers. So much information, all there at the push of a key or a button. Total convenience, instant distraction. Ten minutes to spare: time to skim a few dozen channels, check the sports results, the latest celebrity news. Anything to escape that most dangerous and frightening of all things - stopping, being still and experiencing what is really going on. I know: it happens to me. Nowadays, I need to make far more effort to stay still, do nothing, just 'be', than fifteen years ago. I am not immune to the grasshopper mentality which has infected the whole of western 'civilisation' with a collective attention deficit disorder.
And what about digital cameras and home video? The ease and cheapness of digital photography mean that it is now possible to compile a full record of a holiday for family and friends without actually experiencing a place at all! Notice how people no longer stop to directly sense their surroundings. They simply get hold of the camera and click. The non-experienced present exists merely as a potential record of the past.
All of this serves to create a fast-moving, surface-defined mentality that takes itself as the norm so much that it does not even consider slowing down as a possibility. And this mentality of zappy stimulated dissatisfaction generated by full deployment of these modern technologies then feeds into the apotheosis of Control System strategies....... shopping.
Walk into the indoor shopping mall, and the narcosis is complete. Even those who normally go about life with a sense of vital purpose soon acquire the glazed eyes, the slow, soporific way of moving, the massaged brain, the softly-softly idiocy that are prerequisites for hardcore shopping. The population finally reduced to the narcoleptic dream state in order to fulfil its major functions at the service of the Control System: spend/consume and shut up.
While it may be untenable to conceive of this unfolding of modern technologies as part of an active conspiracy, still they are tools and devices that have the full encouragement of our current Control System and its emissaries. Do not think that a technology is neutral. If in doubt, imagine the opposite. A technology that enables people to reflect, slow down in order to become more aware, to go deeper into themselves and the world around them. As a result, they become more interested in matters of spirit and soul, less enthralled by Saturday afternoon shopping and the acquisition of consumer goods. Do we imagine dominator culture happily tolerating such a thing? Actually, such a technology does exist. It was discovered in the 1940s, developed in the 1950s, and popularised in the 1960s. It is called LSD. See what the Control System thinks of that.
The mass sleep of modern uncivilisation would bring no pleasure to Jim Morrison's soul (or souls: he toyed with the notion of being entered as a boy by the several souls of Native American Indians he saw newly dead in a road accident. 'Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding/ Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind'). Wake up!
Into the latter category steps one-time poet and singer with the Doors, Jim Morrison. Some portray him as the great rock god, the lizard king, heir to the mantle of Rimbaud; others as a drunken, debauched caricature of rock music excess. Both are probably in their way correct. But it is in celebration of the lizard king that we come today.....
Jim Morrison's life is sometimes depicted as a tragedy. From first flickerings of success to death in a bathtub in Paris in six short years. I am inclined to read things differently, however. There is a certain 'rightness' about the trajectory of that meteoric life: every note, every one-night stand, every confrontation, each and every shot of whisky, have their place in a story that could be nothing else but short and sharp. It is as if the gods took as a vessel for communication a particular human life and, once done, discarded it by the wayside. It could be no other way. There is only so much daemonic frenzy a human soul can bear and pour forth before it burns out. The same goes for those others who came incandescent, before the fire was extinguished at an early age: Mozart and Schubert; Raphael and Giorgione; Shelley and Keats. Morrison joins their noble ranks. This is the Romantic reading, at least.
At a certain point in his onstage career, Jim Morrison took to berating the audience at the beginning of a concert:'Wake up!' he would yell into the midst of the collective candyfloss. And, while forcing people to awake from their psychic slumbers cannot be done, there's no harm in politely suggesting that maybe, just maybe, they are wasting away in the unwitting throes of a deep unconscious sleep.....
Forty years on, and the collective somnolence continues, now aided and abetted by all manner of socially-sanctioned tranquilisers, the like of which make diazepam seem like a pick-me-up tonic. Today's dumbers and downers come in the form of new technologies, all of which perform the major function of keeping us asleep and blocking the mental pathways into those most dangerous of territories, personal introspection and self knowledge. Take the texting and mobile phone culture: designed to keep the user incessantly occupied, hopping, skipping, and jumping, but always on the surface of things. Info bytes:'I'm on the train.' Never enquiry about the condition of the soul. How many people cannot venture beyond the front door without their constant companion clutched hard in their hand? Next up: multi-channel television and computers. So much information, all there at the push of a key or a button. Total convenience, instant distraction. Ten minutes to spare: time to skim a few dozen channels, check the sports results, the latest celebrity news. Anything to escape that most dangerous and frightening of all things - stopping, being still and experiencing what is really going on. I know: it happens to me. Nowadays, I need to make far more effort to stay still, do nothing, just 'be', than fifteen years ago. I am not immune to the grasshopper mentality which has infected the whole of western 'civilisation' with a collective attention deficit disorder.
And what about digital cameras and home video? The ease and cheapness of digital photography mean that it is now possible to compile a full record of a holiday for family and friends without actually experiencing a place at all! Notice how people no longer stop to directly sense their surroundings. They simply get hold of the camera and click. The non-experienced present exists merely as a potential record of the past.
All of this serves to create a fast-moving, surface-defined mentality that takes itself as the norm so much that it does not even consider slowing down as a possibility. And this mentality of zappy stimulated dissatisfaction generated by full deployment of these modern technologies then feeds into the apotheosis of Control System strategies....... shopping.
Walk into the indoor shopping mall, and the narcosis is complete. Even those who normally go about life with a sense of vital purpose soon acquire the glazed eyes, the slow, soporific way of moving, the massaged brain, the softly-softly idiocy that are prerequisites for hardcore shopping. The population finally reduced to the narcoleptic dream state in order to fulfil its major functions at the service of the Control System: spend/consume and shut up.
While it may be untenable to conceive of this unfolding of modern technologies as part of an active conspiracy, still they are tools and devices that have the full encouragement of our current Control System and its emissaries. Do not think that a technology is neutral. If in doubt, imagine the opposite. A technology that enables people to reflect, slow down in order to become more aware, to go deeper into themselves and the world around them. As a result, they become more interested in matters of spirit and soul, less enthralled by Saturday afternoon shopping and the acquisition of consumer goods. Do we imagine dominator culture happily tolerating such a thing? Actually, such a technology does exist. It was discovered in the 1940s, developed in the 1950s, and popularised in the 1960s. It is called LSD. See what the Control System thinks of that.
The mass sleep of modern uncivilisation would bring no pleasure to Jim Morrison's soul (or souls: he toyed with the notion of being entered as a boy by the several souls of Native American Indians he saw newly dead in a road accident. 'Indians scattered on dawn's highway bleeding/ Ghosts crowd the young child's fragile eggshell mind'). Wake up!
Thursday, 9 September 2010
Over the Rainbow: the 2nd ARC Convention
I had vowed not to go to the 2nd ARC Convention. Once more the venue was Bath, far away. Being such a busy and obviously important person, I didn't have the time for such a luxury, and I didn't have the money either. Then I saw the line-up of speakers, and changed my mind.....
ARC - Alternative Research Community - is the brainchild (or soulchild, more like) of the seemingly indefatigable and infinitely good-humoured Karen Sawyer. One of Karen's many remarkable qualities, fully in evidence over the weekend, is that nothing appears to faze her. The mikes don't work: no problem. Computers crash: a mild expletive before she's up there on the stage joking, helping to sort things out. Karen actually introduces the weekend in front of a large picture of Sheela Na Gig, ancient representation of the eternal feminine, and a portal into another reality, the deeper reality of the event to come. Then she starts to sing/chant primordial sounds, and a communal shift in consciousness seems to take place. It is not so much HER singing, as allowing herself to be the vehicle for an archetypal dimension to make itself known through her. The atmosphere is electric; the weekend has been blessed by something sacred.
The first main speaker on Saturday morning is Michael Dunning. He has come to talk to us about, er...... a tree. Now, while I derive a good deal of personal sustenance from the non-human world - a skim through this blog will make as much obvious -, I harbour doubts as to whether he can maintain the interest of all of us for ninety minutes by talking about his relationship to a tree. The arboreal manifestation in question is the yew, a magnificent plant that reaches both upwards into the sky and downwards deep into the earth. Michael relates the rich mythology connected to the yew, and his own healing from serious illness through lying for long periods beneath its mighty boughs. I am entranced.
Next up is Peter Taylor. I am extremely grateful to Peter for his presentation at the previous convention. Alarm bells had been ringing for some time, as I witnessed weird things in the so-called green movement: lies, half-truths, support for big business destroying the natural world in the name of saving the planet, with zero respect for the sacred nature of things. Then I heard Peter speak on the 'corporatisation of the environmental movement', and I realised that my own instincts had been correct: much that passes itself as 'green' is a sham and a scam, absorbed into the dominator culture mainstream. This time round, Peter ends by talking about his own spiritual work, transforming energy and consciousness through the chakras, starting at the base and moving upwards. His message seems to be 'no transformation of self, no real change of the world.' He appears invigorated by this part of his presentation. I recommend finding out more about Peter's work on climate and the non-greens on the holistic channel and on Red Ice.
Afternoon arrives; enter Michael Cremo. The 'alternative research' giving its name to the convention is that which the 'information filter' imposed by mainstream dominator culture deems to be unfit for general consumption. This is work, often involving years of painstaking investigation, that does not sit comfortably with the belief and value systems that form the basis of our current non-civilisation. Michael's 'forbidden archaeology' is a classic case, calling into question as it does the orthodox Darwinian view of human origins. Michael's claim is that fully human remains have been discovered that vastly predate those normally recognised as being the earliest, findings that have been rubbished and discarded purely because they do not conform with the conventional belief system.
By the time Kenn Thomas takes centre stage to take us through the incredible amount of detailed investigation that goes into conspiracy theories, an imbalance has already occurred in the energetics of my chakra system, with a concentration of energy in the upper chakras (experienced less esoterically as a brain being immersed in a deep fryer). I am unable to follow clearly, but two vignettes leave their imprint. Firstly, there is a hilarious clip of Timothy Leary being 'interviewed' by a right-wing madman on American television. Then, as part of Kenn's tribute to recently deceased Jerry E. Smith, we see Jerry in full flow, describing the two main groups who wield power over our modern culture. There are the Banksters, who we are all familiar with; and there are the Water Melons, referred to on Palegreenvortex variously as eco-fascists and green Stalinists. Water Melons: green on the outside, red on the inside. Brilliant. And, while the Banksters and Water Melons appear superficially to be at odds with each other, they are actually part of one and the same system.
While those of infinite energy dance the night away to Karen Sawyer and Dirty Dog, I retire early to my room, to absorb the day's proceedings. Sunday morning, I am fresh and early for education, entertainment and participation from Nick Clements as he leads us into aspects of shamanism in modern times. The pace remains more relaxed with Ellis C. Taylor's tales of encounters and experiences with what we can loosely call the paranormal: time shifts, orbs, and others. For some this might appear ridiculous in the extreme. To me, it's pretty much business as normal. And that's either worrying or consoling, depending on which side of the fence you've decided to put up your tent.......
It is at the beginning of the final afternoon panel session that something begins to click. Someone asks 'Where are the women?' to the team of biological males lined up on the stage. Sitting to the side, Karen leaps up immediately, talking about male and female as literal physical embodiments being less the point than masculine and feminine energies (I am paraphrasing wickedly here, by the way...). She takes a good look at the array of goodly gentlemen on the stage before pronouncing that, in her experience, they have all recognised the feminine within, so the feminine energy has been well represented during the course of the weekend. What's more, she does not consider herself as a 'masculine' woman, but nevertheless requires access to that kind of energy, to organise conventions such as this for example.
A light begins to dimly flicker. Feminine as personal realisation, masculine as active principle for that realisation. My mind drifts off towards the koan that has followed me intermittently over the past thirty five years, and right into the palegreenvortex, appearing all over the shop either implicitly or explicitly: 'How to make the revolution? The demonstration or Zen?' It begins to vaguely dawn that, as so often, the answer to 'either/or' is in fact 'both/and'. 'Zen', personal transformation, and 'the demonstration', aka directed action in the world, are not opposites but compliments. Each needs the other for its complete fulfilment. For a Milarepa, directed action may be accomplished simply by seeding the collective unconscious with the power of your positive thought-forms. For most of us, a more mundane manifestation is required as well. The question is put further (by me, in truth): is there a place for direct action? Peter Taylor opines that yes, there may be a place, but the emphasis must be on our own transformations. And he is right. For me, the implications are clear. Write and protest about windfarms and drug laws, as manifestations of a reality I feel deeply inside. But remember that this is not the main story: it is an interface with mainstream dominator reality, and too much cannot be expected from this. Most importantly, take up the shamanic rattle, go deep into my own soul and the soul of the world, and travel wherever the journey may beckon.
I awake on the sleeper train soon after the sun has risen. I open the slight cabin window. A hillside of heather stretches upwards, before meeting a sky of pristine early morning blue. The gods and goddesses of the Scottish Highlands have woken to greet me. A tear wells up in my eye.
ARC - Alternative Research Community - is the brainchild (or soulchild, more like) of the seemingly indefatigable and infinitely good-humoured Karen Sawyer. One of Karen's many remarkable qualities, fully in evidence over the weekend, is that nothing appears to faze her. The mikes don't work: no problem. Computers crash: a mild expletive before she's up there on the stage joking, helping to sort things out. Karen actually introduces the weekend in front of a large picture of Sheela Na Gig, ancient representation of the eternal feminine, and a portal into another reality, the deeper reality of the event to come. Then she starts to sing/chant primordial sounds, and a communal shift in consciousness seems to take place. It is not so much HER singing, as allowing herself to be the vehicle for an archetypal dimension to make itself known through her. The atmosphere is electric; the weekend has been blessed by something sacred.
The first main speaker on Saturday morning is Michael Dunning. He has come to talk to us about, er...... a tree. Now, while I derive a good deal of personal sustenance from the non-human world - a skim through this blog will make as much obvious -, I harbour doubts as to whether he can maintain the interest of all of us for ninety minutes by talking about his relationship to a tree. The arboreal manifestation in question is the yew, a magnificent plant that reaches both upwards into the sky and downwards deep into the earth. Michael relates the rich mythology connected to the yew, and his own healing from serious illness through lying for long periods beneath its mighty boughs. I am entranced.
Next up is Peter Taylor. I am extremely grateful to Peter for his presentation at the previous convention. Alarm bells had been ringing for some time, as I witnessed weird things in the so-called green movement: lies, half-truths, support for big business destroying the natural world in the name of saving the planet, with zero respect for the sacred nature of things. Then I heard Peter speak on the 'corporatisation of the environmental movement', and I realised that my own instincts had been correct: much that passes itself as 'green' is a sham and a scam, absorbed into the dominator culture mainstream. This time round, Peter ends by talking about his own spiritual work, transforming energy and consciousness through the chakras, starting at the base and moving upwards. His message seems to be 'no transformation of self, no real change of the world.' He appears invigorated by this part of his presentation. I recommend finding out more about Peter's work on climate and the non-greens on the holistic channel and on Red Ice.
Afternoon arrives; enter Michael Cremo. The 'alternative research' giving its name to the convention is that which the 'information filter' imposed by mainstream dominator culture deems to be unfit for general consumption. This is work, often involving years of painstaking investigation, that does not sit comfortably with the belief and value systems that form the basis of our current non-civilisation. Michael's 'forbidden archaeology' is a classic case, calling into question as it does the orthodox Darwinian view of human origins. Michael's claim is that fully human remains have been discovered that vastly predate those normally recognised as being the earliest, findings that have been rubbished and discarded purely because they do not conform with the conventional belief system.
By the time Kenn Thomas takes centre stage to take us through the incredible amount of detailed investigation that goes into conspiracy theories, an imbalance has already occurred in the energetics of my chakra system, with a concentration of energy in the upper chakras (experienced less esoterically as a brain being immersed in a deep fryer). I am unable to follow clearly, but two vignettes leave their imprint. Firstly, there is a hilarious clip of Timothy Leary being 'interviewed' by a right-wing madman on American television. Then, as part of Kenn's tribute to recently deceased Jerry E. Smith, we see Jerry in full flow, describing the two main groups who wield power over our modern culture. There are the Banksters, who we are all familiar with; and there are the Water Melons, referred to on Palegreenvortex variously as eco-fascists and green Stalinists. Water Melons: green on the outside, red on the inside. Brilliant. And, while the Banksters and Water Melons appear superficially to be at odds with each other, they are actually part of one and the same system.
While those of infinite energy dance the night away to Karen Sawyer and Dirty Dog, I retire early to my room, to absorb the day's proceedings. Sunday morning, I am fresh and early for education, entertainment and participation from Nick Clements as he leads us into aspects of shamanism in modern times. The pace remains more relaxed with Ellis C. Taylor's tales of encounters and experiences with what we can loosely call the paranormal: time shifts, orbs, and others. For some this might appear ridiculous in the extreme. To me, it's pretty much business as normal. And that's either worrying or consoling, depending on which side of the fence you've decided to put up your tent.......
It is at the beginning of the final afternoon panel session that something begins to click. Someone asks 'Where are the women?' to the team of biological males lined up on the stage. Sitting to the side, Karen leaps up immediately, talking about male and female as literal physical embodiments being less the point than masculine and feminine energies (I am paraphrasing wickedly here, by the way...). She takes a good look at the array of goodly gentlemen on the stage before pronouncing that, in her experience, they have all recognised the feminine within, so the feminine energy has been well represented during the course of the weekend. What's more, she does not consider herself as a 'masculine' woman, but nevertheless requires access to that kind of energy, to organise conventions such as this for example.
A light begins to dimly flicker. Feminine as personal realisation, masculine as active principle for that realisation. My mind drifts off towards the koan that has followed me intermittently over the past thirty five years, and right into the palegreenvortex, appearing all over the shop either implicitly or explicitly: 'How to make the revolution? The demonstration or Zen?' It begins to vaguely dawn that, as so often, the answer to 'either/or' is in fact 'both/and'. 'Zen', personal transformation, and 'the demonstration', aka directed action in the world, are not opposites but compliments. Each needs the other for its complete fulfilment. For a Milarepa, directed action may be accomplished simply by seeding the collective unconscious with the power of your positive thought-forms. For most of us, a more mundane manifestation is required as well. The question is put further (by me, in truth): is there a place for direct action? Peter Taylor opines that yes, there may be a place, but the emphasis must be on our own transformations. And he is right. For me, the implications are clear. Write and protest about windfarms and drug laws, as manifestations of a reality I feel deeply inside. But remember that this is not the main story: it is an interface with mainstream dominator reality, and too much cannot be expected from this. Most importantly, take up the shamanic rattle, go deep into my own soul and the soul of the world, and travel wherever the journey may beckon.
I awake on the sleeper train soon after the sun has risen. I open the slight cabin window. A hillside of heather stretches upwards, before meeting a sky of pristine early morning blue. The gods and goddesses of the Scottish Highlands have woken to greet me. A tear wells up in my eye.
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