Sunday, December 25, 2005
New Year
We get to begin anew. All debts (except the Visa and Mastercard) are cancelled. Out with the old in with the new and all that.
In the New Year, I will:
1.) Not be so ponderous.
2.) Read other books besides ancient arcane wisdom books that lead me to take myself and others too seriously.
3.) Have fun again.
4.) Continue not reading the papers.
5.) Continue not watching the boob tube.
6.) Realize there are some things I am doing right.
7.) Quit being so hard on myself.
8.) Celebrate the goodness in my friends.
9.) Try to gain new friends in unexpected places.
10) Pray daily. At least a bedtime prayer.
11.) Attend church more often.
12.) Simplify, simplify, simplify.
13.) Continue to smile, perhaps more convincingly.
14.) Wish the best for others!
15.) Be ten percent more responsible (progress is made in tiny steps).
16.) Keep the car clean.
We get to begin anew. All debts (except the Visa and Mastercard) are cancelled. Out with the old in with the new and all that.
In the New Year, I will:
1.) Not be so ponderous.
2.) Read other books besides ancient arcane wisdom books that lead me to take myself and others too seriously.
3.) Have fun again.
4.) Continue not reading the papers.
5.) Continue not watching the boob tube.
6.) Realize there are some things I am doing right.
7.) Quit being so hard on myself.
8.) Celebrate the goodness in my friends.
9.) Try to gain new friends in unexpected places.
10) Pray daily. At least a bedtime prayer.
11.) Attend church more often.
12.) Simplify, simplify, simplify.
13.) Continue to smile, perhaps more convincingly.
14.) Wish the best for others!
15.) Be ten percent more responsible (progress is made in tiny steps).
16.) Keep the car clean.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
Potential
Being young, intelligent and beautiful, you have the whole world at your feet.
You have nothing but time on your hands, which you use intelligently by working part-time and going to school.
You look at me to learn prudentially what not to do.
How did he wind up here?
What is his plan?
True.
I am the product of misspent youth.
I required luxury and time and rich foods and strong drinks.
I could not live in the spartan spectrum of existence required to get a four year degree.
And I study now more than I ever did.
But it's too late for study now.
My time has come and gone for greatness or wealth.
But I am not poverty-stricken.
I do not work loads of overtime.
I do not have pressing deadlines to meet.
I am not required to sit at a desk in a cubicle all day long.
I have a wife and son who love me.
And I love them. Boy do I love them.
I will not be an engineer.
Or a master draftsman.
A journalist, an editor or a teacher. Or a writer of popular books.
I will not be a banker. Or a venture capitalist, or an enterpreneur.
What I do have though is some spirit of all of these things.
Damned by being interested in too many things and not having the knowledge to study them properly.
I just don't have the discipline or the focus to narrow it all down to that one thing.
Moved by the sciences, the humanities, nature, religion, philosophy and art.
So this is to the youth who uses his time wisely.
And sacrifices his time.
And lives the threadbare existence required of the middle class to attend college.
This is for all the eighteen year olds who know at least somewhat what they want to do with their careers.
Intelligent.
Hard working.
Sacrificing.
Forecasting.
Sober and lean.
Godspeed.
Being young, intelligent and beautiful, you have the whole world at your feet.
You have nothing but time on your hands, which you use intelligently by working part-time and going to school.
You look at me to learn prudentially what not to do.
How did he wind up here?
What is his plan?
True.
I am the product of misspent youth.
I required luxury and time and rich foods and strong drinks.
I could not live in the spartan spectrum of existence required to get a four year degree.
And I study now more than I ever did.
But it's too late for study now.
My time has come and gone for greatness or wealth.
But I am not poverty-stricken.
I do not work loads of overtime.
I do not have pressing deadlines to meet.
I am not required to sit at a desk in a cubicle all day long.
I have a wife and son who love me.
And I love them. Boy do I love them.
I will not be an engineer.
Or a master draftsman.
A journalist, an editor or a teacher. Or a writer of popular books.
I will not be a banker. Or a venture capitalist, or an enterpreneur.
What I do have though is some spirit of all of these things.
Damned by being interested in too many things and not having the knowledge to study them properly.
I just don't have the discipline or the focus to narrow it all down to that one thing.
Moved by the sciences, the humanities, nature, religion, philosophy and art.
So this is to the youth who uses his time wisely.
And sacrifices his time.
And lives the threadbare existence required of the middle class to attend college.
This is for all the eighteen year olds who know at least somewhat what they want to do with their careers.
Intelligent.
Hard working.
Sacrificing.
Forecasting.
Sober and lean.
Godspeed.
Saturday, December 17, 2005
Van Morrison
Tonight, on the way home, from a busy day at the store (the busiest retail day of the year according to some), I popped in Van Morrison's 'What's Wrong With This Picture'.
I have been a Van the Man fan now for at least ten years.
I purchased 'Enlightenment' when it came out. I loved the fact that Van wrote the lyrics, wrote the music, played the music and sang the songs. I loved the fact Van let his musicians have breathing room, each offering their own nuances to the mix. Something about the title track stuck with, and still sticks, with me.
'Well chop that wood and carry water, what's the sound of one hand clapping, enlightenment, don't know what it is'. The lyric is so true of a westerner who is trying to grasp eastern mysticism, or just somebody like me who's tired at the end of the day and is seeking some solace.
After 'Enlightenment', I bought the 'Best Of', the one with the old fashioned mic on the cover. I was treated to jazz, blues, gospel, soul and rock. Not a bad pedigree from an irishman who started out in the volatile sixties and didn't quite fit in.
The deeper I got into Van's music, the more I realized certain themes were important to The Man.
Apparently, Van had some really bad experiences with record execs early on in his career, which makes what seems to be a justifiable paranoia of the industry types for him. Many of his songs talk about being threatened with being blackballed or perhaps being physically harmed by the industry men.
Love gone bad is another theme Mr. Morrison tackles on many an occassion. There is a boy and there is a girl, but there is a storm brewing in the distance, or perhaps more accurately, a tempest in the teacup, and everything is all wrong. The woman loses interest or the man suffers too much stress, etc. etc. etc.
Running through the Man's music too, is the olden time mystical path. The Ancient of Days is called upon, the One is beatified, the Common is commiserated. Van is obviously a spiritual seeker and shares this viewpoint with the listener to great effect.
Van's songs can last six to seven minutes, forever in modern rock terms, when many songs are plowed through in less than three minutes.
The listener is treated to strings, acoustic bass and guitar, harmonica, Hammond organ, whistles and bells and so forth. The mix is usually stripped down to the essentials, but is fleshed out enough to make one think he is getting a bargain for his money.
Can't say enough good things about the Man.
Long may he blow his sax, play his harmonica, strum his guitar and bass, and sing with that Irish blue-eyed soul-ish voice that always sounds just a little out of joint.
Tonight, on the way home, from a busy day at the store (the busiest retail day of the year according to some), I popped in Van Morrison's 'What's Wrong With This Picture'.
I have been a Van the Man fan now for at least ten years.
I purchased 'Enlightenment' when it came out. I loved the fact that Van wrote the lyrics, wrote the music, played the music and sang the songs. I loved the fact Van let his musicians have breathing room, each offering their own nuances to the mix. Something about the title track stuck with, and still sticks, with me.
'Well chop that wood and carry water, what's the sound of one hand clapping, enlightenment, don't know what it is'. The lyric is so true of a westerner who is trying to grasp eastern mysticism, or just somebody like me who's tired at the end of the day and is seeking some solace.
After 'Enlightenment', I bought the 'Best Of', the one with the old fashioned mic on the cover. I was treated to jazz, blues, gospel, soul and rock. Not a bad pedigree from an irishman who started out in the volatile sixties and didn't quite fit in.
The deeper I got into Van's music, the more I realized certain themes were important to The Man.
Apparently, Van had some really bad experiences with record execs early on in his career, which makes what seems to be a justifiable paranoia of the industry types for him. Many of his songs talk about being threatened with being blackballed or perhaps being physically harmed by the industry men.
Love gone bad is another theme Mr. Morrison tackles on many an occassion. There is a boy and there is a girl, but there is a storm brewing in the distance, or perhaps more accurately, a tempest in the teacup, and everything is all wrong. The woman loses interest or the man suffers too much stress, etc. etc. etc.
Running through the Man's music too, is the olden time mystical path. The Ancient of Days is called upon, the One is beatified, the Common is commiserated. Van is obviously a spiritual seeker and shares this viewpoint with the listener to great effect.
Van's songs can last six to seven minutes, forever in modern rock terms, when many songs are plowed through in less than three minutes.
The listener is treated to strings, acoustic bass and guitar, harmonica, Hammond organ, whistles and bells and so forth. The mix is usually stripped down to the essentials, but is fleshed out enough to make one think he is getting a bargain for his money.
Can't say enough good things about the Man.
Long may he blow his sax, play his harmonica, strum his guitar and bass, and sing with that Irish blue-eyed soul-ish voice that always sounds just a little out of joint.
Sunday, December 11, 2005
O N E
Monad. The perfect circle, the perfect cycle. The point, the line and the circumfrence. The end is the beginning is the end. On a blank sheet of paper, struck on pure potentiality, space. I wheel the compass around and about, forgetting where I started, not noticing where I ended. Surrounded by infinite space, enclosing finite space, the curved line a barrier between the mortal and the divine. Monolith. Quiet. Complete. First finger, first count. When twinned at the quadrant, the vesica pisces is made. Birth portal. Womb. Initiator of manifold geometry. You birth the line, the triangle, the square, the pentagram, the hexagram, the heptagram, the octagram, the nonagram and finally the decagram.
T W O
Line. Opposition. Diversity. Zero width with infinite length. Abstract with zero angle. Infinite amount of points in a finite amount of space. Straight as an arrow. Skating on thin ice.
T H R E E
Triangle. Spirituality. Two dimensional. A three cord rope is not soon broken.
F O U R
Square. Earth. Three dimensional. Foundation. Solid.
F I V E
Pentagram. The Golden Ratio. Balanced. The Pythagorean Symbol. Natural. Common.
S I X
Hexagram. Structure. Function. Order. Crystalline. Pristine. Ideal.
S E V E N
Heptagram. Additive of T H R E E and F O U R. The spirtiual ruling over the earthly. House. Very common.
E I G H T
Octagon. Sturdy. Earthly.
N I N E
Nonagon. Approaching the transcendence of T E N. Spiritual, the product of T H R E E times T H R E E. Enneagram.
T E N
Decagram. Transcendence. The additive of O N E plus T W O plus T H R E E plus F O U R. Complete again. Tetraktys.
These are some of the characteristics numbers had in the days of Pythagoras. In those times, numbers carried personality, significance and obvious spiritual implications. Besides what characteristics I have listed here, O N E was considered to be both odd and even. The rest of the odd numbers were considered male, the even, female.
The pythagoreans believed numbers were essential, as if they were taken away, an object would cease to exist. Try taking away the number of your chromosomes, for example and still exist!
Numbers were believed to be perfect in the abstract, and imperfect in the real. I describe this by saying 'show me one and show me two'. It can't be done, as the numerals are just signs of their respective abstractions.
Monad. The perfect circle, the perfect cycle. The point, the line and the circumfrence. The end is the beginning is the end. On a blank sheet of paper, struck on pure potentiality, space. I wheel the compass around and about, forgetting where I started, not noticing where I ended. Surrounded by infinite space, enclosing finite space, the curved line a barrier between the mortal and the divine. Monolith. Quiet. Complete. First finger, first count. When twinned at the quadrant, the vesica pisces is made. Birth portal. Womb. Initiator of manifold geometry. You birth the line, the triangle, the square, the pentagram, the hexagram, the heptagram, the octagram, the nonagram and finally the decagram.
T W O
Line. Opposition. Diversity. Zero width with infinite length. Abstract with zero angle. Infinite amount of points in a finite amount of space. Straight as an arrow. Skating on thin ice.
T H R E E
Triangle. Spirituality. Two dimensional. A three cord rope is not soon broken.
F O U R
Square. Earth. Three dimensional. Foundation. Solid.
F I V E
Pentagram. The Golden Ratio. Balanced. The Pythagorean Symbol. Natural. Common.
S I X
Hexagram. Structure. Function. Order. Crystalline. Pristine. Ideal.
S E V E N
Heptagram. Additive of T H R E E and F O U R. The spirtiual ruling over the earthly. House. Very common.
E I G H T
Octagon. Sturdy. Earthly.
N I N E
Nonagon. Approaching the transcendence of T E N. Spiritual, the product of T H R E E times T H R E E. Enneagram.
T E N
Decagram. Transcendence. The additive of O N E plus T W O plus T H R E E plus F O U R. Complete again. Tetraktys.
These are some of the characteristics numbers had in the days of Pythagoras. In those times, numbers carried personality, significance and obvious spiritual implications. Besides what characteristics I have listed here, O N E was considered to be both odd and even. The rest of the odd numbers were considered male, the even, female.
The pythagoreans believed numbers were essential, as if they were taken away, an object would cease to exist. Try taking away the number of your chromosomes, for example and still exist!
Numbers were believed to be perfect in the abstract, and imperfect in the real. I describe this by saying 'show me one and show me two'. It can't be done, as the numerals are just signs of their respective abstractions.
Friday, December 02, 2005
Necessity
O, Necessity, You are in the marrow of my bones.
I turn the corner and You are the stranger I bump into.
I see You in the numbers of the angles of vaulted gothic cathedral ceilings.
I see You, Necessity, in the cloud formations in the sky.
By Necessity, the Earth moves through space
And by Necessity, Time steals all our youth.
(You stole my infant son and my five year old)
Through You, Necessity, I see the pattern in the golden spiral of the sunflower seeds
And the golden angles of the Pyramids.
Pollution in the rivers, Necessity, You float through the ether.
Manifest in factory, I smell the belch of Your smoke
And through the little infinities of bladed grasses, I tread upon You through the thistled down field.
On noble steel, I see You rust, the same iron oxide that populates Mars.
You, a part of the vessel of becoming, welcome change into Your Self
By Necessity, 2 follows the one, and 3 follows the two.
Hidden in the springs that rush the mantle of the earthen crust, made manifest in the mud on my shoes.
I see You, Necessity in the petaled shell that washes ashore on the beach
And in the sea, I see the rise, crest and fall of Your beautiful wave.
By You, Necessity, the moon will wax and wane, and I with it, as long as this Earth abides,
And by You, my birth is cemented in death at the moment of my conception.
How terrible, and beautiful, You are, imitator of God.
Gravity that pulls the moonbeam and casts Light onto the ripples of the lakes.
Terminus, You reach the end of the diverse Suns' vanishing points
And fade to shadow, then dark, then indigo, then black.
O Necessity,
I push the gas petal to make an oil man rich,
I heat my house to deprive someone of energy.
Sap in the tree that produces Sassafras tea
the bottoms of cups to hold the water up
Menstrual by some other moon, sanguine with some other tannin,
I cannot follow Your rhythm
Or chart Your flow
or measure Your pressure.
You, the original Free Radical,
Who were Your Mother and Your Father?
I found an arowhead and it had flint in it.
And it was attached to a spear which had birch in it.
By You, this spear was thrown and by You I broke the spear,
Brittle by You, Necessity.
By You, Necessity, I breathe Air and my lungs oxidate
My nails grow and my teeth fall out.
I can see the new moon of Jupiter even as my eyesight fails me.
Pride goes before the Fall,
But You, Necessity, puff me up, vaunt me to the new skies
And either burn me up in my Sun or send me crashing to my Earth.
You are my best Friend and my worst Foe
And I shake with rage or my knees smote together in fear,
depending upon Your current manifestation.
You, Dark, Light, Shadow and Penumbra,
You radiated through the Father's Hands when I was bourne from His mud and His Spit.
You have left me holding the bag of Duty. Compulsion. You temper the Platonic with the Monadic to make Stoicism.
Such terrible Beauty, You are, O Necessity.
O, Necessity, You are in the marrow of my bones.
I turn the corner and You are the stranger I bump into.
I see You in the numbers of the angles of vaulted gothic cathedral ceilings.
I see You, Necessity, in the cloud formations in the sky.
By Necessity, the Earth moves through space
And by Necessity, Time steals all our youth.
(You stole my infant son and my five year old)
Through You, Necessity, I see the pattern in the golden spiral of the sunflower seeds
And the golden angles of the Pyramids.
Pollution in the rivers, Necessity, You float through the ether.
Manifest in factory, I smell the belch of Your smoke
And through the little infinities of bladed grasses, I tread upon You through the thistled down field.
On noble steel, I see You rust, the same iron oxide that populates Mars.
You, a part of the vessel of becoming, welcome change into Your Self
By Necessity, 2 follows the one, and 3 follows the two.
Hidden in the springs that rush the mantle of the earthen crust, made manifest in the mud on my shoes.
I see You, Necessity in the petaled shell that washes ashore on the beach
And in the sea, I see the rise, crest and fall of Your beautiful wave.
By You, Necessity, the moon will wax and wane, and I with it, as long as this Earth abides,
And by You, my birth is cemented in death at the moment of my conception.
How terrible, and beautiful, You are, imitator of God.
Gravity that pulls the moonbeam and casts Light onto the ripples of the lakes.
Terminus, You reach the end of the diverse Suns' vanishing points
And fade to shadow, then dark, then indigo, then black.
O Necessity,
I push the gas petal to make an oil man rich,
I heat my house to deprive someone of energy.
Sap in the tree that produces Sassafras tea
the bottoms of cups to hold the water up
Menstrual by some other moon, sanguine with some other tannin,
I cannot follow Your rhythm
Or chart Your flow
or measure Your pressure.
You, the original Free Radical,
Who were Your Mother and Your Father?
I found an arowhead and it had flint in it.
And it was attached to a spear which had birch in it.
By You, this spear was thrown and by You I broke the spear,
Brittle by You, Necessity.
By You, Necessity, I breathe Air and my lungs oxidate
My nails grow and my teeth fall out.
I can see the new moon of Jupiter even as my eyesight fails me.
Pride goes before the Fall,
But You, Necessity, puff me up, vaunt me to the new skies
And either burn me up in my Sun or send me crashing to my Earth.
You are my best Friend and my worst Foe
And I shake with rage or my knees smote together in fear,
depending upon Your current manifestation.
You, Dark, Light, Shadow and Penumbra,
You radiated through the Father's Hands when I was bourne from His mud and His Spit.
You have left me holding the bag of Duty. Compulsion. You temper the Platonic with the Monadic to make Stoicism.
Such terrible Beauty, You are, O Necessity.
