overnight, i caught Chris Hedges and others speaking at yesterday's LATimes book festival, broadcast on CSPAN's BookTV.  in his opening remarks, Hedges more or less read aloud an article recently published at TruthDig.com:

No One Should Be Above the Law


reading this today, i had to spit out some of stuff rattling around in my head, appending the following comment to what he wrote:

#67333 by manonfyre on 4/30 at 3:46 pm

This may be the sort of thing that many of us honestly "think" about but find too impolitic to publish in a forum such as this.  Perhaps the moderators here will conclude that some of what follows is just a bit too edgy for this venue (or "ammo" for any "loyal Bushies" who might come across it), and I appreciate that.

Still, I'd like to confess that, at times, an unwashed "lusting in my heart" comes over me for some form of "street" justice to be meted out to Bush/Cheney and their entire crew:  Waterboarding Cheney before the UN Security Council, "in the round," with Dubya, Hadley, Ledeen (and the rest) assembled around him, all in shackles, and compelled to watch?  A "road show," maybe, hauling Dick's archly guileful ass from one world captital to the next and repeating the demonstration? 

At such times, my lust is probably no different than the lust felt by many of the true-blue in the wake of 9/11-"Give us blood justice!" And it was the cynical manipulation of that lust-in ways that would make Machiavelli, Trotsky, and Goerring blush-that lead to this "aggressive" war against Iraq and its entire catalog of attendant malfeasance.

To initiate a war of aggression, therefore, is not only an international crime; it is the supreme international crime differing only from other war crimes in that it contains within itself the accumulated evil of the whole.

~Robert H. Jackson (chief American prosecutor at Nuremberg)

That said, this is just mind play; a flight of fancy.  Though on a different scale, it's kind of like the dilemna faced by the recently-resigned head of the US Agency for International Development, Randall Tobias, pondering, "Should I hire a hooker to slake my sexual appetites?" I have personally confronted this question and, to this point, have always resolved it with a resounding, "No!" Similarly, the "Torture Cheney Carnival Tour" amounts to passing and sublimated whim. 

That being said, what I really wonder is what real justice would look like in dealing with these petty men and their monumental crimes: Trials before the World Court with, upon truly judicious convictions, terms of imprisonment to follow?  That would suit me most fine.

Yet it seems we are scarcely likely to muster the political will in this country to instigate mere impeachment proceedings.  (Just today, Murtha says, "Not at this time.") Again, to me, impeachment would be just a beginning.  Something more on the order of the Nuremburg Tribunal is in order.  An "example" needs to be made (absent, I would suggest, executions).  And the United States of America owes the world community a lengthy and gut-wrenching period of national mea culpa, apology, and restitution.  Ultimately, I believe these men will be pilloried (if not literally) and reviled.  But I can only hope that this comes sooner rather than later.

Domestically, we've got a tremendous amount of work ahead of us, both overcoming this giant leap backwards, and resuming the fitful advance of liberty, democracy, and the rule of law right here at home.
 

Thank you, Mr. Hedges!

____________________________________


gratuitous link: Yurica Report



 

Kanyadana -- my true-heart (canine) companion!

Her name comes not from the literal meaning, "donation of a virgin" -- a ritual in Hindu wedding where the parents of the bride handover their daughter to the groom, who promises to honor her.*  Rather, it comes from my now-fading familiarity with the crazy-wise shenanigans of Adi Da Samraj and his attribution of "kanyadanas" to the gaggle of female consorts he has dallied with.* * My recollection was of some definition being given, somewhere in the literature of Daism, that a kanya was a "divine gift."  Again, to be specific, it wasn't that i saw myself as some fiery, guru-like flower to whom this beautiful bee -- my dear, Kanya -- was attracted.  Rather, it seemed that somehow, by some measure of grace, a truly great "gift" had landed on my porch in the form of this precious, little, furry, female friend.  "So, what's your name, dear heart?"  And Kanya, it was.

In fact, when given the chance to pick a "free puppy!" from the litter that had recently arrived at my (then-) neighbor's house across the street, i picked Kanya's sister -- oops! -- a female pup the kids had already named Angel.  As it happened, the kids mom came over the next day, sheepishly confiding that her daughter really had a crush on Angel and, ahem, please, oh please!, could I pick another pup.  No sweat.  Dos-ee-doh.  Welcome, Kanya!

Soon thereafter, the mother returned once more to let me know that the family had decided not to keep any of the puppies and, ahem, please, oh please!, could i take Angel again, too, and raise these two sisters together.  Double happiness?  Yes!  Angel and Kanya were deliriously reunited.  And the three of us made a pretty good team. (Though about one year later, Angel was hit by a car and, sadly, killed.)

Kanya's arrival (with her sister) coincided with the onset of my Non-Dual Awakening (or One Taste) episode (which i've written a bit about elsewhere, here -- it lasted about a year).  The notion that she was somehow a "divine gift" was never more obvious than it was through that period.  She has certainly been a loving and tireless partner thoughout the life she has shared with me -- a very dynamic period in my life.

Over the years, i've coddled her with dozens of terms of endearment; many of them "nonsense" words -- like a babble of twin-speak or baby-talk.  One, that i garnered from my sister, for example: cooder dooder!  "She's duh cooder-dooder! Come here, sweetheart! C'mere cooder-dooder!"  Where does this stuff come from?  Similarly, i had a list of khenpo- names for her: khenpolumpah, khenpotadoh, and, most especially, khenpochundhi.  These, i'd always characterized as among the "nonsense" names that "just bubbled up."  But much later, after calling her khenpochudhi for the umpteenth time, i curiously "googled" the name and found a reference to one, "Khenpochundi -- mother of a ten-thousand Buddhas."  Honestly, these and so many other nicknames just "popped" into my head, while adoring this dear girl -- without deliberation or an intimate knowledge of Tibetan or Buddhist folklore. In any case, "mother of ten-thousands Buddhas" rounds out Kanya's image nicely, in my estimation.

[Sidenote: when Integral Naked launched and i signed on, i picked "khenpchundhi" as my screen-name there.  A few of the curious would ask, "Dude? What's with the name?" And i'd tell them plainly, "Just a non-sense nickname i've borrowed from my dog."  That was when i "googled" the name and found the "mother" reference.   Twilight zone alert!  If i google the name today, i can't find the "mother" link.  Anyway . . .]

I am writing this with the most-grudging and onerous expectation that Kanya is fast approaching the end of her sojourn here among us.  To quote the veternarian who met with and examined Kanya earlier this week, "She is very sick."

To be fair, she is an "old lady."  Her thirteenth birthday recently passed.  Except to get her spayed (when she was fairly young) or to get her annual shots (something i've stopped complying with the last couple or three years), Kanya never went to a vet because she was sick or injured -- until this last week.  An x-ray was taken during this recent visit and showed "nothing of concern" in any of her major organs; but did show, "alot of arthritis thoughout her body."  In very short order, over the last week or so, she simply finds it very hard to get up on her hind legs -- her hips clearly failing her.   (It has been obvious for a year or two that her hips were sometimes tender -- nothing like this, however.) 

When she does manage to get up on all fours, she's wobbly and tenative.  Also, she gets short of breath.  When going outside, after walking maybe fifteen feet, she'll stop to breath and gather herself.  Then, even without pausing to pee, she'll push on another twenty feet or so, landing on a chosen spot in the yard or on the "bed" prepared for her here on the patio.  And once she is parked, she's down for hours.  Occasionally, she'll get up to get herself a drink of water. (i gladly bring her food and water, right where she's resting.)  But then -- again, without bothering to "potty" -- she'll just lay back down. 

Her breathing, while she rests, has been shallow, labored, and sometimes "rattles" a bit (the reason for the x-ray -- which showed "nothing").  She'll lift up, raise her head, and pant (though it is still cool, even cold here), or sometimes cough -- not a very "productive" cough.

As often as not, if i ask her get up, either to pee or simply to go in or out, it's a "no go."  And me, not really certain which of us it may be more of a comfort to, i'll just grab blanket and a pillow, and lay down beside her -- wherever it is she has landed.  Mostly, this means we've been camped out here on the patio/breezeway between my sister's house and garage. (my travel trailer, where Kanya and i have lived for the past couple of years, is parked on the other side of the garage here. my sister has been living in town with my mother for some months, so it's just the two of us here. [this is a whole, other story.]) 

She's been prescibed an arthritis pain medication (Deramaxx), which does seem to help.  I dare say, she looks forward to it.  Even if she doesn't eat all her food, she has fished out her "chewable" medicine.  [BTW: the vet ruled out "melamine" as a cause of Kanya's difficulties.] 

So it's like  full-tilt vigil-time, eh?  Again and again, morning and night, i'm struck by wondering, "Is she still breathing?"  A fair amount of tears, on my part, already -- not only anticipating what may lie just around the corner, but witnessing, right now, how terriblly knocked down she is.  On her part, not a whimper.  Her tail still wags when i approach.  She did perk up the two times this past week i fried chicken!  Hell or high water, she was going to be in on that!  And she's still a fan of getting in the truck and going for a ride.  Jingling the keys got her up on her own power a few days ago -- though she had to stop and catch her breath along the way, and was pretty winded by the time she made it to the truck. (Of course, i lift her up onto the seat.)  But even the keys don't really get her going these past few days.  Vigil time, indeed.

This is not exactly an obituary.  Kanya is still here beside me.  There's no telling, but it's looking like i won't get to say that very much longer.  The thing is, when that time does come, i don't know what i will be able to say.

So, Kanya -- my loving friend -- my faithful, true-heart companion -- this is for you, sweetheart!

A trip down memory lane -- the most-retold Kanya story:

A bit of background: Some years ago, Kanya and i had moved to northern, rural, San Diego County; to partner-up with an extraordinary woman, Barbara E., and her equally extraordinary cat, Frankie. (Kanya and Frankie became "the yin-yang sisters" [Frankie was female -- another story]; Frankie, black with white spots; Kanya, white with black spots.) i have always called Barbara, "be," for short, going back to when we'd met in a Prodigy Internet (now defunct) chat room ("Buddhism" was the room's subject of interest). be's screen name back then was "be here now," and, subsequently (following a divorce), be assumed her mother's maiden name -- begins with "e" -- and that's that. (Did you get all that?)

[BTW -- yet another, extraneous, personal footnote, but it is partly Kanya's story, too: i fondly recall the mighty magic and charm of falling in love with Be! Wow! Isn't love amazing?! Before we met, i just now think of some of the self-descriptors Be shared. ". . . longish, dark purple hair . . ." (nearly black, really, but, yeah, with a wine-like, purplish tint) ". . .fair-skinned . . ." (like me! she'll fathom my sun-shyness!) She was definitely "down" with Buddhism. Cool! She subscribed, like i did, to Utne Reader! Cool, cool! And one other, telling note (sorry, you, if you're reading this) -- she'd confided, "I have no gag reflex." Yes, readers, i am typical, male, horn dog, afterall! Yum, yum, yum!, on every count! For the record: Be (Kanya's "mom," really) and i split a few years back. We've remained friends, however; phoning and emailing regularly.]

Anyhow (at last!), one fine day, "Be" and i stepped out of the cottage we were renting, there among the orange and avocado groves, to ogle the spendor of but another, leisurely, sunshiney "day in paradise." Kanya, we could see, was laying alongside the driveway, not twenty feet from the front door. And we were both immediately struck . . . "Hey, kiddo!" . . . "Yoohoo! Kana-don! Watcha doin', girl?" . . . that Kanya was remaining stock-still. She was poised like the Sphinx -- not a whisker moved.

Mystified, we sauntered up closer to her, to get a better look, not sure what was going on. And i vividly recall -- talk about your "body language" -- getting to where i could see Kanya's face; and moving only her eyes, she looked up directly into my eyes, and then down toward her right, front paw. She looked up at me, then looked down at her foot, moving only her eyes. Following her direction, I looked down at her foot. And perched there, soaking up the scenery, was a smallish, typical, local lizard -- just hangin' out with his buddy, Kanya! There was a lizard!, sitting on Kanya's foot!, i don't know, whispering in her ear?! Amazing! (be and i were amazed, at any rate.) "Hey, you two carry on. Sorry to intrude." I don't recall how much longer the two of them sat there. But that's the, "Kanya-communing-with-the-lizard" story.

She has always been motherishly, giddily fond of other critters, especially little ones. "OH! Look at the baby! Kootchie, kootchie," lick, lick, "goo, goo!" Just a genuine sweetheart!

and this fine gentleman, too:

RFK: Rove And Rove's Brain, ‘Should Be In Jail,' Not In Office

Monday, May 7, 2007

NEW YORK - Voting rights attorney Robert F. Kennedy Jr. has called for prison time for the new US Attorney for Arkansas, Timothy Griffin and investigation of Griffin's former boss, Karl Rove, chief political advisor to President Bush.

"Timothy Griffin," said Kennedy,"who is the new US attorney in Arkansas, was actually the mastermind behind the voter fraud efforts by the Bush Administration to disenfranchise over a million voters through ‘caging' techniques - which are illegal."

. . .‘Caging' lists are "absolutely illegal" under the Voting Rights Act, noted Kennedy on his Air America program, Ring of Fire. The 1965 law makes it a felony crime to challenge voters when race is a factor in the targeting. African-American voters comprised the bulk of the 70,000 voters ‘caged' in a single state, Florida.

. . .Kennedy, a voting rights attorney, fumed, "What he [Griffin] did was absolutely illegal and he should be in jail. Instead [Griffin] was rewarded with the US Attorney's office."

"They [Griffin, Rove and their confederates at the RNC] knew it was illegal."

Kennedy has called on the Senate and House Judiciary Committees to expand their investigations of the firing of US Attorneys to include a probe of their replacements, especially Griffin, as well as Rove's knowledge of the caging operation. . .

. . . on this story:

Hard to Deny: Iraq Is All About the Oil, by Michael Schwartz

absolutely!
Posted by: manonfyre on May 8, 2007 4:27 PM
 
Just another footnote to the history:

When Saddam and the Ba'athist Party nationalized the Iraqi Petroleum Company(IPC) in the early 70's, they specifically excluded Shell, BP, Esso (later Exxon), and Mobil (who, to that point, controlled a 3/4 share of IPC) from gettting to play any longer in Iraqi oil field games. Doubtless, they have all had their knickers in a twist since then, having to settle for "down stream" profit taking.

When Big Oil's, er, US military forces arrived in Baghdad, the lead Marine forces headed directly where? -- the offices of the Iraqi Oil Ministry-- rectifying 30 years of "socialistic" (uw! icky!) affrontery.


OH yeah! One more note . . .
Posted by: manonfyre on May 8, 2007 4:43 PM 
 
Sir Winston was gassing the Iraqi's well before Saddam was even a glint in his father's eye:

"Churchill was particularly keen on chemical weapons, suggesting they be used 'against recalcitrant Arabs as an experiment.' He dismissed objections as 'unreasonable.' 'I am strongly in favour of using poisoned gas against uncivilised tribes _ [to] spread a lively terror _' In today's terms, 'the Arab' needed to be shocked and awed. A good gassing might well do the job." [link]

 

there are no bright-white insights, nor any consoling happy-horseshit to slather over darling Kanya's death (or any other). none. and i expect i will be hereafter suspicious, if not damning, of whatever it is that keeps me from taking a place in the ground, in her grave, right beside her.

there are no words . . .

Digging a grave seemed like some form of temporary insanity: i'm digging a hole? in the ground? to bury my beloved?

And the few occasions in our adult lives that we allow ourselves these wracking, purging, convulsive sobs . . . "Hydrate -- no kidding.," my dear ex, Be, shared, along with exquisite heart-broken-openness, as we cried together for an hour over the phone. I've been crying all week, but broke out the big, big gobs, yesterday (damn the neighbors, if my wailing offends!).

And today, today . . .

Kanya got her big wind!

This notion, tied to something Ken Wilber wrote in Grace and Grit -- in Tibetan folklore, it's said that, "[It takes a big wind to carry a big soul away.]"

While burying Kanya today, a spring storm rose up; the darkened heavens grimaced and wept; lightening flashed; thunder roared across the high desert, here; and a driving wind whipped down from the mountain and through these foothills, racing to the North and the East. The storm came and went, as spring storms do; an hour or so of fierceness. And now, it is still/calm; the sun peeking out here and there through the cloud cathedrals; the birds and bugs singing content and delight about living.

Some internet searching -- "wind, soul, death, tibetan" . . . "wind, soul, grace, wilber" -- wondering if I could nail down a Ken-quote -- has led to some commiseration and "lightness" I wasn't seeking and didn't expect: an essay on Tibetan/Navajo "wind" philosophies . . . a sky's full of sunshine pumped up my skirt at a fellow Z-ster's site (ah!, Darina, Darina! -- anybody who utters the names Ken Wilber and Saniel Bonder, in the same breath, is wAy-okay! by me. ty, dear heart!) . . . a  "Temple of Solace". . . and not the G&G, "big wind" quote I was after (tiresome, eh? -- this slavish tendency to see most all things through the lens of this kdubya fellow's life and work), but an attributed-to-Ken-quote, nonetheless:

You have shed your body and your pains and are able to dance the dance of true life,
and that is the life of the soul.

I can dance with you in my dreams, and in my heart.

So, you are not dead, your soul still lives, lives on a higher plane,
and in your loved ones' hearts.

You've taught me the most important lesson, what life and love is.

Love is complete and sincere respect for another being...

It is the ecstasy of the true self...

Love extends beyond all planes and is limitless...

After a million lives, and a million deaths it still lives...

And it only dwells in the heart and soul...

Life is of the soul, and of nothing else...

Love and laughter ride with it, but so do pain and anguish...

 

Wherever I go

And whatever I see

In my heart and soul

You'll always be with me

 

~ Ken Wilber, from Grace & Grit ~

 

A tad treacle?

In any case, Kanya got her big wind!  And it's a very beautiful day, here.

tune

  • noun a melody or melodious piece of music.


-age

suffix

collection of things
 
  • signage

  • mileage




how music has saved my soul over the years!

recall, during an "art therapy" session in a locked ward of a psychiatric hospital some years back, being asked to pick, play, and share a song that "said" something to me, something about me then:


Dreams, The Cranberries


but the real video that accompanies this, then and now (going back to when i was a kid and saw "the king" on the tube):


Yul Brenner and Deborah Kerr!  oh yeah!


if you can watch this vid, muted, and listen to the song . . . !!!






a kind of wished-for, pined-for, someday-i'll-dance-just-like-that (with someone like that) exuberance!

shall we dance, dear heart?!



what else was in the loop back then, that i'd play over, and over, and over:


Corgin and crew: Rocket!





ah!,  the final crescendo!  some day, some day . . .


The Cure did an awesome, super-funky cover of Purple Haze back then.  just a bit (drats!) of it, here.



what else back then?  uh, George Winston.  yep.


OH! and who could forget?

Enigma!  take your pick: Sadeness, Age of Loneliness, among several from their first couple of recordings.

Concrete Blonde ("The Ship Song") -- ohhhh! tear my guts out, beautiful!





over, and over again, like all the rest.  had this little cassette case, a dozen tapes, and a walkman . . .



that was then; early '94. 

(Kanya was born then, and arrived on my doorstep, like, right after i got out of that hospital.)



in the interim . . .  just a few: Deep Forest,  October Project ("Be My Hero"), Joe Satriani (Surfing with the Alien ,  Always with me, always with you ), some "rougher" stuff -- Papa Roach, Incubus, Evanescene . . .


stitching this soul back together, even when it was exploding apart . . .



last week, i posted the "siren song."   very simply, listening to it just helped the grief and the tears to leak out, as Kanya's death approached.



this week, i've been flipping through my collection . . .  had something like a poem sprouting up:





this song fits:

Chalmers Johnson ~
Former CIA man &self-described
 "spear carrier" for empire.

(Photo by Nic Paget-Clarke)




latest from The American Empire Project:


Evil Empire
Is Imperial Liquidation Possible for America?

By Chalmers Johnson

In politics, as in medicine, a cure based on a false diagnosis is almost always worthless, often worsening the condition that is supposed to be healed. The United States, today, suffers from a plethora of public ills. Most of them can be traced to the militarism and imperialism that have led to the near-collapse of our Constitutional system of checks and balances. Unfortunately, none of the remedies proposed so far by American politicians or analysts addresses the root causes of the problem.

[snip]

Imperial Liquidation?

Imperialism and militarism have thus begun to imperil both the financial and social well-being of our republic. What the country desperately needs is a popular movement to rebuild the Constitutional system and subject the government once again to the discipline of checks and balances. Neither the replacement of one political party by the other, nor protectionist economic policies aimed at rescuing what's left of our manufacturing economy will correct what has gone wrong. Both of these solutions fail to address the root cause of our national decline.

I believe that there is only one solution to the crisis we face. The American people must make the decision to dismantle both the empire that has been created in their name and the huge (still growing) military establishment that undergirds it. . .

For the U.S., the decision to mount such a campaign of imperial liquidation may already come too late, given the vast and deeply entrenched interests of the military-industrial complex. To succeed, such an endeavor might virtually require a revolutionary mobilization of the American citizenry, one at least comparable to the civil rights movement of the 1960s.

[read more >>>]


"Imperial overstretch is implicit in our empire of 725 military bases abroad [in 138 countries], in addition to the 969 separate bases in the fifty states."

~CJ

added to one of the converstions over at Brian Johnson's place,

"Zaadz'a Business Model: aka, how we're going to make money"



hey dear friends,

have been out of the loop here, but not out of the mix.

new from mr. hawken:

Blessed Unrest

bu video @ bioneers

“The social justice movement, environmental movement and indigenous movements are intertwining and morphing, and are becoming the largest social movement in the history of the world. They are, in essence, humanity's immune response to political corruption, economic disease, and ecological degradation.”  [emphasis added]

~ph

related interviews:

The Global Economy's Immune System

Blessed Unrest

want more?

To Remake the World, by Paul Hawken

The Reverend Jerry Falwell, a leading US conservative evangelist, has died in hospital in Virginia after being found unconscious in his office.

"Dr Falwell is [was] a huge, huge leader here in this area and in the nation at large."

~ Ron Godwin
Liberty University vice-president

BBC news story



Some of his stuff:


"Christians, like slaves and soldiers, ask no questions."

"If you're not a born-again Christian, you're a failure as a human being."

"The idea that religion and politics don't mix was invented by the Devil to keep Christians from running their own country."

"I think hell's a real place where real people spend a real eternity."

"The whole global warming thing is created to destroy America's free enterprise system and our economic stability."

"The Bible is the inerrant ... word of the living God. It is absolutely infallible,without error in all matters pertaining to faith and practice, as well as in areas such as geography, science, history, etc."

The abortionists have got to bear some burden for this because God will not be mocked. And when we destroy 40 million little innocent babies, we make God mad. I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People for the American Way -- all of them who have tried to secularize America -- I point the finger in their face and say, "You helped this happen." (-- here, blaming civil libertarians, feminists, homosexuals, and abortion rights supporters for the terrorist attacks of Tuesday, September 11, 2001)


lordy, lordy!

________________________________



definitely "blue," eh? -- but "pathological" or "mean" blue?  i'm thinkin' mean.

• Colors of Thinking
• wiki: Spiral Dynamics
• KW summary of SD and Waves of Existence, here (excerpted) or here (part of a broader discussion).

sorry if this is too frank . . .

just a web comment appended to a Chris Hedges essay, The Christian Right's Fear of Pleasure is Our Greatest Threat to Choice --



There is something about the "urge-to-merge" or "plant-thy-seed" imperative that roils especially in the loins of men . . . Superceding any of the exquisite, bond-building, "real" magic that inheres, potentially, in our sexuality, it's just "my guts compel me to wrestle with you and your guts -- and deliver the package." And our "be fruitful/bust a nut" guts are cause for soooooo much untolled mischief, mayhem, and heartache -- personal, inter-personal, and social -- "damn those exquisite bonds!."

"If I don't get to squidge my jizz . . ."

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's resolve to just put it on a schedule, okay? -- just once a week, baby, just once a week!"

We're reading this on the internet, right? How much internet traffic is devoted, let's be honest, to just this "gotta bust a nut" imperative? Can't we talk about this a bit more openly and honestly?

Maybe this imperative served humankind well, once upon a time. But now, it is in many ways, an affliction -- even a scourge. Seriously! Human male sexual behavior, seen altogether, has pandemic written all over it.

I am not anti-sex, or anti-pleasure. On the contrary. But, c'mon fellas! Get a grip. Practise some "d*ck management." It doesn't have to be so often brute, base, unbridled. Look even at all the "fine, upstanding men," bent by their own biology.

Maybe some David Deida. In highschools! Oh yeah!

There is some "truth" in all sides of these discussions. Together with Mr. Hedges (gosh, what a bright guy!), it is a subject we need to address a bit more directly.

the earlier "tunage" post was primarily about a small number of songs that dominated my personal playlists about the time of my first "locked ward" hospital adventure in depression, AND, immediately after that, kanya's entrance into my life.

i was struck by how much "the song to the siren" so helped me cope with k's exit, and my mind (and heart) wandered back . . .  another time and circumstance when music (bitter and sweet) was, i don't know, such good medicine!

since, it occured to me to share of few more doses of some stuff that was . . . so, like, i don't know, "integral," even indispensable (amen, brothers and sisters! THANK YOU! for all the blessed noise you've made!) to my journey.


how could i not mention Moby?!!!






. . . and, Bodyrock, just to name two, from the Play collection, that i played, and played, and played...


and this one piece of music, Battleflag, by the Lo-Fidelity Allstars -- it's liberal use of the "f"-word will offends as many as it enfolds, i'd guess -- it's big "Funk!" (another "f"-word) just made me wanna move!  (moving, i.e. "dancing," as you probably agree -- it's a GOOD thing!)

• full-lilt, unexpurgated (with "radical 60's/70's homage" freelance video -- the video was and is not the point -- but, what the heck?, the spirit of abbie hoffman lives! let's go levitate the pentagon!)
• radio version  (plenty of "f" without the m-er-"f"-in')

"gotta launder my karma!"



 . . . just some of the more, what i found to be, "medicinal" stuff.




while i'm digging through this dusty hall of  "funk" fame here . . .

this one, at the time (early MTV), was about the video, too:






true confession.  yep, i had some fun with this one.  i don't speak german, but only the german version "worked" for me:




ah, the 80's!  ( . . . "touch me baby, tainted love" . . .)




first "album" (big, black, vinyl disk thingee) i remember having:  An Anthology, Duane Allman  -- jamming with BB, pickett, clapton, saint aretha, et al.  me, doing that "blues" thang, even then.




still works!  (adored duane then, like i adore kdubya, now. god men!)




 

yes, dear readers!  it is that time in our program schedule when we drag out the olde whipping post,  gather some of our dearest friends close around, and mercilessly pulverize every last vestige of personal dignity from the slovenly body, mind, and soul of the downright contemptible author of this wretched blog -- yours, truly.  yes, when we conclude today, all that will be left is to bring in a few buckets and scrape up what sorry, stinking goo remains.  take a seat!

ay, yi, yi, yi, yi!  "these are the times that try men's souls."  this is the sort of time when i typically -- would that i had such sense right now -- "disappear" from blogging, not wanting to subject any poor, errant reader who may stray here to scenes of torture and the risks of splattering this contaminated, bilious blood.

whither this mercilessness, this brutality, toward self?  never towards others, never toward others.  (well, maybe some rude fantasies regarding Lord Bruce Cheney, once in while.)  but this withering, blistering assault upon self!  "Dad" was never this rough on me!  "Uncle Bob's" petty incivilities and indinations were diddly compared to this.

i suppose the psychoanalytic notion of "anger turned inward" applies.  powerless to effect change in the relative world that seems to so desperately beg for change -- profound, paradigmatic, sweeping change, BIG change . . .  absent BIG change, bring out the BIG boots, you sorry sod!

hunger is violence.  poverty is violence.  "moutain top" mining is violence. . .   nevermind all of the most obvious, gory, horrible violence going down, right now, right here, on this miserable, fool-filled planet.  this post and the machinations within me from which it springs are violence.

kicked myself square in the bollocks right after yesterday's post -- "so, there you go. spinning tunes while Rome burns, eh?," the chorus (conscience) harangs, while dragging out the voluminous Catalog of Global Ills -- "see this! people are literally being tortured and murdered, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here, and you can lolligag down musical frickin' memory lane. la!, la!, la! you sorry putz!" -- and haven't let up with the beating, since.  (strangely, or not, strains of sweet lullaby lilting through my mind, all the while.)

ay, yi, yi!  is there some movement toward, some hint of self-transcendance here, or is it, as it appears, just a brute, gut-driven slide toward self-annihilation?

fucking 'ell!  i am sitting here getting "jumped in" by a gang assembled from shadows in my own psyche.  where's the spray paint?  a "tag" comes to mind: pre-trans fallacy!  "take that, world!"

i have run, chased myself, down this empty, dark cul-de-sac sooooo many times -- my own hand wielding the whip; swinging a bat; straining to grip my throat, reaching for a shiv . . .

but i relent.  weapons drop.  commotion ends.  silence, except for some heavy breathing, and an all-but-consumate sigh.  the makings for a "snuff" scene, but no scene, afterall.

show cancelled.  move along, now.

i'll muddle on.

i chide myself for being so utterly self-indulgent and pathetic, by becoming, by displaying all the more self-indulgence and self-pity.  loopdeloopdeloop.

can we "block" this blog from any public display?  dropping my pants and posting pictures of my pimply white ass would be more polite and less disruptive.  better that i should make no appearance here, at all.  truly.

nevermind!

be cool!  have fun!  or as mr. wilber would say, "eat your veggies and meditate!"

carry on!

[feel oblidged, after atypically "sharing" one of my more self-destructive fits yesterday, to somehow say, i am not without hope and vision and commitment to the betterment of this life we share here.  picking up some of my mess.  i do "circle the drain" sometimes.  i get "stuck in a rut," or, sort of, find myself strapped to a seat on a carosel, and that ever-elusive brass ring is ceaselessly out of reach.  round, and round, and round i go.  i feel "bad" talking about it, like i poison the public space with all this circuitous whining and moaning.  like, i am not a "good example" -- "do not try this at home."  but also, talking about it seems an essential part of any good escape plan.  so, in this relative obscurity, here at "my space," with ultimately "good" intentions, i babble on.  i publish here not so much to "win friends and influence people" (haha! -- "don't you just love that guy! he's always so . . . down!"), but in an effort to sort out my shit.  i am not all piss and moan.]   


would that i could!  it may just sound like more of my bullshit, but i do seriously think that i would sever my own arm or leg to be free of these "chains;" to get outside of this "box;" to escape this "prisoner's cell."

i don't find myself in the jaws of an external, mechanical trap or jail (a distinction without a difference?). 

and it would not be completely dispositive to say the "ego" is my cage (though this is partly true).

somewhere along the crossroads between the physical and the subtle  -- dendritic chains and neural pathways -- where sinew and life-force get together to drink and dance. . .  THIS!, it seems to me, is where the bars of this cage are forged.  to coin a phase: this trap really is all in my head.  and to the extent that this is true, it would seem that neurogenesis and neuroplasticity are keys to my liberation!   

what is condusive to neuro-this and neuro-that?  doubtless, an "all levels," "all quadrants," "integral" approach, to whatever extent practicable, is in order.

baby steps?  probably.  but i have been playing some chess lately -- endeavoring to keep these cells nimble.  today, i am reading kdubya's, Integral Politics Part 3: A Summary of Its Essential Ingredients  -- a kind of "stretching" exercise, to be sure.  though dragging and kicking a bit (i can be such an utter "no-account"), i'm easing back into the remodel project, here -- makin' headway!  and, yes, i am blogging -- rain or shine.









 

 

http://www.teflon.com/Teflon/consumer/na/eng/brandWorld/brand_world_flash.html


received from a friend today:


A good reminder!

>>> 5/23/2007 7:14 am >>>

CANCER UPDATE FROM JOHN  HOPKINS

       1. No plastic containers in microwave.

       2. No water bottles in  freezer.

       3. No plastic wrap in microwave.

       John Hopkins has  recently sent this out in its' newsletters.  This information is being circulated at Walter Reed Army Medical Center as well.

       Dioxin  chemicals causes cancer, especially breast cancer.  Dioxins are highly  poisonous to the cells of our bodies. Don't freeze your plastic bottles  with water in them as this releases dioxins from the plastic.

       Recently, Dr. Edward Fujimoto, Wellness Program Manager at Castle Hospital , was on a  TV program to explain this health hazard. He talked about dioxins and how  bad they are for us.  He said that we should not be  heating our food in the microwave using plastic containers.

       This especially applies to foods  that contain fat.  He said that the combination of fat, high heat,  and plastics releases dioxin into the food and ultimately into the cells  of the body.  Instead, he recommends using  glass, such as Corning Ware, Pyrex or ceramic containers for heating food.  You get the same results, only without the dioxin. So such things as TV  dinners, instant ramen and soups, etc., should be removed from the  container and heated in something else.  Paper isn't bad but  you don't know what is in the paper. It's just safer to use tempered  glass, Corning Ware, etc.

       He reminded us that  a while ago some of the fast food restaurants moved away from the foam  containers to paper. The dioxin problem is one of the reasons.  Also, he pointed out that plastic  wrap, such as Saran, is just as dangerous when placed over foods to be  cooked in the microwave.  As the food is nuked, the high heat causes  poisonous toxins to actually melt out of the plastic wrap and drip into  the food.  Cover food with a paper towel  instead.

       This is an article that should be sent to anyone important in your life!



replied:



hey you,

if you google (i "dogpile," but that's another story) "john hopkins,
plastic, dioxins," the top results include words like,

"urbanlegend, myth, hoaxslayer"

http://urbanlegends.about.com/library/bl_frozen_plastic_dioxin.htm


see what an actual JH associate has said about this, here:

http://www.jhsph.edu/PublicHealthNews/articles/Halden_dioxins.html


it 's not dioxins in plastic, but Phthalates (among other things), that are worrisome:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Phthalates


dioxins are some bad sh*t.   but, these are most commonly encountered in
bleached, white, paper products.


the concern in your email about plastics is justified, but not exactly for
the reasons given.


see:

"What's inside some noted Californians;
Tests done to back biomonitoring bill find toxic chemicals"

http://www.sfgate.com/cgi-bin/article.cgi?file=/c/a/2005/08/31/BAGD0EFOIG1.DTL&type=printable

excerpt:

"Actor Peter Coyote has high levels of mercury, he thinks from eating fresh
fish in his quest for a healthy diet. He describes himself as 'a guy who has
eaten organic food for 30 years, drunk bottled water and lived in West Marin
with the cleanest air on the coast.'

...Coyote, Jones, Lee, the Rev. Stephen Privett, president of the University
of San Francisco, and seven other prominent Californians had their hair, blood
and urine tested two months ago for dozens of substances, including mercury,
DDT, PBDE flame retardants and the chemicals in hard plastic bottles,
Gore-Tex and Teflon."

see also, "The Body's Wisdom, The Body's Burden:"

http://wholelifetimes.com/2006/01/wh_toxins0601.html

"Most synthetic molecules are like 'second-hand smoke'-they spread with
invisible stealth, they are eaten, inhaled, imbibed and absorbed through the
skin. They can be found in adhesives, plastics (like Nalgene water bottles),
food containers, Teflon-coated stick-resistant pans, the fumes from new-car
interiors, underarm deodorants, cosmetics and shaving creams, hair sprays,
colognes and perfumes, contact lens cleaners, dental sealants, VCR head
cleaners and stain-resistant rugs and fabrics.

No one knows the safe levels for most of the more than 80,000 synthetic
molecules now circulating around the globe. In 1962, when Rachel Carson
first alerted the world to the environmental and health dangers of the
pesticide DDT, there were only a few thousand synthetic molecules. By 1974,
there were 25,000 new man-made molecules. By 2000, there were more than
85,000, and new synthetic molecules were being manufactured at a rate of
1,500 per year. Today, the US produces or imports more than one million
pounds each of 2,800 industrial chemicals."


the govenator vetoed state funding for that "biomonitoring" bill [SB600]
last year.  i've lost track of where this effort stands.


wanna really pull back the veil? PFCs . . .

"carcinogenic" . . ."detected in all of the wildlife species analyzed."
[polar bears, caspian seals, dolphins . . .] . . ."Through studies conducted
in the late 1980s, 3M learned that terminal breakdown products of many
PFCs - PFOA and PFOS, for example - will not break down in the environment."

http://www.ewg.org/reports/pfcworld/es.php


feel better now?

so, like, "yes, but . . ."

Why Bush hasn't been impeached 

By Gary Kamiya


"To impeach Bush would force us to directly confront our national core of violent self-righteousness -- come to terms with it, understand it and reject it. And we're not ready to do that."




Will Republicans Destroy Themselves Before They Destroy America?

By Paul Craig Roberts


"The fact that the American people were lied to and deceived does not absolve them from blame. The lie was transparent, the logic nonexistent, the true facts available and easy to discover.

America failed, because the American people failed. The American people failed, because their self-righteousness and their hubris made them easy saps for deception."

 

Once you've indulged in the "supreme international crime"*; one involving the deaths of as many as 700,000 people and the displacement of 4,000,000 more, what's all this "to-do" about,

shrink-wrapped pallets of $100 bills (tons of 'em) gone missing

a few pictures of White House policy  (not "just a few bad apples," but "from the top") in action

massive, illegal spying

stolen and hacked elections

repeatedly lying to Congress

crimes against nature . . .

Oh heck! Nevermind all the rest!


*engaging in "Conspiracy to defraud the United States," along the way

 

 

 

[mind at play . . . under working title, "spiritual materialism," wrote here:

 

i don't think myself versed, really, in Chogyam Trungpa's critique of this title (did i even read it years ago?); nor "competent" or even intending to examine this subject through the lens of his work.  sat down to write under the title, Idealized Mentations of Spirituality (uw! yuck!) but demurred, moments ago, figuring, ‘yeah, yeah, what trungpa said!'

 

landed on third and "finished" title, here, as this post found its end.]

 

 

i find myself pondering two objects of "iconography" in my own, i don't know, "spiritual" biography - "pictures in my head" of what, supposedly, a realized, personal, spiritual future (some moment, other than this one, yet to come) might look like.  and here we sort of get to the point.  rather than actually engaging in genuine spiritual realization, here and now, i sop, instead, on this palliative lozenge for the soul: ‘maybe, someday, my very countenance might somehow look like this.'  rather than "being Peace," fully and truly, i become, effectively, busy guessing what my hair will look like when Peace, at last, finds a permanent home in my heart.  and i can dare to say spiritual biography only to the extent that the objects of this life's "ambition" and adoration may, conceivably, be spiritual.  but this objectification of Spirit, in practice, is essentially no different than posterizing "fine homes, hot babes, and fast cars."  on the surface, we can shuffle the "objects" of our materialistic shucking and jiving, but the deep structure of what we are, in sum, engaged in - materialism - is the very same-same.  (i think this was Chogyam's point. "car chaser/ god chaser - check it out! you two are, in effect, accomplishing about the same thing -- i.e.: an un-Realized life!)

 

so then, what "posters" hang here on my wall?  again, two "images," more than any others, have enthralled my "spiritual" ambitions over the years.  (to be fair, the bodhisattva vow, is not chump change, and it has captured my imagination and summarized "the goal" no less -- being the "car," or poster 3, perhaps, to go with the "house," poster 1, and the "babe," poster 2.)

 

first, the tenth of the Oxherding Pictures (D. T Suzuki's english rendering of which as I have always recalled it, is): "returning to the city with bliss-bestowing hands."

 

the second requires a little more explaining, but is equally posterizable.  for expedience sake, let's just say this one involves one of the "-ananda" brothers  (maybe Nitya-), as i recall it was based on a "true" story - though recurrent through Indian mythology.  it's an iconograph of  a sage; near-naked; dirty; reposed, it turns out, on a heap of dung; at a crossroads to some dusty, well-trodden lanes, somewhere in India.  passersby are aghast at his appearance and his choice of resting places.  there may be some taunts and slurs tossed the man's way:  "get a job!," "asshole!," "crazy fool!"  but sadly, what goes unnoticed, among those who notice the man at all,  is that this sage is Utterly at Rest, Utterly Free, raptured in Sahaja Samadhi [cue the twinkly sounds and shimmering lights].  would that they could notice, there is a luminousness about the man.  and his Regard for the hurried, bustling, comings and goings around him . . . "there is only THIS!"  so, who, in this little story, is "mad?"  who, in this story, are the "fools?"

we'll call this one, haloed (and antinomian) sadhu.

posters on my wall . . .  there are others, but #10 is the "shang-," and the sadhu the "rila" in my vision of spiritual pavement.

think myself the "failed" brother among a band of brothers that includes Ken Wilber, Saniel Bonder, and David Deida.

these, my brothers, are adept and rich in all ways (esp. Ken! always Ken, Ken, Ken!).  Ken, the meta -genius; Saniel, who i feel closest to; and David, who, unfortunately, i really haven't yet gotten to know too well.

this brotherhood was forged -- literally, by these other men -- at the feet of Adi Da.

me, i got stuck at Harbin Hot Springs -- my 'waystation to wonderland!' -- a hill and a valley away from the Mountain of Attention Sanctuary.  even then, though i managed, one day, to park near and walk up to the gates of "Persimmon," the Guru, alas, had fled, half way across an ocean, far from where i dared to tread.

i'm yet to meet any of these brothers, in person, but did recently listen to Ken, over the phone (he sounded great -- "healthy"); and have spoken with Saniel and his wife, Linda, several times, on the phone (bless their hearts!)

each has mentored me. 

me, gobbling up everything-Ken -- kicking it off with Spectrum of Consciousness -- what a hallelujah, amen, peel-of-bells, how-many-lifetimes-have-i-waited-for-this? kind of day that was! -- and all the bell-ringing since -- always bigger, always better.


Saniel, going back to his "editorial" days, nearly holding my hand, always guiding my heart, with each new issue of The Dawn Horse, Vision Mound and (were you still there then?) Laughing Man; with each new tome from Dawn Horse Press; and again, more recently, with his Waking Down in Mutuality work.

David -- we've been too distant, kiddo!  though your Way of the Superior Man is under my belt (pun intended), and your latest, Instant Enlightenment, is on my list.

doin' my darnedest, bros! 

oh, to meet with the three of you together!  we really should get together some day.

thank you, men!

"Verschärfte Vernehmung" ( "Enhanced Interrogation"),  by Andrew Sullivan

linked article includes GRAPHIC IMAGE of a dead man.



"Critics will no doubt say I am accusing the Bush administration of being Hitler. I'm not. There is no comparison between the political system in Germany in 1937 and the U.S. in 2007. What I am reporting is a simple empirical fact: the interrogation methods approved and defended by this president are not new. Many have been used in the past. The very phrase used by the president to describe torture-that-isn't-somehow-torture - "enhanced interrogation techniques" - is a term originally coined by the Nazis. The techniques are indistinguishable. The methods were clearly understood in 1948 as war-crimes. The punishment for them was death."



see too, the latest at Balkinization, and Firedoglake