Fear

An overlooked quality of fear is its usefulness. Fear teaches us safety, caution, resourcefulness. It teaches us to be more intelligent, for if not for this greatest of emotional motivations, there would be no necessity to reason or way through problems. Fear also lets us love; we cannot do so without it. Those who do not fear anything do not love anything either. They are the most dangerous people to be around. Fear is an opportunity to educate oneself. When we feel this emotion about a phenomenon and to, animal, or person, 100% of the time we will be less afraid of it by gaining knowledge about it. This is a more productive and safer way of confronting fear then facing it head on.

Libra's Fulcrum: Balancing the Brain, Heart, and Gut

When the heart and mind are in conflict over a decision, allow the gut to tip the scales as a deciding vote.

There are three neural centers in the body. While the one in the brain is presumably in control, scientists know the other two in the heart and gut also play heavily in behavioral decisions. Some people can intensely feel these other two clusters, making it seem like there are really three "brains" in the body. So, if it ever feels like two are at odds with each other, the third can act as a "majority rules" deciding factor. The brain may deal more in logic than the others, but logic doesn't see everything. The gut is a bit more rational than the heart but falls far short of the brain. Nonetheless, when we have a natural instinct for the right decision, it holds a heavy voice. Likewise, in matters of passion and love the heart reign supreme, however it can be mediated by the gut and brain.

 Analyzing some of my major life decisions, we can see this dynamic in action. Recently one included my career. My heart wanted to study geography while my brain told me to stick with accounting. Unconsciously, it was my gut that tipped the decision in favor of geography, though I elected to keep my prospects in accounting open.

When I met my wife, I was involved with another girl. The other girl had my gut; instinctively I wanted to be with her more, even though my heart wanted my wife and my brain told me she was the safer choice. So, it was 2-1 in favor of my wife, again an unconscious decision where the three neural centers jostled for control.

There were plenty of times when I only listened to one of these and got in trouble. Early in college, I listened to my brain and not my heart or gut, which would have told me to stick with meteorology. When I picked bookkeeping, it was also my brain making the call and not the others. The bookkeeping certification I earned was a total dead end. In ten years. I have only gotten as far as Accounts Receivable, which can be done with a mere high school diploma.

When we decided to stay here instead of move to Thailand, my gut and brain overruled my heart, which one of my wife to Feel at home so badly. When I decided to have children, the heart overruled the brain, which was trying to convince me we couldn't afford it.

The worst decision I ever made, a letter written in high school, was done by the gut, much to the dismay of my heart and brain. I feel like many crimes are committed by the gut alone, so it is possibly the most dangerous when not put in check. Also, dating Jewelry was a heart only decision And we know how that ended.

This fascinating analysis means that life might be simpler than it seems. Inside, we have all these voices we need to guide us. Learning how to listen to them by compromise is the key to success.

Death By Tornado

The storm chaser is hosting his own podcast. He interrupts one of hus guests when a tornado is about to form. There is enough down time when storm chasing to make this possible- he has a whole team helping him. The show is broadcast straight from his van, where all his meteorological technology is, and once a storm hits, the camera in his car turns on so that his fans can watch him as he's driving. Reed Timmer meets Art Bell. The show becomes the most popular podcast in history, mainly because of the chaos involved in cutting off an exciting topic for an even more exciting chase, and the possibility of  seeing his reaction to a tornado taking form.

One day his wife calls on the air just before an F4 tornado touches down. He tries to cut her off but she becomes agitated. She exposes him for cheating on her, totally live, right as everyone sees the tornado he is chasing.  The humiliation causes him to change direction, putting him right in the path of the storm. He forgets all safety protocol in a futile attempt to passify his wife. He can't even listen to his crew because he is trying to "explain" his side of the story an ultimate panic mode. Finally he realizes the gravity of the situation; the F4 tornado is about to send his van flying with the whole world watching as his wife continues to chastise him. 

He tries to interrupt her one more time, and in the back of her mind she can hear him saying he is about to die. She doesn't care. The tornado accomplishes her revenge. What makes it funny is her complaints seem trivial to the actual cheating. Very little is said about the true offense. A garden variety domestic quibble has turned into a viral sensation as the awesome forces of nature tear it apart. The storm chaser becomes the first person in history to die on the air from driving into a tornado.

Year of the Rabbit

How fitting it is that during the Chinese Year of the Rabbit (2023), a family of them moved into our backyard. They live in a hole on the little slope that rises midway from the house, over in the bushes toward the right. All spring they have come out intermittently to graze on the grass. Recently they became comfortable enough to play and chase each other without worrying about us. Only the lawnmower seems to scare them, and the menacing cat next door who is very difficult to keep out. Sadly, my wife found fur and some entrails on the patio, presumably from one of the rabbits there the cat picked off. Until then, she felt like she was living in a dream world, or in a heavenly fairy tale, as rabbits are her favorite land dwelling animal. She doesn't even mind their excrement, unlike every other animal.

The rabbit population has increased handily in recent years. I see them all over the suburbs now, when just 10 years ago it would have been a rarity. It's part of an urban wildlife revolution going on, where some animals are evolving to adapt to modern human environments. Like rats before them, coyotes and raccoons are among other animals that are finding it easier to live in our relatively domesticated cities where threats from predators are lower. Eventually, we might see a whole new food chain in urban settings, as more and more animals adjust. After all the waste we've produced, advantages are inevitable. In fact, I believe we've created a whole new level of niche settings because of all the junk we create. And it's not even animals that will benefit the most. Fungi and bacteria are going to have an evolutionary field day consuming all the plastic and appliances we've created.

That's why pollution is relative. Several centuries from now, the creatures that evolved to consume our waste won't think it was toxicity that gave them life but an overabundance of energy, similar to how the plant kingdom opened up food paths and habitats for the animal kingdom a billion years ago. The kingdom that takes the most advantage will be the most successful. I suppose it is an evil outlook to view our waste as being productive to future species, considering the myriad other ways we are polluting the planet. Currently, we are a disaster; but in the future, we may be seen as heroes for being able to mutate their ancestors to ever higher levels of freakdom. But still not as evil as a cat killing a rabbit out of sheer boredom.

Toby

 Innocent youth skimming the lake
 Lush with fronds from the willows,
 They're coming for you, the demons of lust
 Who lie hidden in the lake community,
 Behind the incense of sermons, priests
 Who preached from the heart, not the mind.
 Take your books and go back to school,
 Don't look behind, or they will follow you
 Cordless vespers in the evening dew
 Clamoring for attention over the soft air
 Treading water you breathe in the passion,
 Oblivious to the schemes of scripture,
 Fully absorbed by the atmosphere
 Where fireflies at twilight soothe the water,
 Torn asunder by curiosity to discover
 What the nuns declined to render,
 Dormant sirens muffled by the bell below.

The Bell, Iris Murdoch

  The Bell, what a novel. Iris Murdoch was the best psychological fiction writer. At every moment, I knew exactly how each character was feeling, and why. No other writer has been able to capture the inner thoughts and feelings of their characters as well as she has. Her gifts aren't restricted to introspection. Her writing is beautiful; The paragraphs are exquisite. The natural setting of the bell rivals any other I've read: a quaint community by a lake, surrounded by forests. She successfully contradicted it with the turmoil of its residents, who are caught in love triangles and forbidden desires. In a holy setting. The human condition is bared raw in the face of paradise, as if they didn't belong in it but somehow did.

How Economics Revolutionized the World Map

From 1945-1995, more countries were added to the world map than in any other period.  While it may seem that pressure from Cold War countries deterred European colonizers from defending their territories, a more practical theory is that they no longer benefited as much economically from keeping them.  Vast stores of energy were needed to keep resources moving and natives subdued.  As World War 2 changed the European landscape, it also dismantled jingoism as the main political motivator. Countries in Europe were no longer interested in destroying each other; they wanted to cooperate with each other more.  Organizations like the UN, EU, IMF, etc. made it easier for them to trade with each other, thus securing the resources they needed closer to home.  That opened the door to many colonial uprisings, which the Cold War superpowers were quick to support or deter, depending on the momentum of their economic position.  So, it was economics, not power or nationalism or war, that revolutionized the world map.

Unicorn of the Forest

     In the cold frostlands of Russia there lived a maiden who loved to sing.  She sang so sweetly that all the animals in the forest came to witness the beauty of her voice.  Even the fabled unicorn, who was attracted to virgins, came to her voice like a calling from some arcane mythology.  Of all the animals, the unicorn was her favorite, for it was the only one that matched her in beauty, and so she did well to tame it.  When she brought it back to the village, all were amazed that a mere serf had caught the attention of such a legendary creature.

    One day, a nobleman came to the village and heard her singing.  He'd never heard anything as captivating, so he spied her from afar.  What also attracted him was that she was comforting the white beast of the forest, caressing its neck as she murmured a soft lullaby, making him feel envious.  It didn't bother him that she was a serf; he did everything he could to woo the maiden, and inevitably she relented.  After she lost her virginity to him, he asked her to marry him, and so they planned to wed the following spring.  But laying with him came with a price: the unicorn was seen no more in the village.

    The maiden became like any regular serf, still lovely and talented at singing, but without the charm of her unusual pet.  Yet the nobleman still loved her, like she hadn't even lost her unicorn.  When he brought her to the city of his birth, she was shunned by the aristocracy to have bewitched their young count, but he insisted on loving her, that it was he who had courted her, and that all were invited to their wedding.  Only five people came though, as even members of his immediate family were absent, which left him feeling betrayed and disillusioned.  How their love could be rejected and vilified due to a social convention was beyond their understanding.  As time went on they found themselves living in seclusion, isolated from everyone who'd paid tribute to his regality, even his own family.  He was also disheartened to find that he'd lost his inheritance; that even his heirs would not get anything because of the supposed sin of interclass marriage, indoctrinated most strongly by artistocrats in the Church.

    Over time, love proved stronger than convention.  The couple loved each other deeply for years, having a son in the process, and building a life for themselves.  That strength never brought society to their side.  When the wife grew deathly ill, she was only in her 30s.  It was only then that she regretted marrying a nobleman, as she was certain God had punished her for her actions by taking her away early.  Lying on her deathbed, she asked forgiveness from the Lord, which pained her husband to no end.  That her last thought should be regret for marrying him was something he'd never recover from.

    Until one day he was teaching his son to hunt in the forest, when the unicorn came upon them.  It rested its head on the nobelman's legs, as it had done when it first saw the virgin so long ago, his bride to be.  The man stroked its glorious horn, as his wife had done just before he courted her.  Take me back, he said to the unicorn, so that I may undo what is done.  The unicorn did not listen.  Instead it went over to the son, himself a virgin, and led him deep into the forest.  The father followed, confused at this sudden turn of events.  In the forest they found her, bruised and bloodied, raped and presumably dead, not from disease but from a raid on the village that was to occur soon after she left with the count.  It dawned on him that this is what would have happened had he never taken her away, and neither would his son have been born.  The apparition faded once his understanding was complete; he had made the right decision, and his wife would have agreed had she known.  God's judgment is never made in death, only in life.

    There in the forest, he built a new home to live the rest of his days, honoring his deceased wife with a shrine of pagan imagery.  The son returned to the city to successfully reclaim his heritage, convincing the aristocracy that his father's actions should not influence his status in society.  He was so convincing that the cultural dam broke on interclass marriages, and others would soon be doing it- the shame directed at the castigated couple turned back on the aristocrats.  Every time he returned to the forest, the unicorn led him back to his father's house, which could never be found on a map.  The son would wonder if it even existed; if the unicorn had somehow taken them through a portal to another world.  And there he would find him, seeing his father for what he hoped wasn't the last time, the faint remembrance of her songs emanating from their embrace.

Sapphire Dinner

Blue seafood banquet on the Edmonds pier

That sunlight graced with loving kindness

Presented us a pristine Puget scene

Of ferries and mountains and whales,

Wispy fragments of childhood wonder

Brushed by a cloudless quartzite sky.

Smiles aglow around the seraglio dome,

Mothers in ecstasy celebrating home,

Glints off the glass that love smashed

To smithereens, shirts blue and green,

Cards from sons and daughters, emotive in spring.

We thank you for this food, we thank you for their love,

Theirs is the greatest of flavors, dashed by a holy cross,

Saints of tenderness the angels marinated,

Joy and care transmitted from their smiles to ours.

Those beau monde coquettes who stole the eye,

Reflected lasciviously through the polished glass,

Yield to this platter of crustaceans and kinship:

Nothing is more important, alas, we sometimes forget.

To stay together is a gift, often overlooked,

Though we deign to surrender its value,

With plates of gratitude left at the shrine.

Mysteries of the Quantum Foam in Singularities

     I've just read from Black Holes and Time Warps that the singularity at the center of a black hole is made of something called quantum foam, making its dimensions only of space and not of time.  As the black hole is formed, the dimension of time is lost at the singularity.  A whole dimension being lost is akin to a cube becoming a flat square in our world.  Thus black holes do not operate in hyperspace, or in higher dimensions, but in a lower one, one we cannot see because they swallow all light.  In this manner, light seems to be a prerequisite for time.  It also means that time cannot reverse inside a black hole as I'd originally wondered.

    This should come as no surprise.  Just as we are unable to see the theoretical higher dimensions of space, we are equally unable to see the lower ones, even if we can represent them visually, say on a piece of paper.  And yet space without time, in the quantum foam of a singularity, is fittingly similar to the state of the universe before the big bang, when there was no time or light and energy was infinitely condensed.  The light that is swallowed manifests as energy that is continuously built as the black hole gets bigger.  

    If so, a series of questions arises: what triggers the big bang explosion after the singularity runs out of fuel, or its implosion is complete?  Are there millions of baby universes in the black holes of our universe, or have they yet to be born, waiting to swallow up everything in their neighborhood?  Or is everything gravitating to a would-be black hole in the "center" of the universe, that will one day swallow every other black hole, and all the mass in the universe with it, triggering a Big Crunch that is simultaneously consistent with the Big Freeze- all that remains of the "outer" universe- as a shell of the inner one taking form?

A Peaceful Death

    Into the ocean we fell, three or more comrades, blasted from a ship in some war, or natural disaster.  We knew our lives were over, we resigned ourselves to the end.  No struggle, no pain, only acceptance, a mutual acknowledgment of the inevitable.  Yet together we were stronger in death than we would have otherwise been.  Dying with others is less scary that way; it's as if the shared experience purifies it, attaches your soul to others for eternity.  We left with no regrets, no anger, no fear that we would not live on.  Our lives felt complete, as if we'd left no business unfinished, no stone unturned.  Weak as we were, the strength of death infiltrated our bones as we closed our eyes, drifting in the shallow light, darkened underworld reaching to catch us.  La petite fille de la mer, ejected from the mantle of the material, misty corridor through which surrender evaporates, shaded enigma where the scaled ribbons of light undulate.  As the light went out, we spoke to each other, that this is the end, that all is ok.  Nothing left to achieve, nothing left to say, nothing left to do but let the universe dissolve our ashes while preserving our souls.  It is not as terrifying as it seems, for even if we are alone, others are waiting.  All the ones who passed before us.  They say welcome, brother.

Brother Ivan

Long-haired hippie of the golden coast,

Disciple of wisdom and all that's free,

Preach to orphans destined for light,

Show them the way from trauma and abuse,

Neglect sedated by drugs of wonderment,

Miracles in the mind turned to healing.

Hitchhiking gypsy wearing tattered cloth,

Shoeless yet radiant in the sunset's calm,

Baptize these lost children, that they may be saved

From the dark machine's firm grip.

Seek the elders who misunderstand, castigate,

Yet care in ways only you could reveal.

Rejoice in the delicacy of their illusions,

Pry them open with parables and proverbs.

 

On the mountain you sit, the wind on your face,

Talking with your father, who commands

You to unite them, who wishes to use you

The untarnished vagabond above the fault,

Destitute of vice despite the hardship-

This the truest miracle in all you perform-

You must be his voice, yes, in the calm golden light,

Fingertips of sunlight bathing your skull,

Wrapping you in warmth with the city's heartbeat.

You will wander those freeways, an answer to prayers,

Forsaken once the Word got out,

Content beyond measure to have served

Divine teachings where the ocean is reborn.

Crime or Conspiracy: When Heinous Things Happen

     I finished watching Malcolm X, a striking biopic about the man and the events leading to his death.  It reminded me about all the conspiracy hype in the 90s, as its predecessor JFK exposed flaws in the Warren Commission that decided Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone in assassinating the former president.  The lyrics of bands like Rage Against the Machine suggested the U.S. government was behind the assassinations of other peacemakers, notably black ones like Malcolm X and Dr. Martin Luther King.  As the Vietnam War and Watergate had disillusioned the American public from trusting the government, it led to a hyper-conspiracy culture in which every government action came into question, even ones where there wasn't any evidence of their involvement, including the fake moon landing, that 9/11 was an inside job; and yes, the assassinations of those mentioned above, Bobby Kennedy notwithstanding.

    To date there is no evidence of government involvement, not from the FBI, CIA, or any of a large number of potential witnesses.  Remember the all important maxim of justice: "innocent until proven guilty".  It's certainly possible the government was involved in any of these supposed fabrications, yet the fact remains that nobody credible has come out and stated it.  Be careful when you watch someone's artistic interpretation of an event: often it does not include the whole picture.  Such as the background behind what would have motivated Oswald to shoot Kennedy, or the Nation of Islam to shoot Malcolm X.  Why do any of the horrible mass shootings happen in our recent history?  These are men who yearn to be recognized; outcasts who feel they can't do anything meaningful otherwise.  They are full of hate.  They are not paid by someone to commit atrocities; what drives them to murder innocent people is the desire to be noticed.  The one common element in all their character traits is that they have gone unrecognized.  And they are usually making a statement that all blame for it is on the person(s) they are shooting rather than themselves.

Globalization or Americanization?

     Globalization is the catch-all term for modern economic and sociopolitical norms, fermented by technology, communication, and transportation networks that facilitate trade and the transfer of ideas.  But how much of it has its origins in the U.S.A, and if it is upwards of 50%, would Americanization be a better term to describe the zeitgeist of our modern world?

    The short answer is yes, the vast majority of innovative products with global appeal have American origins, or at least were inspired by something American.  Not only do people like to buy our stuff, but the traditional incentive for immigrants attracted by our superior law system, the idealization that money grows on trees here, that there is so much prosperity and land that anyone can be happy, means that most of the free world world now yearns for an American way of life, which is arguably more important than the actual products we export.  It's our superior marketing talent (and volume) that stamps a lifestyle for the new age on all citizens of the world, from the Chilean mountains to the Australian outback.  The idea of Americanism actually uprooted globalization- for a truly globalized world means all countries spread goods and ideas equally- to the point where one country dominates by incorporating elements of all the others.

    It's the nature of investment, and the establishment of an identity when there isn't any.  Companies like Disney do a brilliant job of building an artificial mythology, stolen from the cultural vaults of other countries.  Every film they release takes a piece of someone else's culture and tattoos it onto ours, effectively marketing it for global distribution, so that what we have now are American versions of ancient, sacred stories to pacify unaware consumers around the world. The transformation from an authentic mythology rooted in a specific region, such as Aladdin in Arabia, may seem ominous until you realize this is what people want.  The modern world wants modern stories, fast and zesty, fun and accessible, for all to relate with it, which also serves to make them easier to market and distribute.

    It doesn't stop at movies either.  Our music, food, engineering, software, literature, etc., have all made strides around the world, so that what we have are a group of many cultures gravitating toward one.  No other country even comes close to our prestige and influence.  China could if it wanted, but its political order will not allow it.  India was too far behind to have a chance.  Britain and other European countries never had the resources in close proximity the way America did.  Only Japan seems capable of catching up with us, with potential revolutions in anime and video game adaptations.  Yet one doesn't see Japanese culture overtaking a place like sub-Saharan Africa the way American culture could.  It's because our people have roots everywhere, and nobody is limited from coming here.  They wouldn't know it, but the anti-immigrants in this country are truly the anti-Americans, for they want to deny America the very thing that made it great enough to grow uncontrollably alluring: its unprecedented diversity.