Friday, May 27, 2011

Plant Dyptich #1


Nightshade

Aye, you know
I'm poison.
I'm famous for that.
And I'm common green except
for those little blue blossoms
that come out later in the year;
And I'm not much to look at, I'll
give you that.
But with me, you know what you're getting.
As for Lilly of the Valley--
all white petticoats and purity with
a sweet virginal scent--
but she doesn't advertise her poison,
Does she now?
Everyone plucks her
to fill their houses with
her gaudy odor,
but never Nightshade,
No, for her it's
"Pull her up by her roots and
toss her on the compost heap!"


Lilly of the Valley

Think of white gingerbread
houses and lace curtains,
kitchens of cream
and dark blue, or
a shiny mohogany table with
a doily in the center
and bunches and bunches of
me in a big crystal bowl.
Think of your long-dead grandmother
alive again as she once was
in her print dress
sitting with a cup of tea
at that very table in your mind.
Sure, Nightshade, I'm poisonous
in several ways, but I hope
no one plans to eat me.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Tulip Time has Started










Spring has exploded with color and it feels like it was just for me. I left the states for the UAE on November 1, 2007 and got back in August of 2010. That means the last time I experienced spring was four years ago. What impressed me as I walked Sammy tonight was the perfume in the air. Too early for the lily of the valley to be out, it had to be the blossoms of the weeping cherry trees, the magnolias (which are magnificent) and an assortment of other things popping up and bursting open. Spring is one powerful season. I had to get out and see it today. I found it amazing. All that color.






Here in Holland, Michigan, they celebrate Spring (I always capitalize it since I’m part pagan) by having a huge festival called Tulip Time, in which they remember their Dutch heritage. People here boast that it is the third largest festival in America after Mardi Gras, and the Tournament of Roses parade. People come from all over the world to see the Holland students in their Dutch Costumes dancing traditional dances in the streets, eat overpriced (but very good) sausages, elephant ears, cotton candy and all kinds of things that leave wonderful smells lingering in the air downtown, and take photos of the tulips and costumes.






On the one hand it is a festival that appeals to a rather geriatric crowd, on the other hand it is a festival that meets a human need to embrace Spring—Persephone rising from the realm of the dead—Winter is over. Something invisible is in the air is speaking: the unbeatable force of life is rising up! Drink deep and get intoxicated! Feel the beat of your own heart fall into sync with the flow of sap in the trees and with the laughter of children playing on the hill.

Sunday, May 1, 2011

Monday, April 4, 2011

Reflections on why I'm writing "A Ghost in the Cloud"


Excuse me if I am redundant. Some people are aural and would rather listen, others prefer to read so I've written my thoughts more clearly and in depth below and tried to say essentially the same thing in the video. I'm not too comfortable yet talking to a camera, but I think a vlog, as opposed to a blog, might be more interesting in some ways. With this posting, I seem to be doing both.


I posted my original story, The Ghost in the Cloud in January of 2009, though I think I had written it shortly after I arrived in the UAE, but my memory isn’t so good. The first chapter was just a short story, written in response to a documentary I had seen called “Transhumans” about very real technologies and “fuzzy areas” of ethics in science. I realized that many of the individuals and companies who have access to the materials and knowledge to put into reality certain products that can alter genes, or enhance humans or select the most promising sequences of DNA for designer babies, do not share my sense of ethics about tampering with human beings. The original story was in response to a small number of people who are working on AI, who think they would like to transfer their consciousness in to cyberspace where they think they will be able to live forever.


Since then I have meandered all over the place in my story telling. But one thing I have noticed about these stories is that I am writing out of my introspective personality. I notice that I tend to use the words ponder and reflect quite often. Most of my characters are people who think about the meaning of things, wonder about who they are, what they are, and what might result from the choices that are being made now. My characters, of course, spring out of my own head and therefore are different aspects of myself, and since I am introspective, my characters tend to be introspective. Even Jack, the cyberspace AI, spends a great deal of time “processing” and trying to understand exactly what he is.


I realized today that I do not live in an introspective culture. I live in a capitalist culture and capitalism is far from introspective. All our thoughts in this culture are chained and directed to one goal: the making of money, because at the core of capitalism lies greed. Greed is the fuel that runs the machine of industry, not oil or coal. Greed is the prime motivator of all we do in this culture. Greed fosters competition, which capitalist see as good because it drives us to do our best—ignoring the fact that there are very few winners and this completion simply sifts out and rewards the sociopaths among us because they are willing to win at the expense of others whom they care nothing about, justifying themselves by saying, “nothing personal, it’s just good business.” It is this love of money that drives the thinking of our capitalist intellectuals, and greed doesn’t bother with introspection—doesn’t want to think about the possible problems, the needs of people, or the needs of the soul—what profit is there in the soul?


I have no problem with capitalism as long as our culture can chain the beast and make it serve the people. Tax it, regulate it, and force it to pay decent living wages and benefits, care for the poor and disabled. But understand that the beast, if unfettered, would eat the people who chain it and would ravage the land until all the resources are devoured and all the pristine lakes and rivers are poisoned and all the land is developed into crowded, dirty slums.


Excuse me. I got off into a rant there. My point is that I am not exactly in sync with my culture when I say that I am introspective. Our culture likes to elect leaders who don’t think; we like people who simply decide and move on. We value decisiveness and quick gratifying actions—even if those actions are wrong. We just want someone who looks strong and tough and tells us what we want to believe. We want people who lie to us, give us the illusion of strength and direction. Introspective people aren’t like that, and they seem weak to us—unsure of themselves, they question and doubt their own actions. This is really too bad. I think that now, more than ever, we need introspection in our leaders. The world is just too crazy and its problems are so massive that we need people in leadership who ponder and reflect on things before they act, or even when they do to look at the results and question if it is the right thing to do and back up if need be.


The world I am creating in my story—especially in Suri Sangala—is a vision of a culture that is introspective. I tend to read at a slow pace with the minimalist music of Philip Glass in the background. The teachers in that world have a tendency to elicit or draw out the answers from their students rather than simply dictate to them what is true according to dogma or tradition. There is a kind of assumption that truth is in them already; when they are ready to see it, they will see it. The role of the teacher is to simply ask questions which the student must think about or ponder.


Suri Sangala is a testing ground for Maslow’s Hierarchy of Needs. There is no war, no politics, nothing to create stress. When all the external needs are met, people must begin to deal with what is in them. This sets them on a path to self-actualization. I’ve come to not like that term, self-actualization, because it means different things to different people. Here I mean a state of being where one is able to transcend the self and find a kind of realization that that we are connected to everything. Actions that an individual commits with that kind of state of mind or being are authentic and motivated by something beyond that individual; and something inside that person tends to bring balance, harmony, healing and peace where ever he or she may go.

Sunday, March 20, 2011

The Lost Riddle

I call this "The Lost Riddle" because I lost it and found it in some old papers the other day. It is a different sort of riddle than so many of the others because the answer isn't exactly an object. And that's all the help I'm gonna' give on this one.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

The first signs of spring

I'm a guy and all, and guys don't usually do flowers, but having lived through my first winter back in the USA after missing three of them in a row in a land of perpetual sunshine and warmth, I was feeling rather ready for spring, so you can imagine my thrill at seeing these things pop up in my back yard. I've never exactly thought of flowers as a sign of triumph before, but that is exactly what they are.






Sunday, March 6, 2011

Mary Ann McCray

Taking a break from riddles this week and I thought I'd put together a ghost story. I wrote the words to this back in the 90's for a poetry class with the poet, Jared Carter who seemed to like all my poetry, and I, in turn, rather enjoyed his class, though others hated him because he could be pretty straight with the punches. I and a few of the other students went out for beer with him a few times and he cold talk. I remember him saying that after the end of the cold war, we would see a shift in our attention to having wars in the Middle East, since presidents often need wars to distract people from real issues at home. He may have been right about that, but he was also a big talker, with lots of opinions. I don't mind that with people as long as they laugh at themselves when their baloon gets popped, and as long as they are willing to tolerate other people's view points.

Anyway, I love a good ghost story--this one is kind of ambiguous as ghost stories go--I left it a bit unclear wheter Mary Ann McCray was really a ghost or not. She may never had died and may have been simply assumed into the court of harest maids. The Harvest Queen is a kind of Diana/Demeter goddess. The idea being that old gods and goddesses hide themselves in rual areas and have resorted to stealth in a time when people no longer believe in them except for certain times of the year when something in us remembers full moons and ancient festival days in spite of ourselves. I wrote this because my class was in the fall and Halloween was coming up. It is a time of year when my mind always turns to James Wibcomb Riley and "Little Orphant Anne" (the spelling is his). I've often thought we need more like them for the season, so I wrote one in a differen vein.