Guerilla Zen

03:21 pm: Attuning to the Tao
Life, I opine, should come with a health warning. I'm not asking for a manual, a walk-through guide, or even a money back guarantee; I just think that, on the whole, someone or something should really be responsible for alerting people to the fact that living is a life altering experience.

Take psychotherapy for example. My course came with a health warning, advising that the process of training is likely to be deeply affecting and life-altering, that can bring so much stuff bubbling up from the depths that not every trainee is guaranteed to complete the journey. In point of fact, training groups shrink by about 50% from start to finish because the process is just that intense. (I am choosing not to address the question of what percentage of people don't make it through the process of life on the grounds that I am far too sober to survive that level of existential reflection).

Taoism is what happens when you give up and admit that: 1) the universe is bigger than you 2) the universe is smarter than you 3) the universe doesn't care about you and therefore is neither out to get you or going to catch you when you fall, and 4) that's ok, you can handle it. It's crucial, by the way, that you get to 4 and not get side-tracked into 4b) fall into existential despair and spend the rest of your days drinking red wine, misquoting Sartre, and attempting to show that damn universe who's boss by waking up drunk in fields with no memory of where you've been for the last five days.

Because then comes the question of one's place in the universe given that 1, 2, 3, and 4 (the question of one's place in the universe is admittedly alot easier to address in 4b, there are only so many fields within stumbling distance of outlets serving something at least resembling a passable red). Taoism is, in effect, the conclusion that 5) the universe probably doesn't know what it's up to in the same way that the sound made by an orchestra doesn't know what it's up to 6) there is, alas, no apparent conductor to ask what the hell the universe is playing 7) there sure as hell is an orchestra because damn if the universe isn't making a great deal of music, and 8) the beautiful thing about the universal music is that it regulates itself.

Taoism is the conclusion that, given 5, 6, 7, and 8, one's place in the universe is a question of harmony i.e. 9) how can I harmonise myself with the universal music? Or, translated into less esoteric terms, what do I need to do in this situation in order to stay in tune with the music?

Imagine an open jamming session in a pub. You go to join in. What instrument can you play? Say flute. You see a guitar, a flute, and a piano free; what do you pick up and play? Refer back to 9 and pick up the damn flute. So now you have an instrument and people are already jamming, freestyle. What do you play? Guess you could ask the conductor but uh oh, check out 6, bad luck kiddo, not gonna happen.

Standing there, flute in hand, it occurs to you that 7 is most definitely the case, but the fact of 6 is starting to make 4b a tempting prospect. You eye the bar in an attempt to catch a fleeting glimpse at the wine list. There's a promising looking rioja on there and you're fairly sure there's a nice big field about twenty minutes up the road...

... then, on the verge of putting down the flute, you zone out, listen to the music, and realise 8. Everyone's playing their own thing but in a way that harmonises their own thing with everyone else's own thing. There are even some bloody good little individual flourishes going on. 4b gives way to 9, the flute comes to your lips, and you come to the same realisation as the rest of the orchestra: 10) it's all improvisation.

Taoism is the art of improvised living.

10:37 am: Into the Hills
Glowering into the gloomy night,
the dark prince stands in shades of grey,
watching the failing light of day,
fade away,
forever.

'This restless night may never end'.

He stands transfixed by the distant hills. Obscured by mist and washed by steady rain, they stand constant and alluring. A gusty wind tugs at his clothes, his hair, the softly rendered grey of his eyes. A shroud of focusing intent seems to gather itself around him, something in the world shifts in a subtle manner, and all the while he watches, watches, watches.

No heavens' embroidered cloths will mask,
this violation, this other's-gain,
this spreading stain of stark disdain,
this biting rain,
of winter.

'My infernal wishes descend'.

He is watching the past unfolding in the present, those alluring hills seeming to swell with story and the promise of answers, the kind of answers that level mountains with the force of revelation. He imagines a valley choked with ice, no natural division of rock and earth, but a deep inflicted gash across the belly of the world. He imagines what it must be to be cut deeply, sharp biting metal passing through unspoiled flesh, the searing fire, the gushing blood. He imagines what it must be to pack such a wound with ice, to freeze it numb for the sake of sweet relief, to petrify crimson droplets into rubies.

To cause all things to cease.

In one smooth movement, he takes hold of the pendant at his neck, pulls it free and releases it into the air before him. A butterfly moulded crudely from clay tumbles into the dark wild night and catches ablaze in flames of purple and blue and green. A transformation unfolds, and from the fire bursts a dove with a plumage of shifting silver-black light, wings spread with glory, its song filling the air with joy as it spirals up and up and away towards the hills.

He watches the silver-black dove disappear into the distance and waits. Time passes. A growl from behind him sends a shiver down his spine and he feels hot heavy breath on his neck. His eyes remain fixed on the hills as his brow creases with tension. Then, there is a snort, and a dark mis-shapen form rushes past him, hell-bent on a mad rush into the hills.

Time passes. He starts to walk in the direction of the hills himself and feels a tingle in the air as he walks in the wake of the dove and the beast. He imagines the valley nestled in the hills, ice melting to flood the spreading plains, old old secrets returning slowly to the world. He imagines what it must be to allow the ice in a long-numbed wound to melt, to let rubies melt back into flowing blood as ancient fire erupts back into life.

Subtle whispers,
speaking hoarse,
endless echoes round the mountain course.
Demented visions,
dancing raw,
hideless bodies torn bloody by lore,
and disbelief.

'And from this, no relief'.

He sighs and knows that all is as it needs to be.

Tags: the dark prince

02:59 pm: A new year, a new beginning.
An over-sentimentalised notion now I think but an occasion that demonstrates something of a psychological need to be able to refresh and start over. Unfortunately, we are still culturally prone to standardising natural cycles, so rather than allowing for people to refresh themselves in accordance with their individual need, we have New Year, a celebration of debauch built around a standardised calendar's in-built reset function.

On the other hand, we adapt to our environment, and synchronising personal cycles with collective cycles is a basic function of the human being as a social animal. The argument that we have lost the connection with nature's cycles is one that forgets that humanity, and everything it does, is itself an expression of nature. The next time you stop at traffic lights, look at them and consider this: they are just as much a product of evolution as you or the trees or the frog.

And, in the midst of such meandering thoughts, I offer a non-chronologically ordered (take that standardised time!) overview of 2008.

( 2008 in Headlines )

01:20 pm: That Ross and Brand Affair
So the BBC have suspended Ross and Brand for doing pretty much what the BBC has been paying them to do - shocking people with the comedy of vulgarity.

As I understand it, the timeline of events looks something like this:

( McRant )

10:56 pm: Hear Ockham Sing!
Internet + Open Source Sound Editor = Ockham's Singing on MySpace

Pretty rough and ready production but it's a first step; go, have an eargasm on me.

06:40 pm: Interesting Anti-Terror Sidepoint
Remember that whole thing about anti-terror legislation being necessary only as a last resort to stop the proliferation of extremism and keep us all safe from terrorists hell-bent on destroying our basic way of life?

They lied.

Now maybe this is a good move, maybe it isn't. But it's an example of using something because it's there and it's doable. And that's the essence of the slippery slope argument against equipping Governments with legislation that could be used for more totalitarian purposes.

Still, Brown's handling the crisis pretty well isn't he?

09:02 pm: Freedom
This expanse,
Desert sun slipping into a shimmer,
One stray glimmer,
To sparkle across the averting eye,
Of time's eternal hold.

Tags: poetry

08:49 pm: Therapist Thoughts
Now here's a question for you: if it is the natural tendency of living things to survive at all costs, why is falling off the wagon so damn easy?

I'm reflecting on this because the father of my sister's daughter admitted to a drink problem a few weeks ago, started getting counselling, and gave up drink. He was a changed man by all accounts, much more stable, better to know, trustworthy.

I was back visiting family this weekend and we went out, the guy in question at home baby sitting. After a couple of strange calls from him, my sister decided we should head back and we find him drunk and crazy. She promptly throws him out of the house.

I'm reflecting on this because I think I actually recognise the urge for self-destruction at work here. I don't think people fall off the wagon; I think people jump off. By my reckoning, I've been out of depression for a clear 18 months now, but by God there are times when I want to throw myself back into that dark, familiar sea.

Worse than this though is that, on balance, I am living a fortunate and successful life that promises to yield more rewards as it goes on. So where does the temptation to tear that all to pieces come from? Because it's there, lurking in the background like some hyena of the darklands, kind of sniffing around waiting for a moment of weakness.

And it's so fucking unfair. All that effort, day by day, staying on the straight and narrow. But one stray moment and it will all come tumbling down.

It is the unfairness of it that is really motivating in my psychotherapy training at the moment. I'm sure self-destruction is about returning to ground zero, changing something that can only be reached through calamity, and building anew. But how many times can a person tear themselves to pieces before they can no longer rebuild?

The most terrifying thing about that last question is that, one day, I know I'll be able to answer it.

08:46 pm: Odd
Recently, I've caught myself apologising skyward half-way through blaspheming. Unconscious hedge-betting or existential good manners?

03:34 pm: The Angel August Speaks A Word
Seven silver butterflies spread their soft shining light in fluttering tracers through the surreal shadow of the underworld. Sparking between them, the remnants of Judice's will, all caught up in the trancing light of seven silver shots of confusion. The rabble is disorientated, raggedly adrift. The merest breeze and they will scatter.

( The Angel August Speaks A Word )

---

~ fin ~

Tags: the angel august, the angels temporal, to the heart of the matter

09:53 pm: Just wanted to say...
... why does anyone give a fuck about the Olympics? Great, you ran faster than those other guys... if I give you this medal will it get you the fuck out of my face? Good good, run along then.

Also, I am back from holidays, with tasteful strap marks on my sunburnt feet, an addiction to tap water, and balls so smooth I'm forced to fondle myself for ten minutes every time I take a whizz.

I'll rant about the naked ass spanking in the near future.

How's summer going for everyone else?

10:06 pm: Plain English Update - limited edition
I think too much. And yes, I know that statement is fully deserving of the reply ‘no shit Sherlock’. But rather than delve into it to find the deeper meanings and transcendental ramifications, I’m just going to take the opportunity to update for once on, you know, stuff.

Stuff like:

I’m going on holiday for two weeks as of close of play tomorrow. And I’m fucking excited about it to because next Wednesday I’m flying out to Ibiza for a week of hedonistic clubbing ecstasy. Oh my fucking God yes. Seriously, I can’t even think about it for longer than three seconds through fear of having to change my pants. Again.

And for some reason, my friend and I are going to book ourselves in for a back, sack and crack before we fly out. Yes, I am going to allow some bloke to apply hot wax to my scrotum, apply a paper strip to the region in question (did I establish already that the region in question is my general testicular surface area? Just checking), then pull out all my pubes by the roots. For some reason I have to pay him for this. I will report back on the experience, you know, for posperity.

I have successfully completed the first year of my psychotherapy degree. There’s three more to go and the game now ascends to the next level. I need to start taking on clients in amateur practice in the next few months. This shit just went and got real on my (soon to be red raw but oh so smooth) ass.

As of yesterday, I am the lead singer for a band (as yet un-named). Weekly practice to begin in September, with the aim of building up a solid base of music before looking to gig next year. It’s like God himself just called my bluff on the performance anxiety. I’ve been messing around with some recording software so have some rough and ready MP3s of my stuff to share once I work out how you actually do that on LJ.

There, not one slippage into the arcane and overly symbolic. The times they are a-changin’!

06:14 pm: The Angel July Speaks A Word
Judice walks down the middle of a wide street, lined by buildings that tower ruined or ruinous, the smashed carcasses of their architectural sheddings crowding out their doorways as a city slowly reduces itself to rubble. The street beneath his feet is a cracked and crumbling carpet of urbane failure in the face of nature’s unforgiving return, weeds and weather clearly chewing away the man-made crust.

With his gaze fixed firmly at the tops of the towering ruins that beset him, Judice remains oblivious to the figure sleeping soundly in the street until he has tripped over him, sprawled hard onto unforgiving city-crumble, and grazed elbows, knees and chin.

( The Angel July Speaks A Word )

Tags: judice, the angel july, the angels temporal, to the heart of the matter

03:22 pm: Socks FTW!
I'm finding it hard to express just how happy it makes me that I'm wearing socks that tell me what day of the week it is. But it's a great deal. When I come to the end and reflect on what I achieved with my life, the day I finally understood socks as presents will be high up on the list.

So much makes sense now.

11:31 pm: The Angel June Speaks A Word
Judice walks through abandoned streets that carve a crumbling way through abandoned buildings. The city lays desolate around him, and his awe at the suggestion of so many people having shared this space is outweighed only by the eerie absence of those people. In his mind, he hears the words of the woman with the green-razor eyes.

The city is a dragon. The city consumes all who enter, and hungers without bounds or the possibility of satiation. The gate was a gag, imposed on the dragon in ages past to protect the innocent. The gate lost its power when its creators fell. The city hungers for revenge. I am salvation in sharp shocking death, and the city fears me!

He winces at the memory of that encounter, and puts it out of his mind by continuing to play with the ethereal butterflies that he can now use as strange and fantastical extensions to his being.

( The Angel June Speaks a Word )

Tags: judice, the angel june, the angels temporal, to the heart of the matter

02:09 pm: Manifest.Destiny
When will Chief Executives put some thought into the metaphors they use?

In an article about a coming vote by the Internet Corporation for Assigned Names and Numbers on allowing "any string of letters" to be registered as a domain name by "anyone" (provided they can demonstrate a business case, technical capacity and cough up several thousand dollars... so pretty much no one I've been in contact with all day, including myself), Chief Executive of ICANN, Dr Paul Twomey said:

"Like the United States in the 19th Century, we are in the process of opening up new real estate, new land, and people will go out and claim parts of that land and use it for various reasons they have.

It's a massive increase in the geography of the real estate of the internet."

That's right, opening up the domain system is basically Manifest Destiny.

I guess the plus side to this is that once a bunch of imperialist-entrepeneurs have been using my surname as a domain name for their lucrative business operations for a century or so, my descendants will be recompensed with an online casino. Sweet.

One thing the article does remind me of is that I really do have practically no idea of how the internet works. This bothers me.

01:35 pm: Glass houses innit?
I have a lot of sympathy with objections to office speak. But then again, I also can't help but notice that the people who object to it the most tend to be the workshy wee gobshites holding out for retirement. Or stupid. Or both.

Jus' sayin'.

01:29 pm: An evolutionary argument against identity cards
The reasons for an against mandatory identity cards are many and varied. Reading a comparison of Brown's comments on terrorism policy against David Davis in the Guardian, I am struck by this excerpt from Brown:

But if it can make it harder for people not just to travel across borders with multiple identities, but also to raise money or rent safe houses or buy sensitive material – all anonymously – it can potentially disrupt the operations of terrorists or other criminals – something we must surely be making every effort to do.

( Ockham say bang )

10:39 pm: The Courtesan’s Tale
"Follow the rose petals and they will lead you to a chair. Take the blindfold from the chair and put it on securely. Sit, hold up the note for her, and wait; when she comes, she will strap you in herself."

I am temporarily distracted from the hostess' smouldering hawt goffness by the sudden realisation that I'm going to be strapped into a chair, a fact that had hitherto not exactly been in my awareness; it had, in fact, been hanging out in a seedy bar approximately two blocks away from my awareness chuckling incoherently about how it was going to 'show that bastard what for and no mistake' whilst a bald bartender dirtied a clean glass with an old t-shirt and nodded in a sagely manner.

( Sensual Surreality )

07:02 pm: The Angel May Speaks A Word
Judice lies, a broken bloody wreck on the ground as petals, soft and miraculous, cover him in a death shroud. His breathing is shallow, irregular and ragged, and angry breaking waves of agony crash across his face. But it is not into this face that May looks. Instead, she is caught in a kind of impatient reverie, pacing furtively around the vine-strangled statue and marvelling at the petals on her skin, the gentle-perilous touch of the Archangel whose presence swirls around her.

With great and delicate subtlety, the Archangel brushes its petals against the breeze to create the whispered poetry of its speech, May entranced in this transcendental embrace.

Petals falling,
softly sounding,
sigh.

( The Angel May Speaks A Word )

Tags: judice, the angel may, the angels temporal, to the heart of the matter