This is a thought seed growing off into postmodernism. Modernity and Marx brought us intellectualism from the mechanistic material point of view. While the news services are just now picking up on certain commodity situations, I've known by simple reading of media about food farming and Good Baloney Bulls. The dialectic of modernity is tracable in Astrology, for masonic sakes, to the Age of Picses, which we are trans muting from, into the Astrological sign of Aquarius. Does that mean anything? To me it would be like looking at the finest Cartier watch. What in reality is a Universe with so many more complications of activity than we can even now begin to touch upon before our space ships won't work due to using all the oil fighting religiosity. Pisceans out of control want two religions, then a World United Religion for the Aquarian Age, but they still would rather earn their fortunes developing more and better weapons to hash brown neighborhoods.
Now I must confess Vermont, I have a certain conscious contact prayer method with what I understand the God thing to be, Elohim Aumakua Holy. And when I entered prayer one night in desperation and self-pity, asked God's direction in seeking a fit place for me to live. The answer came in a couple of three subtle messages about people's ability to read. California's reading literacy was 25% deficient, literarily; I was suprised by my Alma's state Massachusetts, deficient by 10%, but there you were, only 7% illiteracy. That's way way good Vermont. Consider that Neuro-Linguistic Programming--what the President practices in speach--focuses on four learning styles, and if the message is read to audio learners Comprehension scores will go up. So I said, I must check this out.
Thus began the journey of drum beats that convinced me I'm much better off in a state where almost everyone can read, and the few that can't sometimes have strong skills to "know" anyway because their mind learns by the music of the day. If such a person browns their pursuits in mind numbing devaluing messages of media, and are further persecuted in school for things like reading challenges, serious personality damages cause scarring. And there are those unfortunates who could but won't. This is where I feel the dialectic has failed, grossly, and everything built upon it is at risk from people willing to live local respectful lives, and those who want to put the siphon hose into the earnings you accumulate so they can call those electrons theirs and treat you and me like we are prime Duroc Bellies.
The best thing that ever happened to Modernity was Postmodernity, which is the saddle phase between the Piscean age and the Aquarian on the sky clock-get out this winter, teach the sky wheel. Most of the greed would not arise of those people got out of those neon mind control towers more often.
Mr.Gary Eberle, in his book "The Geography of Nowhere; Finding One's Self in the Postmodern World," agrees with me:
Early searchers into the scientific way of thought did not intentionally set out to bring us to confusion. ... Armed with what seemed to them an invincible weapon in the war against ignorance, they set out to conquer human fallibility, and to answer, finally, age old questions of creation and the origin of life and death in such a way that we could at last be certain about their validity. Ironically, however, the Western search for direction, clarity and certitude that began so confidently in the Age of Reason, led, 350 years later, to the indirection, confusion and uncertainty of postmodern life. (pg 51, 1994)
The book is a small thing, anonymous to me until I picked it up for a $3 donation to my parent's old church organizational branch at UMass Neumann Center, where both Mary Magdalene and Joan of Arc say I should frequent, and maybe someday try a mass meditation; I prefer sweat lodges. The book almost looks self published and has a name that caught my eye -- Sheed & Ward. See what reading will do to you? I bought a $3 book at church when I had only $6 left and a three quarter tank of gas. Readers! incorrigable. Between book readers and Owners! I am Busted! I have Boxes! Books. Such lovely creatures my mind has weaving from the stimulus of books.
I love you readers.
There's a man out there somewhere in the vast world and internet that I was associated with back in the late 60's, Derek Pell. My artistic sensibilities that educationally would have best been tempered through architecture, illuminated by three sets of scores on the same Interest Index at three different ages would eventual reveal, and impulses to fulfilling bled off into the Happy Home Summerland of the Rich and Famous Massachusetts home land Martha's Vineyard. Derek followed his writing path, doing some crazy books that will one day be either famous or dust, writers step up to test for either condition. His art became web buttons and ghost writing. I know that if it is his desire, we will eventually see something new from his pen.
I'm beginning to think Derrek Jensen is abusing trees (maybe not). I'm glad I decided not to buy them but read the libray's copies of his books. I don't know, but my little book I chose to get ready for pub' first, Bass Fishing On The Vineyard, of the Richard Brautegan school of Trout Fishing, has me wondering if some past abuse scar from my hero father of the Piscean War 2, has me silent and blocked against the wall, or if I am in deep empathy with trees. If I am to get a "share of trees" in the future, I'd like to have an eighteen foot strip planked pulling boat with gaff rig and yawl bracket for a trailer. Maybe this is telling me it is time to set that puppy in the dog run and see if she can hunt.
Oh yes, we are dancing the idea wheel here and now this moment if you're reading this far.
The book has within its pages my subjective evidence that, one; we are not born blank slates, we have learned experience DNA from parents vibrating the the slice of their clock time. Let your kids use cell phones so the medical community can make money off them at age 44. I'm a vibration. You're a vibration, Jesus and those Ascended Masters of Old Vibrated up. No! The elite do not want you to know about vibration. That's why they keep "Locke" on the cabinet. Eberle says of Locke;
Locke's model for education and social reform were tremendous, for if each human infant comes into the world as a blank slate to be formed wholly by environment, then the potential for creating a perfect human society exists. All we need to do is provide the blank slates with beneficial (i.e. rational) experiences and these will impress themselves on the mind in such a way that social evils like violence, drunkenness, bestiality, etc. will simply disappear within a few generations. Over the next three hundred years after Locke, we have been trying, with only middling success, to educate people out of human frailty. Certain branches of psychology, e.g. behaviorism, are still searching for the exact mechanisms by which the perfect environment might shape the perfect individual. (pg 57)
Eberle continues on to later notating "2000" years as being the expanse of modernity/postmodernity to this point. The Myth of the collapsing Piscean into Aquarius is also indicated in Gerald Celete's intellectual revolution. Here I Interject; I'm going to assume that a Vermont Commons blog reader is familiar with some of the people poking keys as I am. If not, maybe you are suppose to follow another path, I respect that. When we expect the Dawning of the Age of Aquarius, we must contemplate for sanity's sake, that the Age, will be 2000 years long as it is one of the section of a clock named 12. Jesus had 12 disciples (actually 13 with Mary Magdalene), but the story goes, and Judea is a Tribe of 12 with Yahweh on the top. Vibrations set to channel 12-- a Congressional Super Committee of "High 12." Now looking out upon the stars,
and wondering where you are,
Bear and Dracos dance with Cassiopea above your head. Maurcie Cotterell is behind research that says solar patterns write the DVD of our children's lives for the three periods of three months of a Sun system that repeats its hum four times a year. We are our solar vibration, read that again, Capricorn (I'm reminding myself), we are our solar vibration. And since the electric universe scientists are so piercingly correct, my electric (mind) and magnetic (heart mind) spark set by Pa to Ma began a burning under the sun that made my life for slaving or fun. It branded that architectural score upon my Interest Index, and only one category sat above--Artist, with "Director of Advertising" as the top category occupation. Then I did one of those internet Meyer-Briggs assessment, cost me a couple of hours profit, said my best job was architect and saty away from electrician. Funny, I have a horrible after crash relationship with my electrician of San Francisco and I worked with the company for a short time until some computer hard rive company owner had to close a plant and suck it up. His beautiful multimillion dollar house in Palo Alto taking a hiatus for my memory trail's recollection.
The real message is, if you haven't made it into the 1% by now, you're not going to, because they're going to be flying by from above any day now and I hope I can stay out of the way of their falling bodies. Lot's of electrons which might be vulnerable to neutrinos in a way we have yet to experience. We are not the ultimate power in the Universe, we can only squabble like pidgeons over flecks of gold and oil in such a way the demon we create is coming up behind us so fast I wonder how much worth there is in attempting to essay and rationalize a viewpoint. But then, Eberle says that is exactly the birth point after postmodernity in the Age of Mirth, so I call it because we have to leave Picsis behind and become. There is going to be a part two of this which will discuss the Gift of Land to Israel, in the translation of "community," and as how the metaphor of the Age of the Ram was translated by the Black Slave population that world moneychangers used to take away American Indian inheritance rights. Even today, the People of a Richer Skin Tone of ultra violet vibration are threatened most in the war to keep all inheritance under the Dragon. The Cross of the Sun/Son, is the Age of Duality--for the Priests of Astrology. For the people the Ages Myth have been a comfort in the confusion of a timeless mystery. I was grated salvation because my father, Cadet Robert Vincent Ward, retired, Five Air Metals, Three Distinguished Flying Crosses, taucht me how to read. Taught me about the adventure of being a soldier in the pattern of Ethan Allen, Col. Rogers, and fantasy like Le Longe Carrabine. At an early age, and especially when he helped farmers by lead poisoning woodchucks, quick! if you get my drift, I was journied to Bennington, Ft. Ticonderoga, I witnessed slices of years of Ft. William Henry's rebuild, and went to earthworks, museums, he never missed a chance to combine woodchuck murder with warrior training.
What is happening in our society is both foretold, and creative. Jesus returning might be Rosa Parks getting on a bus, or the saving of a life of a transsexual about to be murdered in the neighborhood. I don't know, when I will be called to serve and in what capacity, but I do know, my mind is much better served when I read and write, and since I believe I actually tap into a flow of "mind" knowable as "human mind" when I focus my intent toward understanding some new growing level of revealing. I "see" in the neuro-linguistic programming way, a channel of Mandelbrot style light structures of tourus tubes that come up in size as I see them and focus intent on the inner content, especially tubes like the Native American fire ritual that makes a maple leaf flame, or a maple leaf as a tube, when I defocus intent, it shrinks back down to where maximum fulfillment and potential hold it grounded until I can clear the other tubes swirling about the holographic field. It's real handy to have twelve divisions of the holosphere to pumpkinize organize the universe, since they both probably share the same shapes, pumpkins and universes, all piled up in some 11th dimension wonderment of a Mind unknowable to us.
I've noticed that the ceramic brakes my Ranger used to eat every nine months in California are still doing really well after two years. It's a metaphor of relativity. My latest issues of blogging both here and over at wordpress originally began with an intent to add content for re-establishing the metaphors for the future. Those have component parts which include these simple topics and methodology: one, is parity pricing annual growth production to create a realistic monetary growth factor unaffected by fractional reserve manipulation; create a proper atmosphere for establishing the real organic myth of the scientific findings, over and over again, and farmer observations--pigs rather organic corn, cows, too, historectomies for wives who forget their repirators,--that modern commercial agriculture needs to be postmodernized and buried in the Age of Mirth so the up and coming Sustainable Permaculture(c) Community Supported Agriculturists get a chance to prove their stuff; and share with you my experience strength and hope so we may calmly accept our duty to the world intellectual revolution. I want to live a long life if possible, one where my presence gives increase to others.
Doc Watson sang in my ear, "long about 1825," and we need to go back there. I see a world of people shipping in small owner operated canal boats with solar assist, steam heat, ponies and a farmstead for when the river's are low. There was a book about Deep Ecology I remember effecting my life, by someone I can only remember Doris I think. It was big sized book. I seem to remember she has dematerialized. I read it the year the Eclipse smashed my union of partnership of 22 years. I was comforted that my humble life had acted as a forgiving to the Earth Mother.
It's quiet in this house tonight. I imagine it's like living in a lodge where people come and go, though most of the "guests" here have some kind of occupancy, mine being tonight, due to low population, primary security for my elder friend, 82, who just wants to watch his old movies in comfort and not be threatened by ":thrity something" visitors of the "thirty something" tenants. Thinking on it, the couple of times I've done a weekend at a commercial lodge, I can feel those same feelings. I'm kind of like an anchor, and it gets me a portion of my home, a room in the Lord's Mansion if you will. This computer room is like a house library station. I learned to use libraries, alma mater, friends, career centers, state job banks, and all kinds of special "rooms" to do different computer work once I became ineligible by reason of occupation. That's in the translation of my source of income as a class in the clock of economy. Oh, that's right. Economists want to be loved like Mom so they call it a "pie".
Here's where I shrink my window and check and see if my portable hard drive with lots of my art and pictures is stored is easy access for finding truffles. As you can see, there were some there. I feel like my computer is the Terminator 2 trying to reassemble itself. Some photos here, some there, a hard drive here, a computer in need of a hard drive there, sometimes I feel like
letting my freak flag fly
and thinking about what will work tomorrow that has value from the past.
I'll be hunting these typos and misspells for awhile on this one, I can sense.