Wandering with Sleipnir

On belief

2011-01-01T05:29:00.001-08:00

The diversification of human consciousness in the modern era carries a concomitant risk of over-specialisation and under-intensification. The possible options for belief and value system are now so wide that unless one can learn to penetrate beyond the vacillating furies, the hyperborean images of illusion, the encircling dragons of superficiality and sentimentality – in short the quixotic attempts at reframing all mysticism under the artificial gravity of the excessive preponderance on rationality and reason – one will end up wandering lost in a vast postmodernist landscape of ultimately rootless emptiness. One will no longer know thyself, and everything will be reduced to a hapless relativistic blur of subjective “qualia”, all equated to be equal in value with all meaning reduced to a mere interpretive act, a mere piece of superficial art. In short, all value must be then imputed, because all inherent value has been stripped. In other words, we become the logical corollary of a computer, unable to determine value except what has been explicitly programmed in.

This is what happens when all a priori has been replaced by all a posteriori. If everything occurs merely through induction, then there is only nature and no nurture, until eventually the subjective observer disappears because they have become nothing except a lens. However, we know this to be not the case on numerous levels.

On the a posteriori level itself, eventually the Scientific program started to come full circle with the development of Quantum Physics where it started to realise that the observer, the subject, in fact does have a direct effect on reality itself. The mere subjective act of observing causes a state change at a subatomic level. The mathematics of this knowledge is present in commonplace technology – everyday consumer electronics. Quantum Physics works; and ironically it represents the first of many incidences where modern science starts to mirror ancient knowledge. Language is not content; the content is in what the language implies. In this respect the mere difference is in the veneer of language – the content start to look more and more alike.

What has been buried ever deeper, however, is the higher initiatory wisdom that lies deep within the human nexus. Today it is largely tapped, often unwittingly, by artists. When an artist is in the “flow” they often describe the experience in terms of a sense of being-for-oneself and one-ness: there is no individuated separate ego, the higher I has been integrated. When asked where the inspiration came from, the response is typically vague or only a ambiguous connection: no wonder, because they have in fact become a conduit or channel for higher energies that are supersensible in origin. The fact that they cannot be delimited by modern scientific materialist tendencies does not mean they are fictitious or non-existent: I do not need a laboratory measurement to confirm my inner experience and microcosmos, and a Dawkins-esque explanation purely in terms of neurobiology, chemical receptors and neural networks in my physical brain does not capture the full immanent – emergent – effect that results from all these factors and more. It is the more that is the key point. The more is not mutually exclusive from the empirically determined factors – such factors have granted us the powers of modern technology; the very computer I type this on, the Internet across which you read this – but is simply integrated with it across other planes. What Dawkins might classify as a delusional belief in my case, I would classify as a higher order of knowledge based on even more direct evidence than any empirical study could replicate.

The classic metaphysical question of the modern sensibility is simply "Do you believe in God?”. The general absurdity of this question is the implication that the term God is something clearly understood by both parties. Again, the content is not in the language, but in what lies beneath the language - specifically the universal. By god do we mean God, gods, Gods, Ain Soph, SPACE, Nirvana, the existential I, the void, the One, Logos, Mind, Demiurge, Good, Monad, Brahma, Zeus, Elohim, Osiris, Odin… a creative principle, a generative force, the “laws of nature"… a supreme universal, the Idea… consciousness itself, an ordering logic…

For the purist Atheist – and by purist I mean someone who not only actively denies the existence of any deity or deities, but indeed of all concepts or beliefs in any higher principle, order or meaning – the only actual logical conclusion from that position is to terminate oneself. The very act of continuing to live serves no function whatsoever and in fact is merely an obstruction from death which is now not only both the start and end point, but the very process itself; to the extent that the process itself (i.e. of not being dead; living) is an irrelevance and indeed, far worse, a serious logical incongruity to their argument!

However, in reality, fortunately there very few people who actually hold this position (at least among those who are not mentally ill), though there are many who might superficially claim such a position (presumably for convenience or lack of intellectual rigour). Their very ability to attempt to defend their position is (intellectually and physically, in terms of survival), in itself, entirely a refutation of such a position. Without realising it, they have already imprinted their own metaphysical stamp on reality by their imputation of will.

In fact, expanding the argument, even an inanimate rock achieves this resolution by simply being existent. If I could discard it, it would simply cease to be. But I cannot discard it, because it is necessary. It is necessary because it is existent. This argument is deliberately circular because everything in life operates in actuality, in a circular fashion (hence the preponderance of circular logos, images, and mythological reifications (i.e. the serpent biting its tail). [One does not fully become conscious in the modern era until you can read, write, and “think”; yet you cannot learn how to read, write, and “think” unless you possess the generative force that enables you to undertake this process. You cannot think unless you can learn; but you cannot learn unless you can think. A circular emergence.] When you stand beside me and also confirm that self-same rock, we have thereby already ontologically grounded both ourselves and our nascent reality. We exist, as it were, at the very least, in a Kantian purposive purposelessness. Through the process of life, we can purposively direct ourselves towards a purpose as directed by our supersensible intuition.

Dualism vs. monism – The dualistic philosophy reigned supreme in Europe, dominating the development of Western science. But with the advent of atomic physics, findings based on demonstrable experiment were seen to negate the dualistic theory, and the trend of thought since then has been back towards the monistic conception of ancient Taoists.

Bruce Lee, “Striking Thoughts”.

I agree with his assertion, from the same book, that “I am, therefore I think”, his direct inversion of Descartes's famous formula. Although in the modern era we are now generally beginning to see the limitations and error of “I think, therefore I am”, this dogma still colours the Western lens of perception as this formula is taken as the starting point for cognition even when the object for consideration is the very nature of this formula (viz. “consciousness”). You cannot induce “consciousness”, and still less, being, from the starting point of the thinker, since thinking itself presupposes that there is an active principle available to do this thinking – i.e. being, I am. Rather, we should instead recognise that a human being is conscious not because they self-think in self-awareness and therefore become characteristically human, but that they are instead human, and as a result of this being-toward-oneself, they are conscious, and thereby subsequently and consequently develop the capacity for thought. You could equate this with Heidegger’s Dasein.

Hence why I dispute all claims to artificial intelligence gaining consciousness in any meaningful sense of the term. It cannot become conscious because it has no being and is therefore rootless, if we can use the Taoist sense of the term. It can however develop extremely useful intelligence in the limited scope of a factual re-presentation of pre-programmed data, or structured methods of acquiring data.

So thank God/Zeus/Monad/<void> for Google!

In any case, we can, on one account, neatly source all of the metaphysical dread of modernity and our present mess to the blind acceptance (acknowledged or not) of the calamity that is “I think, therefore I am”.

Invert this, live your life according to the resultant contrary principle, and everything becomes very different in an entirely beneficial manner.

So, back to that original question about God. Do I believe in God?

My answer to this should hopefully be starting to become somewhat clear from the above discussions. Asked in the modern context, my answer would be the frustratingly obscurantist (to them) response “Yes and no”.

No, I do not believe in the external monotheistic creator figure (already coloured with materialism in the modern era).

No, I do not believe in a wishy-washy New Age polytheism/pantheism or animalism that is highly fashionable (and fills many shrewd pockets with the sale of endless “mind, body, spirit” trinkets!).

Yes, I do believe in something closer to Neo-Platonism, gnosis, and “mysticism” (a word which has acquired derogatory tones due to the discoloration of Western consciousness towards such Knowledge).

Yes, I do believe in principles at the heart of “esoteric” and ancient Mystery religions, Vedic/Taoist/Eastern literature, and on theosophical lines.

Yes, I do believe in a sense closer to the Heathen conception of reality – as far as I can determine, from this historical distance - of the Gods of Northern Europe, before Roman Christianity came along and swept into all aside and collapsed everything into a Church/State sponsored oligarchy of belief (which, in a somewhat distorted form, is still the dominant belief system of the West today – even among the “atheists/agnostics” who likewise align themselves in terms of a differentiation or negation of this self-same belief system, or indeed of entire political systems that are derivative negations from this i.e. communism, totalitarianism (totalitarianism ultimately revolves around the principle of replacing the spiritual leader – i.e. in a monarchy – with a leader on instead purely materialised terms – i.e. a Führer).

So I can say I believe in “God” only if you understand by that I mean that I account for existence with a deism very radically different from the typical Western understanding of the term, and that it encompasses a complex syncretism that operates on many different levels – hence there are Gods and there is God, and that there is no contradiction is this, and there is the One and the Many, the great Monad, and all of this is perfectly logically congruent with an existentialist conception of being.

Perhaps in another life I was a Sufi whirling mystic!

Amen

“’Do What Thou Wilt’ shall be the whole of the law”, which far from decrying all morality, instead inserts us as the primary agents – and legislators - in our causation of reality. An active causation of which, we are not alone in the universe, but operate in participation with higher powers.

Banner change #5 to #6 (and cosmetic update)

2010-12-30T17:07:00.001-08:00

As the New Year approaches, so again, it is time to refresh things. A new banner design (just some improvised editing of a photo of mine taken in the local Jesmond Dene park from the summer/autumn), and a new blog theme.

New post/content to follow over weekend.

Old banner:

New banner:

The wintry meditation

2010-12-19T12:30:00.001-08:00

Very few posts of late on this blog – I have been extraordinarily busy. An enormous amount has changed since the last post. In short – I have made it happen. The last post was a reflection of my resolution to make my Personal Training career a reality. I didn’t have a specific roadmap laid out, but instead just a firm conviction it would happen in a timely fashion.

Which it did, and has. Approximately two months subsequent to that post, I secured an interview for a PT position at the very gym I workout in. I went in with a great deal of confidence and was successful in getting the job – I had an absolute belief that the time was right and I was going to make the transition from my previous job, which, by this point, I was getting well and truly sick of: no challenge, poor salary, no progression, no future; in short, a total waste of my abilities.

It is all now a bona fide reality and I am a self-employed PT operating out of that gym. Despite the difficulty with launching at this time of year (everyone wants to put fitness/health off till the New Year) in addition to the enormously inclement harsh weather conditions that Britain has experiencing over the last month and the transportation difficulties – despite all of this, it is already going extremely well, and I am not too far off having a full sustainable business with a good client base. Come the end of January and the massive influx of new gym members, it should all come together. I have approximately 15 clients now; I expect to double this throughout January which means that by Spring I will be securely established and making a reasonable living.

Personal Training is enormously satisfying and challenging. Every client is different, with a huge difference in basic fitness and proprioception skills, physical history and health/fitness problems – consequently the training always has to be tailored to the individual. There are many factors that come together since it is far more than just a simple 1 hour training session with a person – it is about learning how to interact with the individual, discover how to motivate and get the best out of them, how had to push. adjudge how accurate/realistic their feedback is. Then there is the program design, the periodised progression over time, the many different factors that come together in a unique mix depending on the individual's needs & wants to establish all round fitness (“fitness” for their particular requirements, whether it be simply general health or competitive fitness) – aerobic capacity; anaerobic capacity; strength; strength-endurance; mobility; flexibility; balance, proprioception. We then of course have all the fundamental aspects of biomechanics, posture, movement patterns, muscle activation and firing patterns… Nutrition and lifestyle.

Being self-employed is enormously empowering. It places significant demands in terms of having to self-manage everything, but it is also tremendously rewarding because every input has some direct output. I am in charge of my business, I decide how I want to run everything, I make it all happen. It is incredibly liberating after having been stuck in the typical model of being time-bound and simply "passing time” (normally in excruciating boredom) in all my prior jobs. I’m far too busy to get bored these days, there is always so much to do! My current list of tasks, in addition to all the training time I need to do with clients in the gym, comprises building a proper website for my business, deciding how I am going to grow the business, develop all the marketing materials and strategies, decide on what further equipment I need to purchase and how much to invest, develop all my training materials and paperwork for clients (and complete all the existing paperwork for my current clients) – training programs, nutritional plans, lifestyle assessments, and all ancillary materials related to the art of correcting/improving/developing the human physique …

My career takes up an enormous amount of headspace now – which is a good thing – but of course the inner private life remains, that which is directly affected by the overall life consequences of one’s career but which is nevertheless a separate entity. In this respect I am still a quixotically intrigued by the almost impenetrable nature of the male-female divide, that distance I never seem to be able to bridge since entering my late twenties.

For there is still J., the one with the fabulous singing talent, and someone who I’ve always felt a great affinity with whenever I’m around her. We have our considerable differences – on matters such as diet, and on musical taste (though we share a decent region of commonality, on this point, too), but to me it adds to the intrigue. All I know is that whenever I am around her there is an energising quality to our time; and if I am, perhaps, as it were, someone more of the winter and the night – she brings the feeling of spring, all sunlight and joy. I think she is beautiful, warm and charismatic – yet frustratingly remiss in replying or getting back to me, leaving me perplexed; I suppose I should probably take the hint. Me being the fool (and inevitably, hopelessly idealistic on such matters), I can’t entirely give up. Whenever I do see her – which is rarely – it is always memorable. I wonder whether she will always be an enigma to me, or whether one day things might change…

I suppose some would view it as a flaw or make the rather obvious point that I am essentially rather too direct or honest in expressing myself – regardless, I just cannot be bothered with the game. I’ll let someone know if I like them, even if the strategic thing to do is to be more guarded and present yourself as essentially not bothered. Does it transfer a pressure to the other person? Perhaps, but only inasmuch as it means they have to express their inclination or disinclination.

I am someone with fairly intense emotional states, but also, I believe, fundamentally well balanced. I feel quite secure in who I am (especially now). I understand the rationale behind “not getting when you’re looking”, which is all well and good, but I don’t consider myself to have been especially “looking” since I am only interested in a person if I believe there is some genuine potential present – this is contrasted with the emotionally unstable individual who is simply looking for anyone just because they need someone regardless of who they are. Of course I recognise the fact that a psychologist would point out that we will always "choose" to see the potential where it suits us...!

Too much of a thinker, dreamer, or too expressive/"intense”, or simply not physically attractive to them – who knows – but life is proving rather tedious in this dimension as there seems to be scant opportunities presented.

Are we all becoming increasingly insular as individuals in society? Blogging, Facebook, every form of media and art, the multifarious instantaneous methods of communication - all these means of expressing oneself, and yet I sometimes wonder whether we diminish and deflect away from the quality and intensity of face to face interaction because we become so attuned to expressing ourselves through some indirect digital medium – and here I am typing this all on my blog, irony of ironies!

Isn’t it an awful lot easier to communicate something when you can use a technology as the mediator?

Two others I feel compelled to mention:

K. – she who does indeed like to boogie! Very pretty, and really fun to be around. I’d be curious to see her window onto life. Brings out my energetic side!

H. – known her a long time, a close friend. In terms of inner experience, someone I share an enormous amount with. A certain type of music presents the common ground to a deep shared understanding on certain qualities and experiences of life. To understand it automatically implies an a special affinity. A fabulous women; someone whom I can simply be myself around – which is a rare thing indeed.

But in general, I still wander mostly by myself. The wandering has now progressed to a path with both a purpose and direction. But only time will tell whether I continue along that path alone, or whether one day, someone I like might elect to join me. That would be nice. But life doesn’t conform to what is nice, and ultimately you can never bend life to your will; our powers are more limited.

I’m either an inveterate irritating shoe-gazer or a man with a inquisitive searching mind. I look forward to the day when I meet a special women that sees primarily the latter in me! I see life itself as a continual meditation on meaning.

A choice

2010-09-07T13:03:00.000-07:00

As seems to be my whim, I have slipped into my usual summer blogging hiatus. In any case, looking back, the first thing that strikes me is the double irony of my last post ("Daring to reveal"); the irony being, that in reality, virtually no one particularly cares, so any "insights into one's soul" - to use that quixotic catechism - really do not apply.

I find it continually interesting how rather than possessing a stable I, a stable immutable identity, instead identity seems to be an ongoing construction: there is a fundamental foundation, a root, as it were, but upon that the elaborate infrastructure of who you are seems to shift. At least it does for me, and indeed, as reflected in my blogging habits, it does so even on a seasonal basis. Perhaps one of the satisfying things is how all the aspects of oneself can simultaneously diverge/deepen (or can do) and yet retain their cohesion.

In the months that have passed since my last post here, a great deal has changed in my circumstances. Overwhelmingly though, by far the most important change is that I have finally stopped prognosticating and focused my energies into one choice, one career path.

Sometimes it can be a simple matter of a mistaken belief being shattered. For whatever reason, I'd come to the belief that one qualified and registered as a Personal Trainer, that unless you continued to accrue continuous professional development (CPD) points you could not remain active on the register. Once your two year window had expired, if you hadn't added any fresh points, I'd thought your position was lost.

I qualified some years ago, but let it go dormant, for various complicated reasons I won't dwell on here.

Well, this isn't the case, so I am now once again registered as a Personal Trainer & Sports Massage Therapist. I have now renewed this career path with great vigor; I still possess all my training materials, and I have refinanced my money with the bank (something I should have done an age ago, in any case). I have bought fresh equipment and just taken delivery of a massage table. Excitingly, I am going on a Kettlebell course this Saturday so will then be certified to train people with those. I am doing a boxing course in October. I will transition from my current job to a suitable job with a gym in due course; alternatively/additionally,
I will start to build up private one-to-one tuition. I am currently debating redirecting some of my money into getting car and driving lessons and attempting to go private immediately, rather than attached to a gym. There are different trade offs to both which need to be carefully considered.

Daring to reveal

2010-03-21T08:13:00.000-07:00

The irony of blogging is that people are attempting to 'connect' through a medium that is essentially alienating (the scenario of millions of people sitting privately alone in their rooms in front of a computer screen). The attraction for the blogger is the possibility of having a dialogue - even if it remains an unspoken one, of a silent reader - with someone remote: and thereby feeling uninhibited in terms of being fundamentally open and communicative.

It of course depends on the nature of the blog: if it is simply a place for covering external entities (i.e. reviews of music, books, art, webpages, etc.; documentary of current affairs or some specialist subject; or perhaps merely a "meta-blog" covering the blog or digital landscape), or if it is closer to the more quiescent origin of the "blog": namely, an online diary. A public forum for one's private meditations.

The latter is only one remove from the now old-fashioned notion of a personal diary; somewhere where you scribe your most private thoughts and personal matters. Having a place to record such meditations is, for someone of a more introverted nature, an almost essential part of their self-awareness, of their identity. Of course, nearly everyone would benefit from a greater degree of internalisation, particularly in this era which overwhelmingly favours everything external and places the highest value in the merely transient experience rather than the subsistent core of actual being.

So, naturally, when asked in common conversation as to how you've been and what you've been up to, the answer would normally consist of a catalogue of activities and "real-world" experiences: not a chart of the movements in your inner landscape. Yet it is the geology of the inner landscape that dictates the real thoroughgoing quality of resultant structures of your external life: for you bring yourself to everything you do; even if, again ironically, the patterns of most human interactions require you to retreat into yourself and project a mere social persona for the situation - most especially at work, of course.

Despite its limitations, language is nevertheless our primary tool for a communication of the deeper aspects of human existence. Yet we use it sparingly by degree of the amount of excess that conventional etiquette requires. Even amongst close friends this remains true: the very vagueness and ambiguity that the modality of human language makes eminently possible is used to merely hint at the underlying mystery of life that we each, as self-conscious beings, must necessary experience on whatever level. Yet rather than penetrate further, we usually all tend to prefer to skip around this vague abstract space rather than attempt to go into that space with another and share the real authentic experience of being.

Usually it is easier to obliquely point towards or express via the alternative language of art (of whatever type) the more intimate experience of this real inner world than risk having a meaningful conversation about it. Or this is certainly my experience of life so far. Certainly one of the defining characteristics for me in the progression through my twenties is a movement from the more "hard" certainties of the vagaries of human experience to a "softer" ambiguity. Looking back, as a very young man (i.e. 18, 19, 20) one likes to think that one has clearly understood and arrived at certain decisions as to "who" you are and the "what" of truth. Yet in reality I realise now that I ascribed too much importance to things that actually matter little - ultimately - and simultaneously, disregarded or considered "dealt with" things that actually matter the most.

To give a very brief example, consider symbols. Symbols are used with wild abandon today. They're just a collection of lines and graphics, just an abstract logo. Yet the occult power of symbols is phenomenal - literally. A symbol is more than just a handy visual representation of some entity. A symbol is an aggregation of values: moreover, it utilises the power of the supersensible. A materialistic account of the nature of symbols would not be able to do justice to the tremendous power that they wield over the human collective: history demonstrates this point more than ably. The symbol is not merely just the referent of a known quantity: it is also explicates part of the directly inexplicable beyond that motivates all human life. An effective symbol merely grows in power as it ages: it accretes value by acting as a focal point for the accumulation of meanings imbued upon it. As such it becomes all of these things, and yet simultaneously none of them. It becomes both more and less than every meaning put upon it.

To name something is to give it power; yet to attempt to name something tends to distill it down into something that as yet it is not. An empty nominalism.

In the mundane sphere, every powerful brand knows the power of symbol: the most powerful corporations can project and extend their power through their mere brand logo. Successful brands cause people to "buy into" their brand - particularly in the world of fashion. Buying the particular brand isn't just about buying into the particular qualities, features, or look of the item in question: more importantly, it is buying into a collective shared position towards the world. It is about expressing status and self-identity. I use "self-identity" in an ironic sense, since this movement towards the outer is in fact the movement away from self-identity and self-knowledge towards the commodity "self" and a lack of self-knowledge.

Incidentally, this isn't a one-sided diatribe against fashion or indeed any type of brands: some brands do rightly possess power because their products are of a good quality or their clothes do have style. It is possible for fashion and style, on some level, to exhibit itself as "living art".

Anyway, wrapping up the asides to return to my original point: some things are a lot more important than you realise, and for all its abuses language is probably the most potent tool we have for communicating authentic human experience about the deepest aspects of life.

Yet we rarely use it, or certainly nowhere near as much as we should, with even our closest friends. Instead we merely make the quick quip or the brief soliloquy, exchange the knowing glance, and nod and merely say "I understand". Which we do - but only up to point.

So, to come full circle back to my original discussion about blogs, so that "shyness of exposing identity" - or perhaps you could call it simply intimacy? - expands even to the online sphere of blogs. Namely: I have some very good real world friends, but in actuality, virtually none of them know of the existence of this blog at all.

It could well be an act of too much self-absorption to consider that anyone else really wants to read this: perhaps the vast majority of all diaries are of little interest to anyone except the author? Yet one has to believe that when one is discussing the commonalities of base human existence, that perhaps one has something that is of interest to someone else.

I guess what we want to know is: what is their experience of life? What is being a human for them? And most importantly, how does it compare to mine?

In reading Hegel at the moment, I fully grasp, appreciate, and now pretty much agree with his point that true self-consciousness only comes about with the recognition of another self-consciousness. Self-consciousness emerges from the interaction with another knowing self-consciousness. Extending that logic then, I hope that perhaps by knowing other people better, I come to know myself better.

Incidentally, being in a close, loving relationship doesn't automatically guarantee this greater self-awareness. We tend to think of such an arrangement as being the best place to foster real genuine human communication, but as we all know well, sometimes relationships proceed far too much on always assuming you can "read their mind" and often, even in this most intimate of human arrangements, the two (or more!) people do not necessarily really open up. Sharing the intimate deepest level of human experience shouldn't just necessarily be restricted to your lover, or a close family member: you should probably extend it to your close friends too. For if they are real friends, they will probably welcome going on this journey with you. And any stable relationship has no fear about deeper friendships with other people outside that relationship, since they know they will always reserve a certain key core (particularly around the sexual psyche) only for each other. Rightfully so. Such a movement can only have positive effects on their own relationship by enriching it. Certainly I became too insular with my lover when I last had a long term relationship some years ago; we ended up secluding nearly everyone else from our own little world; eventually this has a weakening effect on your relationship as you deny a whole range of other human interactions and connections.

I have often been described as "too intense" by various people - fatefully, normally by the female in question during botched (at an early stage) attempts at romance. I think I'm finally coming to understand what this fully means. However, if by my very desire for openness they find that intimidating, I feel sad both for my loss and theirs. For they made a hasty assumption as to the type of man I am, or who I can be to be around - I do have a lighter, humorous side! - and do not desire to dominate anyone through an authoritarian personality (though I do believe that is is healthy to have an interplay of power between two people; playing with power, by alternating roles, helps to avoid one person becoming too dominant). Simultaneously, perhaps it is through an unconscious belief that they do not have "enough" self to give back: again, they have prematurely shot themselves down. Or finally, perhaps because I am too "cerebral" they think I destroy the "mystery" of human experience by attempting to understand it: I would argue the contrary is in fact true. The mystery becomes more powerful the better you understand it.

Or, the final resting point of self-analysis: perhaps they simply don't like me and I talk too much.

In any case, I have decided to "open up" this blog to a few select friends. It's here if they ever want to read it. It seemed rather disingenuous to risk sharing my "inner world" with complete strangers on the other side of the planet, and yet not do so with people I've know for years who live just a few streets away.

I'll never have the more meaningful interactions I seek without taking the risk to open up more. I do not know whether any of these words in the ether are of any real genuine interest to them, or whether in fact, I simply ramble on far too much, in my own running dialogue with myself. But perhaps they will learn a few new things about me - and in return, I will learn more about them. They may perhaps find some things that are rather surprising: certainly, it is true to say that I consider that I don't really know hardly any of my friends, so I believe that likewise that applies towards me. Not on a truly deep level. We skirt around the outside, getting some semblance of each other, without ever really knowing that person. (Obviously men tend to be far worse, in general, at "emotional openness" than women). Dare we open up to each other?

All the modern tools for connecting actually tend to end up acting as masks and blinds. You construct a Facebook persona: but that Facebook persona is not you. It is merely a strange analogue. Everyone then interacts and has a relationship with this analogue rather than with you.

The modern world tends to alienate us all: we need to try and reverse this trend towards us all becoming individual atoms completely tied up in our own small microcosmos.

Reintegration through alienation

2010-03-14T14:36:00.001-07:00

It seems that the path of greater self-knowledge is often accompanied by a descent into darkness - perhaps it is even necessary. How does one cope with the loss of the naive idealism of youth without becoming bitter?

The machinery of the system of the modern world exceeds the capacity of any individual to resist. We each face the risk - perhaps even unavoidable - of dissolution into this incredibly open, massively connected global consciousness: the resistive forces themselves are absorbed; they become dispersed into the barren wasteland of the characterless morass of overwhelming surplus. The most effectively means of silencing something is instead to drown it out: stifling breeds martyrs.

Reaction is superfluous. Alternative is already now preceded by a prepared accommodation of the appropriate level of outrage. That is has been prepared for is proportionately accountable to the detail with which is has been predestined to be successfully monetised. Revolution, the 'underground', 'avant-garde', the 'extreme' are now purely products of a retroactive postmodernist nominalism - that is, mere utility; to those ready to assemble more wealth from this imagination-as-capital product*.

Today, the space was made for this new form of 'extreme' in advance by delineating the inverse structural boundaries; they are the calculated co-efficient compensating factor, as truly extreme only by as much as they have been planned for and accommodated by the mitigating edifice.

It is little wonder, then, that most unwavering advocates of anything underground, extreme, alternative, or genuinely subversive in art, naturally, and quite rightly, often find that upon the successful commercial enterprise of said piece of art, that subsequent works generally have lost the very quality that first made it so vital, direct and alive to them. This is no more obvious than in music; the band has "sold out". They have allowed commercial considerations to devalue the artistic communication. Refusing to conform, and equally importantly, refusing to "refusing to conform", and instead maintaining the central quality in the face of every force of dissolution is the quality of uprightness to use Evolian terminology.

The form of extremism that is cynically calculated in advance loses its extremity by its degree of obvious vulgarity: the inner space it was supposed to open through its dynamic of turbulence instead becomes emptied of inner value and turned into material commodity. The avant-garde requires the element of surprise: its landscape must be one of the unexplored.

The other option is irony. You exploit the cynical landscape of "prefabricated extremity" by producing a work that seemingly conforms to this template - but subtly deviates, though in such a way as to be only visible to those for whom such a resistance was created in the first place.

The net effect of all this, is that the true resistance is often to be amongst those who sit silently by, detached.

In my case, gradually a reintegration occurs: understanding that the counter culture catering to the alienated youth is cynically masterminded by the very force we resist, but are unable to openly defeat, we accept. Accept, though conscious of this acceptance: and thereby better able to see through the manipulations. We redirect the manipulations back against the system. When you understand that the ultimate order of things is dictated by forces against whom resistance is impossible, the resistance becomes entirely internalised: it thereby gains ultimate objective power as a votive action. This process of the external causing an internal reaction out towards the external, completes its cycle when the external is reabsorbed into the internal. Hegel provided a detailed explication of this phenomena more accurate and acutely than most others before or since 200 years ago.

Too abstract?

Consider all the alienated youths: the goths and emos that gather in the parks looking - deliberately - miserable. The kids that group on street corners (and quite often direct random, unprompted acts of violence to passers by). Why? What is the force they are attempting to resist? The bands whose merchandise they buy that promise a revolution, yet backed by the major record labels that directly fortify the very system they wish to fight. They are largely unaware of this irony. Furthermore, the kids are not explicitly aware of what it is they wish to fight against, so construct their black-and-white analogue of the world to make the opponent easier to recognise. The opponent becomes reified. Every organised system becomes the enemy, but most especially those that dictate conventionalised, traditional norms; so, particularly, religion becomes the target.

In the process they do not realise that they actually suffer from the very institutionalisation of thought - and its corresponding consequences for freedom, namely lack of, which they do recognise - that they so fervently wished to struggle against. In the past, an over powerful Church dominated Western thought. Yet with God now "dead", and atheism triumphant, we enter instead an era of the "Dawkins delusion": a scientific triumphalism that promises to explain away all the mysteries of life (everything merely reduced to neurological brain states) and herald in a bright future dominated by the certainty of probabilities and what is calculated to be true.

Yet the truth cannot be calculated. Douglas Adam's computer famously spat out the answer "42" to point out the absurdity of attempting to uncover life's inner truth in this fashion. What these kids do not realise is what really motivates them to resist, given feelings of the meaningless and pointlessness of modern existence - and, as a harsh critic of modernity myself, I must say, largely justifiably - is actually the spiritual urge of man to resist domination, and that for all their materialism and atheism, they will find that now that they have eradicated religion, in its place simply a new version will emerge on the secular plane.

Because science proceeds so incredibly successfully in explaining natural mechanism, and gives birth to so much technology, so abundant everywhere, the secular world ends up believing it will provide knowledge which is actually outside its remit. The illusion is not to even recognise this remit: all scientific "truth" presupposes the perceptual process.

Yet perception is not a basic or simple phenomena at all. Getting behind mere perception takes you outside of physics and into metaphysics.

I am not a fan of a lot of organised religion, but increasingly I find that I am even less a fan of "scientific triumphalism", and particularly in very recent years, this era of "digital totalism". Religion is less about knowledge and more about "religiosity", and science is even less about "religiosity" and more about explication of the perceptual world. Both would do well to remember that, rather than set up pointless straw men that cover topics that extend outside their scope.

Returning to the alienated youth, their uncomprehending resistance nevertheless does originate from the correct place, even if they direct it towards the wrong goals, moreover, in a futile manner. This correct place is to recognise that we should not allow the spirit of man to be crushed into faceless oblivion by a tyrannical Utopian vision of "progress" where progress simply means that everyone becomes comfortably satiated into an unthinking slathering cooperative whole. We should not conform purely to make life easier at the expense of our higher individual values. More is not always "more". Human beings are not simply a biological "machine" in an even bigger corporate machine, in a globalised machine or anodyne collective consciousness. Technology is a merely useful extension for us as a human: not the other way round.

We do not serve the system. The system serves us.

Equally, the natural world is more than mere system.

It is always essential that we keep "sticking it to the Man", even if we are ultimately crushed under the oppression of the Man. Resistance might indeed be futile: but futile resistance is still better than no resistance at all. So I come full circle: an "alienated youth" (though, incidentally, I never spent my younger days listlessly wasting away in the park or street corner!), I recognise that I am both a product of the system and my own man, and so can reengage with the alienated fight against the faceless bureaucratic machine that wants to reduce us all to soulless human atoms. The fight is one that is more intense than ever because it requires us to disengage from the apparatus which purportedly supports us but in fact helps fuel the very system we oppose.

We must stay Upright.

* On a more cynical and disturbing note, it is worth pointing out that the politics of fear dictate that the order of the ruling elite is best preserved by exploiting and manipulating the fear of the populace. Global terrorism is the product of the manipulation; indeed, this very manipulation and its incessant media coverage was its very genesis. Indoctrination via ideological tooling operates just as much in the supposed free thinking modern democracy as it does in the brain washing fundamentalist camps. The parameters, methods, and techniques used for the indoctrination are simply different. You create common consensus by shouting loud enough from enough preassigned sources. This creates the illusion of objectivity and balance. The Chinese government has demonstrated its expertise in this respect rather ruthlessly, and indeed carelessly. The Western governments are simply more subtle - and therefore ultimately more effective, since they are betrayed less obviously. Eventually the growing middle class of China in this era of technological liberalism will tire of its overly autocratic government: so it will then simply learn to be more subtle.

For the majority is surely always right: majority support is purchased by engineering the apparent problem and solution such that it seems the only reasonable thing to do. Something becomes morally justified as soon as it has the support of the common consensus.

History teaches us the error of this line of thinking every bit as much as it teaches us the error of the fascists.

Of words and ink and dreams

2010-03-07T15:01:00.000-08:00

It has been a very difficult month – dark times living in such poverty. I feel a disconnect with the world a lot of times. But another post for that.

The only good thing about my current experience with life is that it is fuelling my creativity; I'm withdrawing ever deeper into my own world. I've started making slow progress with a novel. Slow and steady is my goal: it is the discipline and persistence that is perhaps the most fundamental barrier to writing a book. The analytical rational mind tends to predominate. Worst of all, the constant demon that must surely plague just about everyone who attempts anything creative: the fear that your creation is worthless or garbage. My creative writing is incredibly bizarre, currently extremely incoherent structurally, a very strange fragmentary mix of elements that should be completely incompatible. This may prove to be the case.

However, I shall doggedly plod on. It must evidently be my particular style or inner voice that is driving me to want to attempt to create a tapestry from so many grossly divergent threads. The straightforward, sensible, traditionally developed novel just doesn't seem to work for me.

I suppose it reflects the type of fiction I like to read. My favourite writers tend to evoke that dreamy landscape, that quixotic inner world that much surely exist at the deepest being of anyone that truly knows oneself; the absolute strangeness that doesn't get vocalised or really communicated in the more plain light of day. In terms of modern authors, I'm thinking particularly of David Mitchell and Haruki Murakami. Interestingly both have a Japanese link. Japan left a deep impression on me when I visited in 2007: the country has such a wonderful sharp contrast between the two extremes of time: nowhere is more futuristic than Tokyo, and just a short distance out you have the most incredible verdant countryside with ancient Zen temples. An incredible transition.

It also reflects what my personal experience is of living in this new 21st century. An incredible torrent (and here, even the word "torrent" has two meanings; the figurative, and of course, more literally - in this sense - the digital counterpart that plays such an important role in file/information sharing) of so many contrasting demands, time periods and resources. It is certainly a truism to say we are living in a connected fully globalised world. The change over even the last 20 years has been astonishing - though you don't really notice it until you mentally step back - but I can still vaguely remember a time before the internet really played any role in most people lives. Back around 1990 significant numbers of people were just starting to get PCs in their home, but connections were still sketchy, sluggish dial-up.

Now broadband is ubiquitous in the developed world. To not have a computer and internet connection at home has reached the point of being a bizarre anachronism. The societal effects of technology are so complex and prodigious that I am not sure that anyone has fully grasped, nor indeed will - since it is a constantly moving target at ever increasing speed - precisely how it is changing us all, in this constant "feedback loop" of the digital ether.

Anyway, I digress. I've felt strangely regressive recently, perhaps as a result of what I feel to be the hidden emptiness of this new digital landscape - I think the way that it is playing an increasing role in mediating human interactions (particularly social network sites like Facebook and the like) is potentially dangerous. It seems that the more "connected" we become, the more we become individually alienated. I will qualify and develop my particular line of thought on this probably highly fashionable topic more substantially some other time. In any case, what a joy it is to reconnect in a much more old fashioned sense with pen and paper, computer turned off: no background sound of fans, no distractions of the temptation of a billion (largely pointless) bits of information at my fingertips. Yes, the old but familiar information overload theme that has in fact been cropping up ever since the dawn of the industrial age, but really come into its own since the dawn of the "information superhighway".

So, with a few spare pennies I've managed to put aside, I bought myself some rather splendid new fountain pens, and of course, some equally splendid inks to go with them.

Lamy pens have always made terrific value fountain pens; inexpensive and extremely smooth. They write very well indeed. I had a Lamy Al-Star, an aluminium pen with the same common nib as the Safari and Nexx but managed to lose it at a festival (it was rather stupid of me to take it in the first place, rather than a simple biro...).

Anyway, so I was keen to replace this. I got the Lamy Safari in a great bright orange colour. It has a plastic body rather than aluminium, but is the same slick design otherwise.

Text: "The Lamy Safari* really is a fabulous pen for the money. For less than £15, you get a beautifully smooth writing instrument. Ink flow is consistent, generous; the nib glides across the paper with ease. This one is in a funky bright orange colour, a special edition for 2009. The plastic body has superb ergonomics and is very comfortable to write with. An extrovert coloured pen deserves a refined and subtle ink; this is Diamine's wonderful Kensington Blue.
*With medium nib fitted."

Link to high resolution image of this writing here, for those of you who'd like to attempt to manually decode my scribings or see the ink colour in better detail.

I also got the Lamy Nexx, which is even more comfortable to hold, has an even more contemporary minimalist, lean design. Same, wonderful, smooth M nib.

Text: "The Lamy Nexx has the same winning nib as on the Safari (again I went for the medium nib; I'll get another Lamy pen with a fine nib in future). This pen is even more comfortable to hold, the aluminium body is perfectly tapered. I think the styling is lovely, though it would perhaps look even better if the barrel/grip were black rather than grey-blue. Conservative styling: therefore extrovert ink! Incredible colour! This is Diamine's Pumpkin. Delightful red-orange."

Link to high resolution image of this writing here (the preview image has distorted the colour to mucky brown).

Finally I also went for the Platignum No. 1. For a relatively cheap pen, this is a marvelously heavy and solid pen; everything is solid metal. The nib is a bit "leaner" than the Lamy's, not quite as effortless, but has been very controlled with a solid ink flow so far. All the pens are of course very new, so time will tell how the nibs "run in".

"The Platignum No. 1 really does feel surprisingly luxurious for a £25 pen. It is quite weighty, and all the major components are finished in substantial metal work. This nib is definitely a lot narrower than on the Lamy's which might be a contributing factor as to why it is not quite as smooth. Time will tell how the nib runs in, but for now it certainly has a lot more of a 'tooth' than the Lamy M nib. Nevertheless, it is still a good pen for the money, and I believe the nib will improve over time. Ink flow is good. This ink is Diamine's Light Green. A perky but really natural green: a philosophic colour!"

Link to high resolution image of this writing here.

The inks are the rather delicious Diamine inks, a traditional British ink manufacturer. An energetic red-orange "Pumpkin", and a wonderfully subtle but sophisticated "Kensington Blue", both part of their "New Century" range, and the delightfully natural looking "Light Green" part of their "Old English" range. I just love the traditional Victorian looking ink bottles.

Going back to pen n' paper is bringing out the creativity again. With nothing to interact with or distract, you're faced to create from the very depths of your void. So I'm writing sections of my novel in pen and ink, then typing it/compiling it up into a word processor. As a result everything is immediately effectively getting written twice. No doubt once the material builds up to a decent quantity, I can start to constantly rewrite, expand, and hammer it down on the computer to start - hopefully - building it into one coherent novel.

My most fundamental and overriding goal at this point is simply quantity. I think the mandate to the National Novel Writing Month is absolutely right: just get the words down for now. To have a novel you need your 100,000, 200,000, or half million words down in the first place. Once you've got the quantity you can rewrite it all to get that all important quality. It doesn't matter too much at this stage even if it is all nonsense. If you've written 400,000 words of rubbish, with some dedication you can hopefully find 200,000 words that are resolutely not total rubbish.

At the very least, you'll have tried. Every attempt I've ever made at writing anything substantial - and in terms of a novel, I've tried many, many times! - has just always fizzled out after about, oh, say 10000 words. I set an impossible quality criterion, over analyse it, worry too much about where I'm going to take the story. Far better just to plough on regardless, write whatever desire, and see where it goes. Trying to plan everything too far in advance tends to kill of the creative, spontaneous energy: this is my problem. I'm always guilty of this. I just need to roll with it a bit. See where it goes. Relinquish that control.

Perhaps by doing that, eventually, I'll get to a point where the belief really does become strong that I do have a novel here, that it is perhaps worth something. In the meantime, I just have to go step by step.

So my target is very modest: just try and average about 500 words a day on the "project". It doesn't matter how, or in what storyline, or indeed any detail - just 500 more words for the book, every day, more or less, week after week. I'm no longer segregating out fragments: everything is just getting chucked into the novel. I'll worry about turning it into some type of at least slightly sane plot-line later on. Once I've got a lot of material, if I've got whole swathes that I still don't know what to do with, I can always excise them for future use (or deletion...). But for now: everything, regardless of how irrelevant or disconnected goes in. Regardless of how good or bad I think it is, too - which is probably even more critical at this stage. I'll figure it out somehow.

With this very basic strategy, I'm hoping I'll eventually reap some dividends.

Ascesis.

2010-01-30T16:51:00.001-08:00

I may appear to have been remiss with my blog over the last couple of weeks, but in fact I have been extremely busy - and have achieved a lot, though to all outer measures it may not seem like much.

As readers may have garnered from past posts, I live in a shared house for economic reasons. It has always been a constant bugbear for me, in particular since the place has been in such a state of dirt and mess, a result of literally years of neglect. I say was, since I decided this state of affairs was going to be rectified.

As with all motivating forces in life, the dynamic always runs from internal to external. Extraordinarily frustrated with my life on countless levels, I have begun a process of reordering and directionalising my energies - and I am now seeing the dividends. For countless years I have attempted to be "more organised", and always tried numerous hi-tech solutions; from Psion palmtop computers (state at the art at the time!), to laptops, to phones, to setting up endless systems and all sorts of software and files on my computer. However, despite the fact, that, for example my Samsung phone is by far the most powerful I've owned (it is very similar to an iPhone), I have come to realise that nothing can beat the perfection and purity of pen and paper. So I bought a Filofax (which, rather pleasingly, I got a nice genuine leather one for an excellent price on sale); in fact I bought an A5 one. More to the point, I bought this size specifically because A5 copier paper is easy to buy for a home printer: this means I can create my own custom stationery. Not only does this mean I don't need to buy the overpriced official Filofax stationery, but I am only limited by what my imagination can devise. So, into OpenOffice and I set about creating a whole range of sheet templates, ready to print out "refills" as I need them. Customised and specific to my needs; To-Do sheets, Notes sheets, Workout sheets, Diet sheets, Recipe sheets, Concept sheets, "Look Into" sheets, Sleep chart, Dreams sheets... Naturally, the Filofax already came with a fair bit of paper in there, including of course, the all critical Diary.

As you can probably tell, I've created something that is far, far more than a mere organisational tool for mundane tasks: I wanted something that was going to be my "offload" center for all my ideas, thoughts, and generally everything that cluttered up my mind. I say cluttered, because previously I struggled to keep on top of everything since I would have so many bits of information that I would try to mentally record and internally organise; e.g. I might hear some particular artist on the radio, or someone might mention some book - and then inevitably fail to recall it when I had the spare time to investigate. Meanwhile, of course, I would be trying to lodge said piece of information into long term memory.

One thing that virtually all successful writers insist is of great importance is observation - and those observations are useless as usable future material if you don't record them, since it is unlikely you'll be able to recall the specific details some time later on.

It also exerts a surprising "mentally fatiguing" effect trying to continually organise and preserve all this information purely within your memory. So, since I got my organiser, my life has been radically changing, because I've made a very deliberate decision to use it: as soon as I have some interesting thought, or indeed any snippet of information - perhaps something as basic as adding "bathroom cream cleaner" to a shopping list - it immediately goes into the appropriate section. All those tasks that I kept intending on doing, and sort of eventually getting round to... now get done immediately. I built a long list of fairly mundane things to do and have been slowly working my way through, doing them.

Micro managing the informational complexity of my life in this way has had a profound effect on several major aspects.

Before, I used to eat quite well (in comparison to the average Briton), and did always cook "proper" meals, eat my fruit and vegetables, etc., but still tended to do the halfway house solution of using pre-made sauces, etc. This was always rather unsatisfactory for me, since I developed a real passion for cooking some years ago; I also take my health and fitness extremely seriously. Most ready made sauces are not only expensive but also far too high in salt, and also quite often contain a lot of sugar. Meanwhile, for lunch at work, though I did make an effort to cook more than one portion at a time at home and take some in for lunch, it was rather hit and miss; some days I'd have to buy lunch, or resort to making sandwiches.

Because I train extremely hard at the gym, and lead such a high activity life - the walk to and from work is nearly 5 miles, for example - my calorie requirement is very high if I am to have any energy to have a decent workout at the gym. So sandwiches were never much good, as I'd inevitably end up having a massive lump of bread in order to fill me up: a load of nutritionally empty carbohydrates.

I was also not organised enough in doing the food shopping, so tired on my way back from the gym, I'd drop into my local Tesco express and pick up some food to build a meal with: the selection was limited and relatively expensive, plus I was just in a hurry by this point.

The kitchen was also too dirty and disorganised, and always took a lot of effort getting things sorted.

In terms of workouts, if you want to make progress with any training regime - and especially once you're an experienced trainer - in order to go forward you really need to set specific targets and goals, and have a very structured and systematic routine: it requires a lot of effort to force your body into overload and thereby cause an adaptation response.

When I had previously recorded workouts, I'd always done it on my computer, in weblogs or in a spreadsheet. But what about those evenings when it was getting late after I'd come home, cooked, eaten, washed up, done whatever other tasks, and simply wanted to go to bed? Naturally, I wasn't going to take all that extra time to boot my PC up purely to key in a few numbers and then shut it down. So after a while it becomes inefficient.

So, bring out the pen and paper. Suddenly efficient shopping lists started to be built; economising started to happen as I tracked expenditure immediately (on-line banking suffers from exactly the same flaw: you have to bother to go and sit in front of your computer and track all your finances; now I simply scribble down the amount spent virtually immediately after spending it - merely a few seconds effort); workouts now took literally seconds as I scribbed the numbers on to my ready made sheets. All those things I needed to remember were simply there in the diary. Tasks or things to do immediately went into to-do lists - and consequently got done: the pure satisfaction of trailing that line though the writing.

Every single aspect of my life has started to be brought into control and order. As is probably apparent from this blog, I am someone who likes detail: someone who likes order: someone who likes things to be systematic and organised. Previously, these aspects of my personality were in a constant battle with the mess of my life. I was always so desperate after such a dull week of endless work to do the things I enjoyed on my day off that the prospect of spending my day off doing yet more "work" - since I would spend all day at work organising, cleaning, sorting or dealing with things - was almost unbearable. Yet by not neglecting; by getting everything done and sorted in my personal life: so it is tremendously liberating, and more important, I am starting to reap massive gains from the new efficiencies.

The house is now spotless: it is far less effort, rather than try to get anyone else to do anything, simply to do it yourself. The kitchen is immaculate; the bathroom is pristine; my bedroom now a proper sanctuary. Mess and dirt effectively become an external manifestation of your own internal disorder; attempting to ignore it comes at severe psychological cost.

Cooking is now a joy again, meals cooked absolutely from scratch are far tastier - and my health feels better than ever. My strength and weights are flying up because I am now tailoring my diet to my exact nutritional requirements. My finances are coming under control because I know exactly how much (or rather, how little!) I have left. I am buying all my ingredients fresh and from the local market during my lunch breaks at work: not only is the quality of produce and meat much better, it is also significantly cheaper. I have freed up all sorts of storage space in the house from clearing out all the junk left from endless previous residents. With all this new storage space, everything is infinitely tidier; I have space to buy things in bulk and reap savings (i.e. rather than buy 500g of rice at £1.79 a bag, I bought a 10kg bag for £8.50...).

Perhaps more interestingly I am feeling intellectually sharper than ever, and no thoughts are getting "lost": the relevant snippet gets jotted down, ready to return to whenever I have a moment.

I have far more spare time now, because I waste so little, and don't muddle myself with inefficiencies or continually forgetting to do things.

I feel infinitely more in control of my life. I am becoming clearer as to exactly what I want from life: and I am also becoming much clearer as to how I'm going to go about it.

The next step is to scale everything up. I am going to invest in a catering size stockpot: no more cooking portions of a casserole or home made curry for 2-3 servings. Instead I am going to cook about 10 portions worth all at once: hardly any more effort, and it would mean on work days I have a virtual instant top quality meal every day, with minimal washing up afterwards. It'll make things even cheaper too. I'll invest in enough air/water tight containers to immediately place each days meal in. Etc.

All these mundane details are dull, but absolutely critical: freeing up one hour more each working day, for example, means one hour when I can be writing or doing something productive or fulfilling.

Small things can be surprisingly satisfying. In our previously neglected kitchen, there were a load of empty glass spice jars, filthy after not being used for years. I cleaned them up and filled them with a load of fresh spices. A little detail, but it really changes the feel of the kitchen space. The spices look very attractive in the glass jars (I am aware than technically you should keep spices out of the light - but they'll keep getting used up well before they go off in any case!).

On cloudberries, snow, facebooking, the absolute animal, and fountain pens

2010-01-10T14:37:00.001-08:00

There is a balance to be found between a change, that wandering, that embraces new, alters, and discards old accretions; that and the preservation of past materials for the possibility of re-presenting, analysing, detecting developmental changes, or deducing new hidden truths.

Consequently, we create something - it could be any endeavour; a poem, a brick wall, a painting, the placement of a certain poster on the wall - and then later than can be a temptation or perhaps even a need to alter or obliterate it. Everything seen in this instance can be viewed as manifestations of being.

This can apply to blogs as well. There can be an understandable temptation to eradicate what is old, what is different, what is no longer felt necessary; or perhaps even what doesn't meet your own quality criterion.

I personally believe in leaving everything intact, for the course. It shows as much where you came from - each one has some type of qualitative value as a moment of existential expression. Even moments of inanity have value as an expression of the set of conditional circumstances that give context to your being. This is not equivalent to saying they have value for everyone, of course - this is not a claim to a hypostazing of all that is universal to some barometer of equality, much as our modern enlightened "progressive" society would have do. So in other words, some (who knows, perhaps most?) of my perambulating quite probably has value only to me. Irrespective, I leave everyone to their own court of judgement.

In any case, I hope Cloudberry will allow me to resurrect a few snippets of materials he has chosen to eradicate as I personally found them highly interesting, and their loss a great shame, all the more so because I can closely identify to a lot of the sentiments contained therein. I will let him consider the metaphysical and existential meaning to the resurrection, [re-]possession and adaptation of material he had withdrawn due to whatever motivating basis.

On the subject of Facebook he wrote:

"Just as there is something quite awesomely lonely about the gigantic metropolis, even as one is amid the swirling mass of humanity... so there is something intensely lonesome about Facebook, even as one has multitudes of squares, frozen faces, staring at you in various poses of shock, dismay, happiness, joy, anger, significant-othership, coitus (well, maybe not that one), being-abroadness, or anonymity.

...

Another thing is this: facebook profiles give an illusion of closeness to a person, but usually they are an enigma.

...

Facebook is testimony to the change underlying all phenomena. We friend someone, we exchange messages and posts with them, and then when the real-life context vanishes, the messages and posts dry up. But, generally, we do not defriend one another. The linkage is a corpse, meaningless, and probably unused, but it remains. Why?

And hence the culmination of Facebook's mental life reveals itself: the person who, rather than knowing people and being friends with them, is simply the person who looks at people, like Baudelaire and the Paris of industrialising France."

So indeed, we become voyeurs; or perhaps rather react in a manner befitting inauthentic being in a Heideggerian sense.

I've had this debate with myself one several occasions: Shall I delete my Facebook account entirely? It becomes a vapid time-wasting hole. Ultimately, I decided the sensible approach was the one moderated between extremes; Facebook is most especially valuable as a tool for organisational purposes, and used as a mere utility to keep abreast of, say, musical concerts and events going on, and arrange real-life interactions with people, redeems itself somewhat. Above all, avoid the trap of ending up succumbing to the urge to post those status updates and "microblog" about the disquietude of your own mental state. Because, ultimately, most people don't actually give a damn, else they would actually choose to reach out and interact with you in real life (excepting, of course, all those long distance contacts for whom such an arrangement is impossible).

So the simplest method of all: use it very sparingly. Have a quick look, or pick up a message if someone sends it to you, but otherwise, avoid it almost entirely, and instead try to operate more in the "real world" in terms of societal contacts.

Perhaps I felt motivated to create this new blog entry after starting to read one of Cloudberry's old posts entitled "Purge", which dealt with the metaphysical/existential meaning of snow. Since, after all, there is so much of it around right at this very moment, and especially here in the UK, quite unusually; we do not normally get winters of quite this severity. I rather enjoy it, as I alluded to in my previous post.

A small digression as to my reading habits regarding other blogs: I do not necessarily "check by" every day to see if someone has put a new blog post up. Instead, I prefer to "batch read"; so I might not look at someone's blog for several weeks, and then all of a sudden, read a whole great deal, and catch up again. If I come across an interesting new blog, however, I will always bookmark or add it to my RSS feeds, and will, when the time is right, eventually come back to it and spend some time reading through it all. So, from my personal selfish point of view, I am rather glad my feedreeding software Liferea had fortunately kept a local copy of these older posts of Cloudberry's since they're now gone.

Anyway, again I hope he will not mind too much if I quote some of this extirpated material. On snow:

"I use the phrase "snow-white" advisedly. Sartre talks in Being and Nothingness about how we like to ski on snow because it barely changes the snow at all to ski on it. When we change the substance we're working on, that means it is stuff as opposed to pure fluid--it is in-itself rather than for-itself. Untouched snow is like for-itself, but when snow gets all mucked up by people walking or urinating in it, it is like in-itself. The most exact phenomenal symbol of for-itself is water. The most exact phenomenal symbol of in-itself is slime, which sticks to everything that touches it and doesn't move fluidly on its own, nor can it resist the imprint of everything else that comes into contact with it."

This statement reminded me of the opening paragraph of Manly P. Hall's profound Lectures on Ancient Philosophy. The opening few sentences, from the first chapter, "The Nature of the Absolute" go thus:

"To define adequately the nature of the Absolute is impossible, for it is everything in its eternal, undivided, and unconditioned state. In ancient writings it is referred to as the NOTHING and the ALL. No mind is capable of visualizing an appropriate symbolic figure of the Absolute. Of all the symbols devised to represent its eternal and unknowable state, a clean, blank sheet of paper is the least erroneous. The paper, being blank, represents all that cannot be thought of, all that cannot be seen, all that cannot be felt, and all that cannot be limited by any tangible function of the consciousness. The blank paper represents measureless, eternal, unlimited SPACE. No created intelligence, has ever plumbed its depths; no God has ever scaled its heights, nor shall mortal or immortal being ever discover the true nature of its substance. From it all things come, to it all things return, but it neither comes nor goes.

Figures and symbols are pollutions drawn upon the unblemished surface of the paper..."

We therefore see here a connecting principle between phenomenology, being, cosmology and theology. Extemporise at your leisure on the interrelationship. It rather draws me towards the quote of Proclus that has always adorned the right hand sidebar of this blog:

"For all things are in us psychically, and through this we are naturally capable of knowing all things, by exciting the powers and the images of wholes which we contain."

One final aside, it this helter-skelter of a post. Quite of my own volition, I felt a peculiar random imaginative inclination to write a fictional story entitled The Frog Lantern. It is being written at the moment. It is quite possibly absolute nonsense, as it is descending into something wildly surreal. For some reason, perhaps due to the chaotic turbulence of my own bizarre existence in this ugly modern world, every time I attempt to write fiction I descend into completely peculiar and downright strange imaginative splotches. In any case, imagine my ironic surprise, when perusing Cloudberry's new blog, The Nostalgia of the Infinite, I discovered his posts on "animal totems"; foremost among them, frogs.

Incidentally, excluding perhaps frogs, which evidently seem to have some type of subconscious, symbolic importance to me (that I was not hitherto aware of), my animal totem would undoubtedly be a cat.

Why? Cats always make me remember a certain narcissistic independence; a complete absence of any need for validation from anyone or indeed anything else; in their "Egyptian" pose and always astounding elegance, balance, and regality, one feels the echo of nobility. They reify what is higher, what is above, what is beyond. And yet, on their own terms, and you as human on yours, you can nevertheless meet, and what is exchanged is authentic. The cat accepts, and then you know that it is genuine. They are indeed mighty; how often is it the case that you will walk down the street, and see a cat gazing out of the window, impassively scrutinising and observing.

They are perhaps the ultimate philosophers. They are perhaps the animal equivalent of Evola's "Absolute Individual", able to give transcendent meaning to one's own life.

It is little wonder that domestic cats have always been popular among writers, as they espouse a certain quality of apparent introspection that all writers must possess in order to be able to write.

And finally, on pens.

Perhaps as a result of the transience and impermanence of everything that is modern, I find myself drawn back to the humble art of handwriting; there is something qualitatively different to giving something a permanent immanent existence through the personal lens of handwriting. I would very much like to get a proper fountain pen. For some reason, I find myself with an intense desire to have something like a German Pelikan Souverän M800, or a Japanese Sailor Classic 1911. Along, of course, with some funky ink, such as the Noodler ink "Sun Never Sets".

Perhaps it is just another retreat along the axis of my increasing anti-modernist tendencies.

"Sun Never Sets"

"Pelikan Souverän M800"

"Sailor 1911 Classic Sterling Silver"

Current life synopsis as 2010 arrives. Part 2/2: Transcendent.

2010-01-06T13:37:00.000-08:00

So, this is the corollary that complements my earlier post at the end of 2009. As a man approaching 30, where am I in my current life?

Part two.

The transcendent.

Today I must say I felt much better than I've felt in a very long time. On a very basic level, the whole endless consumer Christmas retail craze has been largely dispensed with for another year; our shop has returned back to normal hours, we're no longer flooded with customers (though have a sufficient enough coming in to keep us occupied). Significantly, the end of the stupidly long tiring days has meant I'm able to return to my normal much healthier routine - since I'm no longer arriving home very late in the evening, I now am able to resume my exercise and training in the gym.

Regular exercise is vital for me not only for physical well-being, but also for mental stability. Without a physical impetus to channel all the stresses, annoyances and worries of my life into, instead I end up vegetating and slipping into a dismayed depressive state.

So, with a new year, a new sense of determination, particularly since some new training gear that I ordered way back in the autumn of last year has finally arrived from the States. I'll leave that for another post.

Secondly, as some of you might be aware, the UK is currently undergoing some rather unusual winter weather. Unusual, only in recent memory, that is: I would class it as more of a return to a proper winter: I remember as a child in the 80s we had quite a few snowbound winters here in England. Most of country is currently carpeted in thick snow, as it has been snowing heavily most nights for a good week or so now, and we've had a sustained period of much colder sub zero temperatures than recent winters have brought us. This type of weather had virtually disappeared over the last few years.

Whilst it no doubt makes great media copy, as the news is doing its usual job of ridiculously over egging, exaggerating, and sensationalising things (I would not class -5C as "bitterly cold"; rather, just "cold". -30C on a Siberian plain with 50mph Northerly winds - that I would class as "bitterly cold"!), and it is an awkward time for transport, since the UK is not very well prepared for proper winter weather, so consequently don't have enough grit and snow clearing vehicles, etc., and farmers are no doubt struggling badly with cattle and any winter crops; but on a strictly personal level, I adore this weather. Cold winter, snowbound weather makes me feel at home. There is something quite magical about he quietening and softening effect of snow on a landscape; sounds become wonderfully muted, the air becomes so delightfully crisp and fresh; shapes and forms of all objects, natural or manufactured, suddenly take on an independent aesthetic beauty all of their own. Some pictures from my locality:

So perhaps it is the way that when you get relatively intense weather like this, nature encroaches back onto the modern world: the conflict of the Enlightenment project of domination over Nature through the abstract systematisation, analysis and exploitation of natural resources, scientific "truth" and "knowledge". Natural weather events like this help to dispel us from our isolationist hermetic separation of modern urbanity and the "natural world".

It is this sense of a return of primeval essences, a primitivism, that helps break one out of those feelings of existential anguish in this increasingly noisy but simultaneously barren world: one of an immense veneer of technological and epistemological supremacy, which by equal measure empties inner knowledge in order to replace it with second-order derivative knowledge of mere subsequent effects; fully materialised and physicalised.

I read Evola's "Ride The Tiger: A Survival Manual for the Aristocrats of the Soul" over the Yule period, and like all of Evola's works, it offers an immensely penetrating and powerful critique of the modern world. So, a few quotes, one which is particularly apt on this point, when talking of the endless assault of the Holy Grail that is Science and Enlightenment:

"The boundary that defines the range of modern science from the very start, whatever its possible developments, appears in the fact that its constant and rigid point of departure has been and is based on the dualistic and exteriorized relationship between the I and the not-I, which is proper to simple sense-knowledge... They are not instruments of another kind of knowledge, that is, of true knowledge."

Moreover, on the abstract physico-mathematical ideal - that taken to its ultimate teleological form, fashionably proposes a "theory of everything", an all-encompassing supposed end of the quest for "final" knowledge:

"It is then like a catharsis that consumes every residue of the sensory, not in order to lead to a higher world, the "intelligible world" or a "world of ideas", as in the ancient schools of wisdom, but rather to the realm of pure mathematical thought, of number, of undifferentiated quantity, as opposed to the realm of quality, of meaningful forms and living forces: a spectral and cabalistic world, an extreme intensification of the abstract intellect, where it is no longer a matter of things or phenomena, but almost of their shadows reduced to their common denominator, gray and indistinguishable...

... It is about a formal knowledge enclosed in itself, extremely precise in its practical consequences, in which, however, one cannot speak of the real. "

He quotes the physicist Heisenberg:

"The object of research is no longer the object in itself, but nature as a function of the problems that man sets himself... Henceforth man only meets himself"

Little wonder, therefore, he laments the state of the modern world, whereby we are resigned to a

"...total consignment to the kind of happiness that befits Nietzsche's 'last man': a comfortable consumer civilization of socialized human animals, aided by all the discoveries of science and industry and reproducing demographically in a squirming, catastrophic crescendo"

Now, the point of this diversion into meaning in the context of my life is that the position I'm now in - along with all its material consequences - began many years ago. As I said, "I am suffering this situation due to a lack of coherent career decisions". Which of course raises the question, why have I made such an incoherent set of career decisions.

Knowing the world is knowing yourself - and vice versa. I've always been of the personality and type of inquiring mind that searches for truth, so naturally career decisions were also going to be a logical function of that drive. So, what does a child growing up in our secular world, from a religion neutral home naturally gravitate to? Science of course; science is knowledge, is it not? Necessarily, as an impressionable and ineluctably naive teen - as all teens must necessarily be, irrespective of how much they believe otherwise, and will of course do so - meaning was always going to be something that could be discerned as a consequence of knowledge, knowledge that was of course associated as inimical with scientific insight. Since we are seduced first and most easily by what is before our eyes: and the wonders of science abound with jewels all around. Marvels of the world - like this computer, this set of pixels, text, graphics, system upon system, building ever greater levels of complexity.

And this is the first - and perhaps most important - of many steps that a child takes towards being an adult; they come to realise that there exists more than their immediate needs and wants (largely sensory, or directed towards immediate emotional-physical gratification), and come to realise that behind it all is something more. Not merely an understanding of "this leads to that", the "paint is red"; "red paint is red because of the dye", in other words not the simple law of causality, but the law behind the causality, the law of the ultimate cause. In other words, the question, for the first time, becomes not merely what, not even just why, but the real Why, the why that eventually ends the infinite regression of whys that a child will ask when asking an adult to explain why something is so. But why, but why, and but why...

So there was perhaps a residue of this type of schematicism behind my thinking when trying to make those initial career decisions as to what to study. I was of course, not ready or unprepared to make adequate choices at that age, and I now look back and think it could not have been any other way. There is something absurd to me now when I consider that people must make fundamental life choices at 16 - and what are now ultimately irrevocable ones, in this climate of automatic debt - when they can in no way have any real appreciation of who they are going to become. Far better, instead, if youth immediately went into work or some type of skilled trade in the larger world, or travelled, first, for some years; then, just at the point at which most people now traditionally leave university, they could go back and study, clear of purpose and mind. Or at least, clearer.

Anyway, digressions aside, as a teen I'd become hooked on popular science accounts describing all the fascinations of Quantum Physics and all the science that lies at the boundary; and although the first seeds of doubt as to the ultimate basis of this all had been well and truly sown when I read Kant's Critique Of Pure Reason at 16 (an enormously difficult book by any standard, but his triumvirate of his three Critique's will repay any effort put into reading them one hundred fold in terms of the effects on your thinking for the remainder of your life), it was nevertheless not sufficient to stop me pursuing the Scientific path (despite temptations on the path of Arts; my mother was a teacher of English, so I've always had a love of books and literature, and indeed arts in general; so I was torn between the general path of the Sciences or Arts that form the ultimate division of the Western education system).

And so I pursued Computer Science at University; all going well, at first. There was the dream of "Artificial Intelligence". What intellectually sexier subject can there be than the prospect of engineering intelligence, the emergence of the man-like machine? Like all modern myths - for perhaps the overriding fantasy of the Western Enlightenment is the replacement of traditional myths and legends with the all powerful rational intellect, ultimately just another form of myth, and the one that is currently en vogue - it offers great dreams. But - and I can speak with some authority on this, since it was a subject I studied in depth - from a philosophical, and more important, entirely real point of view, "artificial intelligence" is not really particularly such, or can only be considered intelligence if one restricts the term to a definition so narrow as to reduce it to a meaningless praxis. Instead, machines are merely computationally extremely efficient. Where a restricted set of parameters and delimiters can be defined, they can algorithmically solve problems with great efficiency. The essence of all artificial intelligent systems - and in the modern world, these are many; the computer and its microcosmos of software you're sitting in front of, your mobile phone, your MP3 player - is still ultimately simply an exhaustive search within a list of probabilistic parameters.

This is easily illustrated by the famous battle of IBM's mainframe computer "Big Blue" running chess software that eventually defeated world champion Gary Kasparov. Big Blue was ultimately superior at "playing" chess than Kasparov was, and in the restricted sense of "playing chess" you could credit it on some level with intelligence. It is critical to realise, however, that they way it goes about playing chess is so different to the way a human plays this game - and it also crucial to point out that because the game itself is an "artificial" problem, therefore ultimately a perfect computational problem - that it does so in a method that requires no "intelligence" at all. A chess computer will simply do a deep search - and the depth of the search can increase as computational power increases, though, because mathematically, it is what is known as an exponential function, search progress is slow in proportion to increase in hardware power - and simply evaluate every single move. Increasingly the depth of the search merely means considering, say, two moves ahead - for every move of a piece that I could make, what are the possible moves that you could resulting make - and then three, then four... and so on. Very quickly you're at the point of mathematically considering billions of permutations. From these, without a predefined time or search depth limit, you select whichever move probabilistically yields the strongest move. It is simply a numerical weighting (a weighting method whose intelligence was originally supplied by the human programmers). With Big Blue able to process billions of moves before selection, it was hardly surprising it won. Of course it was immaterial if it lost, since it would only be a matter of time before the sheer numerical quantity of moves that are able to be considered, as raw computational power increases, would become so statistically overwhelming that its probabilistic likelihood of victory would ever asymptotically approach 100% when measured against raw human computation. But the method itself it actually the epitome of stupidity, not intelligence!

It is akin to attempt to replicate, say, Tolstoy's "War And Peace" from the famous analogy of a team of monkey's randomly hammering at typewriters for eternity. Eventually, through every possible permutation of letters randomly delivered, whether that be a book of one character long consisting of merely "A" to a book of 1000 billion characters, you would - after an exceptionally long period of time - end up with War and Peace and indeed every single book ever written.

But the critical point is there is no selective or higher order intelligence operating here. It is simply blind mechanistic chance - chance, guided by probabilities, that is. Those probabilities are at least initially supplied by the experience and measurements of the human designers. The "intelligence" in every artificial intelligence system is supplied externally from the human programmers. Even neural networks, which are supposedly a method by which an AI system can "learn", still ultimately depend on a superior intelligent principle supplied by the programmer, which tells it which criterion's to select and priortise, or tell it "good" or "bad", "wrong" or "right". The machines operate on one level of existence only, a planar profanely dumb existence of simply a computational set of inputs for processing according to some preconceived, arranged, and deterministically calcuated algorithms. Emergent behaviour is merely second order interference phenomena, where as a result of so much data flowing into the system and being processed in various ways, you get effects that cannot be simply measured though a simple stepwise assessment of a given subsystem.

No machine is genuinely self-aware, and never will be, for such a sense of self-awareness would only come at the expense of realising it possesses no genuine self. It has no self because it merely reacts, in a predefined way, to a set of predefined inputs. Without a self, it has no referential totality with which to meaningfully refer the qualifier intelligence to. The destructive processes in our nihilistic era are precisely the outcome, on one axis, of this theory of computation applied to the human being; the mind as machine. It would have us believe that a human is nothing more than a sense-data processing organon, blinding selecting (ultimately via Darwinian evolution, science's creationist, entirely theological at basis, albeit disguised, principal of self-survival) upon possible choices based on a probabilistic entitlement of that which will most likely yield the most comfort and thereby best chance of survival. This the eudaemonistic fantasy; a blind, stupefied animalistic survival for the goal of being simply "happy".

So, with the dream of AI being revealed as a fantasy - though, I should point out, and undeniably useful one; for science has an immense mastery of utilitarian shaping of of things to ones ends; so thank AI for that iPhone or whatever it is that you're holding: it may not be intelligent, but it certainly can behave that way, thanks to the careful set of human design criteria and responses behind it, and AI has immense information processing value to serve our ends - much as with every other previous scientific dream, I started to realise that the path to truth I was looking for was not here.

That intellectual process, coupled with the fact the degree became increasingly burdened with worthless paperwork (a pointless consequence of the administrative absurdity of the modern world, which increasingly specialises without any higher ordering principle) and increasingly dull and anodyne meant I lost interest, and once I lose interest in something that is a deathblow to my motivation, regardless of cost.

As a backdrop, I was reading Heidegger's Being and Time during this time, and it illustrated the existential consequences of the practical results of this mechanized computerized, automated era of production; man divorced from any higher meaning, man divested into a societal herd mentality, and ultimately lost in touch with one's very self; only in moments of crisis or significant events, did a reaction occur where one was "thrown back" or "thrown towards" one's being, Dasein; instead of being lost as a collective, numerical entity conditioned by our mass media.

Anyway, Evola describes such events - and I have above described two, the first from a child like state of wonder to that of the inquiring mind, initially following the empirical path; the second (starting in a real significant way at University, from 18, even though such tremors had been felt a few years earlier) from that of the slavish blind atheist devotee of science to an individual in existential crisis searching for higher meaning - indeed, the primary thematic material of most of this very blog as you may have noted - as ontological ruptures, or a rupture of ontological levels.

It is with the rupture of levels that a corresponding increase in the real development of the human individual occurs - not on any obviously measurable, materalised plain (though such results may occur as a side effect). But on the more significant, and ultimately all superior - indeed, ultimately primary - spiritual plane. This plane is largely non-existent in the Western world, and almost always completely misunderstood and reduced to profanity by those who lack the necessary self-awareness to comprehend it on a fundamental level. Since it is not a matter of "intelligence" (quotations added to illustrate the materialised understanding of the word which merely recognises numerical superiority), nor is it a matter of "knowledge" as such. Most people have not undergone the necessary existential developments to be prepared for any such awareness, not because they necessarily lack the capability, but because they are so anesthetised by the lull of the dream of the triumphant march of progress of modernity that they fail to see its very toxicity. Every step of progress in the Western world is accomplished at the expense of a diminishment of the strength of the ultimately supervenient and grossly superior "inner world". Furthermore, "spirituality" itself is reduced to some quasi-fashionable alternative statement, a fantastic world of hidden spirits and things that go bump-in-the-night. This is another example of esoteric knowledge being transmogrified into something that is a merely a divergent after effect of some material oddity, a quasi-Scientific paranormal event. Evola describes such results as the "regime of residues".

Yet the sense of inner barrenness and alienation is all around us, because without any explicit awareness, the nascent dormant spiritual plane in everyone nevertheless exists, and its lack of development in the face of this existential emptiness and nihilistic vacuity proposes only one course of survival: escapism. Most popularly, alcohol. So it is with most people my age that one does one's working week, then drinks oneself into oblivion come Friday night. The "pleasure" in such an activity is of an entirely negative character, negative in the sense that it obviates oneself, temporarily, of all the anguish and emptiness of life. It's entirely understandable, particularly when one considers that most jobs in practice, as a result of the entire organisation of the modern world, are entirely and fundamentally unfulfilling, as we all satisfy some eminently worthless socio-economic scale of "progress", where everything is ultimately referred to the economy, gross domestic products, and living indexes. Progress toward what, precisely?

Nietzsche's denouncement of "God is dead" was not a proclamation of atheism, as is commonly attributed to him, along the very same self-destructive materialistic lines that have got us here; it was rather to illustrate that the fundamental decline of all the higher values, sublimated under modernist myths, meant that in all realistic terms that any God was dead precisely because the very God within man had already died. Essentially, God was dead not because he didn't "exist", but because the very sacred center of man had been eradicated, and thereby rendered God, or any other reference to Deity, deities or all and anything that is truly transcendent, as entirely meaningless. Hence why Nietzsche described himself as dynamite; he knew full well his meanings would be ultimately misunderstood and perverted. Not only in the case of the atheist revolutionaries declaring that God had finally been banished - generally replaced by the wonderous pursuit of Science - but also in those that would later adopt his teachings of the Zarathustra "superman" and later entirely pervert it into the political doctrine of Fascism, specialised in National Socialism. Nietzsche would have been both amused and disgusted at Nazism (and, for that matter, Marxism).

So here I find myself, one of the "outsiders" - always an outsider in spirit, as the very least. This X-Factor generation is anathema to me. I find myself thereby on the brink, indeed, undergoing a third "ontological rupture" in my 28 years. A few pragmatic realities have hit me hard, and particularly so in 2009; this path I have chosen in life was never going to be easy, since it goes against the very grain. As I eluded to, the fact of the matter is my extremely limited material life - as a result of not prioritsing and directionalising all my intellectual powers towards this goal, for reasons that should now be abundantly clear - does have significant consequences. The social stereotype of "man as provider" does carry significant weight, so for me to meet someone, they would have to be someone of the necessary qualities as to disregard my financial and material poverty, and desire me for qualities in other areas; ones which do not obviously manifest in a lot of the ordinary day-to-day aspects of living.

I've consequently resigned myself to this fact, and will be living a fairly monastic life through 2010, as I've got debt to pay off, and easiest way to stay on budget is not to go out much. I will eat healthily, exercise with great intensity - I very much enjoy Powerlifting training - and absorb myself more than ever in my books and music. I will also greatly intensify my efforts finding a creative outlet. This blog is one, and this last week or so has seen a tremendously fertile period, as you can no doubt tell if you've succeeded in reading this far down this current post! I will write, and write more, because in truth writing is my one real area of natural talent; as much as I adore music, for example, I have no real aptitude for it; similarly fine art, I am mediocre but no more. But perhaps I can be a better than mediocre writer, and I feel that I am becoming much more of a human with which to find expression to life itself.

Finally, a little note for Ida. You know how much you mean to me, and your acts of kindness and quality as an individual ever resonate more with me. I love you, and always will, however our paths in life should continue to proceed. It is little wonder that so few relationships survive against the abhorrent ugliness of so much of modern existence. The best chance of survival is a form of seclusion, even at the expense of perhaps developing a level of provincialism and a petit-bourgeois existence. To live in a wood cabin, surrounded by trees and snow - a romantic anachronism, but perhaps the one way of blissfully surviving this world - either that, or a upright battle alone, a quest to remain strong to one's higher values, an upright challenge to recognise one's own transcendence, and to tap into that infinite supply to find a meaning to imbue to everything you do. A declaration of war. War not against nations, or on any material plane - but on the higher level for ones own very sense of being. Such a war requires not overt actions, because the war occurs entirely on the inner plane of one's own existence, unseen by the majority.

We ultimately control who and what we are. Look in, to see out.

And then you shall indeed be wandering with Sleipnir.

Solar quandaries

2010-01-02T16:49:00.000-08:00

The most accursed aspect of creativity for me is that it invariably occurs late at night, whilst lying in bed, waiting for sleep to take me. She is a most inconsiderate companion in that respect.

So, tonight, there I was, another mundane Saturday night after work. Tired, and went to bed fairly early. Starting to fall asleep, but as the sense of fatigue faded a hyperactivity in me started to emerge; most profoundly with that desperate nagging, that horrendous burning feeling of words, whole structures of thought, whole new aspects of realisation - antagonised, antithesis, ready to be violated: that is, ready to be exterminated.

By sleep.

For no record, no existence of those very particular instantiations of thought. Speed, immediacy, a foreboding necessity: quick, write, cast them down! Electronically compartmentalise them, make them above all immanent, before they disappear into that void! For whilst they do not disappear, they become absorbed and integrated into that existential morass of the continual structure that is I: they exist still, but they have become like droplets that have fallen back into the ocean. The particular shape and nascent is-ness of these ones I want out now. Right now.

So I ripped myself up out of bed, switched my computer back on, and am feverishly, slightly maniacally typing away now.

So the thoughts? Disorganised that the are, I start with this thought-about-the-thoughts; just the prelude, the introduction.

This is not part 2 of "Current life synopsis". That post is still formulating in my mind, being reflected on and synthesised. I will have to steer a course generally clear of subjects that will enter into that post, because I want this one to tackle different topics.

This is an ad hoc right-now-ness.

The morass: must be quick, before it becomes indelibly entangled.

So, something about financial poverty, a hardship, a loneliness, and the delicate balancing act of the male psyche.

In times of great emotional turmoil and hardship, friends can be invaluable assets. You are reminded of that wonderful unity whereby, without any real communication, there is at least some type of shared awareness on some sort of level. It is this automatic shared confluence of being, a being-towards, and the known response back. It is something subintellectual, something fundamentally non-verbal (even if it later finds verbal expression)... something acknowledging. In common parlance, you can just be yourself with them.

The heterosexual male-male relationship of friends is something that is commonly presented and perhaps even perceived as simple - when in fact it is anything but. Male friendships are characterised by a peculiarly antagonistic and contradistinct mix of distance and intimacy. Generally speaking, us men do not verbalise our emotional landscape to each other, most especially in those areas where the landscape has a greater admixture of what would be known as more "feminine" qualities. We keep an emotional distance from each other - which manifests on a physical plane with a lack of "intimate" (that is, sensual but non-sexual) physical contact. You would not normally see two heterosexual men walking down the street hand-in-hand, for example; yet such an occurrence between heterosexual women is not unusual. Perhaps this is a result of a more integrated sense of emotionality, physicality and sexuality in a woman; for a man they are simultaneously more compartmentalised yet precipitate upon each other. Holding hands with another man would dissolve a sense of distance and reserve that seem essential to my sense of male-ness. (Incidentally, as an aside, this is quite a different level of impulse than homophobia, which originates elsewhere).

For a woman they operate more as an organic totality - hence why a "one night stand" rarely appeals to most women, yet in most men, if they are being honest with themselves, it quite often exists as an exciting and thoroughly realistic possibility. Realistic not in terms of the likelihood or not of it being achieved, indeed even desired (even if that seems self-contradictory), but in the the likelihood of the experience satisfying to an adequate degree the expectations of the experience. The sexual-physical axis can operate to some degree independently of the sexual-emotional axis in a man. From the sexual-physical axis, the emotional axis can then begin to emerge. Of course, it can still operate in the more considered, deeper, and relationship orientated direction whereby the sexual-physical emerges as a later product of the emotional-physical. Once all three axes integrate, then a totality is formed and higher order processes come into operation.

For a woman, as far as I can tell, if the attraction is to "go somewhere" all three must instead evolve organically and in a totality from the very beginning. Normally. Hence why, when one axis is distorted or accelerated faster than the other two, it will generally result in a failure; the male is more lenient in allowing deviation, but also places a greater percentage stress on the physical-sexual at an earlier stage, which can be detrimental to both parties.

Anyway, the peculiarity of male-male relationship is that we each are desirous of maintaining our solar qualities - distance, independence, strength, solidarity, self-confidence, assertiveness. Yet between male friends, this distance gets intermingled by an non-verbalised intimacy communicated indirectly. Hence we find common ground in terms of music or films, characters or topical issues; or we use humour as a mask; and use this as a signifier towards our own emotional landscape. For example, rather than directly communicate in an emotionally open - and thereby openly vulnerable - manner about or our own feelings of loss, anguish, pain, loneliness, etc., in the context of the specifics of our own life, we would instead get together and put some music on that realises instantiating versions of those emotional states. Hence there is the non-verbalised communication. Women are generally much better able at actually talking through problems directly with a close friend, as far as I can tell.

With men the words are fewer, and instead it is a nod, or a "I know", or a similar observation about their own life. There is sympathy there, even compassion. But there isn't the earthly, absorbing, and above all empathic quality that women have a higher art for. Us men can be close, but we will tend to go forever through life without ever communicating it to each other directly, or to the world - at least until a critical moment, such as when a friend dies, for example.

In my own moments of weakness and self-doubt, when those decidedly "emasculating" aspects feel like surfacing - such as tears - it is a female friend I would seek solace or help from, if one was there for me when I need her. The "distance" would prevent me from such an emotional communication of weakness with another man, even a very close one; in direct terms, at least. Perhaps it is that the female energy is needed to balance the male psycho-sexual energy.

This reflects the inner tension of the male. Beneath the shell, there is the part that needs the kindness and physical openness that the empathic female brings. There is also the fierce yang aspect, that is critical for the male psyche but that must nevertheless be kept in check: the energy that responds to adversity with force, strength, and stern resolve. When threatened with crushing situations, one half of my psyche collapses towards a passive despair, a bleak, blank depression, one that seeks comfort; the other half is radically different, and infinitely more productive (but must be controlled with care); the grim determination and desire to an exert a physical authority, a battle-hardened persistence that will not allow the grey weariness of life's crushing stagnation to capture, impute, and slowly toxify one's being.

The female also possesses a similar tension, but the distribution and weighting of aspects are quite different.

This tension is the inner music of all life. It is that which you hear beyond what you hear.

The aspects all operate circularly though, and properly aligned together they form a balanced structure. Balanced, and finding a footing at your root of being, the I, is the bedrock from which your spiritual strength originates and suffuses the rest of all that you are.

Current life synopsis as 2009 departs. Part 1/2: Prosaic.

2009-12-30T16:55:00.001-08:00

A post of two halves; the first half, me as ostensibly human with all my existential anguishes; the second half, an attempt to philosophically review my current state and look at processes from a higher point of view.

Part one.

The prosaic.

As you can probably tell, I have an analytic type of brain; I like to theorise about things.

But perhaps it is time for less theorising, less intellectualising; perhaps some simple brutal honesty is required.

Having higher purposes and a higher goal in mind may be all good and well, but the basic fact is that I'm now heading towards 30 and my life is going nowhere.

I watched the quirky, dryly humorous British film A Complete History Of My Sexual Failures recently, which despite I not being particularly like Chris Waitt either in personality or history, the main character in this autobiographical film, the similarity of our resultant circumstances nevertheless did make me pause and look at my life from an entirely mundane perspective. Of course, it being a film, it all worked out in the end for him. Doesn't always happen that way in real life, unfortunately.

I haven't had a meaningful relationship with someone for more than three years now; in fact, more to the point, I haven't really even had a meaningless relationship in that time. So, over three years ago I changed my life and came up to live in Newcastle. The Newcastle-Gateshead metropolitan conurbation has a population of nearly one million; so in principle, plenty enough for there to be a reasonable number of potential compatible women, statistically; even for someone as eccentric (in an authentic sense of the word) as me.

In that entire time, nothing. Well, except for one fuck this summer, a Saturday night. I'd gone out, and we were both drunk. I hardly ever drink anything; but from time to time I'll go through brief hedonistic phases and indulge in alcohol. It was a random meeting at a rock club, I saw her on the dance floor, and things just happened of there own accord. I have no idea how or why, but for some reason I knew I'd get lucky that night even before going out. This particular feeling has only ever happened twice before, and both of those were successes too. Unfortunately, I've never been able to find a formula or pattern for learning how to generate or channel this form of magick; and it only occurs as an extreme rarity (i.e. 3 occasions in 28 years). If I could find out how to utilise it, I could directionalise it towards effecting change in my life. Anyway, she came back to mine. We had a fun Sunday morning too. There did seem to be at least some genuine compatibility; got on nicely together. The quietude of post-coital bliss in the morning with just a hint of actual intimacy hinted at some genuine relationship potential. So we arranged to meet up for lunch a couple of days later, which we did. That seemed to go OK too, and we arranged to meet up after work some days later.

That didn't happen, and instead I just got two weeks of silence. She eventually responded telling me she'd decided to get back together with her ex. I expect that this was probably entirely true. Reflecting back on events, although I'll never entirely know - and it does not matter in any case - I suspect I simply happened to be the fortunate (well, for at least the brief weekend experience, anyway...) target and used as a tool to get back at her partner; perhaps he'd cheated on her. Whatever. I was disappointed not specifically because it didn't go anywhere, but because her behaviour and interaction with me had hinted that it could/would - not just be a one night thing. I wouldn't have been disappointed if she'd simply just upped and left first thing in the morning, as would generally be the case in that type of scenario. Kate. Come, and gone (excuse the pun).

The only other time when there has been even the promise of something was with a nice girl who I'll just call J. I very much doubt she ever reads this blog these days, but just in case she does (since she does know of its existence), I won't quote her name in case she wishes to remain entirely anonymous. J is a fantastic singer and incredibly passionate about her Jazz-Soul-Funk type of band that is really her own entire conception. She's the central driving force behind the outfit, even though the rest of the members have changed over time.

We actually got chatting through the whole Zoosk/Facebook thing, and much to my surprise/bewilderment - after many botched attempts, and concluding it just wasn't going to happen - we eventually met up, quite bizarrely, in the local park at night in the pitch black. I guess that's trust! We had been talking for quite some time before we eventually met up. Not sure what had caused her to want to avoid a more obvious social meeting place such as a pub; after all, she is a fine looking girl so has no need to worry on that front. In any case, so we walked and talked for probably 3 hours. Great.

Over the coming couple of weeks, we ended up spending a fair bit of time together, I got to see her sing with her band. There was definitely that energy, that chemistry there. For a brief period of time, there was a critical period where I felt we were incredibly close to something happening, just not quite... Or perhaps it is just a product of my imagination.

But nothing happened, and in the end she pushed me away. Not entirely sure, but I suppose it was the usual case of me being too intense. It perhaps gives a mistaken impression that I expect them to over-commit or require more than they are at any time willing to offer; simultaneously, I hypothesise that it also perhaps creates a fear that I am going to become a dependency or form a disproportionate emotional attachment.

Apart from the nearly-something-but-ultimately-nothing with J and the random physical-act-with Kate this summer, there have only been two other dates, both of which were not successful at all and did not go any further. In both cases we went out for dinner, had pleasant in evenings in both cases. One was another Kate, nice girl, but nothing materialised. Perhaps I came on too strong? Don't know; the meal/conversation had gone seemingly really well. And a highly intelligent Polish girl called Illona, don't think there was much physical chemistry there in the end, and I guess I ended up descending into a kind of existential hubris over the course of conversation; she'd just graduated with a first class honours in Economics, was off to do a Masters, so had a bright gleaming career ahead of her. I was, or rather, am in, a place of absolute mess and failure (most especially in material-economic terms) at the moment.

And that's it. In three years.

It's all very well receiving the usual platitudes of "something come along when you least expect it" etc., but the much more basic reality is that I can go literally weeks, if not months, without even talking to a single female. The only females I interact with in my day to day life are either colleagues at work or the few friends that I know because they are the girlfriends of male friends. That, and members of the public coming into the shop.

There are no unattached women that I know of in my entire social network. Meanwhile, none of my female friends know of any other single female friends they can even "introduce" me to.

I can also reflect upon the other axes of my life in similar terms.

I have a job that presents no real intellectual challenge or in any sense makes me feel like I am utilising anything like my potential. It also has appalling pay. I am suffering this situation due to a lack of coherent career decisions many years ago that has left in me in a financially crippled position.

Secondly, and consequently, I live in largely miserable living conditions. A crappy little room in a shared house. I can barely move because all of my possessions are crammed into a room this is approximately the length and width of 1.5 double beds. The room turns into a disgusting tip after even only a couple of days of not tidying it; my wardrobe is so small I can't actually close the doors properly because my clothes are overflowing out of it (it has one hanging rail perhaps 40cm long; about the same as in those mini wardrobes you get in cheap travel lodges and motels).

The rest of the house is dirty, squalid, and typical of "bedsit" type accommodation. This is not a house that is a "home", it is merely a place to pass through, or in this particular case, a house of depressed bachelors. It is a place I'd be ashamed to bring anyone back to; it is somewhere you have to suffer, rather than desire to be there. The whole place needs renovating. But living here is cheap, and all that I can afford at the moment.

I have no car. So am largely stuck within the city in all practical terms and limited to public transport.

After all my basic bills/costs have gone out, I have around £150 a month to live on. That figure does not include food costs.

It is fanciful, hopelessly romantic, and frankly ridiculous to think that hardly any women are going to take me seriously in light of these facts. It would be different if I was closer to 20, and/or at University/college/etc. But I am approaching 30, and still fundamentally living the life of a student - except I not heading towards a qualification in anything (except perhaps of learning about life's disappointments). I suppose, at least, I am not still living at home with ones parents; at least I gain some sense of independence and self-destiny from that fact. Whilst the type of woman I am looking for is most definitely not materialistic, indeed quite the opposite, the simple fact is that unspoken or not, admitted or not, subconsciously or not, people make significant value judgements based immediately on your material circumstances. And the old social/gender stereotype of "male as provider" does still have significant force, even its modernist sublimated form.

I am unable to formally study anything (apart from more basic qualifications and some largely recreational adult learning courses) since there is no financial assistance available for me to fund higher education, since I have already used up my allowance when I attended University. So you don't really get second chances in life. This is one of the hard facts.

So it is difficult to see how anything will change for me in 2011. Come January 2012 there will be some improvement, as I will be free from my Career Development Loan after 6 years of paying it off. I will then be in a position to clear my overdraft and credit card. However, at this rate, it is going to be 2013 before I am basically clear of debt and back to ground zero, and still nowhere meaningful - materially - in my life. And two more years of living like this. It is taking its pycho-emotional toll.

This Christmas - or rather, Yule, as I prefer to rightfully call it - has perhaps been the bleakest of them all so far. Surrounded by the swarms of people in the shop where I work, open endless hours, maniacally buying and spending large sums of money, talking about the ski holidays they were going on and the things they were getting up to; getting randomly asked what I was up to over Christmas. To which I'd give some placatory and meaningless polite answer, rather than burden and darken the tone by revealing the truth. The truth was that I did absolutely nothing. It was a non-event. I had three days off work. I spent them by myself, in an basically empty house, penniless and present-less - there are very few people I am close to, and those couple of people have virtually no money either. I am not a materialist, so whilst it would be fun and enjoyable to receive (and give) presents, that is ultimately of no real import. But to basically have no company, no one in your life at all in any real sense - excluding my mother, of course; and my ex, now "family" to me, who lives in another country now we've chosen separate paths again - is pretty fucking hard. Even for someone who considers themselves pretty strong, independent, and quite at peace with large tracts of solitude.

Sucked into an existential void and consigned to a meaningless empty oblivion - that's what it feels like a lot of the time.

And that most human, all too human part of me? The weakest part of me that sometimes wants to crumble? It is a form of agony to have no woman with kind eyes for me in my life; someone to share conversation with. Someone to make love to. And the ultimate admission that the archetypal male never wants to speak aloud, since it is almost seen as a sign of weakness in the male ego: Do you know what I miss the most? Not the "simple" companionship, not the practical easing of burdens, not even the sex (though that absence is indeed an extremely acute one, physically)... just the simple act of having someone close to hold in your arms, to be held in her arms. Not physicality; intimacy.

So, no philosophy, no intellectualising. Just plain old me; basically a lost and lonely man.

A man, at least, with a higher vision in mind - even if, not yet in practice.

This first post covers the main thematic material of the current state of my life from a basic, down-to-earth, utilitarian and eminently emotional point of view. The next post will review this position from a deeper philosophical and spiritual point of view. I'll hopefully get round to writing it on New Year's Day; it seems an auspicious day to do so, and take stock of where to go and how to proceed from here.

To be continued...

Update 06/12/09: Concluding part is here.

--

Finally, just a little thank you to a few of you in particular whose comments, suggestions, or remarks have left an impression in this tail-end of 2009. Whilst I don't write this blog primarily for anyone but myself, or rather, for anything other than the service of trying to find expression to that deep mystery that is life, it is nevertheless heartening to know that some people evidently find something of interest here.

Dianne, a stalwart of compassionate remarks from the very inception of this blog, thank you.
Findingmywingsinlife, for the enlightening comments from someone with an entirely different window on life, thank you.
Triana, same as with Findingmywingsinlife, and for bringing some levity in my direction with the little random mentions. It does not surprise me in the least that you two are friends with each other in real life. :-)
Ashley, I do not know whether I am worthy of your praise of being described as an "exceptional writer" in that final sentence... but I do know that the little comment you made - from someone I don't know, entirely out of the blue, without any ulterior motivation; therefore all the more valuable as a result - was perhaps one of the best gifts I've ever received in this dark period of my life. Small things can make all the difference. I don't really have any other creative or intellectual outlet apart from my writing, and it is entirely undignified and immodest for one to deliberately seek out praise or validation from anyone... so that unexpected compliment was a real emotional and confidence booster. Thank you.

Banner change #4 to #5. Updated look.

2009-12-30T14:10:00.000-08:00

Old banner #4:

New banner #5:

The new scene depicts Newcastle-Upon-Tyne from the large expanse of the Town Moor. This photo was taken on Christmas day; cold, fresh, and peaceful. Very few people were out and about, unsurprisingly.

Also decided it was time to change the appearance of this blog, for no other reason than that it was time for a change with the onset of a new year ahead.

Confounded by....?

2009-12-14T14:59:00.001-08:00

So where does one go from here.

One of the necessary psychological survival techniques is to convince yourself that things will improve; things will change for the better. Motivational speakers will urge you to "become the change that you want to be", or to "make it happen".

How does one deal with being subjugated into a life denied of meaningful purpose by economic tyranny, starved of the intellectual, spiritual, emotional and sexual fulfilment, grated down into submission by a world whose values have been emptied?

The old chestnut; problems are easy to diagnose, solutions very difficult to find.

I fit in well only by denying the very essence of who I am; refusing to allow the disintegration of the qualities from which all of my strength depends means confronting the emptiness without.

"Adaptation" to social norms resulted in assimilation; and so I found myself sitting at the table in the restaurant on my only date of this year, earlier this summer, projecting a complete absence of any defining personality whatsoever. She was a perfectly nice girl; highly intelligent, reasonably physically attractive if slightly awkward of dress, and looking forward to a bright future in Economics (it turned out she graduated with a First and is now no doubt studying for a Masters at Warwick University). There was no real chemistry between us, so although conversation flowed reasonably well, there wasn't that critical element of sexual tension that characterises real attraction. Consequently no particular specific (in this instance) disappointment that nothing resulted.

However, the experiment (since, if nothing else, it has proved my one and only opportunity for the possibility of anything at all happening with someone this year) did reveal a negative result in terms of drawing my awareness to the enormous discrepancy in the properties and qualities of my internal existence in relation to their expression in my external existence. This discrepancy has a profoundly damaging effect on my ability to project an attractive rich personality; instead I present a book of empty pages, full stops, chapters prematurely ended and a story that has abruptly terminated.

I trawl myself to and from work; blankly nod and mechanistically say and do the things that need to be said and done; come home, eat, sleep, listen to some music, fire a few words out into the gigantic (though not entirely empty) void of cyberspace, superficially trace the events of a few real friends (and far more who should be more aptly described as mere "connections") lives through the ultimately barren universe of the cultural zeitgeist of our times, namely "social networking" through Facebook (or should that rather not be better described as Facelessbook? Excuse my cynicism, perhaps you can still detect a grain of dry humour hidden in my writing)... and find myself stuck in this abrogating circle.

Under such emotional stultification, can I be permitted some emotional outbursts? Why, but this is first and foremost my blog, so I have artistic license to do as I wish, I suppose!

God, can I not scream out to the universe! Or Gods, show me a path!

Indicate some path that is right for me, something, anything with some meaning than this.

Something to spark something off! I've put so much energy into trying to find some vision, I need something to become clear!

Something to make me feel like a man - with a purpose.

And how I miss a woman; some company. A woman's embrace. Sexual alchemy. Someone sharp witted, fiery, compassionate and with spiritual strength. Tired of the endless platitudes of "someone will come along eventually" etc., etc. All intellectual deliberating aside, on a most basic level, who wants to come home, day after endless day, to an empty house? And hey, wouldn't it be nice to actually have someone to spend Yule with.

The time is now; I need many dimensions of my existence to change significantly, I feel myself growing immensely weary with this existence that lies so far from my intentions. Mere self-preservation.

"Through the countless agencies of mass production and its culture the conventionalised modes of behaviour are impressed on the individual as the only natural, respectable, and rational ones. He defines himself only as a thing, as a static element, as success or failure. His yardstick is self-preservation, successful or unsuccessful approximation to the objectivity of his function and models established for it."

Dialectic Of Enlightenment, Thedor W. Adorno & Max Horkheimer.

Extemporal meditation

2009-12-12T03:51:00.001-08:00

From silence comes creation. From non-being emerges being. Life is in the intervals; those acquiescent moments when temporal and material boundaries are dissolved.

How much we hurry; how much we bustle; how much we scurry. Switch off or silence the phone; switch off the TV; disregard the "outside" world; only allow precisely that which you wish to allow into your universe, even if only for an hour. This is a form of mundane meditation, and in Eastern ontology is the route through which you find your very being itself.

In a sound recording, the term describing the variation in relative volume level from the faintest sounds through to the loudest peaks is called the dynamic range. Allowing periods of minimal input into your life expands the "dynamic range" of your life. Here in the modern world one of the discordant problems is that we're constantly subjected to an overload of noise in innumerable forms; and not just sonically either, as much in terms of "information noise".

Perhaps this is the aspect I find worst about those busy periods at work when you have long days, and little time outside except to eat and sleep. I begin to suffer an immense life fatigue, or perhaps it would be more accurate to say I suffer an immense lack-of-life fatigue. Constantly rushing around, doing one thing or the other, endless background noise and invasive viral-like advertising; visual and aural.

And so it is a treat indeed to have a weekend off work, and experience that wonderful phenomenon that only occurs at the weekend when you live in a suburban area, namely an ambient stillness and quietness, coupled with a cherished lack of any things that I'm particularly required to do. So I get to do "nothing"; which is very much far from nothing. Enjoy some fine music playing away quietly, lazily get up out of bed at a schedule determined by my body rather than external circumstances, and find a few words to flow out onto this blog.

This is indeed a fine morning; the cold, dark fogginess outside merely lifts my spirits, for it carries a primeval essence that reminds us how brief these citadels we've constructed really are, and how quickly they could disappear; for if humanity simply ceased to exist, in a million years there would be little evidence remaining, and this would be merely a blink on a geological timescale.

The fog however, would quite simply remain.

Banner change #3 to #4

2009-12-04T12:49:00.000-08:00

Old banner #3:

New banner #4:

This photo was taken with my phone one morning on my walk into work and shows a tree near Newcastle city centre during the dying days of autumn; those special couple of weeks when everything turns golden in preparation for the onset of winter.

Shackled by hollow restraint

2009-12-04T12:32:00.001-08:00

Sometimes words don't come easily. Most especially when you're conscious of an almost overwhelming sense of negativity in your being. You want to write something enlightening, something interesting; but the effort of saying anything at all can almost seem too much.

But I suppose it is important to write something; expunge your emotional state. Even a torrent of vitriol is better than a wasteland of silence in the boundless theatre of the abyss. The abyss that lies at the root of being itself is perhaps something that most people have never even experienced.

Simple observations can prove quite illuminating. Take television viewing, for example. Broadly speaking, a certain type of person will mute the sound on the television when the program they are watching is interrupted by a commercial break. They are the sort of person that usually cherishes silence in at least some degree. There are other qualities and personality traits that are also endemic in this type of person that allow us to draw some broad characterisations. Of course any model that groups people into "types" is inherently simplistic and quite often incorrect; what does bear greater accuracy is one that recognises certain groupings of interrelated tendencies, homunculus's of personality quirks; in other words, certain types of norms.

It would be heartening to say that in what is virtually a year since the first posts on this blog, that great progress had been made personally; whether materially or spiritually. But such a progression can not be claimed; instead I am stuck, quite literally. Financial pressures mean that I have little space for manoeuvring for at least another year.

Perhaps this stasis is not entirely without benefit. For if anything, it has continued to increase my appreciation at the absolute spiritual emptiness of this modern world; I find myself gathering an immense wellspring of what can only be described as existential horror. This world of increasingly brief, endless fads and transient gimmicks; a world without any real substance. The side effect of making everything so convenient, so easy to digitally archive is to make everything increasingly disposable. This world of empty faceless "communications"; this world of Facebook, perhaps better described as Facelessbook - and it is not a matter of how many photos or otherwise are present. For example, it is reflected in the fact that you can build up a large list of "friends", and yet barely know most of these people, and certainly not genuinely have much in common with most of them. For as much as Facebook, and all these other social netwoendrking tools can in principle facilitate social contact, in practise they often achieve the opposite effect; a couple of empty sentences digitised and exchanged as a substitute for an authentic human interaction.

But social networking sites, the disposable nature of digitised information, the transience and rate of change; all of these are merely technological symptoms. They are merely neutral; it is how they are applied that determines whether or not they can be considered positive or negative factors.

Rather, the underlying malaise, the underlying cause is the very spiritual foundation of the modern world as a whole. On this, it is difficult to find anything to draw positively from. I am very "Evolian" in that I share his overriding belief that we are in our own Kali Yuga, an era of decline; I find it extraordinarily difficult to imagine that this trend will ever be reversed in my lifetime. So, I simply do my best to cope with this existence, and perhaps navigate towards a higher goal. Less idealistically, it is merely a struggle to simply plough on, week after week, month after month, merely paying the bills, keeping going.

Much as I enjoy the cultural benefits of living in a city, as time wears on, I increasingly look to escape - to somewhere sparsely populated, a beautiful wilderness, somewhere free from the endless empty vacuity of modernity. Perhaps that is the only way to have your proverbial cake and eat it; you take advantage of the benefits of technological developments of the modern world, but escape all the degeneration.

And yes, I'm one of those people that mute the TV.

Taras Shevchenko: Ukrainian poet & artist (1814-1861)

2009-10-17T13:42:00.000-07:00

Do not envy a rich man,
A rich man shall not know
neither sympathy nor love -
These are rented to him.
Do not envy a powerful one,
All he has is gotten by force.
Do not envy a man in glory,
A glorious one knows all too well
that he is loved not for himself,
but for that hard glory of his
that he poured forth
with his tears
for everyone's amusement.
Look at the young ones,
in love and at peace,
as in Eden, - look closely:
Evil stirs not far behind.
Look around yourself,
There is no paradise here,
And in heaven there is none.

1846

Translation: Roman Turovsky-Savchuk 03/10/2008

Banner change #2 to #3

2009-06-12T15:28:00.000-07:00

New banner time!

Old banner (#2):

New banner (#3):

This photo was taken in Karlstad, Sweden. In the three weeks I was there during April, I experienced nearly 4 seasons: it was -2C and snowing when I arrived (which was when this photo was taken), and on the final day it was sunny, warm, and around +17C!

Katatonia: My Twin & Deliberation

2009-06-12T14:05:00.001-07:00

Katatonia

My Twin

The neck and then the chain
The head is hung in shame
I thought that you had grown
That you would carry on
But now that I am gone
What else has been withdrawn

You used to be like my twin
And all that's been
Was it all for nothing
Are you strong when you're with him
The one that's placed you above us all

I think of love
I let it pass
It feels like fire
But it won't last

What is it coming to
I am unwilling to go on
You have lost
No one has won

--

I love this band. They've consistently grown and improved with each album. Understated with no flashy or overt technical flourishes; instead just pathos and feeling. I've always been able to very readily connect with the emotional states generated by their music.

Another one by them:

Deliberation

Visions come, visions come, in a sick room bed
There's something left to learn
Pass them on, let it show
Let the rich meet death
Confront our own concern

See us sleep behind the glass unaware of crime
Will you wake us up before it is time

Dueling circles, holds the only light
Break down my perspective
Notify everyone when the time is right
My mouth remains inactive

See us sleep behind the glass unaware of crime
Will you wake us up before it is time

So when you let me in
Let me justify
My own rewards
You put your hands on me
Now I learn the words
I didnt know before

I am ice, I am clear
Let the world be cold
Our deliberation
Pass them on, let it show
Let the words come slow
Your constant incantation

See us sleep behind the glass unaware of crime
Will you wake us up before it is time

Repeating cycle
Of light, no light
There's nothing in the air space
There's no one in the air space
Repeating cycle
Of love, no love

Who? Has it been there all along?

2009-06-12T13:51:00.001-07:00

Apologies for the lack of any recent posts, blog readers (if there are any of you left out there given my slack attention to this blog of late!).

Life has been challenging and difficult recently - though not because of any obvious external stimuli. It has been informing, however, and as always, a learning experience. I've been reflecting on various developments - or perhaps, rather, non-developments. Life is a gradual process of coming to understand one's own psyche.

There is an illusory self-confidence - or certainly, in my case, this is how I now consider it to be - where in your young adulthood (i.e. somewhere typically 18-22) you start to believe you really "know" yourself. Yet, in my case, the last few years have seen me come to an awareness of many undercurrents and aspects of my psyche I didn't really explicitly recognise before. More pertinently, I have started to become much more aware of how it affects my interpersonal relationships, or more precisely, potential for interpersonal relationships.

I think of myself of consisting of a mixture of various splintered strands, totally different aspects, somewhat rather contradictory; the question is how do they resolve themselves into one homogenous, unitary, singular entity, an "I". Or perhaps I should simply accept the discontiguous strands; utilise them - "put on different hats"[0].

It is therefore not surprising that many great philosophers and pyschologists have strongly questioned whether a real "I" actually even exists (Kant, for example, was one who didn't).

Anyway; disappointment. That is my primary life feeling if I was to characterise this phase in my life - it is pervasive.

-

Over the last couple of months I have had one wonderful development. I am extraordinarily lucky to have met an immensely skilled Tai Chi practitioner who with tremendous generosity and infinite patience is teaching me this ancient art. It is extremely difficult but I believe I am making steady progress.

Taichiquan has become a stabilising locii for me - every second learning this martial art is repaid hugely; this I already know from my limited experience with it. I know extremely little, as yet, but already feel that it is having a significant transformative effect. Mind and body, physical and mental, rationalism and intution are not artificially divided in the East as they are over here. Tai Chi is an example of this. It is a powerful system of health and wellness. It promotes flexibility. It modifies energetic and metabolic systems. It is an extremely potent martial art (when mastered). It is a meditative activity. It encompasses philosophy, especially Taoism. It is an externalisation of many internal concepts; it is an internalisation of an apparently external physical activity.

-

So; more to come. I will post much more substantially when I have had more time to rationalise the set of developments over the last couple of months.

[0] A reference to some of Edward De Bono's theories on knowledge and self-management.

As dust through my fingers

2009-05-12T13:21:00.001-07:00

And so, yes, I have not written anything recently on this blog. In truth I have been suffering a profound lack of energy, so much so that writing anything here has seemed like too much effort. Even believing in change (for the better) seems like an enormous effort at the moment. Instead, I feel like I live a life in stasis, one where I lack the willpower and belief to ever change anything.

Each summer, just like the last.

Unfulfilled.

Tea Post #2: The Collection

2009-04-15T14:57:00.001-07:00

Sometimes, as the saying goes, a picture, or, as in this case, pictures can say a thousand words. This is my current tea collection. So, as you can see, I am indeed a mad tea drinking Englishman.

These pictures represent the current full inventory of my tea, but only shows a small portion of my tea ware. The vast majority of my tea pots and special tea cups are all currently in storage, since I don't have room for them in my current rather crappy small place. Notable tea pots in my possession include a couple of all glass tea pots which are ideal for "flowering" teas (teas which are skilfully bound such that they open out to form a flower as they infuse in the water), a genuine Chinese Yixing (Yisha clay) teapot, and a Japanese cast iron teapot (tetsubin).

In this picture, amongst other things, you can see a Chinese Gong-fu clay teaware set which I recently bought whilst on holiday in Sweden[1] (I bought it from the rather splendid Tea Centre of Stockholm) consisting of a gaiwan, water jug, six small cups, all resting on a water tray. You can also see a Japanese matcha bowl (bought from a tea shop in Tokyo) with a bamboo whisk and spoon, along with a small tin of high grade matcha tea. It also shows a rather lovely green teapot which I picked up in a second hand shop in Sweden for the equivalent of just a few pounds!

The last picture shows a couple of my tea measures (a tea measure is roughly equivalent to a generously heaped tea spoon) along with a white gaiwan, a tea ball, and a couple of strainers.

As you can probably imagine, I quite literally have a small chest of drawers dedicated exclusively to storing all these teas!

Here is the current inventory of teas. Where I know and can remember, I've linked to the company who supplied the particular tea, the country of origin (except for blends which consist of multiple teas), and where appropriate the estate that produced the tea. I purchased quite a lot of tea whilst visiting Japan in May 2007, and obviously since I can't read Japanese I cannot decipher the labels! I simply know what types of tea I bought. So that is why there is little information for a number of the green teas.

Technically speaking, only drinks containing an infusion from Camellia sinensis leaves should be called tea; other types of drink commonly called teas such as herbal infusions like Chamomile, Redbush or Lapacho or the hot brightly coloured cordial drinks popularly sold in Turkey should not be called tea. Rather, such alternative infusions are properly known as a Tisane.

Key:

R = Ronnefeldt
C = Covent Garden Tea Centre
W = Whittard of Chelsea
B = Robert Wilson Ceylon Teas
K = Kränku Tea & Coffee
N = Nothing But Tea
L = Lipton Teas
T = Taylors of Harrogate
S = Tea Centre of Stockholm
D = Drury Tea & Coffee Company
O = Kobbs Tea
G = Twinings Tea
P = Clipper

M = Morrisons Supermarket

Black tea

Himalayan TGFOP (R, Nepal)
Darjeeling FTGFOP First Flush (R, India, Nurbong Estate)
Covent Garden Tea Centre Superior Darjeeling (C, India)
Assam TGFOP (R, India, Bukhail Estate)
Nilgiri (W, India)
Lovers Leap FBOP (B, Sri Lanka, Mahagastota)
Brunswick BOP (B, Sri Lanka, Maskeliya)
Uva Light FP (B, Sri Lanka, Uva)
Western New Season BOP (B, Sri Lanka)
Kränku Kora Kundah (K)
Mayan Gold (N)
Yunnan FOP (R, China)
Lipton Ceylon Tea (L, Sri Lanka)

Black blended/flavoured tea

Morrisons "The Best" English Breakfast (M)
Taylors of Harrogate Irish Breakfast (T)
Taylors of Harrogate English Breakfast (T)
Taylors of Harrogate China Rose Petal (T)
Tea Centre of Stockholm Söderblandning (S)
Tea Centre of Stockholm Earl Grey Special (S)
Tea Center of Stockholm Tea Centre Blend (S)
Whittard Of Chelsea English Breakfast (W)
Drury Tea Company Imperial Afternoon (D)
Kränku Kalkstensdrömmar (K)
Kränku Munkte (K)
Kränku Borgablandning (K)
Kränku Tillfalig Teblanding (K)
Kränku Jubileumsblandning (K)
Kränku Fläderblom (K)
Kränku Visby Varldsarvte (K)
Kränku Earl Grey blå blom (K)
Kränku Earl Grey Cream (K)
Covent Garden Tea House Choco Truffle (C)
Lipton Indian Spice (L)
Lipton Russian Earl Grey (L)
Kobbs Lingonlantan (O)
Twinings Irish Breakfast Tea (G)
Twinings Lady Grey Tea (G)
Snostjana (?)

Green tea

Chinese green tea (?)
Bancha (?, Japan)
Kukicha (C, Japan)
Gyokuro (?, Japan)
Gyokuro (?, Japan)
Gyokuro (?, Japan)
Matcha 1st Grade (?, Japan)
Sencha (?, Japan)
Gu Zhang Mao Jian (R, China)
Clipper Organic Green Tea (P, China)
Dragon Well (Lung Ching) (D, China)
Imperial Gunpowder (T, China)

Green blended/flavoured tea

Green Lemon (R, Japan)
Morning Dew (R, Japan
Genmaicha (W, Japan)

Oolong tea

Formosa Oolong (C, Taiwan)
Ti Kuan Yin (N, Taiwan)
Black Dragon (N, Taiwan)

White tea

Pai Mu Tan (R, China)
Silver Needle Yin Zhen (N, China)
Georgian Old Lady (N, Georgia)
Georgian Old Gentleman (N, Georgia)

Pu-erh (red) tea

Pu-erh PS (R, China)
Pu-erh Mini Toucha (C, China)

Artisan/flowering tea

Jade Column (N, China)
Silvery Strawberry (N, China)

Tisanes

Rooibos Earl Grey (K, South Africa)
Rooibos Sea Buckthorn (N, South Africa)
Honeybush (N, South Africa)
Lapacho (N, South America)
Rooibos Vanilla Bourbon (C, South Africa)

So, technically speaking, at this precise moment in time I have about 64 teas and 5 tisanes in total! Obviously this number goes up and down as I use up tea and replenish it! Generally speaking though, I'll always have well in excess of 50 types of tea available to drink in my collection.

What can I say? I like a good cup of tea :-)

[1] I have just been on holiday in Sweden for two and half weeks, hence the silence on this blog... Post, or posts, to follow, on my trip.

John Donne's "The Ecstasy"

2009-03-17T13:04:00.000-07:00

The Ecstasy, by John Donne (1572-1631)

Where, like a pillow on a bed
         A pregnant bank swell'd up to rest
The violet's reclining head,
         Sat we two, one another's best.
Our hands were firmly cemented
         With a fast balm, which thence did spring;
Our eye-beams twisted, and did thread
         Our eyes upon one double string;
So to'intergraft our hands, as yet
         Was all the means to make us one,
And pictures in our eyes to get
         Was all our propagation.
As 'twixt two equal armies fate
         Suspends uncertain victory,
Our souls (which to advance their state
         Were gone out) hung 'twixt her and me.
And whilst our souls negotiate there,
         We like sepulchral statues lay;
All day, the same our postures were,
         And we said nothing, all the day.
If any, so by love refin'd
         That he soul's language understood,
And by good love were grown all mind,
         Within convenient distance stood,
He (though he knew not which soul spake,
         Because both meant, both spake the same)
Might thence a new concoction take
         And part far purer than he came.
This ecstasy doth unperplex,
         We said, and tell us what we love;
We see by this it was not sex,
         We see we saw not what did move;
But as all several souls contain
         Mixture of things, they know not what,
Love these mix'd souls doth mix again
         And makes both one, each this and that.
A single violet transplant,
         The strength, the colour, and the size,
(All which before was poor and scant)
         Redoubles still, and multiplies.
When love with one another so
         Interinanimates two souls,
That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
         Defects of loneliness controls.
We then, who are this new soul, know
         Of what we are compos'd and made,
For th' atomies of which we grow
         Are souls. whom no change can invade.
But oh alas, so long, so far,
         Our bodies why do we forbear?
They'are ours, though they'are not we; we are
         The intelligences, they the spheres.
We owe them thanks, because they thus
         Did us, to us, at first convey,
Yielded their senses' force to us,
         Nor are dross to us, but allay.
On man heaven's influence works not so,
         But that it first imprints the air;
So soul into the soul may flow,
            Though it to body first repair.
As our blood labors to beget
         Spirits, as like souls as it can,
Because such fingers need to knit
         That subtle knot which makes us man,
So must pure lovers' souls descend
         T' affections, and to faculties,
Which sense may reach and apprehend,
         Else a great prince in prison lies.
To'our bodies turn we then, that so
         Weak men on love reveal'd may look;
Love's mysteries in souls do grow,
         But yet the body is his book.
And if some lover, such as we,
         Have heard this dialogue of one,
Let him still mark us, he shall see
         Small change, when we'are to bodies gone.

--

I scarce think I have read much that more wonderfully captures the mysterious electric quality of romantic love between two people - how it amalgamates, harmoniously, across the three planes: physical, intellectual/emotional, spiritual.

Life is so peculiar: there is a certain disjointed quality about most deep human interactions, in that you attempt to create a bridge drawing upon the inherent shared human condition, but yet can never exactly connect. You strive to communicate that perfect common shared knowledge, but it has elements that are inherently uncommunicable through ordinary language: what is required is the faith that another person can, and indeed does, have that same unbounded existential awareness.

It is true that, as Deepak Chopra says, we fear the most what has already happened to us. By repeating the same script we cause events to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Writing a new script is difficult and requires courage, but is in principle, always possible, every day.

So, in essence, metaphysically, sometimes the truest communication between two people is the language shared by simply being, doing nothing, wrapped in each other's arms.

I am aware such talk sounds terribly sentimental, but it is sentimental by virtue of the fact that it is surely true!

Surface tension

2009-03-11T16:14:00.001-07:00

The fresh uncertain opening shapes me
A window lets flickering sunbeams enter
The stirring it quells, by my centre softly
How by thy very touch, gravity formed, held
in trust: ceaseless tide now can waxing meld

--

Indyeah will probably know to what, precisely, this poem refers. :-)

Hopefully it is something we have all felt, if for however brief, at some point in our lives.

Tennyson: The Eagle

2009-03-08T15:11:00.000-07:00

Far too tired to put much of a post up this evening after a eventful, emotional, and overall excellent weekend. So I will let a master's words speak for me instead:

The Eagle (1851) by Alfred Tennyson

He clasps the crag with crooked hands;
Close to the sun in lonely lands,
Ringed with the azure world, he stands.

The wrinkled sea beneath him crawls;
He watches from his mountain walls,
And like a thunderbolt he falls.

A dry riverbed

2009-03-06T12:27:00.000-08:00

the black rubicon sits silently
by my bedside, quietly waiting
unheeded, saturated of silence
the texts that never arrive
the yearning sent out into the aether

unmatched, a lonesome soliloquy
words without imprint
a substance without effect

I scream out and tear into the face of God
pithily silent
the weight of absence slowly descends
so I learn presence

moments noticed, kept
stored in the archive of distant hope
from which, lost, I try not to mope

but at last, furtively shone
as batteries drained, electricity gone
I finally collapse,
a discarded broken toy

the earth descends,
in soil I rust
in truth I slip
in trust, I must
for without which
I am but a sound without voice.

These four walls

2009-03-05T09:07:00.000-08:00

Sometimes, you don't even get the opportunity for words.

Am I but a fool, wandering aimlessly?

Love, where hast thou departed to?

Memory enrobed

2009-03-04T15:20:00.000-08:00

fallen moments
truth, sprinkled and scattered
as dust motes weave their blooming effusion
each circling, highlighting those very facets
of that which we saw, but as yet did not fully understand

entangled in memory's robe
I know because I fade
dispersed within the veil
of bounty's delight
revealed as the light scatters
second chances opined
thoughts refracted

our striving our lens
our hope: our final submission

Debussy: Arabesque No.1

Yukiko Makise

The Music of Words, the Words of Music, the Music of Life

2009-03-03T15:18:00.000-08:00

Music can be a gift almost beyond measure. In a way that is difficult for any other form of Art to match, it can stir the emotions and draw forth from the soul what can scarcely be explicated - the Source that is the Mystery that lies at the heart of life.

It does sometimes pain me that I believe I do not possess any musical talent. I adore music beyond measure - but it is not something that my over analytical brain is good at creating itself.

Instead, I can merely recognise greatness, the larger Greatness that lies beyond it all - the deepest realm of the human condition. So therefore, I am an avid listener.

I sometimes feel so incredibly privileged to share the company of some people I meet. Someone who is, to use the cliché, but true, a beautiful person.

If that person also happens to possess a fabulous musical talent, so that their very being shines through in every word they sing, I feel humbled - and honoured to be in their presence.

I do not possess the vehicle for expressing the music in myself - so all I have are words.

Words - can I raise them into a concerto of paragraphs?

Music can express that which cannot be written. Words can express that which cannot be directly communicated by music.

Words or music. Or both. Either together, individually... they all possess a power a moment a grasping a perfection a sublimity a chance a hope a within a being a divinity.

Can I find the words to express the tears that roll down my cheeks? Can I find the words to express the focus I draw upon in concentration? Can I find the words to express the strength that picks up me when every hope is seemingly lost? Can I find the words to express the beauty I see everywhere around me? Can I find the words to express the dark abyss that opens under me? Can I find the words to express the pain of this abyss? Can I find the words to express the love I draw from this abyss? Can I find the words to express the always present ambiguity and complexity of life? Can I find the words to express the Man that I want myself to be? Can I find the words to express the Man I want the world to see? Can I find the words to express the dream that closing the gap to that Man within myself represents?

Can I find the words to express the ocean of warmth I feel, when, in that infinity of but a mere instant, I look deep into her eyes?

Can I find the words to express that which, in the service of words, only deserves nothing less than the exceptional, shining, radiant, glorious and effervescent luminous energy that, truly, words in the service of language; in the service of the human condition; in the service of those great spiritual depths... deserves, unconditionally.

The quest for those perfect words, that perfect living poetry is the same quest as to find that love.

I feel that I must do everything I can, give everything I have got, strive to go far beyond all that I am capable of, somehow find a way, to capture, if only for a moment, those precious few words that will crystallise a glimmering of that which I most want to share.

Will I be able to find those words? Will I be able to write them? Will I even possibly be able to utter them?

When it matters most, when that brief split second arrives, can I find the symphony of words that will stir her soul?

Can I raise the words sufficiently high to tap into that ocean of feeling that the finest music evokes.

And so I feel daunted; only a few have a mastery of language so complete and so sufficient that every single one of their very words dance upwards in a serenade of exquisite resonance.

Every time I strive to type something attempting to express to terrain of Truth, each letter for me carries an awesome responsibility - a responsibility to add something of beauty and value to the world. Words! My only real creative outlet. Can I serve that which rises far beyond?

I find the prospect of writing poems and literature terrifying - yet you can only reach within, reach further, to find and in your craft expose that very aspect of your being.

Shakespeare is of course rightly seen as one of those true masters. Sonnet number 53:

What is your substance, whereof are you made,
That millions of strange shadows on you tend?
Since every one hath, every one, one shade,
And you but one, can every shadow lend.
Describe Adonis, and the counterfeit
Is poorly imitated after you;
On Helen's cheek all art of beauty set,
And you in Grecian tires are painted new:
Speak of the spring, and foison of the year,
The one doth shadow of your beauty show,
The other as your bounty doth appear;
And you in every blessed shape we know.
In all external grace you have some part,
But you like none, none you, for constant heart.

Meeting someone can be the spark that picks you up, ready to strive to face the challenge, to search to find those words. If they are themselves someone who draws upon the source, they then become a fountain of personal inspiration for you.

Tea Post #1 (of many to come!)

2009-02-19T14:38:00.000-08:00

茶

T E A

Post #1

Tea: Taylors Of Harrogate: English Breakfast
Type: Black tea (blend)
Grade: GBOP (Golden Broken Orange Pekoe)
Cost: £4.70 / 250g

So. As promised to Indyeah, here is the first post, of many to come, chronicling my love affair with the most mighty of all beverages, true perfection in a cup: Tea, Camellia sinensis, 茶.

And where to start with such a huge topic? Many terms will be unfamiliar for the non tea cognoscenti, but I'll slowly cover everything and it will become clear in time, for those that wish to join me on my journey. Tea and Philosophy. Is there ever a more natural combination?

Lets start simple. What is a cup of tea for most people?

It depends on where you live. A typical cup of tea in China is likely to be either a Green or Black tea, probably served without milk, perhaps (hopefully) still made from loose leaf tea. In Japan it is extremely likely to be Green, unless it is Bancha, which is a toasted and darker brewing tea. Bancha is made by lightly dry toasting Sencha, which is their normal grade green tea. In India it could well be Chai, a form of milk tea heavily infused - of course, given their mastery of multifaceted flavours - with a complex variety of spices. In the US, tea is just as likely to be in the form of something called "Iced Tea", such as under the Lipton brand, which is a rather unpleasant very sweet cordial with a hint of "tea" flavour to it. Fortunately, it does seem that at least times are changing, and a few people across the world are waking up to the true world of tea. Tea is a drink that can more than hold its own against any other: it is easily a match for wine, in terms of the sheer complexity and variety of types.

Meanwhile, here in Britain, of course, we as a nation are a notorious for our tea drinking obsession. We even built an empire on it. So what is tea for us?

For most people it is a very strong, dark brew, from a tea bag, tempered with milk and quite often sugar ('Army issue tea': "strong tea with 2 sugars, sir!"). As a nation we consume a rather phenomenal amount per head (although, I should add, that this particular head probably very significantly outstrips the national average in overall consumption!), but also, disappointingly, of a staggering poor quality.

Most people's conception of tea is based upon the extremely strong, almost black brew that you get from a very fast infusing tea bag from all the mainstream brands such as PG Tips, Tetleys, Liptons, etc...

First note. All tea, as a general rather than absolute rule, that goes into tea bags, is of poor quality and constitutes the lower grades of leaf available. In the case of typical British tea bags, the actual technical term for such a grade as is contained in them, is, in fact, Dust (D).

The extremely fine, broken up, very, literally, dusty grade of what is effectively almost a leaf powder has a very large surface area and therefore correspondingly generates a very rapid and very strong infusion.

Such an infusion is of course very bitter, which is why it generally needs to be balanced by milk, and for some people, sugar. Personally I think that sugar in tea is a great evil, much as with coffee, as it simply masks the actual flavour of the beverage and replaces it with a generic nondescript sweetness. The infusion is also characterised by a rather "flat", "wet" taste, lacking any real depth of flavour and also having a somewhat acidic and tannic finish.

Fortunately, this is not what a proper cup of tea is about.

So, for this first post, it was almost a necessity to start off with an exceptional tea, and in Taylors Of Harrogate's English Breakfast we have just that.

English Breakfast is of course probably the most famous blend, and derives it name, rather obviously, from the fact that it generally denotes a strong flavoured tea with a powerful caffeine kick, perfect for the morning with breakfast, to wake you up.

Or in my case, pretty much perfect all day long and all night long....

So, when people have their cup of "tea", they generally are not just having tea leaves from one estate, but more usually a blend of leaves from numerous estates in different parts of the world.

The different characteristics of the estate teas are blended to offer an excellent balance of flavour.

English Breakfast tea is certainly what most people associate with what a cup of tea in Britain is about. Now, if the mainstream tea bags in supermarkets represent the lowest and poorest attempt at it... then in this particular blend, we have the best of the best, an outstanding blend.

TOH English Breakfast blend is made from a combination of Ceylon (Sri Lanka) and African teas. Ceylon teas are renowned for their crisp, clean, almost metallic flavour, African teas for their rich dark body. Combine high quality grades and types of the two, with care... and you have something superb.

Opening the tin it is immediately obvious we are dealing with a very superior class of tea. The leaves are Golden Broken Orange Pekoe grade: BOP is a grade of leaf used to denote a black, fermented tea, where, self explanatorily, the leaves have been processed sufficiently until they start to break up. Orange Pekoe is simply the term for a whole leaf grade. The Golden denotes the presence of a significant number of "tips", which are the light "golden" coloured tips from the top of the tea bush, which are rightly prized for their exceptional and delicate flavour. They are the most precious and treasured part of the tea harvest.

A BOP tea will generate a strong, dark brew, whilst still retaining a rich and complex flavour. So, a GBOP grade denotes one of the highest quality. In other words, what we have, is a strong tea, rich in flavour, that will balance beautifully with milk.

TOH only use the Traditional or Orthodox method, which basically means not using the CTC (crush, tear, curl) industrial machines which rather savagely process a lot of the life out of the tea (and is what is used to create the very strong infusing tea bag tea), and instead much more gently and slowly heat and roll the leaves to ferment and develop them.

Brew quantity: 3 tea measures / 500ml water
Brew time: 5 minutes
Water temperature: 100C (rolling boil direct from kettle)
Optimum brewing vessel: Pre-heated Porcelain/China tea pot

TOH English Breakfast is a truly outstanding cup of tea. Balanced appropriately with milk, its character reveals itself to have a strong, almost woody, dark body, from the African tea content in the blend; this is accompanied by an initial, fractionally astrigent start, and a beautifully clean, rather copper like finish, from the Ceylon tea content. It reveals itself to be an absolute first class tea by virtue of the depth of flavour with continues to linger on the palate long after your cup is finished, and the wonderfully dry, and outstandingly "clean", almost polished finish. Above all, it has an incredible smoothness, which makes most other English Breakfast (i.e. typical tea bag tea) teas taste bitty, mucky, bitter, flat, wet, drab and almost unbearably rancid by comparison.

The art of a first class English Breakfast is to obtain strength and potency without losing richness of flavour, becoming to tannic, or simply just too bitter.

This tea is without doubt one of the finest of this variety, and one I can come back to time and time again.

When I wake up in the morning, and need a strong fine tea to start to day, or when I sit down in the evening after a long day at work, and need a tea to perk me up... well, I can't think of a finer or better choice than Taylors Of Harrogates superb blend.

Superb!

Side note: Yes, when it comes to typical "English" tea, I don't do small - certainly not when I'm making proper tea at home. I only drink it by - at least - a half litre at a time! :-)

Banner change #1 to #2

2009-02-16T02:41:00.001-08:00

Time for a new banner. I'll try to create a new one every couple of months to keep things fresh.

Old banner (#1):

@Traveller: This image is not actually from Iceland, which I presume is what you were alluding to. I took this one in Snowdonia, in North Wales, up in the Carnedd mountains.

I would dearly love to go to Iceland though, yes, as you can probably easily deduce.

New banner (#2):

I took this photo on the beach near Lindisfarne, in Northumbria.

Close by is a priory, that was famously sacked in 793 by a Viking invasion fleet.

Of course, in the interests of historical balance, prior to Northumberland being Christianised, it was a heathen kingdom, and it was quite probably a site of worship for the Pagans due to the very special quality of its location.

Lindisfarne is a section of coastline that gets turned into an island on a daily basis as the low lying land bridge gets covered when the tide rolls in. So residents there are only able to connect with the mainland at certain times of the day!

Running through an endless night

2009-02-15T14:42:00.001-08:00

Well, predictably, my upbeat mood was never going to last, and so I have descended back down, and find myself in a bleak, black mood.

I went for a run tonight. It was a run, that in many ways, was a metaphor for my life over the last couple of years.

I tend to go running on random routes, and this time I found myself following the main road down into the Walker area of Newcastle. For virtually the whole run, practically a single soul was not to be seen: empty streets, with parked cars everywhere, innumerable houses. A few rooms were lit. It was a run past areas full of empty, closed factories and outhouses; past a deserted dockland; down an empty cycle path. Past Segendum, a Roman fort, the last outpost of the world famous Hadrian's wall, which traditionally divided England and Scotland. It was actually just a few piles of ruined brickwork, strewn with discarded litter and right next to a unattractive council estate.

Down and along bland road networks, a retail park, traffic lights. On the way back, I saw another, single, solitary runner. Normally, there is an unwritten code between runners - you expect to exchange some eye contact, perhaps a smile, a gesture, or even a greeting; possibly even an "How are you?". Some sort of acknowledgement, no matter how small. I looked across and he ran past me as if I wasn't there, as if he'd never even seen me at all. As if I was a ghost.

So, just like life, I come to ask myself, do I even exist? Or am I just a mere apparition.

My path through life just seems to be a constant struggle on, with no particular change in sight, just a random walk alone. Profoundly alone.

I try to reach out; I get ignored. I make a call; they don't answer. I send a message; I get no reply. I sent a txt; it disappears without a reply.

I didn't think I'd grow up, and find my years passing by in such a joyless, mundane, existence.

Unsurprisingly, since scientific research has shown that your dreams are often more literal than we realise, when I do have dreams I remember, they are often of the same character. A feeling of fruitlessness, a feeling of being lost, a feeling of never getting anywhere. Quite often they will involve me travelling to some destination, but almost invariably, I will never ever get there; what should have been a straightforward journey suddenly becomes endless; I'm travelling by train, I change to get a connection, it never arrives; I travel by train, and it comes to a junction with countless sets of rails, and gets stuck; I travel by aeroplane, and I get permanently stuck in the departure lounge. What makes it worse, of course, is at the destination was something usualy quite exciting or wonderful. But I never see it, I never get there.

The other night, one of my dreams was more poignant. I often drift off to sleep wishing to dream of love and sex, to be quite frank, since at least, even it is but a dream, it has some "reality", at least for a few hours. Rarely, however, does it actually happen, and I normally wake up with no recollection of any dreams whatsoever.

This one I did meet some wonderful girl. I think we were on a set of stairs, or perhaps in a room in her apartment. It was rather old fashioned, with an old world feel to it. Sunlight was gleaming through the skylight. She was smiling, we were talking. She was very pretty. There was a bookshelf full of interesting books. Perhaps we were talking about books. I don't know. She wrapped her arm around mine; we felt close. It was actually someone I could talk to; we understood each other perfectly. I think she might have kissed me. Then there was something she had to do, somewhere she had to go. I'm not sure. She disappeared out the door, and I knew that I would never see her again, and at that very moment, I woke up, feeling disorientated for a few seconds.

This was a rarity. Meeting imaginary women, even for just a conversation, in dreams, has now become increasingly rare. I take the fact that there is now a total absence of any more intimate sexual content to my dreams to reflect that fact that even in my intuitive mind, my pscyhe, it no longer believes it a possibility that will ever actually occur. It parallels my recurring dreams of travelling without ever actually getting anywhere.

I simply go in circles.

Even in my dreams, my dreams themselves have become but mere dreams. They have in fact, become bland and grey; just perplexingly, confusingly, and sometimes bizarrely so.

But usually I wake up remembering nothing.

That, is perhaps worst of all.

@Louise: Valentine's day has become extremely depressing, and this year was no different. I lost track of the number of couples of all ages, plenty similar in age to me, who walked into the shop, bedecked with flowers. Or men (and a few women) by themselves but with flowers in hand, presumably ready for a special someone. I've got no one to give any [romantic] love to: the female species seems to have made it abundantly clear that none of them actually want anything I have to offer.

The fact of the matter is that as life goes on like this, without even a flicker of interest from anyone at all, without anyone to share anything much at all with, one's confidence slowly erodes away. You feel yourself slowly eroding away. Nothing builds a person's confidence like some sort of success; nothing eats it away like a continual lack of any.

I escape into my own little world of books and music. So, tonight, I will listen to some Satie, then drift off the sleep, and sleep long, since I don't have to get up early tomorrow, as I have it off work.

Aren's Pointless Pontificating Potential Partner Questionnaire

2009-02-09T04:38:00.001-08:00

I'm feeling rather light-hearted today, so thought I'd make up a quiz.

Since clearly I am totally unable to ever actually bump into the "right" girl in real life - does she even exist?! - and since women's magazines are usually filled with endless quizzes purportedly helping them find what they are looking for, I thought I'd reverse the trend and as a bloke set my own standards. Time for the other sex to do the looking!

;-)

Disclaimer: It should be completely obvious, but sadly there are people of rather judgemental and narrow minded character that choose to get offended wherever the chance allows, that this is quiz is just me having fun. Hopefully it will generate a few titters. The views implied below from my graded answers reflect my own guesstimates based on a projected compatibility, and, particularly in the case of religion, and not intended to be construed as deliberately derogatory towards those beliefs. They simply reflect the likelihood in my eyes that we'd "get along". Each of us is free to hold whatever opinion we each have, to paraphrase Voltaire, I might disagree but I defend your right to freely express your own opinion...

2nd Disclaimer: Life has persistently taught me that everything is always how you not expect it to be. So, therefore, it would, paradoxically enough, not ultimately surprise me if the sort of
person who got the lowest possible score was the perfect match, as extremely unlikely as I imagine such an eventuality to be.

Religion/Spirituality & Beliefs

1. In terms of religious/spiritual views, I consider myself to be a follower of, primarily:

a) Christianity
b) Judaism
c) Islam
d) Jainism
e) Hinduism
f) Buddhism
g) Daoism
h) Sikhism
i) European Heathenism
j) Non-European Indigenous Paganism (e.g. Shintoism)
k) Neo-Pagan, Wiccan, or New-Age
l) Atheism
m) Agnosticism
n) Scientology
o) Other specific organised religion
p) My own syncretistic pick n' mix spirituality

2. In terms of my own approach to my beliefs, I

a) Always try to abide literally to my specific sacred text(s)
b) Try to interpret any scriptures according to a modern context, with room for reasonable latitude of interpretation
c) Hold nothing as particularly sacred. Do whatever I want, whenever I want
d) Recognise the value and possibility of higher standards, but try to always find my own path, drawing inspiration from wherever I recognise quality and truthfulness

3. In terms of modern society,

a) Church/religious institution and state should always be kept separate
b) State should have a sponsored and official religion

Environment, Naturalism & Green Issues

4. In terms of technology, the environment, and progress

a) Everything should continue unabated, with the uninterrupted pursuit of technological advancement the highest goal
b) We should all become hard-line Eco-warriors, and the development of technology and industry should be severely restricted
c) We significantly need to alter the balance and recognise that our consumption of resources needs to be more moderated, that the environment is precious, and that we will all be required to make some sacrifices if we wish to preserve the natural beauty of the world

5. In terms of getting out into Nature

a) Nature is beautiful beyond comparison, and I like nothing more than getting outside into the wilderness as much as possible
b) The countryside is boring. I'll stick to my city apartment.
c) I like a pretty view, but from the window of my luxury cruise liner

6. In terms of my mobile phone, laptop, or other portable modern technology

a) The thought of being disconnected from the modern world for a few days fills me with horror! I'll take my phone with me everywhere.
b) I'll specifically switch off or leave behind my phone so that I can enjoy being out in nature, completely uninterrupted
c) Pointless modern dependencies. I don't need any such technological contrivances.

Love & Sexuality

7. If I am with someone whom I love

a) I'll let them know frequently
b) I'll let them know only on special occasions
c) Don't be soppy! They should know how I feel

8. If a man gives me flowers, I'll

a) Be deeply flattered and delighted
b) Think he is feeling guilty about something
c) Think he is soft and should probably go and toughen up

9. In terms of libido and sexual drive

a) Sex is pleasurable, rather like a bar of chocolate
b) Sex is one of the greatest gifts of life. It delivers a level of pleasure and fulfilment rarely found elsewhere in life
c) Sex is completely overrated. I can quite happily go without.

10. In terms of sexual frequency

a) As often and intensely as possible! Life is too short!
b) Save it up for special occasions only
c) Once in a blue moon is sufficient

11. In terms of sexual variation

a) Missionary position only for me!
b) I'll try a few different moves
c) The Kama Sutra is my bible. I'll certainly give anything a try if I can contort my body into position!

12. In terms of kinkiness

a) I prefer it plain Jane and simple.
b) I'm willing to accommodate a little bit of teasing and games playing
c) So who's going to tie the other up first? And where did you put those shackles, sometimes my knots aren't that good!

13. In terms of attitudes towards sex

a) Casual sex is fine, as long as both people have a clear understanding
b) Sex should only occur after marriage
c) Feel free to sleep around as much as you wish! Who cares!

14. In terms of sexual context

a) Sex in a loving stable relationship is, ultimately, best
b) Random casual sex is more fulfilling

15. In terms of openness

a) A lot of sexual acts are rather dirty and sinful
b) Within a few limits, I'm more than happy to try to accommodate
anything that will make my partner sexually fulfilled. Just ask!
c) I don't see the point in doing anything that doesn't directly give me pleasure.

16. In terms of a relationship, the one I truly love

a) Would be the most important aspect of my life. I'll try to move heaven and earth for them!
b) An important component, but they'll have to fit in around my career and lifestyle
c) There for me when I need them, but not integral to my life

17. In terms of a relationship, all decisions

a) Should be made on an equal basis. That is healthy.
b) The man should take control and show that he can be a man!
c) I'll decide, as men are too impulsive
d) We'll see what works for us

Politics

18. In terms of political views

a) I support Marxism
b) I support National Socialism
c) I support liberal democracy
d) I support Radical Traditionalism
e) I am primarily apolitical. All systems are ultimately a rather unsatisfying compromise.

19. On capitalism

a) Free markets should be allowed with no restrictions whatsoever
b) Certain limits should be in place
c) A necessary evil

Arts & Mind

20. In terms of film, if I had to choose, I mostly favour

a) A light hearted comedy or easy going film
b) Pure action, or typical big-screen Hollywood film
c) Bizarre, unusual, surreal art-house cinema

21. In terms of books and magazines, if I had to choose, I mostly favour

a) Mainstream fiction and glossy mags
b) Challenging, complex, and unusual materials

22. In terms of broadcast television

a) I love soaps! There is always something on I'd like to watch
b) Big Brother is my religion
c) Most television is so entirely lacking in any redeeming qualities
that I usually switch it straight off in disgust. Give me a good book
anyday!
d) I'll usually spend my evenings curled up in front of the telly

23. In terms of conversations

a) Lets just have plenty of drinks and get drunk and have a laugh
b) Lets sit down over a coffee and have a truly meaningful and deep conversation
c) Just be polite and keep everyone happy

24. Beethoven or Mozart?

a) Come on. Clearly Beethoven by a significant degree.
b) Mozart is prettier.
c) Who are they? Wouldn't listen to either!

25. In terms of cultural relativism,

a) It is absolutely absurd to even begin to compare the latest Spice Girls single with, say, Beethoven's 9th Symphony. The 9th is so many orders of magnitude superior in every dimension that such a comparison is pointless.
b) Everything is equally good
c) It depends entirely on context. On some levels the latest pop singles are just as good.

26. In terms of range of tastes, and ability to accommodate alternative forms of expression

a) I am willing to accommodate a very wide range of artistic expressions. I listen very widely, read very widely, watch very widely, and do not get easily offended.
b) Plenty of things are rather offensive and should be either banned or severely controlled
c) There is no reason to ever offend anyone with anything that deserves to be called art

27. In terms of alcohol

a) Why not get hammered every Friday! You only live once
b) Many people use alcohol to mask emptiness elsewhere in there life. Enjoying yourself and letting yourself go is one thing, seeing all social occasions primarily as a drinking opportunity is a waste.
c) I am tee-total and believe that alcohol is a dangerous addiction just like many other things, such as pornography

Miscellaneous

28. When there is a commercial break on during a program I am watching on TV, I will

a) Sit there and watch in boredom
b) Specifically mute the television and go and make a cup of tea/coffee
c) Sit there and watch with interest

29. Tea or coffee?

a) Don't be daft, clearly Tea!
b) Tea is bland. Give me coffee.
c) You dare insult me with that question? How could anything compare, even to one billionth of a millionth of a degree, with the ultimate mightyness and true divinity of that most perfect of beverages, that most grand of plants, that most mighty of experiences, namely, the most high and holy, Tea! I salute thee, Tea! I forever recognise thy primordial and protean greatness!
d) I am a heretic and do not drink either tea or coffee.
e) You mean tea doesn't just come in packets of tea bags?

30. The person who constructed this irreverant quiz, is either

a) Completely and utterly bonkers and off his trolly
b) Of a fine mind, if a little eccentric
c) Really should have better things to do
d) Delightful, and since I am a fine young single women aged 18-35 I shall be enquiring after his e-mail address
e) Clearly desperate and lost beyond all hope

Answer grid

Now, go through your answers and tot up your total points accordingly.
There are both positive and negative marks to some questions:

Q1. a = -1 ; b = -2; c = -3; d = -2; e = +1; f = +2; g = +3; h = -1; i = +4; j = +4; k = +1; l = 0; m = +2; n = -10; o = 0; p = +2;
Q2. a = -2; b = +1; c = -3; d = +2;
Q3. a = +1; b = -1;
Q4. a = -1; b = 0; c = +1;
Q5. a = +2; b = -2; c = 0;
Q6. a = 0; b = +2; c = +1;
Q7. a = +1; b = 0; c = -1;
Q8. a = +1; b = -1; c = 0;
Q9. a = +1; b = +3; c = -1;
Q10. a = +2; b = +1; c = 0;
Q11. a = -1; b = +1; c = +2;
Q12. a = 0; b = +1; c = +3;
Q13. a = +1; b = -2; c = -1;
Q14. a = +1; b = 0;
Q15. a = -3; b = +3; c = 0;
Q16. a = +3; b = 0; c = -1;
Q17. a = +2; b = 0; c = 0; d = +1;
Q18. a = -25; b = -5; c = +2; d = +3; e = +2;
Q19. a = 0; b = +1; c = +1;
Q20. a = 0; b = 0; c = +2;
Q21. a = 0; b = +2;
Q22. a = -2; b = -2500; c = +3; d = -1;
Q23. a = 0; b = +2; c = -1;
Q24. a = +2; b = 0; c = -1;
Q25. a = +3; b = -3; c = -1;
Q26. a +2; b = -1; c = -1;
Q27. a = 0; b = +1; c = -1;
Q28. a = 0; b = +1; c = -1;
Q29. a = +1; b = 0; c = +1 (plus an additional 5000 special rare gold Aren stars after your name! :-) ); d = 0 (plus an additional 5000 lines to write, which go, "I will see the error of my ways and starting drinking tea. I will see the error of my ways and starting drinking tea, before the God of Tea cometh down upon me and makes me repent for my sins"); e = -1;
Q30. a = +2; b = +2; c = +1; d = +10; e = +1;

Maximum total is 67.
Minimum total is -2560.

Suffice to say if you're a fundamentalist Scientologist politically active Marxist who hates sex and doesn't like to go out, lives off a diet of Big Brother and, obviously worst of all, doesn't drink tea, then we'll probably not get along ;-)

Or following the logic of life, we'll probably be perfect for each other...

Anyone who scores 67/67 and is 18-35 should immediately get in touch.

Anyone that scores 67/67 and also has 5000 gold stars had better find an underground bunker as it will be my mission in life to scour the planet to find you! :-D

So come on then. Who's going to be brave and/or silly enough to post their total up?

Meanwhile, if anyone is bored, feel free to take this and make your own quiz up for your own blog. It is quite a fun activity...

12/02/09 Edit: Corrected answer for Q3, which I'd accidentally put the wrong way round.

Falkenbach: Donar's Oak

2009-02-07T12:27:00.001-08:00

Falkenbach - Donar's Oak

(Taken from their album "Ok Nefna Tysvar Ty", 2003).

"Branches as high as a vigilant eye could see,
magic runes, once scratched into this tree.
An old man sat down at this mighty oak,
every morning, day by day...
And he closed his eyes
while a gasp blew through its leaves...
and he began to speak...

Land er heilact, er ec liggia sé
ásom oc álfom nær;
enn í Þrúðheimi scal þórr vera,
unz um riúfaz regin.

Ydalir heita, þar er Ullr hefir
sér um gorva sali;
Álfheim Frey gáfo í árdaga
tívar at tannfé.

Roots as deep as the very depths of heart,
source for those who know what's still to come...
Man of wisdom and knowledge great,
with hair as white as snow...
The young amongst them in a circle sat
and listened to his voice.
...while he began to speak...

Land er heilact, er ec liggia sé
ásom oc álfom nær;
enn í Þrúðheimi scal þórr vera,
unz um riúfaz regin.

Ydalir heita, þar er Ullr hefir
sér um gorva sali;
Álfheim Frey gáfo í árdaga
tívar at tannfé."

------------------------------------------------------------

Donar's (Thor) Oak, was a sacred tree of the Germanic Heathen Chatti. The spiritual power of trees in general, is inestimable.

Unfortunately I don't have a translation for the Icelandic lyrics...

Desperate?

2009-02-06T15:33:00.001-08:00

Do you have to be completely happy in the first place to find someone?

If so, then I guess I will never find anyone till the day I die.

I think it is perfectly natural and normal to have a desire to be with someone. This is itself does not signify desperation - simply a perfectly commonplace human behaviour, both on an emotional and physical level. If this desire is unfulfilled, then it is quite likely you won't be completely content.

What is desperation and why is it so unattractive?

Desperation is the persistent inability to have any peace with yourself. Desperation is the death (or lack of birth) of any sense of individual self. Desperation results in the individual inversely projecting all their fears, guilts, and neurosis onto the opposite individual, who then becomes a completely perfect "saint" and espouses strength in precisely those very areas they lack. Or alternatively, desperation seeks common ground by finding someone with exactly the same fears, with the vision that you can you collectively build up your own fortress between you and the world together.

In both cases, the underlying implication is that the "desperate" person sees not the actual character of the person they are interested in, but simply see what they wish to see. The desperate person lacks the integrity of an open and authentic response to the person of their desire. In fact, the truly desperate person will simply wish to be with virtually anyone at all, just as long as they will have them. That is, taken to its logical conclusion, they wish to possess them.

The person who is the subject of such an interest naturally pushes them away because they recognise that not only are they attempting to build something on an unhealthy basis, but also the fact that they recognise that as soon as the desperate individual sees the true reality of who they are, things will naturally start to fall apart. The desperate person will also be emotionally suffocating because their own lack of self will result in them becoming overwhelmingly attached, and seek to live their life purely through the eyes of the other person. Rather than contribute, they will drain.

Being unhappy with your current life, and also wishing to have someone to share it with, is not, however, equivalent to desperation.

One of the hardest aspects of being single for a elongated length of time is that it is very hard not to lose confidence. Success breeds confidence - this is one of the greatest ironies, and a Catch 22 of life in general.

Someone who merely lacks confidence, and is unhappy with how things are panning out, is still qualitatively different from a desperate person. Unlike a desperate person, if "success" should arrive, their whole character and disposition can radically change overnight.

Much as a set of dark storm clouds can be very quickly blown away to reveal an awesome sunrise with a blue sky, so can such a person be uplifted and radically blossom in the world. What was there all along, had just become temporarily veiled.

The thing is, it requires that someone gives them a chance. Just a chance.

The person who is desperate has much more work to do. They have a journey of self-discovery. We must all undertake this journey continuously, as an act of self-development, regardless of how happy or mentally stable we are, but someone who is desperate has lost all sense of their bearings; the light has gone out on their candle in amongst the deepest of cave systems. They have to relight their candle and then commit to familiarising themselves with an entirely unknown space again.

Me? I am often gloomy and things are frequently hard. But I'm definitely not desperate. I know the sort of qualities I'm looking for in a person and I do have a good sense as to the sort of person I am. I'm prepared to wait for as long as it takes for the right person, and don't simply wish to be with someone just for the sake of being with someone. I don't pretend to have everything figured out, nor is life necessarily particularly brilliant. But I do embrace the desire to enrich mine - and hopefully her - existence by finding someone - the right person - and seeing where it goes.

In lonely times, yes, it can be tempting just to have someone where someone is anyone. This is a weakness we all have, at moments of crisis. Such a desire is not inherently wrong; it is simply reflective of the human desire to connect.

But the overwhelming majority of the time, I know - in rough terms; for life is always surprising - the sort of qualities I look for.

I'm just conscious of the fact that my own tendency for outright honesty is often off putting, as perhaps I come across as desperate when I am honest in admitting that life is far from everything I wish it to be. I don't have all the answers. I'm just trying to always find them as best I can. I don't expect or require anything more than that from anyone else.

I just know, however, that having someone to share the wonderfully small things in life would make life so much more delightful, bring back a light-hearted joy to my existence, and allow me to give to her as much as she gives to me.

Until that time, no, I won't be completely content. What is wrong with that? Surely nothing.

Whilst I am fully aware that one must be careful not to look outside for a contentment and joy, that, in principle, were always there, available all along, inside... nevertheless there is a more prosaic material level to existence, and external changes need to mirror internal changes. You make the internal changes and then hopefully the external changes manifest themselves. Internal changes can be hard to sustain, and sometimes can collapse; but quietly, you work with fortitude, and slowly but surely, things can change. In other words, "two steps forward, one back" is usually the more likely method of progress.

I am a young man who wants love, companionship, and sex - with the right person! And fun! I believe it will happen naturally when I find her, whoever she is. (Naturally doesn't mean automatic, however!) These are fundamental parts of the human existence I desire to lead.

Some people are happy as hermits. Some people are happy finding seclusion and celibacy as a monk in a religious retreat. Some people are happy living life moment to moment, with a random mix of new people each week. Some people are happy with a stable one person whom they live with for countless years till they die. Some people are happier to be permanently single, free to choose and do as they wish whenever they want.

Some people - and probably the majority - find true contentment when they find someone to share their path through life with. Some of these people - perhaps many - were pretty happy individuals prior to meeting the other person. Some, were not, but soon become so after meeting the other person.

No one is a panacea, and meeting someone doesn't mean your life automatically becomes wonderful, or that things are never hard. They frequently are and will be. But it is highly likely your life will be more fulfilling and existentially richer if you maintain the same spirit of openness that hopefully you originally met with.

The point is, one cannot generalise, and one must be careful. Careful not just in proceeding with things with anyone, but also equally careful in drawing inaccurate conclusions about someone too early.

Sometimes someone just needs a confidence boost!

No one ever became a great artist without some encouragement from somewhere.

Communicate. Be honest. Be direct. Share. If they really are desperate, ultimately this process will help them. If they aren't, then it will become clear.

If you do consider yourself desperate: Communicate. Be honest. Be direct. Share. You'll find yourself.

A lot of people who perhaps might seem desperate, aren't. A lot of people who seem perfectly happy and not at all desperate, may in fact be so. People can become quite proficient at putting masks on. I hate masks but this is sometimes to my detriment, as I probably am pretty full-on most of the time. We all have to take a great deal of care before making a hasty conclusion.

And lest I sound like I'm either randomly sermonising or bemoaning to the world, I should add that I nearly got this grossly wrong myself. So I speak from experience as someone who judged completely incorrectly. I jumped to an incorrect and hasty conclusion about someone. I thought she was desperate and nearly completely pushed her away, prematurely.

At the last moment though, we communicated. We were honest. She was just, as it were, a bit nervous and shy. I hadn't made the effort to properly discuss things with her.

We ended up being together for 6 years, the majority of which, despite ups and downs and the hardships of life, were generally very good years. Though we may not be together any more, I now consider her family and I am confident we shall remain close friends for the rest of our lives.

There was certainly nothing desperate about her once I got to know her, and our relationship was probably defined as much by an easy relaxed lack of any possessiveness. Neither of us were the type to get jealous, and were happy to let the other have their own space.

Am I desperate?

No.

Do I come across as desperate?

Hopefully not. But perhaps I do.

Orlog - Tao - Flow - Dasein

2009-01-29T14:36:00.001-08:00

It is funny how things can change so quickly.

Looking back over this blog, relatively short in time it is, it seems to reflect a kaleidoscope of moods, though perhaps too much orientated on the darker aspects of life.

Yet, despite the moments of gloom which seem, superficially, to be no different to the very dark times of 2006 for me, underlying it all there does seem to be a sense of progress.

Sometimes explicating and exploring things can be a form of therapy in itself: by blogging your thoughts and experiences, even - and probably especially - the bleak ones, you slowly come to a better understanding of yourself. And then how to move forward.

I have come to realise that all of my "problems" and "difficulties" have exactly the same underlying spiritual cause. A constant sense of strife, whereby my attempt to resolve it was to struggle and fight more. Yet there can be and never could be any victory on this path.

Rather, you win by letting go. In both Pagan and Daoist thought, the universal underlying law or way or Orlog or Tao is something that operates beyond any human control. It acts unto itself.

So, I had the same problem on every level.

For example, I wanted to write - in truth, it did not matter, particularly, on what - but never could find the words to say. I would constantly draw blank when confronted with the computer screen, much to my immense frustration, as an avalanche of thoughts would ordinarily be flowing through my mind the rest of the time.

I desperately wanted [romantic] love, so I poured all my energies out, searching, trying, a last ditch effort to find who and what I was looking for; that person whom I could share the endless intracies of life with.

I wanted a "career" and a sense of "going somewhere" - instead of a feeling of constant stasis.

And of me? What happened in this maelstorm? How did so many black clouds condense over and above me?

Release, rescind, empty, open: stop trying. Stop trying to even try.

It is a common, age old wisdom, but so hard to do in practise.

Sometimes, you have to throw the goals away and then they start to come back to you.

So, I started this blog. The only criterion was a simple one, and one that every writer of whatever type will always reiterate is most critical: just have the discipline of writing. That's it. It doesn't really matter - certainly initially - whether it is any good or not. But just keep doing it. Just flow. And flow is exactly what is happening.

Suddenly, where before I had to have a moment of "sublime inspiration" before I could write anything, now I can sit down and write. Whether any of it is worth reading is always ultimately up to the reader to judge, but irrespective of quality, the point is that the flow has occurred, and finally I have a natural outlet to externalise some of the torrent of thoughts that swirl through my mind every day.

I am certain the same discipline is necessary in every artistic endeavor, regardless of whether you do fine art, photography, pottery, music, whatever. Just keep doing it - and eventually you'll find your voice. You'll find the you in there that brings the human element.

Another thing I reflect on is that I always perceived my "problem" in terms of finding love was that I was too intense. That I just scared everyone off.

It wasn't the intensity. It was the spiritual turbulence that I had stirring around me!

People are very perceptive of energy.

Ironically enough, it was one of the guys at work today who illustrated this so clearly to me. Immediately upon arriving at work, He immediately shouted over in his enthusiastic and joking fashion that "I had a twinkle in my eye".

And he was absolutely right! For I felt more completely buoyant than I've felt in probably several years! Yet it was remarkable that from across the other side of the room, literally only moments after my arrival, before I'd utterly a single word or made any explicit gesture, that it was so blindingly obvious.

Things are starting to come to me. It is about cultivating the spirit of openness and receptivity, then having the impetus and confidence to develop them when the opportunity presents itself.

One of the ironies is that we tend to develop a sense of identity through attaching labels to ourselves, and also to the world and universe around us. We like to categorise and systematise things in an effort to understand things, in an effort to develop knowledge.

Yet sometimes the most progress is made when you discard all the labels; this isn't actually "you", this isn't actually "them", these people aren't just "this", and so on and so forth.

So, you empty yourself. You become the receptacle.

And what do you find?

Not emptiness, surprisingly. Not a void. You find being. You find that which cannot be explicitly described, but is known. Known before all other things. Indeed, that which must be known first and foremost to have the capability of knowing anything else at all.

Get rid of the self-programming, and see what flows towards you.

You'll be amazed. :-)

So, I'm managing to find the harmonious self that used to exist, before "it all went wrong". The intensity is still there but it is now accompanied by a certain "lightness of being".

Perhaps, in the distance, I see the first glimpses of the long lost joy. All I'd been doing by looking so hard was to go round in proverbial circles. Yet it had been within grasp all along.

Finally, I would not exchange the darkness, the suffering, the bleakness of recent years for easier ones.

They are actually a gift: a gift of a greater sense of self-knowlege, a deepening of my human experience on every level. The gift of treasuring what I do have, and the gift of giving more of myself, a gift of greater empathy.

It is a vastly over used quote, but a true one of Nietzsche's: "What does not destroy you makes you stronger." You cultivate strength through absorbing conflict rather than trying to blast it away.

I'm starting to feel an increasing sense of direction by reliquishing the constant search to find my bearings. I'm becoming my own magnetic North.

Where it will lead, I don't know.

It doesn't matter. It will be a journey, regardless.

Furtive glances through the apple garden.

2009-01-27T15:13:00.001-08:00

Life always presents challenges, which are not necessarily difficulties: for a difficulty is something you must overcome or admit defeat, a challenge is a choice you decide to make.

Sometimes, on rare, and therefore cherished occasions, you can meet someone who represents a world to you. A world of possibilities, change, difference; the quality of newness. Keeping this newness a perpetual and continual reality is the challenge of making any long term relationship work. Therefore, it requires that each half continues in its own growth, individually and together.

Life is rarely straightforward - or at least certainly not in my case - and the obvious, perhaps rational appraisal of things is not always the case.

Nowhere is this more true than in the weaving and turnings of matters of the heart.

Yet if you were to meet someone who was simply the "perfect" match, then it would probably be the nullification of yourself. For, the person who could be best for you isn't necessarily the one you agree with, or share the same intellectual, political, social, religious, or even, spiritual viewpoint. If there was no difference, no conflict in any dimension, you would end up with a harmonious blandness. Conflict isn't always destruction, and harmony isn't always creation. Sometimes creation arises from conflict: much as new shoots reach up after a forest fire clears away the established fauna. Destruction and creation exist in a cyclical and coterminous relationship.

Rather, life is in the contrasts. Love is in the contrasts. The East understood this best where they explicated this in terms of the individuation and greater harmony of Yin-Yang and Tao. Love could be viewed as a process towards a higher synthesis - from the thesis and antithesis.

Analysis aside, Freyja must indeed be smiling on me at the moment, as someone has crossed into my path who has made me stop. And notice.

I hesitate to speculate on possibilities, and indeed command myself to be empty, as in receptive: to cease to try, and see what becomes. If she should like me for who I am, then what will be, will be. Whether that be something, or nothing at all.

"Heaven and Earth go on forever.
Why?
Because they have no sense of self.

The Wise advance,
by holding back.

They lose themselves,
and find the Whole.

Fulfilment comes from selflessness."

Lao Tzu, Tao Te Ching (Timothy Freke trans.).

I could attempt to describe the enormous variety of qualities that make her so attractive, but sometimes what is finest is what is most simple and perhaps most obvious.

She radiates a tremendous warmth of spirit, with an incredible smile and a joyful personality that exudes compassion and kindness.

When I am lucky enough to be around her, not only do I feel positively uplifted, but I feel that she draws out of me the qualities that can make me a better man, a better me. Such an emotional reaction sometimes makes it difficult for me to communicate adequately with her.

I can only hope that I share in the same fashion whatever I have to give to her.

There does seem to be an incredible instinctual energy between us. I have made errors in judgement before, but I sense that this time it isn't purely just "platonic" on her part, and that I am reading the correct metaphorical page (or even book!). I hope so.

I have no idea as to how to proceed, but all I can do is to tentatively reach out and see whether she wishes to reciprocate in fashion.

She may possibly even be reading this... and if so, will probably know who she is.

How many words in life we speak, yet with so few do we actually dare to say what we truly mean and hope! Instead we circumscribe around the matter, and hope that what is left not communicated is silently understood.

Still, I feel one must always be a warrior with the heart, and that no matter how badly broken it has been before, on however many occasions, one must always be prepared to risk it anew lest the opportunity forever passes and one is only left with greater burden to bear. The greatest prizes always come with the greatest risks.

Labels are labels: sometimes the real truth is that beyond the labels you share a commonality of principles. The challenge of pluralism in our modern era is to find those common principles.

So, sometimes, the person for you, and the person for them, isn't the obvious one.

Challenge yourself, live, and grow.

Perhaps with the onset of spring, I feel a sense of a renewal of being, as I feel great psychical shifts and undercurrents that have been slowly forming over the last two years starting to take shape.

What is success? What is achievement? In the Western world, it is often equated with wealth. With material security. A car. A home. A lucrative job. A continual sense of completing goals. Comfort. Holidays.

Yet what about the qualities that cannot be measured? Does the rich stockbroker constantly on the go really know him or herself? Or is their identity merely a constructed and projected one through all his/her external achievements?

Perhaps they might.

But perhaps they don't.

I have come to realise that the last couple of years have been years of achievement for me, but not on anything that is either quantifiable, measurable, or even easily demonstrable. But I know it.

The logical corollary of this, is that this probably will, it would be nice to think, at some subsequent point in the future, find expression in something that is "externally" recognisable. But such an eventuality is not ultimately critical; it is merely a satisfying addition.

The lament of hope

2009-01-21T14:39:00.000-08:00

rendered mute by such infinite perfection

nature's radiance, to which a measure cannot be made
to which, in every inexhaustible detail
the world is made, and I become;

I would quite happily die a thousand times over
if for but one brief, plaintive moment,
I could live up to the ideal that shines from your eyes,
the compassion that glows from your smile

a moment where what cannot be said
cannot be made, cannot be shown
finds release, and becomes as to which
life before was merely a shadow at night
witnessing the sunrise of your soul

I bask, and see, everything that could ever be
reflected, carried aloft from time's grip
the eagle's claws, reminding that each precious day
I should hope to see your world more clearly
and make myself a better me

the tiny spiders crawl along the wall;
the droplet that slides down the cup;
a blackbird upon a branch;
the red copper veins in the autumn leaf;
with fresh eyes anew, through the prism of you

an illumination, a source, a spectral symphony
do you know the music you bring,
as each day your footsteps sing your approach?

Search, change, grow.

2009-01-20T15:54:00.001-08:00

Hope: so easily destroyed, and yet it is the engine of all creation.

Believing in the capability of change is the prerequisite for effecting it.

Too many directions? How many lives do you wish to lead?

Try. Change. Try. Why not. With each change and each you, you see a new world.

"The Tao gives birth to One. One gives birth to yin and yang. Yin and yang give birth to all things... The complete whole is the complete whole. So also is any part the complete whole... But forget about understanding and harmonising and making all things one. The universe is already a harmonious oneness; just realize it."
- Lao Tzu, from the Hua Hu Ching.

I guess I try to hard. I'm also my own most savage and harsh critic. Perhaps my Yin was always in the Search? Perhaps it was never lost at all. Perhaps the braver thing was and is to refuse to settle until you find the correct path.

Or perhaps, by settling, you find the correct path comes to you.

Perhaps the correct path is always the one you're on already: you just can't yet see the broader context.

It would be heartening to think that as externally unstructured as the last few years have been, that an internal reorganisation has been occurring, and that, when a critical mass has been reached, it will manifest itself in the correct way in my external life.

We all become guilty of labouring under fixed and usually wrong impressions of ourself. Have to courage to destroy them.

And if you're very lucky, you might even have someone there to help you do it. And what better definition of love, than to say, to remove that which is not?

And could it be that there is nothing more lovable than someone who continually strives to change by growing? Change is life. Death is stasis.

And yes, blog readers, do you detect something new? A slight, faint glimpse of optimism?

Possibly indeed.

I didn't use to be so heavy of heart in the past. Perhaps a lightening of heart will see joy furtively returning, as a bird tentatively returns to the garden after getting disturbed from its reverie by a clumsy neighbour.

:-)

On art and modernity...

2009-01-19T15:08:00.000-08:00

The Giant Mountains (1830 - 1835) by Caspar David Friedrich, a 19th century German Romantic painter.

In commentary of this image, courtesy of Wikipedia, which quotes the art historian Linda Siegel: "Friedrich sought not just to explore the blissful enjoyment of a beautiful view, as in the classic conception, but rather to examine an instant of sublimity, a reunion with the spiritual self through the
contemplation of nature". Or Christopher John Murray, suggesting his paintings direct "the viewer's gaze towards their metaphysical dimension".

This quote to me surmises the essence of art. With technical proficiency taken to virtually unsurpassed levels long ago achieved by masters such as Rembrandt, and the camera making possible perfect imitation in the modern era, it is hardly surprising that art increasingly has had to undergo a radicalisation, or reinvention, through several tangential directions: abstraction, impressionism, surrealism and a certain rationalisation or "conceptual art", etc., it order to continue to make itself relevant.

For me, art - in the widest definition of the term, encompassing music, literature, any creative pursuit... - is about suggesting, or a "pointing-towards" the sublime, the transcendental. That which goes beyond the limitations and necessary constraints of everything that can be communicated rationally and by and through mere concepts. It is inherently non-empirical. It is most definitively not merely logical positivist.

So, at heart, I perhaps most closely identify with the Germanic Romantic movement (I use the term relatively loosely) across all levels: its many superlative achievements in fine art (such as pictured), its music; Rachmaninov, Schubert, Schumann, Brahms..., its literature (particularly philosophy); Kant, Schopanhauer, Nietzsche, Goethe, Schelling, Fichte, Heidegger...

Hence why, in many respects I grow increasingly anti-modernist. Of course nothing is truly polarised, and one must always admit the incredible range of achievements and works of art in the modern era.

But. Modern trends in all fields of art (as epitomised, perhaps, most clearly by the Turner prize), perhaps obviously as a result of our increasing trend towards secularism, scientific physicalism and hence materiality, rather than aspire towards the metaphysical "pointing towards" that most deeply characterises human experience at its most mature, and correspondingly, most sublime, rather aims at a "closing off" as an existentialist expression: it is often about firmly relocating human experience in the mundane, generic, and aesthetically empty plane, devoid of ambition or betterment. To compensate for the resultant absence of beauty - which we could describe as the harmonising and regulating principle that allows us to recognise a congruence between that which is the object of the "pointing towards" and that which most deeply comprises our innermost essence of Being - we therefore find, instead, socio-political commentary and a form of cultural reactionism designed to generate interest though provocation. Art used as a tool for exposing and challenging social, cultural or religious biases and prejudices.

Is this what we really aspire from art? Is this really what we consider art to be today? Do we really need further existential prodding to recognise the ugliness, banality, and emptiness so prevalent in the [post-]modern world?

Should we not still be striving towards, that which is beyond the ordinary and the mundane, through that which elevates, uplifts, or cathartically reveals that which cannot be clearly communicated through specific concepts?

If we pre-formulate - that is, contrive - a particular "intellectual conception" of what a piece of art is supposed to represent, and those representations are directed purely towards objects or concepts in the plain material sphere; in essence, if we make it a piece of empirical art; are we not then depriving it of the true qualities of that which is art?

Death (2003) by the Chapman Brothers. Is the above image art, or simply social/political/cultural commentary, or perhaps rather, an attempt at antagonism?

Or, under the guise of an attempt at the type of "intellectual" art described previously, is The Lights Going On and Off, an empty room with lights repeatedly going on and off, another Turner prize winner, really contributing to the richness of our world?

Under modern definitions one would certain have to admit these examples as being "art". But is it good art? Does it have any quality?

Or rather, does it suggest that in the modern era we are simply moving towards banality and reactionist pseudo-intellectual posturing, a type of contrived culture; perhaps in recognition, of which no one wishes to admit, that the type of aesthetic genius that the world of antiquity provided in abundance across the globe across countless ages, is slowly disappearing, since virtually none have the necessary quality or skill to match it any more, or more importantly, even choose to strive towards it?

What does such modern art say about the current state of the world?

Well might Tamonten, Lord of the North, a deity from Japanese Buddhism, look down on the modern era, with great divine displeasure. And yet, perhaps, we might detect just a hint of a great sardonic mirth; for perhaps he recognised, and expected, such a degeneration.

And sometimes I cannot help but recognise the same look in myself! :-)

And we duly do look up to Tamoten, as we look up - in all senses of the term - in the work of this Edo era sculptor, an example of a great art.

Or perhaps, for example, such exquisite detail and symbolism from the bow of the Oseberg Viking ship:

Plentiful examples abound. This whole topic of thought for today's post was prompted by a splendid - that is, rare, since the opportunity for such quality of conversation face to face scarcely arises in my life - and very wide ranging conversation with a new friend at work today.

Her views on this subject are probably significantly different to mine (and I wouldn't presume to know at all what they are), but it was the fact that we had such a conversation that provided the inspiration for this blog entry.

And so, it seems only fitting, that I end with one of the photos she has taken of her art (since she herself is an artist), which, I am delighted to say, in my opinion, is both beautiful and most definitely has the necessary qualities to be considered real art, that does indeed on some level point towards the metaphysical - in this case, by evoking, perhaps indeed, even invoking, nature. Marvellous. :-)

Click on the link for her online Flickr gallery.

parquet (2006), by Amy Davies.

Navigating the hinterland of despair

2009-01-12T12:54:00.000-08:00

Indyeah's comment on my last post made me realise I'd generalised too much based on circumstances from my own life.

The capability for unique or new memories and experiences is never a constant, nor a simple declining trend proportionate to age. Life always presents the possibility of change; the patterns you follow in day to day life can always, in theory, be drastically altered. Every life is different, and undergoes periods of relative stability and then of dynamic change.

Nevertheless, as a trend overall, life perhaps does tend to stagnate and become rather more static as you get older: for numerous reasons.

In my case, the somewhat cynical outlook was a reflection of the "outward" decline of my own life over the last five years. l wish I could say my life was full of joy; full of hope; full of energy; full of moments to remember. My inner world is rich because it has to be: it has to compensate for the prison that I have slowly slipped into in my material life.

I am still seeking the key. I have changed enormously over the last number of years - perhaps even more so than the "formative" teenage years to early adulthood. Yet I still wander aimlessly[1].

The ultra brief history? Went to University. Studied Computer Science. Met my [ex]-girlfriend (who I eventually ended up living with for six years). In the third and final year of University, after flying through the degree for the first two years, everything fell apart. The reasons are extremely complex, very wide ranging, and I am still trying to comprehend them all even today, six years later.

Suffice to say, the person towards the end of the degree was nothing like the person who had decided to embark on it.

Since then, I've spasmodically contemplated a near endless list of possible careers, with no success. Signed up to cooking school to train to be a chef. Ultimately decided against it (after already having paid a deposit). Spent a couple of years in retail. Decided to train to become a personal trainer and sports massage therapist. Got qualified. Briefly worked for a gym and realised that it wasn't me.

Since then, just back in retail, just barely paying the bills.

I just don't know what I want to do. Where I want to go. I have ideas about the sort of life I'd like to live, but no idea what career to do to support it. My thoughts in this area are intensely volatile; they vary drastically day to day.

Books and music are mostly all that I have to keep me going. I cannot remember, in all honesty, what it is like to be generally and genuinely happy any more. It has been that long. I mean happy as in a overall state of well-being, as in a generalised notion that "life is reasonably good". Happiness for me only comes in brief moments, punctuating a backdrop that feels bleak and largely hopeless. I realise that happiness is probably not a wise "goal" for life, and perhaps should not be regarded as the purpose of live. But regardless of the overarching goal, you nevertheless want a life where the predominant emotions are not those of unhappiness, frustration, sadness.

I barely earn enough to pay my bills; I have a career development loan from my personal training course that will still take me another three years to pay off; I have well over £10k+ in student debt from university (which, ironically, I won't ever have to pay off any time soon since I earn so far below the repayment threshold); I don't have a car. I am, in several senses, quite literally trapped. Without a car it is very difficult to get out into the wilds; public transport mainly just takes you to towns and cities (as you'd expect), and is expensive - cities are expensive. In real life I have met very few people at all that I can "connect" with.

I spend my days off alone, in my dream world, reading books, listening to music, drinking tea.

Life has the potential for so much... and yet I feel myself rotting away. I have no one and I feel that I am being denied the type of human experiences that one cherishes as part of a complete human existence: companionship, love, sex. A future. Hope. Change.

For I realise that I am ultimately the source of my downfall. I'm average looking and earn little money. But most significantly at all: I am a man without a purpose. Without direction. Nothing could possibly be more unattractive to a woman than this aspect. My Yin has gone. Each year seems more or less identical to the next; only briefer.

I look and hope for change, and am open for it: but I seem to lack the capacity for effecting it. I am master of my own destiny, yet I know not where to go, what to do, how to do it. I have expended vast amounts of effort and energy searching myself, looking for the answer.

Yet, despite years of trying, it has so far been fruitless. I look down upon myself: I dishonour myself. I utterly waste all my talents and capabilities; I disperse myself aimlessly without goals.

I feel profoundly low in energy of late. Days off are spent in quiet reflection, almost as if I have accepted defeat, the death of myself. A cloud of depression hangs around me. I live almost in a state of resignation. No one would really know, of course[2]: I go to work, I smile, I'm fine.

But not really.

I walk into the park, sit on the bench, marvel at the beauty of the sky; the sound of the trees whispering in the wind; the warming glow of a low sun in the winter.

I watch all the couples walk past, hand in hand, laughing, smiling, sharing a thousand tiny details: I watch and I wonder, why can't that ever be me?

And then I feel pathetic. Pathetic, and denied any opponent to allow me to conquer myself as much as them: For how does one acheive victory in such material, vapid times? Where shall I find my honour?

I write this blog to fight defeat: I write this blog to make some sort of challenge.

For one thing is certain. Life is a struggle, and all you can do is keep going.

[1] Hence the blog title. Sleipnir was Odin's magical eight legged steed, not merely a horse, but his gateway to the different spiritual realms. Symbolically, you could say, Sleipnir represented Odin's capability to transform and operate his life across all levels - material and spiritual - therefore, Sleipnir could never be a mere ordinary four legged horse. I am looking for a Sleipnir within myself to transform and ultimately free myself from myself*.

*Again, much as Odin sacrificed himself to himself, on the world tree Yggdrasil to gain wisdom (and knowledge of the runes, amongst other things). So, somehow or other, I need to frame a similar "rite of passage", of self-sacrifice, to emerge, hopefully, with clarity on where to go.

[2] Obviously anyone truly emotionally/spiritually perceptive - i.e. usually a woman, since generally their power of empathy and overall emotional receptivity is superior to us men - probably realises almost immediately, even if I seem apparently fine and cheerful. It hardly surprising, therefore, on the very rare occasions when I've got even remotely close to "meeting someone", that they are usually very quickly put off and steer clear. I guess I can't blame them.

Love, sex, death and lost time

2009-01-10T14:44:00.000-08:00

So tired this evening.

Your subjective experience of time definitely changes as you get older: for the general, shared wisdom is: as you get older, time seems to go faster.

The cynical, and obvious - and also, incidentally, materialistic - answer to this would be the following: as we get older, and accumulate an ever increasing store of experience, less and less events in daily life that are either new or remarkable. We build less new [unique] memories. Hence, correspondingly, what is reminiscent, what, if you will, forms the barometer of time, each year, has less new material. Each year becomes less distinctive and less substantial.

The less obvious and more profound observation is the increasing realisation that time is merely an inner perception: that as we decline and deteriorate in the material sphere, so we grow and expand into the spiritual sphere. The spiritual dimension is temporally unbounded.

For yet, without getting to bogged down in technical details, it is precisely our transcendental awareness of the infinite beyond time, the infinite beyond any finite form, that provides the rule whereby we are able to identify pattern, identify recurring forms, identify structures, and thus make the world intelligible to some degree.

So in my life, the years now are noticeably disappearing: I may only be 27, yet I now have a sense of the overall progression of my life. I have now got, in a way that I didn't really have, say 10, 5, or even 2-3 years ago, what Heidegger described as a "being towards death". This "being-towards-death" was part of dasein - being. In other words, death isn't merely some concept you acquire whereby you intellectually realise your existence is necessarily finite and bounded, and will end: rather, the very awareness of death - even if relatively faint, in the elixir of youth - is nevertheless something always present in your psyche, in your being: you carry death with you. This presents an existential gravity.

Sometimes, in depressive states, this awareness almost becomes a neurosis for me. It is not that I am afraid of death, any more or less than any other typical person. Rather, it is a sense of time "running out" as I strive to seek the sort of experiences that I feel are missing from my life. Nowhere is this conflict more acute than with thoughts over sex. And this is entirely logical: for death and sex are intrinsically linked, completing a great cycle of creation and destruction.

If we view loving sexual union as the point at which one is most perfectly harmonised, and most acutely actualising the physical dimension, so necessarily, is the logical counterpart to this death, as the point of the dissolution of the physical into not-physical, that which is the greatest actualisation of the spiritual principle. And so they connect, and at their apex they become one. Hence, why, it is precisely at this moment that one has the least perception of time, to the point where it almost does not exist, briefly. Also, why, philosophically, the French describe the orgasm as "le petite mort".

Whilst sex is the most acute example of the above, it occurs in infinitely other forms, if not, ultimately, with quite the same intensity. That is: whatever absorbs you, takes you "out of time" because it connects you with that which is beyond-you; it is from this beyond that we ultimately derive everything that gives us meaning.

So, to transpose the above into more general terms, I can say: "running out of time" for me is the state of spending too much of my life merely "in time". I flatten my existence when I do not give my being the opportunity to go beyond itself. I deny it the chance to "reach up to the gods".

Hence why modern life is often so crushing: the life of a modern office worker, chained to a PC for 8 hours a day, constantly monitoring a regulated "time", performing an activity that for virtualy every second claims a certain ownership to their existence by continually denying their awareness the opportunity of internal freedom through its enforced repetitive low-level mental tasks. Mentally escaping with awareness, during the allotted work hours, is therefore hard.

Note that this type of enforced mental state is drastically different from the type of Zen like awareness that is available when doing a repetitive, almost automatic, inherently physical task - such as sweeping leaves away off a path. This is sufficiently instinctual that it allows a clean structure within which an awareness can grow; the office drone is more akin to being trapped in a vast thicket of thorny bushes.

Sleepiness, fatigue and exhaustion are also highly conducive to inducing this awareness (like this evening, as I write this).

I don't - fortunately - have a the life of an office drone. I have done work such as this before, and detested it.

Nevertheless, I do feel that time is increasingly running out in terms of finding moments of clear awareness. Perhaps most significantly, the lack of any special person in my day to day life means that I have no one to share in this awareness. This is also perhaps suggestive of the link between sex and companionship. The relationship between them is that, properly arranged, they both partake of a shared awareness, and that having that "someone" in your life, means, on a metaphorical but also somewhat literal level, that you are constantly effectively having sex: even when, for the vast majority of the actual measured time you are "together", you are physically not (and indeed, not even physically present in the same space), of course. For they are "there" even when they are not "there", and you can effectively make something permanent beyond any particular sense of time. It remains for your lifetime - present. Love could perhaps be described as an ongoing sense of shared always present awareness between two people. That, which necessarily, precisely requires no explication in words, for it is already understood.

On a lesser level, we continually seek connections with other humans to experience this shared awareness. Fortunately this can still happen (and often with just as much, sometimes greater, intensity) in a huge variety of indirect forms: the written word, music, poetry, a history. Or somebodys blog.

I suppose I am being rather obscure in all of the above, but I am trying to release a flood of thoughts into a stream of consciousness to get it down, rather than try to form an entirely coherent body of thought.

I am making my own "time" beyond time - so for a while, at least briefly, I am not running short.

The 2009 New Year's meme quiz

2009-01-03T14:38:00.000-08:00

Well, from reading Vesper's lovely blog, I feel I cannot but follow suit and propagate the quiz meme she's answered onto yet another blog, so here goes. I suppose, somewhat lazily, it provides a topic/framework for me to write on without having to go to the effort of constructing a fresh one for myself!

As she points out, blogging is a process of discovery (particularly of self) - made infinitely more interesting by the prospect of an audience, however abstract that might be (for, in reality and probably likelihood, your words may just disappear into the overflowing ether of cyberspace heeded by practically no one). But regardless, the very fact that someone might, can, or will read what you have written, does give it an extra element of intensity: for every writer wants someone to read them. It is perhaps, in the smallest sense, an opportunity for a slight grasp of immortality; for you will exist as long as there is someone to hear you, even from the grave.

For the written word presents something incredibly rare: the chance for truly authentic, uncoloured, direct communication. Unlike the blinds and social respectability that common conversation enforces.

We might be accountable, as she points out; but we are also, simultaneously, free; most significantly, probably freer than anywhere else to really communicate, unabashedly.

Anyway. Here goes with this little quiz thing.

1. What did you do in 2008 that you’d never done before?

Set up and maintain a blog with at least some level of consistency. Although I have previously created a blog, it was a short lived affair with no stability; after an initial explosion of inspiration, it disappeared as quickly as it arrived, as it died a death as I felt I had nothing to say at the time. It had zero durability. I have improved in terms of persistance and patience, awareness of myself.

2. Did you keep your new years’ resolutions, and will you make more for next year?

I had no specific resolutions that I recall. I lacked the required insight into my own situation to make any truly meaningful ones that had the necessary qualities of targeted specificity with ostensible goals. So they fell into generic, and hence empty resolutions, devoid of real elements under my direct control - i.e. they were simply platitudes of "find love", "earn more money", etc., etc.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?

No.

4. Did anyone close to you die?

No. Not in a literal sense, anyway.

5. What countries did you visit?

None, sadly.

6. What would you like to have in 2009 that you lacked in 2008?

Where to start! Home, love, money. Pretty fundamental things.

But I shall be honest, and quite basic: sex.

7. What date from 2008 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?

No particular date. 2008 was a year of the realisation, in an experiential sense, of the fact that we give temporal definition to our lives through awareness. We connect with what we incorporate into our being; it is in this sense that the past is truly "alive" for us here and now, in this very moment. It is always available provided one is present and alert to the moment; present and alert to oneself; present and alert to being. Time is by equal measure both scarce and infinite.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?

Taking a stand on a long running personal family issue of mine, that required me to be both authentic to myself, and demonstrate strength of character. Since it concerned something that was not easy to tackle, but was necessary; and that required accepted and facing the consequences of.

9. What was your biggest failure?

Being unable to clearly take control of my life into a direction I wish it to go. Continually, as usual, vacillating between too many diluted goals and directions.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?

None notable. Physical health at least, overall, has been superb. In fact I have practically not had a single cold all year; or indeed barely for the last two years.

11. What was the best thing you bought?

Nothing particularly of note. Perhaps, as incredibly mundane as it is, a soft shell jacket that has proved itself highly useful across a wide range of typical British weather.

12. Whose behaviour merited celebration?

My mother. Under difficult financial circumstances she has managed to separate from her partner, secure a wonderful home (despite limited funds) and build a new life for herself; as usual she single-handedly has moved, shifted and done all the work pretty much for herself.

13. Whose behaviour made you appalled and depressed?

Appalled? No one in particular, since that would imply surprise, as if I realistically expected any different from the people concerned. Depressed? Again no one particular person, but perhaps the seeming spiritual barrenness and lack of Dasein (being) that the Western world, as a whole, seems to further lack, as in many ways it just continues to decline...

14. Where did most of your money go?

Rent, as usual. What a waste. But how an earth to afford my own home?

15. What did you get really, really, really excited about?

Actually getting a date for the first time in 2 years, pathetic as that sounds. Unfortunately the excitement ultimately proved unfounded...

16. What song will always remind you of 2008?

John Dowland's In darkness let me dwell. Dowland was a late 16th century lutenist and Elizabethan era English composer. His music is profoundly beautiful, melancholic, and cathartic. The lyrics to his songs are poetry of the highest calibre with exquisite use of language.

I saw Emma Kirkby, a brilliant soprano, and Anthony Rooley, a superb lutenist perform a concert of his songs towards the end of last year.

The final song, appropriately enough, was the aformentioned one.

The ending, the final notes, as it drifts off into silence, were heavy with the intensity of a collective catharsis; a true pathos, timeless, and utterly human. It was a few seconds that will be forever engrained on my memory.

17. Compared to this time last year, are you:
- i. happier or sadder? Happier since at least I have a job I like. Sadder in the sense that life seems to be a continual battle from within. Sadder since I feel a greater sense of existential gravity.
- ii. thinner or fatter? Thinner, barely. I vary very little.
- iii. richer or poorer? Richer. Which is a highly relative term that merely means "slightly less in debt".

18. What do you wish you’d done more of?

As related to number 6. Yes, sex. Any at all would have been a start!

Otherwise, hiking, walking, cycling, kiting; anything that involves being out in nature in beautiful surroundings and fresh air.

19. What do you wish you’d done less of?

Staring into space feeling hopeless. Having periods of feeling energetically zapped in a depressive gloom.

20. Did you fall in love in 2008?

Categorically no. Unfortunately. Unfortunately. Sadly.

21. How many one-night stands?

As should be pretty clear from previous answers, necessarily precisely zero.

22. What was your favourite TV program?

Scarce few options. My favourite new program was probably Stephen Fry's documentary series covering his travels across America. Simon Schauma's history/documentary on the American political history/future.

23. Do you hate anyone now that you didn’t hate this time last year?

I don't have any particular person I direct hatred towards. Apart from anything else, it is an immense waste of energy. People I strongly dislike I tend to filter out, ignore, forget about, not engage and not choose to waste any energy over.

24. What was the best book you read?

Now this is an especially difficult question. Several choices. Probably Alain de Benoist's On Being A Pagan towards the end of the year.

25. What was your greatest musical discovery?

Messaien's Vingt Regards sur l'enfant Jésus or Brahm's Ballades (and the rest of his solo piano output, for that matter).

26. What did you want and get?

iRex iLiad electronic book (e-ink) reader. It is superb, though it still hasn't torn me away from paper books, if you'd excuse the pun!

27. What did you want and not get?

All the things that really matter. Love. Sex. A proper home. A true sense of direction in a specific career sense.

28. What were your favourite films of this year?

A very lean year for films for me; I've barely been to the cinema and have seen few new films. In fact I watched fewer films that practically ever before. I suppose I haven't felt like going and renting new DVDs for watching just by my lonesome.

At the risk of getting laughed at: Rambo. I found the grittyness and almost existentialist sense of grimness, violence, and inability of fundamental human change (collectively) quite cathartic. I also enjoyed the Pursuit Of Happiness, right at the end of the year.

My true love is world cinema, and disappointingly (with myself, as much as anything) did not watch anything new in this regard.

29. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?

27 rotations around Sol. Absolutely nothing. It was day of disappointment, and above all, isolation.

30. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?

Finding someone to really connect with in person. And by connect, I certainly don't mean just sex (although that could certainly have featured!), since I just mean in general with a person of either sex.

31. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2008?

Fashion concept? I am not one for fashion, particularly. Goal was well tapered, form fitting clothes rather than baggy, shapeless garments that just hang of me.

32. What kept you sane?

The usual: books. Music. Conversation, communication, recognition with a very small number of online contacts and a few people important to me in real life.

33. Which celebrity/public figure did you fancy the most?

No idea. Have no interest in celebrities or public figures really.

34. What political issue stirred you the most?

I cannot recall a specific issue. I suppose I have been insular and measuring things against less obviously worldly measures.

35. Whom did you miss?

My ex, from time to time. I hope to visit her in her new home in 2009.

36. Who was the best new person you met?

Unquestionably a particular female friend I have made over Facebook who is resident in Colorado Springs. Her quirky reflections on life and musings on the peculiarities of the place she lives in and people that populate it have cheered me up on numerous occasions. She's also one of the few rare people I feel I can at least on some level identify with.

37. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2008:

Life is a continual struggle: this is something learnt not just as something merely theoretical (for that is both obvious and something you learn very young), but from the very depths of my being. The innate growing sense of one's own mortality (not that I am old by any stretch; simply that unlike a teenager, you don't have a sense that you will almost "live forever", since death seems like such an abstract concept) is what makes the awareness more acute.

On the the sense that it is only in the recent couple of years that I am starting to form a true comprehension as to who I really am. This is a gradual process of awakening.

38. Quote a song lyric that sums up your year:

From John Dowland's In darkness let me dwell

"In darkness let me dwell; the ground shall sorrow be,
The roof despair, to bar all cheerful light from me;
The walls of marble black, that moist'ned still shall weep;
My music, hellish jarring sounds, to banish friendly sleep.
Thus, wedded to my woes, and bedded in my tomb,
O let me dying live, till death doth come, till death doth come.

In darkness let me dwell"

Sad, bleak; but beautiful in its pathos and intensity.

Yule - a happy solitude. On televisual mind-rotting and books.

2008-12-30T12:39:00.000-08:00

I had just a couple of days off for Yule, so visited my mother to make the most of it. She lives on Anglesey now, which meant that I was able to spend my time there exactly how I like it: peaceful tranquility, "far from the maddening crowd". The above picture was taken on Aberffraw beach on Thor's day (i.e. Xmas day). The sky was incredibly beautiful, shades of crimson and topaz setting behind the Snowdonia mountains in the background.

Most television programs broadcast today, generally speaking, represent an abomination of mediocrity and turgid mindlessness, but never before can I remember there being such a dearth of anything remotely worth watching as over this festive period. When I say that there was nothing - I mean it completely literally. A morass of reality television and populist "light entertainment" (sarcasm fully intended). Apart from watching a DVD (The Pursuit Of Happiness, with Will Smith, which was, quite surprisingly (given my initial scepticism about Mr. Smith's capabilities of acting a "serious" role), fairly good), the television never actually went on. Music all the way - Brahm's piano works and Bruckner symphonies.

Where were all the films? Are all the television channels cost-cutting in the present economic climate and showing infinitely cheaper (in all senses of the word) reality TV shows?

Bah humbug, and all that. Give me a decent book any day. My disdain of modern television broadcasting has reached the point where I almost view it as actually mentally toxic. I am one of these people that will quite specifically make sure to always mute the television when adverts come on; I find nothing more grating that being subjected to a barrage of manipulative images and sounds - particularly since some of them are known to deploy almost subliminal images to product place something into your unconscious. We all have enough mental garbage to automatically filter out in modern life without adding more.

Unfortunately, I can't be in such an exquisitely beautiful place all the time. And so I disappear into my inner world. Which in large part, for me, is through books. My overcrowded bookshelf - modest as it is; I dream of my own house, with my own "library" - a room filled with bookshelves packed with hundreds, if not thousands of books - is my portal somewhere else, somewhere higher. When your immediate surroundings represent a poverty of beauty; I don't even have my own home, not even an incredibly modest dwelling, simply a cramped room I rent in a shared, messy and ugly house, in an unremarkable set of streets; then you have to either compensate with your inner world, or fall prey to mental illness (which comes in many disguised forms in the modern era). Or at least, in my case, anyway. Opportunities to truly escape are rare, so cherished when they occur.

It's the usual conundrum: the places where you'd like to live don't generally have much in the way of available jobs. And cities are infinitely more pleasant if you're rich (which I'm not, obviously).

So, one can but struggle on.

From dental pain to Messiaen

2008-12-18T15:11:00.000-08:00

It has been an extremely busy week so far.

Little time to be. Apart from longer hours at work during this busy Yuletide, I have had to subject myself to the personal horror of the dentist - be cursed the modern diet and my poor dental genetics. I feel like I'm fighting a losing war when trying to keep all my teeth healthy, despite endless brushing, mouthwashes, etc, etc.

Such is the mundane sphere of life.

Still, last night was an experience to remember. For I had the inestimable enlightenment served by seeing a performance of a truly rarefied order of mastery. I saw Steven Osborne perform Messiaen's Vingt Regards sur l'enfant Jésus here at the Sage in Gateshead.

Ostensibly this is a deeply religious, Christian work. One could easily form pre-conceptions about its content from the subtitle, which is on the theme of the Nativity.

But lest anyone assume that what we have here is some syrupy, meek, parochial and insipid devotional to the Christian faith, they couldn't be more wrong. And most importantly, we have an example of devout religiosity ultimately serving Art as the highest exemplar; for what we have here is music of utterly exceptional quality. Through Osborne, this music is served by an interpretor of such ability that he possesses the necessary capacity to render this music - for this is very difficult, very obtuse and highly inaccessible music.

If anything, this music should come with a warning. For, it may only apparently be a work for a solo piano, but it is surely some of the most violent, extreme and demanding music ever created. I can state this with confidence from the perspective of someone whose musical tastes could be described as extremely eclectic, unconventional, and in many cases highly extreme in comparison to cultural norms.

When I say demanding, I should clarify that it is in equal measure for the listener as well as the performer. First off, we have a continuous piece of music (in twenty sections) for solo instrument that lasts in excess of two hours - and the concert, quite appropriately given the musical content, was performed without an interval or break. Next, we have the extraordinarily chromatic and polytonal musical tonality - no adherence to happy major keys or simple chord structures here. Into the mix we have an astonishing dynamic range, from the gentlest notes barely disturbing the substrate of silence... to a colossal cacophony, a veritable battery; a grand piano assault. Finally, we have the immensely complex structure to the piece; tied together throughout with the original theme introduced in the very first part.

It is often said that the silence, the space between notes, is absolutely as important as the notes themselves; nowhere is this more true than here. This work positively dances around silence; before exploding out as if in some Old Testament Divine judgement from the Almighty, to rip into the backdrop of silence and populate it with multifaceted, ambiguous forms. In that respect it reflects life.

It is a work that is sublime and fantastic in the most absolutely literal sense of those two words. For me, the real essence of the work distils down to the following conflict: the tension between the transcendent and the immanent.

I am currently reading de Benoist's On Being A Pagan, which is a book written by an author of great learning and insight. Interestingly, the process of reading this book deepened my experience of the concert last night.

For, in dialectically contrasting the traditional Pagan/polytheist teleology with its usurpation by the [currently] prevailing Judeo-Christian/monotheist world view, I was drawn into recognising features in the music that correspond to the philosophical and theological precepts discussed in this book. Specifically, the Otherness, the great, unapproachable Other that characterises the relationship man has towards God in the Judeo-Christian world view. Judaism's Yahweh is distinctly not of this world; he is the creator, or more impotantly, the ultimate authority, the Law and the Word of this world. For all the ancient Pagan religions, the gods are distinctly a part of this world; they interact through this world; they are idealised Man; they are not some impossible Other: permanently [virtually] unreachable, intractable, and entirely transcendent not-being.

Anyway, the reason I draw inferences to this point is that Messaien's music, and especially this piece, seems to struggle with the reconciliation of this primordial alienation with the equally primordial being as a being in this world. These are themes that Nietzsche, and more recently, Heidegger elaborate on. For, in the final analysis, as a human being, one must partake of what is humanising.

The work occupies a realm of tremendous spiritual depth but also one that is almost cold, existentially terrifying, and somewhat detached from this world. Chilling sections are contrasted by violent episodes that almost suggest a Divine authority from above crushing you from without; or, conversely, with the inner struggle of man to acheive supremacy over himself, to reintegrate into a whole what for most of the time feels like a mysterious and discontiguous assemblage of unknowables. This is definitely an innately human quality that anyone who reflects on the human conundrum must experience at least some of the time.

The work gradually metamorphises and the grand reconciliation begins to seem possible; through intensity the two elements - id and ego; unconciousness and conciousness; intuition and intellect; transcendent and immanent; spirit and form - seem to achieve the necessary higher synthesis and coalesce into a recognisable whole.

Messaien's approaches the line from the side of the Other and gradually reaches down to the ground of common experience by always, musically looking up, to the beyond. His is the calculus of finding the particular from the universal.

It only takes a listener willing to open themselves up to the experience to recognise the great uncommunicable, spiritual unity visible in this work - regardless of their personal religious and spiritual views. This is music that truly does transcend.

Gender stereotypes, being a miserable bastard (purportedly), and love (lack thereof)

2008-12-11T14:40:00.000-08:00

I suppose it isn't surprising - since it makes perfect biological sense - but it is nevertheless a source of continual amazement to me how, when it comes to the world of human attraction, that even in the supposedly enlightened 21st century, we are still stuck in an apparent pattern of very rigid gender typing.

And at the risk of igniting a cultural veritable hot potato, it does seem to be accentuated in the North vs. South thing, here in England.

As soon as you start talking about Northerners or Southerners one is immediately on shaky ground. But irrespective, it is rather a hobby of pretty much every English person, so why not ;-)

The generalisation I have personally observed - insert disclaimer here - is that people in the North tend to be more overtly gender typed than in the South. On average.

So, basically, what I'm saying is that the men up here tend to be very bloke-ish - so lots of bravado, braggadocio, machismo, and the portrayal, in general, of a thick skin and a habit to simply laugh things up and, wherever possible, to take the piss [out of each other].

The more "feminine" qualities of empathy, support, and well, refinement, for want of a better word, are less cherished.

Now, this obviously occurs in the South too. But in my circle of acquaintances "down there" (e.g. Woking, Surrey), in comparison with up here (e.g. Newcastle-Upon-Tyne), it was noticeably less, well, overtly gender stereotyped.

There does seem to be more of a hard-drinking background up here too. I suppose it is perhaps a case of the historical working class background "dying hard".

So, to put all of the above into an example, if I'm feeling low then my circle of (male, and yes, also straight) friends down South were more inclined to try to cheer me up and offer sympathy, engage me in conversation; up here they are more likely to make jokes about my misfortunes and perhaps try to cheer me up by getting me to laugh it off.

But anyway, pointless comparisons between North and South aside, and still generally applicable to both equally, and probably the UK as a whole, this gender stereotyping reveals itself more starkly than anywhere else on a night out.

Boys have to be boys, girls have to be girls, so to speak.

What I find ironic, is that the qualities that women seem to want in terms of their behaviour - at least when they're out on a night - from their men are not what they actually seem to want when they describe what they want during (sober) conversation.

I suppose a man who espouses "alpha" qualities is perceived as having more sexual prowess and power, and of possessing more of the masculine principle; therefore they are more attractive, in general. At least initially. In terms of actually having a relationship with someone, if they are orientated towards the extreme pole of their particular gender, then this will make them more difficult in terms of compatibility for a successful stable partnership; they would probably need to be counterbalanced by someone equally as extremely orientated towards the other pole.

Still.

I'm not personally into heavy drinking, bragging, showmanship, and overt "laddishness". (And I'm not claiming that I've never done any of this in my life either, since that would be a lie).

But it is a shame that it seems to be assumed that if you don't have these characteristics, then you are less masculine (and viz., less attractive). That seems to be the common cultural gender archetype over here [in the UK].

To give an example: my idea of a good night out is a nice meal with friends and good conversation. I'd much rather have a intimate meal over a bottle of wine with a lovely woman than go on a binge drinking pub crawl getting plastered with her. Etc.

I suppose I would like to identify myself with a more "continental" archetype; slightly quiet, relatively serious, somewhat intense, philosophical, and passionate. Perhaps I am overbearing - what can I say. My favourite writers include such luminaries as Arthur Schopanhauer, Friedrich Nietzsche, Immanuel Kant...

Pah. I'm probably doomed. Just because I'm a serious type doesn't mean I'm not fun. Or at least, I hope that is the case. Besides, I don't see fun and seriousness as two diametrically opposing concepts. One can have fun... seriously, surely ;-)

Odin's soil

2008-12-10T14:29:00.000-08:00

My time of need
Where the aimless and unidentifiable moment
a frozen river, still; then gone
so my memory passes, seeking purchase
on some outcrop of truth
a small victory, against a tide of escaping time
swept into a blank sea
finally resurfacing, clambering aboard
a small boat, a vessel of hope
finding bedrock on awareness
ashore, upon Odin's soil;
finally, earthed
restored

Poverty in the true sense of the word

2008-12-08T14:36:00.001-08:00

Perhaps it is a function of an ever expanding memory (in terms of the library of life experiences), but life increasingly seems like a dream world. Increasingly, I find myself projecting myself somewhere else; either recollecting images from the past, or imagining new, possible futures. Yeah, daydreaming as it were. Increasingly so. But isn't daydreaming the norm, interrupted by brief excursions into so called "normality"?

Australian Aboriginals were no doubt correct to view the dream world as being ever bit as real (if not more so) than "real life". For how much of the time can one say that one is fully present in the moment? Or perhaps one should ask, how often would one want to be fully present in the moment? For, unless you are fortunate (or, speaking satirically, Buddhist), a moment by moment analysis would reveal a cruel fate of tedium, boredom, endless repetitive tasks, an impossible struggle with entropy.

But this question is probably negatively coloured by my own personal experience [of being presently "stuck"]. For, one would have great joy in being fully present, fully attentive, fully aware of the moment if one is doing what one truly believes your life purpose is. In other words, if you are fortunate in that your life's work is spiritually or perhaps intellectually fulfilling - for properly [inwardly] directed, any intellectual pursuit can become a spiritual exercise.

I am guilty of insularity sometimes, probably more through a tendency to withdraw into myself due to a lack of [apparent] availability of what I truly need from what is externally present in my day to day life, rather than through some type of misanthropic or innately anti-social prejudice.

Life's work; life's joy. It really can be a bitch to find; or perhaps, rather, pursue. In the Western world the ultimate chain is debt; credit, far from being a freedom, is ultimately always a denial of freedom. For to accrue debt is to give away ownership of your own life to a concomitant degree. If you're not able to financially unlock the chain through earnings, your only way to break the chain is to allow it sink to the bottom of the material sea, and take with it every single possession, every single external thing about your life; everything thing except what is most important; yourself. So in that sense, you can be truly free again. But that is both artificial and too idealistic.

So you sell a little piece of your soul every time you need to borrow a penny - certainly when the person lending the penny is a faceless organisation, an abstract corporate entity.

Life has never been a panacea for anyone, but the defining quest of freedom is the search for oneself. The search to make the life one leads authentic towards yourself - the search to make the inner and the outer worlds reflections of each other, different only by degree.

On that set of parameters, I have an awful long way to go...

The architecture of sexual desire

2008-12-07T07:28:00.000-08:00

There seems to be an increasingly stark contrast between my mundane life and the my intelligible life.

Work is about wearing a mask to some degree. Interaction with anyone but the closest and deepest of friends involves wearing a mask. The working week, the normal week, is a constant occupation of the mundane sphere, where everything is structured according to time. Morning, wake up, breakfast, leave house; various tasks at work, lunch; lunch break - enter the intelligible world - over; afternoon, various tasks; finish work, walk home; prepare stuff, go to gym; return home, cook and eat; various tasks; internet, books, music a brief period of time to return to awareness.

Being non-stop from seven in the morning to nine in the evening doesn't leave a great deal of time for much else. And this sort of schedule is pretty normal for a lot of people who live in the West. So many things; in the Western world we have so many forms, that is, material objects. Clutter. Clutter in mind.

Perhaps one of the particular joys of climbing a mountain is the sense of space, free from clutter, free from endless material junk. Free, if only for a while, from time.

It is easy to see why certain major religions, particularly Christianity, effectively regard sex as a "sin". Sin, properly understood in this context, should be taken to be obsession with form, with the material object as its goal, to the exclusion of higher spiritual precepts. As a man in his twenties, one can certainly easily identify with the originating basis of this prescription; a person in harmony with oneself, can conquer the sense of loneliness and detachment one can often feel, and transform it into a comfortable solitude; a peaceful existence free from the endless and constant superficial intrusions of Western noise. The sense of sexual desire, never. Not authentically I believe. People may conquer it through a sense of denial, and a prescription of "sin" to cast it into a negative light might allow them to intellectually justify a denial of what ultimately is a fundamental basis of being human; but it will always remain.

In this sense, it is both the biggest enemy - as an inclination that will never be fully satisfied; as a feeling so powerful it can drive someone to complete self-destruction or violence (in whatever form) - and the biggest strength - as a chance to existentially connect with the limitless spiritual basis of authentic being; a chance to fully harmonise with oneself completely.

Those of us who identify more intimately with a Pagan theogony, who see ourselves as spiritually connected in the world as a part of nature rather than above it, who feel no need to separate the animal nature as being automatically inferior, rather than to merely recognise its characteristic as integrated into our sense of being; we see sex as an overwhelming positive force. Positive, but still cruel, where it is unavailable.

If love is the Ideal, as the intelligible spiritual synthesis for the hamonising principle between two people, sex is frequently the catalyst, and always a chance to bring a little of the intelligible world into the mundane, even if it does so completely outside the realm of love; for providing it is done willingly, consensually, and with genuine desire, it is always therefore authentic, and to this degree the persons involved always share an existential, and necessarily to some degree, spiritual experience.

So, to be denied this key, an incredibly powerful and overwhelmingly immediate one at that, is just one more frustrating closure of from the authentic sense of self that you seek. The denial carries with it the additional penalty of being a constant laborious distraction; for it feels like the golden apple that is always just out of reach, yet always visible.

Freedom, where art thou?

2008-11-29T13:52:00.000-08:00

In a shitty mood today. One of the particular modes of depression is a feeling of being immensely trapped. Freedom is an elusive ideal; perhaps more than any other, it is one of the defining characteristics of the human situation.

Frequently I get sick of the seeming banality and changeless stasis of my life. One week passes by much like the previous, and much like the next. Going nowhere, doing nothing much. Living in a room. An external prison mirroring your internal one. It is so easy to dream of all the places on the planet you could be, all the things you could be doing. But you're stuck in a prison that you don't know how to escape from - no money, no car, no proper home. Television programs and films can offer up an acute form of torture; you see places you wish you could be, see people doing things you wish you could be doing, people living lives you wish you could live.

The difference in quality between the child like sense of wonder and openness is that when life hasn't worked out how you planned, when your dreams seem to have been crushed... instead of dreaming and wishing with the residual optimism that "I'll do that someday", this feeling is instead replaced by the emptiness resulting from "I'll never get a chance to do that before I die". A sense of dreaming has been replaced by a sense of loss.

Of course you can't possibly know that for a fact, generally speaking, but it isn't about objectivity. It is about the feeling. It becomes difficult not to feel bitter.

And it is a grim, dark, and miserable place to be. A place barren of hope. Alone.

It wouldn't be so bad if you had some firm idea about what to do to change things. But when you can't see a way forward - then your soul might as well be sucked out of you, for you start to feel like merely a breathing corpse.

We all get glimpses of freedom. But increasingly they feel like mere shafts of light reaching down from a high ceiling in a dark cold cave; tantalising but ultimately unreachable.

Some one: Someone and blogging

2008-11-28T15:40:00.000-08:00

It is, indeed, a wonder that anyone finds anyone at all.

First off, the logistics. Most people, after a while, settle into a steady job. Even if they work in a big corporation, in reality they interact with a relatively limited number of people who they see on an almost daily basis.

Assuming that no one finds love through their workplace, that obviously means they have to find it outside. Now a typical job is somewhere in the region of 40 hours per week. Add to that average commute times, and in general we could say, quite reasonably, that 50 hours per week of the 168 are taken up by work. That leaves about 118. Of those 118, based on an average of 8 hours sleep per night, that uses up an additional 56 hours, which reduces the available hours to 62.

Now, during the working week, average Joe or Jane then has to do all the usual chores around the house such as cooking, cleaning, washing and, of course, relaxing - which is of course usually a solitary exercise if someone is single, be it reading a book, watching a film or some junk on TV, etc. Including the time spent getting ready in the mornings, it is quite reasonable to suggest this takes up another 2-3 hours per day. Anything that doesn't get done during the week will get dumped at the weekend or days off, so even these days will have a similar time usage. So that is another 21 hours, taking our remaining time down to 41 hours.

We then have food shopping and time spent out the house doing other necessary non-recreational tasks, which easily uses up another, say, 5-6 hours per week. So down to 35 hours.

People that want to be healthy and fit (and by logic, anyone who is single probably wants to do their best to improve these aspects) need to do some type of regular exercise, of whatever variety whether it be going to the gym or cycling. So, based on an average level of exercise, including time showering, commuting to/from gym or other necessary preparations, we can say that this takes up at least another 6 hours per week. So 29 hours or so. Of these 29 recreational hours per week, most people will be lucky to have 1-2 hours actually spare in the evenings. Although people can and do socialise during the working week, typically most people will be tired and just want to crash out at home for these free hours. So that's another 10 hours gone. Down to 19 hours. Most people have two days off per week, so the majority of the 19 hours left for socialising will take place over these two days. Most real socialising - of the type where you can attempt to find someone of the opposite sex - tends to take place in the evening, say from 8PM till 3AM, which leaves us with 16 hours. On a typical working week this would be Friday and Saturday evenings. This is assuming someone goes out both nights, every week. Although some people will, probably most will go out on a proper night out once per week. So down to 8 hours.

Of these 8 hours, we then have a very hit and miss scenario. Most pubs and clubs have very loud background noise and music levels so real in depth conversation is not possible. Assuming this to be so, we are left with the more basic "dance floor" scenario to meet someone. Most people won't hit the dance floor until later on in the evening after several drinks, so probably from 11 or 12 onwards. So down to 3 hours.

That's a pretty low percentage opportunity. 3 hours. And to meet what? A pure random physical (and probably short lived) attraction, if you're lucky? The likelihood of finding someone you are genuinely compatible with is extremely low.

Of course I realise this analysis is unduly pessimistic, grossly so, as every moment in life, is, theoretically, an opportunity to meet some special someone. You might bump into them at the supermarket. You might talk to them in the street. You might even meet them over the internet. Whatever.

The point is, it is nevertheless surprising anyone finds anyone they are genuinely compatible with at all in the modern world. The fact is they do, but it is against all odds, rather than with the confluence of any - certainly if you look at the matter from a materialistic perspective. In fact the odds of even meeting someone you aren't compatible with but at least have some superficial attraction that goes a little somewhere is still pretty low - generally speaking.

I should add that this cursory analysis took an "average Joe" example doing an "average Joe" life. Some people are fortunate in that they have amazing jobs and lives, where every day is filled meeting new people, doing interesting things, going to interesting places, etc. But my example looks at the more mundane sphere of a typical job working in somewhere like an office or wherever.

It has been correctly pointed out that a better method of meeting someone is to join a club or participate in some community or activity whereby you stand a chance of meeting some "like minded" people. Even that is still not a high probability, necessarily, since many types of clubs/activities won't have a high turn out of appropriate aged people and much of a potential attraction base. Furthermore, sharing an interest doesn't mean that you are alike or a good match with someone, even if we were to presume that the initial attraction and match was there.

The aim of this rather vague and rambling, overly empirical analysis of the world of human attraction, was perhaps to underline in a rather mundane way the difficulty in even encountering reasonable numbers of at least potential matches. You can construct scenarios - such as speed dating sessions, etc. - but the inevitable result is that they are always, necessarily, rather contrived and artificial. I did once come across a post on the internet by a statistician who subjected the entire population of the planet to a set of reasonable assumptions with the result that the typical individual might have 11000 potential matches, world wide. Or something of that order. Reducing that to ones in the geographical vicinity, you start to realise the improbability of meeting such a person when one considers this expressed as a percentage in relation to the population of the planet. Something dismally small. This was based on a set of quite reasonable assumptions and basic facts, nothing "deep".

So we have a small potential base, of which to meet someone. So if you're looking for someone who isn't just merely a bit of fun to be around, but someone who, as it were, was a true spiritual match, someone you instinctively understand, someone who you truly resonate with, someone who... completes you... Well, then, that is a tough proposition.

Non-empirical factors of course do ultimately seem to shape human relationships, for most people do meet that someone (or indeed several, over a lifetime). But it can feel like an impossible dream sometimes.

Is blogging a fundamentally egotistical activity? The answer probably is yes. As a diary, it is a means of self-exploration. The fact that a blog allows you to publicly air your thoughts, but at the same time to a fundamentally anonymous audience, does change the dynamic somewhat. Most blogs out there, amongst the vast numbers on the internet, are primarily only of interest to the person writing them, and the fact of the matter is they probably barely get read by a single other person. Just yet another clump of data in a vast electronic soup.

That, however, is not the point. The point is the very possibility that they could be [read by a particular someone] modifies the whole essence of the writing. The hidden (but assumed) agenda behind every blog - is the possibility of connecting with someone else who understands. This lies at the basis, as a component, of every piece of writing, of whatever type. The knowledge that it is being published - even if that is purely electronically on some random web page amongst thousands of others - is nevertheless a huge advance over merely writing something that probably won't ever see the light of day in any form. A writer fundamentally always wants some sort of audience. For, it is an opportunity to actually be heard - to genuinely say something, rather than merely utter pleasantries or mechanic social parlance. We all say many words without actually necessarily saying much. A large part of conversations are merely social lubrication or mundane information exchange, rather than true human to human communication about the mysteries of life.

The written word quite often has a cogency, authenticity and level of expression missing from most spoken conversations in the real world, where there are always some degree of barriers erected, even amongst good friends.

A blog is usually a story about the individual life experiences of the particular person's own life. An autobiography. So, the real agenda - regardless of whether the person is happily married, with someone, or not - is the hope that somewhere, out there, in the vast and incalculable electronic nexus of the web, will be some one, someone, who reads, and understands. Not on a rational or even intellectual level. Beyond that; on an intuitive level. On a spiritual level. For, in effect, it is a means of confirming one's own existence; a moment of existential recognition. Everyone has that need buried in them somewhere, regardless of how strong or self-secure they may suppose themselves to be.

Some blogs are a lot more personal than others. Some are a lot more detailed. Some deal a lot more with "external" [life] rather than "internal" events. Regardless. The same fundamental principle underlies them all - else they would simple keep their writing to themselves on some personal computer file. Blogs are about sharing, in a more or less uninhibited fashion. So in that respect, they are altruistic as much as they are egotistic. A lovely paradox.

Or probably just a truism if one looks at the matter on a deeper level.

Brahm's piano music

2008-11-26T14:39:00.000-08:00

Brahms was a mighty composer in every sense of the term. All of Brahms music requires depth, conviction, and above all, authority.

The composers that normally first get name-checked as the greats are typically Beethoven, Mozart, Bach... all with some, quite considerable, justification. Brahms is one who slips somewhat under the radar, yet in my opinion stands comparison with any composer and deserves to be counted among the absolute elite.

As sweeping and majestic as his symphonic works are, Brahms himself was first and foremost a pianist - and a truly formidable one, at that. So deciding to rectify a gap in my collection, I decided it was time to obtain a survey of his solo piano music, and so I awhile back I got Gehard Oppitz's complete cycle on RCA, a modern digital recording.

This is music of profound beauty, depth, and above all moment. The exemplary pianism conveys the sheer gravity of the notes. Brahm's delicate melodic lines carry with them an almost transcendental expression; crystallising in the air, the essential silence around them providing a foundation for the tremendous spiritual depth of the music. The playing is often beautifully subtle, in equal balance to the sheer fortitude required to drive the music forward. Yet the music always flows; steeped in the traditional dances from which he drew significant influence. This is not music about flurries of notes, arpeggios, or indeed any overt displays of technique. It is so much more than that. There is none of the whimsical, self-indulgent, and almost childish - perhaps naive would be the fairer term - but above all, superfluous melodic lines that virtually overflow from Mozart's piano sonatas. For where Mozart would lapse into showmanship, every note in Brahm's music is vital, considered, and deeply resonant.

I contrast Brahm's with Mozart since for me they are almost antithetical to each other, despite the fact that necessarily Brahm's owes much to the Classical tradition [that Mozart helped forge] - Brahm's sought a higher synthesis of the Classical and Romantic traditions. Needless to say it should be obvious whom I favour. Mozart's finest works came near the end of his life, where it becomes apparent in his music that there is a spiritual depth, but above all, maturity, somewhat absent from his earlier music - his Requiem being a particular example. No one could deny his prodigious genius and unparalleled melodic ingenuity; but a certain sense of true awareness of the inherently human situation seems lacking, and in such cases we are left with elegant, extremely attractive but perhaps slightly superficial music. One that reflects a certain vanity - though an incredibly productive one - due to self-involvement rather than service to the fundamental Mysteries of life.

Brahm's has a depth and awareness that is incredibly manifest coupled with an incredible economy of line, without ever sounding dry or ascetic. There is tremendous tonal and harmonic complexity in this music, yet it always remains beautifully melodic. Each sonata is, in effect, an entire symphony in itself, with huge dynamic demands.

I suppose it should be obvious that this is without doubt some of the finest and most exquisite music I have ever heard. This is art of the highest possible calibre. It communicates with an erudition that words struggle to approach; this is music in service to Art in its highest and most perfect form; it goes beyond, and suggests towards that which is but Ideality, as the limit of which Art is merely the tool that simply can but strive; can suggest, without stating.

Oppitz, as both communicator and interpretor - whilst I have limited alternative recordings upon which to draw comparisons - plays at all times with what seems like an absolute command and intuitive understanding of the requirements of Brahm's composition. He combines effortless technical mastery with a true musical understanding. It is difficult to imagine this music being better represented than we have here.

--

Life seems like a rushed miasma interspersed with existential moments. Brief interludes, when, paradoxically, the artifice of this endless torrent is washed away with a sense of the timeless, limitless; the sense of a reconnection with self and yet not-self. Eastern esotericism has understood this truth for far longer than we have in the West, and we are still catching up.

For me, I live for these moments. To make the moments instead a thoroughgoing element of daily life, I suppose, is what you would call Philosophy at its most pragmatic. The requirement - certainly for most people - to make this possible would be a vocation that in itself provides intellectual and above all spiritual satisfaction. For most of us, this is but a romantic fantasy; so we merely greet these moments of existence when we have a chance to reflect, when presented with the wonder of nature or some sublime Art in some form. Finding it in the everyday and the mundane is an infinitely more subtle and difficult art; Buddhists spend a lifetime searching for it, so that it is at once everywhere; which is of course to say, they have to search within themselves.

Age allows this dimension to increase as the understanding draws upon an ever deeper library of experience; when other physical dimensions start to recede, this dimension can continue to expand unabated.

On the challenge of reconciling this spiritual connection and the increasingly industrialised Western world, Julius Evola said it best:

"The most peculiar thing is that this superstitious and insolent cult of
work is proclaimed in an era in which the irreversible and relentless
mechanisation eliminates from the main varieties of work whatever in
them still had the character of quality, art, and the spontaneous
unfoldment of a vocation, turning it into something inanimate and
devoid of even an immanent meaning."

The world needs artists, and equally, it needs listeners. For otherwise it is deprived of its purpose.

Listening to Brahms is but another way to find those existential moments.

Jazz and the Blue feeling

2008-11-23T10:33:00.000-08:00

Few of the people I know are really into Jazz, besides which everyone was off elsewhere this weekend, so thought I'd head out to the Jazz Café here in Newcastle by myself regardless.

Excellent night out. Despite the inclement weather and partially resultant small number of people present, this small venue has a great yesteryear charm. Its all slightly run-down, which really just adds to the character of the place. Too many places are being turned into drab modernist clinical environments, particularly when it comes to the seeming mercurial rise of chain store style pubs and clubs. Places with an authentic sense of history are slowly dying out.

This is probably an overly cynical view, since no doubt plenty of new places are cropping up to create their own bit of history anew. But still. The critical thing is that the venue has to be run for the love of what it offers, rather than just seeing it as a one dimensional commercial opportunity where everything is ultimately considered purely in terms of profit streams.

Well the Jazz Café is clearly a labour of love under the helm of its idiosyncratic and charismatic owner (pictured above).

Even given weather considerations, it was a surprise to see such a small turn out. Does no one in the North East like Jazz? Pretty bizarre. Since for £4 entry you get yourself several hours of live entertainment. And the trio last night were undoubtedly highly accomplished. It was a set of traditional lounge jazz, delivered with confidence and feeling. I seem to have a refined talent for always locating places which are mysteriously quiet - I say mysterious because they are often places that are not normally particularly quiet. Maybe I have some misanthropic radar.

I love Blues, and bluesy Jazz or Jazz Blues, whatever you wish to call it. We live in a society where it is almost unacceptable to be melancholic. Maybe its a Northern thing; put a brave face on it, laugh it off, act all Alpha, whatever. But as Aristotle observed, tragedy has much more depth than comedy. And you feel a deepening of your sense of being when you sit and let the music seep into you. Sink into your soul, if that doesn't sound so clichéd. Melancholy is beautiful. Melancholy is profoundly life affirming.

Perhaps we merely connect most with what we associate most intimately with.

So life is ambiguous. The one certainty you can be assured of is the lack of certainty. This is the primary discrepancy between real life and all fictionalised accounts of life; life is always far more indistinct, more uncertain, and always less clear cut. You go out and you hope to connect with someone. Life is disappointing in respect to the type of meaningful moments that populate virtually all "deep" films. Those moments are rare, elusive. One wanders around in the cinema of one's own mind.

I think the primary benefit of getting older is that it almost seems that in direct proportion to your age, your sense of feeling deepens; as the catalogue of Experience grows, so you find yourself more readily able to connect with specific emotional states. Your sense of intuition deepens. Your spiritual depth increases. Everything, slowly but surely, carries more gravity.

Conversely, this can be a burden, hence it is a double-edged sword; but if age is the boat with which to sail into the inexhaustible reservoir of intuition, it is a burden worth bearing. For who knows just how deep those waters are except the explorer cast upon them? You can only understand in direct proportion to the level of experiential awareness you have developed. In Kantian terminology (for on most important matters, Kant said much that bears consideration) only objects of possible experience are objects for you at all; else they are mere thought entities. Whilst I use this in a slightly different context, the basic principle applies.

The Consolation of Philosophy - indeed

2008-11-22T04:44:00.000-08:00

So it doesn't make sense to me when people say they're not interested in Philosophy.

Or that it is pointless.

How could you not be interested in the big questions? In the final analysis, the only ones that actually matter. The classic ones; freedom of will, existence or non-existence of God (or Gods), the existence or non-existence of the soul (and its corollary - permanence or impermanence thereof), the nature of the origin of the universe, etc. These are the "pop" questions of Philosophy, and the very asking of any of these questions automatically presupposes a whole set of associated conditions. For ultimately Philosophy is concerned with universals, that which is unconditioned to which everything else is ultimately subservient.

But anyway - you see my point. Everyone simply must have at least some interest, even if they don't intellectually recognise this fact.

The second, often connected attitude of the pointlessness of it all carries with an unacceptable attitude of defeatism and apathy. For the lack of any certainty to such questions should not be considered the end of such speculation, but rather the start. To paraphrase Kant (and no doubt many others).

There is no natural delineation from where Philosophy ends and Theology begins. The Philosopher must always remain neutral, however, and seek wherever possible to subject everything to the utmost ratiocinative powers at their disposal. Whilst such an attitude is advisable for the Theologian, it is not necessarily required, as they are more willing to adopt a greater range of unknowables as given true as articles of faith. Theosophy is the natural synthesis of the two, and integrates the wider spectrum of occult and esoteric learnings into the canon.

Of course such distinctions are rather artificial and somewhat coloured by the over-specialisation and over dependence on modern empirical Science. Lo, those who would try to bring Philosophy as a specialisation of empirical, materialistic, Science. It is a move so absurd that it scarcely merits conversation. After all, originally, Philosophy was called Natural Science. So to subject this to an involution of primacy is merely a reflection of a lack of understanding of the proper architectonic upon which the nature of appropriate generalisation and specialisation, the proper order of subjects, belongs.

No, Philosophy is always the ultimate root parent subject to all others. Or rather, all others are ultimately subject to a Philsophy.

So anyway, life is frustrating. We all make our errors of judgement. I went to University and studied Computer Science, only to realise half-way through that I'd picked the wrong degree as it progressively bored the hell out me, and I felt a yearning to study ultimately more fundamental matters - i.e. Philosophy. Of course had been someone of the pragmatic and sensible type, I would have just finished it, continuing on from my excellent results in the second year... and probably could have some well paid job now, albeit unsatisfying.

But such a pragmatism is out of character for me, I am ultimately driven by more impulsive undercurrents, despite perhaps appearances to contrary in terms of my outward seemingly sensible, almost staid, navigation of life's challenges.

So I find myself in murky waters of discontent. A feeling of not having actually come close to fulfilling my potential in any respect. Almost a sense of being inauthentic towards myself.

So I could do an external Philosophy degree now. But guess what. Yeah, money. It'll have to wait until I'm out of debt, as it isn't cheap. It is tiresome waiting. But Philosophy, I suppose, is one of those powers of mind that merely improves with age. Philosophy should be rushed. In fact, the slower the better. A 100 brilliant words can contain more coherency than a 10000 garbled pages.

Zen masters intuitively comprehended this truth.

The sense of discontent would be eased if I more people in day to day life to share this stuff with. I mean, I have one particular person the other side of the globe who I randomly converse with over Facebook, then in my day to day life maybe one or two people.

Patrick is one of them. He has a PhD in Mathematics so invariably our discussions revolve around perplexing mathematical abstractions and in-jokes about Wittenstein. Kant talked rather penetratingly about mathematics. Mathematics won't ultimately help you with the deep Philosophical problems, but as a tool for the construction of concepts, and as a tool for exploring the universal in the particular, in concreto, as it were, it has an efficacy no other subject has. It also encourages a rigour and clarity of thought and method like no other.

I was far too lazy in school with Mathematics. I had plenty of ability but lack of application, so never it took it that far beyond GCSE. I should probably go back and correct that. But I'd start from a different standpoint. It all starts to become a lot more powerful when one approaches it from the Mystery perspective, the Pythagorean school. Rather than assuming them as abstract concepts in itself, it instead relates the abstractions as analogues of deep philosophical observations, and builds them up there. So instead of a mere structure "for the sake of" it is a structure that reflects instead a certain something. The great Pythagorean Tetraclys is the profound example of this.

Anyway, its a beautiful winter's day outside. Cold, frostly, crisp and sunny. My favourite type of weather in many respects. A fine day to wander, sit and have a coffee, and consider things anew.