haiku 28 January 19

But for a few waves

That carried me onto shore,

The great seas were calm

[ americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

haiku 20 Dec 2018

The wolds he crafts

With a grip of paint brushes

Are just magical

americanifesto / 場黑麥 / jpr / urbanartopia / whorphan ]

no voice superior

Beethoven's 3rd Symphony was the piece I chose to listen to while composing this piece. As I stared out the window watching the remnants of a tropical storm hammer us with rain and trying to think what I should write about, a pattern coalesced before my mind's eye. In it, I could see the unity and balance that characterizes the forces raging within me, those of immune and nervous and endocrine systems, of musculature and skeleton, of tendon and vessel and fiber, that rather than having to judge them I could merely accept that they were all pieces and parts of the greater awareness I have come to know as Me, and that they are all of equal importance in the grand scheme of my existence. I knew suddenly of this unity as I sat pondering on the wondrous vibrations of the Ludwig Van, music that always quickens my heart and helps me to focus on the task at hand, be it driving, studying, writing, jogging, musing, or simply being. It was instantly clear to me that no single instrument in the orchestra that had performed the piece was greater or more important than the other, that every note was in just the right place to do exactly as was intended that it do, that the 3rd Symphony was something magical, something far greater than just the sum of its parts. I am nearly finished reading Molecules of Emotion by Dr. Candace Pert, and just last week I finished Anatomy of the Spirit by Caroline Myss, and so I am not surprised to be experiencing events such as a clarification of my inner vision and the patience needed to recognize and incorporate Fundamental Truths. Living in the modern Western world we learn to think in forms of strict delineation, to think of one thing as superior to another, as one cellphone or political party or style of clothing or automobile or hairstyle or lipstick or television show to be the best, the greatest, the non-plus-ultra, and it is only with due diligence and conscious humility that we can step back from this worldview and retrain ourselves to look for beauty in all things, to marvel at the whole rather than squabbling over the pieces. In the words of Lao Tzu: Piece by piece the treasure of the world is amassed. Mahalo.

© americanifesto / 場黑麥

front yard manger

As soon as my neighbors had taken down their cheap, little Chinese-made flag sets showing pumpkins and corn, scarecrows and bounty, mangers began to appear. Some were outlines of figures cut from plywood and painted a uniform color, mostly white; others were elaborate scenes with electric lighting, hovering angels, quality clothes on life-like figures, and real hay strewn about. As I am no longer a Christian but was raised by a pair of them, one of whom was clergy, I know that there are at least four different tellings of Jesus' birth myth, each one wholly different from the next, each one with different players, places, and progressions. I also know that some of the stories don't mention a manger at all and that others don't speak of beasts of burden, that, in general, there is in fact little uniformity and therefore much room for interpretation most everywhere one might care to look in the Christians' bible.

What I struggle to understand is why people feel the need to haul a bunch of props out of storage and hammer them into their lawns, year after year, time and time again, and why they then read the same stories over and over, boredom and mischief spreading like wildfire amongst any assembled youth, the lack of personal progress or group ingenuity glaring and obvious to anyone who might care to see it. We Americans go to market and buy fresh fruits and vegetables to eat, not old and stale ones; we overhaul and streamline our business processes constantly, allowing exhausted methods and worn-out ideas to fade into obscurity so that better ones might take their place; and yet we cling to highly stylized and professionally-commercialized versions of a religion that – due to its inherent absurdity and tendency to promote mistrust for and violence against All Things Strange or Unusual – should have been jettisoned from the annals of history during our all-too-short Age Of Enlightenment. The lessons of that age, however, appear to have been fallen before the idea that we are to search for salvation in the mouths of our preachers rather than in the stillness that comes when the animal and the human spirits are unified within.

The people who erect elaborate mangers depicting mythical scenes from the brutal past (young Mary and her husband Joseph were, after all, fleeing systematic infanticide) probably think of themselves as good Christians. In reality, however they rely heavily on the magic of modern technology for much of their comfort and success, on telephones and motor-vehicles, on paved roads and postal services, on well-pumps and central heating, on electrical lighting and printed books, on Constitutions and charters, and on no one else reminding them of the hypocrisy of their living fat and happy lives in air- and rain-tight houses with a car for each inhabitant parked in the driveway while most people on Earth shiver and starve. At least some neighbors merely staple yard upon blinking yard of seizure-inducing lights to their homes' gables and window-frames without making any sort of religious statement, wasting the output of coal-fired electrical plants on garish light-shows, pouring out our precious fossil resources merely on secular, non-partisan attempts to celebrate this, the Season of Excess. I, for one, shall refrain from celebrating an unassisted birth held in a grimy sty, and stick to bitching about those persons who do. Oh, brother, how stupid can I be. Mahalo.

mentiri factorem fecit © 場黑麥

on Vader stains

Looking up, just now, I noticed that a board on the roof-mounted window in the western, upper room of this little house's more recent addition is stained with a trapezoidal mark that, if only slightly, resembles the head of Darth Vader (from the film series called Star Wars by Spielberg and Lucas). Then, looking at it more closely, I can make out additional watermarks, on the boards beneath it, that could be mistaken for a body and a flared-out cape, with what could be a type of sword where the right hand would be if this were an actual depiction of a lava-scorched Anakin Skywalker in his life-support suit. Can I now expect acolytes and fans of the Star Wars films to come flocking to my house to see for themselves the likeness of a Sith lord that seems to have appeared as if by magic on the sun-beaten windows of a dilapidated hunting-shack? For years, now, I have made sure to live under the watchful gaze of owls; as birds that represent wise, crafty goddess Athena, I have placed statues or pictures of owls in areas where I frequently live and work, hoping thereby to invoke the blessings, and to curry the favor, of she who once championed such legendary persons as Odysseus, and Hercules. To find suddenly that another god is blessing this humble abode's unused places lifts my heart with song, and puts a smile on my faces.

場黑麥 mentiri manufactorem fecit