RAP NEWS : Big Brother is WWWatching You

submitted by Gabrielle Price

Juice Rap News: Episode 15 – Big Brother is WWWatching You.  September 2012 rocks around with some crucial developments in the ongoing struggle over the future of the internet.  Will it remain the one open frequency where humanity can bypass filters and barriers; or become the greatest spying machine ever imagined?  The future is being decided as we type.  Across Oceania, States have been erecting and installing measures to legalise the watching, tracking and storage of data of party-members and proles alike.  If such plans materialize, will this place ever be the same?  And what will be the evolutionary consequences for our human journey?  Join our plucky host Robert Foster as he conducts an incisive analysis of the situation at hand.  Joining him are newly appointed Thought Police General at the Pentopticon, Darth O’Brien Baxter, and a surprisingly lucid Terence Winston Moonseed.  Once again, in the midst of this Grand Human Experiment, we are forced to ask tough questions about our future.  Will it involve a free internet which will continue to revolutionize the way the world communicates with itself?  Or is our picture of the future a Boot stamping on this Human InterFace forever?

Written & created by Giordano Nanni & Hugo Farrant – on Wurundjeri Land in Melbourne, Australia.

Blue Moons, Time Outs and Ma’s Tough Love

Originally posted on a former blog called Zen and the Art of Radical Detachment on September 5, 2012; from El Paso, Texas after WOOF’ing in New Mexico. ~ G

The shifting energies of the blue moons [two in a row] are usually seen as rare events — the next month to witness this phenomenon isn’t until July of 2015.  It is difficult to imagine what the moon will witness us going through then as it is to imagine where it will see humanity two months from now.

Here in El Paso, working with an executive producer who reports on Occupy events around the country, I am lucky to experience how the culture is shifting — which still feels to most to be underground, but it is exciting to witness it bubbling up and creating conversations that have been long overdue.

Are they too late?  I can’t say that with certainty and I don’t think anyone can.  If there is one thing I have learned about change — is that it is the only constant — and it comes with a lot more chaos than structure.  I’m finding [again] it is best to embrace my understanding of the Tao and simply go with the flow and offer my assistance where I’m able while witnessing history unfold.

My time in New Mexico taught me many things about our notions of change, especially when it comes to the concept of time — a man-created structure.  Clever, yes — but applying this structure to nature’s rhythms is counter-intuitive.  I learned this from the goats, chickens and ducks, whose days begin with the sun and follow it’s natural progression throughout the day, all season long.  They are the timekeepers.  That alone is a lesson in respect for nature — then when you realize how far removed most people are to this knowing, to never witness this most ancient arrangement nature has with the sun and moon, it makes you sad for them.

It also makes you compassionate toward anyone who is disconnected from it.  I think this rhythm is the heart of humanity when it comes right down to it.

We’ve always been meant to live in harmony with the song of the land.  But we have been hearing the screeching, sour notes of industry so long that many have forgotten the song.  Indigenous peoples still sing it and you can hear it in your heart if you are still enough to listen.

Empire is like having to live with an abusive father [or Uncle Samsara], all the while longing to be with mother.  Knowing that when we care for her, she reciprocates.  She provides and nurtures us back to health when we are ill and she is always there — we, however, will not be.  And it has always been this way.

Man continues to rage and break chains against the knowledge of his own death without realizing it is part of life — part of the ancient arrangement with nature.  Without her, history would not exist — the stories, the struggles, the love, the joy — we would not exist.  The human experience from the first cave drawings to the Mars Rover are all owed to the fact that we existed on one living planet in the vastness of the universe — one we will no longer be able to explore because we have squandered the resources to do so.  In a drunken petroleum rush for the ‘look what I can do’ search for ‘human excellence’ — she has been sending us a message that we are not excellent — no matter how much greenwashing, back patting and chatter about ‘exceptionalism’ we hear trumpeted in those sour notes.  The message is becoming ever clearer that we are in for some tough love.  As evidenced by the record heat and drought this summer.

Personally, I am not upset by her message.  I understand it because of my connection to the earth and because I understand science — which is her language. [Don’t confuse science with technology.]  Science is the language of truth — and men have butchered it with religion, politics and commerce since time immemorial.  Mother nature is about to sit us all down in the corner for an epic ‘time out’ — and we’re going to have a very long time grounded from our toys to think about what we’ve done.

When?  Again, certainty isn’t a term I use often — like guarantee.  But if current history is any indicator of future behavior, we’re going to continue to behave like brats, hurt people, break stuff, take stuff that doesn’t belong to us and rage a bit longer.  Like the ‘terrible twos’, Western civilization is throwing its final embarrassing tantrum before mom puts us in that corner for the last time.  Those who listen and heed her message are preparing.  Some are preparing better than others. It’s not a contest.  All you can do about change is get ready for it the best way you know how, with what you have available and go with it.

Unfortunately, the ‘best way’ in this country looks a lot like violent revolution.  Fighting to keep a broken system that is teetering on the verge of collapse seems ill-advised rather than an educated, compassionate look at the reality of global collapse which will impact everyone on the planet.  I think even Mr. Spock would agree that was logical but I think we lack more than the political will — we lack the ‘supposed’ adults to have that conversation.  Which is why I think it is important to gather the wise ones, spiritual leaders and healers to the table now.

As Chief Oren Lyons stated in his eloquent speech to the UN, the four words we all must pay heed to now more than ever, implement individually as well as bring to our communities: Value Change for Survival.  It is simple, really.  Only our industrial, state-structured brains complicate what is not complicated.

It’s the bottom line of bottom lines.  What do you value?  Are you, yourself willing to change for your own survival?  The survival of your species?  If we don’t break this denial and make these changes, will she allow us to stay?  If we allow this system we’re addicted to continue unabated, I’m not certain she will.

What is certain?  The sun will continue to shine and every moonrise will play on our mother’s face whether we are here to cast shadows upon her or not.  I am certain she owes us nothing.  I am certain we owe her everything we are.  I am certain she will collect.  She always has. . .if ancient history is any indicator.

TRC Exclusive: “The Curse of Cassandra and Refusing the Gift of Apollo”

from TRC’s new contributor, Christopher Weller

Apollo in his golden chariot, driving across the sky, representing the rising and setting of the Sun

Then, even then, Cassandra’s lips unsealed the doom to come: lips by a god’s command; Never to be believed or heeded by the Trojans.”  – Virgil, The Aeneid, Book 2, Lines 330-32

In this great time of transition for the human race, those that suffer with the vision and understanding of what is to come, surrounded on all sides by seemingly lost souls, find themselves trapped in what has been called the Cassandra Syndrome.  We find ourselves secluded, cast away, cut off, and at times, shunned by the same society that seems just as “cursed” as we are- the same society that seems to sense, feel, or even understand the fate of the catastrophe upon us, yet, although the solution may be simplistic, they do nothing to stop it, denying what they know to be true about our future.

Likewise, in our seclusion, as we are cast out of the dominant culture, we search for meaning, for the connection to the world that was lost, yearning for some way to ease the pain, not only from our lonely solitude, but also of being repeatedly disbelieved.  Nonetheless, upon closer examination of the myth of Cassandra itself, I believe one can find a “cure,” if you will, for both dilemmas.  So, follow me on this odyssey, and let this essay be such therapy that no mainstream psychiatrist could devise.

Legend has it that Apollo, the Sun god of the Greeks, saw such captivating beauty in the daughter of Priam, the king of Troy, that he tempted Cassandra with the power to have foreknowledge of the future.  In return for the god’s benevolence, Cassandra was to allow Apollo the right of sexual union with her.  In spite of the god’s advances, and the surreal gift of prophecy, Cassandra snubs Apollo.  The god is enraged for receiving the cold shoulder, and he curses the fair beauty of Troy by permitting her the gift of prophecy, but no one will every believe her visions.

The curse plagues her with the ultimate example of banishment, where she is constantly troubled with visions of doom and suffering for her people, and then she is quickly shunned by everyone around her.  She is labeled as mad.  One can imagine her running throughout the streets and corridors of Troy, with her hair flying about her shoulders, spouting out prophetic visions and oracles, which fall upon deaf ears, for no one can understand them, nor believe them.  Most attempt to subdue her; even her father, the king, locking her up in the dungeons of the city, hiding her away in shame; even when her efforts were merely a desperate attempt to warn the great civilization of its impending disaster, the fall of Troy.

As with Cassandra, we in the transition culture find ourselves in the same predicament.  Despite our good intentions to warn modern civilization, we too are misinterpreted, misunderstood, and labeled as crazy, doomsday prophets.  Like her, our own people, our own families mistake us as raving lunatics that are best kept at the fringe of society.  Her plight describes the tragedy of our lives today as visionaries for the transition.  In our pain we search for meaning- a spiritual guidance we find rooted only in the bounds of the Earth, and in the Sun on our face in the darkness of our seclusion.

Cassandra by Anthony Fredrick Augustus Sandy

In my sleep the image of the prophet Cassandra appeared and offered blazing brands. ‘Look here for Troy; here is your home!’ she cried. The time to act is now; such signs do not allow delay.” – Virgil, The Aeneid, Book 5, lines 838-44

While we’re alone here in our solitude, let us imagine now that the myth itself has a possible, more modern, more relevant interpretation.  Maybe there is a deeper meaning to it all, that can ease our pain, bring about a better understanding for us all, including the rest of the human race.

Let’s imagine that perhaps the authors of the myth intended for Troy to be some sort of model for the story of civilization – some “golden” society, an example of human progress, an ideal society, where humanity is the pinnacle of Creation.  Maybe it is a model not so different from the promises of the culture of civilization today, that tells the story of our lives, that we are destined for greatness, that we are the chosen species to dominate the world and beyond, and that, like the citizens of Troy believed, it is the best way to live, that it is unstoppable, that it is invincible, and that it is everlasting, ever-reaching further for the state of godliness.

Maybe the Greeks’ gift of the Trojan Horse symbolizes the hidden dangers in our arrogance – a sleeping leviathan of dread, ready to reek havoc upon our imagined dominance, our fantasy of invincibility.  The tragedy that permeates the story of Troy, through and through, is just like the tragic drama played out in the story, the quest, the odyssey of industrial civilization.  The punishment for our blindness and our ignorance, for not deciding to change, when we know we should, has become so great that we believe that we are so indestructible, that even the vision of the impending End on the horizon is as innocent and benign as the gift of the horse.

And we allow it right through the gates, into our society, into our community, into our families, and into our souls.  And, lo and behold, is the Cassandra, telling her fellow citizens of the world the truth – that the promises of this culture are lies, a betrayal in disguise that we are deceived into believing, that the truth of our possible future is masked from our view, and that we are to ignore the fact that it will destroy us.

In this way, the myth’s lesson, the tragedy itself, is much more broad, bigger than just one person, such as Cassandra, such as you or I.  Maybe it is the human condition that suffers the actual dilemma – the curse of Cassandra.  Perhaps it is human society, and the state that it has come to today, that suffers from a global Cassandra Syndrome, where we feel, we sense, we know our fate – and not that no one believes these visions, for many believe it in their very souls!  Yet we do nothing, feeling we are powerless to overcome the terrifying vision of our future.

Cassandra: by Evelyn De Morgan (1898, London)

What if the refusal of Cassandra to have intercourse with Apollo has some other symbolic, less sexual, meaning to our dilemma.  Maybe it has in it another hidden lesson that can be applied to the curse of the Cassandra Syndrome of the world today.  Consider that Apollo, being the Sun god, represents the true nature of the Sun, which has given, and continues to give us life, or further, represents the natural world entirely.  Perhaps it is the refusal to bond with and accept that we are part of the natural world, to feel at one with that which gives us all life, that is the lesson of the myth.

Perhaps this longing we all feel in the transition culture – and that which the whole world, it seems, has been barred from feeling from being captive to the dominant culture – is a deep-seeded desire to return to a spiritual connection to nature – the one we rejected so long ago when we took on the role of dominion and were tempted by the false promises of civilization?  What if, by Apollo, we are given one more chance – a chance at having the vision to see where we are headed, yet we must sacrifice the temptations of the power of dominion over this world, as Cassandra was to sacrifice her body to the god, offering up our delusion of the grandeur and false sense of sovereignty over our lives, handing over everything, to be in union with “him,” with the natural world, in order to finally be at peace with the world once again.

Maybe the lesson from this ancient, mythical fable tells us that it is okay to let go and give up our perceived perfection, our perceived beauty as “the pinnacle of Creation, ” and unite once again with nature?  Maybe, by interpreting the story in this way, the attraction of Apollo to Cassandra is to be reciprocal, mutual, where the ancient Greek understanding of “Eros,” or desire, described in Plato’s Symposium, is in play here.

Perhaps this is a reference to the explanation of what desire is, given by the great Socrates, where he states that the pursuit of Eros is a result of the two halves of a soul that had been split into two at the beginning of the world, and forever long to be rejoined as one, achieving absolute harmony?  Perhaps, by doing so, we discover the meaning that is missing in our lives as humans, as a humanity that was once as one, in union and harmony with this world?  Maybe by doing so the curse can be lifted?  In doing so, possibly we will find our spiritual path that was lost along the way.

Antoine Rivalz 1667-1735 – Cassandra being dragged from Athena’s temple the night of the fall of Troy.

In seeing the story from this perspective, we find that the only difference between us, as the Cassandras of the world, and the rest of the population, is that we have taken the first step in the path towards this direction.  We take the path once traveled, not the least traveled.  We have just become more in tune with this inner Eros, this desire, this drive, than the rest of the sleeping public.  But, eventually, we all, all of the human race, must “submit to Apollo.”  We all must relinquish our perceived dominion over ourselves and our world.  For it is the Sun, that divine giant in its celestial greatness, and all of nature combined, that is, and always has been, the one who dominates and is in control of our lives.

However, maybe I am wrong in my interpretation here.  Maybe I am just suffering from the Cassandra Syndrome just like all of you.  I’m sure most contemporary psychologists, who they themselves are still captivated by the promises of this culture, would surely agree.  Perhaps I am just crazy as some may say.  Maybe we are all just crazy.

But, then again, I walk outside, and the Sun shines on my face.  The energy from the Sun stirs up the atmosphere and I feel the breezes blow against my body and my face.  I hear the sounds of birds, the chirping of insects, and the laughter of children – all of nature whispering sweet nothings in my ear.  The seductive forces of nature are well at work on my soul, and I am enriched with life.  I feel the connection.  My visions become clearer, as the sunlight shines on my world.  It must be real.

And, that sunshine is certainly getting hotter these days. Maybe – just maybe – Apollo, the great celestial Casanova, is using his charm and flexing his muscle trying to tell us something.

Will we believe it?

Cassandra  warns  the  Trojans. Engraving  by  Bernard  Picart, 1673-1733.

New sights and sounds

The senses are overwhelmed here at the homestead in New Mexico. So much to study that it has been difficult for me to know where to begin.  I had to introduce you to someone I met while weeding the raspberry patch. I stopped everything to take some photos of him.

natgeoa012
Calligrapha vicina / Calligraphy beetle

I was quite literally stopped in my tracks when I saw him — I had never seen markings this intricate on a beetle or bug in the Midwest and was taken by how much they looked like the hollows in a guitar or musical notes.  Lucky for me, there are experts on site and all I needed to do was ask.  The calligraphy beetle.  But, of course!

There are many more creatures here that I have never seen in the wild; roadrunners and lizards to name a few.  The lizards are quite funny to watch but hard to capture on film.  I have set a challenge to do just that.

I am learning after my first week in New Mexico and hope you are enjoying following my adventure in WOOFing.

Postcards From The Edge – Indy to Chicago, 1st Leg of Train Trip to El Paso

10:11 PM 7/20/2012

I was surprised I could sleep at all before I headed for the train station — only about 4 hours, truth be told.  It was hot on the west side of Indianapolis last night. It had rained in some areas, but not enough to write home about. I’m sure the grass and trees were thankful for the drink even though it wasn’t top shelf. The humidity was making sleep difficult already, then I thought, ‘There’s a sour pickle we will all deal with eventually. When there is no AC? No fan?’ I supposed that life might move a lot slower, including people. I was immediately reminded of everyone I had ever met from New Orleans and couldn’t feel too bad about it — at least not today.

I arrived at the train station at 5:30 a.m. with time to spare and realized after looking at my tickets, I had a 3+ hour layover at Chicago’s Union Station. In my mind I heard a smarmy “Outfuckingstanding.”  To say I’m not a morning person is misleading. I love mornings — I am just not a ‘waking person’ — especially at 4 a.m with no coffee.

I penned this while sitting in Union Station — after a 4+ hour ride from Indianapolis. Napping, reading, chatting with fellow travelers or geeking without wifi were the options on that short trip. Though, at that early hour, not much chatting was going on. Except for a giggling gaggle of first grade teachers that sat across the aisle (they were headed to a conference in Chicago) and a young mother behind me.  She announced how excited she was at the prospect of turning 21 this year.

Her daughter was adorable and more quiet than mom, who insisted on listening to music so loud on her headphones that everyone within four seats could hear (including the teachers). With the added bonus of singing poorly and missing lyrics in sections.  It was a bit like listening to someone trying to perform karaoke to a skipping record.

One of the teachers chimed in to sing one of the songs. I realized if I wanted to nap, I’d better put on my own headphones. I’m a fan of music and singing; don’t get me wrong — but I’m a fan of non-corporate, non-commercial music. Hard to call most anything alternative anymore since that’s been mangled by the music/radio industry. Nothing on Clear Channel is alternative. It’s Radio Ga Ga — the alternative to Radio Goo Goo.

As Charlie Parker was constructing my musical bubble, I noticed an odd young man sitting on the left ahead of me — nervously reading aloud in whispers from his bible.  This at one point included hand flourishes which exposed a note and cash in his hand. He hadn’t bought his ticket but got on board anyway. Amtrak security really isn’t thorough if it exists at all; which is fine by me. The last vestige of travel without removing clothing in the U.S.? The ticket taker was annoyed with the young man for a moment or two.  He then asked him to move to the back of the car to figure out his ticket at the next stop.  I never saw him get back on again.

The last stop on the way to Chicago was a town called Dyer, Indiana, which when heard over the train intercom and viewed from the windows, may as well have been spelled Dire. I was surprised no one got on but that someone got off at that stop.  Dyer was the end of the line for someone. I wanted to hug the poor bastard.

There was only one other time I can report feeling that urge since I arrived in Chicago. Those few magical, passing moments with kids traveling with their parents.  The adventure and wonder in their eyes, all at once made me smile and inwardly melancholy. I know most of the country has no earthly idea what is coming.  And that is the strangest feeling I can name; to feel like a stranger no matter where I am.  To have started a conversation about peak oil or economic collapse would have yielded the same reaction the young man and his whispering sermon a seat over received.

I packed too much for me to handle comfortably. I’m sure it appeared visibly awkward hauling it through Union Station. Mental note : don’t travel solo with heavy luggage in mule sandals. With some time to find sustenance without dragging what felt like steam trunks around a giant mall, I tried to rent a locker. These are new-fangled, without keys and where you scan your fingerprint, pay, then the lockers open/closed based on your print. In theory…

After devouring my five dollars and scanning my fingerprint it wouldn’t open. There was no kiosk, no nice man with an official-looking hat, just a receipt with a number and website, with the instructions: “Pick up the blue phone for assistance.”  I scanned the immediate area and there was no blue phone. I felt like I was in the middle of a classic Candid Camera set up.  I just sighed and gave up. It was the first and least expensive lesson I had learned early on this trip about infrastructure and the technological failure of attempting to replace human contact with automation. Seeking another option, I found luggage carts which were also five dollars.  Automatic, enter money, push button, and ‘supposedly’ release the cart. I decided I didn’t need to go there. I’d lost at least one beer in that goddamned locker. I wasn’t about to give away my two drink minimum for visiting Union Station.

I thanked St. Christopher for the wheels on my luggage and good straps to keep it all secure.  Once I negotiated my donkey’s load, the first thing I set out to do was go outside for a smoke and mentally prepare for the crowd battle to find a good cup of coffee. At least before happy hour started to sound good before noon.

As luck would have it, I chose the right escalator.  The south side of Union Station on Jackson Street opened up to a canal view with the skyline right in front of me.  The Sears Tower monolith stretching toward the sky with its pointy devil spires, in all its phallic and ludicrous glory.  Several boats were making their way down the canal with tourists occupying the open decks.  There had been some rain earlier in the morning which cleared the haze away — a gorgeous breeze, bright blue sky and gulls floating by motionless as if on a mobile.

I secretly thanked Gaia for her postcard from the edge.

The coffee was less important.  I had been awake since 3:30 a.m. and was ready for lunch at that point. The food court was within distance of my boarding platform — the unhealthy choices reminded me of The Dead Kennedy’s album title, ‘Give Me Convenience or Give Me Death’.  In this food court, that was a two-fer.  Cheese bread was the least offensive in that roulette game.  It was too early for the bar and lugging that baggage around wasn’t going to get any easier with booze added.  As I waited for my order to come up, I saw two women begging for money at nearby tables — and I’m happy to report another two women got up and bought them something to eat instead.  All four were gracious about the exchange and smiling at each other.  After witnessing that, so was I.  Mental hugs.

Making my exodus back to the boarding gates, I found an open chair to observe a room full of travelers waiting on their trains.  It is packed.  Kids everywhere, the smell of engine exhaust lingers weirdly like a fireworks display just occurred underground.  And they worry about smokers?  Everyone waiting — well off folks and large families on budgets, even a large group of Mennonites feasting on McDonald’s, which I found almost surreal enough to photograph but I refrained.

This second train doesn’t have a smoking car and I’m unaware if any of them do now.  Seems a shame to me to marginalize more customers when you can simply add a car.  It would be guaranteed full in the midwest and south.  Some of the most interesting people I’ve ever met traveling were smokers, especially on the train where the night owls and misfits showed up — the story tellers.

Not that I am skeptical about meeting interesting people in the next 48 hours — but it isn’t a big train and two days in this universe is like the blink of an eye.  Here’s hoping it will be a wink instead. ~ Gabrielle