notes from khoonkhwuttunne

.
.
.
[click image]

.
.
.

It is very hard to communicate with sentient beings. It's a daily test of one's mettle to endure the ceaseless aborted dive-bombings of default assumptions... hummingbirds. If you have lived in the country, you know that when hummingbirds are fixing to mate the males start doing feats of daring to impress the women. A favorite seems to be to fly up so high they can barely be seen and then kick in their after-burners to dive straight down—literally sounding like miniature ICBMs—hooking a ninety about an inch from your ear, miraculously missing even your shoulder in the dazzling speed and precision of their terrifying feint. Then they zag and zig and swoop their way over near the trees and bushes to hover, to savor their glorious maneuvers, act like it was no big deal in front their swooning lady friends. I think of these guys often when talking to people... that vertiginously hooked ninety... only the hummingbirds miss on purpose.

Familiarity helps.

But not completely.

There's just the love to compensate for it a bit, but still there is that imperative to speak to them in their language and one has to try not to mind that the connection never seems to be made. Further, one must try—with oceanic might—not to come down like a ton of bricks when one has felt the flutter of their wingbeats on one's cheek... the possibility of true communication counting coup.

I think I have mentioned before my astonishment that people don't seem to know anything about all the conversations I've had with them in my head, that I barely pick up the telephone, even have to muster the biorhythms to dial for the most basic interaction with, say, the pharmacy. It occurs to me that this is really because, without even thinking it, actual conversations are so frustrating for me that I have finally quit enriching the phone company in my efforts to overcome the deficiency of language. The same has happened with my writing... I hope not forever.

For instance, just one for instance, a stupid number of times people have mistaken my use of the word "we" for nationalism of some sort, when I thought I was very clearly using it in the sense of all humanity, just defaulting to the American exceptionalism thing when I'm talking about humans being more exceptional than we are showing in the walking around world. That's but one, easy to contemplate, example of the intergalactic distances the hummingbirds put between them and me.

It isn't for me to agonize over this in the sense of oh-woe-is-me, painful as it is. It is for me to endure, while never ceasing the work to connect little systems of meaning with the consciousnesses of sentient beings. It isn't for me to denigrate or revile them for their thickness of skull; it is for me to discern when I'm wasting my time and how to improve my clarity where I am not wasting it.

I wasted way too much time being the moderator for someone else's blog. I was doing it to learn to speak your language, to give chances to catch bits that could open some air holes in thick hummingbird skulls. The progression of that was insanely instructive, so I cannot chalk it up to a complete waste of time, and especially because those years were also so full of monster struggle to get back my health and vitality, but it's still taken me a few months to quit fuming about my failure to look up and discern that it was time wasting, that I could have been learning as much or more where I was not pouring my efforts into a black hole. See, trying to drop the stupid mental habits of a lifetime can become so consuming your habit of ignoring vital things does NOT get dropped, but sneaks in behind the determination to speak the language of sentient beings. I'm not going to name names, here, because names don't matter and I have no desire to defame anyone, but I really have been beating myself up pretty badly for sticking with something that downright evil for so long... making bodhisattva-sounding excuses to myself as I went along. Never mind the particulars—these particulars are everywhere—the REFUSAL to honestly process REAL information and deal with it openly, truly, cogently, maturely is just evil, evil, evil, evil, evil.

And what kind of use of my few moments on earth is it to stick with that, working my butt off to herd stampeding steer away from that bog full of quicksand? I have tried being the lovable-insister my whole life. It's exhausting and the castrated domestic bovine head straight for that bog with all speed the instant one decides one has moved them away from the hazard and can stop doing their lives for them. I keep hearing my teacher blurting Of course you pull the drunk from the middle of the road, but that doesn't mean you talk to him. You love everyone, but you don't waste your time on them. You don't forget they come with all the same rights and responsibilities you do, and you don't fritter away your energy being an attention station for drunks and suicidal steer when the whole world is about to blow up from the delusion running absolutely everything. You just don't.

I still haven't found a word to use for it that doesn't sound impossibly smug to replace "Zen". So far as I've been able to tell on the intertubes, wherever you find the word "Zen" in the title or the tags or labels, you are better off surfing away immediately. See, the term is only quasi-applicable whilst one is using that route to wake up, and I say "quasi" because Zen isn't any set thing, any set dogma—despite all the tripe coming out of the charlatans—and uses whatever comes to hand. So, anyway, whenever I feel forced to communicate that I'm working off a whole different set of rules than most any walking around Joe or Jane, I keep having to use the word and trying to qualify the living daylights out of it, and it NEVER works. The deal is: The instant the Zen vehicle has gotten you to your destination, it too turns immediately into delusion. It's a means from delusion out of delusion and as soon as it's worked continuing to ride that cart is naught but heaping sleeping powder upon awakening.

Maybe there's a little value in that, for a little while, because if your own sleeping powder can succeed in unawakening you, you never woke up. Yes, there are loooooong bouts with the benightment of habit, but if you can't haul yourself out of them just shut up.

Well. I'm pulling myself out of another one of them.

Anyway, I kept getting this crap about watching my Zen when I was going off like a rocket on one thing or another, or expressing hatred for Obummer... showing anger. Which, of course, pissed me off even worse. You jackass! All that shit you keep letting yerself spew out yer mouth is for WHILE you are using Zen to wake up. It's a fucking cop out ever after. He or she is in some apartment near a strip mall in the burbs, or in a flat somewhere in a vast grid of some metropolis, and maybe has never even SEEN the ocean or a hummingbird, in person, ONLY has the inputs from the boob tube and radio and Groupthink websites to assess what is so about this Zen business, about anything... creating the urge here to fly through the pipes and grab them and shake them and hop up and down, zap them with the terawatts of my psychic energy to FORCE open their skulls and insert the exactitude of what I am expressing... these are the vapors from Tish still wafting in my window, and you are glad to rest assured that, while I still recognize her stuff, I do not act on it short of a life-and-death emergency.

Remember that airy fairy first-it-is-a-mountain-then-it-is-no-mountain-then-it-is thing Donovan sang about? That's code for what I'm talking about here. Then-it-is can't ever go back to first-it-is-a-mountain and cannot stay blissed-out at then-it-is-no-mountain. Can't talk to the first, here, either, without the giving of intense amounts of almost always fruitless effort. The ancients spoke of their eyebrow hairs falling out and sprouting while trying to communicate.

Oh, at LEAST. Sheesh.

I actually catch myself hoping Norman Finkelstein can see his way clear to focus on Gandhi exclusively, help get this nonviolence point across once and for all... not JUST for Palestine, but for us all. Yes, sometimes ALL you can do is passively resist evil, but it seems there are a quintillion misunderstandings of Love the Sinner But Hate the Sin, most of them revolving around excusing pusillanimity, excusing oneself and/or others for not stopping murderous harm. Gandhi's nonviolent resistance was in NO way passive, and was in NO wise avoiding violence. You CANNOT avoid violence and save sentient beings. You can love even the worst criminal, and you must or you're a fake human, but that doesn't mean you shrink from whatever it takes, including killing him, to stop the harm he's doing. Mostly it DOESN'T take killing, but sometimes it does.

Still, not being Gandhi, I stand little chance of rousing the millions it would take to force the murderating fucks of the world to cease and desist, and WHAT do I come up with to stop going batshit crazy, hollering my head off at the slumbering masses who actually THINK they have a clue? OMG... I may be so interested in the Nazi Bell technology because it might accommodate my hot desire to knock off a vast collection of blocks with one swipe. Though maybe I've come up with a way that you WIMPS [oops, that was Tish] can get strong, and have a positive effect, WITHOUT risking your necks in scary confrontations with stormtroopers.
.
.
.

You wish for them to awaken from whatever has them in thrall to the evil they do, for their healthy awakening into positive and beneficent manifestation, but if they're in the midst of slaughtering living things and you can do something to stop that, you do it, and to the extent that you are not, you are less than a damn lump of shit if you're not at least angry about it, and maybe you can be promoted to a nicer incarnation of dirt if you go so far as to express that anger as vividly as possible in words or clownish public displays, but, pfeh, just TRY to get clear on this and STAY that way. I can help if you can swear yourself to that much.

The point, here, is we have to do better. We have to perform.
.
.
.

For quite some time now I have been feeling an increasing urgency about having a commune or collective or tribal area or whatever I'm going to end up calling it. I checked to see if it was just loneliness giving me this urge, but, nope, handicapped as I am here for addressing moments of loneliness, I still can get it handled until it passes. I'm still completely wanting my solitude, but I'm feeling that maybe my efforts should be going into forming that group situation that can end up constituting a means to pass the wisdom of the ancients into the future. Maybe that's just this blog, but probably not.

It needs to be people of all ages. It needs to be like the indians you saw in Dances With Wolves, and if it can stay connected via the web, be global in reach, great, but it has to be able to thrive and survive even without that. You do understand that this means we have of getting together can be yanked from us at almost any time, don't you? Think of all the work people have driven themselves to pour into these tubes! Pft. Gone. I don't mean to make you afraid, but just as we are fucked, dead, without our wheels right now, the same is true of our elaborate system of pipes.

I don't know if I should attempt to find myself a situation with some Buddhists somewhere to get a start on this, probably not because they’d start muttering about “precepts” to me and drive me mad; or harass more people here to get me my goddam wealthy socialist gentleman; or finally go pound on the door of the local tribal center; or make the pilgrimage back to the Oklahoma rez to get the bona fides to be heard on any rez, but it feels to me that it must be people from everywhere and of all ages and on a piece of land off to itself, not just injuns. I think indians are mandatory because they, or some of them, still have the cellular memory of the eons of true humans in harmony with the rest of life. Things may already have been degenerating in places before wasichu showed up, but for sure they devolved quickly after that, DESPITE truly legendary attempts to grow wasichu out of his fake humanity and into true human adulthood on planet earth.

That's what is in front of us now, both in terms of near certain global catastrophe, and in terms of doing what we can to prevent or mitigate near certain global catastrophe.

We have to stop playing by their rules and start playing by OURS. We have to do that without their permission and possibly even in the face of their objection, but however many of us can muster for it must. It's that special kind of ignoring I have mentioned a couple times, and more.
.
.
.

I have run into patches of conflicting information on stuff as vital as the Iran thing lately, but, really, on almost everything. One minute some extremely credible expert says nope, not even part of a chance, and the next minute an official is, like, SO radically contradicting that. I caught a snippet about one tentacle or other of Groupthink's "parent company" yesterday, and the corporatude of most of Greater Blogistan in that very moment ceased to be a possibility I exhaust myself warning about. It's just, already, SO. I can hear Danny screaming about the "CMSM" at many of the sites that are, in fact, now the... whut? CMSI?

This, Bluebear2 and I have agreed, is like a mountain of shit being shoveled on us by a thousand shovels without any letup, ceaselessly, from every direction. It is also a type of hypnosis, a very, very unentertaining and extremely lethal hypnosis. We cannot stop ANY bad guys as long as they have said the secret word and we're going all automatically Manchurian Hatfield and McCoy for all we're worth, telling ourselves and each other that it is important to expose and discuss, obliging the murderating hypnotists in every moment of every day, NEVER getting our heads out of their boxes for even a moment... unless you count the occasional dream where reality has finally been allowed through our defenses enough to bite us in the ass so's we know it... for the half a beat before we forget it again, before it sinks back into the oceans of stuff we ignore so fucking obediently all day, every day, no matter what.

Every day it is getting harder for me to make my rounds, to go to the places where I usually find salient bits about actual actuality to make you aware of. In case you haven't noticed, I try to steer clear of disasters as much as possible because they are part and parcel of the great hypnotizing going on—just google Naomi Klein if yer not up on that noise—and try to confine myself to stuff that puts the lie to The Lies, to certain crucial heavily inculcated delusions that are really, really lethal. Not that a lot of what goes into your hypnosis isn't really, really lethal, but I'd be a minnow trying to scale Niagara Falls there, and there are these other spots—puddles—a little more amenable to my mighty-but-miniscule tail fin splashing up cold droplets of light into your eyes. I go along stubbornly resisting all the crap bloggers do to try to make themselves popular because it's so annoying and small-minded and demoralizing, just relying on happenstance or word of mouth—word of pixel—karma!—to get the eyeprints that might take the clues. But I see that most of the eyeprints are just on the pictures and lots of links don't get clicked... important ones. Stuff I'm extra-apoplectic about doesn't seem to faze most of you... or if it does, I'm sure not hearing about it, or haven't expressed it such that you feel you can make yourself heard about it... or I've left you speechless... or just plain too mystified to feel comfortable addressing. And, now, I'm pretty sure that most of you I do hear from are perfectly versed in finding this stuff on your own, and going to think about it pretty much what you're going to think about it in any case. Maybe it would be better to just have a thread for people to splat links onto when they feel like it and discuss it or just note it that way.

I don't know.
.
.
.

When I do actually speak with people nowadays... instead of saying stuff to them in my head... actual words out my mouth to people... grocery store clerks, the postmaster, the doctor, the pharmacist, the lady who cuts my hair, anyone... I find I am mostly whining about how we can be so fucking inhumane to each other, waiving my arms and wailing about love and brotherhood and compassion.

We can't get anywhere worthy or positive or even scratching the surface of the monument of death out there until we yank ourselves from our hypnosis. Every bit of information, in a real sense, right now, is actually doing more to add to our trances than to liberate us. Twenty-four hours no longer covers what we need to get done in a day. I've known this for quite a while but not until I heard it in the middle of the night on a video about 2012 did I think of it in terms of how we are ACTUALLY affecting time itself with this essential overload. This would seem to make my thing about the special kind of ignoring and about forming a new kind of native tribe even more important.

As I was falling asleep at sunrise, I thought to myself, They're going to pull the mother of all false flags on 21 December 2012 at 11:11am GMT. Great, innit? Ain't living in this world a bowl of cherries?

Mox nix.

We gotta pull our heads out of our asses, EVEN though we can’t get enough truth from anywhere to play with a full deck, and since I'm not Gandhi I'm never going to get your asses into the streets. So I'm just telling you now that I don't know how much of the usual you will be getting from me here anymore. It might start looking really different, and I hope that's okay with you.

I don’t think I have any choice.
.
.
.

It occurs to me I wish to thank the great Chögyam Trungpa for the stern warning he put in his The Myth of Freedom against hopping on this vehicle out of samsara without carefully considering the difficulties it would cause for those not so committed to saving all sentient beings they'd go through hell for it. He really did a great job of impressing this upon one's mind in that book, even though he didn't in life ultimately successfully navigate that himself. He knew what he was talking about, and it has saved me when I'm feeling weak quite a few times.

I mean, I so can't say I wasn't warned.
.
.
.