Place of Refuge

Place of Refuge

28 September 2010

Elizabeth Gilbert on Creativity

a fabulous statement about creativity:

(with thanks to the blogger The Forbidden Gospels )

The last bit reminded me of this:


every now and then,
Makropoulos likes to post
Makropoulos is
a diva.

And she's a damned busy one these days.

It aggravates her/me
(see postings below).

Please, though, 
let me share this glorious posting
by a diva
who sings from
my heart
as well
as her own:

25 September 2010

September Equinox Channelling

When two opposites meet,
face to face, well, they
stick together, right/
When two opposites meet,
the negative and the positive
cancels each other out;
there is
A single, whole

When two opposites are not aligned,
that is

the negative and the positive are farthest apart,
well I guess it gets really cold;
I suspect that's when
Ice Ages

Or something like that.

* *
Imagine it this way:
that we are all
rolling around inside
a giant ball, well, but
it's really like a half ball,
because -- remember the
is perfect,
and the only way 
a perfect object
which is a 
can see its own face
is to break
in half.

and when the half meets
the half 
it fits so perfectly,


in the meantime,
it's rocking 

It feels like 
its going
in circles
because it has to
rock its own
before it settles back
together again.

* * *
Imagine that creation was
a perfect sphere breaking
so it could see its own
face, and then
in order
for it
to be
again, it would have to
rock back and forth
(do its demi
beffore its halves could
at their widest
in their perfect
for awhile. . .

we are born of the compulsion
to have a compulsion
to see what we look like
when we walk
through a door --

the compulsion to break
ourselves in half
and see
is the compulsion
to create,
to see in
the compulsion to duplicate and
replicate is
the very compulsion that
created all
of us.

That's the truth.
(To fully understand
some of this,
read some of my earlier stuff on that
follow the link to representation,
The Fall,
The Grid,
always the Grid.)

That's the truth.

* * 8 * *

Let me please explain
the syntax of the previous
sentence ---
hold on tight --
this is the syntax
for a sentence in the Age of the Grid,
when sentences need to be
Understood across Languages.
In the Age of the Grid
takes more value over actual meanings of words,
because, if we could all agree
then we could communicate
Across Languages,
even translate
in real

Let me explain a little further:

Here is a sentence pattern for theAge
of the Grid:
(I'd call it the Definition Pattern):

The first half of the sentence would
be the term or concept you seek to define;
the second half
of the sentence would be
the definition.

The definition --
the second clause
(which by the way is also the dominant clause)
(The first, the term to be defined
would be subordinate,
the first element of the sentence would be a term known by all.
It would work as a symbol.
It would need no verb.

) ).

An example:
M&M's: a milk chocolatey mess that melts
in your mouth and not
in your hands.

A perfect definition,
a perfect
of what you're trying
to say to each other.

Yes, this is the syntax
of the soundbite,
the syntax
of the momentary
is the syntax of the next

(second rule for the Definition Pattern):

The first (subordinate)
is often an internationally known symbol,
like Ford, McDonalds,

(centerfornewmedia )

That symbol goes in the first part of the message.

The second part of the sentence
summarizes the new message --
ie: the argument --
you want to deliver
about the first,
well-known symbol.
Thus, even as this is a definition,
it is also an argument
for a new way of looking at things.

(Advertising has taught us, too,
that these arguments change
as the needs of socity

It's just the way of the world.)


A shortened, elliptical version of this Definition Pattern
is the Direct Assault Pattern,
where you don't even bother
with the
clause of explanation.
In the
you simply take that
internationally known symbol
and mark whatever message you want
to make about it
right over its face:


This is a very direct
unfortunately often
way to deliver
a message.

And its a syntax that is already in use
for much of the rest
of the world.

Consider this:

( killercoke )

It's only America that hasn't figured out
that the new language
of the new Century
is already taken
root, is
already making meaning
and changing minds.
And you'd think that America would
have figured out
and learned to communicate
more tactfully,
after receiving the kind of message
they did
on a rather ill-fated September Day
some Nine Years Ago.

Attacking one's central imagery
clearly expresses
what the other culture
of that central imagery.

( cargolaw )

we have to protect ourselves,
we don't have to kill them all.
They are
our brothers
They are
the lover
we need
when no one else understands
They are our
polar opposites, the ones
we don't tell
the rest of our friends
we love.
They are our
alcoholic sisters,
bisexual brothers,
paranoic mothers,
all the nutty ones
the ones
the human race has shunned,
the ones we love.

( accidentalmysteries )

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

So we have a choice
as the rocking sphere
swings inward
towards its magnetic

a) to love the Other,
all of the
who we really love
or b) to shun
even knowing
that the other
will always
be other and
honestly be
for US,
we who need them
to hold us together
so we might be

(Astronomy Picture of the Day

18 September 2010

The Scholar: A Channelling

. . . . and so it begins
the horrendous roller coaster 
treadmill of the academic
Some people think college professors
have it made,
but honestly
these days
that isn't true.

( Shelah )

Of course, there are those 
tenured faculty, who
admired what appeared to be the easy life
of their 
English Professor,
in the 1970's,
and perhaps it was 
in its way.

But like a child who admires his father's
the students who envisions and envies
his professor's 
solitary ease,
imitates it, and 
imitates it with exaggeration.
After all, the child doesn't see the work
that goes into 
apparent ease.

So, yes, there are
professors today
who are very, very
lazy, and then
there are those who do
their jobs, which means
when September hits, so too does their
4-4 or 5-5
teaching load
the fan and splatter
and so begins. . . 
the meetings and the committees and
the papers and the
                  Task Forces
designed by administrators
with literature Ph.D.s 
who are either more cunning
or more beguiling
or more corrupt
than the menial faculty.
And the duties they design
so urgently 
will become passe
when they move away
in a year or two
to a seaside experimental College
not too far from Berkeley.

( Bowman )

Yes, so it begins,
and I 
a faculty 
spawned by hardworking mentors
begin my struggle:

my mind gets cluttered
with a multitude of tasks
designed to appeal
to my well-meaninged
designed to quell my cantankarous

All week long I trudge
from day to day 
from paper, to paper,
pursuing these days
when my brain, so full
of mutterings
can spill
on this miserable page.
With a little help
from my friends, I squeeze
the chatter 
into oblivion, for a time
when time gallops
forward, and so does
my pen, just barely
fast enough
to capture the moaning voices
of captives in my head
my head
the cave
the cave
where perhaps exists a
universe just like
the one we live in,
and the great mind 
that fashions the wheel
that spins around a glowing
center in this world
is mine.  And somewhere
on a planet circling that star
in my mind
                                         lives me, struggling to see
                                 the meaning of it all.

The savior of the world
in my own mind is me,
and if I can just be true
to me
everything will be all right.

 - - - ) ) ) ( ( ( - - -

This is where the current 
comes in:
it is designed to detain
the minds of men
and women
from themselves.

It was designed by men
living inside their own heads
100 years or so
and it worked for awhile,

But not anymore, as the 
master brain evolves to meet
the God-Brain,
the ways of that mind
that Old old mind
will no longer fit the bill.

Jesus will come as the scholar
in the 4 days of the grid,
in the
Age of the Grid
at the exact
point of juncture
where & when
women &  men
The Messiah is the mind that
unites us,
the point
of agreement
and acceptance
and forgiveness.

It's so easy
that it's hard, the hardest
thing in the world
to do.

Most people would just
and say:
it's the stupidest
most asinine
idea, and no way
could it happen:

what could happen:

humans would advance to the point
where they could all
we could all 
just look each other
in the eye
and just
or equality,
If we all stopped fighting,
stopped hating,
started communicating

we'd all be equal.

That's right:
we would all

Jesus will come as the Scholar
in the 4 Days of the Grid:
in earlier entries
I've contemplated
who Jesus was
       or is,
and mostly,
what the Grid is,
but have I spoken of the scholar?

The scholar is the greatest
any man can be,
recognizing that scholar
means reaching the highest
intellectual potential
one can reach
on the subject that one
is born to be best at;
one can be a scholar
in their taxi, or a
scholar delivering mail,
or a scholar
teaching infants,
or a scholar
in jail.
 Just as long as the mind
that God gave you,
that absolute 
made in His likeness,
just as long as you are true
to its greatest potential,
you, too,
                are part of

Jesus rising. 

- - - ( ( ( ) ) ) - - -

Jesus will come again
as the Scholar
to the scholars
when the 4 points unite:
the East
the West
the North
the South
at the moment of the juncture
when the eye of God
gazes directly
at the mind of Man
through the only aperture
in the heavens
that makes this possible:

by the way,
it's a mirror
in the mind
of God:
that's the ticket,
that's the 2-way street,
the moment of Reflective Practice
when God reflects 
on himself:

and when he does, we
are the image he sees:

We happy Three
We Trinity.

Is this a joke?
Is this a drug induced
Or is it
a channelling,
a message
from the galaxy
inside of me
that is really
my point of entry to
the entirety
of the almighty.

Don't think too hard.
Just ride that trai
and if you fall off,
don't fret
there's always another.

But if you're wondering the date and time
of this miraculous
mirror gazing:
it would be
some time in the 12th month
of the year

14 September 2010

The Brain as a Muppett

. . . thanks to
Dangerous Minds,
I saw this fabulous little video
done by puppeteer Jim Henson:

All I can say is:
I wish I'd done this myself!

11 September 2010

Blood Red Pants

(from Google search page, thanks.)

On 9/11/2001,
I was living in Turkey.
I had just returned from
My summer with family in the States.
Only a week previous,
We had celebrated my youngest brother’s wedding
In New York City.
With our new-found family members
(my sister-in-law’s Greek family,
The kind generous people
Who welcomed me so warmly
This past summer)
We had taken the Circle Line Cruise
And enjoyed the Manhattan skyline,
Complete with
Twin Towers.

( photo by Makropoulos )
What a happy day that had been for me,
To be with my whole family,
In New York City,
One of my favorite cities
In the world.
I had lived three and a half very happy years
In that city
While I completed coursework
For my Ph.D., and
I had my own relationship with the
World Trade Center:
One summer I had done temp work in one of the Towers,
For a month or so
On around the 64th floor,
In a bustling stock trading office.
I don’t remember the name of the place.
But I remember the people,
All frenetic, some struggling
To find a human moment
In the bustle of the day.
I remember being amused
By the high-stakes game they were playing,
But only really wanting to watch.
I knew that if I tried to participate,
I’d probably destroy something,
Like somebody’s
Fragile fortune.

I remember my lunch breaks, too,
Sitting out in the heat,
Under the creaking,
Eating my simple sandwich
Every now and then wishing
One of the besuited men
Would take a shine to me
And invite me to lunch.

(But I was newly married then, so I played it safe,
wearing non-descript cotton
and hose.
In the heat,
That’s right.
I wore hose.)

My other memory of the Towers
Was a daily one:
I would step out of my
East 9th Street apartment building
And head West
To my classes.
Crossing 1st Avenue, I could look down
And see them in the distance.
They became my beacon,
My guide,
My reminder that I was headed
In the right direction.

It was very hard to live in New York City
And not have a relationship
With the
Twin Towers.
* *

( alibaba)

On 9/11/2001,
I was living in Turkey.
I had just returned from
In the streets of Ankara.
I loved the new red pants
I had bought
That hugged me
Like hose.
But as pants,
They were far more sexy
Than hose.
Blood red pants.
I still have them.

I came into my apartment,
Turned on my TV,
Always set
Without looking,
Went to the bedroom
And put on my
Blood red pants.

(photo by Makropoulos)

They were very sweet,
And made me smitten
With my own ass.

Returning to the other room,
I saw it:
My lovely city
New York
An aerial view
An airplane flying
And colliding
With a Tower.
Like so many others,
I thought it was a hoax at first,
But then,
I saw the next plane.

When the first Tower
I too
To the ground,
And suddenly
Very alone, and very frightened.

I could see very clearly
How the massive
American Ship of State
Now had a gaping hole
Torn right into its water line,
And all I could think was:
Now all the passengers,
Those US Citizens,
 on board that massive
Ship of State that they thought
Was the Love Boat
Have a clear view of the rest of the world.
What will they see?

They could, if they dared, see very clearly
The position America had come to assume
In the rest of the world.
They could, indeed, if they dared, look closely
At the now imperiled vessel
In which they had blissfully
Floated for nearly a century
And recognize
That it was not the Love Boat after all,
But rather,
A Battleship.
And they could apologize and get on with mending their wounds,
Everyone’s wounds.


They could get really pissed
And fight back
And keep pretending they are on the
Love Boat
When in fact the more they fought
(the more they fight)
The more the rest of the world
Would see their concealed weapons
More clearly,
And watch how frantic they would all become
As the still damaged
Began (and begins) to slowly sink
The Sea of History.

That’s what I thought.
Sometimes my brain
Waxes quite poetically.

If you haven't noticed by now.

* * *

On 9/11/2001,
I was living in Turkey.
I had just returned from
The U.S.A.
I had brought some gifts
For my building’s
(door man, building manager, maintenance man)
A lovely always-smiling man
Which, by the way,
Means “peace”
If you didn’t know that.
It’s often part of a greeting.
I had bought with me a bag full of gifts
For his children,
And he had been so shocked
When I handed them to him.
(In my then very modest Turkish,
I had asked him,
before I left,
how many children he had,
or I thought I asked him that.
After a confused expression, he answered
altı” – six
So I had brought back a bag full of
Six little stuffed animals.
I later learned he had two
And the oldest was
Six, and the question I had posed
Was actually
“How old is your child?”)
Salaam was always smiling at the door of the building,
Or working in the grounds, making them a fabulous garden.
His beautiful wife
Would bring me homemade food
when she had extra.
After the events of 9/11/2001,
Salaam brought me flowers,
And wished me and my country
a quick healing.
People in my building who I did not know
Stopped me in the elevator and on the stairs,
And said they were deeply sorry
For the attack on the
Twin Towers.
That was not, they said,
The true Islam.

Within the year that followed,
When my apartment was broken into
Salaam took personal responsibility for it,
And did all he could to make the building secure.
My neighbors paid to have my door fixed;
They gave me money and food until
I could stabilize myself.

In my independent American Way,
I was embarrassed
and told them
they didn't have to do that.

But a neighbor explained to me
That the moment I moved into their building,
I became a member of their family,
Their community,
And they felt it was their duty
To help and protect me.
It was, this woman said,
The Turkish way,
The True Islamic way,
Not like what happened in New York
On 9/11/2001.

It is 9/11/2010,
And I live in America.
And somewhere
In Florida,
A preacher,
A religious man
A man whose job it is to train his people
About the true nature of God,
And the Peaceful,
Teachings of Jesus Christ
Has threatened to  burn
The Koran –

And I say to you
That man is Not a True Christian.
He should go move
Into a working class apartment complex
In a Muslim country
And see
What a true Christian 
Is supposed to act like.


The reverse of the abuse is

The initial abuse occured
for a split second

or the representation of god
that was produced so god
could see what he
or she
looked like


and said:

"what the heck is that?"

and for a moment the love faltered,

and part of god laughed

at the other part of god

and that laughing part of god

made the other part of god

feel it was less than god,

and so

the cycle of abuse


. . . .


through time

the abuse has compounded to the point where

pastors abuse parishioners

fathers abuse children

lovers abuse beloved

and the abused are so confused --  because

it all started for them

a long time ago,

when they had come only seeking


It's time to break the chain;

it's time to look in the mirror and recognize

we are all complimentary parts

of the total image

The only way to make that change

to the man in the mirror

is to change the man



the mirror.

little children . . .

And said, Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted, and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven.

Matthew 18:3

03 September 2010

when will I get done, revolving it all? (a channelling)

This semester I'm teaching Footfalls,
That fabulous Beckett play
the got itself etched 
in my mind so many years
that, and 
 It's funny: I may be setting myself up
for failure.

Whenever I decide to teach
a play I know oh so well
and love so much,
I find when I reach the actual
teaching itself,
I can't do it.
Students get really mad at me,
because I love all that old stuff like
or Euripides,
all guys I once knew once.

and beckett

The problem is: I know so much about these guys
and their times
that it would take forever
to teach it,
so for about a week
I'm silent, demanding the students
teach themselves some little part of
(Oh, these 21st century students hate an old
history bound chick like me --
it's not their fault;
they were raised in an age
that scoffed at
Still, I force them
to teach themselves.   I want them to
get it in their bones
as deeply as it is in mine.
And the only way they can do that
embody it.

When that's over, I teach the play and I teach it intensely.

Unfortunately, some students think that anything not taught directly by the teacher doesn't count.
For them, there is a  tough leap
from self-taught to "worth something."

( detourart )

So much of what I know
is self taught.
And it's all worth something.
I confirmed that
when I did a dissertation
at a fairly well known university
and won a departmental award for my work
in a blissfully forgiving cross-disciplinary field called
"Performance Studies."

Yes, that's right, in this age, Makropoulos is a PhD.

By gaining that, I confirmed to myself
that all that stuff
I taught my self
over the ages
was both worth it an
well taught.

If I can teach myself
all the crap I taught
myself as well as I did,
you'd think I'd be able to teach
and for a decade or two
I could: I was recognized as a good teacher,
at some very good schools.

However, I'm not as one of those schools now.

This generation,
lovingly referred to as
Generation Z
is so different from any I've ever encountered
They just want to be spoon fed
(I don't like doing that)

Students don't like me,
I just don't take their bullshit.
I want them to take
for themselves and their learning.
Not a good thing to require these days,
in the good ol' U.S. of A.


Students in generation Z
are either
the most spoiled children we've ever produced
they're the most literal generation in recent history.

( timeoutsydney )

So tell me:
have I finally hit
the Generation Gap
is this another marking of a
major cosmic shift?
Has Generation Z inherited the task of being
the cusp generation?
If it is a cosmic shift, it is heralded by a generation
that is honest and true; they see life simply for what
it is.
That is the constant,
and then there are the variables,
and that depends a lot on who their parents are:

1.  Those raised by the more Idealistic Hippies of the '60's and 70's - Empaths, that would be,
the kids are empathic to a dangerous extreme.

2.  Those raised by the Folks-Who-Like-To-Get-Stoned Hippies,
Some of Whom Still
and some of whom who don't,
they are the largest group
who produced kids,
and their kids are
a mixed bag.
They're either really thoughtful, caring, ethical, slightly
goofy, but nice to be around


They're stoners.

3. That group is nearly rivaled in size
by the children of the early generation
whose kids, for the most part
are stoners;
but there are also children of Stoners
who look at their wasted parents
and decide:
"there must be another, better way";
and they are any of the above

. . . . and then . . .  .

4. there are the children of
the Nice, Straight Kids From the Seventies
Oh, yeah, they're out there,
those kids.  Some become
stoners, because their parents, who were
Nice, Straight Kids
when they were young
have become
Anal Retentive,
so their kids are either
doubly anal retentive
or they become
Any One Of the Above.

5.  And then,
There are the kids of the
Religious Zealots, and often
those kids are psychopathic religious zealots


they're any of the above
with any level of
Religious Fervor.

the common denominator across all these groups is:

they are matter-of-fact and literal.
They live day to day;
they have trouble dealing with
and that may be
because many of their parents
yielded it abusively.

They don't like me
all that much.
I didn't have kids this time around.
Instead, I was and still am
the nerd you kind of liked but also kind of hated
I didn't ever turn around and say to you
"why the hell did you do that?  That was really stupid!"
I just refused
to participate.
I have done
my own thing.
I suppose some
would think me a snob;
after they get to know me
just come to see
I'm actually very nice
and always honest.

Well, why not?

What the hell?

I'm 424 - going on 425
years old, and
it just doesn't make sense to
all the people around me.
I've seen you all
so many times before;
you just keep coming back
and you don't remember
a damned thing about what you did
the last time you were here.

(Many of you look at me with that vague
mist of remembrance
and say:
"wow, I know you from somewhere!"
but generally
you don't remember
who you were.
You were a girl.
You were a king.
You were black.
You were a slave.

You put yourself
in those roles
because you knew
it would teach you something.

The problem is: most of you
didn't learn it the last time around;
you never attained that identity;
you went to your grave denying
you were a girl
or a slave
or a black man
or a muslim
or a christian
or a jew,
and therefore,
the thing you were the last time around --
the thing you never were able to see --
is the thing you hate the most

So the challenge of this lifetime
is double:

Gain the knowledge you didn't gain in your last life
(ie: OK, that black man could have been me 100 years ago)
and gain it
in the body you chose for
This Life.

Learn to be honest
and frank
with yourself.
from Makropoulos
who is the most honest
person you will ever meet.

That's right,
I'm past my gripes with you -- we
dealt with them a century
or two
and now I just want us all
to get on with it.

There are only a few; indeed,
a very select few I
haven't met in all
my decades; and those are the ones
I am supposed to meet.
Not just one, mind you, but the ones,
the ones who are like me,
like CricketSong.

We're here looking for each other
we are the pillars
of the next generation of humanity.
Our words will be preserved
into the future, and
humans -- in whatever form
they take -- will say:

"well, hell, it's not like nobody told them."


We've had prophets before
who proved themselves
right; and we have prophets
right now, of equal magnitude,
and that is because
we are the same
It's our cosmic fuckin' job.

  The funny thing about
the words of the prophets
(not those on the tenement halls, but especially
those on the internet)
is that they will last for an eternity.

Humankind, on the other hand,
is physical and will pass,
it is a Fact; humankind is God's
Creation, and it will
in some form or another
it gets it right.

(What is it to get it right?
To get it right is to reflect back to God
Her Image,
unflawed and as perfect
as an Image
can possibly be.)

(docarzt 's interesting blog entry on Bentham )

The problem is:
if the revolving
Eye of God,
which loves to turn around  and survey
all its creation,
when it finally comes back to
that place where
it is looking directly as US,
well -- if it's not happy,
like it wasn't happy the last time it looked
(see the book of Genesis, chapters 6 - 9 : the story
of Noah)
well -- He kind of warned us
that the next total destruction
(that is, if She's pissed)
will be fire.

That's right -- fire --
He's moving through
the Elements,

 In His first Disappointment,
he used
Death by Earth:
ie: to be sent out of the
Garden of Eden and told
"Now it's ashes to ashes,
dust to dust
for you"
is, fundamentally,
Death by Earth.

The flood was
Death by Water.

The next threat on God's agenda is
(check out the Book of Revelation
for that one)

( picsdigger )


we  have two choices
more or less,
assuming the majority of us don't want
Death By Fire.
There may be enough among us who do,
and given that,
we'll get it, but
some will live on
to carry the burden of our errors;
to reproduce
exponentially until
all the souls who have yet to get it right
have hand another change.
will have to learn to live in the askes
as they wait an eternity for God's
Eye to come around again.

And I would have to keep coming back, dammit.

so that's what happens if we do nothing.

we could  do a really good job of remembering what the hell
we did wrong and fix it, quickly, and then,
 well, one of two things would happen:

a.  If, say, 90% of the world was being good
and 10% or so were still raising hell, well
She (I mean God) might decide to be 
light on us.
We might get off with Death by Air,


She might give us a little more time,
just a little more,
and then check on us again
a little sooner
 (God is, after all, a just God, and a forgiving God)


b.  If we were ALL good,
when the Eye of God
is suddently facing us fully
well, then,
 God would see His Creation,
that reflection of Herself
in all its Perfection,
which is what
He wanted
all along.

And, well,

God would look at Her creation and
finally see Himself, and
finally find that He
could Love Herself
or at least Their Own Likeness,

which is Us.

God is Love:
He keeps insisting;
why can't we give Him
what She wants to see?

> > > > > > > > 

The good thing about Generation Z
is that it is wise enough
to be willing to at least try Love once --
and if they find Love 
to be Good,
they'll stay in it.

It's their parents
who will be the ones doomed
to another turn 
on the dance floor of time;
and it could be a very long time
in fire
if we're not careful.

Ah.  So.

So I'm teaching 


and wondering:

". . . will I ever be done
revolving it all
in my poor mind. . . . 

it all.

it all.