Thursday/Friday, 21-22 February, 1963

Left Honolulu at 0930 on World Airways Nr.102 for Kwajalein. The distance is 2450 miles and it takes 9 hours @ 274 mph. Peter Pfluke and his wife are aboard, as well as two WECO families, with a total of 20.

Crossed the International Date line, so this date is the same as yesterday. Arrived at Kwaj at 4:35 PM KST. Was met by Dr. Brown. Jim Knight forgot I was coming and showed a little later. I was assigned to Coral 121 — half of a double room.

I have an appointment with Jim tomorrow at 0930.

The working hours are 0730 to 6 PM, 5 days a week.

Some overcast

Went out to the AP at 0800 and checked in with World Airways. Registered my camera & binoculars with the US Customs so they will not be subject to duty on the return trip. As I was checking in, Jack Wilkinson was there, and I introduced myself and spoke with him for some time. He retires in another year and is hoping to be kept on until the project is completed. He operates the radio link to the coast from Honolulu and to Kwajalein. He pointed out that “white foreigners” are in the minority on the islands, citing the ticket given by a policeman to a L2 individual when his car was damaged.

Met Charles Petersen and Peter Pfluke as we boarded the plane — CP came down to see the others off. Twenty on board.

Jack W. said to use the Islander Hotel — 400 Seaside, Waikiki.

Two hotels in downtown Hono are the Young & Blaisdell.

Same day, as we crossed the International Date line en route. Flying time it 9 hours at an average ground speed of 274 mph to cover 2450 miles. The usual tropical clouds are in evidence, the horizon can’t be identified. The afternoon weather forecast for both Hono a& Kwaj is for showers.

There were no showers at Kwaj; the wind was blowing about 10 knots so it seemed cooler than Honolulu.

After dinner with my roommate, a young cosmopolite, I walked out on the pier to see if I could spot the North Star, but it seemed obscured. I think I have the Pointer and Cassiopeia located, and Orion is directly overhead.

Spent an hour or so in the Library.

Richard Freeman

Shane reminds me that Richard is giving a talk after the usual Sunday afternoon mysore session at the studio over on 21st Street. It’s cold (record low temps) outside, and steamy inside.

But great to finally meet him, he’s a wonderful extemporaneous speaker, and his meta-process definitely resonated with my own sensibilities on the way to go with teaching. His knowledge-base of Sanskrit and yogic teachings provides him with a wide and very deep territory to explore, and he dances around it all with a wry and humane sense of humor. The same essence that I attempt within any of my teaching, though I lack the depth of a single systematic view and that muddies the water to some degree. At most one can only do that circuitous dance around the Void, laughing and pointing at it through the clouds and letting righteous fear fall away into the absurdity of it all.

He speaks of the soft-palate and its role in resonantly apprehending external energy sources (as in ‘awe,’ think of the palate’s role in vocalizing that phoneme…).

We have a conversation after class. I told him how much I appreciated his CD series on yoga practices and breathing. I used them as a base for my own praxis when I can’t get to a class.

Strangely only one or two people approach him after his talk. I don’t know if this is a respect thing, or some protocol that I missed, or that he intimidates his students, or what. But he was very forth-coming responding to some of my comments about resonance between exterior energy flows and internal flows. Good vibe!

Bandhas are the internal energy valves or gates, which when activated allow the energy to flow through the bodily vessel activating the dormant potential of embodied spirit. Another way of stating this is that the stagnant rigidity of a chronic spiritual disconnect can be disrupted through bandhas, pranayama, and pratyhara quickly providing the pathway for flow — the ongoing ever-present spiritual reconnect of the great expanse of being. Although, commonly denoted as locks, bandhas act as such only in so far that they prevent the outward flow (dissipation) of the energy. However, a better translation would be valves, gates, or doorways, because they direct the internal energy flow to irrigate the nadis, open to continuous flow, activate the energy body, and align it with all-creativity.

Etc…

everything left behind?

Meet Jane at The Goat this AM — good to catch up with her. One big point in our conversation struck me hard: she observed that the students entering university now are products of the “No Child Left Behind” indoctrination ‘education’ ideology of the G. W. Bush Regime. Incessant teaching to standardized (albeit state rather than Federal) testing narrowed the range of possibility for teaching holistic views of the world. This partially explains difficulties I am observing in class related to “seeing the Big Picture” of the world. A text becomes a string of unrelated possible-factoids that need to be absorbed and returned on demand, without an accompanying (and necessary!) (CRITICAL) sense-making when there is a socially-constructed reality at play.

The blog suffers some here, few notations of the actuality of momentary living. Meeting Jane, breakfast with Chris & EJ at Dot’s Diner, meeting Jim at the CU Art Museum and later a beer at The Sink (where Obama recently popped by for lunch), talking to Lisa on the phone, she has to walk outside for the signal not to drop, talking to George on another bad connection as he sat in an airport waiting to fly to Norman, Oklahoma to give a writer’s workshop, talking to Bill, skyping with Loki, emails to my students, and to a hundred Others, job applications, compiling texts of living and mostly dead writers, not much reading done, though. And hardly a glance at the sky, except to watch a couple gliders rising under some winter-ish looking clouds spinning off the divide.

Tuesday, 14 August, 1962

Joel Resnick & I spent the day at Sperry, Joel with Seymore, & I with Tom McInnis. We accumulated a good amount of information, but need much more.

High clouds
Morning fog

Spent the day at Sperry. Drove out to the US Maritime Academy at Kings Point, operated by the Department of Commerce. The 1000 students are now at home on leave, so the guard at the gate let me drive down to the pier. It is a pleasant place.

Kings Point has some magnificent homes; one is Kenilworth.

Sunday, 18 March, 1962

Clear – no clouds at all

Walked down to the river via the Vichy Spring road. It was most pleasant; took a few pictures. Then went to church, sitting between Mayne & Lina. Afterward I went over to Lula & Warren Brown’s car with them and had a pleasant visit before leaving for SF at 1:20 PM. Arrived at 4:05, went up to the ‘Y’ Hotel for a breather & then went on over to see Lila. She had a heart attack a few months ago and shows it. She is concerned about her trust fund handling and related business affairs such as income taxes. She is quite lonely! I wish I could do something concrete.

Saturday, 17 March, 1962

A few clouds – 56°F

Put in about 2 hours at the Ukiah Van & Storage warehouse going over the items in storage. As I forgot the lists of box contents, so about all I could do was to look at the boxes. I did open the long narrow toolbox and take the steel square out so it could be shipped w/o breaking the box. Took the clock out and will take it with me. I couldn’t find the box of old clarinets.

Went up to see Belle Cleveland and then over to the Brown’s for a fine visit & lunch. Warren went after Lina at 1:30 and then took us over to Lillian & Bill William’s for a while. Bill later dropped me at the hotel & took Lina on home after a good visit.

I then walked out to the cemetery. My, I’d like to live here again.

Friday, 16 March, 1962

Took Lou Kraft to the airport in LA to catch the non-stop TWA to Boston.

Called the L2 office at BSD to start the process for a semi-permanent badge. Obtained it with Carol’s help in about an hour; it is a TS badge. After trying unsuccessfully to reach Jim Ashmore, I left about 11 AM, packed, turned in the car, and left for SF at 1 PM on United, arriving there at 2:05 PM. Took the Greyhound up to SF, called Lila at PRospect 5-7442 and went on up to Ukiah.

See personal diary.

Some high clouds

Left LA at 1 PM on UAL 776 arriving in SF at 2:05. Called Owen Tibbs at PA, having a good talk with him.

Went up to SF and called Lila. She had expected me for dinner but it seemed better to go on up to Ukiah today, which I did, arriving at 7:10 PM.

Walked out to visit Mayne, who was on the phone talking to Lina. Mrs. Brown called a few minutes later. I’ll see them tomorrow.

Tuesday, 13 March, 1962

Worked up a list of topics to discuss at BSD on 15/16. WLZ reviewed these & said that if I got 10% of it I would be doing well. I’ll admit the list calls for a good deal.

Listened to the Associate Director of NASA (Dr. Seamans) tell of its program; it is really an all-encompassing one.

Tried to get Eaton on the phone at the LLL Office at BSD/LA, but no one answers

Some clouds – warmer

The rain melted much snow, but there is as much or more left.

Mailed letters to Ukiah Van & Storage, Cornwell Tool (returning the extra 7/16″x3/8″ square-drive socket).

Decided to change my Occidental policy ($5000 + $100/mo) to $8000 OL to age 70. It will cost $215/year; I now pay $180/yr.

Took car to AMS in AM so the carburetor could be cleaned out. It seemed to run a lot better during the drive home.

Friday, 29 December, 1961

Called Mr. Yingling at Warick Rhode Island at 0825. He was out for the day, but his assistant, a Mr. McCue (?) took the msg. His phone is VAlley 1-2500 Warick, RI. He will call back today.

Clear 29.60″ Hg

Maybe the storm in by-passing us; no clouds in the AM.

Went over to Douglas Ins’t in East Boston after the radio; it had a few burned parts in the output section I wired in a shorting jack in the output so removal of the output plug will short the output transformer. Did some other errands, arriving home about 5:45 PM.

DCH to an Explorer tobogganing party at Mr. Driscoll’s.

on visibility

To look:

at everything which overflows the outline, the contour, the category, the name of what it is.

All appearances are continually changing one another: visually everything is interdependent. Looking is submitting the sense of sight to the experience of that interdependence. To looker something (a pin that has dropped) is the opposite of this looking. Visibility is a quality of light. Colours are the faces of light. This is why looking is to recognize, enter a whole. Identity of an object or colour or form is what visibility reveals: it is a conclusion of visibility; but it has nothing to do with the process of visibility which is as uncontainable, which is as much a form of energy as light itself. Light which is the source of all life. The visible is a feature of that life; it cannot exist without it. In a dead universe nothing is visible.
more “on visibility”

field work

Debris flow following a localized thunderstorm—consisting of mostly light organic material—emerging onto the dune field from a post-wildfire area of Great Sand Dunes National Park, August ©2011 hopkins/neoscenes.
Debris flow following a localized thunderstorm—consisting of mostly light organic material—emerging onto the dune field from a post-wildfire area of Great Sand Dunes National Park, August ©2011 hopkins/neoscenes.

argh!

need warmth, bad! un-heated houses, single-glazed windows, clouds, rain. this is the other Oz. only ‘Tazzie’ is colder, along with the mountain regions, though they probably get more sunshine. hard to theorize, much less predict the weather here. it’s a black box, mostly, though the clouds and sky are compelling and often quite beautiful. I now watch for the Southern Cross when the stars are out. Orion is gone into the sunset.

and practically no images made this year so far. hard to imagine it’s June already given the coldness of this place. solstice in view.

crossing borders.

media consumes

(social) media consumes energy: batteries. battery life. chargers. radiation. signal strength. plugs, circuit breakers, wires, cables. server farms. power stations. hydrocarbons. life-time, life-energy.

clouds, freedom, connectivity, (sky, freedom, detachment) …

The Cosmic Spirit

To every form of being is assigned
An active principle:—howe’er removed
From sense and observation, it subsists
In all things, in all natures: in the stars
Of azure Heaven, the unenduring clouds,
In flower and tree, in every pebbly stone
That paves the brooks, the stationary rocks,
The moving waters and the invisible air.
Whate’er exists hath properties that spread
Beyond itself, communicating good,
A simple blessing, or with evil mixed:
Spirit that knows no insulated spot,
No chasm, no solitude; from link to link
It circulates, the soul of all the worlds.
— Wordsworth. Excursion. Book VI, 1-15.

readying for a perambulation around the cosmos at any moment. readying for the moment of full-on change. readying for now.

Thursday, 02 March, 1961

Wrote comments to Col. Bavarro on his briefing on the Phase I Report; principle point is that integration of function is not contemplated.

Reported to JFN on results of trip, noting the graphs on p. 56 and the final one on p. 59, noting that it will take a few days to organize what we have. Also mentioned the desirability of obtaining Major McCarren here on the project, and the payoff from sending analysts to the C&GSC course for “Senior Officer Nuclear Weapons Employment,” the next one will start on 17 March.

Obtained title of Aeronutronics document on ARTOC from Miss Hedley, C&GSC Archives, Ft. Leavenworth MU2-1000 ext. 3144: Operations Control, AN/MSO-19, Design Plan, 13 Vol. Aeronutronics Report C-236, 10 August 1958.

Made out trip voucher details, returning$30 to Gail of the $50 advanced.

Clear – sct’d clouds

Got to work at 0810.

Spent the evening fixing the washing machine, it had a short in the line to the inlet valve.

DCH report card had the usual C’s; he apparently has no intention of getting on the Honor Roll: he gets good grades in the subject he is interested in — science.

drenched

overlook panorama, Blue Mountains National Park, New South Wales, Australia, November 2010

brutal day, too late to change it: deciding to go out to the closest bush access — the Blue Mountains National Park up at Katoomba to check it out — bad weather, but this is the only opportunity to go before leaving for New Zealand on Friday. I suppose it is the rough equivalent of hitting Yosemite or so (not near the grandeur of Yosemite, but the proximity and intensity of being a tourist attraction, they get three million folks up here every year). a 90-minute train ride from Sydney Central up the hill to Katoomba Station. decide to fuel-up at a cafe in town first, do some writing, pick up on the vibe. then head south from town on foot to the edge of the main escarpment of resistant Triassic Hawkesbury sandstone that Katoomba sits on. pouring rain by the time I get an hour out. thankfully I have full Goretex on which is useless. so, drenched to the point that it makes no difference. more “drenched”

Empty Infinity

Without beginning, without end,
Without past, without future.
A halo of light surrounds the world of the law.
We forget one another, quiet and pure, altogether powerful and empty.
The emptiness is irradiated by the light of the heart and of heaven.
The water of the sea is smooth and mirrors the moon in its surface.
The clouds disappear in blue space; the mountains shine clear.
Consciousness reverts to contemplation; the moon’s disk rests alone.

Wilhelm, R., 1962. The Secret of the Golden Flower: A Chinese Book of Life, New York, NY: Harvest / HBJ Book.

Researching more of Wilhelm’s powerful translation work that continues to widen an opening door into an ultimately livable space. The dorsal/ventral (toku – nin or Circulation of Light) breathing technique elucidated here — even when practiced with flawed concentration — has an immediate and profound affect on the state of the system. I am even surprised with the intensity of change which ensues. The body is straighter, uplifted, and the balance of body heat has shifted drastically — the chronically over-heated head is cooler, the feet and hands warmer. This shift has not yet directly impacted rising gall (yang) in surprise (reactive) situations, but when the breathing becomes first nature, it appears to have the potential to do that. The base-line of calm has shifted for the better. Will have to consult Heiji about these affects. A daily practice of some minutes, with as many reminders shot through the many unconscious moments of non-breathing, seems to be an auspicious start. There is no going back on this discovered knowledge.

turbulent

weather, Denver International Airport, Denver, Colorado, May 2010

Public transport to the airport in the rain. Portland has a close-to-German system running between trams, buses, streetcars, and suchlike. A change of planes in Salt Lake gives a view of the Great Salt Lake Desert and the Wendover stomping grounds on the way in, along with the nasty and turbulent winds. The next hop to Denver goes right over Echo Park. Weather on the Front Range delays us in a holding pattern over Rocky Mountain National Park. Those peaks are all too close! On the ground, full-blown summer afternoon thunderstorm patterns are in play. With the full moon rising over the eastern plains. Look at those clouds!

end of the road

Start to try making time-lapse sequences from the immediate surroundings. Lousy and/or old equipment, a quasi-functioning power system, and the results show it. Add a portable generator, a better tripod, longer cabling, a 3-CCD camera with chip memory (ah to be free of tape!), and a laptop with a battery that lasts longer than the start-up sequence. I’m ready to cash in some of my retirement piddle to cover it. Maybe $10K I could get away with all of it, including a decent audio recorder? That, along with a better 4WD truck and I’d be part of the pseudo-elite for once. hah. So, anyway, now, marooned in Echo Park by the intense weather, (I was warned, fair enough, but I told the ranger that I wasn’t planning to come out until Friday next at least, anyway, so things should dry up by then, and that I had enough supplies for at least two weeks if not more). Stormy already today, late morning, humidity pulled the clouds up, and while attempting some decent time-lapses, it gets worse. What else is new? Maybe I end up sitting in the car just writing. There are rain filaments across to the north.

Cutting tamarisk growth behind camping site (#7) to feed the fire. Keeps mind busy, with flinging sharp blade biting into hard wood. No help around in case of an accident. This sharpens the wits. more “end of the road”

CLUI: Day Thirty-Three — finale

near Callao, Utah, May 2010

Finally depart, making last-minute passes across all the place. Ship-shape, single-wide shape. Good enough for the next artist coming through. Head out by around noon, tired of waiting on the road to Echo Park to open after these repeated waves of late spring storms rolling through. Head south to follow the southern boundary of the Dugway site, through Gold Hill, in that frontier mode, rough, and the mountains have all been dug up, mined out. Some tough looking abodes, apparently there are a few people who live there year-round, it’s gotta be tough. Join the Pony Express Route at Callao, head east to the Wildlife area, windy more or less, mostly more. Callao is really a frontier outpost. About 8-10 ranch families. No store, no gas, no nuthin,’ just the ranches clustered around some arable land at the foot of the spectacular and rugged Deep Creek Mountains (which are higher than the Wasatch in Eastern Utah! The Pony Express Route is an even more strange communications artifact, but one that resonated long in the US imagination, though it lasted only a couple years in actuality — made obsolete by the telegraph cable. But the idea of riding across this landscape in 12-mile spurts (a healthy horse has to stop after that distance when running full-tilt), well, it’s something.

Over-night at the Dugway Geode Mines, pick around a bit in the gathering twiLight, but am pretty tired after the drive. Quiet night, though there are threatening clouds rolling through from time-to-time. It’s always tough to pick a place out there to camp at there are no accessible trees, nor even vegetation above the knees, hardly the ankles! Always have the feeling of being exposed.

CLUI: Day Twenty-Five — sandstorm

sunset with the sandstorm starting,

Apocalyptic. Huge wind storm, driving wind upwards from the playa to the black clouds collected over the ranges. Wind. Then, much later in the evening, the air becomes heavy on the lungs, and a fine powdered dust hangs in the more still air, like a fog, but dust, powdered mountains, air-borne terrain. It is dark, lightning and thunder shuffles in the background, unseen, muffled behind the curtain of dislocated earth hanging in the air. Eyes sting, nose waters, pressure heavy on the lungs, body recalls the Great Sydney Dust Storm of ’09, sleep is disturbed so the reading of Augustus continues, more on that later.

Many other events and actions go un-commented-upon, so far. And there are more sounds to upload, along with numerous time-lapse sequences. These seem most apropos to the time here. Watching the weather — back to the “window weather’ concept.

pseudo-settled

grounded. arrive at Devleena’s flat in Marrickville, John is there to meet me. a bit of communication gap with them and it turns out I have the studio only for two weeks, after that it’s been promised to a Kiwi researcher. so, got to put the word back out to the network for another place to live. drat. this place, where Sophea also stayed, would have worked out well aside from the fact that the internet WPA connection isn’t functioning properly (yet), it won’t accept my login, sh… I’ll email her in Delhi to see what the score is.

got a bank account set up with Paul at the ANZ Marrickville branch, went grocery shopping, and hung out in a caf for an espresso and wifi.

palm and eucalyptus trees out the window that overlooks the Cook River (more like a tidal draw) above Botany Bay. it’s warm even for Sydney winter stats, +20C today. sweaty. chilly at night. very much like Santa Monica in the winter. as I thought it would be. air is clear, stars are unknown. winter sun is in the north, in Arizona among other places. clouds and breeze from indeterminate quarters. drifting through. the sounds of the city are not unfamiliar, but are … elusive.

concrete everywhere

Hanging out in Cedaredge, marveling at the custom houses these folks have built with their concrete skills. That and watching a brown bear wondering across the hillside that we just finished hiking a couple hours before, not 100 meters from the porch. Hanging out in Cedaredge, watching the clouds, and wondering about the weather.

Holly’s graduation

Golden High School graduation at Brooks Field on the School of Mines campus on what starts off as a dreary and chilly morning with uncharacteristic clouds sticking to the foothills. Holly is the Valedictorian. the weather clears up by the end when Montse and I head back to the house for final party preparations. I take the opportunity to get the whole Williamson Clan together for a group portrait.

fourteen hours later, celebrations finally end with a round of toasts for the graduate.

Dear Holly. What a pleasure to be here to celebrate this time with you! The teacher who spoke at graduation is precisely right that whenever two humans cross pathways they are both changed in ways that are not (always) immediately apparent. This is a powerful principle of life: when we realize and take to heart that this occurs, we may intensify the outcomes of these encounters through open, honest, and unfettered engagement. This engagement should be attentive, concentrated, and focused. Through this, any other human encountered becomes a collaborative partner in a dynamic creative process that is the essence of life. As is taught, the next person you encounter may be the Buddha, and thus, how you engage governs the potential for enLightenment. I wish you all the best in your near and far future; that the pathways you walk will be full of those transformative encounters; and that the transformations bring the breath-taking inspiration that makes life joyous. Life is a phenomena! You are phenomenal! At any point you have questions, answers, observations, or discoveries to share, I am happy to give you my attention. Thank you for being you! oxoxox jh

Riverwalking

Moore knows rivers, wet places, how to feel, how to transliterate feelings, and how to see, but I’m not in consonance with her characterization of the desert. Drawing emotion onto those landscapes seems to place the human over that which is not known — as though it could be humanly known. Something like the common personification of animals and the position of pets in the human social system. The desert is a transform mapping of the Void. Why personify that? Seems corrupt to add human stuff(ing) onto it.

Sometimes, in a desert landscape, a landscape without consciousness, emptier of intellect than any other landscape I have ever seen, I think I can feel emotion lying like heat on the surface of the sand and seeping into the cracks between boulders. There is joy in the wind that blows through the spines of the saguaro, and fear in bare rocks. Anger sits waiting under stones. Exhilaration pools in the low places, the dry river beds, the cracked arroyos, and is sucked by low pressure ridges up into storm clouds that blow east toward the Alamo Canyon.

Moore, K.D., 1996. Riverwalking : reflections on moving water, San Diego, CA: Harcourt Brace.

last day

sleep dissolves along with the darkness. full moon is covered with high clouds most of the night. but morning brings full sun breaking over the eastern horizon. in the bed of the truck, it finally finds my eyelids. and brings first a reddening haze, then, with squinted opening, shafts of eyelash-broken brilliance. the five percent humidity has scraped the throat and nose raw. water is the first thing: imbibio. reaching up to unlatch the rear gate which slams open with a thud and lets in the sound and sun of morning desert. impact on body by place is subtle and brutally immediate at the same time. already leaving this particular place, only four days. leaving precisely when there is that draw, that pull to go deeper, longer, to simply become there or at least to completely resonate to its frequency. resonate to rattlers, springs, green stone, slickensides, smaller and larger bursts of psychedelic colors every few centimeters, the dead cow, the lone cottonwood, the humming, the air, the water, the Light; thoughts of other places, other people, and other lives bring mostly a deepening melancholy and turbid state to clear thinking. ants. mosquitoes. snakes, thistles. what did I kill by walking, by being there? there are indeed thousands of tiny flowers scattered on the ground everywhere. the cattle have already destroyed the vast majority of the cryptobiotic soil spanning between the other, larger vegetation. they represent the most damaging influence on the desert environment. specifically they cause the widespread compression of the upper surface which cryptobiotic soil cannot recover from in any short-term way. so, every step taken… life destroys to create. only problem now is the plague species, humans, and how the system will deal with them.

bush-walking

Today, after that small amount of moisture in the night, the entire place is vibrating. When standing still, there is a loud and continuous background buzzing that is non-specific in source direction. Standing near a particular blossoming plant, there is the sensation of particular bees and other insects doing their thing, but otherwise, there is this background humming that has no point source but rather simply is — like the hissing of blood in the ear.

On the way in to Sycamore Spring both times, I note the existence of a lone Cottonwood tree growing up in the middle of a lightly sloping alluvial fan below a sizable unnamed mesa. The only possibility for a Cottonwood to be there is water, and plenty of it. A good objective for a bushwhack. After the numerous encounters with slithering and rattling things yesterday, attention to movement and especially foot placement becomes aligned with breathing. Of course, any movement has to be calculated when in such an environment. Miscalculated movement will be punished by some extremely sharp and pointed object intersecting and likely penetrating the body wall. I escape these four days with only two of those painful encounters, both arising in the thin slice of time between a visual scan of upcoming terrain and a glance at some specific object within the field of view. Then aiiii-shit! as the pain jolts upwards from compromised shin.

This bushwhack takes me to the Cottonwood. It looks to be around a hundred years old, there are a few other water-seeking plants, a tamarisk, rooted in a whitish rock ledge. Apparently some near-surface water is available. Paradise in the shade under the tree. Except for the stench of death which I trace to the desiccating corpse of a cow 20 meters away in the scrub. The shifting wind brings eye-watering wafts on occasion, but otherwise I spend an hour or two soaking up the energy of being under the lush green canopy surrounded by hard-core Sonoran desert. It is a singularity like Sycamore Spring on a smaller scale and with no running surface water.

Minuscule F/A-18 fighters are frequently dog-fighting in the airspace above. In the day and night. Moving in and out of unaided vision, tightly circling each other, dropping flares, and, with afterburners, roaring in such volume that all ambient sound is swallowed. For our nation’s security. So it goes.

Otherwise, commercial flight contrails gradually fill the sky with high-level cirrus clouds that soften the terrain and its re-radiative impact, but this effect diminishes the Light of the desert — and with that, its nature; along with distorting the energy flux among the organisms living here. They did not evolve with spent jet fuel clouds hanging overhead to shade them from the burnishing sun. This is a problem. Just another problem that the human species have applied through their amplification system — this is the waste product, waste energy, which alters the environment.

The rest of the day is a slow and rambling return to base. Run across some small mining digs, one trenched into a pegmatite dike that includes some coarsely crystallized black tourmaline with its classic trigonal (rhombohedral hemimorphic) cross-sections. Someone has tramped this land, and in the hunt for extractive wealth, has, literally, left no stone un-turned. The West is everywhere scarred by these digs from small two-meter test pits to the massive kilometer-wide open-pit gashes. That mineral bonanza, that natural ‘surplus’ regime drove and still drives the development of the West. Straight north of here about 15 kilometers, is the Phelps-Dodge copper/molybdenum open-pit monstrosity. Without which, well, as the old Colorado School of Mines bumper sticker suggested — Ban Mining, Let the Bastards Freeze in the Dark — the developed world could not exist.

into the wild

Long day after another long day after another long day. Seeing faces materializing out of time and time and times again. This is what the road brings, a movement into memory. Blizzard happening across most of the western mountains and plains. Driven by Pacific storms rolling in and intersecting with Arctic air masses. Colorado is no exception. Waking at Steve and Gaan’s place, a quick peek out the window shows flurrying snow piling up. And cold temps. Around 15 F. We hang for the morning, chatting about other friends, and life pathways. And politics and nations and economies and on.

Their place is perched on a small mesa, surrounded by juniper and piñon. Gaan had photographed a bobcat in the garden recently. The view was unbroken north to Pikes Peak and west to the Wet Mountains. Mmmm. They had to leave on short notice to meet the guys coming through the blizzard from Denver to clean the grease trap at the restaurant, so I packed up the truck and headed out as well, over to Bill’s place. It was snowing heavy, and Rt. 50 was already bad, but I made it over where I dropped off the black walnut lumber (missing three pieces that were buried in the bed of the truck). It’s the remaining slabs of wood from the tree that I helped Dad topple and send out to a lumber mill in Frederick. Bill’s going to make a coffee table for me from the wood. We hung out for a couple hours — I gave him a couple 16×20 prints and we talked about plans for the coffee table. Around 1430 I figured I had better head out so I would at least have a chance to make it into the San Luis before sunset.

I-25 south to Walsenburg was nasty, and just out of Pueblo, a couple cars went ripping by me, three minutes later, one of them had launched across the deep median ditch and head on into opposing traffic, three other cars were involved. Two of them completely destroyed. All the windows were gone in the one that passed me and no sign of anyone in the car. Six or seven cars had already stopped, and I felt sick to my stomach, why am I throwing myself down this iced-over road at 55 mph? Why? I slowed and started to double-flash the on-coming traffic who could not yet see the accident, hoping to slow them down before they came on the site. I doubt some of them could stop. Another life done gone. Ambulances passed about 15 minutes later. A bit further down towards Walsenburg the road dried out, the flurries stopped and the clouds allowed some weak sunshine through. The sick stomach feeling persisted for awhile. Made phone calls, it’s Sunday, free minutes. Turned off onto Rt. 160 West to La Veta pass and the Valley. Temps, never high, dropping continuously. Made the far side of the pass right before sunset with some electric views. Stopped repeatedly to shoot with my substandard SLR. Through Fort Garland, following the circular roots of Blanca, the Valley clear, dry, and cold. The Crestones showing chill gray ahead approaching the Dunes. Then darkness. Empty campground. A ranger cruises through in his truck and we chat a bit. He promises to check on me around 10 am tomorrow.

The Milky Way slashed across the sky. A few Geminids, Jupiter and Venus setting a couple hours after sunset. Cold. Heat up a pot of chili that Bill gave me last night, mmm. Just the thing to be eating under these conditions. Arrange things in the back so I can make tea with cream in the morning without getting out of the bag. It will be brutal in the morning with a clear night at 9000 feet up and wedged between two sets of 14,000 footers. No sun before late morning at the earliest. Hanging in the cab writing this text. So far behind on the log. So many things gone down, so many people crossed paths with. So many stories told and heard.

bajada dreams

Up early. Zero Fahrenheit. Low clouds. Solo in the campground. Spilled water freezes immediately. Ranger passes through, we chat for a bit. Brewing tea while ravens flock back and forth in the pines. A long slow wander through the Douglas fir and fore-dune scrub, up the dunes a bit, and back. silent. low chill breeze. cold, cold, cold.

Have lunch at the bajada in the sun, listening.

Stop at the visitors center on the way out and happen to meet the woman who would have been my boss had I nailed that position as educational liaison a few years back. Very nice instance.

Then to the Center, of course, for a circuit or so.

Then onto the Gunbarrel north-bound. Dinner with Rick and Sally in Golden, then on up to Boulder. Chris and Scharmin and the kids prepping for their Hawaii jaunt. Sage a bit more gray in the muzzle, like some of us.

winter storm

anonymous online life. Plaxo. another online social networking site that makes people look (and feel!) like this… empowered, eh?

winter storm comes, one of those Pacific storms rolling from the west, from California, tracing little rain shadows across the desert. the first wave comes with thunder and dense, dark clouds, air temperature dropping 10 degrees (C). that passes to the east, blackening sky, followed by a double rainbow that plants itself into the scraped earth of the developments on the next range of hills. Granite Mountain is wreathed in scudding shreds of vapor. I can recall the sky four thousand feet lower in the low desert when these storms roll through. but most of all the complete saturation of the air with that wetted-earth smell. everything eight weeks dry. in late summer early fall sunshine.

got overwhelmed by the flood of responses from the class of 1976 regarding the images I finished uploading. maybe people are more nostalgic as times pass. it’s been interesting to hear from folks, though, after all this time. but still nothing solid to comprehend about why memory is so powerful. persistence of recognizing flows. evolutionary, yes. recalling what is dangerous, what is nutritious. but externalized memory, images. as the image-maker, eye hidden behind layers of amorphous silica distortion. seeing. (did I miss high school behind this glass?). am I replaying what was missed?

anyway, a selection of responses, so it goes.

Hi John, I can’t believe you put this all together after all this time. Great job on the photos. What a fabulous collection. It was great fun looking at them. It really took me back. Where do you live now? I still live in Maryland with my husband and son. Our daughter is a senior in college majoring in Biology. I would love to hear from you. Thanks again. God Bless. — Sharon Hill (Warnick)

Hi John, Thanks for the photos. My wife and I always hang out with her friends from high school, here in Los Angeles, and when I hear about how people still hang out with high school friends in Gaithersburg, I always wonder what it would be like to live there and see you all too. My mom and dad still live in the house we lived in when these pictures were taken, but they’re talking about moving now. Getting too old to keep up the house. When they go, my physical connection to Gaithersburg will finally be severed. It’s pictures like yours that keep it all alive for me. Thanks! — Chip Bolcik

john, I really enjoyed the pictures. I am not sure who found my email address, but I was grateful. Think of you often as I have been commuting through Clarksburg, which has gone through changes, as I am sure you have heard. Don’t know if you remember me or not, but wanted to say thanks for the photos. — Debbie Hokanson (Lorenz)

Hi John, Just wanted to thank you for all your hard work getting the photos from high school on your web site. I loved you website and glad you were able to continue with Photography. I’m sure that was time consuming, but certainly worth it. I think That 70’s Show should look at it so they could be more authentic. Hope you make the next reunion. Take care — Sharon Niemann (Hartley)

Absolutely fabulous photos! Had a great time reminiscing. Thanks for sharing! — Karen Harvey (Warnick)

Fantastic job, John! What a fun memory trip for a sunny southwest Florida afternoon. — Susi Martinsen (Sue Merkling)

Dear John… wwwwwwwwwwwooooooooowwwwwwwwwwwwwww YOU HAVE DONE A GREAT JOB!!! I thank u for the time and specially for the devotion… in this wonderful project… — Zulma Urrego

Hey John, Nice job!!! Great memories. Thanks! — John C. Henriksen

netart 2008 – Conch

I spaced-out posting the netarts 2008 selections last November. here’s my brief jury comments:

This year’s netart award was very difficult to close in on. The absolute volume and traffic of data on the network does not seem to be correlated to its ultimate creative vitality. Can it be that the net has reached the saturation point as a means to realize the creative potential of its creators: that the signal-to-noise ratio has reached an asymptotic limit? Or is it merely an approach to the saturation point of the haplessly consuming audience? Is the net only a flooded communications platform in service of global markets? There is perhaps no particular reason to be overly cynical, although for this tech-no-madic curator the life-changes that accompany each further implementation of technologically-mediated connection seem to lose their appeal more and more quickly. For a creative, though, the question remains — how to be evolutionary when taking on the next tool presented by the Venture Techno-capitalists. Where to find something that avoids the clichés of, for example, the ubiquitously pop Web 2.0? There are the occasionally surprising implementations of the 2.0 paradigm, but they are often revealed as the tired exercises in the viral marketing of venture capital dreams. What inspiring sources are out there in the net? Are there any? Perhaps, but only if we leave the material behind to search for the ghost in the machine.

Where is the immaterial, the trace or evidence of the metaphysical, where is it hidden in the technological network of things? Is it actually hidden at all? Or is it simply not there? Has technology, in the form of global networks, banished those inexplicable essences from itself? Technology does have its obvious formative materialized essence, as it is another thing that presents itself to us in our limited sensibilities. But in the dislocated network, far from our touch, what is the apprehended essence, that attractor that keeps us intently focused on the screen. An attractor so compelling and full of gravitas that we chose to limit any change in our point-of-view and remain instead in a motionless screen-bent gaze, in a stationary orbit?

What draws us with this gravity, what draws us into its field of action? We are fascinated by the Light, sure, but our attention is bound by the gravity. The attractor of the machine lies within itself, not within us. We orbit the gravitational center of our own creation, the dense hubris of code. Without code there is only the material gap into which falls our embodied being, levity left to airs and vapors, (hydro)carbon (a)(e)ffluence and other oxidation-reduction reactions.

The grand prize goes to a work that is elegantly inexplicable, conch by the Japanese designer Yoshiyuki Katayama. Four topical and simple interactive works explore code as a means to transform time and space into essential visual essences. We may easily orbit the code while watching its realization. And time passes. Such is life.

The runners-up all seem to find simple interactions between code and presentation, leaving some viewers to perhaps simply shrug and move on. Somehow I like to think that these projects represent a search for the network coding of the koan — the Buddhist meditative tool — where the code is an essential step on the path to enLightenment.

Cloud of Clouds by Miguel Leal and Luís Sarmento keeps the sky open for interpretation as it should be, while Ethan Ham’s work, Self Portrait, leaves the self open for interpretation. And, to disagree with the Internet, as does the Disagreeing Internet well, that leaves our orbit around the gravitas of code very much open for not only interpretation but for fundamental questioning and even outright rejection. No more passive agreement with those Venture Capitalists!

Perhaps, when the last flicker comes from the last flat screen, we will understand that code is a chant to exorcise the machine, leaving the ghost (and us!) free to move on to something else. We shall see.

John Hopkins, Prescott, Arizona, USA, 04.Nov.2008

more Infinite Jests

update on the collaborative Infinite Jest project — some nice pieces.

“When the high winds blew off Country,” the Ranger said, “I was able to hear the infinitely many soft sounds of the millions of delicate petals striking and rubbing together. They joined and clove together in wind. My eyes are blowing everywhere, and the rush of perfume sent up to me by the agitation of the clouds of petals nearly blew me out that window. DeLighted. Aloft. Semi-moral. New.” — David Foster Wallace, in John Billy

a few clouds

whilst Marx and Engels look on, Berlin goes about it’s business…

at home, watching NASA teevee. people on the point, at the peak of collective human expression into regions where life is not sustainable without complete protection. what does it take to make that expression? considering the sequence of flows which lead to the ISS, I am struck by the precision first of the activities of the EVA (Extra-Vehicular Activities). the level of controlled choreography going on between Ground Control and the astronauts. large catalogs of instructions are compiled to guide the Ground Controllers as they talk the astronauts through the precise sequence of every task. the degrees of freedom are extremely limited. precisely because of the fact that to make this kind of extreme (energy-consumptive) expression of the TSS (techno-social system), the flows of energy have to be on tightly-defined pathways, else they become diffused before reaching their goals. the more extreme the goal, the more control necessary to be applied to the pathway: a more rigidly defined pathway. is it possible to have an extreme expressive goal and not to need focused energy to get there? only where there is unlimited incremental energy sources available. focus seems a necessary constituent. and that is lacking in certain circumstances. focus. to reach extreme goals, or even mean ones…

across Berlin-Mitte and the Tiergarten to Charlottenburg and to the UdK seminar.

dkfrf review

Rinus makes some nice notes on the Amurikan evening at das kleine field recording festival last week in Kreuzberg.

Rinus is one of those intelligent and grounded souls who facilitate events that are the polar opposite of pretentious. informal, humane, and best, they include a collection of found artists. artists who are connected by their desire to connect with others in an open way. my impression of the evening of performances was largely the comfort with which it proceeded. for example, I had not intended doing a visual set, thinking conservatively it was about field recording. but when Brandon got the video-projector set up, I thought, yeah, why not. so I started the evening with a slowly-building barrage. guilty, sure, of a phat mix. Rinus noted that it divided the crowd — it’s that polarizing influence that I seem to have. hmmm. it’s partly the software, got to explore how to slow it down for a more meditative mix. density. (going back to the thoughts about levity and density a few weeks ago). Brandon’s set was a perfect counterpoint to mine with the levity and Light of his life.
more “dkfrf review”

ascending

holiday in Netherlands, Ascension Day. internet goes out. just after figuring things out with the next day’s schedule. meeting tomorrow with Carmin, Rob, Geert and Linda, uff.

several times, friends in Europe have expressed the sentiment that they should be allowed to vote for the next US president. I don’t blame them.

in a cafe. pretending that I am a normal tourist. visiting this place on a week’s break from the job. shaky premise. Chinese tourists, comfortable in their own skins, progressing to world dominance. while Amurika founders in scarce 225 years. street musicians sing “if you’re going to San Francisco, make sure you have some flowers in your hair…” or so. he’s Amurikan, maybe 40 years old. maybe more, maybe less. who knows. age becomes less knowable or even contemplated. as day after day there is yet another blank page let lie, while pretty girls smile and rub their lover’s backs. tattooed arms intertwined. and what of life trajectory, how it goes? year overtaking year. while an older guy sits down at the next table with a baby-fist-sized spherical knob on the top left side of his head. bulbous. the tattooed gal shows the dimple in her lower back to her lover. they kiss. each second of eye contact they have, I age a year. slowly sinking into anonymous senility. nothing to do but stare down the far horizon, if it could be seen at all here in the City, to spot any sign of Death approaching. but there are too many brick buildings framing the space of Rembrandtsplein. more “ascending”

huh?

down to the Märchenbrunnen on a nice sunny afternoon to meditate on the back of me eyelids. still wish I had all the photos that I took in Berlin in 1988 and 1993. the changes are profound. the Germans have managed to make things look good. but what’s behind it? hard to tell, being the outsider. strikes happen, but aside from graffiti and broken bottles on the street, there is little to suggest deeper social problems. for the outsider it can be difficult to read cultural signs. bullet holes are still there, though, and chaos is a scalar creeping into everything that humans bring into the world.

Berlin is clearly a cosmopolitan city, though, with many foreigners seemingly integrated into the foot traffic in most neighborhoods that I move through. but what is most remarkable, just when I think I am entering a blighted neighborhood, there are signs everywhere that everything is being reconstructed. some nice old brick warehouses (formerly the city slaughterhouses are the only buildings in the area that are fenced off and in bad repair. surely there are others, but the construction and renewal seems to ongoing. not sure what this has to do with Byron, but, reminds me of some dreamy be-ing elsewhere, elsewhen…

They slept on the abyss without a surge —
The waves were dead; the tides were in their grave,
The moon, their mistress, had expired before;
The winds were wither’d in the stagnant air,
And the clouds perish’d; Darkness had no need
Of air from them — She was the Universe.
— Lord Byron

the mortal world

the year approaches a close — media layered on media layered on media — radio reporting on blogging; radio reporting on others having television programs; radio interviewing other people who have been to movies and what they thought about the movie. what can this be about? does it make a difference in how life is actualized, lived, exercised? is it the same as this travelog — which is media showcasing mediated living. it can’t show that which is in between the moments of mediation, that which is, only that which is re-presented.

Orchids come from the mountains,
And to the mountains they should return.
Orchids housed in pots in the mortal world,
Are not as beautiful as those which accompany the mists and clouds.

As-Sahab

Jan has this installation and documentation Black Cloud — with a nice remix of Lebanese radio that he gathered during a recent visit there — Love is in the Air.

Man kann nicht nicht kommunizieren! — Paul Watzlawick

The Wild Surmise

Sue Thomas poses some interesting questions in her search for possible synergies between the cyber and the natural. it’s an open project — add you own answers on her site!

Please describe where you lived and your strongest memories of nature during the years of your growing up. I’m interested in both positive and negative recollections of anything from the smallest plot to the largest wilderness, including animals and plants.

sotto voce: I am a native of Alaska, born there as a Cold War military child. My father, a senior Pentagon analyst, sport-hunted grizzly and polar bears among other magnificent animals. We moved to Boston, then Southern California, then Washington DC, living in suburban or rural fringes of cities. A primal memory was of viewing a total solar eclipse from a beach in Acadia National Park in the northeast state of Maine, USA, at five years old. Watching the sun be consumed, until there was only a shimmering ring of fire surrounding a black hole in the sky. My father was an amateur astronomer, and I accompanied him on a further four total eclipse expeditions. Along with these specific memories, there are general memories of sleeping in the woods, of eating around a fire, of washing in streams, mosquitoes, and dark star-brilliant skies. more “The Wild Surmise”

lanfranchis

First-responders on the way home last night. On the way back from checking out the local sonic scene and to meet Shannon and Rick for their solo performances at LanFranchis, a (the!) local alternative space — reminded me very much of FishBon in Santa Barbara except folks were smoking. Also met Katherine, a creative writing student at UTS. The performances were good with a decent 5.1 sound system. It would have been nice to do a mix like I did for leplacard in Helsinki two weeks ago. Here’s an ambient mix from the evening.

Make it to Bondi this morning after long transport delays.

Other notes on the antipodes: clouds (definitely the wrong word!) of black fruit bats the size of fat and dumpy seagulls drift (definitely do not fly!) in the late twiLight airs above the treetops. A … disturbing … sight. Not for its natural curiosities, but for the way the beasts move — as though they are in a drunken haze of meditative zen tranquility while moving across a space of thick gaseous vortices, all lying at the bottom of the sea, and me looking upwards.

The next note: so far, while the National Art Museum has a permanent exhibition of Aboriginal Art, I have seen only two drunk Koori around Kings Cross — near the 20-meter-high Coke advertisement. Enough said. Maybe a dumb idea along with this Colonial geometry but I would like to get a decent didje for working the breath when next in desert lands.

The whole world was asleep. Everything was quiet, nothing moved, nothing grew. The animals slept under the earth. One day the rainbow snake woke up and crawled to the surface of the earth. She pushed everything aside that was in her way. She wandered through the whole country and when she was tired she coiled up and slept. So she left her tracks. After she had been everywhere she went back and called the frogs. When they came out their tubby stomachs were full of water. The rainbow snake tickled them and the frogs laughed. The water poured out of their mouths and filled the tracks of the rainbow snake. That’s how rivers and lakes were created. Then grass and trees began to grow and the earth filled with life. — Koori creation story

More notes: in the water. For the first time in surf for a long time. Body at first not responding, that combined with the size of the breaks. A few minutes conversation with a beach guard who is out in the break herding folks away from a rip. He says it’s a hell of a first day to visit Bondi — they were pulling people out all day, jet skis crashing through the foam heading out beyond the breaks to check on surfers, and hovering choppers. Sets get up to 3 meters, look like even more occasionally. It’s a workout to get through even the secondary shore breaks which are easily at a meter-and-a-half. Noticed the surf report online is in feet. Old timers guarantee that maybe? Great to be out there, though. damn. But no room for error. No body surfing, just stroking between breaks, diving deep under the curlers, and staying out of the way of anything turbulent.

Easter-times

Easter weekend drifts into Easter Monday, sunny, puffy clouds, changing Light. sunshine is still hot. non-native trees shedding leaves. others like overgrown houseplants are fat and green. nobody else seems worried that winter is coming. what winter? stay inside working while Brad and Amanda are out and about. don’t mind being inside, just needing some down time, and will be outside in the mix enough in the coming days. Bondi calls, soon enough. weather is inscrutable. different. exposed to difference. just the sun being in the north in winter-time is enough to throw brain and full body off.

lunar dreams

a nice network crossing late with Fernanda, in Berlin now, formerly from ISNM. in crisis mode, figuring out some steps to take next in life. she had written me a couple days back, after returning from a five-week holiday in Brazil visiting family, back to a deadening job in Berlin, in the angst of being alive, but having that vitality being drained by pointless and un-inspiring work. half the battle is not to fall asleep to the liveliness that surges up from life. not to allow the pressures of social production to compress dreams unless it is to press carbon into diamond. to make dreams fly with Lightness and certain brilliance. no matter what, though, is to not let life be weakened so much that each moment is lost to the dull and stultifying grind of labor. finding a labor that brings joy is a rare pleasure, but finding a life labor that brings some social recognition as well as that priceless joy is ever more unusual. surrounded and obscured in a matrix of dark matter, searching for a life that does not lack Light, what do we become?

so, we talk about these things, not quite strangers, but desiring to know the Other’s life and the path it takes, has taken, to bring us here. and then, there is the future.

Lunar Moon day 5
Year of the Red Overtone Moon

kin 141: Red Spectral Dragon
I Dissolve in order to Nurture
Releasing Being
I seal the Input of Birth
With the Spectral tone of Liberation
I am guided by my own power doubled
— from the Lunar Calendar site

the usual Light night’s sleep before travel. because of early rising and tight schedules. fog persists into the morning, the remains of the clouds that obscured the lunar eclipse last night.

In The Presence of Networks: A Meditation on the Architectures of Participation

ED: This essay was included in the Pixelache07 publication download a full pdf of that. (2.1 mb)

Architectures of Participation is a compelling phrase that attempts literally to frame a deeper fundamental of human existence. This text is a preliminary meditation on that existence and aspects of its profound presence.

On the immediate surface, the phrase suggests the grandiose, the monumental, and the static and rigid hegemony of brick-and-mortar — a suggestion that appears to contravene the deeply dynamic nature of the broader continuum of human relation. This continuum, generated in part through participatory actions, is a far more fundamental space that circumscribes much of our passing presence in this world. We will have to dig deep to find the foundations.

Participation is one reductive descriptor that applies to the infinite range of personal energies expressed and shared during our lived be-ing. Participation is a condition that does not leave our lives until we leave our lives. Participation starts when life starts with the participatory synergy of reproduction. This prototypical participatory act is phenomenal in that the energies of two human beings combine to create the presence of a third human being. Participation is the root of life. Participation follows life in the synergies of parent with child, friend with friend, partner with partner, colleague with colleague, stranger with stranger. We participate in life, in living, every moment.

more “In The Presence of Networks: A Meditation on the Architectures of Participation”

child in the woods

gathering impressions from Barry Lopez from his collection of essays “Crossing Open Ground” and recalling the desires to aid the imprinting of the natural world on the child’s sensitive nature. in order for those impressions to guide the evolution and understanding of the inter-connectedness of human life and all that which is beyond the power of humans to erase or destroy completely.

The most moving look I ever saw from a child in the woods was on a mud bar by the footprints of a heron. We were on our knees, making handprints beside the footprints. You could feel the creek vibrating in the silt and sand. The sun beat down heavily on our hair. Our shoes were soaking wet. The look said: I did not know until now that I needed someone much older to confirm this, the feeling I have of life here. I can now grow older, knowing it need never be lost.

The quickest door to open in the woods for a child is the one that leads to the smallest room, by knowing the name each thing is called. The door that leads to the cathedral is marked by a hesitancy to speak at all, rather to encourage by example a sharpness of the senses. If one speaks it should only be to say, as well as one can, how wonderfully all this fits in together, to indicate what a long, fierce peace can derive from this knowledge. — Barry Lopez, from “Children in the Woods”

Loki has decided not to come to the US this coming summer. it will be the first time I have had a summer off, and the first time he hasn’t been with me for the summer since he was 2 years old. it will make for a long short summer. he feels the gravity of teen-age friendships drawing him away from prospects of hours in heat-filled places, driving, walking, hanging out. looking at clouds, thunderstorms, rocks, and wind devils.

gravity

a classic Arizona evening. air cooling rapidly, sky running a burnished spectrum from burnt orange to blue-white silver, clouds reversing the shades so that at zenith cloud and sky become one, for a moment. full moon rising over Mingus Mountain. dogs barking in the neighborhood, a rabbit comes running on the cool western downwind to sit right in front of me in the twiLight. Venus is the first planetary orb to show, followed by Jupiter, 13 degrees behind on the ecliptic. and while the precise placement of these masses constructs a field of influence on every body external, leaving the internal point of self unaffected, it is not revealed easily to the eye, used to watching fast-containing media flows. astrophysics talks about gravity. and so it is, a pseudo-science of invisible attractions. drawing bodies nearer or into slingshot close approaches which accelerate one in an altered trajectory onwards and leave the other spinning more slowly. while the sun provides life energy to press upwards with body presence, for a time, resisting that sagging force. there is no contradiction between science and spirit — the contradiction arises only in the naming of things. science believing that its system of naming, so clean and internally consistent, is superior to others, but each system of naming believes this. science is no different. faith in one, truth in the other, reality in a third. just down to words. (and the surprise that Babylon brought to humans — how could language be corruptible?)