208. YES, YES, THE WHOLE WORLD WAS DREAMING

208. YES, YES, THE WHOLE 

WORLD WAS DREAMING

Awake, missing again a thought

or two  -  things I thought I'd

remember and thought could

have worked. That used to

happen when I was a kid too.

I'd make up these long talks

and things, sure that I'd

never forget the words and

the approach, but sure enough

before long I'd not remember

a thing. Then I'd tried to turn

it 'visual', thinking that would

help to key in the words; but,

no. I soon grew out of all that,

as much as I could, and began

writing things down, keeping

notebooks, etc.; but even now,

things get lost.

-

Avenel : I realize now I live

in a children's encampment.

This place is nothing more

than that. Everything is sort

of infantilized, and the people

within it, except for a few

glorious exceptions  -  who

make it livable. It's like asking

someone what a Scirocco is:

if they answer, Huh? A VW

model? You know they're gone.

If, on the other hand, they say,

'Oh, that. A wind; hot, dry North

African air that blows northward

into the southern Mediterranean,'

then you know you're onto

someone who could count. It's

kind of all a question of

investigation and interest and

inquisitiveness. Some have it,

some don't. In this town; not

much. When I was a kid, I

wasn't that aware of it, that

distinction. I guess it was

always like that, and I'd

bet, too, that was the reason,

early on, that a few families

moved out just as fast as

they'd moved in. Once you get

the feeling that 'this ain't the

place for me,' it's nearly and

quickly impossible to stay.

Avenel is that grating. When

you hear of things, on an

otherwise quiet morning,

such as some microphoned

and amplified park idiot

somewhere near, broadcasting

and announcing some fool kids'

football league game, amplified,

name and number introductions,

blow by blow plays, etc., it's

a harsh body-slam to a lively

and needed temporal lobe.

I understand. It's all children's

stuff, of no matter at all, to

validate adult life, (also of no

matter). The subtext of what's

going on is a basic idiocy, being

itemized and explained. The

comfort-food of  being a child

again. Manchild anyway. There's

nothing to it at all, and it's quite

saddening. I only wish these guys

who do this wouldn't then burden

everyone else with their own

predilictions, but that's what I'm

stuck with. Their giddiness is not

catching. Actually, I wish as well

that these guys could interview

themselves first, so as to come

to grips or terms with what they

are doing  -  undertakings of

grand nothings  -  they pile up,

and that's how these grand

falsehood get propagated and

spread around. And then

become a society. OK, that's

cool; BUT that was never the

Society we were put here to

build. We were supposed to

aspire and achieve, seek source

and seek Godhead. That's how

I see it anyway.

-

A stem-winder never stops

stem-winding, but, you have

to, sometimes, in order to

hear yourself.

-

A lot of times I awake with a

wordplay or a leading idea in

my mind  -  the 'talk' of a sleep,

and then it's gone. Like the

proud Hail Mary that is my

life, I have to say it. I need

to speak it all. Yes, no answer,

having found nothing here, I

have to live it. I live in memory,

often in enough  -  all those things

I've scrawled and 'divot'd away,

wild pieces of blasted-out turf.

Actually, everything is bad for

me, and always so. I enjoy my

time alone, but, really that's it.

The last grand design I saw has

had already killed himself and

left no instructions behind

When questions arose, there

were no answers. (You know,

when I was 12, seminary 12, I

often asked myself  -  in prayer,

and fearfully  -  why wasn't Jesus

considered a suicide?). There are

no answers, and no one to answer;

so don't turn away, it can all

be gone that quickly. This is the

sort of abstract, free-association

I get running through my head

having to sit here listening to

the crud in the air.

-

I think every man (person) has

every station in life that he or

she must live. Live first, in order

to be complete. It prevents

ridicule and provides all the

understandings needed to 'feel'

for others. I know I tried it, all

my youth, and after. Obviously,

it's all impossible (to live them

all), yes, but one should experience

as many as possible, and see the

world with those eyes. It's all

there and it's all available, but

people don't take the time, and

most people are too haughty to

'look downward.' I think that's

what religion really is  -  the

understanding of, and the taking

of, other stations in life. Not

forever, obviously, but for brief

time, even if only the moment of

seeing itself. Once your spiritual

center has realized that you have

reached that moment of 'seeing

itself,' that's what 'Grace' is. That's

where all the 'saintliness' crap

comes in. The moment of identity.

-

Here's a mini-lecture I wrote of

myself one day in time : Sitting

at home, beneath a tree  -  like

Buddha and his apple tree (OK,

'rose-apple')  -   wonder, is that

the same strange, Edenic and

archetypal connection to the

entire evil and the apple thing

too? Our stories seem to constantly

shift, like the dog who, sleeping,

keeps changing its curl and

position, circling its pose and

place. As I was growing up, one

thing never brought up to me,

or explained, was the idea, an

idea, of quietude and silence

and reflection. It never happens;

well, it happened, but it was never

explained. That's why kids have

rooms of their own, I guess. Quiet

places, but it's never explained, It's

all rather just kept as symbol.

Unmentioned. At least not in

poor homes  -  which is what

this place was and is. There's

always bustle and noise. I think

here of the great poverty scenes

available in reading, say, 'Ragged

Dick,' by Horatio Alger; or, better

yet, Stephen Crane's 'Maggie, a

Girl of the Streets.' And if you've

ever read 'Ringolevio', by Emmet

Grogan, you'd have a feel for it too.

-

I was always attracted, in studying

English lore, (a little bit studying),

by 'The Green Man'  -  actually in

the usual stupidity of American iconic

advertising (for peas) he became

'The Jolly Green Giant,' but that's

another story for a really bad day.

The Green Man, a very old, English,

iconic representation of 'Nature,' 

fertility, and the spirit of the land,

and his representation/face soon

became a commonplace gargoyle

figure on English churches and such.

A complete betrayal, of course, of

the free and natural impulse being

represented. But, that's stupidity;

something like an Avenel stupidity.

He became self-defining, a gargoyle

regular  -  representing the forests

and mists and hills, an almost

Druidic native impulse. Despite

have nothing to do with the 

professed 'Christian' impulse, he

was everywhere. They had thusly

co-opted a native symbol. Which 

is the base, anyway, of the word

'Catholic'  -  a little bit of this, a

little bit of that. The dark side of

all this, which we don't talk about

except as it was later transferred 

here and condemned in the self-

righteousness of the so-called

Salem Witch trials, is the assortment

of the varied, wild sex cults of

medieval England. All that, today,

goes pretty much unmentioned; like 

a porno-channel of the dark, greasy

underworld back then, but put into

the service of  the 'good.' What do 

we get now in its stead? Screaming

Nature Dads shouting into football

microphones announcing their kids'

dumb games on flat, mowed fields.

That's fertility today. And today, by

contrast, and no matter what we

say, that past is all gone. Today we

are at war with Nature, constantly,

and we live that way, live that war

(comfortably, I guess). We ingest

anti-Nature, we manufacture and

gleefully purchase anti-Nature, and

most people make livelihoods and

and careers out of anti-Nature. In

fact, claims are made that we 'cure'

by anti-Nature : drugs and 

pharmeceuticals. Cures for the

cuticles, as it were. Medicine and

manufacture all turned on its head

and now used against us. The Green

Man indeed! No one seems to mind.

We haven't died en masse yet. So,

anyway, the weird travesty of all

that is the religion we live by.

-

Throughout the 1950's and '60's,

and 70's too, none of this was in

the forefront. Our lives and our

growing up were attuned to 

living in that manner  -  

groping forward with more 

and more. Called 'prosperity.'

Then, at whatever cost to Nature,

it was 'Nature be damned!' 

Chemicals. Plastics. Wonder

drugs. The eases and comforts 

of all that supposed advancement.

We didn't know, and no one ever

taught us. Yes, yes, the whole

world was dreaming.