Change Your Dirty Motor Oil: Veggie-Based Motor Oils, Transmission Fluids, and Hydraulics . . .

I used to travel around the country, or rather the western half of the United States, in a 1963 Dodge Power Wagon.  Four-wheel-drive, PTO winch on the front and a camper on the back, and nicknamed "The Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama" (originally given the name "the Beast Mama" by a sister named Katy who was along for the truck's maiden voyage with me as driver, though went through a series of name changes until arriving at the aforementioned), this incredible truck served to convey myself and numerous other wandering hippies, punks, anarchists, slackers, and others from high mountains to ocean shore, to hot springs and Rainbow Gatherings, music festivals and Hindu temples.  Many fond memories were made in this vehicle and at the places said ride conveyed many bohemian free-spirits, young and old and in-between.  Then came the onset of the seeming ceaseless wars fought largely to acquire the commodity required to fuel said gasoline consuming beast, and despite so many wonderful times rolling around the west through desertscapes, rolling hills and mountain country, and so much love shared via this magical ride, I decided the right thing to do was to quit my dependance on such an unethical fuel.

Now mind you, I understand that not everybody is at liberty to drop their gas-driven rides at a moments notice, but I felt this was one of those causes for which I ought to take a stand.  Though mostly a vegetarian (unless I kill the animal myself or similar conditions) I do still consume cheese and other dairy products that come to the consumer at the cost of cows suffering inhumane conditions.  I haven't protested the ongoing unjust wars lately by carrying signs or attending marches.  I have not done a tree sit, nor have I lent more than blogging lipservice to many of those causes I believe in in recent years.  Conscientious folks gotta choose their causes, I suppose, and for numerous reasons I felt compelled to give up gasoline. 

At first I intended to quickly make the switch into a biodiesel bus conversion.  Without going into to much detail, suffice it to say a notion to take the cash I had for said endeavor to fund a trip to India to do a yatra around Mount Kailash, buy some tapestries and murti and other items and then resell them upon returning to the States fell through, and I didn't get the bus.  Designed a biodiesel amphibious sailbus, but have yet to get the funding.  And now I'm seeking to get into a saiboat, a vehicle which utilizes about the environmentally friendliest means of conveyance you can get, clean as a fresh ocean breeze:  wind.  Only issue is, to get in and out of harbors, unless a master sailor, one must use a motor.  A good portion of sailboats with inboard engines are diesel powered, which can of course be fueled by biodiesel.  The motor oil was still an issue I had with the idea, as a leak of such directly into the water is obviously a pollution issue.  Did a bit of research, however, and discovered that in fact their are at least two companies in the Unites States now making environmentally friendly vegetable-based motor oils which can be used not only in diesel engines, but in gasoline powered vehicles as well.

Point I'd like to make and information I'd like to share with those of you haven't chosen or haven't the financial means to switch to an electric car or biodiesel ride is that you can lessen the impact of your current gas-powered ride by changing out the old petroleum-based, highly polluting motor oil and even transmission fluid with high performance alternatives which if inadventantly lost onto the ground won't pollute the water or the earth, and will not reduce the functionality of your automobile.  Check out the links provided below, and help make a difference.  Lets help stop things like the decimation of the Gulf of Mexico from happening and take away the motive for wars over resources by changing consumption habits, as well as by those many other modes of letting it be known, we love Mother Earth, clean water and air, and want to give these precious things to future generations, too!!!!

http://www.renewablelube.com/motor.html

http://getg.com/

environmentally clean vegetable based hydraulic fluids:

http://www.hydrosafe.com/

Snorkeling . . .

Sitting by water's edge after first full on swim into the ocean's swells, to over my head at times, snorkeling (and sputtering) and gazing through goggles intermittently filling with briny effluence, tiny tiger-striped flat bodied fish, barracuda and one funky fish I believe was a parrot, schools of tiny darting dancing fingerling sized swimmers, several spotted schooling species, and not a single shark nor stingray in sight to cause a fright.

Waves lifting my scarcely buoyant body, then down again, blowing hard to clear the airway and standing tiptoe to empty goggles blurred by leaks around beard hairs, rubbing saltiness out my eyes, then down again to gaze at the wonder of what just a few boulders draw in from the depths.  And whilst enjoying these new experiencings, hoping the waves will wash away sorrows and ills of the world have sullied me lately, that perhaps they'll sink to the ocean floor as I'm elevated with each swell of the surf, floating back to freedom.

Devi Three, Tridevi, Lovely Love Indeed . . .

She show Herself in so many faces, feminine forms, lovely woman women wonderous She.  Devi Durga, "inaccessible" yet present in so many faces, beautiful women and terrible, for She is their true person when they find that expression of Self each of these expression of, Tridevi and other manifestations, Parvati, Laksmi, Saraswati, not necessarily in that order in a given instant or instance, and most primally as I conceive, 'tis relationship Siva-Sakti, Universal andd forever, though not without those others, too, see?

Perspective's not everything, but explains much of what differentiates, culture of romance, devotions variegated like fractiles of symmetries, Deva-Devi in so many manifestations are not not all and each of us, multi-faceted, wild, instinctual and transcendant.  And we are playing, lila lovely lila.  Beloved and lover, and inversely, and sometimes played as even oppositional roles, hero or heroine, villain villainess, interchangably to a degree and in means well explored and known, but played as anew, adventure with only those bounds ensures the dramas play out pure and towards perfection (already always present throughout, of course) without puritanical (except perhaps playfully, roles writ to make for a good story, hee hee), and in fact exhuberant and passionate and sometimes appropriately naughty, hee hee.  Tantra yoga bhakti yoga karma yoga, kama as servant and not master in this life lived dharmika.

Cranes in the median, and truly green buildings . . .

Saw a pair of sandhill cranes grazing next to a stripmall and in the midst of stripmalls, fast food and box stores along the highway. Not to by any means justify the proliferation of such centers of consumer decadence, but to note the resiiance of nature, which will continue if and after human "civilization" falters and falls into decay . . .

If they gonna build a mall, make 'em put the forest they cut down on the rooftop, with a ramp for wildlife to climb to the forest's new elevation !!! If they gonna build a high-rise, make the architect design terraces spiralling around and up the building with gardens and a graywater retreival system including a creek flowing down the spiralling terraces around the outside of offices and condos, providing habitat for birds and small mammals, and maybe some reptiles and fish, too, as well as a healthier environment for workers and city-dwellers. A green roof park on top, too, of course. A this would also clean the air, absorb CO2 and other pollution, and absorb the heat pockets cities create, as well as providing natural insulation for these buildings, cooling them in summer and holding in heat in the winter. Perhaps to some extent glassing in the terraces in winter in colder northern climates, with pathways for widlife to enter and exit, carefully engineering the airflow to allow said means for keeping nature and humanity in touch and connected. Healthier for environment, healthier for humans.

Hollywood, Los Angeles, California . . .

Hanging out at the Bourgeouise Pig in Hollywood. Dark blue walls and blue and red globes hang from the ceilings, mirrored disco ball embellishing and sending little dots of light spinning 'round, over the floor and across tables and chairs, bodies and faces. One room in the back, so dark a couple could get away with sex in the corner without much ado. Not terrifically seedy, mind you, just contingents and contingencies of hipsters (I keep waiting for that word to lose it currency, hoping I don't miss said moment and thus become out of fashion, or whatever . . .), an occasional person fitting some other category, maybe a few emos (still correct usage?), and me sitting here, hopeessly out of fashion as I wear only half-dreaded hair, currently in a knot atop my head, wearing a leather jacket that was hip (a womens jacket on which I reversed the buttons--pretty hipster . . . metrossexual, even) til the armpits started to rip, and thus poorly mended only to tear again. Alas, I'm still a hippie in a world again allowing this perennial mode to fall a bit out of fashion.

Subtle plays of consciousness and travel in time seem to rule these cycles (mind you, I am not claiming any expertise in the realm of fashion, nor even in current modes of subcultural nuances, just a not-so-old hippie observing what is I sees). Still hear some reggae in such venues, but the white kids fashion consciouness is perhaps too race conscious to allow that style to fall by the wayside--not that that's a bad thing, i.e., consideration for peoples long oppressed, I'm just sayin' . . .

Probably heading back to the beach, Venice or Santa Monica or something, before the end of the night, as squatting in Hollywood don't sound particulary appealing. Ain't never been to Skid Row, and haven't intentions too, as they might try to keep me and get me to move into my own cardboard box condo. I do believe I am starting to understand a bit of the phenomenon that is L.A., if but as an outsider, a mountainman in the big city--a status I do intend to maintain, all due respect.

Last time I visited L.A. previous to this was with a girlfriend I was traveling with in my '63 Dodge Power Wagon complete with camper on the back, rather appropriately named "The Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama." Meghan (said girlfriend) and I stopped in North Hollywood on a grand circle cycle round the western U.S. in order to visit my friends Pete and Melissa, a pair I knew from Laramie. The night before our scheduled departure, as Meghan and I lay in bed in the camper, we proceeded to proclaim our mutual distaste for big cities (something I have since repented and relented, despite my definite preference for wilderness and small towns). Next day as Pete and Melissa saw us to truck, a rather mysterious woman appeared and approached. I'd seen her walk past a time or two over the course of the previous few days, but hadn't payed much attention. Said person stopped and asked us what we thought of L.A., to which we both replied with the expected nicities. Said inquisitive passerbye was wearing a pair of eightiesish large lensed glasses and a somewhat librarianish dress, but did not carry herself like a librarian. Years later I happened to view the movie My X-Girlfriend the Superhero, and noted a rather startling resemblance between said passerbye and Uma Thurman, which seems to make a bit of sense, as Uma Himavati is consort to Siva, a figure I understand as, well, my archetypal self, so to speak. Whether was Uma Thurman for reals, or Uma Himavati playing as Uma Thurman, or some other magica being, I can't say, but whoever the woman was, she repeated nigh verbatim the words Meghan and I had exchanged the night previous, speaking less than favorably of L.A..  Meghan and I looked at each other, both aware of the irony or oddity of said repetition.

As Meghan and I pulled away and onto the highway, the engine started to sputter, flutter and fail, and we scarcely made it off the highway and luckily happened onto a mechanic nearbye. We ended up stuck in L.A. for somewhere around another week. Did pull a toddler who fell into a shallow pond just over his head in depth out of the drink in a park during that week, and learned to appreciate the people of L.A., who supported us by buying sage smudges and bead-work jewelry Meghan made, and keeping us in smoke whilst we waited for the mechanics to fix the Miraculous Beast Shanti Mama, so I s'pose multiple goods accomplished, eh?

Anyhow, namaste to the peeps of L.A. (and the rest of ya' too, no doubt). Not my idea of a long term haunt, ya know, but I gots my appreciation, for sure.

Hummingbirds, Hawks, Seagulls and Pelicans

Hummingbirds, hawks, seagulls and pelicans buzz and whir and soar above. Crows and ravens too, scan the scene for a meal, doing work unseen in the meantime in their caw-caw-caw, and watchful eyes observing, preserving as they peruse and dine on dead things, carion and refuse. Poe's angst perhaps well founded as these black birds betray traitors and tell of things unseen by other eyes, treacheries done in the shadows.

Hummingbirds humm as they visit my hippie-cum-hobo campsite, licking the sandstone escarpment above my bed for the salient substances therein, salts and other minerals, I suppose. Don't much mindtheir shit and piss falling on my head as they hover. Some cultures say tis a blessing to be sprinked with bird's tinkle and poop. Seagull's droppings are of course another story.

The hawks have appeared just recently, and remind me of my neighbors above when camped by Spring Creek in Laramie, a pair oft seen in amourous endeavors on electric line poles whilst I sat in meditation in or near my tent in a circle grove of trees down by the tracks.

[apAvr AviskR droha apAvr AviskR dambha; Rta dharma]

Gulls by the thousands sometimes gather near here, where a creek meets the ocean. They seems smaller than ones I've seen in Laramie, dining on trash or floating on LaBonte Lake, often and not necesarily called 'Stink Lake.' Pelicans seem less abundant here than up north around Malibu, where they'd sometimes soar in formation with seagulls following in their wings' wake at Point Dume. And of course sparrows are here, ubiquitous and sweet little things (hawk sings as I wrote), as well as some smaler still have visited my seaside berth.

Used to dream more than lately of flying high, and certainly levitation's a siddhi I'd like to master. In the meantime and for dearth of monarch butterflies supposed to frequent here, I'm grateful for the birds, sightings and song, as I suffer harsh days here near the beach and by the harbor, Dana Point, California.

namaste

What would it take to run this entire country on clean energy from the sun?

TRANSPORTATION



Answer: About 12.5% of the Sonora Desert, or 15,000 square mile/9.5 million acres. Compare this to the 450 million acres currently used as crop land (the majority of which is irresponsibly and inefficiently used for animal feed--more on the gross inefficiency of meat production compared to vegetable/grain production for human comsumption in a later post) and 500 million acres used as grazing land!! I already posted this statistic, but found a link that explains the calculations . . .

Link to the calculations and statistics:

http://www.energybulletin.net/node/2364

In response to any concerns about the potential environmental impact of these algae farms, consider that the apparatuses necessary to produce the algae could be built where little to no foliage is currently existing, and would actually provide shade to create habitat for many desert dwelling species. And also consider that the toxicity of biodiesel (b100) is negligible, whereas diesel and gasoline are both highly toxic and pose long term hazards to plant, animal and human life.

ELECTRICITY



The magic of mirrors . . . most of us gaze into these reflective surfaces every day to do hair, brush teeth, and get presentable for a day at work or school. They allow astronomers to gaze deep into space, give drivers a rear-view, and now with centuries-old technology, with some new innovations, mirrors could generate enough electricity to power the whole country by utilizing a combined area of only 92 miles by 92 miles!!! That's only twice the size of the county I currently abide in (Albany County, Wyoming)!!! This is also similar to the area that is currently being heavily disturbed and significantly impacted by coal mines in this country.

Obviously these fields of mirrors would be spread across the country, minimizing any environmental impact, but this would entirely do away with the need for the excessively destructive practices of coal mining, natural gas production, etc., etc., to meet the current electricity needs of the United States!!!! Not to mention that this process would absord some degree of the sun's radiation, thus aleviating some degree of the greenhouse effect!!

WOW!!!!

The only potential environmental hazard would be birds running into the mirrors, though with some ingenuity and research there should be some means of preventing the inadvertant avian kamakazes from mistaking the mirrors for open sky, else the warped reflection would be deterant enough.

Check out this article, which gives a breakdown of this land area, and some other facts regarding this amazing energy technology:
http://gristmill.grist.org/story/2008/6/20/143633/019

YEAH, BUT WHAT ABOUT CARS AND TRUCKS AND TRAINS?



Insofar as liquid fuel for automobiles and trains, Biodiesel produced from algae could supply the nations need for diesel fuel with only 125 miles by 125 miles of Southwestern desert with current technology (12.5% of the Sonoran Desert's landmass).



Healthy and sustainable answers for our world and environment are there!! Now let's make it happen!!!

Hidden Origins of the West (repost)

Hidden Origins of the West

As an undergrad,I was required to take a general Western Civilization course over two semesters. A History and a Literature professor teamed up to teach each section, and we were required to read assorted of the so called classics, and were also assigned history readings from the Western Civ. textbook. A pretty typical survey of so called "Western" history and literature over the expanse of a few thousand years.

As a student at a sectarian Christian institution, we were required to enroll in a semester each of Old and New Testament History. Though some of our professors indeed stimulated us to critically question the traditional receptions of both Western Civilization in general, and to a lesser degree, the conventional reception of the Bible, I have since realized the virtual conspiracy of European and American scholars--and not just the religious ones--to conceal the true origins of "Western" civilization and religions (Judaism, Christianity and Islam, to be specific): India.

Abraham and Sarai and Hagar, progenitors of the Hebrew tradition through Sarai, and of the Arab peoples and later Islam through Hagar, were preceded in India by Brahma and his consort Saraswati and Ghaggar (a tributary to the Saraswati river once thought merely mythical by western scholars). According to the Torah, Abraham and his tribe came from Ur of the Chaldese, an area that was unquestionably the site of much activity by Brahmin priests.

Jeshua ben Joseph, who posthumously became known as "Jesus Christ" was preceded historically by Krishna. Krishna's followers are Gopis, his ten-thousand milkmaid lovers. Christ's followers are called the "Bride of Christ," an obvious analogy to "lovers."  It is my contention that Jesus Christ was in fact an Avatar of Ayyappa, Son of Shiva and Krishna when Krishna manifest Himself as a Goddess named Mohini. (see post titled The True Identity of Jesus Revealed)

Several of the primary tenets of Islam are directly analogous to the third person of the Hindu Trimurti (trinity) of Brahma, Vishnu (Krishna), and Siva. Siva wears a crescent moon in his hair. Islam has become represented by the crescent moon. The primary confession of Islam is one of the "kalimas." Kali Ma is the wrathful form of Siva's co-equal consort. Ummah, or "community" is among the primary tenets of Islam. Uma is the most motherly form of Siva's consort. The Kaaba, once a center of Hindu devotion, still contains a Siva Linga (phallic stone) according to some accounts. And I recently discovered that "Alla" is a name applied to Durga, another form of Devi (goddess) that is Siva's consort, yet again predating Islam. And Mecca, the holy city of Islam, is named after the moon god Al Makkah--and mAkali is . . . you guessed it, Sanskrit for moon or the chariot driver for Indra.

Cologne Online Sanskrit Lexicon entry:
461 mAkali m. the moon L. ; N. of the charioteer of Indra L. (cf. %{mAtali})


These versions of the divine in the Hindu Trimurti predate all three of these major and contentious world religions whose origin is supposedly in "the West." The Trimurti represents these three aspect of God (Creator, Maintainer, and Destroyer), as three faces on one head. Perhaps if scholarship and the general constituencies of the rather troublesome trio of Western religions were to recognize their various representations of God as but three faces of One Divinity, facets of a balanced understanding of that which is beyond mortal which predates and presages or emanates and supercedes their own various versions, they might learn to get along, and to be humble in their presumptions of inventing civilization and having the last word on God.

Also of note is that the Aryan invasion theory, i.e., that the dark-skinned peoples of India must have been invaded by blond-haired blue-eyed people from the north in order to have developed such a sophisticated civilization, has been largely disproven by recent evidences. Such racist notions from "Orientalist" scholarship, as well as suppression of the clear origins of the three aforementioned "Abrahamic" religions in India seems to convey that in their insecurities, scholars and theologians and historians of the "Western" world have been either systematically hiding something, or have been blind to the obvious. I recently came across a source which tells that one particularly noted Orientalist who lived towards the end of the nineteenth century, Max Muller (touted as the "father of comparative religion"), stated in a letter to his wife that he intentionally gave a late dating to the sacred texts of India and to the dates of Indian civilization in general, as he realized a threat to the underlying myths of Western civilization were he to tell the truth.

I wish to make these things known not to shame the heritage of Europe and America and the Middle East, nor the three religions of the "Western Tradition," from which have sprung much compassionate action and many good works in spite of sometimes violent interactions and whatever injustices sometimes fomented. Rather I would wish to inspire truly free inquiries and criticisms of traditions that, while noble on some fronts, indeed have been hiding no small degree of dishonest scholarship and lies maintained to prop up religious dogma and civic myths. It is my hope not to thus promote some other set of myths to replace these debunked, but to inspire a fearless examination of the past in order to learn how to live better in the present, and to dispense with false mythological constructs that unnecessarily divide peoples, East and West and North and South. Critical introspection and honest assessments of our origins and our common and unique heritages alike might help usher in an era of understanding and healing. This is my reason and want to rock the boat.

ॐ the sacred AUM (the usual English script phonetic spelling, though missing some of the substance of said sound), is the direct source of the mispronounced and derivative "Amen" of the Hebrew and Christian traditions, and somewhat more accurately pronounced "amin" of the Islamic tradition--though I ought to note, even most of the "Hindu" kirtan (call and response chant) leaders I have heard mispronounce ॐ . . . AUM maintains a slight ñ sound after the M sound.

It is my belief that those strands of the grand narrative that connect the Abrahamic religions to sanAtana dharma might well prove a key to peace in many of the world's current conflicts.  The subtleties of the discursive play of history revealed would certainly change the face of the Abrahamic religions and help us all to find resonance and peace in this world in the midst of the Kali Yuga...

Shanti peace salaam

Tsunami At Dana Point: Is This A Movie, A Dream, California on Such A Winter's Day?

Waking, sun showing mid-morning height: Scenes projected with people or spirit like or of ones I recognize and have known as the actors and actresses, as if a TV show or movie filmed in those varied locations I happen to abide at whatever given time, the dialogue and voice-over narratives not quite audibly presenting the purported plot and scheme and themes of this absurd dreamscape production. Certainly tied to Hollywood themes and memes, maya on and off the big screen and flat-screen boob-tube. X-wife's name's Holly Wood last I heard, and Uma Thurman shares first name with (or is to whatever degree) Uma Himavati, Daughter of the highest mountains, and I think I met her (Her?) once in North Hollywood. Stars and their likes, figures of fame and recognized players of thespian sorts, are at play in some cases as those Stars Divine play across the expanse of the globe and universe, to whatever degree. Woven plots not necessarily all prewrit, though some previewed in a dream rather epic in scope, and in scenes cut from the final show, or varied takes or rehearsals filmed, so to speak, perhaps memories transplanted from some other dimension paralleling plot and scheme of this dream-like experiencing of a story surreal and strange as any sci-fi episode on TV, Twighlight Zone bizarre and beyond that beyond, at the least.



____________________

Waiting, now, for supposed tsunami rippling across the Pacific: Channeled sources say, in a dimension a few steps away, t'was no small event, in the prescient practice place of mind or minds prepped for this playing of the production presented, rehearsed for multiple endings seems . . . just in case!! Scenario in which a wall o' water rolls o'er the shore to stories tall happened already, in some mind or dimension to which I've been made privy.


_____________________

And the torrent comes: Saw the tsunami waves roll through the harbor here at Dana Point, whalewatching mecca and dot-com dollar built-up town, Orange County crazy!! Harbor resembled a river raging with one tidal wave swell nearly capsizing a motor cruiser and nigh colliding with another 25-30 foot boat. A floating dock was tossed about in this pinnacle of the tzunami's terror, too, here at Dana Point. Certainly not the havok wreaked up the coast and over the ocean. May compassion and healing follow in these waves' wake, and hidden blessings therein flow!!!!



And indeed, stories interweaving time-space, people and place, odd and intricate geometries, confluences and collisions and straight-up crashes even, as energies and personalities find unity to be a rather absurd drama at times, yoga writ and practiced large and kinda crazy, wherein word event meet with an average life lived displaying synchronicities and meanings overt and sublime. Tidal waves and other wonders, relating to mind and minds of others, and seeming some I've known, or like spirits of facades thereof; masquerade meets with my tirade as the milieu grows multifarious and at times seeming nefarious, yet mosty this plays out pleasingly enough (if the span of my travels since first embarked as a mendicant wanderer, November 1997, at least). Gives me cause to chuckle when a playful and well writ skit is revealed. Hee hee, haa haa!!!! May transformation of and through this terrible tragedy teach and heal and bring us appropriately closer to samadhi, hee hee !!!!

Life As a Big Crazy Dot-to-Dot Yantra

Seems as I journey round, zigzagging and going high and low, visiting municipalities and communities of this land, place takes significances and signification that surpass expectations of what means connections of names and memes and geographical geometries. In faces and mostly fond memories of people from places across the countryside and cityscape, I see means of Divine Mind revealing patterns of eternity, mostly playful revelations of how indeed we are al and each important parts to a puzzle intricate and sublime. Wordplays and cues proffer clues as to just what might mean this relationship or that, archetypally, geometrically writ and emplotted in geography both natural and of human artifice, synchronistically woven into rich tapestries making sense at scale both grand and diminutive.

As I ponder people and places where I chanced be blessed to make their respective acquaintance, seems emergent patterns of beauty have sometimes a dark-side reflection, too, is want to be acknowledged. Not necessarily something intrinsically evil nor need be a vision of malevolence. Rather better the tension of feigned opposition, like blows, scratches and pinching partner's flesh proscribed by kama sutra texts. More a veiled love dressed in ghoulish rags, dear friends feigning foe, more a negative space exploration than battle with demons.

Both in beauty and terrible form these plays play on, people portraying persons archetypal and eternal, showing thus at moments their own person true as is behind veils of convention and consensual pretense and so called consensus reality, past the self-imposed amnesia as to who and what we are, most true, gods and goddesses at play, and on a stage well set across the span of land and sea and sky, a quite epic story portrayed and to be read by those with open eye . . . something we all see, bye-and-bye, when the curtain call is made (long, long time from now, I ought to note).

namaste

Thank Bhairavi For the Under the Breath Death Metal Gutteral Growl !!!!!!!!!!!!!

Recently I have come to understand something of the energy of death metal. As I growl at phantom foes who seem to maintain some degree of real and verifiable external effect, and at those foes of healthy life and living, enemies of purity (not puritany, mind you), enemies of Rta shanti, I have found this growl, gutteral and terrible, surfacing in my already deep vocalizations. Angry as Hara, Rudra surfacing, no less, Bhairava ragin' to scare 'em straight or shatter their ill intentions and pretensions and impetus with sound vibration manifestation. Bhairav's Lord of the crematory grounds--pretty fuckin' death metal, no doubt. This growl's rather handy too, so I don't gotta shout whilst in public places as I sense ills and wrongs, nor randomly lash out at vile energies come at me, barrages of bullshit begging a response. I ain't no GD Buddha, I am one to fight when need be, blades and blood and beastly, yet I do have my dignity. Yes, the under my breath death metal growl channeling ancient or extra-terrestrail tongues as well as the usual Sanskrit mantras, manuevers of mind and suchlikes, allow me to be leastwise somewhat dignified as I deal with said foes. Didn't really intend to be playin' sadhu with blades flyin' on this intended business trip to sell rare fossils, world's smallest triceratops skull and all. Oh well, guess I gots the tools. Thank Bharavi for the under the breath death metal gutteral growl and all that

SHHHHHIIIIIIITTTTTTTTTT !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

RRRRRRRRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The Truly Noble Lie: Playing As If We're Not Already One With the Divine

Theatrical spectacular, mundane life coming alive, a Grand Show writ and played both great and small, on stages of renoun and of neighborhood everyday just the same. These archetypal cycles, natural patterns of playing life manifest time and again and both subtly and bold, as naturally we portray same old stories in so many variegated and nuanced ways. Heroes and villains, maidens distressin', nations stressin' over land and treasure and power, yet might often be the scarce noticed stories be the ones direct the flow of the broader production.

Drums and trumpets boom and blare, but generals and kings and rulers generally rarely know those battles fought which of truth determine the fate of nations, and which decide the state of things human and Divine. Might be a love story and its outcome tell whether life's a dream or living hell. Could be some series of events seem of no account counts as the balance against disaster, straw that breaks the camels back or thread holds it all together. The gods and goddesses (and even with big "G's") are like that, see, 'cuz they like a good show, and want for entertainment, just like you and me. This is lila, and that's what's it's really all about, so sit back and enjoy the show, or enjoy the part you play as best you might, resting assured that once the smoke clears and the dust settles, the curtains drawn and all, we are eternal, true and good, and One, Atman, brahman, human, and other critters too.

Santa Monica Sunset Wonder

At 24 hour coffeehouse in Santa Monica tonight; today, late morning to sundown, was spent on Venice Beach. Waves washed mind’s musings and channeled chaff away for a while. Seems the noisy spirits went down to play in the surf for a few, then returned to their improper station, pokin’ my brain and tryin’ to make me insane, goddamn little fuckers. Nice don’t cover the sunset’s extraordinary show. Blues beyond azure and reds neon as the lights on Sunset Boulevard (not that I’ve been on Sunset Blvd after dark, but prob’ly seen on TV). I must say, perhaps the most extraordinary sunset I’ve seen o’er the ocean. Culminations of crazy yoga manifesting beautiful scenes, though the fire I’ve worked up and through to see such sunsets . . . the absurdities to muck through to gain such blessed visions been taxing no doubt. Meditation to the crash of waves is a nice respite from the mad and crazy dance and lila seems mostly unspoken whilst manifesting nigh ubiquitously, least when I’m in the public scene and observing. A figure passes or sits near reminds of a friend or lover or other from elsewhere, and even plays out corresponding scenarios or speaks telling indices in the course of dialogue overheard. An energetic arrayal or exchange or other motion passes before my mind’s eye, and perhaps as I respond, people pass by in synchrony to the movements seen, figures considered or conditions represented in my thoughts; a dance inside and out of me, relationship and transformations manifesting, and in concert and consort with Her, as She’s always workin’ in and behind the scenes, playing and blessing and healing.

Taos Temple Time, Sub-Zero Sleepin' and Hot Springs Soakin' in the Rio Grande Gorge

So I took a little trip up to Taos over the holidays. Seein' as how the publishers, literary agents, and dinosaur bone dealers are either on hiatus or too busy sellin' to be buyin', I thought I'd take the chance to visit the Hanuman Temple and spend some time at Stagecoach Hot Springs soaking in the steaming flow on the banks of the Rio Grande's rather chillier waters. Seemed like a good idea, as the weather forecast before I left Santa Fe called for naught but balmy 40's and 50's during the day, and still double digit Fahrenheit at night.

Stayed in the dharmasala at the Hanuman Temple/Neem Karoli Baba Ashram one night after a pleasant round of chantin' for the twice-daily aarti ceremony, and awoke early to attend another sesh in the a.m. led by a young bearded Afghani convert (hope nobodies issued a fatwa on him for his devotions). This sacred space is a wonderful mix of Hindu ritual and hippie culture, holding space for the faithful in the high country of the New Mexico mountains. Affiliated with Ram Das, author of Be Here Now and former Harvard psychology professor (then known as Richard Alpert--yeah, the dude the character on Lost was named after) who co-taught with Timothy Leary during the licit and officially sanctioned LSD experiments there, this ashram's guru use to do the multiplying food trick (yeah, just like Jesus wit' the loaves and fishes, yo!) when devotees would bring him an orange or some such, then hand out oranges to others all day. Though not my guru, Neem Karoli's alright in my book, and I definitely appreciated the hospitality on a snowy night in Taos.



After a few days in Taos, I caught a ride down Tune Road to the parking lot at the rim of the Gorge with a pair of travellers I met at Caffe Tazza, then hiked the trail into the depths of the chasm. Stagecoach Hot Springs is one of the gems of the Taos area, bubbling up just above the banks of the Rio Grande. Featured in the hippie cult classic "Easy Rider," the hot springs was at one time a crossing for stagecoaches, long before the breathtaking Gorge Bridge was built [as an aside, a former girlfriend o' mine and her brother got struck by lightning on said bridge one time. Lesson: don't touch metal railings in a thunderstorm on such a structure]. The ruins of the inn still stand in places, granting an interesting ambiance to a soak in said steaming geothermal pools adjacent to the bone-chilling flow, though the walled-in pool shown in "Easy Rider" is no longer full, and the current soaking pools are little more than rocks arranged to divide the hot water and the cold rushing by in the riverbed.

(springs not pictured)

I set up my camp a bit downriver from the springs, converting my bedroll into a semblance of a tent, a shelter that served just fine for the snow, though fell rather short during the sub-zero cold which followed. Guess forecasting the weather's still a far from exact science.




Though I've a pretty toasty down-filled sleeping bag, a Walmart mummy bag I gutted and refilled with the stuffing of old coats, seems I coulda gone for another thriftstore parka-full as the temperature dipped to double digit sub-zero frigidness. Even with layers of my clothing pulled out of my frame-pack and strewn across my mummy-bag encapsulated form, concern for frostbite forced me to cup my toes in hands at moments to warm said extremities and get the circulation goin'. My soaks the following days in the earth-warmed waters took on new meaning, to say the least.

After three or four nights in these nigh unbearable conditions, as the sun shone warm one afternoon I broke camp, then made it out of the Gorge just in time to catch the last beams of the setting sun. As all the other hot springs soakers had already departed, I had to hike to the highway, and then as far as a little RV park and convenience store a few miles yet from Taos, where I squatted on the front porch, too exhausted and fatigued to continue. Next morning I caught a ride the rest of the way into town, and I don't think I've ever been happier to return to so-called civilization from a beautiful place in nature--let alone from a geothermal hot spring!! Coldest camping I've ever known, and I'm from Wyoming, even!!!!

If you do get the chance to visit Taos, do consider checking out this natural wonder, just don't count on the extended forecast . . .

Durga

La Plaza in Santa Fe

Sittin' overlooking the plaza, sippin' a double americano and watching the crowd, people proverbialy pacing to and froe, Hanukkah celebration on the main stage, and other productions playing out on the broader: Kids [term used to denote young people or old of a certain disposition, and not specifically minors as such] swingin' herb and hash, and some kickin' the hack in a circle; couples walking arm in arm across the brick sidewalk wearing the Southwest style, beads and blankets and frills and more shinies than is most places the norm; yuppies bordering on hippie (or hippie-cum-yuppies); grandparents; Che and Mesuna with grandkids; mamas and papas toting tired little ones; old mystics with long gray hair and young ones with mohawks and twenty piercings or a set of knotty dreadlocks, all enjoying a lazy Sunday afternoon on the plaza.

Earlier when I was waitin' for a couple grams of chocolate hash to show, three fellas were playin' Hanukkah songs by a bench, one squeezing an accordian, another on cello and one on hand drums. At least one was Hispanic and scarcely appeared of Hebrew descent, and another looked to be more an Italian than a Jew, perhaps indicative of the ecumenical magic of northeastern New Mexico, likewise exemplified in the plethora of religious communities hereabout, from whirling, spinning Suffis with a temple in Espanola, a mosque and madrasa in Abique, Amaji and Neem Karoli Baba and who knows how many other ashrams, buddhist stupas and monasteries of many faiths, communes of various dispositions and belief systems, and an interfaith foundation in the mountains above Taos called Lama. And of course there's kivas [ki, "anthill," -va "dwelling," Sanskrit] and teepees erected for ceremony and prayers at least a bit more native to this land [if bearing indices of sharings and connected lineages over time and space], sacred dances the earth here's felt in certain beats and rhythm for many, many moons, and songs resonate with the very mountains 'round.

Santa Fe's one of those towns don't fit a grid patterned spread, but circles and seems to spiral round the plaza, spreading into the foothills and o'er a greater span out onto the plains. Reminds me of the opening spoken word to a Midival Punditz tune: "If you’ve ever existed in grids or swerves you know that London swings, New York is a grid. Chicago swings. Bombay is a grid. Delhi swings..." And indeed the movement of more than people and cars in such towns and cities that ain't just squares and rectangles is a different thing than curvy circling wavy streets designating to whatever degree the flow and traffic patterns. To reduce these differences in types of towns or cities to taxonomized, essentialized and well-defined classification might be done, though's likely to miss the mark or present personal presumptions and perspective more than plain truth. Could be stastics compared to come to some conclusions, though could as easy represent other factors influences, such as curvy roads tend to be around hills and mountains and other geographic features, and grids on flat lands. Personally, I've not even figured out any direct correlations, though sense these nonetheless.

Anyhow, belows some photos of the scene, the set, stage and show . . .

namaste, and see

Reveries at the Aztec Cafe

So I'm sitting at the Aztec Cafe in Santa Fe, a coffeehouse was rather seminal in my transition from one paradigm to another, from Oklahoma preacher/University of Chicago grad student to wandering hippie-yogi-sadhu-freak. Upon my first venture hitchhiking, an endeavor I fashioned as a "pilgrimage" on the road, a leap of faith in no God in particular, an attempt to find out if trust in Divine providence and humanity was merited, I found my way to the Santa Fe International Hostel and the Aztec Cafe, and discovered a world I had not realized still existed. This was a door opened to the traveling hippie circuit, a world of post-modern gypsies and punks, Deadheads (just post-Grateful), dread-heads and mystics seekers of modern day America, something I had little clue had survived past the sixties and seventies.

After a mostly vegetarian Thanksgiving at the hostel, I spent my last five bucks at the Aztec, and encountered a collection of creative and exhuberant artists, traveling hippies and other colorful sorts, lively bohemian revolutionaries with hopes of transforming self and society. When I had set out from Oklahoma with my thumb extended in the middle of the night, less than two days previous, I had little clue that there were yet those with the impetus to explore outside of the norms of conventional propriety and societial norms. There were Rainbow hippie chicks braiding hemp, others plying pipes and beadwork, mohawks and dreadlocks and a mostly healthy community of self expressive individuals seeking some meaning beyond the thin veneer of American commercialism and capitalist desire, suburban malaise and conformist ways.

The license to freedom, and the encouragement of comrades to radical living, expanded consciousness, exploration of the realms of mind and spirit off limits by the standards of the world I had known. Here were people who had the strength to question the system, the desire for an experience of life unconstrained by conventional religion and social and economic expectations so heavily laid upon members of proper and conformist society. Though certainly there was some degree of dysfunction, something endemic to a society so seperated from nature and the ancient truths known to our ancestors, each and all, these were men and women of more than a couple of generations, young people and old, who were to some rather ecclectic degree united on continuing the sorts of change sought by the hippies and the beats, and revolutionaries of many ages and eras, and people endeavoring a creative and bold response to dysfunctions both societal and personal and familial.

I had encountered Deadheads in Oklahoma, as I would sometimes go to clubs in Norman where these ecstatic dancing freaky folk would cut loose to the vibes of cover bands, but especially in that part of the country, such people were a tiny minority in a sea of Bible-belt bullshit. Similarly in Laramie, closest to hometown I have known in this lifetime, there were a number of hippie--or as I called them at the time, "granolas," but had only come to the acquintance of these, again mostly through attending shows of cover bands at local bars. At the Aztec in those days, I found a concentration and concentrated version of the post-modern gypsie-hippie-freak world.

As I rolled into town last night, catching a ride from Antonito with an older hispanic man on his way to make deliveries towards Mexico (and I am assuming to return with other cargo), my first stop was to the Aztec. As I rounded the corner past the Cowgirl and started down Aztec Street, I was dismayed to see no light in the windows, and that as I approached the door, the sign noted this officially designated "Cutting Edge Art Space" is no longer open at night, indicated that at least to some degree, the scene has been subdued. Indeed, as with the first generation of hippies, things like family and economic necessity take hold, and seems only the die-hard maintain the full-blown ways and vibrance they knew in those wilder days. Nonetheless, these people continue to push society towards the transformation they sought whilst on the road, when young and youthfully excited at the newness of experiencing, the movement towards environmental sustainability, spiritual freedom and making life the artistic and exhuberant and wholistic experience it was meant to be has moved more mainstream than ever, and this movement was indeed given impetus from venues like the Aztec Cafe, coffeehouses having indeed always served as hotbeds of radical thinking, revolutionary spirit and transformational intention. And the young of today offer all the more promise.

Well, despite the limited hours of the Aztec Cafe on Aztec Street in Santa Fe, as I arrived this morning for my morning cup of black brew and a bagel (they were apparently out of the delightful almond croissants long my favorite), I saw many familiar faces, people I first met in those early days of my travels, and indeed they seem still of the same mind, if a bit older and some steeped in family life and even careers. And indeed, there is still plenty of impetus displayed towards seeing the changes and self-expressive, artistic spiritualistic exhuberant transformational means and modes I found so encouraging back in those days, the fall of 1996, and the beginnings of my personal pilgrimage to finding myself, and Self, Atman, the transformational seed of the Divine already extant in each and all, sometimes just needing a little attention and care to bear fruit, encouragement to grow and to manifest through each individually the beauty and power intrinsic to being and Being.

Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American Indians (repost)

I promised some evidences of early colonization of America by ancient Indians/
"Hindus" (i.e., people of the Indian subcontinent, south Asia). By these evidences I intend to refute the theory generally held by academia and popular culture that Native Americans all came from north Asia across the Bearing Strait land bridge (as well as the Mormon myth that Native Americans were Hebrew--not to say no Hebrews or other Europeans, Asians, Africans or others ever ventured here before Columbus, just that most early colonists of the "Americas," or as this land was named by it's earlier colonists from India, "Patala," were either Hindu or north Asian).

Indeed, India had established ties with America long before Columbus, Leif Erickson, or even early Chinese explorers set foot on American shores.

One of the above ancient temples is in the Americas, and one is in India. Can you tell which is which?

Apache's call themselves "Inde," i.e., of the Indus Valley, Hindu, "Indian."

Apache people worship Yusn, lord of wealth, one of Siva's names is Jatin, and Siva is known as Lord of Wealth.

Pima god "Siuuhu," or "Sewa." Hindu god Siva.

Viriseva and Vairubai, names of male and female deities worshipped by natives of Northen Mexico. Seem likely to translate to "Lord Siva" ("vira"--"great," "eminent man"; "seva" phonetically close to "Siva")and "Bairavi" (one of Parvati's names, i.e., Siva's consort).

Nah-big, O'Odham (Arizona native tribe) word for water-siphon.
Nag-beg, Kashmiri term for water siphons named after water-serpent deity.

Vah-Mat, O'Odham word for snake.
Veh-Mar, Sanskrit, "poinonous snake."

Baboquivari mountains in southern Arizona, traditional name given by O'Odham people, and a source of much gold.
Baba-Kubera, Sanskrit, "father"-"god of riches and treasure."

Recall that the conquistador Coronado was seeking "Quivira," fabled city of gold. Obviously very much like the name of Hindu deity, "Kubera," again, a god of riches and treasure.

"Some tribes, such as the Huicholes in Central Mexico, even remember from what Indian seaport they left for America - Aramra in Gujarat. The Huicholes revere a part of the beach at the old Mexican seaport of San Blas, Nayarit, as Aramara, "Place of Origin of the Huicholes." Millenniums ago, Gujarat was called Jukhar. Juj-Kha is an O'Odham name for "Mexicans." The Navajos call them Nakaii (Nagas). The Apaches claim to be Inde (Indus People.) They worship Shiva as Yusn. In Sanskrit, Yishan = "Shiva." Apache = "Enemy" in O'Odham. In Sanskrit, Apachnan = "Destroyer." Another name of the Zunis ("Zoonyees") is Ashiwi (Azhuva?, "Way of the Serpent," in Sanskrit). Two of their principal deities are Shivani and Shiwanikoya. Zoonya (Zuni?) and Zeenya ware epithets of ancient Kashmir. According to Indian historian K. P. Chon, the Naga Azhuvas, perhaps the forefathers of the Zunis, were India's oldest ruling dynasty. He said that they ruled for more than a thousand years." (copied from Webpage, "Journey to Baboquivari, Gene Matlock explores the paths of ancient migrations," in the article, "The O'Odham, Native Americans with Ancestors from India?" link at end of post)

Deity's names are useful for finding still extant connections linguistically and culturally, as people generally are more careful to maintain the names of gods than other words. Also, words for the sun and moon often maintain their structure better than other common words.

Cherokee "Lucky Hunter" god, sometimes called first man: Kanati.
Sanskrit for hunter, kSAnta, etymologically quite close to Kanati.

Cherokee goddess of corn, Selu.
Sanskrit "selu" means many, a term oft associated with corn/grain/abundance.

Creek god called on for strength, Hayuya.
Sanskrit for "exhibiting strength," ojAya.

Creek Supreme God was Master of Breath.
Breath, pranayam, is the source of life-energy and is central in Yoga.

Choctaw deity, "Hashtahli," "sun completing it's cycle."
Sanskrit, "asta" setting sun, "li" end.

Cheyenne for "sun," Éše'he.
Again, Sanskrit "asti," setting sun and the direction to India from the Cheyenne lands.

Cheyenne for moon, "Taa'é-eše'he."
Sanskrit for particular full moon, "taiSa."

Aztecs.
Sanskrit, "Astika," faithful, one who believes in existence of God/another world.

"Kiva," round half-underground Hopi ceremonial houses.
Sanskrit "ki"--anthill, "va"--dwelling

Maya people.
Maya, hindu Goddess of illusion.

And of course the Swastika (not the tilted version of the Nazi's, mind you) is found from ancient Indus Valley seals to ancient Native American sights.


Most of the above examples were found by a simple comparison of Native American words with words meaning the same in Sanskrit I found in a Sanskrit lexicon, and from similar research done by others. I imagine I could go on for pages and pages with this stuff if I chose, and mind you, these etymological similarities are as strong as any touted by any PhD linguist. Indeed, there is ample evidence that people from ancient India--and very sophisticated peoples, at that--were the forebearers and ancestors of many Native American Tribes. Yet again, the official version of history and archeology is found quite wanting, if not outright in denial of obvious truths of human history.




http://www.vandemataram.com/html/diduknow/diduno-mexico.htm

http://www.viewzone.com/baboquivari.html


http://books.google.com/books?id=Eh1WHqo0JN8C&pg=PA530&lpg=PA530&dq=ancient+hindu+america&source=bl&ots=QyqtiTi6k-&sig=j3_M1nezgLoWXKDRDxBCS-wd3YA&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=7&ct=result

http://www.viewzone.com/kokopeli.html

http://vedicempire.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=25&Itemid=26

http://www.jansamachar.net/display.php3?id=&num=49&lang=English

http://books.google.com/books?id=Obgdz8auwkMC&pg=PA52&lpg=PA52&dq=hindu+artifacts+in+america&source=web&ots=c44PyVw213&sig=SQpAOScDUw54XrWWibcIyGmtgL8&hl=en&sa=X&oi=book_result&resnum=4&ct=result#PPA53,M1

She's Still My Lover, Even When She Ain't Thus as Another !!

Cycles of seeing Her manifest, through the veils knowing She is at play with me, and simultaneously working with me (as of course are many other conscious souls) to transform this reality to what we know it might be. Healthy, pure, intense and blissful, ananda, shanti, lila done right, celebrations and varied flows to make life and contingent forms of experiencing simultaneously teaching and play, partying and yoga done in good form and not as divorced realms of life lived, bhakti in ecstatic dance and even drunkenness, yet with a pure flow guiding the game just the same.



And of course, romance, for even as I've scarcely had any lovers o'er recent years (compared to the previous plenty), She is present just the same--er, almost, for caressing her breast as a mountain surveyed with careful attention and admired just ain't the same as Her astride me or arms and legs otherwise entangled in passion's throes, her breasts pressed 'gainst my chest and such. My linga raised in solitary devotions and tantric meditations is not the same nor equal to a yogini's yoni fitted 'round. Nonetheless, She constantly makes Herself known in the midst of whatever milieu. Jaya Ambika Mahamaya !!! Jaya Parvati !!!!! Jaya Ambika Tridevi !!!

High from Buena Vista

Sitting sipping coffee and whiskey, mellow lounge music, fire and ice and smokin' out by the flames. Kindness came my way, green for little green exchanged, the trek above to Bhudevi's flowing soothing sweet water's heat contrasting temperatures to cold sky blowin' snow helpin' restore flow, or so my senses say. Seeing still moment by moment and in words o'erheard things tell tidbits of the amazing secret of yoga. The endeavor to read through these lila can be a delight, and can be terrible too, tenuous in some tellings, whether true or mere ruse, yet all always adding up to eternity, beautiful if fluxuating, vibrations and minds, beings who are truly Beings and Being. Absurd and archetypally sometimes rather twisted, and in this play I'm not by any means alone, and seems I play my role well enough, as world's not ended and life goes on. Rather intense at times responding as is best/zreyas to the play played out, with mind ahimsa when might, and tigmamanyu at other times, dance/nata when most beautifully manifest unless in lovemaking and romance. Cycles flash before my eyes and energies/intentions expressed and felt from others I experience, and with no certain prognostication or litmus to determine which of so many inputs to truly trust, though seems instincts exist to guide one through such lila, and I still can laugh and dance my way through the right scenes and pretty well on cue, or leastwise from the point of view of this actor participant sometimes standing back from the action on stage, and others in the midst. Wordplays and headtrips from other minds, of whatever antiquity or novelty, run through mine as if played out is some play designed for manifesting the order of things in leastwise my experiencings, if not at more substantive levels.

That one maybe Durga, this fellow Hanuman or Krshna, that woman Kali, this stately fellow Ram, and so on, yet other minds, perceived and otherwise express possibly contending pantheons (though all those stories have their connections, no doubt) or paradigms or plays' scripted materials overlapping, leading to an interesting milieu. Mix Shakespeare with the Ramayana, or Frisch with Oklahoma, staggering scripts to make some sembance of sense, in between another dialogue entirely. And might be groups, crews, yo!! travelin' in sometimes groups in the play, with whatever binding motive or vibe. And all the while I'm fed clues as to each player walks past, offers this gesture or that, and indeed even seems sometimes smells are manifest with whatever scene, blessing or taunt and seems with some entrained or programmed response oft as not far from my own intincts, yet still not overpowering mine, leastwise where really counts. And of energies flow through me, I've some allies who speak in other tongues, mostly native American Indian, from the sound, though could be wrong. Benevolent others and allies surely, both from inside and out, help me respond, though gotta wonder at the flow of what seems pressed at times a certain incursion on freedom. If for transformation of society, healing of vibration, tunig of the free yet perfectly timed nata of the Universe.

Buena Vista Sunset

Jay Z, ThinkMTV, Water for Life and Celebrities Using Fame Like They Oughta, YO !!!

Haven't watched much MTV since, well, prob'ly since the eighties when it was mostly music videos. On the occasion of stayin' in a "hotee" this night ("hotee" is road dog speak for hotel/motel, a celebratory occasion for those who usually sleep in a car or in whatever available patch of trees, downtown rooftop or abandoned building), whilst surfing the channels--nearly doubling over laughing at an infomercial for dildos, something even eighties MTV did not predict--I came to Jay Z bringing awareness to young people about the plight of so many children who have no access to clean water, and to efforts to give access to this basic human need to some of the millions without. This is exactly what those with such celebrity capital, as well as those like Bill Gates with excessive money, oughta be doin' with all that flow, ya' know!

See, there ain't nothin' wrong with having dough, nor with living reasonably comfortably, nor with being famous, so long as you use what you got to make things better for others, too. The evil in money is in not sharing it when you got it, and the evil in Hollywood fame or other noteriety is in not using your influence to bring attention to issues like lack of clean water, basic human needs unmet in a world of excessive wealth, environmental ills, etc. This oughta be common sense, and indeed many in the Hollywood community and music biz' and other positions of fame, as well as many with otsa cash do indeed do lend their time and energy, celebrity status and bank accounts to make a difference.

So cheers, kudos, and hooray to those who, like Mr. Jay Z, do what they might to help those in need and to draw attention to the issues need real attention, like clean water, nutrition, clothes and shelter and the plight of our environment. Those be the folks in show business and with billions to whom I can say namaste without reservations, no doubt !!!


http://www.mtv.com/thinkmtv/features/global/water_for_life/

http://www.un.org/works/OLD/water/jayz.html

Annapurna, Devi (top), the mountain (middle), and Mount Princeton in Colorado. See post "Kailash and Pikes Peak and Sacred Geographies Generally" for the simiarity between the appearance of Kailash and Tava (Pikes Peak) and other interesting geological and geographic similarities and signs of the truth of the ages and the times.

And just came across the below stock photo of another vista of Mt Princeton, which interestingly looks alot like Trishul, a mountain in the Himalayas which represents the weapon of Siva and said Person's presence.

Mt. Princeton


Trishul

Animal Visitations, Lila and Yoga

As I was falling into a meditation on the meaning of the conjunct terms and appelation satcitananda and almost into r.e.m. sleep, I returned to some degree of wakened state to a dog barking and person beckoning, then the yowl of a big cat. The cat's cry came closer, then closer.

(For best effect, play whilst reading)


As I lay in my down sleeping bag and beneath the plastic tarp's been my shelter, I came to nearly a full return to my waking mind as the cat passed behind me and between me and the Country Lodge, and sounded not much o'er a dozen yards from my bedroll. In a state of almost awakeness I grabbed my hand axe in preparation for a potential battle, though I rather think t'was a she cat and one wanted not a battle, but a sire. I suppose musings about battling a cat for it's skin to wear caused me to consider this one might be taking me up on the idea. Perhaps that I grabbed the axe disuaded whatever chance might have been for that myth to manifest, as it should thus be bare-handed I battle a tiger or a leopard for its hide to wrap around my waist. I suppose my nylon leopard-print sarong shall suffice for now, when I ought bear proper regalia, truest to myself/Self.

Foxes and crows or ravens have been next most significant wild things to this journey and recent lila manifest into real life in my experiencings. Upon first returning to Laramie after epic journey to eastern Canada to find a scarcely known beloved (in the romantic/quixotic sense), I awoke to a fox peaking over a rubble pile just feet above my bedroll. After checking with movement to ensure this creature was curious and not ill, we shared a few moments of eye-to-eye. After rolling up my bed and starting towards the downtown, I passed by the decrepit ruins of the Empress/Fox Theater on Second Street (now demolished, alas), and decided to lend my efforts towards the renovation of said once grand venue, to no avail, alas. Also would often encounter a fox on the way to and from my squat by Spring Creek and the tracks in Laramie.

Ravens and crows have been rather significant players in my path, most notably since one mushroom trip in Washington state, whence donning a shinny and almost irridescent black shirt given me on the streets of Portland whilst I was plying sage smudges, a gaggle of ravens took roost above me, and followed from tree to tree as I started running down the road flapping my arms and calling by my best immitation of their tongue and calls. Though my most notable interaction with birds in Laramie after returning from the eastern states was with the Swainsons's hawks had a nest near my squat and left me a feather, I did gather two black feathers of crow or raven kind which a attached to a carved stick along with a hawk feather proffered by my neighbors in the tree. Considered protectors of sanAtana dharma, literally "eternal teachings," crows and thier cousins are species I attend to with a considerate eye and ear, whenever they chance to fly circles 'round or perch nearby my seat or stand or path.

Of foxes on this journey, near Fossil Creek Road south of Ft.Collins I met another of these red furry friends, encountered on both sides of the highway as we both sought to find a meal around strip malls and fast food joints. This fox walked with me for a stint and then went another way as I went to check for dumpster scores. May have been another brief encounter or two between then and the fox I met behind the quick stop at the lower end of town, here in Woodland Park. This fine specimen of Vulpini vulpes was digging in the dirt at the edge of the road when we first met and exchanged greetings, then passed by my bedroll as I lay under a tree between a neighborhood and a school playground just off the main drag, not unlike the path of my feline visitation of last night in its path round my bed. The night before the foxes visitation, I found a long and elegant wing feather from a raven by my bed.

Indeed, yoga is an endeavor not just including people and Deva-Devi, but includes creatures wild and domesticated, as in truth all are of One, or at least of not-two (Advaita). One of the recognitions expressed in many peoples' choice to endeavor a vegetarian is that the creatures we encounter might just be deceased friends and relatives coming for a visit, else visitations of the Divine. Suppose thus despite failure thus far to do much business with the petrified bones and teeth of long deceased and (mostly/likely) extinct species, and thus deprived of blessings of fiduciary returns, I've been granted a good many blessings from wild critters attending to me and my endeavors subtler and perhaps more important than immediate material gain.

Old Colorado City, Conversations and Musings

Oh twisted tales I am living through, a storyline practiced, rehearsed,played over and over in some other's mind in preparation for my meandering through this mad gauntlet, this absurd play. day by day I meet scenarios to which my mind's already privy, or been made privy by another mind--one of more than a few have found their way into my cognition by whatever avenue, and which provide interference sometimes even with my motor functions. Today I am sitting at Agia Sophia coffeehouse, a coffeehouse and bookstore however loosely affiliated with the Orthodox Church.

After a self-led tour through the store, I settled on a seat next to an east window on the first floor, and facing a pair of women who I'd overheard discussing churchie matters. Somehow the segway presented itself into a conversation with the pair, a sweet elderly woman of ninety years who told a few tales of her youth in Jamaica. Though maintaining blue eyes and relatively pale skin, something of her appearance indicated she may have been to some degree of African descent. The other, a face not unfamiliar--a cue that generally indicates some degree of association with the reminiscent other, providing clues as to how to interpret said sorts of meetings--a middle aged woman with a pronounced nose and greying hair, hazel eyes and a toothy smile, reminiscent of two different older women I knew in Oklahoma years ago.

At the onset of this chat I gave the spiel I have found it necessary and felt obliged to proffer so often, especially to those to whatever degree deluded by the Christian paradigm: Abraham and Sarah and Haggar were predated by Brahma and Saraswati and Ghaggar in the narratives of ancient India, Christ analogous to the more ancient Krishna, and Islam hearkens to Siva and various names and forms of Shakti in certain pivotal tenets and terms (see posts "Hidden Origins of the West" and "One, Two, Three, What're We Fightin' For?"). Also noted several Sanskrit cognates in the English language over the course of our conversation: English "God" is derived from the Sanskrit "go," which translates directly as "cow," English "right" comes from Sanskrit "Rta" (denoting "correct" and not "right as opposite to "left"), etc.

In this exchange, as with so many these days, an underlying narrative passed through the periphery of my thoughts as sorta a voice-over, either telling hidden meanings of the exchange else weaving webs improv-style to confuscate, or perhaps a bit of both. Directional cues and oft twisted or perverse sub-narratives and odd arrayals of mind, space and time of interdimensional nature are thus presented, tieing persons from my past experiencings and mythic figures, archetypal references and historic personages presented as connected more than piecemeal, much of the time in such tight synchrony and externally veritable and verifiable expressions, seeming valid hints and clues that these prove difficult to dismiss as mere fancy, delusion or lie.

The players in these little lila sometimes bear more than striking resemblance to others I have know from the past, sometimes with startling implications, and sometimes hearkening to events from the long past past, and sometimes to figures and figurations of celebrated fame, Hollywood stars and murti presenting Divine persons, and all woven into a rather confusing narrative that seems to have been woven since at least my early years of this life. One friend of the fairly recent past, a beautiful young woman I met in Laramie just a few years ago is a clear double (if a tad bit thinner in the face) to a murti of Mahamaya I came across on the internet and had downloaded to my computer.



Many women I've chanced encounter over the years seemed reminiscent of one particular woman I became immediately enamoured with years ago upon seeing her dance, and who I have determined was and likely still is an avatar of Parvati, at least or especially in her dance and in her laughter. These sorts of visual cues indicate relationships of persons archetypal and Divine, not unlike what is posited in the Emerald Tablet's "as below . . . so above, as above . . . so below."
The Divine plays out in the mundane, and the mundane is determined by--and determines--the Divine. In the fractal universe understood as maya, the stories of Gods and Goddesses are our stories in life lived, if examined carefully and insofar as the myths are well writ and properly told.

Even in the names of places writ across the map are clues to constructions of this game we all play, whether consciously or no. Pathways woven into the arrayals of maya manifest in story and song, maps and myth, dream and drama tell of this constant yoga ("yoke"/"union"), this grand nata ("dance"), this sometimes absurd yet generally beautiful lila ("Divine play") that is played out in seeming infinite variation in and throughout eternity.

Still, in the midst of such, though I can make out certain consistent themes there are intrigues maintained, mysteries and uncertainties conveyed that sometimes make for grand adventures, and sometimes for manifold sufferings. This is where yoga is essential, and I ain't just talkin' asanas, breath-work and pranayam relagated to a "yoga studio." I mean the "alteration of sense-vibration, that pure consciousness might abide" (Patanjali's Yogasutra, vs. 2-3). I mean tuning the symphony of maya, mellowing the "vibe" (Sanskrit, "sphurti"), correcting voices out of tune and fixing instruments needing restringing, destroying dissonance where it does not belong and playing the right songs the right way. I mean destroying lies, dealing appropriately with ills of minds and Mind, battling demons would inappropriately interrupt the flow of the raga or bhajan or cause corruptions of the kiertan sung by the devoted.

And yet, as I know these modes and means to be true, compassion would stay my hand when it seems some storyline might have importance to the grander scheme, else to the wellbeing of innocent others caught up in the milieu, and exercise caution and consideration to the nuances of the tale told and played out. Rather a pain in the arse, back and neck, sometimes, yet indeed seems there are times to forgo one's own plans to pay due heed to sufferings and confusions of others, and to grant others' plots woven due consideration. So onward into this story, this absurd lila, this oft as not twisted tale I go. From here, perhaps I shall venture yet again to the other side of the divide (Continental, that is), else to familiar stomping grounds to the south where there are more who are aware of the more ancient and abiding tellings and contexts and of true to life myths, where obfuscations of the truth are less prominent and the people more open to dharma not confused with false dogma. To be honest, the ignorance and intolerance of the Christian community and the psychic and other assaults of those guardians of the lies which falsely uphold said faith make me long to retreat to someplace like Taos and the Hanuman Temple, where hippies and like open-minded folk, as well as the traditions of the Pueblo Indians (rooted in India, btw: see "Maybe Columbus Found India After All: Traces of India Amongst American 'Indians'") hold sway, and where the matrix of reality doesn't so much favor lies upholding a corrupted (if not corrupt from the beginning) system of belief (sorry Colorado Springs, your relatively recently adopted evangelicalism is rather a drag. Namaste, nonetheless).