Monday, January 31, 2011

Flowers I Have Culled

Flowers, flowers I have culled
from the garden of your disaffection.

Small they are,
yet poignant—
they offer a wistful air,
as if afraid to breathe.

Yes, I have culled flowers,
flowers from the garden of your disaffection,
and I have put them in the sun,
to dry into memory.

Small and sad,
vague and rootless,
I could never get near enough
to find the center
so to transplant them
into more fertile soil.

So the only recourse
to their withering
is to cull the flowers
and to dry them,
like the tears I have shed,
to preserve their essence,
yet let them fade
into a less painful memory.

Perhaps I should walk away,
but there is yet a tristesse beauty
that draws me to care, and so
I continue to cull the flowers,
if only to preserve a beauty
that might have opened to the light.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Unexpected Rains I

They drifted in swiftly,
clouds, full and black,
giving up as much rain
as stored in their silver coffers,
a solemn offering,
a duty and service
to any valley, plain or hill
they encounter on this,
their journey that never ends.


© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Wholeness


The moon is not its phases.

The moon is the moon,
no different in the four directions
as from a cloud a boat or the shore,
complete in itself,
whole.

This is true for all and of all.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Friday, January 28, 2011

Offerings


Sun beams light everywhere;
rain blesses the desert places;
trees reach up to the sky
and bend their arms to make shade;
rivers and steams quench the fields;
seeds rise from prayer,
firmly planting their feet
in the soft and willing earth;
flowers unfurl their colorful smiles;
fruit falls into waiting hands;
grains wave on their stalks;
I give a freshly baked cookie
to a stranger walking by;
Moon draws all to needed rest
—life is an eloquent exchange
of offerings 
made for no better reason than 
just because.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Inside the Spiraling Moment

Floating from inside an interior web of warm vibrations,
Surrounded by blossoms within a glorious garden of sound forms,
I know my own voice rising, falling, and melding there, too,
Liquid, lucid, filling any welcoming space,
Longing to meet and melt into surfaces,
Hard ones, all the better to contact with gleeful bounces,
Soft ones, all the better to contact with joyous embraces,
There to be absorbed into a new life, a new being.

Inside such spiraling moments,
I know myself to be present, and
I know the presence of others,
I know we are conjoined not only in common outward purpose,
But also by a shared interiority that must be the home of Universal Heart,
That heavenly realm,
Which, while existing beyond past, present and future,
Lives within the sound of our voices,
For it is woven inextricably into our very flesh,
It is woven inextricably into all that is seen and unseen,
And, unfolding from the stillness of silence,
Is proclaimed in every unbidden gesture of beauty.

Music is indeed the most heavenly gift of all,
For even as we thoughtfully create and recreate moments in sound, in music,
We are the manifestation of the music of the spheres.

Music is at once the question and the answer to all our questions,
A map across the trackless desert to the Beloved,
A living and breathing Is-ness that renews Being
With the will to strive for an eternal More
In every Moment.

Music is analogous of the mystery of Life,
a meeting of spirit and witness
that flows continuously,
like radiant heat,
from the center of creative Being.

Inside the spiraling moment,
I drench myself,
I lose my self,
I find selves joined within selves, our very selves, ourselves;
I meld within the everlasting arms of Other,
And apprehend the infinite beauty of us All.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Selling Ourselves

I have been job hunting, for over a year. If there is anything that has come to my notice, during this time, it is that people seem to be morphing into products. (I can't call this evolving.)

Erich Fromm wrote this prescient statement in an essay, published in 1955, entitled "The Present Human Condition":

Man has transformed himself into a commodity, and experiences his life as capital to be invested profitably; if he succeeds in this he is "successful" and his life has meaning; if not, "he is a failure." His "value" lies in his salability, not in his human qualities of love and reason nor in his artistic capacities. Hence his sense of his own value depends on extraneous factorshis success, on the judgment of others. Hence he is dependent on these others, and his security lies in conformity, in never being more than two feet away from the herd.

Fromm goes on to suggest that we herded humans have become alienated "automatons." Albert Camus, along these lines, said, "Without work, all life goes rotten; but when work is soulless, life stifles and dies."

Is that what we want from the work of "making a living"? That certainly not what I want. I would venture to say that it must be true for everyone that we want to have work that is meaningful, either creative or useful.

I have seen friends turn themselves into consultants because they think that will free them from the rigors of office hours and give them "more time". Instead of freedom, they find that they are forced to work all the time, and that they have to pay the overhead that any office must pay, with regard to equipment. There is so much more to self-employment than anyone ever realizes. And sometimes the service we sell is something that could, maybe should, be given away for free, as a public service, neighbor helping neighbor.

The internet has become the perfect place marketplace for selling oneself. Well, not perfect. In fact, it is rather ugly and sick, this marketplace, with messages popping up all over, video messages yammering at you, while you are trying to find information on pages that are chock full of attention-getting blurbs that are not at all helpful to your purpose. Selling "old secrets",  rackets and scams, this sham marketplace is all hustle and no substance.

Modern life seems to be a cycle consisting of consumers who are, in turn, being consumed.

In his all but forgotten book, Good Work, E.F. Shumacher saw this cycle as a modern metaphysics he defines as "materialistic scientism."

"The world of work," as seen and indeed created by this modern metaphysics is—alas!—a dreary place. Can higher education prepare people for it? How do you prepare people for a kind of serfdom? What human qualities are required for becoming efficient servants, machines, "systems," and bureaucracies? The world of work of today is the product of a hundred years of "de-skilling"—why take the trouble and incur the cost of letting people acquire the skills of a craftsman, when what is wanted is a machine winder? The only skills worth acquiring are those which the system demands, and they are worthless outside the system. They have no survival value outside the system and therefore do not even confer the spirit of self-reliance. What does a machine winder do when (let us say) energy shortage stops his machine? Or a computer programmer without a computer?
The traditional workplace has been downsized, both of meaning and dignity. I see people now working as grocery clerks who I discern have been pushed out of professions that live by the "free market capitalism" credo of profit, profit, no matter what.

Who knows, perhaps I will soon be a grocery clerk.

These are things I have been thinking about, while I look for work.

//
Fromm, Erich. "The Present Human Condition," The American Scholar (Winter, 1955-56, Vol. 25, No. 1).
Shumacher, E.F. Good Work. Harper Colophon, 1979, p. 123.

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

False Spring


Sun-slammed waters
slide recklessly
along the shore,
blooming flame-like
over the sand;
the day has become
visceral and potent,
blinding.

Birds dance among waves,
as if charged with fire;
breezes do not cool,
but billow warmth
that, rising in clouds
like laughter,
lifts the level
of nature’s conversation
from the depths of survival
to the heights of delight,
completely free of care.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Monday, January 24, 2011

Spring Song

Slow away the old year passes
            when the silent flowers
            write our tunes
            and tell us how to sing them.

Dawn alone has known it from the first,
            the subtlety of their muses,
            guiding them open with warm light,
            to reveal the vibrant chorale.

That is the way of spring:
            the flowers awaken under the sun,
            whose songs awaken our senses,
            until we cannot but join them, singing.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Thursday, January 20, 2011

Civil Discourse 101

Discourse is a form of communication, more commonly referred to as discussion or debate. These days, we seem to be really bad at it. Instead of exchanging ideas, we seem to be talking past each other.

Yelling. We hear a lot of it—as if loudness is required, in order to get the point across. The folks that are yelling seem really intent on being heard, but when their turn to listen comes along, the faculty of hearing seems missing. So, many exchanges are not exchanges at all, but shouting matches where the one with the highest decibel level wins. Yelling at and past one another, but neither side being heard.

Lost, in the yelling and escalating anger, are the issues, not to mention possible solutions.

Fifty years ago (nine months before I was born) on this date in 1961, John F. Kennedy gave his inauguration speech, of which I excerpt the following passages:
So let us begin anew -- remembering on both sides that civility is not a sign of weakness, and sincerity is always subject to proof. Let us never negotiate out of fear, but let us never fear to negotiate.
Let both sides explore what problems unite us instead of belaboring those problems which divide us. Let both sides, for the first time, formulate serious and precise proposals…
Let both sides unite to heed, in all corners of the earth, the command of Isaiah -- to "undo the heavy burdens, and [to] let the oppressed go free."¹


And, if a beachhead of cooperation may push back the jungle of suspicion, let both sides join in creating a new endeavor -- not a new balance of power, but a new world of law -- where the strong are just, and the weak secure, and the peace preserved.


All this will not be finished in the first one hundred days. Nor will it be finished in the first one thousand days; nor in the life of this Administration; nor even perhaps in our lifetime on this planet. But let us begin.
Those words are as timely and fresh, today, as they were when they were first spoken. There is a lot more in that speech that makes it seem dated; the Cold War and balance of power in the world is clearly at issue. But if we focus on the bits that I have printed here, we should see that we have a lot of work to do; we have not passed "Go" with very much of Kennedy's list of goals.

A lot has happened in fifty years, but not the realization of that bright and shining dream. And in that time we have belabored much the issues that divide us, without ever realizing the great promise of justice, security and peace.

I ask you to remember the promise, and to renew it in your heart.

I ask us all to begin anew, to relearn civility, to renew our commitment to the dream, renew our efforts in civil dialogue, that we may finally, and as a united front, discover the path of action that will make the dream a reality.


//


Kennedy, John F. Inaugural Speech, 1961. http://www.bartleby.com/124/pres56.html

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

The Death of a Blog? Perhaps

While trying to share poems from this blog to my FaceBook page, I received a message that my blog was being blocked due to having been flagged as “spammy” or “abusive”.

Hmmm. Really?

There are entities posting all day, comments, sharing, etc. My blog is small potatoes, supposed to be an exercise in creativity and critical thinking about current events and trends. As I have mentioned in a previous entry, I do not monetize the blog because it just doesn’t make sense to me to do so; I continually run across blogs that are so covered with ads that the actual content is almost impossible to find. I claim copyright protection for my work and cite the work of others where it has been mentioned.

Really? Poetry is “Spammy” or “Abusive”?

Interesting that my blog could be construed as that, when there are so many out there that literally incite people to violence, or aid in the trafficking of porn. My blog does not do that. Moreover, if I speak of specific people, it is never with full names, unless referencing an author whose work I have explored. This is a creative exercise, with an occasional foray into commentary and critical thinking.

Have I been posting too frequently? Once a day does not seem like very much. If this has been offensive to my small network of friends and even smaller group of followers, I truly am apologetic. I am a big girl; I could have received an email from you.

I suspect, however, that it is not a person that has made a complaint. I think it is a computer program that has made a flag. Now, if said computer program were really doing its job, the world might be saved from some of the real cyber trash, the real bullying, the real spam and abuse. But, no, a small potatoes poet is selected. It would be funny if it weren't so ridiculous. This is, after all, what the science fiction writers have posited over the years: machines and programs will make the determinations, not people.

I suspect that I am not the only decent person being harassed and discouraged.

The spoilers will ruin the internet. To whom am I referring? Those individuals who steal and mirror the work of individuals in other locations so that they can promote spam and ads, hate or even unsavory images of a prurient nature. Scrapers and sploggers.

There is no such thing as self-policing. There is no such thing as free. We live a delusion if we believe that electronic information is any better or any safer or even more environmentally sustainable than a printed book. We live a delusion if we believe we cannot function without smart phones. (I have a “dumb” phone and little artifact called an “address book”. Yes, please laugh, I know it is amusing. I am an anachronism. But when my computer blows up, I have all my addresses and account numbers listed where I can get at them, not to mention all my files backed up to auxiliary drives.)

The dream of the internet could well die. The death would be caused by hacking, identity theft, plagarism, over-exposure of minimal, sub-standard or shallow information, or, heaven forbid, misinformation and untruth replacing information and truth. Email is already a minefield of unwanted ads. People are afraid to answer their phones, due to the increased volume of solicitations—despite their numbers being listed on the no-call lists. What can we expect, if there is no enforcement? When people become overwhelmed, they will decide to unplug. E-commerce, business, networking needs to be thinking about that now, not when they start losing customers.

And what of creativity? Could this be construed as censorship? It is embarrassing. Oh, not to me, this does not embarrass me.  It is embarrassing (or should be) to a set of industries and information portals that expect to be making a lot of money very soon.

When creative people like me get fed up, what happens? Happily, I can go back to pencil and paper. Printing. Paper-based publishing.

Ultimately, this kind of thing (what I have experienced here) is what will keep hardcopy publishing alive. 

When the electronic world eats itself from the inside to the out, where will we all be?

Think on this, I beg you.

By the way, I have sent in my objections through the proffered form. I have not heard anything back. I look forward to hearing back from someone. If I don't hear from someone, I'll be signing off. 

It all seems so ridiculous. No, it doesn't just seem so--it IS.

I’ll keep you informed, if I can. This kind of thing impacts us all.

Hearing


Listen, listen to the sounds of life,
As they roll through your ears
And into your being,
Vibrating as the music of life;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that you are alive within that music,
That your own being is part of life's vibration.

Listen, listen, but don't think too hard;
The ears hear, the mind thinks,
But do not hear within the mind,
Hear within the heart;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that you live by the heart, the heart alone,
And that your heart is the pulse by which life beats.

Listen, listen to life pulse,
Let life sound in your temples,
Life reverberates through your being,
Vibrating as a single tone of unity;
Listen, and be at peace,
Knowing that the next breath you take
Is conscious of all the possibilities of Being.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Healing

       —in memoriam A. C.


When the day grows late,
reach out for the setting sun;
think forward and remember
you are home.

Do not look back—
train your sight forward,
tune your heartstrings westward:
there lie beginnings in all endings.

Your endless song plays on,
reaching for the setting sun;
over the farthest dimensions,
tune your heartstrings to Infinity.

Dawn awaits you,
Day cannot break without you;
there can be no rising in the east
until your music calls day forth anew.

Think forward,
your home awaits you,
your music, your rising song,
shall call for us a new day, 'ere long.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Healing A

Monday, January 17, 2011

Arose In Winter

i.m.  Pauline D. (1922-2011)

She had filled every role,
from child to grandmother,
from partner to friend,
from advocate
to the glue,
which holds people together,
if they will allow it to do so.

People mattered most:
family,
community,
the joys of fellowship;
the affirmation,
and meaning, of life—
a gracious and flourishing tree.

Time went on,
slowing movement,
but never dulling sense
in those matters
that meant most.

But, winter had come
and her tree
had long been losing
its precious leaves;
all her friends
were gone.

Home and place
had contracted,
from mansion to house,
to now a compartment,
too small to contain
the grandness or the minutiae
of her experience, much less
the people, places and things
that had been her life
and meaning.

The last leaf on her tree,
she realized.

I don’t know what I’m waiting for,
she said.

Though brought low by illness,
still was she able
to feel her feet
roaming the beaches
that had long memorized
her footfalls and
to hear the voices of those
whom she loved,
and who loved her.

Systems failed, though,
body resistant to the will.

Take me home,
she said.

From a final comfort
in her own bed,
she let herself go;
a well-loved, well-lived leaf,
the very last on her tree,
she let herself go,
to drift downward
to the ground.

Take me home,
her spirit breathed.

She was answered
by a breath of wind
that raised her up,
a small fanfare of fluttering free,
and carried her off to the sea.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Phasing


Tired.

Never too tired to read, though.

Propped up, in bed.

Sampling. Three books, this time.

Words rise from the pages, to etch their similar forms on the slate of my internal cognition apparatus. They flow silently, vicariously. Descriptions and dialogue become a soundscape, as they pass through the forest of neurotransmitters that compose the functionality of my singular body electric.

There is shadow life beyond these pages, their margins and my peripheral vision, internal and external. 

Intermittently, tropes rise up, from time now and time immemorial—melding into a timelessness and tirelessness—oscillating and calling for my extra notice. In my brain, on the page, and within the seamless flow of silent, but sounding, semiotic pragmatica, they arise. 

Meanwhile, sleep has sent out its call for me, as well. The filling moon pulls at the biosystems, urging them to fall into sync with the trope grid, and join the music of the spheres.

Fall, surrender; let go unto rest.

Words on the page, as well as words on the mind, waver. Tired eyes, sampling, waver.

Night of mystery.

For, through some tiny fissure, something extra comes. Working through the maze of sign upon verisign, word upon very word, singing through the thicket of being, non-being, reflection, abstraction, wave and particle—perhaps on the cusp of change from potential to kinetic movement—it comes.

Not on the page, not on the lucid mental slate, not of moon nor ocean nor body—but, of some other.

Some other—not of my life or moment—joining my perception.

A message. A descant of some sort, a harmonic attachment, perhaps in syncopation to my rising melodic waves, causing my notice. 

A message. I reach in, and it retreats. I pursue it, but cannot find the thread to grasp. Shy, it slips further away, back into its hidden fissure. 

Wait! Don't go! I want to perceive you!

But, it slips again, even farther away, and in perfect reflection, I slip away into the repose that has been awaiting my necessary arrival.

And, as I go, I make this covenant between the hidden music and myself, as we retreat in opposing directions: I will find you, I will hold you; I will understand.

We will yet sing together, sonorous and simpatico.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Sunday, January 16, 2011

New Beginnings Beckon


I feel the wind moving through my being,
Softly sweeping away old hurts and faded regrets,
The wind spiraling around me, through me and in me,
Softly sweeping the corridors of my being,
And whispering, ‘the spring has come, awaken!’

New beginnings seem to call from every corner;
Old ways are being slowly, if painfully, erased,
As from a travel-worn tablet that still bears faintly
Impressions from other times and places, future and past.

New beginnings beckon from every corner…

There are no instruction manuals for the art of living,
Each being must choose its unique meandering course,
And interpret the signposts when they will appear;
Being lost is only one among many perspectives
Over a never-ending landscape of being and doing.

New beginnings rise up, dream-like and misted,
Begging me to bring them, to sing them, to life,
By turning from the thinking and the dreaming,
And consciously awakening into the newness that calls;
"Take us by the hand," they say, "and on we will go, together."

The question is this:
How much longer can I go on sleeping,
While, all about me, life sings and dances?

The wind has cleared the stage of my being for its nextness,
Has swept away the old sets, properties and scripts,
The curtain stands at the ready, ready to unveil me,
The timeless audience has filled the theatre to capacity;
Whom shall strike up the band on the new overture of my soul?

The curtain will rise on my play of reality
Only if I take the stage,
For it is mine, and
Mine alone.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Saturday, January 15, 2011

Healing

Even the smallest wave shapes the shore it sings to,
Ebbing and flowing with the breath of the moon by night,
Shimmering in the warmth of the sun by day;
Sing, sing, sweet wave--
The sands await your caress;
Ply the sands, little wave, ply them, ply--
And you will greet every bit of shore, by and by.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Healing B

Thursday, January 13, 2011

Political Language


Follow your leader;
there will be a test, later:

will to power
            spin
                        fear
            subsidy
low intensity conflict
            moral sensibility
                        for us or against us
            cluster bombs
bringing democracy
            full spectrum dominance
                        troll
            compassionate society
collateral damage
            objective failure
                        conformity
            defense of the indefensible
ideology
            disclosure
                        hypocrisy
            family values
doublethink
            disinformation
                        laissez-faire
            capitalism
transparency
            unequivocal
                        outing
            reign of terror
solidarity
            public opinion
                        mendacity
            dying metaphors
 evasions
            absolutism
                        bipartisan
            blowback
oligopoly
            polarization
                        revenue enhancement
            unilateral
talking-head.

What’s this nonsense all about?
The freedom to be controlled.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Wednesday, January 12, 2011

The Gift So Worn


Weariness,
weariness walks on my soul.

The doing that can never be done
tolls in my mind, a dissonant bell,
for there is no rest.

The sun rises,
yet there is no rising,
though the shining sun
blesses
even the most feeble flower.

That blessing,
birthing hope
over the multiscapes of being
—that light caresses the soft flower petal.

Would that I were the flower!

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Tuesday, January 11, 2011

Faith

Existence:
a balancing act
between vulnerability and strength.

Our minds can only fathom
leaping from strength to strength,
from onward to upward,
like children
leaping from boulder to boulder;
We’re never quite prepared
for falls, setbacks,
system failures
or for loss.

We have forgotten about the light.

There is imperceptible light
in every atom and cell.
Every being, and
everything that has form,
breathes this light,
and carries it.
The ground,
which accepts our clumsy footfalls,
glows of this light
day and night,
upholding and keeping
the countless ebbs and flows of life,
welcoming all that rises,
cherishing also all that falls,
and witnessing all the rest.

Brilliant as this light is,
we cannot see it—
we must take on faith
that it is in all of us,
is indeed all in all,
glowing and vibrant.

Knowing  and remembering
 will have to do.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Monday, January 10, 2011

Our Culture of Violence


The following letter to the Editor appeared in the editorial page of the San Francisco Chronicle on April 10, 2010:
Dangerous hardware abroad in the land
The current discussions around the Second Amendment are disturbing and crude. Think about a natural human response to frustration: anger. Natural, but also irrational.
Next, think about road rage, the most common daily occurrence of a natural but irrational response. Is it logical to suppose that gun-toting road-ragers will have enough self-control to not draw their weapons? Such a scenario is not far-fetched and in fact happens now with frightening regularity among people who are illegally armed. The United States is not a wild frontier society but a modern, urban, civil society.
Giving every citizen the opportunity to own and carry a loaded gun is an invitation to divest society of civility, reducing it to something more brutish, base and irrationally deadly. People who want to carry guns must also want to intimidate and have power over others; why else feel the need?
We should be very worried about people like that. They say it is for self-protection; I say they and their hardware are a danger to us all.
Elisabeth Eliassen
I wrote that letter in response to the local news accounts reporting that NRA members and other pro-gun activists were showing up at local coffee dispensaries wearing holstered (and unloaded) hand-guns, in support of open-carry legislation.

Times have not changed much since April of 2010. Certain kinds of people want to be wed to fire arms. Is this about mystique? (Are guns the latest fashion accessory? Has it become as hip to sport a gun as it is to wear a Bluetooth or MP3 player earbuds?) Or is this purely about displaying power and intimidation? It cannot be about personal protection; if we look at the statistics regarding accidental deaths due to the unintentional discharging of firearms, I wonder how people can feel safe with even an unloaded gun in the home.

There are many people who have a professional reason to use or own handguns. Most of these people work in the service of our communities, as security, law enforcement or military officers. Woe to us that we need to have such security, but I am grateful for the service of these individuals.

I bet that most of the rest of us should not ever need a handgun to do what we do in our day-to-day lives. Who needs a gun to work in industry, to shop, cook, nurture children, do laundry, tend the garden, take out the garbage or even have a cup of coffee at the local café?

Guns should be an anachronism in civil society. Instead, guns seem to have become part of, along with notions of might, power and violence, an inescapable rhetoric.

There are so many films, television programs, electronic games and books that portray violence in a glorified manner that it would be impossible to list them all. Think about it: the only way the comic book good guy superheroes can vanquish the bad guys is by means of violence.

Even philosophy is not free of violence: Nietzsche posited that humanity could only bring about change in the world by means of violent revolution, and that the remaining human beings would be called superman, overman, or perhaps man, the next generation. (Would this be a positive evolution of humankind? I think not. I think it would be a movement to the next kind of oppression. But that is for another discussion.)

Overcoming is frequently described as violent change, not as a calm resolution by means of a conversation over coffee, much less courtroom advocacy or philosophical dialogue.

Winning is frequently described as beating, killing, crushing, smashing, destroying, eliminating or annihilating.

The truth is, we, as a society, have never been properly taught how to have civil discussion. What we have been taught (by television programs, electronic gaming and films that titillate by means of gratuitous violence, brutality and gore) is that we can say whatever we want, whenever we want, to whomever we want. You hear it in grocery stores, in coffee shops—it doesn’t matter where you are, you hear people speaking with anger and violence in their tone of voice.

Basically, our culture has taught us that venting rage is okay. But this is violence, too. Verbal abuse, it is called in some situations, can be as wounding as a gunshot. And people who suffer verbal abuse are frequently left with the gaping wounds of trauma and post-traumatic stress.

As a society, today we are no longer taught the value of silence. We are not learning to accept, to listen, to consider, or to discuss. We are not learning to manage our anger or find productive solutions to our problems. “The System” is blamed, but the darkness is within us. If we don’t get what we want now, we have a license to complain, at the least, or at the most, to yell. Discretion? What is that? I want, I, I, me, me… A culture of narcissism, solipsism and rage is what we are experiencing in the Twenty-First Century, and the universal symbol of the rage portion of that cultural program is a loaded gun.

Rage like this is irrational. Of course, it is more irrational to move from having a license to yell to taking license to shoot people with a handgun. People are not rationally moved to yell at someone, or beat someone, so how could it ever be that a person could rationally be moved to fire a gun at another person?

So the next question is this: why are average people, who don’t need these items professionally, allowed to purchase handguns, much less automatic rifles and other weapons?

The answer is simple:  we live in an insane society.

Let us pray that someone, somewhere, will wake up from this ragemare of insanity and remember that life is sacred, and spread that notion like an infection upon the lands. Let us all be infected with the love of life that wills cooperation. Let us learn to slow down and talk, without yelling. Let us think before we speak, lest our words be misdirected or misunderstood. Let the sayings from an old book echo throughout the world:
They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks. Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore. — Isaiah 2:4 & Micah 4:3
Until that day, what we have is a culture of violence, and it is raging a war of us upon us, and the death toll of the innocents continues to mount.

*

[image: Swords into Ploughshares, http://www.geni.org/]

Sunday, January 9, 2011

No Writing Peace

There is no writing peace;
peace is an unnatural word.

Peace should be
an element ubiquitous,
like water, light and air,
born into all cells and fibers,
an active ingredient in bread,
planted as a crop,
mixed into cement,
displaying ultimate flexibility
along with diamond hardness,
wearing like iron,
yet as soft as down,
yielding to every need.

Peace should be
all things to all people,
indeed, all Being.

Instead, the human world
is built on the shifting sands
of arguments called diplomacy,
and the groundwater
liberally laced
with discord,
tribal enmity,
provincial vision,
irrational governance,
top-down authority,
and condoned oppression.

This thinking erodes the earth
by a grasping of more than is required,
and profanes life by promoting death,
while claiming to make sense
of an insensible world.

There is no writing peace.

Peace may be a beautiful word,
but until the word can
write people
to right action,
and the kind of living
that comes as naturally
and habitually effortless
as water, light and air,
the sands and time,
then its beauty is meaningless
and has no real place
in the language of life.

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen

Saturday, January 8, 2011

The Think System


Ideas float like motes of dust
through the sun charged ether,
of conscious and unconscious being,
waiting to be caught in a web
of substantial thought.

Fog lies thick
on the ground
of our doings,
sometimes hiding from view
what should be clear
and in the open,
measurable.

The world turns
on a scientific principal
that can neither be diverted
nor controlled,
but all other doings rely
on cooperative interaction
between two or more
ordered points
within a vector.

The magnitude
of the motion,
and whether it is
bound or free,
depends upon
what the carrier
is doing.

How shall you
carry the world forward?

Shall you force,
torque,
displace,
accelerate,
move
or abstain?

How shall your
motions be measured
from the initial point
to your terminus?

Shall you be
an angle,
a product,
an orientation,
a contravariant,
a semi-norm
a cross
or a null?

And when
it is all over,
and measured,
will any of it
have been worth
the exercise?

A web
of substantial thought
awaits all ordered points
that wish to engage in
consciously cooperative
interaction.  

© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
image: http://www.vectorjungle.com/wp-content/uploads/2008/11/vector-art-equations-graphs.jpg

Business As Usual: When Public Goes Private, Non-Profit Becomes For-Profit

We are living in a world that should be getting smaller in all the good ways (e.g., labor-saving devices that will allow people more free time, improvements in public health delivery, less pollution, organic food, longevity ensuring pharmaceuticals, access to all that is needed, work that is suitable and sustaining, the list is endless) as a result of something called progress. Things are supposed to be getting better for everyone.

[I hesitate to begin this next paragraph with the bubble-bursting word instead, but there it is, and there is nothing for it.]

Instead, what is really happening, and this becomes clearer as the days go by, is that human mentality seems to get smaller and more isolationist and mean. To match that, the hubris of the entitled is becoming daily more brazen and daring in its agenda of owning as much of the world as possible before it all falls apart.

In the 1990s, there was a lot of talk in the United States about the Global Village and hope that there would be a renaissance of cultures that would make us all be friends. After September 11th 2001, however, we have heard very little about that, while much about the necessity of defense spending, about decentralization of government, lowering of taxes and the impossibility of maintaining any public programs, ostensibly because they are too expensive.

Let me unpackage some of this for us.

The “necessity” of defense spending means that most of our tax dollars are being spent on weapons of mass destruction, whose sole purpose is to intimidate, kill and destroy. The United States has had, for more than 50 years, a stockpile of weapons and artillery that could destroy the planet more than a hundred times over, and so it is hard to believe that anyone could need more of the stuff, much less the very latest in death and destruction technology. And yet, the generals want more, and so do the private defense contractors, who rake in billions of dollars by manufacturing death. The budget for upkeep of existing nuclear weapons in the U.S. arsenal alone has been reckoned enough to provide every person on the planet with food, safe drinking water and shelter, annually. Think about it.

Decentralization of government means that the bureaucracy is being transferred from the public to the private sector. This move is touted as a cost savings to government, but this cannot not possibly prove true in financial analysis. It may save the government money, but it doesn’t save you or me anything! The money still comes from our pockets. When we move from public to private, we move from a non-profit situation to a for-profit situation. Our rights then have a retail cost. If we cannot meet that for-profit cost in the marketplace, then we are out in the cold. Alarmist, you say? Well, if the Governor of the State of Arizona can take people off waitlists for organ transplants because their economic condition will not allow them to pay for the procedure, and if firefighters in Tennessee can standby and watch someone’s home burn to the ground because the member of the public that owns that dwelling allegedly did not pay some very small local fee, then what do we have, here? Think about it.

Voters are asked to vote for candidates based on candidates’ promises of “no new taxes”. This happens first, of course, at the federal level. Responsibility for the public welfare is then removed from the federal level to the state level, where voters are asked to vote for candidates based on the candidates’ promises of “no new taxes”. Responsibility for the public welfare is then removed from the state level to the local level, where voters are asked to vote for candidates based on the candidates’ promises of “no new taxes”. But, then, of course, local officials, once in office, say, “shucks, darn it! We have to raise taxes so that we can uphold the public welfare and basic infrastructure!” And the only way the local yokels have to do this is by having the community vote to mandate a parcel tax premium over the regular property tax. Moreover, the people and businesses with the most money do not contribute according to what they have. The burden falls on the average tax payer, trying to make it in a wavering economy. Think about it.

“Citizen’s Initiatives” are placed on local and state level ballots by big businesses and special interest groups funded by big business, not just your everyday citizen, to get voters to mandate what is good for big business: guaranteed jobs and tax payer money to pay for these jobs. The average person cannot manipulate the system in this way to get a job. What is an example of such a program? Well, the voters of the State of California mandated R&D for stem cell research. Instead of funding public schools (public education is mandated by the State, you know), the State of California is funding stem cell research with taxpayer dollars. To date, this program has sucked in billions in public funds, but has been a complete bust as a business enterprise—while, of course, a few people have been making a lot of money. Meanwhile, who does this publicly mandated program benefit? This public program does not benefit the average Californian as much as it benefits Big Business Pharma Industry. This public program has not created a whole lot of jobs, because it is a highly scientific specialty. Look up the articles on the internet. Think about it.

Such maneuvers have become commonplace, to the extent that I wonder how the average person can possibly be surprised by them. But we are.

I assert that we are being sold into a kind of slavery, and we don’t even realize it.

This is unthinkable, but I want you to think on it.

When your local police and fire departments become privatized, who will be in charge of them? Will your local government have oversight? If you have not paid your local taxes, will the firefighters park across the street from your burning house and watch you and your home go up in flames, while carefully monitoring that it does not spread next door, where they did pay the local tax? Think about it.

Since when did government have to turn a profit to be successful? What happened to By the People, for the People? Think about it.

Since when did big business know better how to run government agencies, hospitals, schools and prisons? Did you know that Dick Cheney owns prisons? Look up the articles on the internet. Think about it.

This is, Dear Reader, all food for thought. I do not have answers. Obviously, more examples could be brought into this discussion; space here is limited. But I can say this: if our government and business leaders had not been gambling and losing with public tax funds and your pension and everyone’s real estate, and if our government agencies hadn’t bonded us all into indebtedness on the basis of future tax earnings that would often (particularly in the case of redevelopment, but probably elsewhere, also) not be realized until 40 years into the future, the world would not be experiencing the dreadful financial collapse that now imperils the lives of so many.

This has not been progress, People. This has been, and continues to be, business as usual. Moreover, it has been and continues to be robbery. Think about it.

Friday, January 7, 2011

Total Exposure


In the dream, I am reaching forward to keep from falling, blinded by the radiance of the light that has come upon me. In this moment, there is no place that is in shadow, & because light is all there is, lacking any contrast by which to find landmarks & bearings brings me to my knees. I, too, it seems, am light; I am swimming in and breathing light. In this indefinite moment, there is no darkness at all. What is this place? Where am I & why am I here? I hear the questions in my mind, & they echo about me, clattering like pebbles on pavement. In this inexplicable moment, there is no place to hide & no place to be, but here, revealed utterly within the complete exposure to this element of light. No voice replies, & I find that I am alone, blinded by the benign radiance that has captured me. Lucid stillness settles around me, body & mind, & settles over the All that must surround me, a mantle like a sky. All falls deeper into hushed presence. All reaches out an incautious tendril of silent curiosity and invitation. I hesitate, not quite sure how to respond. The tendril stirs from its kindly pause, & reaches further, touching me, touching me, oh! Touching me, in depths I did not know possible within my fragile frame; touching with least energy. And yet, oh, oh agony; oh, oh agony—agony of joy-ebullient brilliance! A touch smaller than a pinprick, penetrating my soul with an unendurable lightness of warmth. Oh, agony of joy-ebullient brilliance! Radiating throughout my mystified senses, supersaturating my consciousness, until it seems as though I am flying omni-directionally, but I am still in the midst of All—until suddenly I realize that I have just been embraced——

I awaken.

Tears of charged light roll over my soul as I return to myself.

No answer was required of me. 


© 2011 by Elisabeth T. Eliassen
Image: Human Bulbhttp://www.smashingmagazine.com/2008/07/14/let-there-be-light-light-paintings-and-sculptures/


Thursday, January 6, 2011

Epiphany: Be The Gift You Give

/ɪˈpɪfəni/
–noun

3. a sudden, intuitive perception of or insight into the reality or essential meaning of something, usually initiated by some simple, homely, or 
commonplace occurrence or experience.


4. a literary work or section of a work presenting, usually symbolically, 
such a moment of revelation and insight.


I have skipped the first two meanings because, though they are relevant to the word, they are not relevant to my post.

This post contains a personal short personal story:

I grew up dyslexic. It was possibly a mild condition; I don't know because where I lived, no one tested for anything like that. All I can be sure of is that I was one of millions of undiagnosed kids who struggled with reading. I was slow to learn to read. I was a terrible speller. When I wrote, I would skip or reverse words. When I read aloud, I would skip or reverse words, lines on the page would bleed together, my eye would skip suddenly to the next paragraph. I am a musician, and so my reading challenges reside in that skill set, also. My scores of complex music are often littered with pencil markings that roadmap for my eyes what I am meant to see, rather than fall into the trap that my dyslexic perception will lead to.  

This condition did not stop me, I am happy to report. My mother was personally involved in making sure that I learned to properly read. We read at home after school all through third grade, when my teacher noticed that I was behind the rest of the class. One day, the key went in and turned all the tumblers, and even though I still struggled, at times, a love of reading caught at me, like a fire. That was an epiphany time for me, if not a moment, then over the course of months. When that fire started, nothing could keep me from reading, and soon, despite my struggles, I was reading books ahead of my age group. I ended my high school years as an Advanced Placement student of English. I am a college graduate and a published author. I can swim with words; I do not drown.

I now have children of my own. When they turned three, I started to teach them how to read using the book Teach Your Child To Read In 100 Easy Lessons. They did not show symptoms of dyslexia. One was a little slow to get started and is a poor speller--this is not a huge problem. The kids love to read, and they love to express themselves in writing. I could not ask for anything more.

Being out of work at the moment, I have offered more volunteer time at my kids' school, helping in one of the third grade classes with reading skills, one-on-one with a few students who are struggling.

Then, on the school yard, one morning, a friend casually mentioned that her son is having reading trouble. I said, oh. She said, yeah, he is dyslexic. I said, oh. Well, she said, we have him working with a tutor once a week, and it is helping but... I said, you know, I am dyslexic; if you want, I would be willing to work with him. She said, wow (probably because my admission caught her off guard), hmm... well, I'll think about it. I said, I hope you consider it; tutors are great, but sometimes that isn't the same as sitting down with someone who has been there.

I did not expect to have it come up again. You know, whatever the situation, sometimes people feel funny about accepting help from people they know.

But, today, my friend came to me after school and said, I want to talk to you.

She took me up my offer. We talked about arrangements and such. She said, I really appreciate you doing this. I said, in this world of budget cuts and program elimination and such, where we can, we need to help each other. She nodded and said, if there is any way I can pay you back, let me know. I said, hey, if not for me, for someone else--when you find a place where your gift will fit, give it there. We are all supposed to do for each other where the need is.

She said, wow, I wish there were more people like you.

That was an epiphany moment for me, and also a coming full circle. There are more people like me out there. You, for example.

I invite you, on this first day of Epiphany and, indeed, for the rest of your life, to be the gift you give. Be there for someone in need. Volunteer. Share your creativity with the world. Smile. 

You are a gift and you have at least one gift to share (if not an array of talents)--and the world needs you!