There is a crack in everything...

"There is a crack in everything. That's where the light gets in." --Leonard Cohen

This is one of the most sublime truths I have ever heard. Cohen has written more than a few, but this one is my favorite.

Tonight, 9 January, 2016, I had the distinct pleasure to hear Alejandro Esqovedo play a set of Leonard Cohen songs. He opened with "Democracy," which, given my state of mind in recent days, was a message from God. For those of you who don't choose to (or don't have to) rely on guidance from God to guide your way, think of it as noticing serendipity and taking it seriously. I'll explain more later about why the lyrics were so touching to me, but first, you should read them for yourself.

"Democracy"

(From the album The Future, 1992)

It's coming through a hole in the air, 

from those nights in Tiananmen Square. 

It's coming from the feel 

that this ain't exactly real, 

or it's real, but it ain't exactly there. 

From the wars against disorder, 

from the sirens night and day, 

from the fires of the homeless, 

from the ashes of the gay: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A. 

It's coming through a crack in the wall; 

on a visionary flood of alcohol; 

from the staggering account 

of the Sermon on the Mount 

which I don't pretend to understand at all. 

It's coming from the silence 

on the dock of the bay, 

from the brave, the bold, the battered 

heart of Chevrolet: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A. 

It's coming from the sorrow in the street, 

the holy places where the races meet; 

from the homicidal bitchin' 

that goes down in every kitchen 

to determine who will serve and who will eat. 

From the wells of disappointment 

where the women kneel to pray 

for the grace of God in the desert here 

and the desert far away: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A. 

Sail on, sail on 

O mighty Ship of State! 

To the Shores of Need 

Past the Reefs of Greed 

Through the Squalls of Hate 

Sail on, sail on, sail on, sail on. 

It's coming to America first, 

the cradle of the best and of the worst. 

It's here they got the range 

and the machinery for change 

and it's here they got the spiritual thirst. 

It's here the family's broken 

and it's here the lonely say 

that the heart has got to open 

in a fundamental way: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A. 

It's coming from the women and the men. 

O baby, we'll be making love again. 

We'll be going down so deep 

the river's going to weep, 

and the mountain's going to shout Amen! 

It's coming like the tidal flood 

beneath the lunar sway, 

imperial, mysterious, 

in amorous array: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A. 

Sail on, sail on ... 

I'm sentimental, if you know what I mean 

I love the country but I can't stand the scene. 

And I'm neither left or right 

I'm just staying home tonight, 

getting lost in that hopeless little screen. 

But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags 

that Time cannot decay, 

I'm junk but I'm still holding up 

this little wild bouquet: 

Democracy is coming to the U.S.A.

Such lyrics are strong enough to withstand scrutiny and analysis line by line (and I ain't afeared, I'll do it!). Perhaps another time. Still, I do want to comment on a few of them that really struck me that evening.

The title itself implies that democracy isn't here. I wonder, has democracy ever been in America? I suppose the fair answer, and maybe the best answer, is yes and no. I'm not going to try to convince you either way. Just remember, The Liberty Bell is cracked. 

on a visionary flood of alcohol; 

from the staggering account 

of the Sermon on the Mount 

The vision I see isn't from alcohol--it's in recovery from alcohol. Specifically, AA and a burgeoning and vital recovery movement in America. Recently, an international group of spiritual leaders got together to decide what was the greatest spiritual contribution of the 20th century. Also, If you haven't read The Sermon on the Mount: The Key to Success in Life, by Emmet Fox, I highly recommend it. In it, Fox interprets the beatitudes as guidelines for mental conditioning and perspective, and well, they make a whole lot more sense that way. 

 grace of God in the desert here 

and the desert far away: 

In 1992, America was thoroughly involved in the 1st Gulf war. Now in 2016, post-9/11, we are still involved in the 2nd Gulf war. Cohen's 24 year old passage still applies. God knows what grace will emerge from all that conflict in that desert (not so) far away. Rest assured, ye goodly and frightened people, Grace will emerge. It always does.

the cradle of the best and of the worst. 

I've thought about this a lot. While every country and every civilization has shown examples of the best and worst humanity has to offer, the fact that it's true for the U.S.A. seems somehow harder to swallow. Perhaps it's my own expectations. Perhaps the notion of American exceptionalism has settled into my consciousness more deeply than I care to admit. Perhaps it's that we do both--the best and the worst--on such a grand scale. 

The Best: the US is always on the scene (typically among the first) in just about every single natural disaster that's occurred across the world in decades. The US provides the most foreign aid than any other country (total numbers, not % GDP). Then, of course, there's things like jazz, rock 'n roll, the blues, blue grass, country western, personal computers, the telephone, the light bulb, vaccines, a staggering number of patents, the automobile, the airplane, Alcoholics Anonymous, the Mankind Project. Also, American philanthropy is world famous for a reason. Most of the best universities are here. Of course, one could argue that at least some of these items are a mixed bag. I could make such arguments too. Still, it's an impressive list, and incomplete at that. The global impact of many of them, like vaccines, personal computers, and rock 'n roll, are immeasurable. 

The Worst: unprecedented levels of greed, profit is king, inane political discourse, the H-bomb, endless warfare, Abu Graib, the war on drugs (it's over 100 years old now), oppressive foreign policy, the installation of dictators, the highest prison population in the world, the highest rate of gun violence in the world, slavery, genocide, racism. The highest disparity between rich and poor in the history of civilization. According to Brene Brown, "We are the most in-debt, obese, addicted and medicated adult cohort in U.S. history." Hubris.

The Worst certainly don't spell well-being. They don't spell democracy either, but then neither do The Best. They are all parts of a grand mosaic far to large and detailed to ever truly comprehend. The US by no means corners the market on noble or depraved human behaviors, but the play in action is dramatic (traumatic). Maybe it's all so hard to take because the U.S. tends to do things big, for better or worse. 

I hear you Leonard, "I love the country but I can't stand the scene."

here they got the spiritual thirst. 

It's here the family's broken 

and it's here the lonely say 

that the heart has got to open 

in a fundamental way: 

Mediation and mindfulness are going mainstream. Practicing inclusion and collaboration in schools and in the workplace are being taken very seriously. People are starting to realize that emotional, psychological, and even spiritual health are crucial for learning, business, productivity, societal stability, and happiness. In fact, happiness is no longer just something you do on your own time. We are starting to realize that it really matters for lots of reasons. A key to all of it is openness--a willingness to share, and a willingness to listen.

It's not surprising to me that we are thirsty for spirit. I know I am. The rat race, the traffic jams, living in isolation surrounded by the isolated, leaves me confused--why are we doing this, again? Overexposure to the goings on and opinions of others brought to us by 24 hour television and the internet leaves me spiritually threadbare. The struggle just to survive--or at least maintain a certain lifestyle we may or may not deserve--while living in the land of plenty leaves me spiritually callused. 

There is a crack in everything. That's where the light gets in.

One more...

I'm just staying home tonight, 

getting lost in that hopeless little screen. 

But I'm stubborn as those garbage bags 

that Time cannot decay, 

Yep.

There is a crack in everything. 

That's where the light gets in. 

Look for the cracks. Look through them, and your heart will be filled.

Thank you, Leonard Cohen for your serpentine and frank insights. And that you, Alejandro Esqovedo, for having the courage, class, and hutzpah to perform his songs!

Min(e)d Fields

Anti-personnel (AP) blast mines are often intended to wound but not kill. The reasoning is that if a mine kills a soldier, that's one less soldier. If, on the other hand, they wound a soldier, that's one soldier incapacitated with potentially several others working on first aid and evac. Several birds with one stone, I guess. When detonated, blast mines deliver a high velocity compression wave of hot gas, sending casing material, dirt, and body parts skyward. They are loud, surprising, disturbing, and after the dust settles, really painful.

To arm an AP blast mine, one attaches a compressible, concave cap that holds the striker pin, removes the safety pin, and buries the device. Often, many mines are placed throughout a field in order to make the entire region unsafe to cross. Those who place the mines generate maps that indicate which fields that are mined, and sometimes, lines of safe passage through those fields. (After all, AP is supposed to mean anti- "they're" personnel, not anti- "our" personnel.) With the passage of time, maps become lost, mines that were once slightly visible become covered over, and the fields become unsafe for anybody--"we" or "they".

Of course, I've never handled a piece of military ordinance in my life, but I've laid a lot of mines. The mines are buried in memories in the fields of my own mind. They are armed and ready to go off at any time. Like many blast mines, the explosions are non-lethal, but loud, surprising, disturbing, painful. They explode with a hot compression wave of embarrassment, regret, and shame. Mined memories can lay anywhere and be from at any time--some old, some new. I do not have a map.

Here's an example. I set off a mine when I was driving to Dallas for Christmas. I remembered the time when I had driven my friend's Mercedes to Dallas en route to California. There was a problem with one of the rear wheels. I even had to stop and duct tape the wheel well back to keep it from scraping. In Dallas showed the wheel to my brother-in-law, and at once he recognized that the tire was too large. It was, but I remembered that I did not want to believe him. KABOOM! Foolish, regrettable. Later, he followed me to the Mercedes shop. I wanted to hear their assessment (and find out if the automatic heigh adjustment system (some benzos are way too fancy!) had been damaged). The tire was too big, and it needed to be replaced. Otherwise, the car was fine. Just like he'd said.

This story holds more emotional charges than that mine. The whole trip to CA was a pain in the ass. Beginning as a late start from Austin due to problems with new tires being put on--the wrong tire, even after going round and round with the tire store. Who the fuck puts 24" rims on a Mercedes?!? What a nimrod! Pulled over at night, by myself, in the cold, in the rain, to buy duct tape and hack the damn car just so I could make it to Dallas. Seriously. There are plenty more, "what the hell have I gotten myself into" stories from that trip, but they're beside the point. None of those memories are mined. I hold no resentments against my friend at all, questionable choices in rims notwithstanding. I didn't trust my brother-in-law's assessment--I didn't want to believe him. That's the mine I'd laid. I didn't even know I was doing it at the time.

My min(e)d fields are extensive; those damn things are everywhere. Some are very old. All I have to do is come across the wrong memory at the wrong time, and KABOOM! Blast wave. Shame. Ouch! Strangely, nearly all the mines I've found thus far have been planted in memories associated with events best classified as "no big deal." Apparently, however, they're a big deal to me, and apparently I need to be reminded of that through the repeated use of emotional ordinance.

Suddenly, I'm reminded of a song:
As I returned across the fields I'd known
I recognised the walls that I once made
I had to stop in my tracks for fear
Of walking on the mines I'd laid
--Sting

I think I know what he was talking about. Such are the min(e)d fields in which I walk. I do not know where are the mines I've laid. I do not have a map.

Am I smart?

Rantings from the Wellcome Library, London.

I don’t identify as an academic, altho I will drop the Ph.D. when it serves.
I’m sure as hell not a capitalist. No special conditions on that one--fuck that shit.


I know a lot. I’d wager a damn sight more than most on most subjects, but I don’t yet share it that well. (I know that sounds arrogant, but in my mind that boast isn’t all that extraordinary.) This isn’t to lambaste the hoi polloi. It’s a comment on my own sense of being and purpose.

But I don’t think people are stupid--not really. I just bought a book about ways in which technology is making us smarter, and I’m glad for it thus far. I’ve been hearing about the dumbening of America, and how technology is making us stupid--too much staring at the ol’ boob tube in all its various forms and incarnations. I’ve heard how Google is making us forget information, how our public discourse is sophomoric, at best. All these things have some truth to them, but I just don’t buy the whole “getting dumber” argument.

We’re probably getting smarter, if that statement actually means something. Even after a Ph.D. in education, with an emphasis on learning theory, I don’t know what “smart” really means. It’s become a four letter word. Smart is an intuitive description (judgment really) that we all seem to somehow relate to. She’s the smart one in the family. That person looks smart. (Here in the Wellcome Reading Room, everyone looks smart, by the way.) Wait, lemme look to see just how dumb that driver looks. Smart/dumb is a judgment I make everyday of just about everyone I see. I’ll bet you do to. I try not to get carried away by it though.

As a quick judgment, smart is pretty easy to grasp. It’s kind of like “cool”. You do know what’s cool and what’s not, don’t you? I judge myself to be smart, and I am therefore attracted to people who I also judge to be “smart”. I wonder, are there people who judge themselves to be dumb and are therefore attracted to dumb people? Maybe, but I doubt it. Everybody likes being smart, and we are able to own up to those areas in which we are dumb, and more or less accept ourselves for it. Of course, the above only makes any sense when we take “smart” at face value--as quick judgments that make enough sense at the time to be somehow useful, but really only make sense until we try to write it down.

Take that smart judgment you just made--about yourself, that guy, that gal--and write down precisely how you came to that conclusion. Really, try it. I’ll wait……..

Whenever I’ve done it, I get a nice exercise in articulating my observations--a worthwhile practice for a part-time social scientist--but I don’t get any clarity on why I looked at that person and saw “smart”. Mostly, I find myself in a morass of cultural biases, personal preferences, and projections. Each time I come to realize that my categorization was really unfair--bordering on mean. The truth is that I don’t have the foggiest idea of what that person things, or how, or why. (Ok, maybe a bit, but it’s mostly experienced speculation.) More to the point is that I have no way of labeling goodness or badness there (i.e. smart=good; dumb=bad, duh!). Then, I inevitably get into the realm of why they’re  smart (or dumb), and I’m into the whole biased, depressing tale of American compulsory education--good grief!

The whole smart/dumb judgment is basically a trap--a well-rehearsed rationalization of a much simpler human judgment: “I am attracted to that person, or I am not.” “I want to talk to you, or I don’t.” “I want to listen to you, or I don’t.” I want to do just enough talking and listening to get you naked”…etc. “Smart” is just something that I like, and I know it when I see it. Am I really seeing “smart”? Probably not; it’s probably other qualities. In the end, “smart” is a word that describes a personal preference--a word that lumps together a suite of attractive, yet hard to describe, qualities.

Now, back to smarter/dumber at the social cultural level. I hope that you have been persuaded by my previous “argument” that smart is a preference. (It’s like an argument, but I’m hardly using any actual evidence. Still, perhaps it was convincing, particularly if you did the exercise.) Given that smart is a preference described by whomever is doing the writing, saying whether or not we’re  getting smarter is up to the author to define.

For me--the author of today’s blog--there is only one brand of “smart” that I give a damn about: awareness. Awareness of self, awareness of others, awareness of environment. To me this is the only one that matters. Not knowledge; not technology; not societal sophistication. Hell, the Nazis were knowledgeable, and they had impressive science and tech, but in the end they were just judgmental, snobby assholes. The Victorians may have been the height of Western civility, but oh the secrets they kept!

Knowledge, tech, social graces--all bullshit.  Awareness is the thing.

The question is, then, are we becoming more aware?

A Most Unwelcome Guest

A strange beginning…

A small, Daschund-like dog, mostly tan in color with black tip lowlights struggled to free itself from its bonds. A single stiff ring caught his torso and was tethered to the ground. He pulled and pulled! Slowly, desperately trying to get it over his hips so that he could be free.

I was walking down the sidewalk and I observed this. I did not help; I only watched curiously. Finally he broke free and ran off down the street. Somehow I found the dog in my arms, and I brought it back to who I thought was its owner. He was a rather creepy man, tall, thin, yet strong, and he wore a blue workman’s jumper. I handed him the dog. He walked behind a curtain that was half covering the opening to his dirty and cluttered garage. This was no car garage. It was a place of old machines and cob webs and the stench of oil.

When I heard the dog’s neck snap, I could not control the flood of emotion! Desperation, loss, yearning to undo mistakes of the past, anger, fear, a fear that would soon turn to terror. This man was much more than creepy. He turned his gaze to me: he was less than alive and much more than living. He wanted to snap my neck too!

Now dear reader, I ask you to simply remember your favorite dream in which you are being chased by something horrible. No matter your pursuant, you remember the fear as being quite tangible. And of course, your feet provide very little traction when running. Oh you can run, sort of, just enough to keep the chase going, just enough to preserve the fear.

My man had a battle cry, and he said it with a menacing monotone only the undead can produce.
“No change! No change!” he cried.
At the time, this was just about the worst thing such a creature could say to me. If he caught me, all my progress would be undone! He was created by my mind. He was my man, but what was he? Where did he come from?
“No change, No change!”

And then he started shooting at me. Son of a bitch! Thankfully, my body remained nimble despite my pathetic feet. I ducked behind a wall. Each time I peeked my head out, another bullet flew by. No hits. I was fast. I had my knife. I counted and I waited. Out of bullets. I stepped out from behind the wall and threw the knife. It plunged deep in between his collar bones. A curious landing, and the blood began to pour. Not that it mattered. His pursuit did not lessen. And the chase continued.
“No change! No change”

A lousy ending….

Awake. Well that sucked! What a most unwelcome guest! I know why the dog wanted to get away.

Echh, Zombies!

This was a nightmare. I was in "The Happening", you know, the latest thriller from director Sham-a-lam-a-ding-dong. No, I have not seen it. But I was in it. I recall a scene in an underground parking garage. There were no cars around because I was in one of those extended turn-arounds without cars--underground. A lady in a car drove by me, and I got her attention. She stopped, and I asked her if she'd seen any of those freaky zombie people walking around. She said, "Yeah, and you were just now one of them!" "I was?", I exclaimed. "Yeah! You were walking down here all freaky and zombied out, and then you snapped out of it when you came up to my car."

This came as a big surprise, along with a healthy dose of mortification and some serious personal concerns for my own well-being. I was feeling fine, having a cogent conversation. How could I have just been a zombie?

And now the wonderful power of the dreamscape comes in. At this point in the dream, I decided--in some meta-subconscious way--that I would experience myself in this zombie state. And so I did. Just as the lady in the car said, I was wandering around in this extended turn-around in this underground parking garage--a zombie. I could see my surroundings in all the detail that my conscious mind is accustomed to; however, my body was moving of its own accord. I had no control. I was walking (sort of) as if in a mindless stupor, yet my mind was clear--it was along for the ride. Indeed! Even my motivations, my desires, anything that compels any of us to locomote and seek things out were out of my control. My mind, observing and understanding, was unable to influence my trajectories in any way. I was along for the ride!

It was then that I realized that these somnambulistic tendencies could prove quite harmful, even fatal. I felt my body walking along a path of doom. Now, enter fear. Now nightmare. Where would my mind go without its carriage? Even a listless, self-destructive body was better than no body at all. At least that's how it seemed at the time.

"Well, that was interesting," I thought in a different meta-subconscious channel. If Sham-a-lam-a had placed his audience inside the waking mind of an out-of-control zombie, he'd have really had something there. A truly horrifying film! I doubt very much that he did so. For now, I'll take my dream over that flick any day!