Thursday, October 25, 2018

allays 1049-1054

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:


Everything is predictable and normal in my life. I'm working part time, spend a lot of time with the kids, have been editing my old books, but not writing much as of late.

Take care, Caretakers!


* 1049 *

Set an Aya anywhere, anonymous she, the system will bend. Flowers grow from her footfalls, the animals perk, the neighborhood improves, all things hum to the emanating threads of cadence from out her dance and song. Wherever she falls she's a center. Never was our way opened by a suffering servant, but by this happy and happy-making woman, a beauty to look upon, who makes no excuses and has no designs upon your soul – she the One, the setter of times. Our presence is a present to wherever we alight, and like a visit from a hummingbird, the day is more cheerful when a hidden one walks by.



Patience is intelligence. Mind is master of time. What we require is akin to the poet, who, having his generative rhythm, is able to produce a whole poem by its logic. In getting a new job, in writing a book, in building a friendship, we need only the cadence, the rhythm-engendering argument, the generative rhythm, and once we have that, we anticipate the whole — understand it in our own words and comprehend it in a summary. We must be able to call the tune. Once you hold the key, the game is over, you can express the idea in a thousand forms, in a thousand genres. What matters is intuiting the Grammar, the secret recipe, the argument, the generative rhythm. Have the patience — the intelligence — to study a theme mercilessly, and every secret is yours to take.



* 1051 *

Once we've formulated the logic of our way, we need the courage to follow it through to the end. A great consistency, a loyalty to your truth no matter where it might take you, alone will bring you home. What began as intuition and romance persists as logic and marriage – no longer exciting and easy and fun, but exacting and exhausting and perilous. That we make vows for such things shows how perilous they are. Were it easy, no binding word would be called for. Who at last has courage to enact his truth? It is all too easy to condemn the world and the million things wrong with it. Show the beauty you love — that would be something! Be the difference you would see. Make the difference that makes a difference. For good or evil, join yourself finally to your own – there is nothing else.


* 1052 *

Time is the appregio, eternity the chord. Would that we could hear the entire symphony as one chord! The spiral of eternal increase wraps resonantly around the chord of life, the umbilical chord, that, upon death, when cut, opens us up to the higher birth, as the imago, upon the divine plane, within the full body of our influence.


* 1053 *

We define ourselves by determining what we are not. Of all the friends and acquaintances we meet, we may say, "I am not like him, her, or the other," and even when we say, "Yes, I would be like him," we are careful to map a difference. Seldom does it seem so, but to lose your friends and social standing because you've arrived at an unpopular truth is noble. To stand alone is a noble thing.


* 1054 *

We invest our playing tokens with care. What we care about we identify with. How people manage to care so much whether their sports team wins is somewhat of a mystery to me, yet I take pride when America wins in the Olympics – for whatever reason. We play the game by caring about politics, celebrities, sports, moral issues -- whatever. It doesn't matter what, so long as you know not to care too much, not to over invest yourself into the Game. Life is too important to be taken seriously.

The strategy of Stoic indifference, of Buddhist detachment, or Cynical sarcasm all have use, depending on our playing style. Some of these poor fools suffer the Game the way they rant and rave. Be cooler than that. Lose if you must, but not your cool.



-- R 88s Я --

Perfection Is Easy



Wednesday, October 3, 2018

allays 1043- 1048

Daniel Christopher June to the Students of Life:



So I've landed a little nothing job doing customer service at Office Max in the few hours I have totally to myself (7 am – 2 pm). That will let me pay off my debts. I am taking a break from freelance writing as I've been uninspired lately.

I've been having a fun with the challenge of helping Emilie, my 8-year-old, ace her spelling tests.

Other than that, everything is as it always is.


Take care, Caretaker!


* 1043 *

We have of the substances of the universe the fire of logos, the sayable, whose theologian was Heraclitus, and the water of the tao, the ineffable, whose theologian was Lao Tse. The way of water is to perpetually bow, but the image of flame is to rise to heaven. Where shall we italicize, the knowable or the unknowable, the rational or the mystical, West or East? Indeed, need we subordinate? Both grow.


* 1044 *

We are made of the body of Mattria – the substance of God, not the image, and the idea of a hypocritical God making a clay idol in the image of God and then calling such an act the number one sin is all a bit too much for us artists who love to suggest the divine in all our graven and literary images. Mattria made all the universe from her substance, she the arch-artist. We are most like her when we create.


* 1045 *

Children everywhere suffer the travails of growing up and find spiritual nurturance in fairy tales. But be the child ever so much a prodigy, he could never develop on his own such a fulfilling fantasy as the fairy tales teach him. Those were created by generations and generations of parents and children. People think in stories. Memorizing bald facts numbs the mind, but tell stories about them and you will remember them in a cinch. This is why we suffer dreamers to walk among us. Dreamers teach us how to fantasize, and fantasies teach us how to live. Yes, we rightly discourage the artists among us, just as we stamp out cult leaders. No religious group endured more hardships in America than the Mormons. Artist and prophets are the lowest of the low unless they succeed. Their entire career is a sort of shooting for the moon. A few make it big, most fail into obsolescence. For dreams are serious business, and Communist dreams have woken us up to living nightmares. Dare to dream, therefore – if you've made it this far with me you have the requisite courage. Hold to your dreams, though all the world attempt to shout you down and stomp you out. We are a gift to the universe.


* 1046 *

I give one corner; I expect my students to infer the other three. I offer the top of the arch and my disciples will bring them to earth. Strong suggestions that hold and hold, I offer this, but I merely plant the world tree: you must tend her.


* 1047 *

With genres, we know what we're in for and can keep in the game till the end. Literary fiction might be asking too much for a presleep treat. But we have those twin genres, fantasy with its magical past, and sci-fi with its technological future, both playing past the tedium of making a plausible story with reality-based details by focusing exclusively on nonsense to reveal a certain breed of sense. Every genre reveals something best, and as we've seen countless genres, each having their heyday, with new ones coming soon, we might wed our words to a set of rules – to a game – that speaks to us, whether mystery, horror, fable, parable, sonnets, or whatever.

So what genre are we living, each of us in our private and public situations? For lives also take on tempo, tone, emphasis, and stereotypical plotlines. Certainly, ever profession has its stereotypes, as do the various sexual orientations, the various religions, or what have you. What defines you?


* 1048 *

I cage the wolf spider I find in the basement and name her Agora. I drop a cricket from the yard, black and jumpy, down into her tank, and he lodges in the web, freaks out, and pops like corn, jumping left, right, smacking Agora in the face with his audacious leaps. I take him out and set him back in the yard. The next day I put a feeder cricket from the local pet store into Agora's cage. He hops about curiously, fumbles into some web, and then – sits there. Kinda strains for a second to dislodge himself and then gives up. He doesn't even struggle enough to alert Agora. She happens upon him later, when inspecting her web, and quietly poisons him and bundles him up.

Am I heard? Men, be wild! Don't let yourselves become domesticated!



-- R 88s Я --

Perfection Is Easy