Fractal Consciousness
I read a book a while back aptly called ‘The Convoluted Universe’ written by a past life regression therapist named Dolores Claiborne who reports to have taken people back to all manner of adventurous lives, both here on earth, and on other planets and realms at the far reaches of the universe. She claims to have met folks who died on the titanic, others who were the teachers of Jesus, and still others who, in previous incarnations, would traverse space and time. Amidst all of this intrigue there was one type of past life I found most fascinating of all – the life of rocks. Yep, that’s right, rocks! And not just rocks, but trees, bodies of water, stars or any inanimate thing you can imagine. In her book she recounts many case studies of clients who lived lives as stones, or the weather, or even once, a robot. So I’m sitting in my Shangri-La (that’s what I’ve named my cozy outdoor patio) today resting from a long yesterday at an art, glass and marijuana exhibition called Chalice Festival. I’m smoking a freshly rolled joint of some amazing bud I picked up there and quieting my mind. As the ash grows long on the end of my smoking J I absent-mindedly tap it off on the tip of a dead flower stalk leaning toward me. I tried to wipe the ash off right after and it just smudged. The plant is going to be like that forever now, I thought to myself, and there is nothing it can do about it. Then I remember that book where people have been rocks and flowers in past lives and I’m thinking that must have been quite a challenge. Does this flower stalk have a soul in there with an opinion about what I just did? Does it feel helpless to be the master of its own destiny? If circumstance decides to smudge you, you can’t even wipe it off. As with a rock pin-balling its way down a riverbed, you have no choice but to go with the flow, to surrender. I imagine myself picking up a rock I notice nearby and throwing it; wondering what the rock would be thinking? Would it be horrified, helpless and scared as it careens through the air toward its destiny on the other side of the yard? Or would it be blessed? Would that rock be grateful to have been chosen, to have been picked up at all, and sent, by destiny, to parts unknown? I realize what I am to the rock is what the Universe is to me, it is fractal. I, and the winds and the river are destiny in the making for the rocks. Their destiny is shaped by our forces. When they go with with the flow, castles are built and art is made. The same is true for us, when we yield to the ever-communicating energy of the universe, when we just let go and go with the flow, our castle is built and our happiness is found there. It is a blessing to realize you are not in control of anything but your own reaction to life. So just enjoy what comes, go with the flow. When we start to react differently our whole reality will start to act differently in return. Maybe it’s just me, but I think that rocks!
My Life is My Story
As a writer, a blogger, I live life exposed; so I don’t have the luxury of regretting any of my choices. Hopefully, in the din of my dramas and delusions, I tell myself, I can transform my latest blunder into a blog post; my latest lapse in judgement into lasting impact for someone else. So, instead of regretting when things go bad, or lamenting when I finish last, I just write it down. Since Half Year’s Day just happened (July 1, Half Year’s Eve being June 30th) I have been revisiting some rusted old resolutions I’d made six months ago and been polishing them up this week. I haven’t had a sip of soda, and I’ve actually been eating cut up fruit for snacks…yes, I mean fresh organic fruit that I cut up myself. Yes, really! July is the new January so I’m posting this small triumph here in the hopes that writing it down, and exposing it here makes me less prone to backslide into fatty late night snacks. I’m using my blog as a self-help tool so no offense, but I guess if you’re reading this, I’m kinda using you too. Thanks for your help! Now when I screw up royally I don’t get all worked up about it. I just think, damn, this is gonna make one hell of a good story.
Cages
I sit here shackled, enslaved in my cages Some I can snort Some I can chow on I made them myself And I’ll live here from now on I need them, they help me to contain all my rages So be a good sport So be a good brother Don’t rattle my cages Why don’t you go save another I’m fine and yet longing for the turning of pages With no day in court With no way of escape The cage door swings open My feet frozen, my mouth hangs agape Will I find my peace at last, sitting with sages? Is that a dream of some sort Or will enlightenment come? Or is the place where I’m going Just back to the dust where I’m from? But that’s not the lesson we’ve learned through the ages I have a report I have some good news Life is our ally Come on, there’ve been so many clues. Humanity barrels toward the next stages So you might retort That it’s just getting worse But have faith as your doctor And know hope as your nurse
Meme What You Say: Culture is Cracking Under the Weight of its Own Insignificance
As I rejoin the world of social media, one things sticks out at me — the adoption of the word meme to describe any old post we decide to broadcast to our various audiences around the world. Memes hold as much significance and sway as our genes do in shaping cultures, over generations, and yet I hear people saying things like “check out this meme of a cat eating pizza” or “my buddy sent me a meme about Prince’s death”. I’m sorry folks, those are not memes, they are simply our mind chatter being immortalized in cyberspace through our fingertips instead of our mouths. I’m not saying those kinds of things aren’t creative or even at times captivating and clever, they are. Social media is neutral, neither good nor bad. It is a tool. It can be used to waste time in frivolity and fluff; it can be used to express the depths of ones creativity; it can be used to inform, impress, and interconnect. It’s the very avenue by which this article has made it to your brain after all. However, social media has only been around for 20 years in its current form and that is simply not enough time to create even one single meme. Meme comes from the latin root to mimic and is described by Dictionary.com as a part of our culture that has been formed through repetition by being passed down from generation to generation. The fact that humanity now eats cooked meat and uses utensils is a meme. Through repetition over generations, as in a widespread generational mimic, new cultural trends and behaviors are created and adopted. Flossing is a meme, because it was not created genetically, but memetically, meaning it was born from mimicking, over time, not from being re-tweeted. We call our social media posts memes to give significance to what does’t much rise above the level of banter or chit chat. Meme’s change cultural trends over generations, not over news cycles. Richard Dawkins, in his 1976 work The Selfish Gene likes to take credit for the coining of the word, despite it self-admittedly being from the french meme which means same, alike, or oneself. The word meme has been in our cultural genetic make up, or should I say memetic make up, since before Richard Dawkins was born. We can co-opt it, like we did with the other French words “rendezvous” and “hors d’oeuvre” because we are too lazy to come up with our own english word for “clandestine meeting” and “small finger food,” but that doesn’t mean that meme means what we think meme means. Oxford English Dictionary and now even Webster’s online Dictionary have added a second definition for the word meme, so we can continue using the word in this manner that hyperbolizes our individual impact on our culture through social media. Or we can come back down to reality and start calling all those memes what the really are – cyber small talk. Not everything we post on our social media accounts is as memeingful as we might like to believe. Showing me a picture of a monkey snuggling with a cat is an ice-breaker at best, not a culture shaker. Twitter probably comes from the latin root for “Twit” after all, hardly a culture bending force. Shaping pop culture for a week and effecting cultural trends over lifetimes is like comparing a paint ball gun to a bazooka and saying they have the same basic effect. I meme, come on people.
Unclehood: The Chronicles of a Brand New Uncle
Unclehood (unk-al-hud): 1. (n) All the fun of parenthood, with none of the parenting. 2. (n) A second childhood when you’re all grown up. Technically speaking you could say I became an uncle 569 days ago when Charlie was born. But I didn’t feel anything. My sister did though, as she was basically ripped in half for 17 hours; but for me, becoming an uncle was as easy as becoming 37 this year…I didn’t feel a thing. You could say that I became an uncle 553 days ago when Charlie and I first met. She was pretty tiny, being born two weeks early and all, so by the time I held her on June 21st or so, it was pretty much her actual due date. But I like to say that I’m becoming an uncle. I’ve never been one before and I’m not really sure what it all means just yet. One thing I’m sure about though is that I get to be there for all the fun parts, and even create some of them, but I don’t have to change nearly as many poop-filled diapers as mom and dad will. That much I know for sure. Christmas gives way to Springtime and little Charlie is 22 months old now. I live in California and she lives in Connecticut so I’m in and out of town often, and each time I come back home I am meeting a brand new girl that it feels like I’ve know for lifetimes. She’s got more inches, more words, more expressions; things I’ve never seen before but know are somehow a part of me. This must be what parenthood feels like, I think, but with less fatigue and shit. A few poop-filled diapers and many plane tickets later and this mound of cells and drool has become a person; a full personality with opinions and preferences, like me, but not a bitch like me. Oh, and she has mastered the art of saying the word “uncle”, which has melted my heart all over again every single time I hear it. And she knows phrases now too, like “Uncle Brian”. Sometimes it sounds like “Opey Bye”, sometimes it sounds like “Unn-al Bine” but I don’t care. When those piercing and vibrant eyes look at me, right at me, and she says my name it’s as if all things made of matter cease to matter at all. I didn’t realize it at the time, but my whole world changed when Charlie was born. She came into this world 839 days ago, and I’ve been becoming an uncle ever since. If she ever gets tired of me she can go ahead and cry uncle, but just hearing that word is going to melt my heart. You’re stuck with me kid; I’m becoming an uncle, and I’ve fallen in love.
Last Snow Fall
Too much information TMI Just stop talking When I asked how things were going I didn’t mean it keep on walking I hope you’re not offended it’s just late please stop gawking If you make me get a TRO I’ll do it cuz this is stalking
Beat Up, Top Down
BEAT UP I beat the record for the person most wrecked I beat myself up and re-fill my cup I beat off and toke and cough then I wake up beat sweat on the sheet with tasks to complete but instead I recover and dream of my lover and pull tight the covers I waste another day wasted on yay until the price becomes too steep to pay but that’s not today. TOP DOWN surrounded by the life I’ve been living without ever giving myself a break to reflect and take stock of my progress goals or dreams their fruition always seems so far so I hop in my car top down drive around crank that sound to drown out the voice that says I’m dying It’s lying because I don’t stop trying as time passes I count my trespasses but hey, at least I’m not one of those deadbeat jackasses
Time Off from Gazing @ the 20 Minute Mark
My car broke down 1 week ago today and in that time I haven’t even been able to consider sun-gazing because you can’t see her rise or set from my neighborhood during the safe hour because of the swamp of cement and sheet glass in the way. I’m surrounded by development, and I’m afraid that it’s all going to hinder mine. This year has been a crazy kind of roller coaster, with high highs and low lows, and bouts of unshakable faith mixed with bouts of resentful doubt. And since Summer died on me it has felt like the screws are being tightened. I am being beaten down, battered by the storm of circumstance, and angry about it. The collective has strings of prosperous days that signal an end to our financial slump, then just when I start to relax 2 or 3 abysmally slow days tank the entire trajectory. This circumstantial shake up has continued to urge me back to my yoga mat and my chanting. I mention that because I suppose that’s some kind of silver lining. At the start of this year I made a commitment to myself to read a book a week, roughly, at least making it to 41 books in 2014. As I have continued to do this it has been the one constant source of synchronicity in an otherwise volatile an unpredictable year. The synchronicity I am referring to here is in the messages contained in the books. At each stage of my roller coaster it happens that whatever book I pick up next seems to have just the encouraging words I need to hear. Take today for example. I have been feeling exhausted, under appreciated, and quite disappointed by the turn of events since August that has me counting pennies and working more than full time again. Last year I was telling people I am semi-retired. Now I’m just plain old tired; more than ready to give up and throw in the towel. I am on the last chapter of a small book called How to Attract Money by Joseph Murphy and what do you know, but this chapter was basically a giant pep talk for anyone trying to employ the mystical powers of their subconscious mind to persevere and not to give up. Those words couldn’t have come at a more perfect time. I feel myself picking back up the towel I had just thrown in, wiping my brow and continuing down the path set out in front of me. It’s not like there is suddenly a bag of money in front of me. But what is there again is my faith. The words were just the right tonic to create a gap in my minds most recent disaster scenario and allow me to feel hope again. Even as my circumstances seem more and more wild and unpredictable by the day, the single thread of syncronicity that has been constant in my reading list is the support that has begun to renew my faith in the primal force of nature that supports all life, and perhaps most importantly, it is helping me to restore my faith in myself. RESULTS: I have not been sun-gazing since October 29th, the day Summer died. She was my ride to the top of the mountain, so I take that as a sign from the universe to rest my eyes, rest my soul, and know that the 2nd half of my gazing adventure will be there for me when the time is right. For now, this is Brian Hogan, 20 minutes and 7 months into a sun gazing experiment, signing off.
DAY 206: 20 Minutes of Gazing – Summer Days
At 2:45pm pacific time today my sporty convertible, Summer, broke down bringing everything in my life, for a split second, to a screeching halt. I was on my way to a delivery and not in the best part of town. Thankfully there was a place called “Quick Auto Help” about 500 feet away. Perfect name, I thought, as I sputtered over to the shop, Summer growling in pain. As I sat there outside the auto-body shop waiting for Enterprise to come pick me up in a rental car I was aware of something happening inside me. I felt the hotness on my skin and the tightness in my gut that I now know is the warning sign that I’m on the verge of a standard-issue how-the-hell-am-I-going-to-deal-with-this freakout. Usually when something triggers these bodily responses I barely notice them, only to regain any sense of awareness mid-freakout, deep in the abyss of hopelessness anger and victimhood. But it was different today. The sun-gazing, or the chanting, or the yoga has created a sort of space between my bodily emotional reactions (which are involuntary) and my mental definitions of those reactions (which are decisions, although these decisions happen so quickly we humans are mostly unaware that we can choose how to react to things). This space is what Eckhart Tolle is describing in A New Earth when he tries to illuminate exactly what it means to live in the present moment. Perhaps it is better described as living within the present moment because when I truly made the decision to let go of the future in regards to my car, to let go of my penchant for daydreaming disaster scenarios of how it would turn out, there was this warm comforting love that surrounded me; that love is the present moment. I realized as I was experiencing this peace in the midst of what by all rights should be considered an epic fail of an afternoon, that peace and love exist continually and permeate everything. When we live in the past (regret, guilt, nostalgia) or the future (worry, anxiety, yearning) we are the ones who obscure it from view, from our experience. As I surrendered myself to my circumstances yesterday this unexpected love and peace rushed in and flooded my being. I still felt exhausted at the end of the day, and it still felt like a roller coaster. But those are the endorphins and the hormones that create my emotional responses. By not defining those inner stirrings as bad or letting them spin my mind into the next financial apocalypse they didn’t take over. My body still went through them, but without the added anxiety of a mind full of stress and worry. My mind was clear, and my heart was open. So even though my body churned, I just observed this, recognized it, and let it go. I pulled over in my rental car, finally on my way home at sunset, and gazed. I gazed for the first time in weeks in sheer gratitude, rather than with a feeling of begrudging obligation. When I arrived home at the end of the night I was physically exhausted, but mentally sharp, and internally calm. This experience for me was one of seeing how I have increased my awareness. As it stands right now I’m not sure what’s going to happen with Summer, but I already feel grateful for the experience of showing myself how I can overcome anxiety and worry. The afterglow of that experience is pure bliss, a visceral form of empowerment that we can only give to ourselves, with the help of the present moment. So why not start right now? RESULTS: I am sturdier emotionally than I used to be, and than I even thought. This long “Summer” day showed me that.
DAY 204: Still at 19 Minutes & 50 Seconds of Gazing
I am going through a sort of “dark evening of the soul.” I wouldn’t exactly call it a dark night of the soul, because I’m living alone in a beautiful West Hollywood bungalow, making money enough to eat well, pay my bills and have some fun, and I work for my own small business, which is more gratifying than working for someone else. Although I’ll admit there are times when I miss my days as a waiter, not because I like waiting tables, I don’t. But because it was easy, I was good at it, and when I left work I left every single speck of responsibility behind me too. And I’d be leaving with pocketfuls of cash tips, which didn’t hurt either. But ultimately it was unsatisfying and exhausting and left me barely anytime to seriously pursue other creative endeavors like my screenwriting or painting. With the collective things are different. I feel like I carry the responsibilities around me in a heavy sack, just dragging it wherever I go. That’s not being required of me, I know this, it’s my own mind that can’t seem to relax. I want so desperately for things to pick up, but alas, they are remaining steady where they have always been. We completely redid our menu and our descriptions, and we just invested $800 more with weeedmaps to be featured on the West Hollywood regional listing page and we are doing more with social media than we ever have in the past. But none of that, seems to as yet, be making any kind of difference in the bottom line. We still hover at just the right amount to meet expenses but not get paid. I am doing more yoga and meditation than ever before, if for no other reason than to calm my jittery nerves. I don’t like brushing up against poverty, it reminds me of the struggles of my upbringing, and my single-mom raising us paycheck to paycheck. I don’t want that kind of struggle again. I want ease, abundance and prosperity. Obviously, we all do. The stress of this slight downturn for the collective has driven a wedge between me and my Sun Gazing Experiment. I am exhausted both mentally and physically at the end of the day and don’t feel like driving up the mountain to catch the safe minutes of sunset, so I end up telling myself it’s okay and I skip. I believe the sun-gazing can unlock magical and mystical potential that lies dormant in all human beings. I really do. Yet, somehow the mundane and worldly financial problems have taken up more space in my mind than they are welcome to. I’d like to wash the cobwebs and anxiety right out of my body with a tall fresh glass of sunlight. Hopefully tomorrow will see a more motivated and less exhausted version of me, who will actually traipse up the mountain to connect with the source of all life. I’m six months into this thing, there’s no way I’m giving up now. I’m just on a wee coffee break, is all. You’ll see. RESULTS: The sunlight has hooked me, because even though I’ve often skipped these last 8 weeks, he is under my skin, and I can’t stop thinking about him.
