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"You will go to the Special Hell, which is reserved for child molestors and people who talk at the theater." (Shepherd Book, FIREFLY)

One of my favorite quotes, particularly in light of an experience yesterday afternoon. Wendy and I had taken a rare afternoon off and went to see STATE OF PLAY - the new Russell Crowe flick, which had been touted as an "edge of your seat thriller." Cool. My kind of movie. So I snuggled down with my popcorn in the comfort of the air conditioned theater, prepared to be transported into some otherworld of political intrigue, murder, mystery and just a bit of mayhem. Cool.

When the previews started, I thought at first there was a hisssss in the soundtrack. Intermittent. "Sssss. Ss. Ssss. Ssssssssss."

Annoying. But, hey, it's an older theater. Just part of the experience, I figured at first.

"Ssss. Ss. Sssssssssss. Ss."

By the time the second preview splashed up on the screen, however, the hissing had become louder, more distinct, and now there could be no mistaking its origins. Two rows back and to the left, two women in their 40s were carrying on a gabfest. Now the Ssss ss ssssss had turned to "He'ssssssssss a real piesssssssssssse of work and sssssssssssheeeeeeeee had to know about his misssstressssss, sssssssoooo...blada blada yada yada."

No attempt to be quiet. But I figured, okay, it's just the previews, so certainly these two old friends will have the good sense to shut it once the main feature starts. So I snuggled down further into my seat and munched a bit louder on my popcorn - turning occasionally to give them a stern look of the type I normally reserve for my weenie dog when she's just peed on the rug. The house lights were still on. Our eyes met. There was no mistaking the message.

So now the feature starts.

"How come she's standing so close to the edge?" one of the women asks the other, in a conversational tone.

"Oh, I think she's going to jump," the other replies.

By now, other patrons in the theater have made the usual shushing sounds, the loud clearing of the male throat - the silverback asserting his dominance from the back row.

A few minutes of silence. Ben Affleck is getting choked up 'cuz his mistress got whacked. Real tears. Cool. I love to see a strong man cry.

"You think he'ssssss behind it?"

"Oh, I'm sssssssssssure of it!"

By this time, another patron has gone to Home Depot for some duct tape, and even Russell Crowe is getting pissed off. Management has seemingly refused to get involved (?????) and while it would be an option to get up and leave, get a rain check and call it quits... there is the matter of the air conditioned theater (it was 105 outside), the popcorn, and the refreshing soda, which required only a small second mortgage to procure the medium size.

Can't really say if the movie was any good or not. By the time it ended, I found myself rising from my seat as if possessed by the spirit of Someone Else, walking up to the two ladies, and saying to the primary instigator, "Next time you want to narrate an entire movie, why not stay home and do it from your own living room?"

I was calm. Never raised my voice. Wendy giggled a bit. Other patrons made the usual grunts of agreement, but were too 'polite' to harpoon the culprits.

The woman with her nicely pedicured toes and her face stretched too tight from one too many Palm Springs plastic surgeries, had the audacity to appear shocked. Maybe even fearful. She drew back. Batted her eyes. Clutched her Gucci bag to her chest.

It was the only time she was silent - while the end credits were rolling and the other patrons were filing out of the theater grumbling under their breath.



Okay... what this brings me to is the subject of The World At Large. Entitlement. Inefficiency. And, in another manner of speaking, The Tolerance We Are Required To Possess For Idjits and Princesses.

Heh.

At the risk of sounding old, this kind of behaviour wouldn't have been tolerated just a few short years ago. An usher would have been called in (and I do know that at least one patron went and complained about the two hissing whisperers), and they would have been told to shut it or shown the exit. Simple. Now? Everybody's so terrified of everybody else that they 'don't want to get involved'. We put up with the screaming toddler in the grocery store, when it's obvious that the mother is just too busy to be bothered to discipline her little Chuck Manson clone. Wouldn't want to squelch his creativity, after all, for he might have a future as a heavy metal star and that screaming is just practice for his career. And aside from that, Mama may have an AK 47 in her purse and PMS to go with it. Don't want to get involved in that, so let the kid scream and throw peanut butter jars on the floor until it looks like a herd of Rottweilers crept in and crapped all up and down the snack aisle.

Gotta say... I don't get it.

I picked up the phone this morning to place an order with one of our suppliers. Got the voice mail of my "representative". Tried the operator. Was routed to a different rep. Got her voice mail, too. Back to the operator. Routed to a third rep. Yup, you guessed it. Voice mail. This happened a total of 6 times before I finally hung up after making a point to tell the operator that I wouldn't be ordering from their company in the future, because this isn't a fluke. It is the norm. "Can I have someone call you back?" she asked. When I told her I had left 4 messages in the past month and not once had anyone called me back. she replied with the usual rhetoric, "Have a nice day." The program defaulting into itself when the organism does not possess the skills to forward think or even improvise.

Now, I'd love to think all these lovely folks are really busy, or on the phone with other customers, but the reality of it is that they're usually out on the back docks smoking a joint or shooting the shit. Work? What's that?

Used to be I could log in to my Yahoo account, just to pick on those folks as an example which would include just about any and all internet sites these days, and after a simple username and password entry, go on with my business. Now, it seems I am being asked for the launch codes to Norad and the secret password for Mr. Obama's private bathroom every time I go on the internet. There are viruses out to get me, I'm told, yet when I stop to think about it, the ONLY people who would benefit from these evil 'viruses' are the folks who sell the 'cure', so it stands to reason that the virus companies are writing the viruses and the pharmaceutical companies are heavily invested in keeping us sick as opposed to making us better, for when you really REALLY stop to think about it, most of these pills-for-yer-ills aren't short-term agreements any longer, but something you are expected to take for the rest of your life. Cars exist which can run efficiently on water, yet they will never be manufactured and sold for as long as the oil companies are running the show. We go to work to make money to pay for the car to drive to work...

And sure, I've said all of this before in one manner or another, but from time to time when things are particularly screwy, I like to stop and remind myself that the world really is a nuthouse and the lunatics really are running the asylum. I have some vague notion that it wasn't always like that. Or at the very least, it wasn't always that bad. When I was a kid, if you disrespected a teacher in school, you weren't dragged off to the doctor, diagnosed with ADHD, and put on meds for the rest of your life. You got a lecture from the principal, a good solid spanking from your parents, and instead of being rewarded with special attention for your special needs, you were shipped off to school again the next day, knowing that if you did it again, the consequences would be even more unpleasant and your ass would be stinging for 3 days instead of the usual 1.5.

Consequences.

Interesting concept.

Maybe that's what's wrong with this world. There are seemingly less and less consequences to the stupid actions of stupid humans. Corporations run themselves into the ground by paying multi-million dollar bonuses to their CEOs, then when they get bailed out by Big Daddy, they turn right around and start it all over again, having learned nothing. Someone is always there holding the net, it seems. Reminds me of some old friends of mine - never had to work a day in their lives, because someone was always there to pick them up when they fell. Crash the car in a drunken stupor, daddy will always buy you a new one. Can't pay your rent? Call daddy. No food in the house? Mooch off of friends until Daddy gets back from the Bahamas and sends another check.

Makes me wonder whatever happened to the idea of responsibility vs. consequences. When I left home at the age of 17, it was with the knowledge that there was no net, and no one to pick me up and dust me off if I took a header. If I couldn't pay the rent, I'd have to live in my car. And if I didn't make the car payment, I'd be on the street. Strong incentive. For that, I thank my mom, who had the good sense to tell me, "When you leave the nest, the road rolls up behind you and there's no coming home except for Christmas, Thanksgiving and Mother's Day." Heh. And she meant it - with love.

Ah well... suffice it to say I look at the world of today from time to time, at the actions and inactions of phantoms, and I really have to wonder where it's all headed. To my perception, it's no wonder the economy is in the shitter. Just in my small corner of the world, it seems that when I try to place an order, everyone is either "on a break", or "out of the office" or "busy helping other customers"... and then the boss wonders why there's no $$$ coming in, no orders going out, and a bunch of freeloaders hanging out on the back dock cashing a pay check. No different at that level than at the highest levels of corporate. Everybody seems to think they're entitled to be paid for work they don't do, bailed out of their own shit by the kindness of strangers, and handsomly compensated for irreparable incompetence.

What to do?

I'd love to say, "Not my problem," but the reality is that it becomes my problem when the buck stops here. This morning alone, I had to personally call the owner of the company I was trying to order from, just to inform him that out of 6 "sales reps", it seems to be impossible to place an order. Had to call a major internet provider to find out why "your password and user name are invalid", when they are the same password & user name I've been using for over 10 years. Turns out it was "a glitch" - otherwise known as human incompetence, which almost always gets blamed on "a glitch" in some computer somewhere. It's always 'computer error' or 'a server is down' or 'there has been an electronic malfunction'.

Computers don't make mistakes. Humans make mistakes. Computers only do what they are told to do, unless they are a Hal 9000, in which case we are all irreparably fucked and will be flushed out the airlock at any moment... but somehow I don't think that's the case.

Human error.

Human incompetence.

The folly of phantoms.

Sure, someone will certainly throw out the old cliche, "Well, Della, we ALL make mistakes." Absolutely true! We all make mistakes. But the difference between an impeccable warrior and a phantom is that warriors will USUALLY take responsibility for the consequences of their errors, because that really IS the learning process. If we just keep making the same mistakes, it's no longer "a glitch", but has become a habit and a way of life... in which case, there will be consequences.

Which brings me right back to the beginning...

 

"You will go to the Special Hell, which is reserved for child molestors and people who talk at the theater." (Shepherd Book, FIREFLY)

Have a nice day.

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights 

Well, it looks at this hour as if Prop 8 has passed here in California.  What is prop 8?  Well, it essentially says that only a "man and a woman" can be married.  Everything else is an abomination in the eyes of god.  If it passes (which it apparently has), it means that gay marriage is outlawed, and it will require a rewriting of the California constitution.

All in the name of God, of course.  Praise be to the fear-mongering followers of the Nazi in the funny hat.  Pffft.

WHAT THE FUCK EVER HAPPENED TO THE SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE?

Since when does the Catholic Church, under the guise of "The Knights of Columbus" fund a proposition that is clearly nothing more than a hate-mongering bit of drivel driven by fear, prejudice, bigotry, and anger?  C'mon, people, open your goddamn eyes! I say "goddamned" because if you are that blind, then surely God must have blinded you in order to hold you in bondage - a slave to some rhetoric that is neither logical, nor even rational.  What's amazing is that the State of California FELL for it!  And we are allegedly a state of creative spirits, intellectuals, and philosophers.  We are also, apparently, a state of fundy-dunderheads who have lost the ability to think progressively instead of regressively. 

I alternate between a sense of outrage and total lack of concern.  And yet...

The glaring and dangerous stupidity of the human race never ceases to amaze me!  The lies told in this campaign were legion.  The commercials wanting us to vote "against" gay marriage used all sorts of pseudo-religions, quasi-intellectual arguments, telling us essentially that we would be "saving the children" to vote against gay marriage.  After all, the ads said, we wouldn't want gay marriage taught in schools! 

Er... gays have been getting married in California and other states for quite some time now, and to my knowledge, it isn't taught in schools, one way or the other.  Besides, most of those fear-mongering religious fanatics I know send their little brats to private xtian schools (where they may be assured of getting their daily dose of Jesus' body and his blood - cannibalism and vampirism, for the unenlightened), so there is little danger of Little Johnny being exposed to those dangerous faggots (unless, of course, he is friends w/ the priest, in which case, all bets are off, eh?  Gives new meaning to, "On your knees, little boy, and prepare to receive the holy scepter.")

When did the human race get so stupid? 
When did we become a nation of puppets and fearful religious imbeciles, sucking at the teat of the Virgin Mary and bending over to take it up the ass from every politicical group who uses the slogan, "God is on our side!"?  Jeeesus, how can people be so god-fucking-damned D U M B???????

Guess you could say I've had it this morning.  (Geee, ya think?)  The gay marriage issue is not a religious issue.  It is a civil rights issue. It is a HUMAN rights issue. Rather like telling the black population that they cannot vote because of the color of their skin - which, by the way, was not repealed until 1964.  Fairly recent history!  Women weren't allowed to vote until the 1920s.  (Yet we were allowed to go to church - go figure).  It took us THAT long to figure out that people are just people?  How much LONGER is it going to take for us to figure out that gay people are just people?  We don't molest your children (we leave that for the Catholic priests, the school bus drivers, and the evangelical preachers.)

So let's get real here.  I realize that most reading this don't necessarily live in California.  But civil rights are non-local.  As long as one group is oppressed in the name of religion, we are nothing more than a bunch of fearful apes bowing and scraping before the sun or the moon, begging false gods for our crops to be spared, and - STILL OFFERING HUMAN SACRIFICES TO THOSE ANGRY GODS!  Yes, human sacrifices.  We are told that "our" issues are irrelevant.  We are told to keep silent, but keep paying our taxes, keep upholding the American flag.  We are told to shut up and bend over... in the name of God.

Human sacrifices.

Isn't that what it's all about?  God will be on our side if we stop them thar faggots from gettin' married!  Protect the sanctity of marriage!  After all, Joe-Bob will tell us, marriage is fer makin' LITTLE dumb shits - procreation (though most of the idjits can't even read that word without relying on hooked on fonix).  But I digress...

Jeezus-humpin'-the-ass-of-the-saints!  WHAT KIND OF LOGIC IS THAT?  What kind of "christian" is that, who apparently never got the memo about "Judge not, lest ye be judged"?  What kind of god would favor one "group" over another if all men were allegedly created equal?  What kind of god would create homosexuals and then rally his people to hatred of those same individuals whom HE had created?  If THAT is your God, surely he is a schizophrenic psychopath rather than any sort of role model!  And if you are FOLLOWING him, what does that say about YOU?

Does it occur to any of you good xtians out there that NONE of this makes one iota of sense?  And don't give me that crap about God working in mysterious ways - the grand excuse that comes along whenver we stand at the funeral of an infant or the grave of a loved one.  God doesn't work in mysterious ways.  God doesn't work.  Period.  He is a defunt, out of work dictator who has become the icon for every impotent redneck turkey and every political group with an agenda to peddle.

THINK!

The illusion only works for those who agree to uphold it.  And - sorry, folks - if you are choosing to uphold THAT particular illusion, I would seriously recommend some long-term therapy to break you out of that faith-based bullshit that has probably kept you in the dark all your life.  Wake up.  It won't hurt much, and not for very long.  And the rewards are infinite in that you will find yourself suddenly to make YOUR decisions without having to pray over it, and agonize over "What would Jesus do?" 

Do we CARE what Jesus would do?  He didn't do too good while he was here, after all.  Got himself crucified, and ended up with a bunch of zombie-eyed lunatics who essentially embody everything BUT what the man was trying to teach.  If you wanna believe Jesus existed, that's fine!  But when you start thinking he "saved" you and now you owe him some human sacrifices, you're way out on a limb of imbeciles, and have, in fact, become the very antithesis of what it means to be a "christian".  But no matter.  I know that's too hard for most folks.  Wouldn't want to disturb that comfort zone, that precious status quo that seems to tell all christians they are right and good.  In reality, they are self-righteous and - in the case of Prop 8 - the embodiment of "sin" and the manifestation of evil.  Why?  (I'll get to that in a moment).

For those who want to go on believing that God is on our side here in the US, I suggest they pull the shit out of their eyes and ears and take a look at the reality going on all around them.  The economy is in the shitter, young men and women are dying in Iraq every day for a war the people don't want and don't support, priests are buggering little boys in the name of God, evangelical preachers are screaming hate and violence and ending their prayer "In Jesus' name"... and somehow this is all considered okay?  There's your human sacrifice - and 99.999% of it occurs in the name of God.  We fight wars in the name of God.  We forgive sodomizing priests in the name of God.  For as long as we allow one group to be discriminated against LEGALLY  in the name of God, we do not have a nation founded on freedom.  Instead, we have a religion-controlled nation of sheeple, being led around by the ring in their collective noses, who will believe any piece of propaganda their masters shove in front of them.

If there is "sin", it is simply this:  to keep someone else from thriving.

And, let's face it, the whole Prop 8 thing is designed to do exactly what.  What does it hurt YOU (or me or the Catholic church) if two men or two women LOVE one another enough to want to make a commitment that is lasting, and LEGAL?????  Doesn't that same insane religion preach that "God is love?"  It doesn't say man/woman love is God.  It says, simply, God is love.  But no matter - that would involve a bit of additional thinking, and as we've already determined, that probably isn't possible for anyone following a fundy-dunderhead way of living.

Wendy and I had hoped to get married next year to commemorate 30 years of togetherness - and I dare say most heterosexual xtian couples don't last that long, and if they do it is because one of them is buggering the other's best friend out of sheer boredom with the missionary position... but again I digress.  Point being - where is the crime in love and commitment?  Where is the fear in allowing a coupla old lesbians to make it legal so as to protect one another's rights in the event one of us dies (or is murdered by a hate-mongering religious fanatic).  Where?  Is?  The?  Harm?

It all resides in fear. And not even in REASONABLE fear.  There are no lions coming to eat you or your children if you think for yourself.  Allowing two old fairies to get married isn't going to threaten the sanctity of YOUR marriage?  If it DOES, then your marriage and, especially, your God could bear some examination, doncha think?  And far moreso, you need to take a long, hard look at whatever "ordained" asshole told you that in the first place.  What is HIS agenda?  I grew up in that fundy atmosphere of hate, violence and fear - where the preacher was fucking the head deacon's wife (literally), and all those god-fearing xtians were perched on bar stools at the local pub before noon - and believe me, when I started thinking for myself and asking too many questions, I was asked to leave and never return.  And - THANK THE GODLESS! - I did precisely that, and have never regretted it.  Religion is for idiots who are incapable of thinking for themselves.  Religion is for the fearful.  Religion is for politicians with agendas.  Religion is for those who simply are too afraid to...

THINK!

Face it, folks... Your church is not a symbol of your faith.  And if you need "faith" to get you through your day, you are a pathetic sack of yak shit who has not figured out that the ONLY god is the one in your mirror.  Unfortunately for YOU, you probably have spent a lifetime having "faith" in some other god that some other numbnuts has shoved down your throat, and maybe it's too late for you to ever wake up.  So you'll go on living in fear and selling it to others in the form of your "political" opinions.  You'll go on thinking the earth is flat and that it was a "mistake" to allow women and blacks to vote, and without a doubt, you'll go on believing that all queers go to hell and maybe you'll never even question WHY you believe that drivel?

You believe it because you were programmed to believe it.  Period.

Other cultures believe god is a woman.  Other cultures believe all Americans are heretics who should be slaughtered.  Geee... how does THAT feel?  You should be slaughtered in the name of someone else's God?  Makes you squirm, I suspect, when the shoe is on the other foot.  What if you should be slaughtered because you are Jewish or Muslim or Christian or Buddhist, or, simply, "different" than the majority?  (We've been down THAT road a few times - all in the name of someone's God).  What then?  Where is your god?  Whose god is right in that case?  Do the gods go to war to decide such things?  Or do they sit back and laugh at the antics of the imbeciles who sit around dreaming this crap up?  Or, if the gods are us, does there EVER come a time when we wake up and take control of our own lives, and stop handing our power off to some megalomaniac on an imaginary throne in some fanciful idea of "heaven"?

God doesn't love you.  God doesn't give a damn.

And that's because you don't love yourself, and YOU don't give a damn about yourself.  Get it.  God is a reflection of YOU - so as long as you are acting like a hate-mongering, fear-driven, religion-controlled MORON, you are going to live in hate and fear and continue to be controlled.  Geee - simple! 

Get.  Real.

Think.

If you honestly BELIEVE gay marriage threatens you, you really MUST stop and ask yourself WHY you believe that?  If you track it (if you have the courage to dig deep) you will find that it stems from a program someone put onto you when you weren't looking, when you weren't paying attention, when you were out fucking your neighbor's wife and lying to your mother - you know, when you were off breaking all of those 10 commandments you pretend to uphold. 

Thou shalt not kill.  (How many have you killed by neglect, or through "human sacrifice"?)

Thou shalt not steal.  (How many have you oppressed in the name of your god, robbing them of their right to thrive, their right to love?)

Thou shalt not bear false witness. (Don't lie - for the unenlightend).  (How many lies have you passed along because you simply aren't thinking?  How many times have you said, "Jesus loves you," to a bum on the street, instead of giving him a goddamn dollar to put food in his belly?  How many times a day do you lie to YOURSELF to avoid having to...

THINK!

Thou shalt have no other gods before me.  Now this is a biggie!  God is a petty little dictator?  If he is The Almighty, The Great I-Am... then it seems to me that he wouldn't need to sit around dictating that his followers have to be true only to him. Sounds more like an abusive husband with one hand on the belt and the other on his dick.  Insecurity issues, perhaps?  Or, far more likely, is this the writing of a man, using the image of "God" to control an unruly population at a time in earth's history when cooperation was required by all, even if it meant lying and fear-mongering to get it?  We're no longer a global population of 500.  We are 6 billion strong - and seemingly 5.5 billion "weak-minded".  But let's face it... if your god is worried and jealous and fearful... he needs a shrink, not a bunch of zombie-eyed followers.  God is starting to sound like Chuck Manson far more than any benevolent leader I would want to follow.  But then again... I am one who prefers to...

THINK!

The other danger is that this whole issue is not only about "gay rights".  It is about HUMAN rights.  Sooner or later, someone will step on YOUR pecker, but by then it will be too late. Maybe you will even be dumb enough to believe "It's God's will."  Depends on how deep your programming and comfort zones are imbedded.  It's up to you.  It always has been.  (Ah, but there I just broke the first commandment and proclaimed myself as God... and undoubtedly that outrages you and fills you with fear because somewhere, deep down inside, you know it's true.  You know YOU are God... but you're just too fucking scared to take responsibility for that, so you go on "believing" and having "faith" and "praying" and making human sacrifices).

How long before somebody tells you that you can't get married because you are pagan?  Because you are an atheist?  Because you don't intend to have children?  How long before some religious cult (yes, the Catholic church is the largest cult on Earth) tells you that you MUST have children, and if you can't, you should be put to death?  Where does it stop?  Where does the tyranny of religion end?  With YOU.  No place else.  Don't wait for someone else to do it for you.  Just...

Think.

If YOU don't think, who is going to do it for you?  Are you going to allow the church or the government to tell you who you are and what you believe?  Are you going to rely on some quasi-religious notion of having your soul yanked out of your Lexus at the time of the rapture, so that you, too, will go to met God face to face?  That makes LOTS of sense.

Christ. If you believe that, I feel sorry for you, because you have lost yourself to a cult.  Think about it. 

Just fucking THINK.

Only then will you stop contributing to the ultimate sin - keeping someone else from thriving (especially yourself!).  Only then will you have some small hope of finding out who YOU are, instead of blindly following what others WANT you to be.  Only then will you stop committing human sacrifice.  And ONLY then will you be free of the tyranny of your god, your cult, and your programming.

THINK!

The destruction of faith is the beginning of evolution.

Don't take my word for it.  Do it for yourself.

Thou art god: create yourself accordingly!

I have largely come to the conclusion that abdicating from the world of matter and men may be the very best thing a warrior can do - though I am fairly certain many here will disagree at some level.  And yet...

Several years ago, it began to occur to me that I had essentially become segregated from the world and, as a result, from most people.  At first, I experienced a small amount of alarm at this realization - I have no friends by the traditional definition, no social groups with whom I interact regularly (or even irregularly), nor do I watch television, listen to the radio, or go to church.  My initial reaction to that observation was to scold myself - "Self, you've become a hermit!  Not only do you not HAVE any friends, you do not appear to MISS having friends!"

And yet...

When I was brutally honest with myself, I also came to realize that this seemingly "sad" state of affairs had been arrived at solely through my own choices AND my own desires.  And, perhaps worst of all, I was and AM quite content with this. In other words, it wasn't that I had "lost" all my friends, or even lost interest in the world at large.  More accurately, I have found that once a warrior sees through the illusions, delusions, political dramas, world wars, pseudo-terrorism, economic crises and the like, the warrior has a tendency to end up living somewhere in an isolated environment, not unlike don Juan and his little shack in the desert.  And, in my opinion, that is a good thing in the grand scheme of things if one is truly serious about BE-ING a warrior, as opposed to just talking like a warrior.

I can honestly say that I would know nothing of the current economic crisis (oh, those fearful words!) if others had not brought it to my attention.  That's one of the perks of not being plugged into the consensus reality through the comforting teat of the terror-tube.  Gives new meaning to the old cliche - "What we don't know won't hurt us."  *heh*  And, again, I'm fairly certain many here will raise the argument of "Forearmed is forearmed," or something to the effect...

And yet...

Over the past year, our business has continued to do well, even though we are what might be called a "luxury"-based business - IOW, the things we sell are definitely NOT essentials.  Clothing, jewelry, little indulgences for the kiddies... absolutely nothing of value whatsoever.  And obviously, those are the types of business which are the first to fail in a bad economy.

So I ask myself... to what extent does my own mindset contribute to all of this?  In other words, had I been more aware of "The Economic Crisis" (be afraid, be very afraid), is it possible that my own fears would have caused me to take a different course of action, and perhaps ended up thwarting myself in the process?  For example, a lot of our acquaintances in the business have said they "cannot afford to restock" because they are essentially hoarding what little money they make for "survival".  On the other hand, Wendy and I have restocked freely over the past few months (even moreso than usual, it seems), and as a result, we have the merchandise to offer to customers, whereas our competitors may be beginning to appear shopworn - IOW, victims of their own fears.  By failing to restock, a self-fulfilling prophecy comes into being... and I have to wonder if it ever would have happened in that manner had they NOT been so keenly aware of that Economic Crisis (be afraid, be very VERY afraid!)

We like to tell ourselves that awareness is always the key - and, indeed, that is a true statement.  And yet... when stalking the consensus reality, it certainly seems to me that there are times when one simply needs to walk away from the fear, turn a deaf ear to the blathering media, ignore all the predictions of doom and gloom by the analysts, and simply DO the right thing in whatever one's individual position might be.  It's when we start living in fear that we start hoarding - so the seeds for next year's harvest may be squirreled away for times of famine, and one has to ask, is the famine even REAL at the level where we ourselves exist? And if the seeds are never planted, where will next year's crops come from?

I've said before, with regard to politics, that I no longer vote, nor do I give a fat rat's patootie about who will end up in the white house in November.  It isn't because I am an irresponsible fuck that I walked away from all of that - it's BECAUSE of the warrior-stalker's ever-present awareness, the brutal knowledge that my vote is not going to change the world, nor is yours.  Idealistically, it could be argued otherwise.  But reality has proven otherwise just within the past few years - i.e., the guy who actually WON the last election was shoved aside when the electoral college (aka "The Fixers") were called in to clean up the mess made by the American public (read: we didn't vote the way we were "supposta").

So... having clearly seen what happens when the people go against the powers that be, it just seems to me that ANY investment of energy in the process of voting or politics is entirely folly - and not the least bit "controlled" folly.  Simple.  Folly.  Period.  The ultimate no-win scenario.  No matter which way you bend over, you're still going to get... well... you get the picture, yes?

Okay... that being the said, it also seems to me that this current Economic Crisis (run for the hills! pur your money in a sock! be afraid, be very very VERY afraid!) is being played up with all the usual pomp and circumstance that precedes any major election, but may not be any more "real" than the gas shortage of '73 or the notion of a lone gunman in the Kennedy assassination.  I mean - really! - what would happen if they gave a crisis and nobody bought into it?  What would happen if we all just turned off our television sets and went about our day to day affairs as if none of it were happening?

Well, Della, that's a bit naive, isn't it?

I dunno.  IS it?  My point here is simply this:  are there times when too much information - particularly too much FALSE information - may actually cause us to panic, and in our panic, create that self-fulfilling prophecy which says, "The sky is falling!?"  IOW, would the sky fall at all if everyone could just carry on, doing their impeccable best, rather than trying to speculate and prepare for some imagined crisis that seems to be far more of shell game for the power brokers than anything else?  We hear terms like bail-out and economic collapse and the like, but is there anything we can actually DO about it?  Pull our money out of banks and stick it in the mattress?  And, what would that solve?  And what other problems would it create in the big picture?  Self-fulfilling prophecies are the most dangerous of all, for there is a certain grim satisfaction in being able to say, "See, I told you so!"  And yet... somehow I don't think I'd feel right predicting the sinking of a ship if I then went out and sank the ship just so I COULD say, "see... told you so!"

The point is simply this.  Do.  Not.  Engage.

Or, if you are going to insist on believing that your vote matters or your awareness of every detail of The Economic Downfall of America is going to somehow make you a better person, then at least try to keep it in perspective.  A warrior's perspective.  Which states, very simply:  "In a thousand years, it won't make any difference."

Folly.

There are some who do not like to acknowledge that everything in our world is folly, because once we acknowledge that, it is a huge blow to our ego, and often a crushing blow to our self-importance.  We want-to-believe we are going to make a difference, our vote will count, rah rah rah and wave the flag for freedom, but the ultimate (and ugly) reality is that we'd might as well be playing with Monopoly money and moving our litle chits along the board game of Life.

A grim outlook?  Hardly!  When a warrior is finally able to *see* that it's all just a crazy game, there is a sense of freedom which goes beyond the ability of words to express.  Sure, I still maintain my responsibilities to my life, my family and the things I care about - but I do so largely BECAUSE I am "in" this world, but no longer "part" of this world.  I make no apologies.  I feel no remorse.  I don't accept guilt trips.  I simply do not find it beneficial or productive to "care" about the things I cannot change, particularly when it is so blatantly obvious that the problems which have been created at the highest possible level will not be solved as a result of me turning my attention to it.

I realize (and respect) that there are many warriors out there who believe that our "involvement" in such things are part of the path, but that has not been the case for me, and to be brutally honest, I'm not sure it's the case for anyone who is wholly committed to the path of self-evolution.  Reason being - if I were to devote the kind of time and energy it would require to address the "problems of the here and now" (economics, war, famine, meth, illiteracy & stupidity, just to name a few), I would have no time at all to devote to my own pursuits.  And let's face it:  when it's just me and the eagle, I'm not going to have a whole lot of concern about what I did to try to 'save the world'.  The eagle ain't keeping score, and death isn't advising me to go out and campaign for the latest joker in the three ring circus.  I have more important things to do - and so do you.

So in that regard, I have to say that a warrior chooses her battles and her battlefields.  When I place myself in alignment with "the right way to live" in regard to these issues, what inevitably comes to me is that our responsibility is not to "the world" (which is little more than a series of illusions strung together like so much xmas popcorn), but to the self, and to those who might cross our path.  I have always found that there is never a shortage of problems "close to home" as it were - people (and I consider animals to be people, too) who just seem to naturally come into my field of vision, and whom I might actually be able to help on some minor level.

I don't have to go out looking for souls to save or causes to engage.  It's all right here - as Dorothy said - "right in my own back yard."  Sure, even that is only controlled folly, but at least it may actually serve to enhance my own awareness while simultaneously serving another's, so there is some mutual benefit to the engagement, which seems to indicate an efficient use of energy - far moreso than banging one's head against the political arena or trying to vaguely understand or even wrap one's mind around the sum of trillions of dollars of debt.

In the 60s, there was much talk of "getting involved."  Luckily, I have grown older and hopefully somewhat wiser.  The only winning move is not to play.

Your mileage may vary.

   

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights 
 

It's not that I don't have anything to say these days - just that the majority of what I have been observing has either been said before, or there seems to be litle point in tossing words up on a screen just to see them appear like magickal talismans on the cyber-fabric of some internet chat room or forum.  I hear myself asking... "What's the point?"  Obviously, there is none, and so I return to the silence and simply observe the flow of life and death and all that falls in between those two sticky-labels, and the real truth is that it is all too damn big to talk about except to grab at litle bits and pieces which might move the heart or stir the soul at some point in an otherwise insignificant day.

Over the course of the last few months, there have been dialogues here and on other forums that may have caught my attention briefly, but even when I have felt motivated to respond to them, it all comes down to that same question:  "What is the point?"  I have concluded that forums and chat rooms are not really places where we learn much, if anything at all.  Most often, they are cyberlounges for folks on a similar path, and that can have a certain appeal and perhaps even some minor value, but I have also come to realize that any real learning that is going to happen will most likely happen in a one-on-one environment, person to person, face to face.  Doesn't mater.  Just my observation.  Something I am choosing to talk to myself about here in this blog folder where there is no attempt to justify anything, and no need to apologize for any feathers that may choose to become ruffled by my mumblings.  These are simply my thoughts.  You are free to disagree.

Disagree.  An interesting word, and one often heard on forums.  Sometimes it has started to seem to me that people choose to disagree not necessarily because they really do disagree, but because in disagreeing with someone, a platform of dualism is created, wherein a debate may ensue - you say black, I say white, and the debate is on, wherein each of us attempts to define our position and - just perhaps - there is some underlying attempt to define the self through the debate. 

But... is that really the self at all?  If you convince me that black is white or I convince you that the sky is not really blue at all, what has really been accomplished?  Perhaps some belief systems shift slightly, but ultimately they are still beliefs.  Life goes on.  Kingdoms come and go.  Cemeteries fill up.  And what we believe about it all is little more than what amount to a critical review one might write after seeing a particularly silly play in some high school drama production. 

Heh.  People don't want to hear that.  They want to go right on with the comfort of their belief systems, and who am I or you to tell them otherwise?  I've put what amounts to an inventory of my own "belief systems" on my website, Quantum Shaman.  Anyone can read them.  Agree or disagree.  Makes very little difference to me in the big picture.  Your agreement will not strengthen my reality - though for some truly bizarre reason, we seemed to be programed as a species to believe otherwise.  Thus, we are always seeking some sort of agreement - some sort of consensus, some sort of resonance.  And yet... does it ever really happen?  And if it does... what does it actually accomplish?  Just questions I ask myself from time to time when I read something on one of these forums that either pleases me or rankles me.  So what if I agree, disagree, or have no opinion whatsoever?  Nothing changes in Pismo either way, and so the question becomes one of what might be called "confidence" in our own unique reality.

In some ways, I've spent the past 8 years testing my personal "foundation" (my own unique reality) in these forums. Putting my experiences out there in the form of my website, my book, and my forums has been a means of assimilation for me - rocky and treacherous at times, loving and supportive at others.  And still... what really matters is what's inside myself.  Does the foundation hold?  Has the assimilation brought me any closer to a personal synthesis of The Meaning of Life?  Difficult question to answer in a yes/no fashion.  Ultimately, I have no regrets, but at the same time, we come to a point in our journeys where we realize that we have used a certain tool until it has become dull and ineffective.  So, after these past 8 years, what I have discovered is that my foundation is firm, my experiences (and not my beliefs) are the basis for my reality, and that the core of my beliefs determines the realities we see, and obliterates those we choose to ignore.

A contradiction?  Perhaps.  Who cares, eh?

Two nights ago, a visitor came into my office late at night.  At first I believed she was a bat because she flew like a bat and looked like a bat.  I am not afraid of bats, so I made no effort to harm her, and when I finally got a good look at her, I realized she was actually some manner of large gypsy moth - probably attracted to the light streaming out through the open door leading into the courtyard.  She flew around the ceiling light for awhile, but then came and landed on my head.  Just because of her size (about as large as my hand), I could feel the weight of her.  Kinda funny, as she crawled around in my hair.  She would fly away at times, but always kept returning to land on me.  I took it as an honor and tried to listen in case she might have something to teach.  But my hearing wasn't so good for moth-speak, and so I simply sank into the experience of the moth herself.  Took a few pics...

At one point, I took her back outside and released her to the night, even left the porch light on to attract some bugs for her to eat, but she came back in and once again perched on my arm.  Hmm.  Impossible to describe, but we communed at some level beyond humanform.  She said she was looking for sanctuary, and so I left her in my office when I went to bed.  And yet, I realized I couldn't sleep because I was thinking about this strange moth (not even indigenous to this area, or so I'm told, not sure about that).  Got up out of my comfy bed and returned to my office to find her sitting in my chair.  So we regarded one another for awhile, until she flew back up to the ceiling and I returned to bed.  Next morning, she was gazing out the window, and so I gathered her up on a piece of paper and took her back outside.  She flew up under the eaves where she blended exquisitely with the natural wood, stayed there for several hours, then apparently flew away.  Haven't seen her since, yet the experience remains with me and causes me to smile whenever I think of it.

Strange encounter.  An encounter with the nagual.  Perhaps.  Yet entirely mundane if viewed only from the perspective of the tonal. 

Funny thing...  I woke the next morning (yesterday) feeling as if I were 18 again.  My body felt lighter.  My eyes seemed brighter.  Tested my blood sugar only to find it was higher than normal.  Just numbers, I heard my mind say.  Agreements.  A consensus to which one either agrees or disagrees.  I choose to disagree, with the awareness that there are consequences to any choice we make.  I felt better than I had felt in years, so it seemed to me that the numbers could be just an attempt to pull me back into the agreement.  I chose not to play.  Fuck the numbers.

In the other room, Wendy is watching the tube, and I hear the chattering drone like a bee buzzing around some particularly tasty flower.  Ask your doctor.  You are sick.  Be afraid.  Global warming.  Can't sleep, try this pill, even though the side effects may include jumping off a tall building in your stupor or gunning down innocent children on a playground in your delusional state.  This drug. That treatment.  This ailment.  That cure.

Programming of the mind.  First we make you believe you are sick, and then we offer you the cure, but it's not really a cure, because it if were, you would no longer be sick and that would not be profitable, so back to square one, and remember to ask your doctor about the treatment plans available to deal with the side effects of the cure, so now you're even sicker than before, but you agreed to agree, so now we have you by the balls.

We take pills for our ills and put gas in our tank (at $4.50+/gallon) just to get to work, so we can afford to buy the gas to put in our tank to get to work, and all I can do is marvel at the fact that the world keeps turning and humans keep upholding the very programs which hold them as slaves.  For surely we must all realize somewhere deep in the heart of ourselves that this is not real.  I mean... if I see it, surely others must see it as well, right? 

What to do?  Nothing, perhaps.  I could start a revolution and suggest that we each throw a gallon of gas in the bay like our forefathers threw all that tea in the harbor, but that would only add to the pollution, and so we just keep on keeping on even though the system is clearly broken and the hounds of hell who professs to be "in charge" are really only sitting back laughing at the complacency of a population that seems to willingly bend over every time some new tax is imposed or some new war is contrived.

Ever see WAG THE DOG?  Great little movie.  Hoffman.  DeNiro.  Basically the story of how everything we think is real is just manufactured in some Hollywood studio and sold to us on the 6 o'clock evening news, like so much toilet paper and deodorant.  What's amazing to me is that so many buy into it so easily.  Suddenly we are fighting a war on terrorism, when the greatest terrorists of all are those selling us the lies in a plain brown wrapper labeled "truth", when to anyone who *sees*, there is no doubt whatsoever that every bloody shred of it is illusion re-dressed in such a maner as to make it palatable so that we will swallow it right along with all those pills, and keep on smiling when we bend over to take it up the ass yet one more time from the latest tyrant with an agenda to peddle.

And yet...

Does it matter to me?  Not in the least.  I quit voting for good when the guy I voted for actually WON the election, but never took office.  That's one of those times when the illusion-masters slipped up and we got a peek at the man behind the curtain; but instead of staging a revolt, most just went to work the next day (and the day after that and the day after that), pretending the wizard was really the wizard even though they had clearly seen him for precisely what he was:  a fraud, a cheat, a lie.  The funny thing is that we fraud ourselves, we cheat ourselves, and we lie to ourselves, because it is far, far, FAR easier than looking the illusion in the face and seeing it for what it is.  So, we choose to go on believing it's real because that "feels" better, and we are indulgent little bastards who crave our comforts like a baby craving mama's teat.

But no matter...  All a warrior can do is laugh or cry, maybe a bit of both, knowing full well that neither will make one iota of difference in the big picture of The Meaning of Life.  All of these plays and illusions are altogether irrelevant when all is said and done, for these "interesting times" in which we live are but a drop in the bucket of the All, just little dramas to amuse ourselves while we wait in the darkness for the touch of Death on our left shoulder, having long-ago accepted that "all things die", when we have absolutely NO personal experience in that regard, only the belief system coupled with the "evidence" that has been shoved down our throats by well-meanig parents & peers since before we first crawled out of the womb to begin the trek toward the grave. Why do we accept the programming we are given?  Ah, that's the question, isn't it?  We believe we will die, and so we live accordingly.  We believe the sun will rise tomorrow and there will be enough oil in our tanks and water in our piles, and so we live accordingly.  We believe... but what do we really Know?

Not much.  Maybe nothing.

If there is any meaning, it is in what we decide as individuals.  If I choose to find meanig in my meeting with the moth, it is no more or less significant than the bombing of the World Trade Center or the war in Iraq.   If I choose to disagree with all of the consensual agreements, nothing will change in Pismo anymore than if I should choose to agree with the consensus. 

Out there beyond my window, the world is simply what I experience of it.  In here, within myself, the world is what I experience of it.  Everything begins with a thought.  From that thought, we choose to act with intent, or to remain passive observers.  Which is right?  Which is wrong?  Where is the consensus?  What would don Juan say?  What would Jesus do?  What would Buddha think?

Who cares.

Believe what empowers you.  Manifest what serves you.  Throw the map away.  Burn the paradigms that enslave you even and especially if you love them.  Get rid of the toxic elements in your life.  And, most of all, remember to breathe.  

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights 

The demons are back again.

But as I look at those words on this cyberpage, I cannot help but see the programs inherent even in that single sentence. To call them demons is to relegate them to some nether-realm of imagined evil, replete with gargoyles and denizens of the night. To say they are "back again" implies that they went away, but it would be far more accurate to say that I had succeeded for a short time in ignoring them, dissipating their energy, failing to heed their siren call.

What are the demons? Impossible to say in a single word. Foolhardy to try to wrap reason around the irrational. So I simply observe and record and record and observe, and somewhere in the equation the actual experience of the demons occurs. Demons. Hmmm. Shitty word, but what else does one call those things which rattle our foundation and disturb our comfort zones?

There is a pervading sadness at times - a warrior's melancholy, as DJM called it. Orlando has referred to it as a chill which falls upon the spirit from time to time, and may linger like midwinter's frost. We tell ourselves things are unfolding as they should, as they must, and all that other yada which we come to accept, but there is something inside of me that observes all of these machinations of life and death and dying and living, and deep inside - far deeper, beyond the layers of The Program - there is simply a Knowing that goes soul-deep, which says, "This is the way things are, but is that truth because it really IS truth, or is it true because that is the program to which we have agreed - the consensus matrix, six billion strong, which is like a heavy gravity pulling everything into its own mass in the same way a black hole sucks in even the light.

"The matrix is flawed," the voice of gnosis whispers as I sit with Wendy at a local restaurant, eating lunch in what would appear to be the most normal of settings, the most natural thing in all the worlds to be doing on a Tuesday afternoon of no special significance.

These words come as no surprise to me. I have known for well over 20 years now just how flawed the matrix really is. We accept the unacceptable. We tolerate the intolerable. We do the absurd because everyone else is doing it. And we go to bed at night and tell ourselves it'll all make sense in the end.

Will it?

I'm not so sure. I stand outside the box and observe sometimes, feeling rather like a spectator sitting on an iceberg watching Titanic sink. The chaos. The fear. And the sublime insanity of the band still playing while the waters are rising.

Are we any different?

Whether we work for ourselves or someone else, most of us get up in the morning, put on the trappings of our profession, and trudge off to the salt mines to procure ore which may be traded for bread and shelter. And yet, the band is still playing out there somewhere, and the waters are rising, but we find that comfort zone of distraction where the demons can't find us for awhile. Maybe it's tv or family or friends or the bottom of a bottle of Jack Daniels, but we find ways to convince ourselves that the sun will rise tomorrow, and the day after that, and the day after that, and in our false sense of immortality, we fail to recognize that we are generating our own mortality through the very process of ignoring it.

So I sit there over lunch, telling Wendy about these equations that sometimes run through my head like so much live feed from a ticker. Though *seen* as numbers and letters (algebra - the bain of my 8th grade life), there is an accompanying Knowing that what I am actually *seeing* is the "fix-it" code which would repair that aofrementioned flaw in the matrix. Yeah, yeah, tell me I'm full of shit, or pass it off to ego or self-aggrandizement, but I tell you this, folks: it's right there in front of us. I'm not special. Anyone who chooses to face those demons can *see* it, too - and maybe someone out there would have a better understanding of the equation than I do.

What ARE the equations? Impossible to translate, for they are often strings of formulae with hundreds of integers. What do they MEAN? In essence, if I had to translate the purpose of the equation into humanform words, I would simply say that it is an equation of consciousness, and it is attempting to show us how to turn sideways from this world of the matrix, into the higher awareness of the full power & potential of our spirit. It is the equation of don Juan's "burning with the fire from within," and yet it is a great deal more than that, too. It is the equation for the assemblage point of our individual singularity - the "how-to" manual downloaded in the universal language of math.

...but I am not a mathematician, and so I can only intuit at the quantum level what is being shown, and open myself to those taunting demons which continue to insist: "There is a flaw in the matrix which has trapped the collective unconsccious in the heavy gravity of its misperceived mortality, and by virtue of BE-ING in the trap, that is the reality which is then created, manifested, and maintained."

The equation, then, is the key to unlocking the door to freedom, and the frustrating thing is knowing that I am not the first person to *see* these equations. Wendy reminds me as we sit there sipping diet coke in a setting that is so utterly cmmonplace, that Philip K. Dick was also haunted with similar visions - a Knowing that went beyond information, and was delivered nightly to Phil in the form of dreams, visions and letters from his own personal demons.

Those demons again. Telling us that the 54" plasma tv can't save us, no matter how pleasant and comforting its flickering blue glow. Those demons again. Reminding us that time is a humanfoirm construct which is slowly but inevitably digesting our organic form, that the winkles on the mirror are hatchmarks on the belt of Time, and day by day we are losing the battle with our first and best advisor: death himself. Those demons... whispering their siren-call of possibility, shattering all those old comfort zones, wherein we could tell ourselves that we are already immortal or already enlightened or already beyond the reach of death. Yet when we are brutally honest with ourselves, when the equations have stripped away all the fluff and flutter and reduced everything to simple math, when we are standing stark face to face with the mirror of time and the clarity of a raven's eye, we see that the oldest truth still remains true: all things exist within the realm of possibility, but only some things will be forced to go through the motions of actually occurring.

If we do not open the door, we remain in stasis. If we do not face the demons, they go away, leaving us to our apple pie ala mode and our cheerful hobbies and our dutiful distractions; and though we might tell ourselves we have simply "grown up" and accepted the way things are, I cannot help but think that those are the words Death puts in our mouth from the time we are old enough to understand. The program incarnate. "It's just the way things are." Yeah - says who, and why would we believe it?

Philip K. Dick wrote his equations and his visions as short stories and novels. Jim Morrison wrote his as music. Rumi expressed his as poetry.

And they are all dead now.

The equation is not a metaphor, but a quantifiable and actionable solution. I don't even think it's necessary to fully "grok" the math itself - for the thing about universal languages is that they are most likely hard-wired into our very being in the same way fear of fire is hard-wired into our instincts.

So I look at the world and see the code in the same way Neo saw the code of the matrix. It is the programs which hold us prisoners to our belief systems. And it is the demons of spiritual discomfort which have the power to free us from those programs.

On the outskirts of farmland along the I-99 in central California, there is a shabby pink motel which looks out over a massie almond grove. This time of year, the white blossoms are heavy on the trees, and fall like snow in the cool morning breezes. Such a vision of dichotomy, that shabby old motel and that expansive grove where a man on a tractor moves up and down the rows, tending to whatever it is one tends to with petals shedding and bees buzzing and traffic racing up and down that well-worn highway, going nowhere, coming from nowhere, cycling like the seasons. 


That moment was perfect somehow. Eternal. And yet... as Roy Batty said at the end of Bladerunner, "...all these things will be lost, like tears in the rain."

Perhaps not surprisingly, words written by Philip K. Dick, who also saw the demons and railed at the programs and struggled with his own equations until the day he died.

Life goes on, of course. I got up this morning, took the dogs out for a walk, dressed and showered and landed in front of the computer because that is my habit, my comfort zone. But the demons are still out there, still whispering their equations, reminders that the world is nothing like we have been taught to believe.

The Joshua trees are blooming heavily. Snow clings to the mountains in the distance.

Somewhere in the coding is the door. Somewhere in the self, the door opens.

Somewhere in the program is the Knowledge to shatter the program itself. 

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs

       
All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

At this point, I'm maintaining this rant thread primarily for my own amusement - what I consider to be a log/blog of "Life in the Nuthouse".  *heh*...  So with that said, I can only add that much of what is said here is little more than a rant, a vent, a way of blowing off steam so as to avoid blowing off heads.  *bwahaha*  All questions are rhetorical & do not require attempts at guidance or even an "oh-poor-baby".  Just venting... a healthy practice, I think, given a bad name in recent years.  Ah well... that's part of the program, too, eh?

So... can anyone really explain why it is that every time I have to deal with Verizon - an allegedly "service-oriented company" - I find myself jumping through hoops, running through a maze, waiting for hours on hold while the canned recording plays "I can't get no satisfaction", interrupted only by the annoyingly sweet voice of the cyberbitch telling me how important my call is to them, and that my projected wait time is now only 45 more minutes. ???  Okay, folks, I'm not talking about once in awhile.  I am talking about... every.  damn.  time. 

Less than a year ago, we bought a PC air card for our laptop with a 1 year warranty, so when I called the store where I purchased it to tell them it had given up the ghost and could only be contacted on a Ouija board, I was told by the polite gentleman that I would need to take the device to the nearest "company store" (as opposed to those nasty little kiosks all over the malls bearing the Verizon logo but literally having nothing whatsoever to do with Verizon), where the device would be "replaced, since it is still under warranty."

Well, the nearest company store is an hour's drive from here, but after a long day at the store yesterday (which included getting a $275 bad check from a self-indulgent bitch buying absolutely nothing she needed but only "desired", and passing us a slip of worthless paper to pay for her addictions), I packed up the Verizon air card and headed out in the darkness to The Mall in Rancho Mirage (aka Snowbird Roost Central) where this company store was allegedly located.

Upon finally finding the place and securing only minor threats to body & soul in the process of attempting to find a place to park, we walked in to find an overly polite gentleman with a clipboard who offered to "help" me.  Always a sure sign that one is in trouble is when someone is standing at the door offering assistance.  That should have been a dead give-away, but for the sake of stalking, I decided to play along.  We were quickly informed after stating our problem that "We don't do that here, ma'am, you'll have to call tech support," but if I wanted to wait and talk to a representative, the wait would be a mere 30 minutes.  He seemed to think that was good.  And never mind that I had already tried to call tech support but gave up after repeated attempts resulted in utter futility.

I stood there for a moment staring at this man as if he were a 3-horned amoeba, and then I politely informed him that for a service-oriented company, their service was somewhat comparable to being sucked dry by leeches.  Not only had a Verizon rep sent me to the "company store" after an hour's drive, but now Verizon's company store was telling me that the warranty was only for 30 days, even though I was holding the receipt in my hand which stated in bold Helvetica lettering:  "1 Year Warranty". 

It was this gentleman's suggestion that if I didn't want to wait, I could drive over to The Other Mall about 2 miles away where the wait time had been "minimal".  I could only imagine.  But we drove over to That Other Mall, only to find 3 Verizon locations.  Two kiosks and what appeared to be a store.  The boy-toys at the first kiosk boldly lied and told us they were the ONLY location in the mall - clearly a feeding frenzy of dog-eat-dog in the competitive cell phone market.  But even when we eventually found the portal to "the company store", the too-skinny girlette at the counter made it quickly obvious that despite the fact that she was mouthing the words, "May I help you?", her intent was anything but to help. 

At this point, it had become sport, so admittedly I began leaning on her buttons.  I politely asked if she was aware that that the company she worked for seemed to be in the business of crafting ever-more-creative ways of refusing service rather than doing the simple route of providing service.  I asked her point blank (with a smile) if she was trained to see how many customers she could turn away without resolving their problem, and if, in fact, she was paid a commission bonus for every incident of same.  She quickly became flabbergasted, as young gum-smacking twits are wont to do, and threatened to call security.  *heh*  I could only laugh and suggest that perhaps that would be a grand idea, since I had isolated a huge scam taking place right out in the open at every mall in this country and many others, calling itself "Verizon Wireless Services."  Certainly, I suggested, security would want to know about that!  Call the militia!  Call the president!  Certainly something can be done!

Whether she called security or not, I do not know or care.  We left shortly after, having validated that at the deepest possible levels, (now repeat after me), "The world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are running the asylum."

Okay... so in desperation, we drove back over to the Verizon kiosk inside the Circuit City where we originally purchased the air card, and surprisingly enough the gentleman who had originally sold us the card was on duty.  He couldn't help us either, of course, but at least he was able to provide a phone number allegedly for "a different branch of tech support" - though attempts so far to reach the number have resulted in nothing but a ringing phone.  Verizon has lots of phones, I presume.  Maybe somewhere someone actually answers them, but I have seen no evidence.

So... after all of the escapades, I am still left holding a device that doesn't work, and required to pay $59/month for it lest I be in breach of contract.  Never mind that the contract implies that one might actually receive the service for which they are paying, so perhaps I need to secure a lawyer and have him do some digging into Verizon's responsibility for "breach of contract."

So why am I bitching about this?  One reason and one only... I am frankly tired of all the pablam wherein we tell each other, "Its just the world we live in," or "It's just the way things are."  There is a reason it's this way, and that reason is, simply, apathy with a healthy dose of timidity thrown in.  Translated:  we have simply gotten used to putting up with this kind of corporate level bullshit, and the attempt is made to intimidate the customer into thinking it's somehow our fault when their service or product is clearly faulty and clearly still under warranty.

What to do?  Stop putting up with it.  When I finally got terse and intense with the girlette at the counter last night, I actually saw her wake up for a moment and realize that perhaps the rhetoric she was selling in lieu of service was just rhetoric.  It was one of those little jolts people do when they are startled - their eyes blink and go wide as if someone just poked them in the arse with a tack, and there's a brief but noticeable "gap" in their attention at those moments when - just maybe - they are forced to see their narrow world in just a bit broader perspective.  If everyone just remains calm and in the comforting confines of The Program, nothing will ever change, except to get worse, and I can tell you from experience that this is not the world most of us grew up in, and - to shatter a few illusions - it is not a better world. 

We live in a culture that has lost its soul, surrounded by sheeple who uphold that program.  No, it's not up to us to change the world, perhaps, but I do believe that when this kind of crap is allowed to continue as if it's okay, it actually becomes okay for the social-normal... and I think we can all see where this has already become a huge problem.

There may not be a solution, but there is clearly a problem.  Sorry, but I refuse to buy into the platitude of, "Oh, Della, it's just how the world is."  Maybe true - but it isn't how the world must be.  It's a choice.  So... while there may not be a solution, I just do not intend to be part of the problem through practicing the polite acquiescence of an intimidated sheeple. 

As long as everybody just puts up with it, the message being transmitted is that we are okay with it.  So maybe it's time to stop being so agreeable, time to stop being so okay when yet one more corporate mega-giant tells us to bend over.  Think about it.  Anyone over the age of 30 probably remembers a different world.  Would you ever have been asked to wait for an hour to speak to customer service?  Would a company ever tell the consumer that the warranty is worthless?  If you called the phone company, would someone answer the phone?

Think about it.  And next time it happens to you, ask yourself if you really are the agreeable person you're pretending to be, or if it's just what's expected of you by "society".  How much are you willing to put up with?  Really?

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

In our store, the sign on the wall is easy to read:  "Exchanges only, within 7 days, receipt required."  How hard is that?

So why does it seem that at least 4 times a day, someone comes through that door with their little plastic sack in their hand, pumped up on attitude, demanding to return something which was purchased 3 months in the past; an item for which they have no receipt; and often an item that has clearly been worn, broken, or abused...   Yet there they are with their jaw firmly set and their squawling baby at their feet, telling me they never got a receipt, the item was broken when they bought it, or the dress was only worn once, to church, but was removed immediately afterward in the back of a pick-up to facilitate a quickie hump-hump with the preacher's son.

Er... do I care?  And why is it my problem? 

This afternoon, a woman rattles through the door, and even before I looked up, I sensed trouble.  Annoying when one's perceptions are painfully accurate in such matters, but at least it came as no surprise when she flopped a 3-month old purchase down on the counter and launched into her schpiel about why she had no receipt, no proof of purchase at all, and the item had been discontinued at the end of September at a close-out price.  But she should be given a full credit, she insisted in her midwesterner accent, and all at once, I found myself out of patience and having no more stamina to deal with The Cranky Cow or any of her fat, ugly stepsisters who were digging through the candy dish and tossing the spent wrappers on the floor.

It was a good thing Wendy was present.  I more or less told The Cranky Cow to do whatever she pleased, for after all, she was clearly special in the blind eye of God, and then I went about doing what I had been doing before she blew through the door like some witch on a wicked wind.  So she wandered around for awhile, selecting just enough NEW merchandise to offset the item she no longer wanted, and I was spared having to deal with her... until she came waddling up to me and had the audacity to put her pudgy little stumps around me and say with all the affected sweetness of a saccharin tablet, "Oh, I just want to thank you for doing this for me, honey.  It won't happen again, I promise.  Now have a good Christmas, and God bless you."

Forgive me for being human, but I would have liked nothing better in that moment than to bitch-slap that smarmy smile off her painted lips and send her off to meet her maker, whom she was asking to "bless" me.  After she left, frankly, I exploded.

At first, I asked myself why.  Why should some pushy pig have the aility to get under my skin in such a manner?  And yet, I already knew the answer.

Clarity.  The second enemy of a wo/man of knowledge.  The problem wasn't that she was cranky or ugly or stupid or pushy or self-important.  The problem was that I could see through her manipulations like glass, and realized that I was even reading her direct thoughts in a way that doesn't often happen, but when it does, usually serves as a portend.  While she was asking her god to bless me, with her clammy arms wrapped around me, she would have presented a vision of "The Better Person" to anyone looking on from the sidelines, but it was PRECISELY that false picture she was HOPING to portray to those with her that left me literally entertaining fantasies of burying her in the back yard, except that digging the hole would have been more work than I felt up to on an otherwise pleasant Saturday afternoon.

What annoyed me was that she literally tried to wrap me up in her lie.  My body language alone should have told her that I no more wanted her phony affections than I would have wanted to kiss a scorpion.  But still she stood there like some actress in her own drama, posing for her own self-portrait of her own self-importance...

And my own enemy was stalking me.  Clarity.  Sometimes I just want people to be honest.  That's my folly.  And that was my phantom for the day. 

Got Raid?

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

Even though we are now back home and working toward getting the store fully up & running, I'm finding that this Florida "journey" simply will not leave me alone, and so I am forced to really stop and look at it long and hard in an attempt to figure out what (if anything) might be done to simply shake loose the tendrils of CR madness which have attached themselves rather like hemmorhoids to my life.

Aside from my feelings for my mother (which, again, I'm going to file under the heading of "goes without saying"), I am STILL finding that the system of "government" might more accurately be called a system of abject madness - and one which, frankly, does not appear to function on ANY level.

Before leaving Florida, I took all steps to get my mother's care lined up - which included a lengthy encounter with Medicaid, which is discussed elsewhere in this thread.  Yesterday, I received a letter from them saying thgey need further information.  Fine, I'm thinking.  I'll fax it or mail it or whatever needs to be done... except for one minor detail.  The info requested is for "proof of other unearned income" and "proof of interest income."  Since my mother receives neither, I am forced to ask... how does one prove a negative?  Even in quantum mechanics, one cannot "prove" that something DOESN'T exist, yet it is clear that a simple letter stating that she receives nothing other than what has already been listed is not sufficient.  "Proof must be provided."  But... what IS "proof" in this case?  ?????????

Okay, that's bad enough, but then the inevitable happens.  I call the only phone # on the letter, which is allegedly for her case worker.  I am shuffled through a 15 minute (no exaggeration) "automated operator" menu, and after diligently attempting to follow their instructions, the menu comes to the point of saying, "Please hold for customer assistance."  So I wait another 10 minutes, at the end of which time this most pleasant voice tells me, "Due to extremely high calling volume, please try your call again later."

And it hangs up.

I have now gone through the same procedure 4 times this morning, which adds up to a grand total of over 2 hours wasted... only to continue getting the same results.

Since the deadline for compliance is 9/11 (who's surprised, eh?), I am on the verge of simply NOT-DOING anything, since I cannot seem to determine WHAT is being requested nor how to provide it.  There is no fax number, no email, no contact info at all other than the one phone number and the website (which is EXACTLY the same as the automated operator)... yet the consequences of NOT-D0ING would seem to be severe indeed.  Without this service, my mother... ?  What?  Is turned out onto the street like a mongrel dog in her final days?  Returns to her home, where she cannot care for herself without 24-hour care (which, if she could afford THAT, none of this would be happening...)

So here I sit staring at the clock and the calendar and thinking of "being in the Now"... which would appear to be altogether impossible when dealing with government agencies and automated operator telephone systems. 

From a wholly ruthless warrior perspective, the only winning move would seem to be washing my hands of all of it and letting the system be forced to deal with it as it unfolds.  OTOH, is that "the right way to live" with regard to another human being who will suffer consequences if I cannot move the mountain which "the system" has placed in her path (and, subsequently, in mine)?

Sure, from a purely intellectual viewpoint, we can "resolve" this dilemma through acceptance or being in the now or detachment or any of a hundred other "methods", but at the bottom line of the human experience, I am asking the question of all of us - how does this intersect with "the right way to live"? 

...and I'm also asking MYSELF what can be done about ANY of it in the world of ordinary affairs?  If there is no one to speak to, if entropy has finally kicked the last upright out from under the rafters that supposedly hold up "society", what can any of us do on a purely individual basis to get through the day?  A purely hypothetical question - posed to stimulate ALL our thinking.  When the ordinary world REQUIRES things of us for survival & wellbeing (the most basic human rights), what is a sane being to do when s/he cannot seem to fulfill those requirements due to a breakdown in the system itself?

Can't sail a boat with a gaping hole in the bottom, eh?

Frankly, I';m pretty much at the stage of Intending a wayward asteroid deal this "society" the same fate the dinosaurs met.  Our species has become altogether dysfunctional near as I can tell, and so the only solution may well be to wipe the slate clean and start over with stardust and spewing magma.  Sounds good to me right about now.  :\

Fresh out of butterflies & rainbows,
D

(Written August 28, 2006)

We're in a tiny town called Bushnell, which is more or less about 50 miles west of Orlando.  The way today has been (bureaucracy upon red tape upon bureaucracy), a hurricane would be a welcome diversion.

If I am forced to deal with one more s-t-o-o-o-p-i-d human today, I think I'm going to go postal. 

This morning, my first errand was to "drop off" some paperwork with the Medicaid offices.  Easy enough, I assumed, since all the work had been done by the folks at my mother's nursing home.  But upon arrival, I was told that I would need an appointment to drop off the papers.  Assuming I had come to the wrong desk, I inquired, "Where do I need to go to drop them off?"

"Right here," a large woman with a thick suthun' accent replied, peering over her horn-rimmed glasses with a grim stare.

Assuming she didn't grok what I was saying, I explained, "All the papers are completed.  I only need to drop them off."

"You'll need an appointment for that."

"Even though I'm already here?"

"Yes ma'am."  (Don't call me ma'am in that snotty, soft-spoken manner.)

So I said, "Okay, set me up with an appointment."

"You'll have to have a seat."

"To wait for you to set an appointment?"

"Yes ma'am."

I explained with extreme patience that my mother was waiting in the car, and inquired how long I might be required to wait.

Another grim stare over those gag-awful glasses.  "It'll take as long as it takes, ma'am."

Important to note that she was doing NOTHING when I arrived, and went back to doing NOTHING when I took a seat.  Minutes passed.  Finally she simply handed my file to the lady at the next desk and I was called forth from the waiting area (where NO ONE ELSE was in line), and shuffled in front of the next window.  The scrawny woman behind the desk demanded to see my power of attorney even though I was only dropping something off - a task which certainly MUST occur at least a thousand times every week.  It was in the car, so I trudged out to get it.  Then she wanted to see my driver's  license.  So I truged BACK to the car to fetch it.  By this time, I was LITERALLY fit to be fitted for a jacket that ties in back, but the stalker in me was struggling for patience, timing, forebearance, etc, blah blah blah.

After returning with my identification, she then asked for my social security number.  At which point, I smiled sweetly, leaned forward, and with a smile said to her, "I seem to recall that I'm not required to give that to ANYONE - and if I'm in error about that, YOU work for the government.  Look it up!"

Is it just me, or has this world gone to hell so severely that the catch-22s have entirely caught up to the loops to create a paradox of paroxyms through which no sane being can even begin to navigate? 

You need an appointment to make an appointment.  I kid you not. 

We won't even go there to talk about the next leg of the voyage - an attempt to deal with a life insurance policy which my mother had hoped to use for her "burial insurance."  Because of some regulation or another, it is subject to seizure by Medicaid... which was entirely predictable, of course, but that's neither here nor there.  The real circus began when the agency who issued the policy wasn't able to gain ANY information ABOUT the policy, even with my mother (the insured), myself (who holds power of attorney), and their own sub-agent on the phone.

In short, the world no longer functions.  Just in case anyone failed to notice that tiny detail.

The bottom line was that we accomplished zilch today because of bureaucracy, fear and red tape.  All is normal.
 
 August 29, 2006... (the saga continues)

From a purely "biological" standpoint, there is only so much patience allotted to my body chemistry before I go into boil-over mode and start strangling government employees.  I really cannot even begin to express just HOW miserable these two women were with whom I was forced to interact yesterday.  When I first walked thru the door, I was smiling, friendly and outgoing - and not once did either of these heifers crack a smile.  It's almost as if they get paid more to be grim, which is why it usually comes down to me asking them if they even begin to realize HOW miserable they are, and if they have any concept of WHY.

Yesterday, I didn't allow it to get to that point, but I DID note that they were quite DELIBERATELY doing things to AVOID helping me - which required far MORE work on their part than if they had simply done the reasonable thing straight off the bat.  I didn't go into some of the worst details - not the least of which is that the woman who was actually "supposta" help me spent 15 minutes on the phone while I stood there at her window waiting.  The conversation was literally like this:

"Do you want me to fax that again? I tried to fax it and the 11 pages didn't go through."  Then silence.  Then:  "I could try to fax it again for you, would you like me to do that because the first time I faxed it the 11 pages didn't go through."  Then silence.  Then:  "Well, I know the first time I faxed it, the 11 pages didn't go through so I could try to fax it again."

This LITERALLY went on for 15 minutes while I stood there resisting the strong and dangerous urge to simply slap her silly.  It had to be deliberate, because otherwise I am forced to conclude that every cow working in a government office is on a diet of Purina Dumb Shit Chow and thriving.

It wasn't that they were wasting my time, which was bad enough.  My mother and Wendy were waiting in the car, and both these little bitches knew it.  They were, in a nutshell, going out of their way (WAY out of their way!) to be government employees.  Believe me, I was well aware of that possibility when I walked thru the door, which is why I was friendly, outgoing, etc.  Clearly they do not respond well to that approach, so next time I may go in with both forks of my tongue fully loaded.

All I know is that this is NOT the world in which I grew up.  The programs really have taken over.  I remember even into my early 20s going into gov't offices for one thing or another, and as long as I was friendly, that was the mirror that reflected.  No longer the case.  I quite LITERALLY felt it was a game to these 2 li'l bitches - to see how LITTLE they could do in between filing their nails and sipping sweet tea.  Ya'll.

 At one point when I walked out of the office to make yet another trip to the car to fetch something or other at their behest, I pointed my head skyward and yowled out a power howl... only to hear it seemingly echo behind me.  As I turned, another woman had just walked out the door and was also SCREAMING.  We looked at one another and without ever speaking a word, just smiled and shared one of those moments of power.

Personally, I can only hope the two little bitches in the medicaid office work there for the rest of their lives.  That's torture enough.

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

CHAOS THEORY REWRITTEN... (and STILL ongoing...)

I've said it before. More than once.  More than a thousand times.  The world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are running the asylum.  Please note:  this is not a facetious comment.  It is the reality of the reality in which we live, and appears to be getting worse, like a self-devouring tumor, a snake eating its own tail only to turn itself wrongside out with its own venom.  A paradox.

The GOOD news is that we have finally secured a store which will (in theory) also serve as a hub for my Quantum Shaman activities - a place where warriors can come to talk, interact, enjoy seminars and workshops & the like.  The retail area in the front will (in theory) provide financial support to the more spiritual activities, and all should (in theory) be right with the world, right?

Wrong.

Aside from the usual & expected hassles, we went down to the city planning offices yesterday to apply for a sign permit, and it was from that moment forward that I began to hear the little mantra of gnosis repeating itself over and over.  "Have you forgotten, m'dear?  The world is a nuthouse and the lunatics are running the asylum."  The guy behind the desk tells me, "Of course you can have signs for your business.  You just can't attach them to your building."  Eh?  So how am I supposta hang them?  Anti-gravs?  Erected on poles in the middle of the street?  Place them in the hands of angels suspended on the left toe of god? 

What's really amusing about all of this is the this "city" isn't even a city.  It is a township, and barely even that, yet it seems to function on some bizarre paradigm of "Monkey See, Monkey Do."  Realizing that other cities have sign ordinances, Yucca Valley adopted one of its own - though it is far more strict (read: prohibitive) than anything in any upscale neighborhood in Beverly Hills.  For anyone who has ever been here, the irony is plain.  What's that old saying - can't make a silk purse from a sow's ear.  But that doesn't stop them from trying.  As I read through the multi-page application for sign permit, I was amused to come across the following:

"Color by paint manufacturer and ID number____________".

For anyone who has ever seen the delightful movie, PLEASANTVILLE, this may ring a few bells.  Seems that anything I want to do is (and I quote), "Not an approved color."  *LOLOL*  Purple, green and blue... are "not approved colors" in this town.  Imagine that!  Red, black, white & gold, however, ARE approved colors.  Who makes these rules and who enforces them and who for a moment believes any of it is real?

At this point, it is my intent to have my sign done as *I* want it done, attach it to my building in a secure manner, and sit back waiting to see what will happen.  I am told I will be "cited".  It is a $25. fine, or perhaps $50 if the judge is in a bad mood that day.  But - the real funny part is that to apply for a "major variance" requires $867, and if the variance is declined, the money is not returned, nor are there any appeals.  I am told that I may file for another variance for another $867, but that it will most likely not be granted because, "We don't usually grant variances even though we encourage you to apply for one."  Indeed - I'm sure you do encourage it!

Cheaper to pay the fine.  I can see the headlines now:  "Respectable merchant arrested for sign violation while junkies roam the streets.  Welcome to Our Town."

And, of course, on an entirely unrelated series of events which nonetheless illustrate the truth of The Mantra of Gnosis, it is amusing to note that I had 397 spams yesterday in one email account, and 425 in another.  What's really pathetic is that I have to maintain 4 separate email accounts just to serve as receptacles for the trash, and apparently it still isn't enough.  I mean... think about it, folks.  Does anybody ever buy anything from these assholes who are filling up our mailboxes with their cyberpoop?  Would you invest your life savings with a company that spells "invester" with an "e"?  Is your sex life so pathetic that you would actually "Call Tootsie for a good time at $5.95 per minute"?  Is your IQ so low that you would actually believe Mr. Achmantutu of The Republic of Tittiyaya needs you to help him get his assets into the US because he is being persecuted by rebel extremists and forced to flee the beloved land of his birth?

I mean - really - does anybody out there ever fall for any of this crap that arrives in our email boxes as if delivered by the hand of god?  Do you really think you've just won the Internet Daily Lottery and that all you now have to do is send in $9.95 to cover the cost of printing the check, which will be sent to you in the mail?  Are you so self-important that you honestly think you're going to get $500 from Bill Gates if you forward this email to the next 50 people in your address book so that dear ol' Bill can track where your email goes?  C'mon!  Do you really think you're getting a free laptop because you answered a five-minute survey (that ended with asking you to enter the numbers and accompanying passwords to all your credit cards?)  Is anybody on this planet that stupid?

So when I'm not arguing with the frazzled young man at the planning department, I'm wasting countless hours deleting all those winning lottery tickets and free dinners at Denny's (oh, deep-fried joy!), and shaking my head in amazement at the imbeciles who apparently think anybody is dumb enough to fall for whatever scam they're peddling this time.

Of course, I do keep all the ads for enlarging my penis.  I'm pretty sure those are real.  "Become a big dick.  Just apply assholes."  Yup - works every time.

Lunacy.  Sheer.  Unparalleled.  Lunacy.

                                        "Madness is not an approved color."  (Orlando)

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  Quantum Shaman^TM  is a trademark of QuantumShaman.Com^TM and reserves all rights to this material.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

In the middle of a rough day in Los Angeles yesterday, I picked up my cell phone to call Wendy, only to discover that it had become possessed by the ghost of electronic demons and was now reading:  "Enter lock code."  Since I have never locked the phone and never had a lock code, I could only stare at the funny little screen - which never ceases to remind me of Captain Kirk's communicator - with a combination of dismay and amusement.  Enter lock code.

Oooooooohhh!  Made me feel like a secret agent on some grand mission to thwart the likes of THRUSH (anyone old enough to catch the reference is congratulated on still being on this side of the dirt).  But then came the moment when it really began to sink in that this strange device for which I pay a handsome fee each month had essentially locked itself behind its electronic wall of despair, entered its cyber padded cell, and no amount of coaxing or crying on my part was going to change that.  I turned the phone off, back on again, entered "logical" numerical sequences at random... all for naught.    Enter lock code.  The muscles in my neck had begun to tighten.  My hands were starting to shake.  In a public place in downtown Los Angeles, perhaps it would not have seemed odd in the least had I danced naked and called upon the slathering spirits of the sanguinarian order, but since various & sundry homeless folks seemed to perform such rituals quite often (and seemingly to no avail - since they are still homeless and half mad), I resisted the urge and proceeded to try to call the phone company on its own device. Foolish attempt.  But we do silly things when confronted with silly realities.  Enter lock code.  No surprise there.

This morning, after some amount of digging through user's manual that bears more resemblance in weight & thickness to The Complete Encyclopedia of All Things, I finally happened upon the the entry that is supposed to solve all my problems.  "Locking and Unlocking the phone."  With a great sense of relief, I performed the required functions...  Seventeen missiles at NORAD launched.  The entire network of communication satellites in orbit over the earth realigned and began playing Who Let The Dogs Out in digital code.  Space aliens appeared on the White House lawn to protest the disruption of old reruns of I Love Lucy.

But that little screen still persists:  Enter lock code.

Called the Verizon store where I bought the persnickety little pest, only to be put on hold for 15 minutes, and then cut off without so much as a by your leave.  This happened not once, not twice, but 5 times.  Seems the hold function has a time limit, at which point the mortal fool waiting on Line 1 is cut loose over the abyss and plummets to the death of her senses while the robotic voice continues to assure her that her call is important to the megalomaniacal corporation who still has not hired a receptionist, and is clearly not aware that the call is SO important that it is set on a 15-minute cut-off.  Yes, I timed it.  All the while staring at the little screen which reads:  Enter lock code.

The password to my eBay didn't work.  The combination of my old locker in high school proved fruitless.  The DaVinci Code failed.

By this time, I had grown a rather serious set of fangs and my eyes had begun to roll back in my head as is common with sharks when they feed.  So when the ditsy blonde at the kiosk finally answered the phone to inquire, "For whom are you holding?" it required a monumental effort of stalking on my part not to turn her into virtual lunch.  She was NOT associated with Verizon Wireless, of course... just a humble grunt who promised to connect me... but never did.

When I was finally able to talk to the manager of the store - never DID get through to the phone company (who seems not to have a working phone - seriously!) - his brain trust suggestion was, "Why don't you just bring it down to the store and I'm sure we can take care of it for you?"

Lemme see.  It's an hour's drive, with gas at $3.55 per gallon here in SoCal.  How's that for a "why not bring it down to the store"?  Gee, I have a cell phone so I DON'T have to show up in person to solve the problems created by the cell phone... durh.

Do we NEED all this stuff?  I ask myself that question at least a dozen times a day.  The digital clock on my brand new stereo cannot hold the time for more than 36 hours before it starts flashing 12:00 in blue neon numbers bright enough to light the entire state of Vermont.  The security system on the car takes it upon itself to shut down the engine if the proper drive code is not entered in a timely manner.  The computer turns itself on and off like a cheap hooker on a busy Friday night, and there's a 6 foot rabbit running around my living room complaining that he was accidentally beamed down from the Enterprise due to a glitch in the reality filtering system that separates then from now and here from there.

Enter lock code.

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.

(Somebody bitch-slap that energized bunny!)

It just seems to me that what the CR calls "depression" may be the direct result of what a warrior calls "clarity".  I'm thinking of depressed housewives and stock brokers hurling themselves off the Sears tower. Both see the futility & the folly in the world, but have no sense of guidance to turn their "clarity"  into personal power.  That's the difference between warriors & phantoms.  The problem is - even warriors can fall prey to depression if not extremely vigilant & aware.  That's when clarity has become the enemy - we literally "see" that the world is a nuthouse & the lunatics are running the asylum, but we fail to realize that we are IN the world, but not necessarily OF the world.

Usually when it is affecting me, it's telling me I need to take a look at something in my own matrix - WHY is it affecting me?  Yesterday was hell, for example, because of CR thinking & CR infringement upon my personal space & time.  Started out with trying to get in touch with the phone company, only to get one of those chipper robots who wanted to "help" me.  After 20 minutes talking to a daffy blonde machine, I was finally connected with "the party best suited to serve my needs", only to be told it was a 1.5 hour wait due to heavy phone traffic, blah blah blah.

I was furious at first, ranting & raving and asking, "What's wrong with this fucking world?"  I call the phone company, only to talk to a robot for 20 minutes and then be expected to hold for another hour and a half!  Don't they make enough money to hire more people?  It LITERALLY took that robot 20 minutes to determine who would be best qualified to serve my needs, when a receptionist could have done the same thing in 20 seconds!
 
If this were some strange anomaly, maybe I could have let it pass, but it occurs to me that anywhere I call, or anywhere I go, it seems perfectly acceptable for the company to waste MY time, yet they're all over the airwaves using words like "en energy-efficient company" and the like!  Hah!  One good receptionist could do the job of 10 of those call-fielding robots, of course, but because it's now "the thing to do" to have the robot, that's what companies do. There is no rhyme or reason to it, and it is actually COSTING them TONS of customers!  If I get a robot that cannot be bypassed by pressing zero, I will hang up and go to another company.  Period.  So... where's the energy efficiency in any of it?  If I ran my own company in that way, I'd be out of business in a hurry!  

What amazes me is that the powers that be don't see what is obvious.  I frankly don't know ANYBODY who would wait on hold for 1.5 hours, and if they DO, they are pathetical sheeple who must be seeking companionship from that robot who babbles in one's ear for the duration of the hold time - dealing out such mind-numbing repetitious platitudes as, "You're our FAVORITE customer!  So please continue to hold while our highly trained executives finish up their 3-hour lunch with their mistresses, and our technicians are out on a smoke-break.  Your time matters not to us in the least, so we feel completely justified in wasting it!  But you ARE nonetheless our favorite customer... because you're DUMB enough to just put up with it and never complain."
 
...and all in a smarmy sweet voice that makes me want to get an AK47 and go postal after about the first 2.5 seconds.  Ah, such sweet fantasies of robot parts scattered all over the pavement, oil black like blood in the moonlight, mainframe CD ROM cybergazurkis splattered on the walls with such artistry that even the investigators from CSI would have to pause and reflect on the sheer beauty of the kill.

So, yes, the world is a nuthouse, and the robots are directing traffic in the asylum.  My patience for it wore thin and ran through the cracks long ago, so now when I get one of those robots, I cut to the shortest path to leave a message, and then I just start screaming - as a stalker, with full awareness of precisely what I'm doing.

I figure a calmly worded message simply won't get anybody's attention - so while they're laughing at the loonie shouting on the answering machine, maybe at least one person will get it through their head that this WAS a customer who is no longer a customer, and actually suggest to upper management that maybe giving the receptionist her job back would be a more energy efficient move than software maintenance for some expensive cyberbimbo.

If it ain't broke, don't fix it. If it IS broke, fire the asshole who broke it and try again.  The handwriting is all over the walls, graffiti on the subways of Hell.  Somebody really needs to start reading it to figure out why we have so much road rage and anger management problems.  Maybe - just maybe - it's because we're all tired of being treated like a boil on the ass of all those companies & individuals who claim to want to help us.

Get mad and let them know why.  As long as people are sheeple, it's only going to get worse.  We have the power to create reality in ALL aspects of life.  Reminds me of that old, old movie, NETWORK, where a news reporter just snaps one day, and goes ballistic all over the airwaves.  At one point, he's hanging out of a window in New York, literally screaming, "I'm mad as hell and I'm not going to take it anymore!"

I resemble that remark.  And I second that emotion. And I am writing this while ON HOLD, waiting for tech support from yet one more robot. When I am finally put through to a human being, you may rest assured they will hear about it, loud & clear.

Warriors claim their power and do something with it.  Phantoms just keep bending over.  Who are you?

Chaos Theory... STILL Ongoing.   Or...
WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU GET TO DO THAT?

Just when I think humans can't get any worse or surprise me anymore than they already have... they do.  Or maybe part of the "downside" of being a seer is that it becomes more obvious with every passing day.

About a month ago, I had to call the local coppers because some little twerps who live in the meth house not far from here (and this is a NICE neighborhood!) decided it would be perfectly all right if they were to ride their dirt bikes not only up and down the street (illegal in California), but also onto my property where the fence was demolished in the last flash flood.  The funny thing was that they weren't even discreet, and seemed to think it was their inalienable right to pilot these noisy, dust-raising vehicles anywhere they so pleased.  I wondered then... what makes you think you GET to do that?   The law seems to say one can ride one's dirt bike 24/7 on one's own property.  Fine - but this isn't their property, nor is the field across the street, which has been practically destroyed by such activities that tear up the fragile desert topsoil, destroy vegetation, and essentiall create a dustbowl which the rest of us must breathe because... some half-baked little junkie GETS to do that?  Hmmm.

Over the past 2 weeks, I realized I have been waking up like clockwork between 3 a.m. and 4 a.m., unable to go back to sleep.  At first, thought it was just a weird sleep pattern, but a few nights ago, I realized I was hearing what amounted to a low-grade "heartbeat" of drumming.  Turns out - our new hillbilly neighbor seems to get up at that time of night, turns on his car stereo loud enough to be heard in the house... and again I wonder... why does he GET to do that, when it is clearly disturbing to anyone not already stone cold deaf?  It's bad enough that he has a shit-load of geese in a residential neighborhood - next thing will be a batch of peacocks and a worm farm.

And let's not get into the whole thing about testosterone-poisoned little jerks who have those boom-boom stereos in their car.  There have been at least 3 or 4 incidents in various drive-throughs where the noise is literally so loud from the car behind me that the McDroid can't hear my order, and when I go to pay, it's like having to learn sign language just to create a work-around for the little asshole who GETS to do that.  About 2 weeks ago, I finally just snapped.  Heh heh.  Stuck in the drive-thru with some shaved-bald-headed bangsta playing his bass so loud I thought I would literally have a heart attack from the vibration (yes, it was THAT bad), I actually got out of my car and went to confront him - something I am not usually wont to do.  Needless to say, he never even turned it down to see why this crazy witch-woman was standing in front of his car, mouting, "Would you PUH-LEEEZE turn it down?"  Just showed me his middle finger.  Guess that's his form of sign language. Not wanting to be impolite, I responded in kind - and added the universal gesture for "jerking off".  And he GETS to do that because, apparently, we live in a world where everyone is either afraid of the assholes or doesn't care to do anything about it.

As I sit here at my desk, another neighbor has his stereo so loud I can hear it even through winter-locked windows and closed doors.  In desperation, I bought a fountain at Wal-Mart the other day to try to drown out the drone... but the bass pounds through, even at 7:15 in the morning.  And, for reasons unknown, the neighbor GETS to do that, too.

If someone waved a knife in my face, or a gun, it would be considered some manner of self-defense if I were to beat them to a bloody pulp. And yet, if I am standing in line to go to a movie and some bimbo is waving her cigarette directly under my nose, I'm supposta just smile and nod and say, "Lovely weather, isn't it?"   For all she knows, someone else standing in that line may have asthma or severe allergies that could make a cigarette as life-threatening as a gun or a knife.  Yet, she GETS to do that because our society has agreed that cigarettes are a social grace (or, more likely, because the tobacco companies really own the government at a certain level).  I wonder if any jury would see it as self defense if someone were to treat an impolite smoker with the same degree of severity one might treat a knife-wielding maniac. 

The point is simply this:  I grew up in a world where there was a "common sense" saying that has virtually vanished off the radar in this generation of rudesters, gangstas and road rage.  "Your rights end where someone else's begin."  I don't know why that is so hard for people to grok.  Why do "some people" think they GET to infringe and impose on the rights of others?  If you want to ride your dirt bike at all hours of the day & night, buy a trailer and drag it out to BLM land where such things are legal and you are only disturbing some confused jackrabbit.  If you want to play your music at levels that deafen every living thing within a 40 mile radius, go buy yourself a plot of land that HAS a 40 mile radius, and park your inconsiderate ass smack in the middle of it all.  If you want to smoke in a crowded public place... stop and ask yourself whose rights you may be violating by doing so.  Sure, you have the "right" to do all these things, but beyond a certain point, others have the right to question why you GET to do that.

I guess what I'm trying to say is simply this:  why does it seem I have to call law enforcement more and more of late to regulate what SHOULD be common courtesy and common sense? 

</rant>  Carry on.

  ...or... Is it just me?

I honestly don't know if this new breed of ant just does things differently from how we have always proceeded, or if the species is finally in such a downhill decline that its days on Earth are limited, at best.  They truly cannot drive - the jaunt to LA on Wednesday was horrific due to the sheer volume of drivers who think "passing" on the freeway means coming up to within 1 inch of your rear bumper, jerking the wheel violently to the right, accelerating to over 100MPH, zipping around on the side OPPOSITE from the direction of the turn signal (signal optional, btw), and then cutting as close as inhumanly possible to the front bumper - resulting in you having to slam on your brakes and hopefully avoid getting rear-ended by the jackass coming up behind you to engage in the same trick.  And, of course, all of this occurs when you are already driving at 85 mph (literally), but it isn't fast enough for the rudesters who perform these insane feats of foolishness while yapping on a cell phone, stuffing a big mac in their face with one hand, and jerking off with the other.

Are we just turning into our old grannies who were cranky and set in their ways, or are things really getting worse?  Personally, I sure don't see things getting any BETTER, so I don't think it's just me.  The twit at the local print shop yesterday literally stood there and said, "When I try to run your manuscript, the page on the back is coming out upside down."

Well... ahem & a hearty DURRRRHHH!... doesn't that fall under the heading of operator error?  To which she replied, "What does that mean?" She wasn't even blonde and genuinely had no clue how to run a simple 2-sided manuscript even though she has worked at the shop for more than 5 years.  Makes me wonder what she is REALLY doing to keep her job, because obviously "work" has nothing to do with it, and "must have 2 brain cells to rub together" was never part of the job description.  I ended up having to go to another do-it-yerself copy shop and did it myself in less than an hour, though the frustration seeps in with the realization that this appears just one more way in which the consensus reality demands our attention and keeps us chained to the trivialities and minutiae.

And so, as I was saying in an old entry entitled CHAOS THEORY REWRITTEN, I find myself asking if we have become slaves to the technology which was "supposta" make our lives easier.  In order to create a manuscript which The Little Twit would have been able to easily use, I would have had to spend literally hours on the computer designing a mock-up, when it would take literally 1/10th the time to simply print two-sided copies on the copy machine.  In order to make the printer of my book (Diary of a Nagual Woman) TRULY happy, even after the manuscript was turned in, he wanted me to go out and buy or rent a postscript printer, learn an entirely new program which is actually quite complex, and all just so that the rounded letters wouldn't have "jags" which are visible - to his own admission - "only under a microscope."

Way I figger it... if anybody wants to read my book under a microscope, they can damn well put up with the jiggers and jaggers.

I am not exaggerating here.  This is all very real and therefore very amusing or frightening, depending on the set of one's assemblage point at any given moment.  And as mentioned elsewhere in this blog o' mine, the battle over the cover graphics was also utterly insane.  Used to be that I could take an oil painting or a post card or even a toilet paper wrapper into the printer and tell them to make it appear on the cover of the book - and, indeed, this could all be done without the aid of computer or postscript printer... and would come out looking exactly the way I wanted it to look in half the time it now takes, and never once did I hear the words, "I can't do that on the computer."

So... is it just me?  Or is the world sliding backward into the armpits of technological entropy which appears to be progress, but is really de-evolution into servitude of the very technology which was "supposta" free us, but has done precisely the opposite?  The printer kept insisting that it would "look better", and yet when I really nailed him with questions, he had to admit it would only look better "under a microscope".

Does anybody else out there realize how absolutely nuts that is?  If I thought it was an isolated incident, I'd put it down to isolated nuttiness, but it seems to be in every walk of life, everywhere I go.  Was at a wholesale shop in LA a few days ago, where I normally hand the nice gentleman $20., take my bag, and keep moving.  This time, I was asked to wait (and wait... and wait some more) because his new computer wouldn't print out my receipt, and he has somehow decided, "Must give you receipt!"  At the 15 minute mark of waiting, I finally tossed the $20 on the counter, took the package, and literally ran, while he stood behind the counter cursing in Chinese and following after me, shouting, "Must rait!  Must give receipt!  Must rait!  Prease rait!"  I was done raiting. 

So what does any of this have to do with the path of heart?  Basically, it just keeps serving as a reminder to me that the world will make every effort to hook our attention into the downward spiral of minutiae and meaningless semantics and details.  The technology can become our master instead of our servant if we let it, and without a constant vigil of unbending awareness and Intent, we don't even realize we are being sucked into the maelstrom.  I had a physics teacher way back in high school who said something to the effect, "The only defense against the natural pull of entropy is to exert constant forward motion against the force of its gravity."

Recent events have certainly served as a reminder to that old lesson.  Constant forward motion.  Right-click mouse to proceed to the next level of lunacy.  Engage hard drive.  Warp speed.  Straight on till mourning.

All material in this blog (essays, rants, images, poetry, et al) is copyright © by Della Van Hise, and may not be reprinted elsewhere without the prior written permission of the author.  This includes all print and electronic media, including other blogs, other websites, and so on.  Thanks for respecting copyrights.