Friday, June 26, 2009

Childhood Zen

Santa, the Bunny, and Baby Jesus

The Big Three
Santa Claus, the Easter Bunny, and the Baby Jesus were the original "holy trinity" of my early childhood. The parents did their job and the big three icons figured prominently in an active fantasy life. The day I found out that Santa Claus was not flesh and blood, from Harold the neighbourhood bully, was the day that I began doubting the authenticity of the Easter Bunny, Baby Jesus and the elaborate icon structure built up in my fertile mind. Inside my mind, everything was in very specific order based on how long I had held the concept and the impact of the icon ongoing.

A Mother's wisdom
My belief system was such that after clearing up the myth of Santa Claus with my parents, I naturally became suspicious of any other lies I had been told. At the age of almost seven I was about to enter into a zone of reason and logic and I would never again be the same. When I broached the subject of the Easter Bunny with my mother several weeks after the Xmas revelation took hold I was due another shock to the system.
"Mom, is the Easter Bunny pretend like Santa was?"
My mother sat me down and patiently, sympathetically, explained,
"Yes dear, the Easter Bunny is a story told to young children and now that you are growing up, stories like Santa and the Easter Bunny can now be put away and taken out later when you have your own children."

Reality Realigned
I was royally pissed off and I remember thinking that I would never want to deceive any child no matter how adult the reasoning. After Easter celebrations had come and gone another idea popped into my mini-mind. I realized that the baby Jesus, whom I loved, was exactly the same person as the crucified Jesus, an act of horror that I despised. Both Xmas and Easter were now vulnerable as the entire mythology began to unravel. I began to examine the trappings surrounding these weird cultural gifting events, now less perceived as religious moments but rather more as strange cultural events with benefits (gifts, candy, bon homie).

Murder my Messiah? (no thanks...)
Xmas is a wonderful celebration with lots of tasty foods and gifts for loved ones but even with decent food treats Easter was kind of a drag. No one actually celebrated the death of the sad man murdered on the cross. I understood that the basic idea was to celebrate the resurrection of this man but at the time I had a great difficulty appreciating the joy of resurrection and the horror inherent had a significant impact. It seemed to me that too many people resounded too deeply to this man's torture and death instead of appreciating his actual life. And the idea that he died and came back to life days later was, to me, either lazy thinking or crazy mind or both.

The Improbability Meter
In order to clarify my confusion, and surely any readers confusion, I will recap, dead Jesus was really alive, who was also the baby Jesus, who was a God, who was murdered by humans like myself. In my heart and mind I gave up my own innocence as my personal protest against any fantasy story where purity and love (Baby Jesus) is snuffed out, proving that I was a human being at a very early age and perhaps a decent story editor. Somehow, internally, I had translated the death of the conceptual Easter Bunny with the the idea of a man being murdered on a crucifix. I understood that Baby Jesus of the manger and the Jesus dead on the cross were the same person and, as with the Bunny and Santa, my personality is such that i rejected the entire mythos.

Innocence Reclaimed (symbolically)
Over time, I kept this truth to myself and still managed to snag presents "from Santa" for a few more years but my unyielding innocence was now past tense. I turned away from theology, foward to sports, the next logical step in my social progress, with lessons in team building, good "sportsmanship", and fair play. Being a jock was problematic and I never really recovered my innocence lost until, as a man, I stared deeply into a baby's eyes. Like all effective therapy, the result was swift and intense leaving me more a healer than before. If you consider this practice be careful, advance baby eye can lead to countless hours of fun and drooling. Remember to ignore your sense of time, wipe your chin, and all will be fine.

My TransHuman Truth
On a personal note, my transhumanism - born of this Earth, came to me reading, as an adult, the children's book "The Wind in the Willows." It was the chapter entitled, "Piper at the Gates of Dawn" where I first really got to know Pan and his posse. Later, Pan introduced me to the Goddess and I fell in love all over again, deeper. Suffice to say, that fateful day I dropped acid and listened to Pink Floyd for the first time, I had an experience where I realized what had transpired was part of the artist’s vision. A euphoric knowing came to me as I realized the enormous reach of transhuman culture from art history to modern popular culture to philosophies of the ancient mind and into our anarcho-tech future. If I have substituted old icons for new ones or this for that be sure that what I realize is mine alone. As it is, as it was, as it always will be!

© Leigh Richard Wolf 2009

Thursday, June 25, 2009

in form evolves life on planet Earth

(internet song #32)
If you want to preserve your Constitution
First thank your stars for the distribution
To preserve our way of life and Constitution
We built our bulletproof network revolution

An extra-large medium has now taken hold
Bandwidth bonanza can cure the common cold
Harken back in memory from ancient days of old
What else would we call such a factor to the fold

So anti-static it's laundramatic!
So extra-lean it’s a heartmachine!
So autodidact it’s an automatrick
So what if it’s a weapon built for war

If you want to understand the current revolution
You need to understand the cold war resolution
Why the worst get a crack at planetary dissolution
Why Internet in every home is the critical solution

To survive nuke launch and then throw it back
Conceived in an era where there was no slack
Just a lot of crazy white men dressed in black
Meta-plans from alien on exponential track

So monkeys ate the mushroom to get meteor smart
They saw as longterm ambition the act of making art
They used as inspiration the beating of their heart
The monkeys were well stoned right from the start

Not so obelisk or spore radical as may seem
You remember going home in an ancient dream
Try balancing out your soul in a pacific stream
It seems return to sender is our central theme

Sirius A and Sirius B binary twins light years away
Seeding the soul rhythm blue signal holding sway
Original role of rocking star was lead us unto day
Curious cats now digital dogs are ever ready to play (arf)

No one sought to shift the axis of culture and time
Not one thought of lifting tracks outside riff and rhyme
No people ever planned to correct the source of crime
Not about how collectively we are landing on a dime

In the ealiest moments of the digital debate
Whence the cybergestalt has began to getstate
The question of democracy will lead us to probate
And consensus of the network will become our solid state


© 2009 Leigh Richard Wolf

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

The Early Daze

The Fanboy Era

In the pre-punk days of the early-mid Seventies, my interests were varied and somewhat traditional. I loved music and back then the song list featured Led Zepplin, the Who, Beatles, and somewhat further down the list was Alice Cooper. My buddy Claire, with her little sister Lisa, and your reporter made plans, late in the school year, to stay out really, really, late which had to include a rock concert by our man...ahhh, Alice. (This was not the concert, years later, where a Alice couldn't get his massive boa constrictor to clear Canada Customs and his manager found my friend Bob's snake Smiley. I have been told it was during the song, "Welcome to my Nightmare," Alice ran offstage and Bob handed Smiley to the rock star. Poor Smiley was instantly freaked out by the lights and the excited screams of the fans and began to do the thing that was most natural and comforting to him. As he constricted, Alice, losing breath quickly stumbles off the lip of the stage where he breaks his arm and collarbone. The tour was cancelled but Smiley blithely uncoiled and slithered into Bob's arms. Bob got his snake, some cash, and I got a great single-serving story.)

The Original Set-Up
That night Claire and I were both Seventeen years old, both musicians, and this being after my athletic era we were both happily experimenting with serious psychedelic drugs. It was abeautiful night, late Spring, 1974, and we had decided to drop MDA, the earliest version of Ecstasy, but not mention it to little Lisa who at age twelve might feel uncomfortable if she knew her sister and I were extremely high.

Good Rocking, That Night
Alice put on a decent show (welcome to my nightmare tour) and Claire and I laughed at the side-show theatrics and rocked out to the hits. It was fairly blissful, though too quickly it was over. I looked at my watch and informed my crew that it was only 10:30 p.m. and Claire confessed their Mom didn’t expect them home till 1:30-2:00 am, so what did we want to do. I told them about an advert for a midnight screening of new movie release. The girls asked what the movie was about but I drew a blank and suggested we leave Pacific Coliseum and make our way to the Granville Mall’s classic Vogue theater.

Liberties of the Sizties / Realities of the Seventies
We arrived in front of the Vogue at about 11:20 p.m. and already twenty or thirty hearty souls had begun to gather by a street lamp in some semblance of a line. Once ensconced in that line we enquired of our new mates what movie we were about to see was about but no one in line had any idea. No doubt many were equally as stoned and Claire and I. Most people in line had never heard of this, apparently, science-fiction film and were all very new to the idea of Midnight Movies (late-night previews were extremely rare in 1974) and were truly excited to be going anywhere near a movie theater at midnight.

Have You Met George's Wookie?
We were higher than ever as we piled into the theater and made our way to the balcony claiming prime front row seats in the second balcony tier. The Vogue had a big screen and an impressive stereo sound system The film began with an amazing symphonic punch echoed by a screen filled with stars. The screen then filled with golden scrolling text unfolding the narrative of Chapter Four in a story entitled, A New Hope. That night, at that moment, in a handful of theaters up and down the west coast, Lucas and Fox were showing the first Star Wars movie to thousands of stoned teenagers,who were all about to have their minds scorched at the moment Han Solos’ ship, the Millennium Falcon, finally kicked into light-speed. Whoosh!

A Hodgepodge That Connects
As the Sixties simmered in the background, the best culture of the Seventies spoke to political and religious themes. The story of Star Wars was of an empire (evil) and a band of scruffy rebels (good) daring to challenge said Imperial force. Like other good pseudo-spiritual stories, Star Wars’ did it’s homework and brought together Zen riffs, Orgone Energy, and Joseph Campbell’s’ Hero mythos into a new age stew that satisfied millions of moviegoers for over three decades.

Cooling Our Jets
After the movie we were all pumped. The girls had to be peeled away from their seats as the effect of movie was immediate and brutal. Little Lisa and Cool Claire poured themselves into a taxi and a swift ride home to M&D. I took a bus home and watched in amusement as various drunks debated their life choices. Although it took me a long time to fall asleep, dreams of star fighters and crystalline entities stalked my sleep that night.

Seminal Days of the Transhuman
This was the beginning of my heavy fanboy phase where descriptors like geek, nerd, or dweeb were synonyms. This phase included my Apply II computer with 48kilobytes of random access memory, mastering Dungeons and Dragons, followed by discovering alternative comics, Science-Fiction conventions, Hawkwind, Moorecock, subsequent employment at a Comic Shop and my role as BC’s first professional Dungeon Master. By age 22 I had passed these on, but my affection for them remained. At age 22 I began my seven-year journey in and about North America, Europe, and the MIddle East which really is another story.

© 2009 Leigh R. Wolf

Monday, June 22, 2009

Dimwit is Dead!

Elegy for Dimwit
in shadows, deep down hastings street, groups gather in door ways
awaiting endless gig to activate anything not buried by toxic rubble
scrawny shivering kids whose piercing eyes reveal such chaotic crimes

teen rampage is non compliance enforced destitution rewards antipathy
no mention of how junk improved and how a darker habit emerged
certain fury is a quicker death as track-town nihilism gained it's rep

here the faithless and faceless came alive in performance as would a star
why chaos creates freakish factors in the lives of some legendary artists
he sat above it all like a moment of time his power trodding on perfection

you have never felt and heard anything as raucous and threatening
bonham might not have controlled such monstrous compression
two men would take 20 min. nailing his toolkit onto the stage

himself, a larger man to whom playing was an immersive expression
his wrists were solid gnarly femurs of prehistoric forest bone strength
a focused blistering attack led by a powerful steady hand/foot crunch

nature's timekeeper goes into those musical domains where few rarely
his original styley stew mixed with an amazing brute force that crackled
Dimwit was dead on arrival and then later played with pointed sticks

there were other rhythm sticklers back then, many great ones
all locked into pop sockets so tightly delighting while deftly defining
andy graffiti, david p, ian tiles, barry, taylor, and Dim's brother chuck

all partners of the Vancouver sonic faithfully serving degeneration x
mostly remembered in recordings that leave us legendary signatures
but no more accurate or acidic wit than served by our funky-fashionista

i bumped into Ken, on public transit, a few months before he died
he said he was not using and that he was back at nursing school
we shook hands and just before stepping off that bus looking back

i thought i would write a poem for Dimwit and have done so now

all respect.

© 2009 Leigh R. Wolf

Saturday, June 13, 2009

Reaching Out!

True Confessions
Even though I am a married man, in a traditional heterosexual relationship, I am, in my heart, a radical lesbian. Not a separatist, but there is a definite affinity between myself and the local lesbian population in both spiritual and political values. We are environmentalists, we believe in a feminine principle that values life and inter-dependence above death and slavery. We are all feminists who everyday defy the patriarchy and refuse to be subjugated by the past. This all changes when I leave my digs, away from the comfort of my electric words, I am confronted with my gender and the power-roles inherent and the dramatic need for change becomes self-evident.

Even Truer Confessions
The core of my feminism is my paganism. The earth magic shamanic tradition that I celebrate includes healing hands, gifts of prophecy, astrology, telepathy, envisioning, shapeshifting, telekinesis, non-local bi-location, and a host of other concepts far too freaky to explore in this forum. I have committed to the feminine principle as the beginning of understanding of my own personal environment. Much like the ancient Israelites of more than five thousand years past, I am a pagan whose loyalty and oath are to the Great Mother - aka Spaceship Earth, and Pan-Genitor -aka the horned faun (honour all that exists upon her). The constant balancing of these energies is required, mandatory, in the face of the extreme Yang shadow cast by modern Christian patriarchic conditions.

Inconguity in Perpetuaity?
Lately I have been considering the Lord God of Abraham, whom we have learned is a jealous God and none can come before Him. Much is made of the idea that Christianity is an evolutionary step in monotheistic religions. As a pagan I suggest that the Christianity of Constantine is the schism where Christ became more than a messenger but a God himself and, indeed, The Son of God. Throw in the Holy Ghost and hundreds of Saints, not to mention Metatron and his angelic choir, and the complete cast suddenly number in the hundreds. Not so monatxhethist as even Abraham may have hoped for during frequent lonely nights.

Pity, poor Jesus
Pity poor Jesus, whose gentle message of peace and compassion has been so brutally misrepresented, and whose life in service to community is so ignored. Consider the historical Jesus, the man, whose teachings were compromised by a Roman Emperor seeking a political (belief) system so as to stabilize his empire. Constantine I, Roman Emperor, had problems back around 312 ce. when rebellions at either end of his empire revealed a need for a steadying influence in a way that his own paganism could no longer provide. The act of making Christianity the official state religion was the final stroke of an impressive pen. Politicians and priests still praise him today as a Saint and visionary leader but I suggest that Constantine, much like the people's of South America and Africa, simply substituted Christian iconography for pagan symbols, pagan totems, and pagan locations. Thereby creating a Santarian-like off-shoot, quasi-sect of Judaism, called Christianity where the names and symbols have been entirely replaced in exactly the same position. Sort of like dropping Twilight Zone acid on a visit to Main Street U.S.A.

The Three Misses
Christianity today is a thin soup of misunderstood pagan icons (Santa, Xmas trees, bunnies), misunderstandings at source (Jesus is God, Jesus is Lord, all of the above), and misdirection (murder on a cross, drinking his blood, eating flesh). The power of the Roman tradition, of Christianity, is so firmly entrenched in this corruption that the best I can hope for is that my writings continue to draw sparse readership and my heretical ideas are ignored and marginalized. This system has had two thousand years to perfect it's policies of oppression against women and people of colour, policies supporting warfare (onward...), policies to keep the poor in their place, and the guilty secret that helped the priesthood baffle the brains of billions.

I'm a Man, You're a Man (unless you're a Woman...)
Mohammed was a man. Buddha was a man. Confucius was a man. and ultimately Jesus Christ was a man. Obviously a great man whose story, though misrepresented, is still engaging even with tatters and flaws revealed. But what of the mother wisdom thrown out after the ten year deliberation to define Christianity, under Constantine. Books like the Nag Hamadi and the Pistes Sophia are relegated to antiquity while certain sections of fantasy and hate literature were gleefully stuffed into the first Christian bibles. Many of Christ the Prophet's alleged quotes, from the Bible, are filled with mercy and compassion, two qualities highly valued among my pack. If the Christians of the world could become more like Moslems, with One God with no son - Mohammed is His Prophet. Perhaps the existential pressure of living up to the ideal of Jesus as a God who was murdered by humanity, is driving everyone, collectively,and completely insane.

Same Old, Same Old
Things are changing quickly these days. An old Hitler Youth member has become Pope based on his separation at birth from the Emperor from Star Wars. The U.S.A. has suffered an Evangelist President for eight years and in the year 2009 is paying an incredible economic cost not seen in over 75 years. Books like Holy Blood, Holy Grail create opening points for long buried conversations about doubt and incongruity. Films like The da Vinci Code and Angels & Demons promote questioning uncertainty among millions of movie goers whose faith in the church, see church attendance, has been slipping every year since the Atomic Bomb ended World War II.

Chill-Axe my Friends
Nature is a system of checks and balances. The Dominator, culturally, has choked the trust out of everyone beyond their core group of followers. Now some 25-33% of the general U.S. voting public is seeking control of the far right-wing corner of the Republican Party (Bush country).(Think one million voters per percentage point.) Does this suggests that one-tenth of the U.S. population wants to participate in public hangings of Pagans and other Heretics? Well no, but you connect the dots and soon the doomsday and apocalypse experts are stuffing the airwaves with prophetic dates and then soon thereafter...

We all know the Stones killed Brian Jones
The fact of this act was built with his bones

© 2009 Leigh Richard Wolf