Beware of Peruvian Fat Smugglers

Fat People the Target of Gang Murders in Peru; Fat Sold on Black Market | Cleveland Leader

Source: clevelandleader.com

If you are the slightest bit pudgy, you may want to reconsider that trip to Peru. Peruvian police have captured several members of a remote jungle gang that kills people for their fat. The fat is then reportedly sold on the black market for use in cosmetics.

Does anyone else see the irony here? Bandits kill people for their fat--a symbol of ugliness--and use it for makeup--a product in the beauty industry...

If they ever expand this organization (pun intended) to the US, they'll make more money than Warren Buffet. (And I'm sure the fast food industry will underwrite their efforts). I'm going for my walk now. Twice.

Afterthought...it's disconcerting that they feel they actually have to KILL someone to get their fat. I mean, don't they ever watch Nip/Tuck? Liposuction is way more humane.

Beware of Peruvian Fat Smugglers

Train Wrecks & Other Human Tragedies

In a previous post, I let my insecurities get the best of me, regarding meeting someone new, and being afraid i might have presented myself poorly....and the irony was, that the woman called and asked me out that night. 

But the date turned into a major train wreck. What i discovered, was that I had a completely erroneous idea of who she was. Turns out she has some serious problems, and is an alcoholic. She drank to the point where she passed out, and I had to put her to bed and go home. It gave me some perspective i sorely needed. Whenever i worry that i might be a little intense for some people, they always reassure me with more profound shortcomings, that make me happy to accept my own.

At her house, she insisted that we were going to be friends for life, and that she was going to "take care of me." I wasn't aware that i needed care. I told her so. And she professed her undying trust in me and then said "You trust me, too, now, right?" 


I said, "No I don't. I don't know you well enough yet. I don't trust anyone until they prove they can be trusted. At the same time, i can be open and friendly and have a good time. But you do not get my trust until you earn it."

"Wow, really?"

"You don't know me. I could be a serial killer."

"Oh, but i know you're not. I know you are very special."

"Well great. But it's a little soon for you to be making pledges to me."

She spent the entire night trying to get me not to leave, but insisted it was because i didn't need to drive since i had had some wine. This was laughable, because I was under the legal limit, as always, and she was BLOTTO (Probably as always). She couldn't even admit to herself (much less to me) that she wanted me to stay because of other reasons. Not even when i gave her permission to just be honest about it. No, it was *ME* who didn't need to drive. I was the one with the problem. There are many psychological terms for that tactic.

So tonight, as if I needed another example of the damaged people among us, i have another experience that illustrates how people are just people, and I'm simply too hard on myself. A previous friend of mine asked why I responded in a certain way to some things she said, and i admitted that i had gotten triggered by our past experience with each other and that i had felt betrayed by her. She met my honesty and vulnerability with the knife of caustic self- righteousness. 

Now my readers know that I'm so careful to be ethical and deliberate in my actions. But to reveal yourself so openly and honestly in conversation, on a blog, or in books, or in music, as I do, is to set yourself up for some heartache. People can use that stuff against you, while climbing on their high horse to ride away, having felt better about themselves after they twist the truth so that they can place themselves in a good light, and superimpose their own garbage onto you. And they'll do it every time, even when they say they won't.

I don't know what this tendency is about--this pattern i have noticed in those who screw it up so profoundly, and then slap you in the face for trying to help or be their friend, by practicing a little revisionist history. And suddenly, I'm the bad guy. As I've said many times, "You're only responsible for being honest, not for someone else's reaction to your honesty."

But it's still disheartening...How people can be vicious by using your weaknesses against you, when they don't like what they're hearing. And how they think they know who you are, when really, they only know who they need you to be, to make themselves feel better. How they can turn a vulnerable moment or a difficult challenge into the proof to convict you--proof they planted on the scene just like a crooked cop. 

Train Wrecks & Other Human Tragedies

Footie Pajamas in the Street

I just came back from my daily walk, and had one of those rare visceral experiences that remind me why I look at most parents these days with disgust.

Across the street ahead, i saw a little yellow flash and then saw that it was a child. She was wearing yellow footie pajamas and had blond hair and a dirty face. Cute as could be. Not more than two years old.But then I noticed she was out on the sidewalk by herself.

And then i noticed she was walking into the street. Alone.

And then i turned and saw the car coming around the corner.

I sprinted into the street, hoping like hell the car would see me in time. I was a bigger target than that little girl. I scooped her up into my arms and hopped onto the curb to the sound of screeching brakes. Relieved, that's when my heart began to pound.

"Where's your mommy?" I asked her.

She pointed.

Mommy  lifted her head out of the open door of a car in the nearby parking lot. She saw me walking toward her, carrying the little girl.

"Oh my god!" she said. "I thought you were right behind me." She came around the car.

I put the child down and said, "Well, she wasn't. She was in the street. She nearly got hit."

I could see that she knew I wanted to pop her in the mouth. Or better yet, call child protective services.

She thanked me profusely and I continued my walk, feeling the awful might-have-been tragic fantasy developing in my head. My daily walk has now taken on a whole new meaning. I will now be watching the streets for wandering toddlers with crappy parents.

Footie Pajamas in the Street

Id, Ego, Super-Ego & the Social Security Number

I slept fitfully all night. A pervasive anxiety crept through me until I began to fidget with restless legs. A couple of times I woke up feeling like I couldn't breathe. Like I was underwater and there was no surface in either direction. I didn't know if I was up or down....I only knew I was going to drown. (Song Lyric alert).

Lest anyone think me too self-possessed, I will admit that what tossed me and turned me was not the plotting problems of my newest novel, but plain old insecurity. I went to sleep thinking about the phone conversation I had just had with someone new--worrying about the impression I might have inadvertently made on her--someone I am to meet soon, maybe this weekend. So there you are. Dear Readers, Jae is hand-wringing, afraid she might not be perceived as good enough.

Until just recently, I had been isolated for an extended period, and aside from mostly talking to my longtime friends on the phone, most of my time was spent in my own head and my own creative process. Though I have become quite comfortable talking to my cats, and to myself, it's not the same with other humans. It really is true, that when you become isolated too long, and everyone you talk to knows you like they know their own social security number, you UNlearn how to be with brand new people. And I for one, am having a "Number" done on me, about Social Security. And the beast who's doing a number on me is a component of my psyche. The Id portion of my brain makes me say things I probably shouldn't say, and the Super Ego eggs it on--I should start calling that the Super-EGGO.  And there's my Ego, being squished between them, endeavoring to inject a little restraint to the Id. (leggo my Eggo!) 

I am astute enough to understand that since I have so rarely been able to SHARE myself in any genuine way, and have been without the comfort of companionship and the machinations of social activity and acceptance, that i am hungry. Hungry for communication, hungry for company, hungry for acceptance, acknowledgment, hungry to be touched and loved.  As Shakespeare said, "That way madness lies." 

But at any rate, it then tortures me with those aforementioned "Social Security Numbers. " Like the ones that came into my mind during and after the phone call: She was really tired when she called and she told you that. But you kept talking, didn't you? You are too much for people. They think you're arrogant, maybe even selfish. You shouldn't have said all that stuff about rattling cages, and how much you like to do it. Do you have to say out loud every fucking thing that pops into your mind? No one cares! Now she thinks you're a trouble maker and you will embarrass her in public. Why can't you ever dial it back? No one wants to know your details. You can't ever just sit there and smile and be mysterious? You will never make friends or find a partner or even a date, because you don't know how to shut the fuck up.

That's pretty much the monologue going on in my head. I'm paranoid that I have given an incorrect and incomplete impression of myself, because I'm so accustomed to talking to people who not only know me, but understand me--and more importantly, have shown they completely accept me. i don't have to give them the backstory, because they already know it, and the assessments have been made, and I have been stamped ACCEPTED and invited on through the gate. 

But I can't go at it like that with new people in my life. I'll sabotage the whole thing. I get so excited to have people physically in my life again, that I overdo it. I try too hard to be worthy, and in so doing, and with irony, project unworthiness. Now, my Super-Ego starts spitting disgust at me that I am worthy and who gives a damn what anyone else thinks? And my Id laments that I will always be alone, and probably die that way. Where is my Ego? Maybe I need to start feeding that. There's such a negative connotation to Ego. Most people don't think of Freud's definition. They think ego=arrogance, pride. I know that in general neurological terms, the Ego is the residence of defense mechanisms and cognitive functions like memory, reason, judgment, tolerance, self-control, information processing, defenses, and people skills. If you accept Freud's model, then the Ego is the consciousness. The referee between the Id and the Super-Ego. 

Regardless, it all has its thick, dirty fingers around my throat.

It occurs to me that this problem should not have so much power to do damage. I mean, I survived and conquered being crippled, being  homeless and penniless, being friendless, familyless, and agoraphobic. And this little portion of my brain is going to take me down?

Maybe.

Id, Ego, Super-Ego & the Social Security Number

Gay marriage in the US and why it has not been legalized

There is, I believe, only one pertinent reason why gay marriage has not been legalized nationwide in America. It's because there is an inherent repulsion about it on the part of some straight people-usually the religious ones-who believe marriage should be between a man and a woman. This "institution" (rightfully named) is sacred to them, even though the historicity of marriage was predicated on the oppression of women through ownership. Marriage began as a way of allowing men to "own" women. If straight people want to cling to this bit of archaic tripe, I say let them have it.

Do other industrialized nations agree with the general American stance against gay marriage? It doesn't appear so. There is obvious trending toward legalization of gay marriage worldwide. Nations that have recognized this as a fundamental legal right are: South Africa, Netherlands, Belgium, Canada, Spain, Israel, Denmark, Sweden, Iceland, Finland, France, Germany, and Portugal. The Czech Republic, Slovenia, and Uruguay recognize partnerships; Croatia recently extended some rights for same-sex couples. New Zealand and Australia allows some of the more important rights, such as immigration and inheritance. The Taiwan government put forth a bill for same sex marriage; Brazil, Argentina, Italy, and Switzerland allowed the extension of economic and legal rights for same-sex couples, and Mexico City has become the first in that country to recognize gay civil unions, and the UK has a domestic partnership in effect. Obviously, America had fallen way behind in their respect for the rights of gay people.

America is also the only industrialized nation to have a majority adhere to monotheistic religions. Coincidence? I don't think so. Religion has played a role throughout history in the oppression and dismissal of those deemed "lesser." One has only to read about religious wars or Hitler's Germany, to know this.

Opponents will repeat the refrain that marriage is a sacred institution (Would that be "Our Holy Lady of Lunatics"?). Why all the fuss about that? A relationship is made sacred only by the two people involved, not by some prescribed piece of paper sanctioned by the state. As a gay woman, I am not concerned with sacred institutions. What concerns me is what should concern all gay people, and what is at the root of the issue; namely, that gay people should be able to commit to each other and enjoy the same benefits, rights and allowances that married people do.

My solution is simple. Don't call it marriage. Call it Civil union, or Domestic Partnership. But give those domestic partners the right to file joint tax returns, the right to have power of attorney, the right to visit and remain by the side of a sick or terminally ill partner, and to make decisions about their care and wishes, the right to adopt children, the right to inheritance from a partner, the right to equality in jobs and job benefits. Then the precious sanctity of marriage will go unscathed. If it is true, what the objectors say about why they don't think it's right for gay people to get married, then the problem is solved by creating Domestic Partnership as an equally beneficial alternative to marriage. If the objectors then scream and protest, that would mean their reasons were not about the defilement of something they held sacred, it would mean their reasons were about plain old prejudice, ignorance, oppression, and hatred. And should that situation arise after the legalization of Domestic Partnerships, those protesters would be revealed for the selfish, dispassionate people they are.

Gay marriage in the US and why it has not been legalized

Self-Educators, Unite!

I have this underlying aggravation about the red-headed step-child of education. No, I'm not talking about a befreckled child, literally. I'm talking about self-education. In our modern Internet era, it is much easier to find information--some of it is crap, that's a given. But if you're smart enough to know where to look, and how to find the accurate data, you can learn almost anything. Thus, i feel the educational establishment should start recognizing self-educated people by offering a test-out option on all college and university websites.

 

Take me, for example. I had 8 years of college, for a degree in Professional Writing & Editing, but I am voracious about learning in many other disciplines, and I feel a little cheated that my pocketbook keeps me from verifying what I've learned with a piece of paper from a reputable Institution of Higher Learning. As an author with 13 books in print, I am often unfairly penalized for not having enough letters behind my name to be taken seriously, though I feel I am just as qualified to write about certain topics, through my own self-education. In my mind, if I am capable of taking a sort of CLEP test for Life Experience or self-motivated learning, and passing that test, I ought to be able to get some kind of certification representing that, and without having to take out a second mortgage.

I'm just sayin'.

Self-Educators, Unite!

NEAT But Not Reassuring

What were you doing on February 17, 2003?

Did you know that date was almost the end of the world?

We narrowly missed annihilation in 2003, and few knew about it.

A comet called NEAT not so neatly came close to impacting the sun. This comet was over twice the size of jupiter. A well-timed solar flare blasted it out of its trajectory orbit and so disaster was avoided.

NASA's SOHO satellite camera caught it all on video. Go here to see the video.

For perspective, the thick dark line at the left bottom is the arm of a mechanism on the camera that holds a plate in front of the sun, to block glare, so that other objects surrounding the sun can be seen. The white circle in the center of that plate represents the size of the sun.

Now, note the large white object entering at the top-right and moving down the screen on the right. This is the NEAT comet. Compare its size to the size of the sun, and you have some idea what it means to say it's over twice the size of Jupiter. The comet narrowly escaped impact with the sun due to that solar flare--or as the scientists call it, CME (Coronal Mass Ejection).

There are at least a thousand comets that orbit the sun, 160 of those that are near enough to be seen via telescope.

So. In 2003, we were all facing the end of the world, and most of us didn't even know.

NEAT But Not Reassuring

Maintenance Mike & The Domesticated Harpy

My morning started off rudely.

I was awakened first by the construction noises nearby on another patio. And i drifted in and out of sleep, still needing another few hours.

Then a banging at my door set my heart to pounding. And the person kept banging. I hurried to open the door, my pistol behind my back as usual, (I am a single woman who lives alone. I make no apologies) and opened the door.

The construction guy was standing there with three other guys (already a little daunting for a woman alone) and announced that I had to move my stuff off the patio so they could work on it. He said it rudely. Like he had testosterone poisoning.

My hand tightened around the pistol grip. (okay, just kidding, that was for dramatic effect. I don't just go around shooting people who knock on my door. Unless they're from a church, soliciting my soul. Then, yeah. of course. Why wouldn't I?)

Now understand, that one of my biggest pet peeves is to be awakened rudely. Especially by loud sounds. That's why I hate alarm clocks. I have an almost epileptic response. And also understand that i have a sort of primal fear of someone knocking on my door. Not sure where that comes from, but it just stresses me out. Maybe because it represents someone trying to get into my home and i don't know who it is. Weird, i know. But for whatever reason, it's highly stressful.

So I'm standing at my door, having weathered those two very personally stressful things happening at the same time, and this guy is telling me I have to move stuff off my patio, and I'm still in my pajamas. (Okay, I often stay in my pajamas all day...That's why I say i have a Pajama Job...but i don't like being FORCED out of my Pajamas, unless it's for a good reason. Like one that includes a really pretty woman).

Back to our show:
After he TOLD me what i was going to do, i TOLD him what was REALLY going to happen. "Listen here, Scooter, don't pound on my door and tell me what I'm going to do. You did not give me any kind of notice, and I am recovering from a ruptured disc in my neck. I'm not moving anything. You should have given me time to make arrangements. And since you didn't, arrangements will have to be made. In the meantime, you'll have to go terrorize someone else."

Dude took one step back. And then he and his boyfriends just walked away. I guess that work i did in my Card-Carrying-Harpy class really paid off. There would be no tearing of flesh today.

SO I slam the door. I felt it was necessary to make my point. But had to grab the mirror hanging on the wall there, so it wouldn't fall. Damn. Just what i need. Seven years of bad luck on top of the last 7 years i just had. I still can't remember what mirror i broke last time, but it must have been the size of a billboard.

Anyway. I'm thinking about coffee, which always makes me feel better, and there was no way i was going to go back to sleep anyway. So i made coffee and tried to get my heart rate back down. I called the office and told them what happened, very careful not to be in Harpy mode. Rep said she'd have Mike come over and handle it--i think the head of maintenance. Great, I say. Meaning, Great, another man with testosterone poisoning.

A few minutes later, Mike pecked on my patio door, and I stepped out to talk to him. He was immediately courteous. He completely understood dealing with back and neck issues. He'd had surgery on his. And he said there was no way they should have done that the way they did. They were supposed to give me enough notice. And he said that he's there to make sure i get the help I need, and that anytime i ever needed anything moved or any help at all, to call him. It was not only his job, but he enjoyed helping. I said, "That's so refreshing these days. I just wish people would do it because that's who they want to be, and not becuase of some perceived reward." (that's one of my test questions. I always say things like that to see what someone will say, so I'll know where they're coming from). He said. "Jae, I do this because it makes ME feel good. So in a way, i guess it's a little selfish. I enjoy helping people because of how it makes me feel."

Okay, really good answer but he skirted the religion part. And I'm always afraid they're going to start preaching to me at any moment and ask me if I've accepted Jesus as my Lord and Savior, and then it will get ugly because i have so much to say on that subject. But it didn't matter at that point. I already liked him. I already thought about baking him some bread and giving him a fresh cup of coffee later.

The thing about me is, I can be the sweetest most generous and friendly person in the world if you treat me with respect, but the minute you mistreat me, the claws come out, and i go for the jugular. I guess I'm sort of a Domesticated Harpy.

My day improved substantially after that. We stood on the patio and had a nice chat; He reiterated to call him anytime I needed help and I told him I wished I'd known about him when I moved in. Then we talked about our experiences with Frozen Shoulder, Rotator cuff injuries, Bone Spurs, Disc issues; and then about his daughter who is also a writer, and about his son with Asberger's Syndrome who can do all kinds of wonderful things, including write, and how we both wish some of the old fashioned things would swing back around: like doctors who tell the truth, chivalry, customer service, respect, and people being willing to help and have compassion. I'm thinking he and his family are the types I'd like to be friends with. Anyone who can take the day I was having, and change it into something so positive, well, they deserve a medal. Or fresh baked bread and coffee.

Maintenance Mike & The Domesticated Harpy

What Would You Do to Have it?

My friend Justi and I were talking about our various relationships and non-relationships last night--she's in one, I'm not. Part of the reason i relocated to Denver was so that I could meet different types of people than i have been privy to in the past, and have a better chance of meeting someone I could actually commit to.

She asked me if i would ever consider moving again if i met "the one" and "the one" was elsewhere.

My knee-jerk answer was NO.

My knee-jerk answer used to be "yes."

But as I told her, I know that I simply could not go through a major move again. It was so hard on me. There are two lengthy blog entries (Going to Denver Because You're Dead) on that experience-- and it's not one I care to repeat. It was supposed to have been my easiest move, because I got rid of so much, and just drove cross-country pulling a U-haul trailer. But in many ways, it was the worst move, for the toll it took on me physically and emotionally.

And I mean, i have moved 42 times in my life. I don't want to keep doing it. I'm finally in a region I love, which i feel fits me, and offers me everything I could ever need--hopefully that will include a partner at some point. But my reasoning was that if I couldn't find a partner there, I couldn't' find one anywhere, and I would have at least strategically placed myself so that I could have a vibrant life full of plenty of things to do, and interesting people to make friends with. It was my concession to the often cruel machinations of this life. You don't always get what you want. But maybe you can get some things that make the journey a little easier.

But I know that after what I went through with the ruptured disc in my neck and then barely healing from that and going right into moving all by myself cross-country...I just can't do it. It's not even so much that i don't "want" to do it--Love can be a powerful motivator if you're ever lucky enough to find it. It's that I know it's not wise, in relation to my health. Moving is so stressful for me. Mostly because it's been done so many times without any help. Another stance of mine that has been colored by too much isolation and not having a partner to help most of the time.

And moving is also stressful in other ways... there's all this major financial crap--getting my Direct Deposit check switched to a new bank, changing all my EFTs to come out of the new bank, without missing a payment and without incurring fees (that never happens); doing all the unpacking, moving, lifting, rearranging, that inevitably comes from any type of relocation--and this time, I dealt with getting rid of three-quarters of everything I owned before I left--which meant moving things up and down the stairs and carrying them outside to the patio, and having sales, and it was just incredibly physical stuff.

Then there was, this time, dealing with storageI already had in this state, and driving back and forth to that (an hour and a half each way), pulling stuff out, going through it, loading it, unloading it, moving it around, etc....and then the expenses of getting things to replace the things I got rid of; and the unexpected expenses, and the final bills combined with the new bills and the deposits, etc...Holy Harpies! It's just a major ordeal.

So that's why my knee-jerk response was NO. I WON"T MOVE. Why do I have to be the one who always does that? If I meet someone special they better be able to afford to move me, and hire someone to do it, or else, they better just be near where I am. For one thing, as I told Justi, I won't even communicate with anyone who isn't nearby, anymore. I don't even want to get into that situation at all.

Then she countered my declaration with a challenging question--as she is inclined to do--she said, "What if you meet some woman who is just visiting, and you fall for her? Then would you move to be with her?"

I took a deep breath and said, "No." So brave. So crazy.

So she poked those embers a little more. "What if she was local, and you met and fell in love and were together here, sharing a home, and then she had to relocate for a job transfer? Wouldn't you go with her then?"

Well, the only answer to that, was what i gave her:

"Goddammit!"

This type of dilemma is made doubly hard when you're my age. Both because I'm set in some of my ways, and because I can't be doing things that exacerbate any health issues. I want to remain healthy as long as possible. (I have this profound wish to live forever, but only if I can be at about the age of 35 the whole time....I've written about that here and here.) But I also don't want to grow old alone. I don't want to be without a partner. I thrive in partnership for many reasons. I am not cut out to be single. Some of that has to do with the nature of my work--it's isolated, so it's important to have someone to share my life with. Otherwise it's too easy to just retreat inside myself. ---So will the fear of not finding love be stronger than the fear of all that stress and injury, and perhaps being taken away from the friends and environment I've worked so hard to have? I can't answer. And that's one of my biggest irritations. I want to be able to have an answer. To almost everything.

What I'm left with, then, is to avoid meeting anyone who isn't local. If that means that I meet someone and have to ask if they are from here, and if they're not, don't pursue romance, that's what I'll do.

As for the other thing--being in a relationship, and then something happening so that we have to move--all I can do is hope I never have to deal with that scenario, should I find that woman.

Last night, while lying in bed, I found I couldn't focus on the book I was reading. And I stared at the ceiling--while this odd, frisson of sadness tingled inside me, thinking about how much I wished the other side of the bed wasn't empty. And I felt a little panic.





Digital Painting, "After You Go" (c) Kelli Jae Baeli

What Would You Do to Have it?

Kindred Molecules, Deja Vu, and Noosphere

There are people we meet who seem to be immediately familiar...these familiars are somewhat vexing, in that it often doesn't make much sense why you are drawn to certain people and feel like they are part of your molecules, somehow.

Whatever that little cosmic thing is that seems to be going on somewhere under the radar...I seriously believe in the concept of Kindreds. I rarely have that sense with people, but I have been enjoying that connection with a new one--Tanya. I feel a connection with Tanya that defies logic. We haven't seen each other in 30 years. But I have seen her, 30 years ago. In High School. She's in the back of my consciousness somewhere. And even then, I was drawn to her, and my immature brain may have completely misunderstood what that connection was. So combine that with the current interaction we've had in phone calls, emails, texting, photos...and maybe our brains just fill in those extra parts where they are supposed to go. The brain does this with memories as a matter of course, but I wonder if it can do it on this other level, where the stuff that gets filled in isn't memory, unless it's cellular or on some cosmic level we have yet to understand...

She recently dreamed she and I were talking and I was wearing a blue striped shirt. She asked if I had one. I sent her a picture of the only one I owned, and she said that was just like the one in the dream. She thought it was freaky and spoke of other times when she has dreamed things and they appeared later in her life...felt a little like deja vu when we have moments like that, she said. And I agree that it's odd--when we seem to tap into something beyond our normal comprehension.

My friend Justice believes in the collective consciousness, and she says that's where it comes from. I like the idea of the Collective Consciousness (AKA Noosphere, Universal Mind, Collective Unconscious, Akashic Record, etc). It's similar to the concepts I've been exploring in my book, Quintessence... although not about this specifically, it is about the idea of Alternate Realities, the Unified Field, and what if DNA can find copies of itself in other alternate realities. What if the same is true for Kindred Molecules? What if there's some beacon that can pick these things up, that science has not discovered yet? What can we really know for sure about the Noosphere?

I don't know. But fascinating to think about.

Back to deja vu. I do think that it falls into a category of brain science, most of the time--people believe essentially what they need or want to believe, and it gets embellished until it's an outright lie. I've been guilty of that. I realized this most recently in an experience while walking on a golf course on the evening of 4th of July. In realizing that I had taken an accidental picture that looked mysterious, my brain started on that tangent and I wondered if I took a bunch of those types of photos, and then posted a blog with a bunch of B.S. in it, packaged to look like the real thing--how many people would fall for it. About 75% FELL FOR IT.

You know who fell for it? The Christian, religious and/or highly spiritual people. They already have the tendency well in place, you see, to swallow whatever seems mysterious as something... MYSTERIOUS. Which means they are ripe for the picking, and don't use their reason enough.


I am reading this book (one of many on my nightstand that I read in turns) called The 'God' Part of the Brain. In it, the author explains his quest for his own cosmology (much like my cosmology book, but a different genre) and apparently, there is something about the human brain that inherently wants to believe in things that are not true.

One example, from just today. Each time I got up from my desk to go refill my coffee or some other household errand in another room, i noticed that the light was on in my closet. I had turned it off before that. This happened repeatedly, and i had this little moment...that moment that happens in the primitive portions of our brains that wants the mysterious to stay mysterious... wherein I ALMOST thought there was something MYSTERIOUS happening. Then my rational mind kicked in and I reminded myself of how I had gone into that closet about 20 times that day, since it's as much storage as closet. I had just not consciously noticed leaving the light on each time. I only notice it when i get up and am facing the open door and see the light in this otherwise dim room. Contrast is part of that explanation. I don't notice leaving it on, because I'm walking OUT of the light. My eyes are sensitive to light, and I only notice when it hits my eyes, and they have to adjust. Perfectly rational, plausible, and HONEST. Nothing mysterious there.

In storage recently, I came across another photo that spoke to this very concept, and used myself as the guinea pig. I took a photo of a UFO when I was a kid, and when I revisited this photo and the story surrounding it, realized I had fabricated the whole thing. I WANTED TO SEE A UFO and so I saw one. But just like the photos of the light worms on the golf course, it was created by moving the camera while taking a picture, resulting in the dragging of a light source into a glowing object. It took a great deal of honesty to admit that to myself. IT had started as a weird photo I didn't understand, and it had then morphed into the thought of UFO's, and then, over the years, I continued to lie to myself in increments, to the point where I believed it. The memory was so distant-- and I hadn't seen the photo in so long. Finding the photo in storage, it reiterated the situation with the post about the glowing night worms. This photo had the same glowing effect on it. And it was not due to something in the sky. It was an error in the photography, and a glitch in my human software. The glitch that has us believing the lies we tell ourselves. Until we can all nip that in the bud before 30 years go by--like the minute we do it--we will always be subject to the machination of the psyche, and all it's variant bad sectors on the Human Hard Disk.

What was I talking about? Oh yeah. Deja Vu.

(I have had just as many experiences with what i call Vuja De--which is the sensation that no one else has ever had this experience, ever. lol).

There are many things that science has yet to explain... or prove...one of those is the concept of a Collective Consciousness. Justice believes that's where she gets her psychic information. I can't say. All I know is, she seems to have this gift for knowing things I can't find any explanation for. So yes. THAT'S a mystery. Science doesn't know yet, what that's about. I've had many experiences myself about knowing things I "shouldn't" know. First memory of that which sticks with me is when I knew Elvis was dead before they announced it. I was sitting in the living room watching soaps (back when I had only 3 wrinkles in my brain, and didn't know any better) and a bulletin came on with a little splash screen. Just a nondescript logo on the screen, Nothing else. I turned and called to my Female Parental Unit, who was in the kitchen, saying, "Mom! Elvis died!"

She came rushing in, wiping her hands on a dish towel, and said "What?"

About that time, the announcer came on...stuttering, "Elvis Presley...has...died..."

I'm sure my mother didn't know that my shock at that moment was not about the death of Elvis, but the realization that I knew about it a few seconds before they said anything.

And over the years, I have known other things. (As I'm sure many people have). Some simple, like knowing the phone was going to ring--I'd reach for it to answer, and realize it wasn't ringing. And then it would ring in my hand. Or knowing what people were going to say in movie dialogue, and saying it right along with them, when I had never seen the movie.

I wonder if any of you have had this experience, or do it on a regular basis: you are listening to someone talk--whether on an audio book, on television, the radio, or in person--and in your mind, you are following along with them in perfect unison, as if they are talking from your head....I'm sure there is a scientific explanation for that, having to do with how the brain works....but i find it interesting...

Sorry, DIGRESSION.

Also--these other examples of connection--I'm sure many people have had this experience--I would think about Justi, and tell her, mentally, to call me, and within a few minutes, she would. I can't explain those things, but it's obvious there is something "out there" we don't fully understand yet, and it does seem mysterious.

Anyway, I'm curious about my connection with Tanya, as I've rarely felt it with anyone else... It's a different species....I'm not sure I can put my finger on it....she is an oddity. (I mean that in the most loving way...I'm an oddity, too). It's like I feel I know her much like I know myself...maybe that's  just a load of malarkey. Maybe it's just that we see eye to eye on so many things....and yet, that doesn't make much sense; we've had two completely different life paths, and yet arrived at most of the same conclusions. Maybe we're just a higher degree of kindred. But this is partly why I am so anxious to spend some face-time with her. I want to know what that's all about.

I want to learn more about the noosphere.

Kindred Molecules, Deja Vu, and Noosphere

Horns, Loneliness, Memories & Flight Patterns

I dreamed that there were two ridges rising up on my head, and I could swear they were moving or pulsing. When I would try to show them to someone, they would deflate. Here's my self-analysis....I think I have a subconscious need to grow horns. Meaning, I am tired of always being the nice one, and sometimes I just want to be mean. But I can't seem to do it. It takes a lot of provoking to get me to snap off. So the ridges on my head represented the horns I grow when I'm alone. And when I'm around other people, they go away. I was supposed to have plans tonight. (CAUTION: pity party). Seems everyone is so busy they can't make time to do anything. It's making it so hard to meet anyone. That's about the 10th time since I moved here that I thought I was actually going to have a social life, and it just didn't happen. It's so hard to start over, and meet new people. I guess that's why I was sort of counting on the ones I knew here to help me with that transition...be my guide, chaperon, introduce me to people, etc. That didn't happen either. So I'm thrown in the deep end of the pool again (thanks DAD for THAT memory. Not). I guess I will just have to swim until I can stand up again. It's not like I haven't done that scenario a hundred times. Funny, because today, I grew some horns just for a second, but they were soft, and then deflated, and then I just let myself tear up and cry for a few minutes. It was an honest-to-psych pity party. But I just don't let them last very long. I do let myself feel what i feel though. Pretending i don't is just counter-productive. 

Let me just illustrate how well i understand myself: Yesterday, I went to Best Buy and meant to spend about $50 and instead spend $222. (okay, that's not the understand-myself part); I had one of those moments where I was just sick and tired of having 40-eleven VHS tapes taking up much needed storage space in my home (and fearful some stuff would be lost when the tapes began to disintegrate). I was transferring videos and sharing some on Facebook. Watching these memories from a certain time in my life that was filled with social activity and approval and love, it jiggled something loose in my psyche--that I have missed that life so much, and have been lonely so long, and moved here to take care of that, but nothing has changed in that regard yet. And the postponed date I had tonight** incited a more acute reaction than would be reasonable, because all those videos stirred up a past where I was social, and did have people in my life who loved me, whom I could reach out and touch because they were right there--not on a computer screen, a text screen, or a phone line. I know I crave interaction that's more tactile, more present.  

Now, I know intellectually, that things don't always happen immediately. You can't just buy a packet of "Social Life Deluxe" and add water. But being reminded of what I need and want, and then realizing I don't have it, threatened to throw me into an emotional tailspin. All I can say is, I always manage to pull up before I crash. So here I am, leveling off my flight pattern again, and hoping that at some point I'll get to land. 


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*ART: Butcher Boys by Jane Alexander (1985). An exhibit at the South African National Gallery in Cape Town.  
**The woman was VERY sweet about it, though, so I don't blame her.And we are rescheduling for Wednesday.

Horns, Loneliness, Memories & Flight Patterns

Cherryot Gymnastics

Storage trip update from Saturday.

So, I'm standing on top of my Cherryot, ¹ applying bungees to things I wish I didn't own, and I'm being careful to step only on the reinforced areas of the roof, and avoid the sunroof entirely, when my foot slipped.

Now, I was wearing my Sketchers which are really comfortable to take my nightly walks in. But I discovered, rudely, that they don't have um...much...traction. At least not on top of the Cherryot.

So in that surreal, slow-motion movie moment kind of way, I began to fall, feet first, sliding down the side...not so bad, really. I could have slipped and fallen backward and landed on my back. So As my feet are striking the ground, i am at the wrong angle, and I just lunge forward...not in a dive-roll, like I did that time in Colorado Springs 8 years ago, on my apartment stairs...that was truly inspired, and of Olympic quality---no, this fall was awkward. I landed on my feet first, then my knees and hands...skidding ever so slightly.

You want to know the first thing i thought after that? I mean, I was feeling pain already, and I had just recovered from a ruptured disc in my neck a few short months ago...but you know what my first thought was?

I hope no one saw that.

(My friend Tanya said that's called "Pride goeth AFTER a fall.")

I actually looked around quickly to see if anyone was about. I would have bled a few extra drops, just so I could take the time to make sure no one saw me do something so patently ungraceful.

The second thing i did was assess the damage. After realizing I could still stand up and was mobile, the next thing i noticed was that I had a nasty splinter in my fuck-you finger. I don't know when that happened.

I went back to work on storage, but knew that i was done for the day. I had to wrap it all up and come back later to do anything i was planning to do then.

So when I finally got home, I groaned my way out of the Cherryot, knowing I was not going to unload that stuff this time. It could wait until tomorrow. My joints and muscles hurt more than the minor scrapes to my knees and palms. I was just going to stick a French Bread pizza in the oven, take a hot shower and ibuprofen, put peroxide and triple antibiotic on my wounds, wrap up my wrists for support, ice my back, and just lie down and read.

And that's what I did.

Until now, of course, when i could no longer resist coming over here and writing something.

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¹ the nickname i gave my red Blazer

Cherryot Gymnastics

Stored Memory

Yesterday, i went to Colorado Springs to start dealing with the storage i have there. It's been percolating there for 7 years. Odd, how so much of it i didn't even recall having. Not that i remembered after i saw it--i mean, i saw it and still didn't remember having it.
Weirdness.

The first surprise was when i opened the door. For those of you my age and older, you might think "Fibber McGee's closet..." For the rest of you, I'm not sure what analogy you'd think of. But i needed a heavy duty shoehorn to start getting that stuff out.

The second surprise was how, all these years, i pictured it as a bigger room, and not packed so tight. Like i expected to be able to just walk in without moving anything. Funny, how our minds superimpose ideas that aren't even accurate. That's why eye witnesses are considered the most unreliable testimony.

Picking through it, i had to open boxes to see what was in them, and it was very much like xmas. I didn't know what i was going to find, and sometimes it was a pleasant surprise. Things i had forgotten, things that engendered good memories, things that made me maudlin. Photographs, bedding, art, books, my handwritten journals. All of it gave me some kind of emotion.

Stored Memory