Left, Right, Center, Lunacy Is Still Lunacy

Several years ago at a science fiction convention I saw a charlatan in the dealers room fleecing people with bogus "kirlian aura" photographs. The person in question had constructed an elaborate chair with complex armrests with hand-shaped inserts and cables. The victim sat in the chair, placed the hands on the plates, and a photograph was taken (a polaroid) that showed a bust portrait int he midst of swirling colors. I got a glimpse of the set up---there were mirrors on either side of the lens reflecting brightly-colored streamers that flanked the magic chair. Somehow, this created a lens flare of multi-hued cloudiness. I am a photographer by training. I know a little something about Kirlian "aura" photographs, enough to know that (a) you can't take them in full light and (b) Polaroid never made a film sensitive enough in the format this person was using to record the faint electrical tracings. You also couldn't run enough electricity safely through a whole human body to create even a thin outline much less the solar flare explosion these prints displayed. They looked nothing like a Kirlian photograph. But people were buying them, fifteen bucks a shot, and I expect the photographer in question made nice change that weekend. When an acquaintance of mine was showing hers off later I made a couple of remarks about the fraudulent aspects of it and all I got for my trouble was frostiness and dismissal as a hopeless skeptic. I confess I took that as my cue to say nothing further. I did not unmask the fraud, which would have been brave and ethical, but might well have gotten me pilloried as a spoil sport. This past year I sat on a panel about alternate religions and mythology at another convention. I was the only self-professed atheist on the panel. When I made my introductions and stated my position, a co-panelist asked me "So you're not a Christian? What are you then?" I was a bit dumbfounded. Did she not know what the word Atheist meant? I expounded. "I'm a humanist and rational materialist. I think all religions are essentially the same. Some are more benign than others but all of them are based on assumptions I can't accept. So I'm not only not a Christian, I am not a Jew, a Muslim, a Hindu, a Buddhist, or any variety of Pagan or New Age mystic. As far as I'm concerned, they're all bunk." I was not pilloried. We had a good discussion. I chopped up every religious assertion regardless its source and we all had a rousing good time fencing with each other and I was even congratulated later for having the guts to state my position clearly and forcefully. But afterward, the same co-panelist who asked my what I was if not a Christian came up to me and pressed me further. Do I believe in reincarnation? "No. There's no proof for it. It seems to me to be the same sort of wishful thinking all the rest of them embrace and I have no use for it." I think she was offended at that point. Thinking about it now, I'm beginning to realize why we have such difficulty in public forums discussing religion, especially religion in our political life.

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The Possibilities are Emptiness!

"Emptiness is described as the basis that makes everything possible" - The Twelfth Tai Situpa Rinpoche, Awakening the Sleeping Buddha “The truth you believe and cling to makes you unavailable to hear anything new.” - Pema Chodron Buddhism makes people uncomfortable when it talks of emptiness. Most Western minds immediately go to "nothingness" as the equivalent, which I am learning is not accurate. Mingur Rinpoche has a fantastic chapter on emptiness in The Joy of Living. In it he makes my language geek happy by explaining the Tibetan words for emptiness - "tongpa-nyi". He says Tongpa does mean empty, but only in the sense of something we can't capture with our senses, and better words would be inconceivable or unnameable. Nyi, he says, has no particular meaning but when added to a word conveys a sense of "possibility". Suddenly, instead of nihilism, we have an "unlimited potential for anything to change, appear, or disappear." That is cool stuff. We, as human beings, simply can't conceive emptiness in that sense. Our minds are limited - they can only deal with so much - even with training. The assumptions we make and the perspectives we develop and yes, even the absolutes we live (and too often die) by, are simply our own constructions helping us navigate a reality that would otherwise overwhelm us. I'm not just talking about moral or ethical realms here, I also mean our physical reality. We are comforted by the thought that the chair we sit in and the floor we walk on are "solid" but science teaches us something else. The history of science itself demonstrates our understanding of the world is evolving. Quantum mechanics shows us things we didn't dream of 100 years ago. We keep learning new and better ways to grasp how the world works - our knowledge shifts constantly like sand in a desert storm. Facing the possibility of everything being in flux frightens us, and so we create shields that offer protection, that make us comfortable. We then think we can know ourselves, the world, and those around us. We know what to expect, we know what to accept. We order our existence, and we feel safe. Often we don’t know that we are creating a structure with which to experience the world. We are born into them as much as we seek them out, but the effects are the same. Habits of knowing, like habits of behavior, are comfortable, like well-worn shoes or a tasty turkey pot pie. Fear of losing that comfort and the accompanying feeling of safety is why we, collectively, often lash out at anyone or anything that is different from us. In those situations our core concepts of who we are and how we live are at risk. But when our worldview is so rigid it prevents us from adapting to what is, our carefully constructed truths are no longer places of refuge, they more resemble prison cells. Consider a man who has been laid off from his job as a machinist who can only see himself going into work at a factory, but all of the factories in his town have closed. His options for factory work in his town are nonexistent. If that is all he can see for himself his options are very bleak. But if he can open his mind and see another way to put his skills to use - not as an employee of a factory - he can devise a plan of action. I don’t mean that he will transform himself into something different with brand new skills. But if he can let go of the rigidity of what work once meant to him, he has a better chance of finding ways to leverage what he currently has to offer. The challenge is to hold lightly to everything I believe, and to see the lack of fixity as a source of possibility instead of a recipe for loss. As someone just getting started on this practice, I can say it feels much like standing and stretching luxuriously after being stuck in a painfully cramped space. One can learn to do a fine backstroke in the abyss, and abyss is more a fertile sea of possibility than terrifying vacuum. What a happy surprise. Image: © Rozum | Dreamstime.com

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Mean Phoneme Meme

During a bout of insomnia, I pondered an underrepresented phoneme. I first learned about these essential quanta of spoken words while I was earning my degree in psychology back in the early 1980's, and researching computer speech synthesis for fun. What popped into my head these wee hours was the word, "vacuum". Say it aloud with me, "Vacuum". Listen to yourself say it. Vacuum. Break it down. It starts with the vee, a vocalized eff. Then "a" as in "can". And a full-stop kay. No surprises, so far. Did you just utter "Ee"? As in "Keep"? We will get back to that. Next it depends on your dialect. Maybe you said "oo" as in "broom", or maybe oo-uh as in "you-uns". And end with a nice vocalized "mm". This is the only case that I can think of where a double-U really is. But, what was that in the middle? Ee? Vakeeoom? Part of the institutional mis-education in our country is that even teachers are unaware of a double standard in teaching the relationship between spoken and written English. We have "silent-E" drilled into us... (Digression for mathematician Tom Lehrer's version on The Electric Company) ... but what about all those hidden, non-silent "E"s? They are everywhere in our spoken words, but not in the written ones. Even many words with silent E have unwritten spoken long-E's embedded. Take "lake", for example. Listen to yourself say it. There is no hint of the written E on the end. But in the middle? L-eh-ee-k. Long "A" is really short-E-long-E. Always. (Ah-l-oo-eh-ee-z) Take a cue from "cue". K-ee-oo. Do you, like, like "like"? L-ah-ee-k? So my obscure title simply means that I mean to bring attention to the essential idea of a troublesome yet common (mean, mean) spoken sound. I'm usually easy to amuse, but sleep deprivation stunts my self-censorship.

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The Line Between

I have to write a new bio. I've been needing to do this for some time. I had a few prepared bios for conventions and such, tailored depending on who I sent them to. Magazine bios, con bios, conference bios...they all required a bit of tweaking. But they're all pretty much out of date. I'm going to do this during the coming week. Cull through all the details that would seem to make me an important person, someone people might wish to come listen to or see. I have a difficult time with these, which is why I write most all of them in third person. I have to put myself in a frame of mind that I'm writing about Someone Else. Apropos to that, this past weekend I received my copy of the new documentary The Polymath: or the Life and Opinions of Samuel R. Delany. In the course of watching it Saturday and Sunday, we heard him say that he considers himself a rather uninteresting person. I found that resonant. When I'm writing a new story, I tend to put myself in the character of the protagonist. I see myself as That Person. And almost always, when I start on the subsequent rewrites, one of the problems I have to fix is that the main characters of my stories are uniformly weak compared to the secondary characters. A couple of years ago I had a revelation about why that is. Mainly, because I don't see myself as a particularly interesting person. So that translates into the protagonist, who is generally interested in the other characters, who then become relatively more imbued by interesting characteristics. I have to then go back and add in all the missing stuff the main character requires. Which brings me to the writing of a personal bio. What is it about me that is interesting to other people? Now, I'd like to be interesting and sometimes I think I am. But in the course of the day, I don't even think about myself much less what it is about me that makes me worth note. This is perfectly sane behavior, as far as I'm concerned. Who does go through the day cataloging their specialness besides narcissists, obsessives, terminally vain, or profoundly insecure people? I stipulate that I'm vain, but it limits itself to personal grooming, physical fitness, and an attempt at erudition, none of which controls my life, and all of which are practices I think more people should embrace if for no other reason than a sense of public politeness. But I'm always a bit dismayed when people actually pay attention to me or think I have something worth saying. (I stress again, I want to be someone like that, I just don't happen to "feel" it.) So the personal bio usually becomes a list of things I've done. It seems a common way to deal with the self-conscious aspects of a productive life, to place your credentials, as it were, Over There In That Box. You can point to the file and say, well, if you want to know about me, look in there. And in that file you'll find my publications, my award nominations, and the work I've done, etc etc., and, oh year, I live in St. Louis, I have a dog, I'm in love with Donna and so forth---which are still components, in a way, rather than actual revelations. I don't think there's anything wrong with this approach and I certainly don't think strangers have a right to expect more, but it's not exactly a biography, is it? It's more like a resume. It doesn't say anything about the fact that for me different music produces different kinds of writing, that if I'm trying to get inside the head of someone tormented I often listen to Ligeti and when I'm creating landscapes, I want Vangelis or Sibelius and when I need action, I find Last Fast or Joe Satriani or Bartok really helps. It doesn't cover the fact that I use much of my music to unlock a feeling I can't quite identify just for myself. It doesn't say anything about how much I like late evening sunlight shafting through miniblinds (or how the same effect, late at night, from streetlamps, really turns me on); or how the late afternoon sunlight across open fields in September strikes a kind of heroic melancholy in my mind, like the atmosphere of final days or impending loss or the denouement after a mighty adventure; or the fact that I've never read a book that has made me weep, but there are certain films that do it to me almost every time... In other words, bios like this don't say much about me. But my stories do, if you remember that they are not and never have been biographical. A paradox? Not really. You put what you feel into a story. How that feeling is evoked is unimportant as long as it's true, and you don't need personal revelation in terms of history to do it. Everyone has these feelings, and they own them, and they were all evoked differently, so fiction that talks about the personal need not be about the author to work. But you still ought to be able to say something in a bio about yourself that makes you at least seem interesting to total strangers. I'm still working on all this.

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God Is God, Law Is Law, and Stupid is Stupid.

This shouldn't surprise anyone. The surprise is we haven't seen this "solution" proposed more often as overtly. Here is a lesson on how not to try to make intractable cultural traditions compatible with intractable reality under dubious moral imperatives. But what this really shows is the limit of patience. People hammer away at something that refuses to yield to the methods being employed and rather than change methods, eradicate the problem. This sort of things make it so easy to be a cynic.

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