they went shopping

after 9/11 to satisfy their fear of poverty to overcome their fear, a small fear growing stronger day by day being fed by hysterical know-it-alls in 24/7 media ivory soap towers of higher intellectual reasoning based on empirical evidence.

“More channels!” someone screamed. “We need more channels!” There was a preponderance of rumors. Mucho evidence was charred beyond recognition. It would need DNA analysis and carbon-14 dating.

According to Ahmed with the gift of foresight, “Teams of social workers swarmed across Earth extolling virtues of well being, hope, trust, and bravery in the face of adversity, values, free choice, and impending sales at outlet stores.

"People seeking outlets and outlet stores found solace in their ignorance of how the world worked on molecular, political, religious, economic, philosophical, and cultural levels. Long festering animosity and cultural bias had come full circle. An invisible Orobus constricted their heart. Their myth was part idealism and realism standing on its head.

"Socially, culturally, geographically and emotionally deprived children listened, shaking their heads, learning a very hard life lesson. One that escaped their well meaning parents. Kids knew when adults were bullshitting them.

(Kids had a built-in shock proof shit detector.)

"Scholars educated at global universities started speaking Arabic, reciting Sufi poetry and 1,001 stories about the rise and fall of civilizations written before their time with hieroglyphics and cave paintings. Survivors filled caves. Candles sales were brisk.

“A tisket a tasket we need a casket,” sang multi-lingual children.

"Historians, political scientists, talk show experts, taxi drivers, fortune tellers, beauticians, and morticians took hotline calls. The number of callers increased exponentially. Suicide search and rescue teams were put on alert. Citizens packed hospital emergency rooms. Medical schools increased graduation classes to meet the growing need. Demand outstripped supply when it came down to fear and consumption."

Source: A Century is Nothing

Cold Turkey

Yes, it's true, said a free spirit in a free world. You have to break down before you break through.

The difference between the sense of hearing and the skill of listening is attention. Good lesson, said a listener. 

Tell us a story about Cold Turkey.

It may interest you to know Turkey has the highest number of journalists in JAIL or PRISONS than any country in the world. More than China or Iran.

Sounds like a great place to speak your mind free from fear.

Yeah, free speech is cold in Turkey. Colder than leftovers.

What happened to open your head, open your heart and open your mouth?

Speaking free has it's risks. You can say that again. Censorship is alive and well. Best served cold.

Who cares? We can always go shopping.

Amnesty International.

the walnut story

A Zen monk related a story.

“Before becoming a monk I was an English teacher in an Experimental High School near Chengdu in Southwestern China. One day I held up a walnut.

“What is this?”

They answered in Chinese.

I wrote “walnut” and “metaphor” on the board.

“This walnut is like a person I know, very hard on the outside. They are very safe and secure inside their shell. Nothing can happen to them. What is inside this shell?”

“Some food,” said a boy.

“How do you know?”

“My mother told me.”

“Do you believe everything your mother tells you?”

“Yes, my mother always tells the truth.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, that’s good, but I wonder if mothers always tell their children the truth. Why? Because mothers and fathers like to protect their children and keep them safe. Especially young children. Now you are in high school and developing as a more complete and mature human being. It’s good to question things and find out the truth for yourself. Do you understand?”

Some said “yes,” others nodded passively.

“This walnut is a metaphor for the self. A symbol. The self that is afraid to take risks because they are “protected” by their shell. Maybe the reality is that the shell is empty. How do we really know what is inside.”

“It’s a mystery,” said another boy.

“That’s right, it’s a mystery. How will we find out what’s inside?”

“You have to break it open,” said a boy with poetic aspirations.

“Yes, you or I will have to break open the shell, our shell, break free from the shell to know what is inside. That can be a little scary when we are conditioned and comfortable carrying around the shell every day isn’t it?”

“It’s our self,” whispered a girl in the front row.

“Very good. Exactly. It’s our self, this shell and the mystery. We have to take risks and know nothing terrible is going to happen, like trying to speak English in class.”

“If we don’t break the shell we’ll never feel anything,” said another boy.

A girl in the back of the room said, “it means it’s hard to open our heart. It’s hard to know another person and what they are thinking, how they are feeling.”

“You got it,” I said. “We’ll never experience all the feelings of joy, love, pain, sorrow, or friendship and miss out on life.”

This idea floated around the room as I juggled the shell in my hand.

“I know people who grow very tired every day from putting on their shell before they leave home. It gets heavier and heavier, day by day. Some even carry their shell into adulthood. They look alive but inside they are dead. But eventually, maybe, something important happens to them at the heart-mind level and they decide to break free from their shell and see what’s inside. They say to themselves, ‘This shell is getting really heavy and I’m so tired of putting it on and carrying it around. I’m going to risk it.’”

I smashed the shell on the table with my hand. It splintered into pieces. Students jumped with shock.

“There, I’ve done it! I smashed my shell. Can it be put back together?”

“No,” they said.

“Right, it’s changed forever. The shell is gone.”

I fingered small pieces of shell, removing them from the nut.

“See, it’s ok. Wow! Now it’s just an old useless shell. It doesn’t exist anymore. It’s history. I know it will take time to remove pieces of my old shell. Maybe it’s fair and accurate to say the old parts represent my old habits, behaviors, and attitudes. It happened and now I will make choices using my free will accepting responsibility for my actions and behavior. And, I know nothing terrible will happen to me. I feel lighter. Now I can be real.

“That’s the walnut story.”

a shift

Elf asked Orphan. Can you tell me in 25 words or less about your brief time in eastern Anatollia?

I can try. I open my head, heart and mouth. Do they count in the 25?

It's ok. 

Their hospitality is sublime.

Below the surface they love guns and passive-aggressive attitudes. Adolescent macho males in black cradle submachine guns. 

You see worried sullen faces. Depression is served cold with anxiety.

We are worried about money, said one citizen. We have BIG shiny watches, fancy clothes, meat and no sex. We live in fear and ignorance. 

Cultures in which food is scarce, people have more open sex, but dream of food. Whereas cultures in which food is abundant, sex is more taboo, and people yet dream of sex.

You exceeded your word limit, said Elf. Cut the shit. Start walking.

Above the 45

Above the 45 post by David duChemin contains this gem.

"In the artist’s life there are two axes: on the Y axis is challenge (or opportunities), on the X is ability.

"When the opportunities we take equal the talent or ability we have, we are living on the 45-degree angle formed between the two. Perfect balance, and generally, to put it into blunt terms, stagnation.

"But when the opportunities we create or seize seem to outpace the talent or ability we have, we grow in that ability to meet the opportunity, and are living above the 45."

Expand, evolve, explore, take risks. 

 Full post.