Tuesday, April 30, 2013

Devin's New Blog.

My new blog is up! It's called Color Harmony, it contains all my 3D/Photoshop work, and music!

Check it out here.

Dream Fragment



I'm strolling by the banks of a large urban river in a north European city. It could be Vilnius, but, it feels more like Burgess except the streets seem to be totally deserted of both inhabitants and visitors alike. Still in the distance I hear a sound like a tram rumbling along an old cobbled street. I feel a sense of both uncanny wonder and deep intrigue. I continue walking, it's high summer and everything is in bloom, the trees are a verdant green, and the wind is catching them gently in its grasp.

I hear an organ playing inside a cathedral. I cannot tell what type of music it is, but it pleasant and precise in it notes. Inside the church it is very dark, except in a spot where there is a man, whom I do not know, who is talking in monologues about Love. He doesn't appear to be a priest, his words are too sure, yet I cannot understand the exact meaning of them. What he says seems to be a secret coded in the language of Love. Yet, I cannot decipher them, and it frustrates me a little, still he continues talking ... I hear the tram again, and then wake up, thinking did Christ's followers ever understand what he said?

Saturday, April 27, 2013

New EP and a review!




I recently released a small EP entitled "Hi-Tech Treats/Processed Beats" filled with electronic songs meant to tickle the auditory taste-buds! Shortly after posting it, a local blog known as Exiled in Eugene wrote a review for it. The great people at Exiled in Eugene had nothing but good things to say, and for that I am truly grateful, so this is a shout-out to them. Please check out my music and their blog!

Zao Cohen

I came across an interesting article just by chance of someone who experienced a synchronistic epiphany of a divinity of the Japanese mountain-ascetic Shugendo tradition, called Zao Gongen; what was interesting about the person's experience was the nature of the synchronicity, that he had a magazine opened to a page of Sasha Cohen (olympic figure skater) striking a victory pose, right next to a photo of Zao Gongen, and the two were both in a very similar iconic pose. What could have been the significance of this synchronicity, as Sasha Cohen is figure skater, and the other is an extremely wrathful eschatological divinity? The answer is in nonduality, of course; the energy of wrathful enlightenment is readily found in places of beauty and victory. I think it was quite a wonderful synchronicity.



Photo from the article in question

Sasha Cohen: Rite of Spring on Nowness.com

Wednesday, April 24, 2013

Potentially Paradigmal Declensions Maybe


Human collective ideology can never work. It is impossible. Humans ought to be utterly free to choose where they live, and with whom, anywhere on the globe. Religionists can live with co-religionists, blah-blah-blahs can live with the blah-blah-blah-ists, and so on, societies can thrive, like Utah, on the basis of a shared paradigm. Now if only this mosaic sociological view can be implemented, and there be no universalist in the bunch. But there might be necessary agreements, globally, for instance, regarding ecological regulation, pollution control, and so on. What about population? An issue. Catholics. Think of the large majority of Catholics who listen to the pope, who believe that humans are to procreate to replenish the earth because god decimated its population in Noah's flood. Poverty is not an issue, only procreation is. So yes, there will definitely be a very large group that will adamantly populate and keep populating, because their god tells them there is not enough of them. They look unto the rainbow of Noah and say, yes, the earth shall never be destroyed by water again. This promise will hold. 

So no, there is that group. And then there will be that group that will have to go out and change people's minds because souls are at stake, or because an invisible nomadic patriarch in the sky would command universal human created behavior to be so and so, the divine injunction would have to be enforced. There is no choice, for to refuse would be to refuse the past, the ancestors, the divine rule, the divine law, god, prophets, holy writ, culture, men, and so on. So ideas would hold precedence over harmony, and if force must be used, they would, because they are absolute believers. Nothing else matters, especially this world, because the real world is the world of heaven and god and angels and stuff, and this world is just a veil of tears. As a matter of fact, messing up this infidel idolatrous world might incur god's favor.

Then there will be that group of survivalism, whose ideology is survival at any cost, hence values of throwback modes would be considered to be masculine, impressive, heroic, manly, and only the manly shapes things, because the feminine cannot handle survival. It is for men. But homosexuality must never be tolerated because it is embarrassing and effeminate, so the world of men must rule. Perhaps killing would be fine because sex is a frightening thing, and killing is better, because if there is a lot of hyper force, and men can become very pumped up and excited, they can bring themselves to believe that real men are adored by other real men, and are impressive in that way, and hence, they can act in very convincing ways that they mean business.  Weapons and more weapons, those will be the considerable commodities. 

Communists and ethnic cohesion are glue that stick the wickets of states of the North and Cuba and China other such kinds of cohesive biospheres, and androns who believe in collective rule make nature, the cosmos, reality, spirit, to be lies, and so nature is only there for the taking, because nature is the biggest lie. The synthetic makes for progress and profit, so more and more must be synthesized, because that is the human endeavor, the solution to the problem of hunger, depression, severe depression, even more severe depression, and so on, and mountains must be leveled to make way for the millions. The millions and millions who will mill about in the millions, to make more, and thus there will be the sustenance of what I need, yes, I, not anyone else, and I shall be known for generations as a great man indeed. Celebrated, bronzed, and so on. 

So maybe yes, maybe no, the experts in colleges will know the difference, around the world, because education is so important, but no one listens to education, so why is it so important? No, no, it's all very sleepy, very, very sleepy, even if the sun is shining and people are talking very loudly. Or shouting, even. Or there is a lot of booming and stuff too.  
    
Black Light Dinner Party: We Are Golden on Nowness.com

Tuesday, April 23, 2013

My Awakening

MOMENTS ... perhaps even minutes before my awakening began I started this drawing.  It was not until the full fruition of my awakening that I realized I had already told myself, I already knew it was going to happen.  We are ever present and ever aware, but it isn't until we are awake with our eyes open that we can begin to realize such.  Everything we are looking for is already there. 

Perhaps this is what kundalini was awakening me to
 

Thursday, April 18, 2013

Future Now

I heard it said the other day that December 21, 2012 marked the death of the New Age movement.  Perhaps this is so, and it is apropos since the date was an externalization of inner processes.  Whether the inner process was occurring in the Mind of one individual being here on planet Earth or in the Minds of a few, or in the Minds of quite a few, or in the Minds of many, or in the Minds of multitudes, or in the Minds of all beings without exception, and even if it were for but a single Planck instant, it makes absolutely no difference whatsoever, because it is all the same. It happened, somewhere, somehow, and the mission was accomplished. Maybe those who were on the mission do not even know this.  Concrescences pinged everywhere in ripples of time, and the threshold date was a somewhat deceptive marker.  But the pinging was there, for lack of a better concept, like the way bats navigate on sonar, so something had to be there.  It just wasn't what anyone expected.    

Whatever the case, there is a new veil, and it's called the Now.  Indeed even that Planck instant---which was the primordial Bija of demolishing outdated paradigms hitherto---might have been utterly imperceptible, and all the external hoopla in the world would amount to a hill of beans in the light of its encapsulated potential, potency.  Don't go chasing without, and that is one of the very, very basic exoteric messages that had been hammered into the collective unconscious skull.  Collectivity is dense and entrenched; they believe in the eternal validity of convention; fortune-cookie platitudes are mistook for sapiential gold.

But never mind the collective.  Never mind, for now. The moment is the Future, its eternal presence; it cannot be chased, it cannot be externalized, it cannot be controlled. Resonate and entrust. And if you can laugh, truly laugh, then you are there. And if you are not there, then collectivity will reflect it, in all eventuality. Sheep people (sheeple), herd people, meme people, reptile people, virus people, such is the mode of collectivity hitherto, so think of the paradigms which sustain them. Where is the shepherd, where is the pen, where is the field, where are the hills, where is the colony, where is the host, where is the tender and keeper of the light? Who is it? What is it? Nothing is what it seems, such is the working of fields of resonance. The husk and shell do not reveal the inner workings.  Everything unfolds, like a flower. And to be sure you are resonating with that cosmic flower, take the litmus test, and laugh. If that laughter is true, you are there.     

Wednesday, April 17, 2013

Wondering, Wandering



Alice is a wonderer, a wanderer, seeking answers from dream figures who can only reflect her own confusion back to her. Loneliness follows her from place to place, from the Whiter Shade of Pale Rabbit to the heartless Queen of Hearts. "Who am I?" she asks. "What is this world?" Alice is All Us, and we are all mad here, all made here in the dream landscape, shrinking, growing, finally coming to know a little of our true power as we topple the playing-card house of our illusions, taking courage from the grin without a cat as we fly through the flame of a candle after it has gone out.


Monday, April 15, 2013

The Aliens & The Genius of the Crowd By Charles Bukowski

 
 
 
 
The Aliens
 
you may not believe it
but there are people
who go through life with
very little
friction or
distress.
they dress well, eat
well, sleep well.
they are contented with
their family
life.
they have moments of
grief
but all in all
they are undisturbed
and often feel
very good.
and when they die
it is an easy
death, usually in their
sleep.
you may not believe
it
but such people do
exist.
but I am not one of
them.
oh no, I am not one
of them,
I am not even near
to being
one of
them
but they are
there
and I am
here.




 The Genius of the Crowd


there is enough treachery, hatred violence absurdity in the average
human being to supply any given army on any given day

and the best at murder are those who preach against it
and the best at hate are those who preach love
and the best at war finally are those who preach peace

those who preach god, need god
those who preach peace do not have peace
those who preach peace do not have love

beware the preachers
beware the knowers
beware those who are always reading books
beware those who either detest poverty
or are proud of it
beware those quick to praise
for they need praise in return
beware those who are quick to censor
they are afraid of what they do not know
beware those who seek constant crowds for
they are nothing alone
beware the average man the average woman
beware their love, their love is average
seeks average

but there is genius in their hatred
there is enough genius in their hatred to kill you
to kill anybody
not wanting solitude
not understanding solitude
they will attempt to destroy anything
that differs from their own
not being able to create art
they will not understand art
they will consider their failure as creators
only as a failure of the world
not being able to love fully
they will believe your love incomplete
and then they will hate you
and their hatred will be perfect

like a shining diamond
like a knife
like a mountain
like a tiger
like hemlock

their finest art
 

Wednesday, April 3, 2013

The Night The Bed Fell

  
The Night the Bed Fell

by James Thurber

I suppose that the high-water mark of my youth in Columbus, Ohio, was the night the bed fell on my father. It makes a better recitation (unless, as some friends of mine have said, one has heard it five or six times) than it does a piece of writing, for it is almost necessary to throw furniture around, shake doors, and bark like a dog, to lend the proper atmosphere and verisimilitude to what is admittedly a somewhat incredible tale. Still, it did take place. 

It happened, then, that my father had decided to sleep in the attic one night, to be away where he could think. My mother opposed the notion strongly because, she said, the old wooden bed up there was unsafe - it was wobbly and the heavy headboard would crash down on father's head in case the bed fell, and kill him. There was no dissuading him, however, and at a quarter past ten he closed the attic door behind him and went up the narrow twisting stairs. We later heard ominous creakings as he crawled into bed. Grandfather, who usually slept in the attic bed when he was with us, had disappeared some days before. (On these occasions he was usually gone six or seven days and returned growling and out of temper, with the news that the federal Union was run by a passel of blockheads and that the Army of the Potomac didn't have any more chance than a fiddler's bitch.)


We had visiting us at this time a nervous first cousin of mine named Briggs Beall, who believed that he was likely to cease breathing when he was asleep. It was his feeling that if he were not awakened every hour during the night, he might die of suffocation. He had been accustomed to setting an alarm clock to ring at intervals until morning, but I persuaded him to abandon this. He slept in my room and I told him that I was such a light sleeper that if anybody quit breathing in the same room with me, I would wake instantly. He tested me the first night - which I had suspected he would by holding his breath after my regular breathing had convinced him I was asleep. I was not asleep, however, and called to him. This seemed to allay his fears a little, but he took the precaution of putting a class of spirits of camphor on a little table at the head of his bed. In case I didn't arouse him until he was almost gone, he said, he would sniff the camphor, a powerful reviver.


Briggs was not the only member of his family who had his crotchets. Old Aunt Alelissa Beall (who could whistle like a man, with two fingers in her mouth) suffered under the premonition that she was destined to die on South High Street, because she had been born on South High Street and married on South High Street. Then there was Aunt Sarah Shoaf, who never went to bed at night without the fear that a burglar was going to get in and blow chloroform under her door through a tube. To avert this calamity - for she was in greater dread of anesthetics than of losing her household goods-she always piled her money, silverware, and other valuables in a neat stack just outside her bedroom, with a note reading,: "This is all I have. Please take it and do not use your chloroform, as this is all I have." Aunt Gracie Shoaf also had a burglar phobia, but she met it with more fortitude. She was confident that burglars had been getting into her house every night for four years. The fact that she never missed anything was to her no proof to the contrary. She always claimed that she scared them off before they could take anything, by throwing shoes down the hallway. When she went to bed she piled, where she could get at them handily, all the shoes there were about her house. 



Five minutes after she had turned off the light, she would sit up in bed and say "Hark!" Her husband, who had learned to ignore the whole situation as long ago as 1903, would either be sound asleep or pretend to be sound asleep. In either case he would not respond to her tugging and pulling, so that presently she would arise, tiptoe to the door, open it slightly and heave a shoe down the hall in one direction, and its mate down the hall in the other direction. Some nights she threw them all, some nights only a couple of pair.


But I am straying from the remarkable incidents that took place during the night that the bed fell on father. By midnight we were all in bed. The layout of the rooms and the disposition of their occupants is important to an understanding of what later occurred. In the front room upstairs (just under father's attic bedroom) were my mother and my brother Terry, who sometimes sang in his sleep, usually "Marching Through Georgia" or "Onward, Christian Soldiers." Briggs Beall and myself were in a room adjoining this one. My brother Roy was in a room across the hall from ours. Our bull terrier, Rex, slept in the hall.


My bed was an army cot, one of those affairs which are made wide enough to sleep on comfortably only by putting up, flat with the middle section, the two sides which ordinarily hang down like the sideboards of a drop-leaf table. When these sides are up, it is perilous to roll too far toward the edge, for then the cot is likely to tip completely over, bringing the whole bed down on top of one, with a tremendous banging crash. This, in fact, is precisely what happened, about two o'clock in the morning. (It was my mother who, in recalling the scene later, first referred to it as "the night the bed fell on your father.")


Always a deep sleeper, slow to arouse (I had lied to Briggs), I was at first unconscious of what had happened when the iron cot rolled me onto the floor and toppled over on me. It left me still warmly bundled up and unhurt, for the bed rested above me like a canopy. Hence I did not wake up, only reached the edge of consciousness and went back. The racket, however, instantly awakened my mother, in the next room, who came to the immediate conclusion that her worst dread was realized: the big wooden bed upstairs had fallen on father. She therefore screamed, "Let's go to your poor father!" It was this shout, rather, than the noise of my cot falling, that awakened Herman, in the same room with her. He thought that mother had become, for no apparent reason, hysterical. "You're all right, Mamma!" He shouted, trying, to calm her. They exchanged shout for shout for perhaps ten seconds: "Let's go to your poor father!" and "You're all right! " That woke up Briggs. By this time I was conscious of what was going on, in a vague way, but did not yet realize that I was under my bed instead of on it. Briggs, awakening in the midst of loud shouts of fear and apprehension, came to the quick conclusion that he was suffocating and that we were all trying to "bring him out." With a low moan, he grasped the glass of camphor at the head of his bed and instead of sniffing it poured it over himself. The room reeked of camphor. "Ugh, ugh," choked Briggs, like a drowning man, for he had almost succeeded in stopping his breathing under the deluge of pungent spirits. He leaped out of bed and groped toward the open window, but he came up against one that was closed. With his hand, he beat out the glass, and I could hear it crash and tinkle on the alleyway below. It was at this juncture that I, in trying to get up, had the uncanny sensation of feeling my bed above me. Foggy with sleep, I now suspected, in my turn, that the whole uproar was being made in a frantic endeavor to extricate me from what must be an unheard-of and perilous situation. "Get me out of this!" I bawled. "Get me out!" I think I had the nightmarish belief that I was entombed in a mine. "Ugh," gasped Briggs, floundering in his camphor.


By this time my mother, still shouting, pursued by Herman, still shouting, was trying to open the door to the attic, in order to go up and get my father's body out of the wreckage. The door was stuck, however, and wouldn't yield. Her frantic pulls on it only added to the general banging and confusion. Roy and the dog were now up, the one shouting questions, the other barking. 





Father, farthest away and soundest sleeper of all, had by this time been awakened by the battering on the attic door. He decided that the house was on fire. "I'm coming, I'm coming!" be wailed in a slow, sleepy voice-it took him many minutes to regain full consciousness. My mother, still believing he was caught under the bed, detected in his "I'm coming!" the mournful, resigned note of one who is preparing to meet his Maker. "He's dying!" she shouted.


"I'm all right!" Briggs yelled to reassure her. "I'm all right!" He still believed that it was his own closeness to death that was worrying mother. I found at last the light switch in my room, unlocked the door, and Briggs and I joined the others at the attic door. The dog, who never did like Briggs, jumped for him, assuming that he was the culprit in whatever was going on, and Roy had to throw Rex and hold him. We could hear father crawling out of bed upstairs. Roy pulled the attic door open, with a mighty jerk, and father came down the stairs, sleepy and irritable but safe and sound. My mother began to weep when she saw him. Rex began to howl. "What in the name of God is going on here?" asked father.


The situation was finally put together like a gigantic jig-saw puzzle. Father caught a cold from prowling around in his bare feet but there were no other bad results. "I'm glad," said mother, who always looked on the bright side of things, "that your grandfather wasn't here."

Tuesday, April 2, 2013

Bach World


What can one say about J.S Bach? The need for order, for perfection, for harmony, indeed ... everything is both solid and translucent in his world, word and note are perfect accompaniments to art and life. However, despite the greatness of his music, all is subordinated to the glory of God, a God in whom his faith is never doubted.

Although his music still grows more profound and richer with the passing of time, the faith out of which it was formed continues to dwindle, how music outlives the word! How we can only now imagine such a faith through hearing the music being played in our secular time.

Monday, April 1, 2013

Phase for Thought


In addition to some of the other Earth changes that appear to be happening, the following, should also give us phase for thought.

NASA has confirmed that a comet will approach very closely, perhaps, even impacting, Mars next Spring. This is really quite amazing, considering the size of Mars, and that even if it doesn't hit it, at a similar approach distance to Earth, it would seriously influence our planet's atmosphere and electromagnetic field. Many Scientists have commented recently on the usually high number of totally undetected and/or unknown Comet visitations arriving into the inner solar system within the last two years in particular. This has prompted some to speculate as to the possibility that we've entered a region in space (our solar system) that may not just be more energetic, but, may also contain more debris, including comets and asteroids in comparison to the relatively calm regions we've travelled through in the past, which also allowed for the development of conscious life from the crude building blocks of life. It could seem, if this were indeed true, that yet again, some type of cosmic creative principle organises life, and the possibilities for its intelligent evolution, in a natural manner, that gives it just enough time to develop enough possible intelligence and insight, to allow it to truly establish itself in the great cycles of creation throughout the cosmos. Like any naturally created form of life, the Cosmos, and what organises it, is willing through sheer numbers, time and space, to let the majority of what has potential to fall by the wayside, just as what occurs in all types of reproduction; however, it gambles on some potential forms of intelligence which may have indeed developed both the necessary intellectual and spiritual intelligence to be able to fend off so called natural disasters, including Comet strikes, by the time the clock hands have returned to the place, where other potential forms must be given a chance, in place of those who never matured within the allotted time and space.

Likewise we can see such changes affecting our weather, this week for example winds from the Arctic are predicted to blow the whole way from northern Norway to Senegal in west Africa, there may even be sleet and snow showers in the deserts of the western Sahara for example, and, such odd weather patterns can be nearly seen every week in some part of the world recently. Again, these to me seem indicative of the aforementioned changes that are happening throughout our solar system, and, which are changing such things as the jet stream and ocean currents via our planet's changing electromagnetic field.

Man-made climate change is complete nonsense, climate change is happening on nearly all of the planets in our solar system, the atmosphere on Mars has thickened greatly in the past few years, Pluto is heating up quicker than any other planet, yet it is furthest from our Sun and I don't think there are any SUVs there. Yet logically, if the theory about energy coming from outside our solar system is correct, this would make sense, as Pluto would of been the first Planet to experience this energy entering our system, and it has been thawing out for about the last ten years. The magnetic fields around both Saturn and Neptune have also surged in the last few years, Saturn is even building new rings, half the distance to Jupiter, which is amazing. Such rings were probably formed by the increased charges entering the planets from outside, and ice particles and other debris carried in these influxes of energy will become arranged in such cases to the gravitational orbits of the host planets.

At the micro level it has been speculated that such energy could rewrite the DNA in plant and animal cells too, maybe some of our junk DNA might function only after certain external catalysts have acted upon us ... but that's a different story!

As was not predicted, the solar max of our own Sun has not materialised (2012-2013) as of yet. The Scientists, including Mr. Hathway of NASA are currently at a loss to explain this strange behavior. However, if we've been looking in the wrong direction, how are we expected to see what might be coming our way? True the whole 2012 scenario was a fiasco of mildly comical proportions which became more absurd the more it became “public knowledge,” but perhaps we’ve missed the point by ignoring the fact that we are all in the process of huge changes that are occurring around us at the moment, and, even events like the explosion of the asteroid over Russia last month, should give us phase for thought. If big things are going to happen, more than likely, they’re not going to tell us the exact date and time in advance.  Usually, the world changes when you least expect it!

Regards

James