Recently, I re-started something that I haven't done regularly since I was in my late teens, early twenties. I've been reading Scientific American. I've always kept a small pipeline of awareness open to the world of science. There's a bit of a love/hate thing going on with science for me. I never really got off the ground in the world of mathematics, which -- true or not -- I always felt was a prerequisite to be a real scientist -- hence my careers in psychology and computer science.
One of my favorite compensation stories related to science was about my encounter with a research physician on one of my several flights from Chicago to Portland, Oregon. I was sitting next him as he reviewed his notes. Curious I asked him about his purpose for going to Portland. He told me that he was going to present a talk on arteriosclerosis at Oregon State University. We went on to talk about his presentation. At the conclusion of our talk I felt that I needed to confess my true ignorance and said "I really don't know much about this." to which he replied "For someone who doesn't know much about this, you are remarkably well informed!"
It appears that one of the "hot" topics in science today is "Dark Matter/Energy". According to current scientific understanding the quantity of matter and energy in the observable universe does not match the quantities required by the the mathematics used in the currently ascendant theories for the creation of our universe. At least that is my limited understanding of the issue. This topic/issue is at the macro end of the physical universe.
At the other end of the universe, scale wise, we have theories of quantum mechanics. A growing number of physicists there appear to be accepting a notion put forth by mathematician, Hugh Everett, who posited that one resolution of the quantum superposition problem implies there being multiple universes.
It is pointless for me to claim any real understanding of this whole topic. Still in my naiveté, I want to say "Duh, physicist guys don't you see a connection?" It seems to me that we'll probably find that missing stuff in another universe, you know, one of those parallel to ours but totally beyond any of our available means to apprehend. That makes as much sense to me as it's out there but we just can't find it by any of the means that we observe everything else that's out there. I mean, there is supposed to be so much of it, as I understand it, it is really hard to believe it's hiding or really lost.
In spite of my lack of understanding about these topics, I am compelled to think about them it seems. I'm pretty sure that I am not going to contribute anything new to the understanding of our universe. Of course at this point, what I do understand about what better minds than mine think, suggests that reality really isn't all it is cracked up to be. That it might just be a product of our imagination.
Descarte said "Cognito ergo sum" -- I think therefore I am -- and which may now need to be amended (too bad I don't know Latin) to read "I think therefore I am and so is everything else!"
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Blogging is NOT my thing!
It appears that blogging is not a natural thing for me. I do not feel compelled to do it.
Again I am thinking of Peter B. Gillis, a friend from my college days, with whom I have recently reconnected; electronically at least. My understanding from Peter is that blogging has become something of an addiction for him. I don't know if this addiction serves Peter well or not, but I suspect that it can serve the rest of us.
Peter's blog, which I believe I have read in its entirety, is complex, random, and intellectual to the max. What I find most fascinating about his blog is what it reveals about me. I am in total envy of this guy; I suppose that has been true since I first met Peter. Peter was a 16 year old 1st year student at the University of Chicago when we first met. He was an odd ball with dreams of becoming a comic book writer, medievalist, and god knows what else. Intense, brilliant, mentally alive, he has always been at the top of my memory list of people that I knew from those days, behind a list of co-eds, who for obvious reasons had a more visceral impact on me.
Reading Peter's blog is a good way of getting to know what it means to be an intellectual. Peter's interests are hugely broad and he demonstrates a depth of comprehension that is frankly astounding. Peter's obsessions go way beyond just blogging. It is pretty evident that he has been obsessed with learning everything he could about whatever he found interesting. What a phenomenal mind he has.
Yes, I have an extreme case of Peter envy.
Unlike Peter, I have not been particularly interested in any worlds beyond my own inner world. I have never been a serious fan of anything. I've certainly been influenced by writers, musicians, artists, teachers, and people I've met through the course of my life but I have never found any of them to be important enough to spend any serious time or energy really trying to understand them or what they thought.
I don't know if I am lacking in curiosity or am just too caught up in my own illusions to be bothered with the external world. I am not given to critical thought -- too much work and not enough reward. I pretty much flounder when I attempt to use formal logic. Mathematics are a complete mystery to me.
Mostly though, I live in my gut. Emotion is the dominate force in my life. Even when I was trying to live the life of the mind at the University of Chicago, my reality was that I was living the life of the gut.
When I meet people like Peter, I feel that I've got it all wrong, that I should be living the life of the mind; intellect should be what I aspire to. The bottom line though is that I'm not made that way. I could try for my entire life to be like Peter and I would fail. I am a gut person. My worlds are sensation, emotion, an inward eye; the outside world can grab me but it can't hold me.
There've been times when I believed myself to be a lesser person because I do not relate to the world the way that Peter and other great minds do. The truth though is I wouldn't change places with him even if I could because I'm here to be me.
I guess it is just a gut thing.
Again I am thinking of Peter B. Gillis, a friend from my college days, with whom I have recently reconnected; electronically at least. My understanding from Peter is that blogging has become something of an addiction for him. I don't know if this addiction serves Peter well or not, but I suspect that it can serve the rest of us.
Peter's blog, which I believe I have read in its entirety, is complex, random, and intellectual to the max. What I find most fascinating about his blog is what it reveals about me. I am in total envy of this guy; I suppose that has been true since I first met Peter. Peter was a 16 year old 1st year student at the University of Chicago when we first met. He was an odd ball with dreams of becoming a comic book writer, medievalist, and god knows what else. Intense, brilliant, mentally alive, he has always been at the top of my memory list of people that I knew from those days, behind a list of co-eds, who for obvious reasons had a more visceral impact on me.
Reading Peter's blog is a good way of getting to know what it means to be an intellectual. Peter's interests are hugely broad and he demonstrates a depth of comprehension that is frankly astounding. Peter's obsessions go way beyond just blogging. It is pretty evident that he has been obsessed with learning everything he could about whatever he found interesting. What a phenomenal mind he has.
Yes, I have an extreme case of Peter envy.
Unlike Peter, I have not been particularly interested in any worlds beyond my own inner world. I have never been a serious fan of anything. I've certainly been influenced by writers, musicians, artists, teachers, and people I've met through the course of my life but I have never found any of them to be important enough to spend any serious time or energy really trying to understand them or what they thought.
I don't know if I am lacking in curiosity or am just too caught up in my own illusions to be bothered with the external world. I am not given to critical thought -- too much work and not enough reward. I pretty much flounder when I attempt to use formal logic. Mathematics are a complete mystery to me.
Mostly though, I live in my gut. Emotion is the dominate force in my life. Even when I was trying to live the life of the mind at the University of Chicago, my reality was that I was living the life of the gut.
When I meet people like Peter, I feel that I've got it all wrong, that I should be living the life of the mind; intellect should be what I aspire to. The bottom line though is that I'm not made that way. I could try for my entire life to be like Peter and I would fail. I am a gut person. My worlds are sensation, emotion, an inward eye; the outside world can grab me but it can't hold me.
There've been times when I believed myself to be a lesser person because I do not relate to the world the way that Peter and other great minds do. The truth though is I wouldn't change places with him even if I could because I'm here to be me.
I guess it is just a gut thing.
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
Seeking the Blogger Within
I have been thinking a lot about Peter Benno Gillis, writing, dark energy and matter, multi-verses, hubris/humility, and the list goes on. More on these later though.
About four years ago, not long after Gail and I first met, we went to a small local "psychic" fair. While there, two things occurred which still linger with me.
The first was having an Aura Photograph taken of me. In the photograph, my image is largely obscured by a bifurcated white region of over exposure from which one can imaginatively apprehend the silhouettes of two buffalo. Now the science behind the whole Aura thing, from a skeptical perspective, is entirely bogus as far as my brief scan of Wikipedia goes. None the less the image that was presented to me with it's accompanying interpretation has provided me with ample ego satisfying opportunities; more so in certain groups than in others. It's most important lesson though is that, in spite of any skepticism I might hold, I am mightily drawn to succumb to the interpretations that magical thinking afford me.
The Second was a psychic reading. The woman's reading of me ranged over a host of topics which I frankly don't recall with any clarity. One item though, has surfaced again and again in the ensuing years. She asserted to me that I should be writing. I in turn scoffed at the notion. The idea though did appeal to my ego and I have revisited that moment every now and again.
When I examined my initial response to this woman's suggestion that I should be writing I was/am confronted with my own negative self assessment. I could not imagine that I had/have anything that anyone else would be interested in reading. Furthermore, I remembered how poor a writer I'd been judged to be while in academe, or at least the first year or two of college. (Either I became a better writer or my writing became less the issue than the content of the writing. I do not have the objectivity to actually know which applies.)
I have come to the conclusion that I am wholly unsuited to judge anything that pertains to me. I am far too harsh, unforgiving and negative when I attempt self assessment. In my self-judgment, nothing I have done, am doing, will do, escapes without a qualification or aspersion that diminishes either my productions or my self. This is built into my entire thinking process as it pertains to myself. Believe me I rail against this self abuse; but the railing becomes yet another source of negative self thought. It is a particularly nasty vicious cycle.
The wonder in all this is that I persist. In spite of the pervasiveness of my negative self-talk I still exist, I have not abandoned myself entirely. Gail, my wife, just now came and asked what I was doing, so I read the above to her, to which I got the anticipated response, "Depressed are we?" To which I responded "That's exactly what I thought you'd say." The truth is I am not depressed. I am in fact wonderfully amused, intrigued, confounded even dumbfounded, that I am not feeling depressed.
I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to know that no one, especially myself, could be as pathetic, incompetent, stupid, ugly, et cetera, et cetera as I think I am. How do I know this? I don't know and frankly I don't care. It is just plain good to know.
It helps too, to become aware of how others judge me. Others who are not caught up in my cycle of negative thought. So when Gail, points out that maybe I don't have to know how to be Mukwa Ogimaa, that I am him, and goes on to tell me what she thinks/feels are the qualities that I express which that name embraces, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When my daughters assert that I have been a great father, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When Brenda is able to say she loves me and calls me friend, I have input that counters my negative self thought. I have a good size folder of awards, commendations, and credentials that all counter my negative self thought.
The trick there is to open my self to the positive out there about me. If I open myself to that then not only do I have counters to the negative but I am more inclined to be in a balance that reflects what I truly am.
Yes, Peter, I think you've got it. I am my Work. You are yours.
So back to the subject of writing, I don't know if I have anything to say that anyone else will want to read. But that is not really the issue anyway, nor does it have anything to do with what a psychic once said. What it really is about is showing up. My intuition says that I should be writing. In my prayers, I've asked Creator and his spirits to help me find my way. Barring a talking burning bush or some other blatantly overt attempt to provide me with guidance I am at a loss at present on how to recognize guidance from spiritual sources, so I am going to rely on what seems to be left to me. A small but nagging inner voice that seems to be pushing me to do this thing.
So here I am writing.
Mitakuye Oyasin,
About four years ago, not long after Gail and I first met, we went to a small local "psychic" fair. While there, two things occurred which still linger with me.
The first was having an Aura Photograph taken of me. In the photograph, my image is largely obscured by a bifurcated white region of over exposure from which one can imaginatively apprehend the silhouettes of two buffalo. Now the science behind the whole Aura thing, from a skeptical perspective, is entirely bogus as far as my brief scan of Wikipedia goes. None the less the image that was presented to me with it's accompanying interpretation has provided me with ample ego satisfying opportunities; more so in certain groups than in others. It's most important lesson though is that, in spite of any skepticism I might hold, I am mightily drawn to succumb to the interpretations that magical thinking afford me.
The Second was a psychic reading. The woman's reading of me ranged over a host of topics which I frankly don't recall with any clarity. One item though, has surfaced again and again in the ensuing years. She asserted to me that I should be writing. I in turn scoffed at the notion. The idea though did appeal to my ego and I have revisited that moment every now and again.
When I examined my initial response to this woman's suggestion that I should be writing I was/am confronted with my own negative self assessment. I could not imagine that I had/have anything that anyone else would be interested in reading. Furthermore, I remembered how poor a writer I'd been judged to be while in academe, or at least the first year or two of college. (Either I became a better writer or my writing became less the issue than the content of the writing. I do not have the objectivity to actually know which applies.)
I have come to the conclusion that I am wholly unsuited to judge anything that pertains to me. I am far too harsh, unforgiving and negative when I attempt self assessment. In my self-judgment, nothing I have done, am doing, will do, escapes without a qualification or aspersion that diminishes either my productions or my self. This is built into my entire thinking process as it pertains to myself. Believe me I rail against this self abuse; but the railing becomes yet another source of negative self thought. It is a particularly nasty vicious cycle.
The wonder in all this is that I persist. In spite of the pervasiveness of my negative self-talk I still exist, I have not abandoned myself entirely. Gail, my wife, just now came and asked what I was doing, so I read the above to her, to which I got the anticipated response, "Depressed are we?" To which I responded "That's exactly what I thought you'd say." The truth is I am not depressed. I am in fact wonderfully amused, intrigued, confounded even dumbfounded, that I am not feeling depressed.
I am grateful to be alive. I am grateful to know that no one, especially myself, could be as pathetic, incompetent, stupid, ugly, et cetera, et cetera as I think I am. How do I know this? I don't know and frankly I don't care. It is just plain good to know.
It helps too, to become aware of how others judge me. Others who are not caught up in my cycle of negative thought. So when Gail, points out that maybe I don't have to know how to be Mukwa Ogimaa, that I am him, and goes on to tell me what she thinks/feels are the qualities that I express which that name embraces, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When my daughters assert that I have been a great father, I have input that counters my negative self thought. When Brenda is able to say she loves me and calls me friend, I have input that counters my negative self thought. I have a good size folder of awards, commendations, and credentials that all counter my negative self thought.
The trick there is to open my self to the positive out there about me. If I open myself to that then not only do I have counters to the negative but I am more inclined to be in a balance that reflects what I truly am.
Yes, Peter, I think you've got it. I am my Work. You are yours.
So back to the subject of writing, I don't know if I have anything to say that anyone else will want to read. But that is not really the issue anyway, nor does it have anything to do with what a psychic once said. What it really is about is showing up. My intuition says that I should be writing. In my prayers, I've asked Creator and his spirits to help me find my way. Barring a talking burning bush or some other blatantly overt attempt to provide me with guidance I am at a loss at present on how to recognize guidance from spiritual sources, so I am going to rely on what seems to be left to me. A small but nagging inner voice that seems to be pushing me to do this thing.
So here I am writing.
Mitakuye Oyasin,
Friday, January 18, 2008
What's in a Name?
A few years back, I asked for a naming ceremony in a Thunderbird sweat lodge. The name given to me that day was Mukwa Ogimaa. It is from the Ojibwa language and means Bear Chief or Leader. At the time of my naming, I remember the surge of pleasure at receiving such a "Cool and Powerful" name. I also remember thinking "Oh Shit, what have I gotten myself into."
I have been carrying this name around for a while now; not giving it much attention. Recently, it has come to me that I want/need to know and understand what the name really means/implies and why the name was given to me. Part of this sudden need was the recognition that at least some people I've met in the world believe that there is more to a name than just a label.
It occurred to me that names in American society at least have lost any function beyond providing a public designator for an individual. They no longer provide any reliable clues about where we come from geographically or culturally. They do not tell us anything about our occupation, race, religion, or social class or any of a myriad of facts/myths they once provided. If you assume they do tell you anything you are likely to be find yourself humiliated or embarrassed.
The thing is; I asked for this name. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that special little boost of having a secret name, a spirit name. Something that would help me feel just a bit closer to the spirits. Something to help me feel that I was a member of the circle.
So I was given this wonderful, cool, and powerful name. Recently, I've noticed that when I've shared this name with certain people, that they looked at me and spoke to me in a way different than I've experienced before. At first it just made me feel a tad bit uncomfortable, but lately it is starting to press upon me.
I've found myself asking, what do I know about being a Mukwa Ogimaa (I assume that I am not the only person to carry this name.) There is a weight to this name. This is a name that demands to be carried by a substantial person, a responsible person, a wise person, a caring person, ...
I feel the name calling me to be much more than I have been. I fear that I can not be a Mukwa Ogimaa. I have been given this name, in a naming ceremony, in a lodge. I can not undo this. I am Mukwa Ogimaa whether I believe in myself or not. The spirits believe or I would not have been given the name.
So these days, I am asking the spirits to guide me, to teach me how to be a Mukwa Ogimaa.
Mitakuye Oyasin
I have been carrying this name around for a while now; not giving it much attention. Recently, it has come to me that I want/need to know and understand what the name really means/implies and why the name was given to me. Part of this sudden need was the recognition that at least some people I've met in the world believe that there is more to a name than just a label.
It occurred to me that names in American society at least have lost any function beyond providing a public designator for an individual. They no longer provide any reliable clues about where we come from geographically or culturally. They do not tell us anything about our occupation, race, religion, or social class or any of a myriad of facts/myths they once provided. If you assume they do tell you anything you are likely to be find yourself humiliated or embarrassed.
The thing is; I asked for this name. I wanted it. I wanted to feel that special little boost of having a secret name, a spirit name. Something that would help me feel just a bit closer to the spirits. Something to help me feel that I was a member of the circle.
So I was given this wonderful, cool, and powerful name. Recently, I've noticed that when I've shared this name with certain people, that they looked at me and spoke to me in a way different than I've experienced before. At first it just made me feel a tad bit uncomfortable, but lately it is starting to press upon me.
I've found myself asking, what do I know about being a Mukwa Ogimaa (I assume that I am not the only person to carry this name.) There is a weight to this name. This is a name that demands to be carried by a substantial person, a responsible person, a wise person, a caring person, ...
I feel the name calling me to be much more than I have been. I fear that I can not be a Mukwa Ogimaa. I have been given this name, in a naming ceremony, in a lodge. I can not undo this. I am Mukwa Ogimaa whether I believe in myself or not. The spirits believe or I would not have been given the name.
So these days, I am asking the spirits to guide me, to teach me how to be a Mukwa Ogimaa.
Mitakuye Oyasin
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