My Brother John arrived on time to help rebuild Christchurch, but industry had a go at him in the airport as he came through customs from America to New Zealand (via Austrailia for economy). After waiting for him at the security gates for thirty minutes I began to wonder why he was being held up. Turns out, it was a modern day ‘hold up’ to be sure. A security person came out and asked me who I was waiting for. I said, my Brother John and she said, ‘we have him for too much tobacco’, and then she vanished.
So, what does industry have to do with it?
Well, since my brother is going to be in New Zealand for three months and had heard how expensive tobacco was here he decided to buy a three months’ supply. That supply cost him $60.00 for three bags of pipe tobacco in Oklahoma. Brother John rolls his own cigarettes and has a really clever roller with the empty cigarette tubes with attached filters. This way, they look just like what Kiwi’s call ‘tailor-mades’...instead of lopsided looking cigarettes that look like joints. It's always a pain to get busted for smoking tobacco.
New Zealand customs took great care to weigh out exactly how much tobacco he was allowed to bring in and confiscated the rest, but with the understanding that he could buy it back from them for $641.00. Pretty industrious, aye? The Customs officers gave Brother John a receipt that says he has a month and a half to return to the airport and buy back tobacco that he already paid $60.00 for in America for $641.00 or they will burn it (does anyone really believe they do this?).
Brother John said, ‘let it burn’.
Now, I am two days late on discussing the next virtue for this week, sincerity. I sincerely see something wrong with using any industrial act to create the above scenario. But then, no one’s been asking me for most of my life, for you see, I’m just a woman who is through pumping out and raising four children all over the age of eighteen and promptly cast aside by the chaos that surrounds the patriarchal order and left for dead, but I’m not. How sincere is that?
I tend to say, ‘let it all burn down and start over’. Yep, a flaming feminist.
I think Brother John and I are going to be some kind of dangerous together, sincerely, I do.
Meanwhile, yesterday, they let me back into university again a month from the day of the last earthquake on February 22 that caused my Brother John enough concern to come visit us for three months and see what he can do to help rebuild this, that or any other thing. Brother John is a mason, a stone mason, a laid back, ‘happy as’ soul who’s lifetime motto has been ‘don’t worry, be happy’ and ‘it don’t matter to me, I’m just here to help’.
Help is what we all need in a world where industry has gone absolutely mad, not to mention what ‘ole mother [sic] nature' is up to! Sincerely.
Showing posts with label industry. Show all posts
Showing posts with label industry. Show all posts
Tuesday, March 22, 2011
Wednesday, March 16, 2011
Industrious Needs Its' Tummy Flap Lifted
Industriousness looks different to me now. I begin to watch for signs of it while I get up from bed every day and head straight for my desk where I might write down what comes to mind after being shut down and then restarted. (Two cities come to mind by comparison, Christchurch and Sendai, I live in one and consumed the other)
Today, I stood in front of the mirror naked...
...while lifting the flap of my tummy off the caesarean scar from giving birth to my second to last daughter, whose name appropriates all that I am ever contemplating as I go along in my own industrious ways. There is an underlying pattern I seek inside, not to classify, but to bring light to the darkness. Air under the tummy flap, to make things heal, is my destiny.
My daughter’s name is Destiny. Destiny Rose, in case Destiny is not enough. I never meant for it to be the flower, but the act of rising, like the energy that needs addressing, too long repressed, under oceans and inside hearts. I long for us all to be in touch with our destinies.
That destiny is to love no matter what, alongside our natural tendency to slaughter and be condemned to a death of some kind, which always follows birth by moments or many years, the difference is only important to the survivors, who cloud the issues of what life has left for any of us on the backside of too many earthquakes and one hell of a tsunami. All with feminine characteristics no doubt and very cranky tummy flaps.
With my own words I desire to make less of a mess of the space I occupy. I long for a landscape of peaceful composition fully rendered with potential approval by everyone. Ahhh, a dreamer you say, there is no way to do that. But nevertheless, how might I do that is what occupies my mind every minute of every hour, every day of every year, every year I have been here. Not because the ‘I of me’ needs it to be expressed by me for others, but because the ‘I of me’ requires that that one possible language to be strong enough inside myself to create an over-riding pattern of reality to offset the slaughter.
To deny my own sense of slaughter is insane and not very intelligent, for intelligence renders one thing to all, we know nothing, and we are more often merely responders than meaning makers, not one of us makes any lasting meaning for anyone besides ourselves to the point of intention that I seek inside myself, which is every one’s right that cannot be breached, except...some do try. I rub my finger across my scar and remember my own efforts to control anything, the futility smells upon my fingertips.
Then some are the collective parts of ourselves left to go fly into the universe without editing, like say the media...showing tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear explosions over and over again with the still pictures heaped with visual remnants of past industriousness torn asunder. What think ye of industry today my friend, Ben? I think he might agree with me on this...there is nothing to be gained by watching it over and over and everything to be gained by turning it off collectively and saying, excuse me, I need time to think this thing through, there is much to do here, but it needs to be from the part of the ‘I of me’ of all of us after we become intimate with our own destinies and lift up our tummy flaps and allow a little air in.
While many are performing rescue, I sit here and contemplate...what we do next certainly needs to be extremely different from what we have done before...and...
It occurs to me that the only reason we need armies is for the purpose of saving those who are lying in the rubble of Christchurch and Sendai, this is an army’s true destiny, to rise up their numbers for these acts of love and not those that contribute to the slaughter. An army has the force that could put love back on the map of our world, to counter balance what is the natural tendency of all organic matter, to slaughter, decompose and/or simply die.
Imaginary boundaries need to come down, property rights rethought, positions of power destabilized need rethinking in egalitarian ways utilizing all our natural and material resources collectively to bring love equal to slaughter. There is no one on this planet unaffected by these events now thanks to technology, it is our best friend and our worst nightmare and it has brought to every one’s table this reality:
We are all on this planet together, and this planet is undergoing a very strong pattern of repositioning itself, not because of some angry god, gods, or external mad-hatter, but simply because it can and does over and over, no matter what. We all need each other to collectively create a world where everyone can be as safe as possible, while always understanding that there is not anything we can build, plan for, or dictate, that cannot be pulled apart, drowned and destroyed in the blink of an eye, or nearly as quickly, and this pattern will never stop.
The only thing we as human animals can truly do is to be constantly industriously cultivating our abilities to love differently than the way we have in the past. We need to language things differently, rebuild differently and that will never be possible as long as we look at the mediated spaces for our language keys...turn the television sets off...and think what destiny might rise up inside the 'I of you' that is important for now, we need one another to all be doing just that...NOW, not later.
Today, I stood in front of the mirror naked...
...while lifting the flap of my tummy off the caesarean scar from giving birth to my second to last daughter, whose name appropriates all that I am ever contemplating as I go along in my own industrious ways. There is an underlying pattern I seek inside, not to classify, but to bring light to the darkness. Air under the tummy flap, to make things heal, is my destiny.
My daughter’s name is Destiny. Destiny Rose, in case Destiny is not enough. I never meant for it to be the flower, but the act of rising, like the energy that needs addressing, too long repressed, under oceans and inside hearts. I long for us all to be in touch with our destinies.
That destiny is to love no matter what, alongside our natural tendency to slaughter and be condemned to a death of some kind, which always follows birth by moments or many years, the difference is only important to the survivors, who cloud the issues of what life has left for any of us on the backside of too many earthquakes and one hell of a tsunami. All with feminine characteristics no doubt and very cranky tummy flaps.
With my own words I desire to make less of a mess of the space I occupy. I long for a landscape of peaceful composition fully rendered with potential approval by everyone. Ahhh, a dreamer you say, there is no way to do that. But nevertheless, how might I do that is what occupies my mind every minute of every hour, every day of every year, every year I have been here. Not because the ‘I of me’ needs it to be expressed by me for others, but because the ‘I of me’ requires that that one possible language to be strong enough inside myself to create an over-riding pattern of reality to offset the slaughter.
To deny my own sense of slaughter is insane and not very intelligent, for intelligence renders one thing to all, we know nothing, and we are more often merely responders than meaning makers, not one of us makes any lasting meaning for anyone besides ourselves to the point of intention that I seek inside myself, which is every one’s right that cannot be breached, except...some do try. I rub my finger across my scar and remember my own efforts to control anything, the futility smells upon my fingertips.
Then some are the collective parts of ourselves left to go fly into the universe without editing, like say the media...showing tsunamis, earthquakes, nuclear explosions over and over again with the still pictures heaped with visual remnants of past industriousness torn asunder. What think ye of industry today my friend, Ben? I think he might agree with me on this...there is nothing to be gained by watching it over and over and everything to be gained by turning it off collectively and saying, excuse me, I need time to think this thing through, there is much to do here, but it needs to be from the part of the ‘I of me’ of all of us after we become intimate with our own destinies and lift up our tummy flaps and allow a little air in.
While many are performing rescue, I sit here and contemplate...what we do next certainly needs to be extremely different from what we have done before...and...
It occurs to me that the only reason we need armies is for the purpose of saving those who are lying in the rubble of Christchurch and Sendai, this is an army’s true destiny, to rise up their numbers for these acts of love and not those that contribute to the slaughter. An army has the force that could put love back on the map of our world, to counter balance what is the natural tendency of all organic matter, to slaughter, decompose and/or simply die.
Imaginary boundaries need to come down, property rights rethought, positions of power destabilized need rethinking in egalitarian ways utilizing all our natural and material resources collectively to bring love equal to slaughter. There is no one on this planet unaffected by these events now thanks to technology, it is our best friend and our worst nightmare and it has brought to every one’s table this reality:
We are all on this planet together, and this planet is undergoing a very strong pattern of repositioning itself, not because of some angry god, gods, or external mad-hatter, but simply because it can and does over and over, no matter what. We all need each other to collectively create a world where everyone can be as safe as possible, while always understanding that there is not anything we can build, plan for, or dictate, that cannot be pulled apart, drowned and destroyed in the blink of an eye, or nearly as quickly, and this pattern will never stop.
The only thing we as human animals can truly do is to be constantly industriously cultivating our abilities to love differently than the way we have in the past. We need to language things differently, rebuild differently and that will never be possible as long as we look at the mediated spaces for our language keys...turn the television sets off...and think what destiny might rise up inside the 'I of you' that is important for now, we need one another to all be doing just that...NOW, not later.
Monday, March 14, 2011
Thinking about Industry and my Brother John
I was thinking about industry while I rearranged my office, had the kids bring over an extra bed, cleaned out drawers and made space for my brother to come and live with us in New Zealand for three months to help our morale and just be with us after we've had two major earthquakes here in Christchurch, New Zealand within the last six months. I wrote this poem for him:
My Brother John
My Brother John is coming on a big bird mechanical and complicit with its nature...
landing brilliantly, or so I hope
let fly before death by fire, hanging, slander, or natural disaster.
Like any other man, I am her, too.
Brother John brings cowboy boots, level, trough and all that implies
inside his own mind, not yours or mine, too, we can be duality when he leaves of course, as we
do, have and will be again.
And then, even when we don’t do, have and won’t be by choice, and then again by chance.
Will Brother John come to my rescue? You bet, he will and then he did in my mind before he
even came and went again. Intriguing me to realities of static, non-imaginary renderings off the
cuff, just to hear their refrain, it does not have to be in stone anymore my mason, but
if it be, let it be built by my Brother John--So Christchurch won’t fall down again.
My Brother John
My Brother John is coming on a big bird mechanical and complicit with its nature...
landing brilliantly, or so I hope
let fly before death by fire, hanging, slander, or natural disaster.
Like any other man, I am her, too.
Brother John brings cowboy boots, level, trough and all that implies
inside his own mind, not yours or mine, too, we can be duality when he leaves of course, as we
do, have and will be again.
And then, even when we don’t do, have and won’t be by choice, and then again by chance.
Will Brother John come to my rescue? You bet, he will and then he did in my mind before he
even came and went again. Intriguing me to realities of static, non-imaginary renderings off the
cuff, just to hear their refrain, it does not have to be in stone anymore my mason, but
if it be, let it be built by my Brother John--So Christchurch won’t fall down again.
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