Going To and Fro on the Earth…

…and walking up and down in it.

blake job satan smite crop

The triumphing of the wicked is short,
The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment
Satan himself is transformed into an Angel of Light
& his Ministers into Ministers of Righteousness.

William Blake

Some of the few remaining pilgrims and seekers who are among the diffuse congregation of the Tent Show may have noticed that Dr. Omed is often absent from his ‘bully’ pulpit for a week…or a month. Where oh where have I been? There is good answer to that: Going to and fro on the earth, and walking up and down in it. I borrowed this answer from an ancient predecessor in the art and practice of theodicy. Always steal from the best.

The truth is that the conjunctio oppositorum of my cyclical temperament and current events (the usual suspects) conspire to stop this bully dead in his pulpit. After all, there are an infinitude of bullies spurting ism jism from their pulpits. I doubt there is a single maiden meme left in the entire Blogosphere and the greater Electronica Politica that has not been ravished, swived, and buzzfed—and thus made big with childishness, made pregnant with illegitimate meaning—outside the bounds of wholly metaphor.

We need new words to describe it all—it’s all so…metaplorable. Sit in front of your blue screen for too long, surfing the jetstream of copulating factoids, and you’ll begin to suffer from optical collusion. Stop feeding memes into the one-mouse bandit in this virtual casino of ideas. The wagers of surf are dark in this our torture infoconomy. Time to rise up from that ergonomically disastrous swivel chair, change underwear, pull on some pants, put on a clean shirt, and go blinking into the daylight (depending on time zone and local weather conditions, of course). Go to and fro on the earth, and walk up and down in it.

I sometimes take my own advice. I go for a walk. I go for another walk. I walk in the woods, I walk by the river, I walk through the cemeteries. Dead people, at least the ones boxed in the ground, are very restful. They don’t talk—much. I walk in the weather of the living world and it is fine. Despite spring allergens. I am fine, mostly fine, at least while I am in the open air, and don’t have to talk to anyone. But I was not cut off from the presence of darkness, and did not hide deep darkness from my face.

shadow stone angel

But here I am, back at the conjuntio, sitting in my shorts in front of the blue screen, fingering keys like poker chips, playing against the panopticon house odds, ready to wager on the next atrocity. Does Job fear God for nothing?

Note: This is old yada, which means the original material was posted to the original Tent Show on Salonblogs, I don’t want to think about how long ago. I’ve revised it somewhat.

Thought Balloon: Better the Goddess

thought balloon small asterisk

*Ken Wilbur says that “nostalgia for the mother goddess” in all its flavors–Romanticism, Gaiaism, Ecoloholism, et al., is not a rebellion against industrial society but a product of it. Wilbur calls it “industrial religion, industrial spirituality.” I feel intuitively the truth of this, but better an eco-feminist goddess idolator that a fundamentalist Republicant Zombie.

Bonus Scissor Dance:

good hands

Happy Earth Day, y’all!

Random Photo


A photo a day keeps the Doctor in play.

Grendel’s Laundry List: The Current Stack

grendel book stack april 13 2014

What’s in your stack?

Previous Stack.

I believe that reading, in its original essense, is that fruitful miracle of a communication in the midst of solitude.

Marcel Proust, as quoted by Maryanne Wolf, in Proust and the Squid

Scissor Dance: Dance of the Allergens

sd if you prick me, do I not bleed

If you prick me, do I not… leak?

tree pollen windshield

>Scissor DanceCollage cut and pasted the old fashioned way, with scissors, glue, and a stack of old magazines.

Random Photo: Looking through the Glass

top hat windcrop crop2

A photo a day keeps the Doctor in play.

I am a Camera: Raindrops on Clover

raindrops clover 1

On Monday, hereabouts, rain fell most of the day. I was walking the dogs in the rain that morning, and the three of us, terrier, chupacabra, and mongrel poet, came to a full stop in a tangle of leashes as I kneeled to see the miracle of raindrops on clover.

raindrops clover 2 crop1

Since I am a camera, and had my device in my pocket, I began to take pictures. April showers bring the bloom of spring to the digital panopticon as well as the wide world we walk in, many of us bearing cyborg eyes. The panoptic clouds are full of daffodils; Facebook and Twitter and Instagram are raining .jpgs of violets and redbuds.

raindrops clover 2 crop3

In the images I collected with the iPhone, the raindrops seem to float rather than rest on the surfaces of the clover. I do not know if this effect is an artifact of the camera or not, but I almost fall into a trance staring at the screen at the spheres of water that seem barely to adhere to the cloverleaf.

raindrops clover 4


raindrops clover 5


raindrops clover 6 crop 1

And here is a violet that was poking through the clover:

raindrops flower clover

Note that the raindrops aren’t the floating spheroids as on the clover. Hmm.

When April showers may come your way
They bring the flowers that bloom in May
So when it`s raining have no regrets
Because it isn`t raining rain you know
It`s raining violets

And when you see clouds up on a hill
You know they`ll bring crowds of daffodils
So just keep looking for a bluebird
And listening for his song
Whenever April showers come along