Dreams

There are essentially two kinds of dreams.

The first arrives when we are sleeping. It is often realistic, fantastic, and strange. It’s made up, apparently, of odd bits and pieces of memory, neurons firing chaotically, for all we know influences from an alternate reality as well. Unlike “primitives”, we sophisticated folks dismiss it out of hand (possibly wrongly) as nonsense at worst, entertainment, or possible diagnosis and inspiration from the subconscious.

The other case is “waking” dreams, when we construct grandiose plans. Imagination provides a more or less possible future filled with wonders, wealth, influence, whatever our hearts currently desire and of which we feel deprived.

Lately I’ve been very fortunate. My sleep dreams are pleasant and resemble old romantic comedies. My waking dreams tend to be quite congruent with my actual life. It’s a terrific state of being.

Of course, that does promote laziness. I’m afraid of little, I don’t want more. Ambition is limited to enjoying daily life and appreciating each moment. I’ve become a drone. However, not too much of a guilty drone. I’ve done most of what I wanted to do, accomplished some goals that once seemed impossible, and can still enjoy the nostalgic remembrances of having done so.

I suppose that means both kinds of dreams are happily safe for a while.

Holy Writ

Fundamentally, I believe most people are just like me – pretty smart and dumb at the same time. In general, I think small groups of people construct sane outlooks most of the time. There are exceptions. A few people are brilliant in certain areas, a few groups turn into insane cults.

I do not accept that gods directly write anything. All words are formed by other humans. And so I have a skeptical opinion of anything taken as “holy writ”, immutable and perfect from the moment marks are made on a surface.

No need to get directly into religion. What I most detest at the present moment is the “conservative originalist” interpretation of the US Constitution as not only inviolate and perfect, but also the result of a brilliant gathering of minds whose choices can never be questioned nor seriously modified.

The problems go beyond the obvious – that some of it may be wrong or have become irrelevant. Anything stiffly frozen is in some ways fragile, and in others just an obstacle to be destroyed. And there is a nearly nonsensical position taken by some specialists that they alone can determine what the folks who wrote it were “really” thinking and what they “really” meant.

It is simple madness, usually twisted to make words seem to say or mean exactly what interpreters and their cronies have decided. Sad times for our country.

Risky “Makers”

The smug justifying fable of the wealthy these days is that they “make” things, while the peons just take them away in order to exist. The poor are thus all morally thieves, and the virtuous rich sweat and labor to keep civilization staggering along.

In our capitalistic system, of course, most of the hyper affluent don’t know the difference between a hawk and a handsaw. They take risks (in other words, gamble) mostly with other people’s money on things that might turn a profit. Only a few of these “investments” work out, and of those that do a lot are straightforward manipulation of financial assets with no “making” involved .

I admire free enterprise. These are generally small time entrepreneurs who risk their own time and money to truly make something or provide a necessary service. They rarely climb into the ranks of the hyper-affluent, but they often do well enough and truly provide the frameworks of civilization. To keep them striving, the myth of makers is endlessly proclaimed .

I do not mind the billionaire class, whose equivalent has always been with us. I do prefer the old desire of this class to be “patrons” doing public works to show off. Our current set of selfish “makers” tend to think they should use their assets as “takers” to buy islands and other fantasies that are hidden and private, hence of no use to anyone. “Grabbers” might be a better term .

The current real dream of grabbers is to become immortal and omnipotent rulers of space and time. Individual private “glory” with no connection nor responsibility to anyone else .

Spoiled, dangerous, and increasingly in control .

Missing Middle

Since the rise of agricultural civilization, wealth has always been unequal. A small rich elite floated over the “masses”. Admittedly, in both groups, there were variations, sometimes major. But to speak of the rulers and the ruled pretty much said it all .

For a while during the turmoil of world exploration and industrial revolution, there came to be a myth of a “middle class”, neither rich nor poor, in control of their lives but not lording it over everyone. American economists continue to focus on this fairy tale which is no longer even partially true .

In the scientific, automated, predatory modern economy there is truly only a normal curve of wealth distribution. Sure, there is still a middle, but it is not defined by the endpoints. Most people in first world economies are affluent beyond the dreams of their ancestors. Even if “poor” they have food, shelter, clothing, dignity, and hope. Even if “rich” they fear they may lose a gamble once too often and drop out of the top percentile .

More importantly, from the economists’ viewpoint, it is impossible to define what “middle class” means. The marker once taken for granted – the suburban nuclear family with one man the breadwinner – no longer exists as a reliable guidepost .

The point is that we should abandon any desire to fortify a non-existent “middle class”. We need to concentrate on basic minimum living standards for all, and how to pay for them. “Work”, for example, may or may not be involved. We need fresh new viewpoints, and strategies as old certainties mutate or vanish .

Human

Sages calmly explain “we are just another animal.” Other sages claim that “surely in infinite space there are others just like us”. Adventurers announce humanity will soon spread to the solar system and beyond. Cyberneticists predict we will develop and give way to the next mechanical stage of consciousness .

They are wrong .

The difference between human consciousness and that of other animals is like the difference between an amoeba and a drop of water. The evolution of human consciousness depended on a series of unlikely fortunate accidents. Anything may be possible in “infinite space”, but in a universe that is merely ALMOST infinite most stuff is flat out impossible. Our only comfortable home is this planet. Our “mechanical descendants” are only like us in bad science fiction, no more akin than that drop of water and amoebas.

We have been told that the great shock of modern times was that “man” discovered “he” was not the center of the universe. Another great shock may be the realization that you, I, and each human is, in fact, the ONLY meaning in the universe. Right here, right now.

That may take a little while to settle in, just as it took a while for the older myths to be swept away. For those becoming aware, however, it means we must treasure ourselves, our planet, and each other as never before.

We are probably all there is .

Listener

I’ve never been an alpha male. I have stubborn firm beliefs and ideas, but both my size and temperament have caused me to keep them inbound. I’ll contribute when appropriate, rarely try to force a viewpoint down anyone’s throat. Before going very far, I’ve always found it very useful to listen with concentration. That habit makes it surprisingly easy to get along with almost anyone.

Our natural tendency in this media-driven culture is “I talk, therefore I am”. Listening becomes a mere mental intake breath, unconscious and oblivious, as we formulate what we must say next. So it pleasantly surprises anyone when you actually pay attention to what they are saying and let yourself respond to that .

Such an apparently passive conversational style is often regarded as wimpy acceptance, like the apocryphal 98 pound weakling having sand kicked on him by the big bully in the comic books of my youth. I rather find it a useful sieve. Without automatic deep engagement (with me trying to be the ringmaster), I can quietly decide if continuing interaction is worth it, and if so how I want to proceed.

I often learn quite a lot, and people remain friendly. Nevertheless, I remain internally certain of most of what I have learned and absorbed. It’s almost impossible to rock my core beliefs. I just don’t care to argue. I suspect most others – bullies included – are just as adamant..

Of course, in this blog format, nobody talks back !

Sausage

I’ve taken to habitually cooking a pot of spaghetti every month. Then I doctor some tomato sauce and add hot Italian sausage and onions. I hear the gasps .

In this age of internet prudes,”ultra processed foods” are the quick road to death. Sausage hovers near the top of the list, although with a bit of guilt lots of people continue to consume lots of hot dogs and cold cuts. Actually, what I use is no more processed than unfrozen hamburger – raw pork bits with spices. Not claiming it’s a health food but …

Sausage, of course, is famous as a metaphor. Turning nasty parts that nobody wants of a dead animal into a formless chunky mix of whatever stuffed into cleaned intestines. The results – cured or merely cooked – became staples of the diet. In days before refrigeration, a very useful way to store meat. Back then, of course, no internet fanatics .

Language use extended to describing it as the same methodology by which legislation in a democracy is passed. “Sausage making” is uglier than “log rolling” and both terms are left out of elementary simple civics texts. But for better or worse pretty much true .

Me? I’m already too old to worry about consequences. I savor each food I like as a marvelous gift. I’m even willing to chew it slowly and be very thankful for the flavor.

I do turn off the internet when doing so .

Locally Infinite

I’ve always admired William Blake’s poem “To see the world in a grain of sand”. Although it has helped guide me through life, I find it more and more useful right now. How heaven, I discover, really is in that dandelion brilliant yellow in my lawn .

Our consumer culture has few advocates for common local miracles. No money in that! You must buy some exotic bloom, visit some distant garden, watch a feature on TV. The farther you travel, the more you spend, the more rare something is, the more the universe will smile on you.

But that grain of sand is composed of star stuff, the end result of billions of years and massive forces, just as much as any mountain, however high. In the proper frame of mind, just as inspiring. With proper regard, just as beautiful and meaningful .

And importantly for elders – more confined than we were in youth – that dandelion and that grain of sand are right here, right now. I need go nowhere. Simply open my mind and appreciate existence. The best things in life may not be free, but the definitions of both are flexible .

I’ve gradually become able to focus on the local. To be grateful for anything I can sense or think about. To truly appreciate “eternity in an hour” .

Mortal Moment

In a Roman triumphal procession, a slave rode the same chariot as the honored general, constantly whispering “remember, you are mortal”. Useful tradition. Perhaps we should reestablish it for our politicians and plutocrats. Death is still the great leveler .

I have both elements residing inside me. Logic is my general, domineering all it surveys, proud and glorious and quite imperiously smug. My body, on the other hand, plays the part of the slave and constantly reminds me of my true condition. Sometimes, like those slaves of old, it rises up in revolt to make me take notice .

For example, yesterday I had a couple of small bowls of potato chips for lunch, breaking my normal diet. The grease and salt combined for excruciating pain in the afternoon. These days, If I overdo a bit too much, I will strain joints, pull muscles, ache, lapse into a tired semi-consciousness.

Logic plans brilliant maneuvers and says “why not?” Body has the tragic answer .

I’ve learned to accept it all as part of the messaging of my universe. An easy (or relatively easy) way to control dangerous hubris. Even painful reminders can sometimes help put other good things into perspective .

The battle of the potato chips is over. Perhaps not a victory, but a good lesson in strategic dreaming .

Instant Coffee

I have never been a food snob. In my ancient commune days, I successfully resisted diets of buckwheat groats and miso. Having grown our food as a child, I don’t believe in the fantastic flavor of heritage vegetables. I don’t subscribe to organic gardening because I’ve seen what bugs can do to a crop. And I tend to think antibiotics in things like beef are probably good for me

Part of it, I suppose, is my upbringing. Referring to the title, my parents were both world war II veterans. They made “navy coffee” which was a percolated tar kept boiling all week. That remains my reference .

A good deal of it is genetics and age. I’ve never had a remarkable sense of smell or taste, and even that has deteriorated over time. Bitter black coffee is fine because at least I notice a hint of flavor there .

I admit that over time I’ve gone for convenience. I really like the “instant” aspect of instant coffee. No matter what, the fact that I can get caffeine magically in a minute or so at home in a microwave is one of the great miracles of science .

Of course, it’s largely habit. I suppose in this new world I’d be sipping energy drinks, although maybe not because I’ve always hated sugar or sweeteners. Once in a while cream, but I prefer simplicity – coffee as coffee, milk as milk .

I know that’s a dying culture, mostly kept alive by us elders. I just hope it continues for longer than I do .