Intrigue, madness, ecstasy
between one job and the next
we cannot all be high priestess
of Nanna, we cannot all be Enheduanna.
When a body goes looking for
bright and shiny objects
it is good to have a guide.
She comes in many shapes and forms.
She marks the passage
of time as the hands
on a clock but sphere like
is the form of Yah that is Khonsu.
The memory of Selene will get you through the day, and you can understand the longing of Enlymoin.
The crystal view of winter can make one understand the Edda’s image of Mani in the refracted angles. Not quite sharp where the angles meet.
The over jealous lover may return to haunt Sang Hyang Ratih, but their drama is way about our heads. All we can do is hope our shouts will reach the ears of Vishnu to drive away his ardor.
iNyanga is our guide, our healer, we need her in the darkness.
We do not know where Hecate came from, perhaps she is the daughter of the Titan and the nymph Asteria as Hersiod suggests. I think she is much older. More shrouded in the veil of time.
We can only with patience and loving care help her in her passage.
Perhaps the child in us all will climb high enough to become Dalnim, looking down from her tiring climb with a lidded eye.
We can question the blood moons of the Inca, but Ka-Ata-Killa rose before the stones were ever pilled high around the mountain tops, we do not know what she longed for. Perhaps we never will.
I think that when the moon spirt Hanwi allows us to see her more clearly, we can find our way in the darkness without fearing the shadows.
Like Enheduanna, we all can become priestesses of Nanna, and never fear the shadow, never bow down to the fierce light of day.
Why is it somedays it seems all the ninjas are in the pay of the conservatives? Those who made the status quo? Is there no money for the vision of the future?
written upon hearing of the death of Justice Ginsburg
thanks to Wikipedia for the picture
That rule makes eight ball a little more fun.
Still, when you are behind the eight ball,
we are all looking for a way around.
I have a big collection of spheres
in baskets and sitting on top of jars,
on the top of old bottles in the light
of the window from the big orbs
which go by when terra incognita rotates.
One of these spheres has a needle
inside like a compass pointing north.
But this needle only points to evil,
and it is really hard to see.
If I find it, it will
come in very handy.
Between the Idaho and Washington border still, at least 72 hours before the air moves. Sept. 15, 2020, the particulates have dropped just below 200, at least in these towns. The fires still burn.
The sun drops toward the horizon and its light is colored by a longer length in the smoke. Last night the air was so thick with smoke, you could not see the sun go down. The red end of the spectrum is evident, by Friday some blue?
Somewhere along the way in school they touched on the rise of the merchant class. It was presented in the historical sense of taking away the land from the aristocracy. This was a result of merchants gathering enough cash to be able to lend to the aristocracy so they could stay afloat during their political intrigues while maintaining their divine rights. School neglected to talk about the people who developed out of this historical growth, the people who lived in just the world of cash. I suppose that group of people only came into their own during the industrial revolution during which time they did master how to exploit the laborer. The rarified world of offshore accounts and virtual cash only came to fruition over the last 50 years when money became an entity in the digital realm.
The stores, bazars, supermarkets, souks, stalls, flea markets, etc., that is where us common laborers, service workers, your smuggler, and pilot fish merchants live. We all are just part of that consumer world. The physical entities that bring digital tokens back as goods and services for ourselves and others.
Then there is the stock market and rich people’s connection to it. That is the true digital realm of money. People with lots of surplus cash can make the market look good by buying lots to stock. They can afford to lose and for a bit they might have controlling interest on the board of directors. But people with surplus income can afford to sell off shares anytime they want and make the market look bad. Multigenerational wealthy need tax accountants, lawyers, and investment counselors they can trust to let them know what is going on in the “real” world. These seneschals translate our consumer world for them as well as explaining the political intrigues that are still in the hands of the aristocracy. They will let the rich know who is shaping the narrative and help protect their interests.
Like anybody else, rich people have lives. Money is just their day job. They pay people to take care of that stuff. The smart ones learn to leave their 40 hour a week job at work and get to the forgetting about the burden of all that money/workday. Domestic problems you can just solve with a check. However, they are people just like us. Some of us take our work home with us and worry about it all night and weekends too. We go the better living through chemistry route or throw ourselves at risky ventures just to try and forget. We lose sleep over the job. We overeat; we gamble. The really dangerous ones get into human trafficking and drugs. If we do not get it under control, we lose our job or our fortune because the consumer is always ready to try and claw their way up to that digital world of money.
The rats and the cockroaches of the “real” world are still there to eat everybody alive. And the people who are out in the non-stock market flea markets are always looking for ways to not have to chop the wood and carry the water. We have lots of problems down in the bazar, but if you do not develope too much of a case of agoraphobia, it is a much more fascinating world than the carefully crafted world of the palace. That is why in all the old stories, the young princes and princesses are trying to break free.
This is the sun high in the sky on the 12th of Sept. 2020 on the border between the states of Washington and Idaho. Several small towns have disappeared with the fires.
The particulates in the air are about 370 parts per million, the hazardous range. The smoke hangs in the branches of the trees. There is no rain in sight.
The narrative voice was doing the math in my head last night about all the death in the human animal over the last sixty-six years. It came out to close to two billion people dead over the course of my life. That is a lot of souls to keep track of when one is trying to have a conversation. Mind you, that is just the humans. There are other souls out there as well.
On a daily basis, if Blue Oyster Cult is correct, that is forty thousand every day. The narrative voice came up with about fifteen hundred deaths by violence every day one year. I wonder sometimes of The Horsemen carry ledgers in their saddle bags or is it more of a free rein situation. Death covers all of the situations, so why bother breaking it down into Pestilence, War, and Famine. It is not like they are under the auspices of the World Health Organization or anything.
I remember the billboard that had in big letters “The wages of sin is death” when I got off the bus, but I never have figured out where those horsemen figure into the hierarchy of the heavens.
Never Forget, Remember the Maine, They Sank the Lusitania, Remember the Alamo, Remember the Pueblo, or Mi Lai, Wounded Knee, Masada, Dachau, Buchenwald’s Bitch, Hastings, Pearl Harbor, Spanish Flu, Nagasaki, Nanking, on and on and on.
The only dead people I see are in cemeteries, graveyards, memorials and then only because the sun casts a shadow of the stones as it moves across the sky. Sometimes there are shadows flickering in mercury vapor or incandescent bulbs. I do hear the whispers of the dead and the living mingled together. I do not have to put them into a corpse to hear them either.
I was reading Ambrose Bierce under the light of the full moon. That would mean something to you if you have been tortured with “An Occurrence at Owl Creek Bridge” when you were just hitting adolescence. It is even more meaningful when you find out the author went poof into the Mexican Revolution and was never seen again. Sure, there are stories, but who you going to trust, right? If you did not like being tortured with him you can say he came to a bad end or if you did it adds to his mystery depending on which side of the Revolution you are on. He also wrote something called “The Devils Dictionary”. I chose what side of The Revolution I was on, that is why I was reading Ambrose Bierce under the light of a full moon.
He used a term that should be resurrected from the archaic usage bin. It is almost prophetic.
Websters defines it as meaning “to cheat, to deceive, something showy but useless, nonsense, rubbish, trashy, paltry.”
The O.E.D. (Oxford English Dictionary) indicates that it dropped out of usage around the end of the nineteenth century. My copy of the O.E.D. is a bit dated, and I have not been able to justify a tax right off for the online edition, so take the change of usage dating with a grain of salt
Here is an example of the word in use:
The recent treaty between Israel and UAE is some major trumpery, smoke and shadow for the powers that be.
Another example would be:
Once more, Senator McConnell stood upon the chamber floor and debased the institution with his trumpery. He lied with gusto.
I think this descriptive term in common usage will help people remember that the name of Trump is a pernicious blight to humanity for the next millennium. By then it once again can be relegated into the dust of antiquity, hopefully for all time. We should have improved by then.
I have heard that Mars is rising
in the Eastern sky. For several nights
I have looked for her.
She appeared in a guise
that I had not seen before
bright and about a fist
at arm’s reach above the tree line,
spiked shards of black pine just above the shake
roofs A true drop of blood
I do not think I can recall
ever seeing before.
No wonder she is the goddess
of war, Calafia burns angry
in the night sky. Alabaster Khonsu! I hate
prophecy in the stars.
thank you NASA for the picture!