A Matter of Time

February 1, 2023

In Beon's seven-dimensional universe, time is only one dimension.  Everyone is timeless in 7-D.  Vitality flows strong or weak, but it never stops.

Unfortunately for Beon, his interdimensional travels have exposed him to the disease of Solipsism, which leads its victims to deny any reality other than their own.  The disease convinced him he had control over his life.  

After he accidentally spread Solipsism throughout 7-D, Beon decided he could rid the dimensions of his perverse influence by plunging his Cosmo Cruiser into a black-triangle black hole and annihilate himself through suicide.

His attempt failed.  Beon found himself trapped in a 4-D universe, where cognizant beings believe in time and death.

Beon be-bopped around 4-D for forever, accompanied only by his immortal companions from 7-D:  Bud, his white cat; the Rev, a rooster; Sparky the parakeet; and an assortment of critters collected by Bud from life-sustaining planets, when Beon touched down to explore or to save a planet from itself.

During his perpetual incarceration in 4-D, Beon had also had time to design and build a number of robots, which he programmed to assist in his various planet-saving initiatives.  A few millennia ago, as Earthlings measure time, Beon had encountered Earth, a planet in great need of salvation from its human inhabitants.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
So this is the setting for my timeless novel, appropriately named "A Matter of Time:  Beon, Bud, and the Bots".

It's only a matter of time for me to evolve this novel concept to its denouement at some point in the mutable future.

In Real Earth Time, I must face the challenge of ever-changing technology, rules, and personal segues into Real Life but I do intend to follow up with descriptions of the Solipsism epidemic in 7-D, Beon's EarthSave Project, and Joe, Beon's super-duper wizard of artificial intelligence engineering, who is programmed to save these Earthlings from themselves.

Here's to the unknowable future . . .


Stoking Fear

The mass of humanity seems to be wallowing in fear. There are those who thrive on exploiting this insecurity. What pleasure do they derive from exacerbating feelings of doubt and insecurity? Don’t they realize that fearful people, or animals, for that matter, are dangerous, prone to strike out with little provocation?

It probably takes a creative mind to imagine all the things that can go wrong or cause harm to self or others. How many people have developed the habit of imagining rewarding results from their endeavors? Can they visualize what form those rewards will take?

It’s hard for me to imagine any rewarding scenario without caveats. I suppose the caveats can offer opportunities in themselves, challenges to be tackled and overcome, or not, but yet more lessons in living.

Thus do I soothe my fears.

How America looks from Bali, 1996

I Wonder

I don't have answers, but I have lots of questions, on this 18th day of January in the year 2023.
   First, I must orient myself in space and time, according to the conventions accepted by the US of A, a political entity with a relatively short history but encompassing multiple and far-ranging events.
   Obvious, you say?  Goes without saying?  Maybe it is so obvious that it begs to be highlighted, in order to show that the US of A--its human faction--dominates the mental and emotional field of the entire human world.
   This is not to brag, but to express humility for the influence US America wields, and its power to influence, if not to control, human and non-human lives around the world.
   The US president is the supposed head of this agglomeration of human beings, the symbolic voice of the USA, but it's impossible to determine how that is perceived by individuals or groups.  
   An article on rielpolitik.com claims the US is trying to provoke a war with China, Russia, and Iran, because it feels threatened about the political power suggested by an alliance between these Eastern hemisphere countries.
   Why, I wonder?  Wouldn't it be better for everyone if we could all learn to get along?  Who loses if we adopt the philosophy of "live and let live"?

The Grousers

A grouse is a game bird, but colloquially, it's a verb, meaning "to complain".
I've been doing a lot of grousing myself, mostly to myself and to my journal, which allows me to write whatever slips past the internal censors and editors.

Today, I read a book review on rielpolitik.com about the US miitary-industrial complex, which outgoing US President Dwight D. Eisenhower warned against in 1961.  I wanted to respond, but that site no longer accepts direct responses, apparently.
So, I'll grouse here, on my own blog, about my longstanding aversion to war and conflict.
The US of A was built on war and conquest.  Eisenhower, himself a general in the US Army, headed war campaigns in  Africa before he became president.  George Washington, first US president, wanted to join the British regular army but was rejected, so he started his own army here.
A study of US history proves the US has been instigator or participant in war almost constantly since the Europeans landed on the shores of the New World.
The article on rielpolitik.com notes that Bechtel, a private military contractor, has reaped enormous sums from the US government for construction of military equipment and bases around the world.  It has a huge presence at Oak Ridge, Tennessee, near Knoxville, and one of the sites of the Manhattan Project, where the first atomic bombs were developed in secret during WWII and under FD Roosevelt's last term as president.
The rielpolitik synopsis emphasizes the burgeoning military expenses, with the resultant indoctrination of all levels of US society into the notion that constant war is acceptable, even respectable, and certainly "good for the economy", or so the perpetrators claim.
What is this fascination with competition?  I look to the animal world, and to the plant world, and do not see a need or desire to compete merely for the sake of domination.
At the moment, my two chickens are resting beside me and at my feet, cleaning feathers,attending to our environment, but the Gun Clubbers down the street are blasting away with their boom-booms,in concert with all the human grousers who are addicted to fighting.

The Power of Fear

Those who promote or stoke fear use ancient control tactics, and for what?  Are they themselves afraid and want to share their emotion? Do they enjoy being afraid and wish to inspire others in a commonality of tension?

A man once told me he enjoyed being angry.  I wanted to ask why but didn't and have wondered since what might prompt feelings of pleasure from an emotion that is so unpleasant for me.

I've wondered if anger is a derivative of fear.  Is fear the first emotion that arises when something disturbs the status quo?

I have used my most recent blog title, "Fortune Tellers on the Payroll", before, in 2016.  Then, as now, I contested the predilection of some people to stoke fear by posting predictions of danger, even disaster, ahead.

Why? Does fear of the future tempt a person, group of people, or world to predict the most threatening outcome of any current situation?  Might we also be tempted to steer our lives into the very futures we fear?

Is it possible that we can meet whatever future with fortitude, courage, and the determination to learn and grow from whatever happens, and to inspire others similarly?

My life is a question.  I have no answers.

Fortune-Tellers on the Payroll

From the Museum of Appalachia, Norris, TN kco0406

Fact: 2023 has arrived, if you subscribe to the Western, mostly Anglo-Saxon convention of measuring time.

I have the pseudo-convenience of today’s technology, in the form of cell phone, internet, WordPress, and a comfortable chair and roof over my head to convey words that may communicate the wide-ranging explorations of my mind.

I’ve been reading predictions for the coming year, during which our Earth is predicted to continue its revolution around the sun we accept as the center of a solar system that includes the earth, other planets, moons, asteroids, and debris, like human-made satellites.

But the Living Now intrudes, as Miss Tweety Pie appears at my door, threatening to poop under any future placement of my foot. I step outside to the clearing fog of the first New Year’s morning, to hear the ebullient celebrations of the Gun Clubbers down the street, blasting away at clay pigeons, in an exercise some people believe is entertaining.

Who is knowldgeable about the future, any future, as “the future” is determined moment to moment by the unpredictable Now?

Miss Tweety-Pie is now busy preening her feathers, here on this wet bench, while Speckles watches from his spot under the building.

And now, machine noise starts up on the other side of my vibe space, promising Human inventiveness thrives, so far, in 2023.

Happy 2023 from Miss Tweety-Pie.

Speckles

November 29, 2022–My home-hatched and grown rooster had his 11th birthday yesterday. He has survived multiple traumas, deaths of other chickens, and my clumsy ministrations, but he is a trooper, now the only avian companion to my other chicken, Tweety, now two-and-a-half years old.

Speckles crowing
Taken August, 2015.  The Screamer still has his voice.

Confusion

Tuesday, November 15, 2022, 8:35 AM EST, USA. It's cloudy and about 60 degrees Fahrenheit, here on the salt marsh of coastal Georgia. Thunderstorms are predicted later today, so I'm outside now with Tweety and Speckles, my two remaining chickens, before we all have to take cover from sudden climate change.

For those who don't recognize it, the photo above is the US Capitol building, where the PowersThatBe deliberate what they believe is important for the political entity some people claim is the US government.

But it just looks like confusion to me, a mingled mass of varying motives, agendas, egos, opinions, and personalities who seem to believe they can wield power over each other and the world, but to what purpose?

As I sit outside here, with cold fingers, I hear the noise from the auto body shop northwards, a spot-zoned addition to the neighborhood in recent years.  Tweety seems oblivious.  She is standing at my feet, preening, as is Speckles, a few feet away.

Do my chickens, or any animals, concern themselves with the squabbles of the PowersThatBe in Washington DC?  Should I?

Some people think human politics is relevant, but I wonder if the threat of nations provoking other nations into war should concern me.  At 70 years old, I have seen and done plenty, but I have not seen or done war, except in small and petty ways, when other entities' fights affect my equilibrium.

And the machine noise continues, and the sun starts shining through the clouds, and Tweety appears beside me on this concrete bench, flies down, and is greeted with a flirtatious coo from Speckles, before she runs back and starts pecking at my sock.

And I now hear a military helicopter overhead, reminding me that this political entity, otherwise known as the US of A, is constantly preparing for the current or the next war against enemies of its choosing, in order to please those groups and individuals who derive gratification from spreading pain and suffering among those whom they've identified as adversaries--and anything else that gets in their way.

Have a nice day, anyway.

Today

Wednesday, September 21, 2022--I write a lot about my chickens, my perceptions, imaginings, and sensations, both in my hand-written journal and on-line.  My purpose is to communicate to the outer world and to myself, better to externalize the ever-shifting panorama of my inner reality.

Today is almost over, at 11 p.m. Eastern Daylight Time, in the US of A, and soon "today" will be a different day.  Just establishing the time of day takes time, and focus.  That's why there are so many methods for orienting oneself in a dimension outside physical space.

The weather constitutes its own dimension, although climate is not given the status of dimensionality in common parlance.  Yet with a temperature range of 30 degrees Fahrenheit today, weather begs for inclusion in our beliefs about reality on this Earth plane.

Curtains open.  Curtains closed.  Doors open or closed.  Windows open on one side of the house and closed on the other.  These are the adaptations required to maximize comfort this fall so far in Savannah.  

We are broaching fall, as the calendar reports it.  The calendar itself has changed over time and over cultures.  The measurement of time is the bailiwick of politics and cultural beliefs. Time is as fluid as the weather, hard to pin down mathematically or predict with certainty.

According to the Greenwich, England standard of measuring time, which begins tomorrow in fifteen minutes, in my time zone, but not for another hour a little west of here, the Earth's spin on its axis takes a mathematically convenient 24 hours.  Trouble is, the earth's rotation takes 25 hours, thus we have "leap years" every four years, and compensate by giving February a 29th day, to account for the fact that the earth's rotation actually requires 25 hours, so a solar year is actually about 365 1/4 days.

Natural cycles are perverse that way.  They refuse to conform to human mathematics.  The moon, almost a quarter the size of the earth, is just as unyielding.  Its 28-day cycle doesn't allow mathematics to control its motion, so we have fabricated calendars and clocks according to mathematical parameters, striving to create precision in the wobbly dimensions of time and space.

And now, it is 12:13 AM, EDT on  September 22, 2022, according to the latest version of the Western hemisphere, planet Earth's calendar.

Good night.