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Friday, December 30, 2011

Alma Mater and Tannenbaum

Yes, I know, I missed last week.  My apologies.  But I have been frightfully busy.  This has been a joyous time for me, one of great excitement and breaking fnords.  And not just for the usual holiday reasons.

I became a college student not long ago, and I am still working out the wrinkles.  Trying to be sure that my prerequisite classes will fit the program I want, checking to see if I will have money in time to pay these people, and so forth. 

And then there was Christmas, with children and friends and family, and deftly dodging any obligatory social gatherings yet again.  It pleases my solitary nature.  

* * * * *
Using my actual name on my weblog might seem to fly in the face of that last.  In fact, there are certain rules of the Internet I routinely ignore.  But Lauren and I still seek a major publisher for our books (links to your right).  Thus I am much like the One Ring: for all that I claim no master, I want to be found.

However, there are certain matters of consideration regarding the privacy of others that I also prefer to follow.  For the most part, referring to my associates just by their first name works dandy.  And whether I am annoyed or pleased with the people I write about, only those who Know will Know, as they say.  But as time goes on, I’ll have things to write about, good and bad, pleased and frothing, regarding my chosen Institution of Higher Education.  And I’m sure that there are people there who would prefer to maintain a discreet distance from my comments, at least as far as out-of-towners might go.

I am therefore both pleased and triumphant to announce my enrollment as a full-time student in the internationally acclaimed halls of Wossamotta University. 

Ah, good old Wossamotta.  The ivory stairs, covered in carpet.  The sports fields, freely adorned with wandering athletes, scouts, and moose.  I can only hope and aspire that within the unscalable walls of this time-honoured bastion of learning, I, too, shall achieve the right and privilege to claim as my own the Alma Mater of Wossamotta U.

* * * * *

Looking back to my One Ring comment brings me to Christmas.  All families have their Christmas traditions, and we are no different. 

First, the Magnificent Offspring decorate the Christmas Branch (all right, it’s a small plastic tree) with an assortment of different knickknacks, some hand-made, some not.  No lights, please.  There are gifts under the tree for everyone, and the stockings are hung with care on the bookshelves.  We gather popcorn and cookies and sodapop and munchies galore.  And then, when the moment is right, we all gather round . . .

And we watch the entire Lord of the Rings trilogy, extended versions, over a three-day period.

File:Foxtrot - Sauron Tree.GIF

It is, too.  And yes, our tree is topped with an Eye of Sauron.  Lidless.  Wreathed in flame.  Bless you, Peter Jackson.  You made Christmas a holiday again.

Tama Shud,
--Coyote

Tuesday, December 13, 2011

Internet Censorchip


Greetings.

 I am given to understand that this week Congress is debating whether to grant themselves the power to censor, even completely dismantle, certain aspects of the Internet. Sites such as YouTube, Wikipedia, and of course MoveOn.org.

 If enacted, these new laws would force Internet Service Providers to block websites that any corporation suspects violates a copyright,  or even suspects doesn't monitor it's users' content close enough for copyrighted materials. That means that any website, foreign or based in the U.S., could be wiped out on suspicion and made unavailable to everyone in the world.

 I am also given to understand that, depending on how the law is ultimately worded, prison time is in the offing for those who post material offensive to the sensibilities of those companies.  People behind thatguywiththeglasses.com , for example, would be in big trouble.  This is a step towards terrorizing the people over their posted content, and certainly the loss of the Nostalgia Critic would be a shame. 

But more than that, this is a step towards greater information control throughout the Internet.  And if corporations have greater rights of self-expression than individuals (corporations are given “freedom of speech,” but you cannot jail a company) what injustices may follow?

 This is not a law begun by lawmakers interested in promoting justice.  This is a law pressed for by the lobbyists of powerful corporations who have too much influence over government, news, and media as it is.  The Internet is a threat to their monopoly of data disbursement, and they are moving against it.

 Accoding to deathandtaxesmag.com:

Both PROTECT IP Act and SOPA were drafted in order to stop online piracy with groups such as the MPAA (Motion Picture Association of America) heavily lobbying Congress for passage.

It is believed by many, from Google to EFF, that blacklisting sites with pirated content will adversely affect the channels of communication used by activists, rebels and whistleblowers.
While SOPA is stuck in committee, the under-the-radar PROTECT IP Act has been fast-tracked out of committee and is set to be rushed through a Senate vote, according to EFF. In the Senate, only Rand Paul, Maria Cantwell, Ron Wyden and Jerry Moran have voiced opposition to the bill.”

I have read that Senator Ron Wyden from Oregon has promised to start a historic filibuster of the Internet Censorship Act.  Apparently he will read the names of every person who signs a petition against Internet censorship. I have signed my name, using the link below, and urge all of you to do likewise.  In addition, I urge you to seek out information regarding SOPA, the other version of this bill.

Writing letters is also highly recommended.  I am composing my missive to Mister Obama even now.  And if you're afraid of getting your name on a list - and some people are - then fighting this effort and others like it should be that much more important.

There will, no doubt, be those who will say that such a law could never pass.  Not here.  Not in America.

I respectfully refer such persons to the use of sniper towers and boiling water cannons to lock out unionists at the Homestead Steel Works.  I refer them to the living and working conditions at the railroad towns prior to its being fought down by such champions as Clarence Darrow. 

I refer them to the trial of the Chicago Eight, the exploitive use of the truck system in company towns, the imprisonment of Japanese Americans in concentration camps during World War II.  I refer them to McCarthy and his infamous Black List.  And most recently, I refer them to the Patriot act and Guantanamo Bay.
Anything can happen if you let it.

“If the come for me in the morning
They will come for you at night.”



Tamam Shud,
Coyote

Friday, December 9, 2011

"What Shape is the World?"


As I’ve mentioned before, I’m going back to college.  So many questions, and so many cautions.  It’s a foreign system to me, a maze of rules.  And I am learning the rhythm of its walls and mirrors as quickly as I can.

I started out online at their website.  I sort of flailed about randomly at first, trying to get the hang of the philosophy behind the site’s organization.  After a while, I started being able to find things all right.

There were a few stumbles, there always are.  For example, I misread the order of operations for Student Registration, and instead of completing the registration form and then immediately moving on to the next step, I waited for the registration process to complete.  And it looks like there may be a delay in Financial Aid because of when everything is going down.

Ideally, I would sit down and talk with a councilor and get a better feel for the situation, have a palaver and gain direct advice.  Alas, I can’t do that, or enroll in classes, until I complete my assessment tests.  And I found out tonight that I am not allowed to take them in the usual way.

I arrived early in the evening, feeling chipper.  Which was good, since they’ve changed the layout of the place significantly since I was on-campus last.  I entered from College Blvd, followed the signs, and got spit right back out onto College again.  Fortunately, I was able to find a member of the local constabulary and ask about the Student Centre’s location. 

People complain that there’s never a cop around when you need one, but I’ve never had any trouble finding them.  I think it’s just my natural charm that attracts them.

In any event, he was kind enough to walk me to the building I was after.  He asked me what I was seeking, and I told him “Physical Therapy Assistant.”  Then, seeing his puzzled look I re-assessed the context of his question as being situational rather than environmental.  I apologized, and told him I sought the testing facility in the Student Centre.  Oh, well.  We talked a bit as we walked along the grounds, and he revealed that he’d been working there for a good thirty-five years.  Turns out since I’d been there last the building count went from around eight to around eighteen.

Yowza.  He was kind enough to drop me off at the centre, explain four or five times how to find my way back (which was appreciated, believe me), and so I bellied my way up to the service desk. 

Sasparilla, my good man, I thought.  The lovely lady at the desk gave me a card for my number (I have a new number, a student number, huzzah), and a half-page form to fill out.  I thought to my self:

 Self, I thought, this seems pretty painless. 

I waited, relaxed and unconcerned.  The testing area was sparsely populated, and the people were friendly, courteous and knowledgeable.  The woman helping me explained that I would have to yield my hat and phone to the lockers outside (another new development), and even as I was removing my magnificent chapeaux to comply with the rules of the house, she finished, saying:

“. . . and you’ll have to take off your sunglasses.  Just leave them in the locker with the rest.”

Ah, nutbunnies.

“I can’t do that,” I explained.  “They’re for medical reasons.”

Right about now is traditionally when the beaurocrat starts going a little nuts.  And I am not too proud to admit that I tensed a little, in anticipation.  However, she just blinked and said she’d talk to her supervisor and see about getting me an okay.  She smiled, I smiled.  Life was good.

Her boss finished her call and then called me over.  I have problems with authority and I know it, so I monitored my reactions carefully.  She called me over, and she told me about their strict policy regarding no sunglasses in the testing area.  

My eyes are, for those of you who do not know, incredibly light sensitive.  Which means that what for most people is normal light, for me is blinding and painful.  You can imagine why I value polite police so much, with their Mag-Lights of Doom.  And you can imagine the static I’ve gotten from a fair cross-section of xenophilic pencil-pushers in my time.  I’ve had some harsh encounters over my eyes in the past, and lost at least one job.  Bloody hell, was it going to start all over again?

I must confess, I did the worst thing I could do at that moment: in response to what I felt was her preparing to Lay Down the Law, I got tense.  I was braced for her to get weird about my glasses, I was uncomfortable because I’d just removed my hat in fluorescent overhead lighting, and I got tense.  And I suspect, though I cannot truly know, that she was braced for me to throw a fit about my shades.  Working customer service sucks, and I can only imagine what kind of attitude she gets from some of the students throughout the day.  We had a magnificent positive feedback loop of stress burn between us for the briefest of moments.

“I need them for medical reasons,” I said again.  I was ready for her to get indignant, which was usual.  Outright hostility was not out of the question.  This is one of the reasons I usually avoid places with rules and regulations, as well as one reason why I was and still am nervous about returning to school.

Instead, she took the moment in her hands, and broke it.  Smashed it like candy glass.  She blinked, and became genuinely concerned.

“Oh,” she said, “In that case, you’ll need to talk to . . .” and here she gave me the name of the testing service I need to contact, a name, and a phone number. 

It turns out that I need to arrange for a proctored test in a private room.  Which sets me back a little more, granted, but it doesn’t grind me to a halt.  She also made it abundantly clear that there was no offense meant about my vision – though her demeanor had already confirmed that nicely – and we shook on the matter and parted ways. 

As I took my leave, my only concern was if I was to shake her hand or offer her reverance.  The angle at which she gave her hand implied the latter, but this is the 21st century, and neither of us was in period garb.  I compromised, bowing slightly while gently gripping her hand.  It does not do to offend a lovely lady who is helping you.

That glass-like tinkling sound you hear is the tension in the room.  I was careful not to step on any of the pieces on my way out.

So, I will call on the morrow, and see what I will see.  I have my councilor appointment this coming week, two days before enrollment deadline.  I still need to get a few ducks in a row, including my financial aid.  But I think I’m getting the hang of this place, its dance, its tempo, its rhythm and pulse. 

And it is a lovely thing to be treated politely.

--Coyote.


PS: I have not put in entries of all the little delays and trip-ups I have encountered in my travels, not wanting to bore anyone.  I have no intention of starting now.  But I will, in closing, reproduce here the email I sent earlier today (the day following the post above) to the Access testing service.  If my schedule had permitted I would have just gone in person.  Sensitive data is of course omitted . . .


"Good people,

Greetings.  My name is Coyote Kishpaugh, and my student number is XXXXX.

I am sending you this missive in the hopes that you can help me take the assessment tests needed for me to see my councilor and enroll in classes before it is too late.  It has been a quiet misadventure.

The latest chapter unfurled Thursday evening, when I arrived at the testing centre and was informed that I would not be permitted to  take the tests while wearing dark glasses.  The ladies there were very polite and understanding, but apparently there are rules about such things.  My eyes are quite light-sensitive, however, and unfortunately I cannot effectively take the test without my glasses. 

I understand that I should take the tests proctored and in a private room, and will need your assistance with this.  I was therefore given a phone number to call, and told to ask for (NAME).  The phone number was XXX-XXXX.  Alas, this number seems to be disconnected.

Checking the college web site, I retrieved a different phone number for your office: XXX-XXXX.  Here, too, I got a message that the number was disconnected.

If you would be so kind as to contact me at your earliest convenience, I would appreciate it. 

Thank you for your consideration,
--Coyote"

And so the struggle continues gamely forward.  Thank the gods of silicon for the Internet; I used to have to chase from department to department all day on foot.  XD

--C.

"I dunno, I'm-a from out of town."


It's been a little while since I've posted.  I've been getting ready to go back to college, and that's been quite a distraction, among others.  Suffice it to say that I persevere, I abide, and I ultimately conquor.

I'll write more about that later, because it's late and I'm tired.  But here are a few thoughts before I withdraw.




Writer's Block


Somebody please help me knock this thing out

I don’t have any heroes
Valiant and bold
I’m not riddled with self-loathing
And hostility is old
I’m not wired for self destruction
I’ve never been to jail
I’m not in love with innocence
I’m not convinced I’ll fail

I’m not recovering from addiction
Assault, illness, or abuse
I’m not depressed or hating life
I’ve never paid my dues
I’m not obsessed with pain
Or from the tough part of town
No one’s died near me lately
And I’ve never yet found God

Somebody please help me knock this thing out




Time

I like to think about time.

It isn’t a line, you know.  At least, it’s not just a line.

Here. 

Take a piece of thread. 

A nice, long one.  Hold it by one end.

That’s how people like to pretend time is.  A straight line, with a little curve here and there. 

A start, and a finish.  No flow.  Just a neat, tidy, thin braid.

How very dull. 

Still.

Take your thread.  Hold it as high above your head as you can.

Make it a pretty one.  Gold, maybe.  Or a deep forest green.

Now. 

Drop it.

Watch it glide to the ground, like a snake making love to the ocean.

That’s how time really flows, my friend. 

It doesn’t march, or fall, or run.  It glides.  It soarsIt writhes.

And then, when your thread coils on the floor, watch it carefully. 

(Before the cat starts playing with it, I mean.  Fell beast.)

You see how some parts overlap the others?

Time does that.  It loops, it coils.  It slips and slides.  It memory-chills and deja-vus, it prophets and past-lifes and forty thousand unsolved missing person-per-years.

Careful.  If you slip, there's no one there to catch you. 

But sometimes, just sometimes, you can jump.

From one coil to another.

Like a little flea.

Boimp!

Oh, it takes it out of you, no mistake. 

But it can be done.

Not too far
, though.  No one needs their first stroke at age twenty-six. 

And for your father’s sake, please only jump forwards.  There are kinder endings than that. 

But I don’t mess with time much.  Not really.  Not any more. 

Because time isn’t just a thread, either.

It’s a web.

And when you walk across a web, glistening with gemstones like dewdrops, there is one thing you should always remember:

This . . . is not your home. 

And some of those threads

are sticky.

Beautiful Arachne is never far away.



And that’s not even mentioning the cat.






--Coyote

Friday, November 25, 2011

Nuremburg

Tonight I set fire to a very old book

The wheel was in sage and in frost

It was not my tempest but my midwinter night’s dream

As I struck the lucifer to the side



The sun blazed

An infant on a virgin-tipped breast

And reached out its flames towards strength



Fifty-six pages and twenty-one keys

They burned like the nails in a chain-smoker’s coffin

Speaking in whispers they opened the silence

And let me hold stars in my hand

Five staves were prepared

But nine daggers burned me

The fool all but danced on the flames

The moon broke the chain, and I started again

Eight pentagrams led to the star



See how the hermit lights his poor way

For his brothers all eager to follow

Judgment leaps higher

December winds lash

At the blaze of great Gabriel’s horn

Ten knives mark the night that the tower stayed hidden

Ka as the wind that sweeps ashes aside

Three maids toast the land and their very good fortune

While two more are never here found



Another lucifer

Pope Joan’s benediction

Outlives seven chalices promising dream

They offer their gifts to whoever will take them

While one more is supped by a king



They folded and furled beneath Agni’s stern gaze

Their coats worn thin as a Dickens-book pauper

They turn to black moths

Glow and are still

Sixteen years old the same age as a daughter

Now the world catches fire and is ash



It was the fool who started the fire

But the magician ate of the ashes

Friday, November 18, 2011

Knightwalk

          KNIGHTWALK

The billboards scream commands at me
By day as far as I can see
The sun’s offensive to my sight
So I walk by the voice of night
The grass is blue, my shadow green
To insects’ songs I walk unseen
Nothing between me and the land
The moon rolls, falling from my hand

The silence of the night unbroken
By combustion’s screams
The promises of life unspoken
Save in elven dreams
The tribe of tiger runs with me
We hunt beneath the stars
My mother fills me with her life
I walk upon her scars

Friday, October 14, 2011

My Kind of Woman (a Love Letter)

She was my kind of woman.

She was short and she was tall and she was just my height,
She was slender and she was stout and she was lovely.

Her hair was blonde and brunette and crimson and strawberry and raven and auburn and white.
Silver and gold, grey, ash, coal, and pearl.

Her eyes were blue, her eyes were brown.  Her eyes were amber and gold and hazel.  They were green and they were black, violet, and even steel grey.  Her eyes were clear and full of life, and ah, how they shone when she laughed.

She was dark and she was light, a golden-skinned beauty, Mediterranean lovely, Latina jewel.  Aryan, Asian, Native, alabaster and bronze.  Nubian goddess.  Albino queen.

Her complexion was clear, like ice cream. 
She had freckles like a dusting of cinnamon, inviting me to taste. 

Her skin was unmarked. 
She had tattoos. 
And I looked at her and I knew that I was doomed.

Her curves were subtle, and oh, her curves were grand.
She showed no sign of starvation.
She had long, supple legs.
Her legs were curved, stocky, and magnificent.
They were the kind you could
suck on for a day,
ready to wrap around your waist and hang on
for a year.

Her nails were short on her fine, strong hands,
with long nails on cultured fingers to rake along her lover’s back.

Intelligent.  Educated.  A willful woman with a good heart and a joyful soul. 
There is no part of her that is not beautiful.

Friday, October 7, 2011

Mouse on Pooh Corner

  My son and I were discussing the Tao Te Ching yesterday.  I had gifted all my Magnificent Offspring with copies of this illustrious book early this year, as well as the Tao of Pooh.  He said he'd very much enjoyed the poetry and certain aspects of the philosophy ascribed, but it wasn't for him. 


"The Tao seems to be against science," he said.  And certainly he would never consent to anything that leaves knowledge and truth behind.


I nodded.  That was fair enough.  "Leave off your fine learning!" cries Lao Tzu from his pages, and Huff seems to decry most things technological.  But Isaac is no Bear of Little Brain.  He is the Laughing Mouse, and with his whiskers he will know the world.  And the Peacable Scholar of my house will no sooner leave off books than he will take up swords against bunnies.  It is his nature to seek and learn, and knowledge feeds his soul.


So we discussed the matter.  After all, the author of 'Pooh probably has air conditioning, so he cannot hate all science, can he?  And there is a huge difference between being an Owl or a Rabbit from Pooh Corner and simply studying what you enjoy because you enjoy it.


Lao Tzu himself advised that "the Tao you know is not the Tao," for reading and folowing rules is not the way to find it   And with this in mind, I shared with my son this tale, which began shortly before he was born.


Years ago, when we were moving into our first house, the landlord asked me to do something about the lawn.  It seemed the last tenants had managed to kill off most of the grass.  Much of the lawn was rocky and dead, the soil was pale and brittle, the grass was sparse and thin.  Nothing moved.  The theory was that they’d been dumping chemicals from their meth lab onto the ground. I wasn’t there, I don’t know.  But our new landlord said if we could bring it back a bit, he might take a little off the rent.  Maybe. No promises.

So I assured him I would improve the quality of the lawn.  He advised lots of seed, lots of artificial fertilizer, and frequent chemical sprays.  He figured it would take years, and a lot of money.  Maybe a hired professional.

So I did the logical thing.    I left it alone.

Spring came, and the grass – what little there was of it – grew.  I let it “go to seed.”  Eventually the landlords got churlish about it, and I or one of my family would cut what little there was.  Then it went to seed again.  And reluctantly there was cutting.  And again.  And again.  And each time, the seeds we’d allowed to grow and germinate fell to the ground and scattered across as they would.

Grass does that. 

Fall wandered by as it will, and the leaves fell and covered the lawn completely.  There was no raking.  There was a lot of bad noise from the landlord and his wife, but no raking.  And when winter came it was all covered by snow, at which point who cared?

And so it went.  Fallen leaves help keep the seeds from last year safe, of course, and old leaves become fertile soil.  When spring came, there was more grass to let grow than before. 

By the time we moved out a few years later, the land was healthy and fertile again.  In fact, our lawn had the greenest and most beautifully dense grass in the entire neighborhood.  Not only was the lawn lush and full, but there were squirrels and the like playing about as well.  Birds were singing playfully.  Even the trees looked better, though that might have been the scenery.

We were of course evicted.

But my point was that by following the basic principles of Inner Nature, the lawn was brought to the pinnacle of health.  But without knowledge of how the natures of the grass and the trees would work together to heal the land, it would have been impossible.  So it is with any living thing.  Thus, knowledge is not the bane of the Tao.

By this time I had finished my tale, and we had reached the library.  He hopped out and vanished within, and so he attended his own Inner Nature.  And I went on to attend my own.


--Coyote

Wednesday, September 28, 2011

The Quest for Fame and Fortune

Coyote KishpaughAnd lo, here is my Amusing Tale.

Some time ago, when I was first trying to get a Facebook account, they would not allow me to use my own name.  Nor was I, at the time, given any recourse against this particular brand of silliness.  My co-author Lauren was kind enough to create an account for me, and used the name of a character from our books, Christophe Ecarteur. 

Shortly thereafter, I determined that I would begin shedding the habits of humility I had been acquiring over the years, and allow myself to become world-famous as my nature demands.  I am a distinctive person, after all, designed to be seen and remembered.  And fame does seem to be a step towards publishing these days.   So, in pursuit of this, I started getting out of the house more.

Come on, this is me.  How much more would it take?

Fast forward to recent times.  Since we’re wanting to promote our books, we decided, she and I, to try again.  As before, my name was rejected.  But this time I was offered a recourse: I could email them proof of my identity and they would allow me to use my own name.  After some predictable snarling and grousing on my part, I acquiesced with good grace to their demands.

Bitches. 

Anyway, after finding that the local businesses flatly refused to scan any legal document or similar at all, I imposed upon Lauren and she was able to scan it at her work.  And so, with flash drive in hand, I started the process anew, to create (gasp!) a Facebook account in my own name.

About halfway through, a new message popped up, saying something like, “It seems you are trying to start a Facebook account for a famous person or celebrity.  We recommend you start a Celebrity Facebook Page instead.  Please click here to begin.” 

So I said, “Okay.”  :o)

So.  I have a Facebook page, under my own name, and Christophe Ecarteur is the sole Administrator.  XD  I’ll be working on it as time goes on, and using it to keep people up to date on my various nefarious doings.  Feel free to "like" it if you wish.  Something to help exposure is supposed to happen when I hit 25 "likes;" I’m not sure what.  But it should be fun.

Anyway, it certainly took them long enough.  Watch what happens when I start to travel . . .

Sometime again,
--Coyote

Monday, September 26, 2011

Handfuls of Jewels

I’m glad your inner nature’s way is working for you

But don’t try to tell me it’s best for me too

There’s nothing my body needs that isn’t found in yours

It’s nature’s way

He says I’m not what they’re hiring right now

Perhaps I should try to use my “natural skills”

The pulse in his throat kicking like a baby tambourine

He’s on the menu



If I was in heaven and it was

The endless light where the screams don’t echo

Would their welcome say I had to endure it

I wonder if I could

Or if I’d come back here for more



Heaven’s a cruel place



I know I’ll never have the scars that you bear

But don’t try to tell me I don’t know what pain is

For I have watched you cut yourself up each day

One of us is bleeding

There’s a rose in my heart where my love has grown

Its thorns cut the veins in my arms and my legs

I leave bloody handprints where I lean against the wall

It’s more than worth it



But if I was in heaven and it was

The endless light where the screams don’t echo

Would their welcome say I had to endure it

I wonder if I could

Or if I’d come back here for more



Heaven’s a cruel place



The years run past like the snow on a river

My girls become women and my friends become gray

The waters turn cold and the eggshell moonlight

Washes me clean from the poison and pain

The years run past like the stars on the water

With ebon lotus making crystalline waves

The years are uncut gemstones of shadow

Tumbled and polished by memory saved

The years flow past like Poseidon’s daughters

Laughing and lovely but impossible to hold



And like handfuls of jewels I let them go



But if I was in heaven and it was

The endless light where the screams don’t echo

Would their welcome say I had to endure it

I wonder if I could

Or if I’d come back here for more



Heaven’s a cruel place

Friday, September 9, 2011

Unchained


“Fear is the mind-killer.”
--Frank Miller, Dune.

Real life and a new school semester have been eating up much of my time.  But with all the chatter about the upcoming 9/11 anniversary I wanted to put my two bits in.

I was listening to National Public Radio as I sometimes do, and they were having a discussion on whether their listeners were afraid of Al’ Qaeda, and why or why not.  I didn’t listen to the whole program, and at least several of the callers believed that fear was not the best response.  But it seems that, ten years later, some people are still afraid, reeling from the realization that “the oceans no longer keep us safe.”

Wow.  They don’t?  Really?  I mean, really really?  Blink.  Good heavens.

Back when G. W. Bush first figured that out for himself, I asked some friends of mine who were around during WWII  - especially during 12/7 - if they thought that was true.  They laughed.  Yeah, the young pup’s got a sense of humor.

Then I asked some friends of mine who had spent time with their families on the native reservations if 2001 was when their people first realized that the “oceans no longer keep us safe.”  That got me some belly-laughs, too.  Snowflake sure tells a good one, he does.  


Thank you, thank you all.  I am always happy to amuse.

Let’s do keep some perspective, please.

I wasn’t in a dojo yet when the twin towers fell.  But a few years later I was, and the anniversary rolled around as it always does.  Funny thing: nobody in the dojo was scared.  Nor, for the most part, had they been.  Angry, many of them.  But not afraid.  Which is one reason why I liked hanging out there.  Whether or not they thought they needed “street cred,” all the more advanced students there understood that life is dangerous, and that promises of safety and security are lies.  After all, that’s one reason why you study the Art.  Any adult who seeks it out has acknowledged, on some level, that life is not always safe.  Nor, in my opinion, should it be.

Scared people are easily led, easily whipped into a froth of anger.  And people who are hurt, desperate and hungry are ready to lash out at anyone who might be responsible.  Bush understood this.  Bin Laudin understood this.  The IRA understood this.  The modern-day Republicans and the Tea Party understand this.  And desperate youths who are promised security for themselves or their loved ones are ideal recruits for any radical organization

People who are content, or even just have food and medical care, are more likely to question what they hear and read, and more likely to be tolerant of other beliefs.  Once the basic needs are met, a person might feel he has the leisure to expand his or her horizons a little.  That leisure is the antithesis to blind obedience.  The great philosophers of ancient Greece weren’t putting in 50 to 60 hour work weeks, after all.  And only the Cynics spent all their time begging on the streets.

If the governments of the world really wanted to combat terrorism, they would combat those things that feed it: hunger, ignorance, sickness, and most of all fear.  But that would bite into their own profits.  Most of society’s rules and taboos revolve around restricting people, controlling their pleasures, telling them who to hate and what to fear.  After all, that’s where the money is.  Rulership is and has always been big business.  But as individuals, we can take away their recruiting grounds.  One magnificent moment of life at a time.

And what really keeps people from being ground up and crushed is mastery over themselves.

I dream of teaching martial arts in my neighborhood, on the road, even overseas.  Teaching people the Art so they can have that self-mastery, rather than be mastered and used by others.  There is nothing better or more pure than complete, true freedom of body, mind, and spirit.  And so I learn all I can, both for my own self-mastery and as a kind of karma yoga towards the day when I know enough to start teaching people in earnest.

And in the meantime, life’s too uncertain to spend it scared.  Let us do something constructive right now, this moment, something worth the life we put into it.  There are skills to share, minds to blow, mouths to feed, and women to love. 

Let’s go.

--Coyote

Thursday, September 1, 2011

The Wind Remembers


First I remember the dead
Nektet, I offer him cool water
Wesir Djet Khyet Khepuru
I speak his Name
And remind him that he is remembered

Second I give my offerings to the others
Nameste, welcome in my garden
Some attended, some bereft
Their names engraved in stone

Thirdly I remember my ancestors
Usu, those who have taught before
Katas, names, a mounted sword
Remind me who shared their wisdom

I remember you and thank you
Namaste
The wind changes with every scent
But it is always the wind

Fourthly I give offerings to the Wheel
Dried leaves fall from my hands deusil
North, East, South, West
I sing silence unto those who will listen

Aho, see me working
I feed the Wheel
Namaste
My hands smelling of sage
I remember

Aho, Crazy Horse
You bushy-headed lunatic
Fearless, inspiring
Immortal only in battle

Aho, Eagle
Last-called by the Creator
Warrior, messenger
I bet those pinfeathers itch

Aho, Sitting Bull
Hard-headed old goat
Been nice to have met you
When you still wore your robe

Aho, Grandfather Coyote
You twin to the wise, you
It’s hard to hear your teachings sometimes
Over your laughter

I remember you and thank you
Namaste
The wind changes with every scent
But it is always the wind

Usu, my ancestors
I learn and grow
Aho, oh you spirits
See me working
Namaste, you old ones
I feed the Wheel

Namaste, Grandmother Spider
I have learned from your teachings
And still do not know you

Namaste, White Owl
I have learned from your teachings
And still do not know you

I shall never know you
My blood is not red enough
I shall never know you
But my blood is my own just the same
And I am brother to the wind

Stone temples with shaven monks
Sweet Grass and Bear Butte
Deserts, rivers, a golden palace
And a thousand thousand songs

Usu, my ancestors
I learn and grow
Aho, oh you spirits
See me working
Namaste, you old ones
I feed the Wheel

And I am brother to the wind

Tuesday, August 30, 2011

Bridges and Staves

Steel SerenityThe Renaissance Festival season is drawing to a close, and with it my involvement in Steel Serenity.

Steel Serenity has been going for seven years now, and is the longest-lived fight troupe on the Ren-Fest circuit I have ever heard of.  Times change, tempers flare, and people come and go.  It’s been a good run, my time with them is done.  They're a very social group, but though it was not quite the adventure in weapons training I had hoped for, I did learn.  And as long as I am learning, I’m generally happy.

Principally, I learned quarterstaff.  I picked it up fairly quickly, I think, though I’ve far from mastered it.  It is a simple and highly versatile weapon, and I recommend it to anyone learning any hand-to-hand style.  It certainly helped my karate, and my admittedly limited understanding of Wing Chun Kung Fu. What little I do know about Wing Chun comes from a brief exposure to Jeet Kune Do and some talks with a Wing Chun student, so if I make errors herein I take full blame.

When holding the quarterstaff for close combat, one’s hands divide the staff into equal thirds.  All attacks are directed against the centerline, or the seven spinal chakra, and thus the staff is held vertically when in a ready position.  In Wing Chun, the body is divided into the Three “gates” – upper, middle, and lower – and the fists are in front over the centerline.  Same principle, just a different application.  The conversion was easy enough, at least as far as my limited studies went.

Different stance, though – staff footwork is more like karate, one foot forward, knees bent, weight on the balls of your feet.  Wing Chun meanwhile “hugs the goat,” something like horse stance, but with the legs closer together and somewhat pidgin-toed.  To attack in staff (or most any weapon), you must get into your opponent’s guard.  Sometimes you get lucky, but a lot of the time (especially with a long weapon) you end up having to seize control of the fight one inch of your opponent’s guard at a time.  With a rapier, a simple parry-riposte might do.  And since rapier duels historically took place in narrow alleys, the footwork is different as well.  But with staff it’s best to be able to work your way completely into your enemy’s space, hampering him while keeping your freedom of movement open.  I understand this to be called Building a Bridge in Wing Chun. 

Interesting that Chinese unarmed combat prepared me so well for European staff.  Then again, Shotokan Karate helped both my Shorinji Goju and my fencing, because of the work the sensei there put into my stances.  The eight principle directions of attack are also the same throughout sword, staff, or empty hand.

It all blends.  I could go on forever.  It all gloriously, gloriously blends.

I was teaching someone how to maintain control of their defense with long sword, and when I found out he had a background in Goju Ryu, it became much easier.  The footwork is different, because European sword doesn’t use much kicking, so the emphasis is more on speed and less on versatility.  But though it’s a different philosophy of movement, the principle is the same.

However much Steel Serenity turned out not to be what I was looking for, I will miss working out with them, learning more on staff and sword.  But for years, there has been a gentleman researching and reconstructing Fiorria De Libre, the Flower of Liberty.  It’s an unarmed fighting style designed to supplement swordfighting techniques, dating back to Renaissance Italy.  I’ve been exposed to a few of its principles and they’ve helped my understanding of the Art already.  Occasionally, the fellow doing the research holds workshops.  It costs quite a bit, but if I can attend one I will.

A little while after I started on European staff, I picked up a pamphlet on staff fighting.  It showed a step-by-step for a kata I’d never seen before, in Chinese Whirling Staff Technique. 

I’ll get back to you on that.

Tamam Shud,
--Coyote