Thursday, October 31, 2013

Miracles versus Magic

Just back from my first trip to Hawaii, I realized the guy I'd fallen in love with at Hookena Beach used the same pick-up line as the romantic hero of my novel: "Let me remodel your kitchen in Oregon." The statistical likelihood of his words defied the laws of physics and probably even of some religions.

No-one had read my book. Yet my soon-to-be-fiancé shared distinct qualities not only with that mountaineer character, but with the book's other love interest who sailed around Manhattan. The improbabilities spooked me so much, I asked the actual stud if we should consult a rabbi or priest.

I conscientiously emailed my author acquaintances to warn, "Be careful what you write - it may come true!"

Surely the miracle was an omen that my whole "Fanged Wilds" ecology project was about to achieve success. But that was two years ago. Ahem. As for romance, let's just say I'm glad the analogy I used was "remodel your kitchen" rather than "clean your clock."

In my novel, the kitchen was a metaphor not just for a woman's hearth and home, but for her heart. In my passion to serve the greater good, I put my kitchen on my sleeve, and my sleeve became an industrial oven-mitt made of something like asbestos that saves your life now but kills you in the long run. Meaning? Based on the miracle that happened to me, I made assumptions. For instance, I extrapolated that justice exists. Ha ha.

Am I beat? Is Global Warming* hopeless? I can stand the heat, babe, and I'm not getting out of this kitchen. (*Climate Deniers: if you are cold right now, that does not disprove the greenhouse effect. You may want to put on an extra pair of your sacred underwear.)

I just told someone about the miracle of my kitchen, and she piped up, "Have you read The Secret?!" $ome $ecret. I've written affirmations since the 1980s, made vision boards, and immersed myself in all possible New-Age positivities. Yet the kitchen-remodel event two years ago was the only remotely related result of my scripted longings. After twenty-eight years. Who wants to admit failure? The shadow side of empowerment is that we blame ourselves for futility. I used Louise Hay's "Heal Your Body" for 28 years. My mistake (cough).

I have years of formal training in science (including a Master's degree) so - while not indoctrinated so far as to ignore my own direct experience - I can apply Occam's Razor even to splendid mysteries. Reductionists as well as fantasists may get convulsions from my conclusion. Yet consider that my consciousness may be independent of entropy while within the space-time continuum. I've often had verifiable premonitions. That at least partly explains the miracle of that sexy "soul mate" saying the same pick-up line as the hottest character in my novel.

Science: gotta luv it. "The Secret"? Not so much.
***

Wishful thinking and magical beliefs cause pregnancy. (Okay, sex also plays a role.) Nearly half of fetuses are unintended. Surprise! Women can be irrational about birth control. As Jezebel Magazine says, "'The Secret' is a terrible contraception plan."

Seven hundred tons of carbon aren't blanketing our climate -- trapping heat -- for each child whom I do not have. That's also 700 tons per grand-kid, great-grand-kid.... down through Mad Max #946.

Seven hundred tons of carbon footprint per American child: bravo, Mommy. Yeah, childbirth is a miracle.

Instead I have kitty-cats as my babies. And, as my gawky teen-age brain-child, I nurture the "Fanged Wilds and Women Program." My ex-soul-mate pointed out, "A sunset is a miracle." Reductionism comes in all shades. Whether someone harms my idealism or my biosphere, they dishonor a   miracle .

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Monday, October 28, 2013

Women are to be Herded and Not Seen

Do you feel as if lions in far-flung forests belong to us? A magical transformation can take place when we belong to them. That's one reason the female rangers (like at Gir) are so important. Those women not only exit their comfort zone, they risk their lives for wilderness and its animal residents. I can't wait to see firsthand their esprit de corps.

I also wonder if their outfits are hot.

As I wonder what to wear in India, I wish I had a uniform that would give me authority and thus protect me. But would dressing mannishly endanger me where homosexuality is illegal?

I'm drawn to the "dupatta" shawl with which women traditionally drape themselves. Cover for my blondish hair, a veil could make me less conspicuous and serve as a "cloak of invisibility." Of course, in the USA, my youthful movements have fooled more than one frat boy when they saw me from the back; after their wolf-calls, I laughed to see their faces when they saw my face. Still, will looking feminine make me too much of an "Eve-teasing" target in India?


A veil will make me seem to belong in rural areas where, too often, women are to be herded and not seen.

This trip is sending me far away from my own herd. Where lies safety? While I venture where it's too hot and too dry, my comfort-seeking herd is taking a long walk off a short pier into the rising sea level of Climate Change. And you? What's your herd? Do I belong to you at all? Love is the real way for us to belong to one another. On the soul level, living beings are one another's Earthly belongings.


While protecting the vulnerable is a feminine urge, protecting lions is not a lady's first instinct. It may be her last. Do you care what happens to me? Do you see why I'm going public, stepping out of line, and putting myself in harm's way?

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Friday, October 25, 2013

We Don't Smuggle Guns Yet


I was a crime victim when "Love What Is" became a best-seller on the self-help shelf. With that book as their banner, therapists (hi, Kassy Daggett) ganged up to silence me when I stood up for my rights as a rape survivor. Really! The assailant himself had even said, "It's all good."

It's not.

All the mushy people I know who ignore crimes against wildlife are swaddled in a blanket of "Love What Is."

I am nature, and nature is me. Her fragrance, feel and beauty are my senses. Beyond multitudes of babies in beds, I am the ocean and sky. I am a mountain with forests at my fingertips.

"Every four days, a ranger is killed in the line of duty," the World Wildlife Fund says. So I posted on Facebook that "Exotic Eco-Guards need more GUNS! And also more love."

My former brother-in-law responded, "Guns are the objects of power, the tools of exploitation and extortion and threats. I can't think of a single person who can handle their effect on the psyche."

I said, " They have a psychological effect that's beneficial if poachers are trying to kill you."

He was in the army but said, "They'll kill you BECAUSE you have a gun. Better to run than to use a gun against an experienced gunman."

Of course I had to get sarcastic and counter: "Fluffy unicorns may come between the poachers and the unarmed wildlife rangers... and the elephants (60% dead since 2002)... and rhinos (700 killed this year). Better to BE an experienced gunMAN, and protect wildlife from the righteous apathy of city-dwelllers."

Crime is stopped by people like me. And you?

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Monday, October 21, 2013

Terror

Ghosts and mortality say BOO! They may make you scurry to dogma or gurus of some sort. Where do you anchor your identity? Your asylum may be materialism, be it the greedy kind, or the succession of sensations. (Put organic whipped cream on top, and call it both decadent and spiritual! Divert anxiety about the climate by going vegan, maybe? We need a new word for Yuppies; maybe it should be foodies. Do you feel you surrounded by them too? Grocery stores have become the equivalent of cathedrals in our town. Is food what to focus on to keep thoughts of mortality at bay?)

In your crowd, maybe you're too secure to dwell on ghosts, and you'll ultimately reassure one another in the afterlife as well. But it's a cop-out to have "Harvest Festivals" instead of celebrating Halloween. Don't cocoon yourself or your kids (unless it's in TP, and you're a mummy).

You may flee boundaries or be defined by them. Some part of you may be eaten by a lion, and some part may transcend death and even haunt your in-laws with the smell of cigarette smoke (...Or, my choice, the natural fragrances of our biosphere - minus humans).

Since we're all going to die, why cling to our puny human ego? Why not expand our soul by identifying with all the species in Creation?

Climate change offers that perspective. We see how all things on our planet are connected, as the dominoes fall. We can flaunt our unique costume - this temporary life - to protect the vulnerable from untimely death. Of course, the more popular trend may be the Breaking Bad/Walter White/Toxic Suit costume (only $48.99).

Happy Hallowed Evenings!

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Thursday, October 17, 2013

HOUSE-SITTER WANTED, MUST LOVE LIONS


Of course someone will watch the kitties while I travel. Should I tell them the house may be haunted? When I was still married, we kept an antique cash register on a bureau beside the front door. My husband's dad had actually used it in his diner. I'd never met the man; he'd died of emphysema. But one day I was sitting on the floor lacing my shoes for a walk and farting. Suddenly I recognized him from photos. There he stood, tall and debonair in a jaunty contrapposto, with his elbow on the cash register (like a horcrux in Harry Potter!)
Image result for antique cash registers


Since I get embarrassed by farting, I said, "Excuse me!"

Then he disappeared.

Months later, I was in bed waiting for my husband to come in from TV in the living room when I found myself choked by thick cigarette smoke. The smoke was unearthly. I thought it might be the ghost's work: my dead father-in-law had been a chain smoker all his life.

My husband told me his dad had always been interested in the occult. The man had looked cocky when I saw him standing there at the cash register, as if proud of himself for achieving visible spectrehood. I had to call the house-sitter we'd hired months previously and say, "Remember you said you couldn't stay your last night because you could smell the cigarette smoke you thought was from a peeping Tom?" I told her about the ghost. Then she told me that, the night before she left for good, she'd been in our bed and felt a disembodied hand touch her shoulder.

At any rate, "You may have help," I might say enigmatically to the latest cat-sitter. "Also, there may be a cougar in the garden."

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Monday, October 14, 2013

धन्यवाद् (Thank you!)

Technical problems are usually a sucky way to start a Monday. Help often comes with an accent that's incomprehensible. But the voice at the Yahoo call center was from India! I ended up telling the nice woman about the female forest rangers at Gir. She hadn't heard about them! She did recognize my name for them ("van rakshak sahayak") and said my Hindi pronunciation was good. (The trick is to keep your tongue back, and purr.)

You hear about gang rapes in India, but I just saw this movie Chak De India where women lunching at McDonalds beat the special sauce out of harassers. Maybe it's women's empowerment... or maybe just the toxic effects of Chicken McNotfood.

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Saturday, October 12, 2013

The meow that can be spoken is the Meow

Ancient Hindus, when choosing a temple site, considered cats to be a bad omen. Modern environmentalists want pet cats to be kept inside, to protect birds. "Stop scaring the birds away," my cats doubtless want to say to humans: "You stay inside." Indoors or out, my cats treat a human lap like a temple, humming their mantra till the sacrilege of human busy-ness destroys nirvana.

I'm not religious. Even generic spirituality repels me by implying human relationships and goals are "attachment" or "desire" (did your yoga teacher trot that out?) If you have any aim, it's to act like neutral countries in World War II: pretend to be Switzerland, above-it-all and chill. Speaking of WWII:
"There are no victims.... You can't change the government, you can't change nuclear waste, but you can change what it means to you."
So says one of Shirley MacLaine's gurus, inspiring the actress recently to dismiss the death camps of the Holocaust as karma. Allow me to guess why spiritual leaders "love what is" when it comes to atrocities: these preachers want us to confuse feeling powerful with being powerful. Acknowledging victims disturbs our grandiose transcendence of all earthly things. Contrary to pretense, these gurus too are impotent in disasters. And morality would require that the truly powerful attempt justice where none can suffice (as in genocide). So New-Age leaders are amoral. They get rich telling us we're magnificent even while we cause horrors like Climate Change.

Why would anyone say we can't prevent toxic waste? Here's one satirical answer:
"If you are critical of anything, you are using your MIND. And remember, you are so much more than your mind. Let it go. ...Dive deeper in... under my influence... and believe everything I say."
(RSD Nation, on the Sedona Method scam) 
Products notably endorsed by Oprah include "The Untethered Soul." In a workshop about it, the speaker asked me, "How can you know that mass extinction is bad?" I said that annihilation of life defines badness. He countered, "We don't know that, say, a nuclear bomb doesn't lead to something wonderful. If Hitler hadn't existed, maybe we wouldn't be here now." (Of course I stammered something to the effect that I'd gladly forsake my own existence to erase Hitler's atrocities.) Condoning or rationalizing human extermination is evil.... and chill.

Human warmth is "co-dependence" or "people pleasing" (A.A. Twelve-Step meets Sedona Method, with hordes of us now addicted to the "Law of Attraction.")

Partial truths becomes lucrative charades. These lovely lies seduce innumerable Westerners. Our culture is lousy with bastard children of Eastern philosophies that developed where (unlike in democracies) people had almost no hope of improving their physical circumstances. Self-absorbed passivity is an inevitable result where "all beings are puppets on a carousel." My Untethered Soul workshop leader put it colorfully: "I'm God in drag, just watching the show." That mind-set is particularly regressive for women in the modern world. It's already too easy for us to be passive and "in drag."

Life coaches and entire careers are launched by the notion that silver linings are all that glitters. They mesmerize you with what you want to hear: the status quo is the eternal now. Soothingly, this new escapist orthodoxy fits you in with all the locals stoned on Medicinal. Now-legal drug dealers rationalize the bounty they reap from hapless substance abusers: "I believe I deserve it, so the universe will serve it."

Or if not, meh. Fatalism is satori. Drug-like, no-drama reductio ad absurdam "consciousness" portrays an enlightenment where eventually the mind becomes a closed loop: what you have must be what you want, and your narrow horizons must be where you belong.

Conflict is someone else's issue. Your self-esteem is so robust, if you fail to comprehend something, the fault couldn't possibly lie in you. Intellect and discernment? That's just "separateness" and "disconnect."

It sounds absurd but we really are surrounded by people convinced that thoughts control reality. They seem and in fact may be perfectly nice. But when you mention something unpleasant to them, they actually believe you are creating it by focusing on it, so they pity or resent your "negativity." To acknowledge some failure of humanity is to disturb the pristine thought creations of folks who have, say, seen “What the Bleep Do We Know” (a popular stealth infomercial for the Ramtha cult). Do you dare deny that writing “love” or “Buddha” on a bottle of water will change H2O into a magical elixirActress Gwyneth Paltrow is the tip of that superstitious iceberg. (Down its slippery slope are two hypnotists I know personally who believe that water has emotions. When they tell their clients, it gives a new meaning to brainwashing.) We never hear from the folks who tried the mind cure but died.

Of course your attitude affects your experience. Yet it's grotesque to extrapolate that, say, chanting "Peace" will end wars. Pseudo-science pop psychology draws the most far-reaching conclusions from literally narrow experiments like double-slit science and Random Number Generators. Yes, it's a glorious feeling to identify with quantum physics, cherry-pick data, preach to a converted echo-chamber, and indulge the limitless sense that the planet will be fine (if that matters) when you feel good about yourself. But was Tibet invaded because the monks there prayed defectively? Disciplines that may be new to you have been around for centuries.

Even if "life is an illusion," moral action can keep you from sliding into negligence and damaging your own soul. (Don't think you have a soul? Hold all truth to be sacred, keep doing good deeds, and you'll start to feel it.)

I've seen a ghost. Unfortunately ethics prevent me from capitalizing on such things, unlike the author of Proof of Heaven. As the Dalai Lama said about him, when a man makes extraordinary claims, a "thorough investigation" is required, to ensure "that person reliable, never telling lie," and has "no reason to lie." Taking advantage of our griefs and our fears around death like so many opportunists, Eben Alexander, MD, is apparently a con artist. The afterlife probably isn't what we'd like. Time itself is illusory. One certainty exists: that con artists tell you what you want to hear.

Mystical forces exist. I often know who's phoning me without looking at caller ID. I've met folks on the astral plane. Yeah: wow. Just because God exists doesn't mean you should believe everything you want about Her (ha ha). Serendipity doesn't absolve you of responsibility. There's no proof that prayer or meditation stops disasters, in fact, the opposite: ignoring climate change causes it, and escapism breeds consumers and speeds mass extinction.

So I don't buy it, no matter how it's packaged. And packaged it is. Bland, self-serving delusion has become an industry. It's the spiritual version of "Supersize Me": the delicious lie is cheap at first, but soon it's the only thing that makes you feel good, like McDonalds tasting better than home dinners. It's like when Chinese communists offered party membership to take the place of clan loyalty. The problem with conformity is that it makes you very sure of yourself while it eats your brain.
Shape-shifting Hindu Deity Hanuman

Prayers, techniques and fellowship groups can neutralize any mental agitation, and incidentally neutralize your sense of justice and decency. You're rendered infantile, craving this pap of innocence to which churches, cults and seminar programs are all too eager to addict you.
Zen is hip. "You treat everybody the same. That's Buddhist," a psychiatrist said to a psychopath.
"No Drama" creates no accountability. I attended a presentation by Carolyn Myss, the famous intuitive, and she advised anti-civic things like, "If anyone tries to complicate your life, turn and walk away from them" and look beyond this world to other galaxies. In my experience, any good educator is trying to "complicate your life." And this planet desperately needs your devotion. Psychic ability does not indicate ethics, especially when the DVD is available at the door, only $69.86, exonerating you from responsibility for your own planet. If you believe that channeled entities have super powers, why not be wary of their misuse of said power? Power corrupts. Why wouldn't greed exist on all levels, even beyond the Milky Way? It's easy to become pawns of megalomaniacs who sell you the promise of recreating you in their glossy image.

Confusing correlation and causation, here's a typical calculation from Minister Mary Morrissey:
"Your income is the average of the 5 people you spend the most time with. Why? Because people who spend time together share a common level of consciousness, and the person who knows how to make fifty thousand dollars a month is at a different level of awareness than the person who only knows how to make fifty thousand dollars a year."
...Or maybe we just hang out with our homies, Mary. I personally avoid spending time with ministers of for-profit churches. I wonder if this is your thought process: "God is love; I love money; therefore money is God."

Someone is milking our sacred cows. Capitalism has married non-violent communication. Their baby is as cardboard as a GMO veggie burger. Chewing in unison feels like Oneness.

Here's the latest Bible, per the NY Times:

“The Secret” is not really a book but a series of misquotations from historical figures and fraudulent maxims from no-count hucksters.

"The Secret" is that you narrow your focus and throw out any evidence that doesn't fit. "Law of Attraction" creates a separate reality for entitled narcissists where acknowledging environmental degradation perpetuates it. "What you resist persists," eh? These wise ones tend to empower themselves on Climate Change -- something that dwarfs anyone's hedonistic navel-gazing -- by shrugging it off as End Times. (Remember 2012? Oh, yeah: apocalypse was averted by meditators. Mmm hmmm.) Till the End, let's keep chanting to ourselves that, in between hurricanes, left-wing sustainable gardening will cancel out right-wing weapons arsenals.

Do you disagree? Really? Or are you complaining because your fantasies got jostled?
Please don't stay silent when "spirituality"
condones our killing the biosphere.

To honor what's authentic, it takes true strength of character.

Or... a cat.

As Chinese put it, "The Dao that can be spoken is not the Dao." However, the meow that can be spoken is the Meow. God's Creation includes countless other species even more fragile than humans.
Want to feel God-like? Be accountable.
Reportedly even the Dalai Lama said, “The best meditation is critical thinking – followed by action.”
Thoughts do have substance. So at this juncture, if it doesn't stop mass extinction, it's self-centered materialism, folks, not spirituality.

Fortunately many people are willing to protect wildlife from harm.
(How do you know that Heaven isn't where animals sit in judgment of us? Save the Climate, and maybe eternity will be spent being caressed by elephant trunks and licked by lions! Or fluffy kittens. Yes, you like fluffy kittens, don't you?)


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Thursday, October 10, 2013

My cats think Hindi is purring

I was practicing Hindi sounds. It's a very nasal language, and my cats got all excited about it! Can it be evidence of their species' reputation as enlightened yogis? Did they mistake my Hindi for Sanskrit? Hey, my cats taught me most of the yoga I know, and they look non-judgmental when I fail at "Head curled onto Feet" position.

My buddy worked for airlines, so if there's a seat for me, I can fly to India stand-by almost for free. There's an airport tax or something... but basically it's costing the airline to fly ME! It eases my conscience not to vote for air pollution with my dollars. The cost is to nerves and dignity. In the past, the process has involved being bumped and sleeping on an airport floor, which in Mumbai may be a colorful experience.

The airline flight benefits are stipulated to apply only to pleasure trips, so I'm required to enjoy anything that happens.

Maybe if I attempt to speak Hindi, people will think I'm purring...?

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Sunday, October 6, 2013

Cat Women of Gir Forest

Bloodthirsty beasts can help women stop mass extinction: to lard up my first novel beyond that basic premise, I burrowed through as much research as I could stand. Research is not my forte - I'm better at, say, enjoying a sunset while sipping hot cocoa. So I had no way of knowing in 2009 that the central characters of my novel were coming to life, as it were, in the Gir Forest in India. There, a politician had decided specifically to hire women as wild-lion guardians. That, in a country where female infanticide is still quite common? My fantastical fiction was afoot as far from fearless feminism as it was fair to foresee!
A couple articles were published just this year about those park rangers, the "Cat Women of Gir Forest".

Now I have the opportunity to go see the actual ladies in person. I've got as far as applying for a visa online. The form asked for my religion, and it could only be one word. So I am hereby a "RATIONALMYSTIC." In true government fashion, the website kept erasing my information. The plus side is that now I've memorized my passport number; the downside is that I had to keep insisting that I am indeed a "RationalMystic."

It does seem a tiny bit mystical that I was describing those women before I knew they existed.

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