I have always thought that most people do not understand alchemy at all, and they think that this ancient science is about changing lead into gold. Other than an interesting smoke screen for those who might stick their noses in where they don’t belong, alchemy has never been about changing anything except for the way we might think about things. It’s just easier to tell those who would concern themselves with material things that alchemists are trying to change one element into another–magic, in other words. All alchemists know, however, that the world is how it is, unchangeable, and that lead has its purpose too, unalterable from the beginning of time–common sense, not magic. There are those people, however, with little imagination and no ability for critical thinking, who think that magic will give them a little extra help, an advantage, so to speak, and put a little extra money and wealth into their pockets. Alchemy never has had anything to do with wealth or possessions or materialistic pursuits. Most alchemists, true alchemists, will probably never even admit to being an alchemist at all. What alchemists do, or did, was to work to understand the nature of the world and the things in it. Alchemists have known since the beginning of time that gold is what it is, but that gold never answered anyone’s questions about the nature of existence, never bought or restored happiness, ruined more than one life that sought to worship it. It isn’t that gold isn’t useful, but it can’t be an end in and of itself. You will never have enough no matter what you might think. If you carry just a token piece of gold, it will always suffice to remind you that the unhealthy pursuit of gold only leads to ruin. Whatever alchemy might be, it has nothing to do with gold. Perhaps alchemy is really about knowing yourself in the world as a small part of a wider context. Ego and pride are the two great enemies of the alchemist who must even be vigilant lest they be prideful of their humility. If knowing yourself as others know you is the ideal state of self-awareness then the true alchemist would strive to understand how the world works, how memory, abstraction, signs, and reason interlock to form new ideas or even ideas that up to that point never existed at all, and they might call it creativity. Alchemy is more about the intangible nature of cognition than it ever was about gold or lead, the wind and the surf, the eagle or the fish, fire or air. Alchemy is about dust and smoke, about lost in-between spaces, about the haze that hangs over a river on a cool spring morning, about unformed spaces and liminal crossings, shadows, hybridization and mixing, chaos and non-linearity, fragmentation, repeating infinitely and disappearing on the horizon. Alchemists will listen, but their words are few. Better to be an enigma than to spread needless gossip and untrue rumors. Let vulture capitalism try to turn lead into gold. That is a simulacrum that will drag many an unwary participant down the rat-hole of unfettered consumerism and out-of-control spending in an attempt to buy happiness. When your garage is so full of crap your cars no longer fit, ask yourself this: have you turned lead into gold? Or have you been deceived by a marauding cooperate culture of overt consumerism and the blind pursuit of materialism? The alchemist’s garage, if he ever had one, is, of course, empty.
Category Archives: dark
On alchemy
I have always thought that most people do not understand alchemy at all, and they think that this ancient science is about changing lead into gold. Other than an interesting smoke screen for those who might stick their noses in where they don’t belong, alchemy has never been about changing anything except for the way we might think about things. It’s just easier to tell those who would concern themselves with material things that alchemists are trying to change one element into another–magic, in other words. All alchemists know, however, that the world is how it is, unchangeable, and that lead has its purpose too, unalterable from the beginning of time–common sense, not magic. There are those people, however, with little imagination and no ability for critical thinking, who think that magic will give them a little extra help, an advantage, so to speak, and put a little extra money and wealth into their pockets. Alchemy never has had anything to do with wealth or possessions or materialistic pursuits. Most alchemists, true alchemists, will probably never even admit to being an alchemist at all. What alchemists do, or did, was to work to understand the nature of the world and the things in it. Alchemists have known since the beginning of time that gold is what it is, but that gold never answered anyone’s questions about the nature of existence, never bought or restored happiness, ruined more than one life that sought to worship it. It isn’t that gold isn’t useful, but it can’t be an end in and of itself. You will never have enough no matter what you might think. If you carry just a token piece of gold, it will always suffice to remind you that the unhealthy pursuit of gold only leads to ruin. Whatever alchemy might be, it has nothing to do with gold. Perhaps alchemy is really about knowing yourself in the world as a small part of a wider context. Ego and pride are the two great enemies of the alchemist who must even be vigilant lest they be prideful of their humility. If knowing yourself as others know you is the ideal state of self-awareness then the true alchemist would strive to understand how the world works, how memory, abstraction, signs, and reason interlock to form new ideas or even ideas that up to that point never existed at all, and they might call it creativity. Alchemy is more about the intangible nature of cognition than it ever was about gold or lead, the wind and the surf, the eagle or the fish, fire or air. Alchemy is about dust and smoke, about lost in-between spaces, about the haze that hangs over a river on a cool spring morning, about unformed spaces and liminal crossings, shadows, hybridization and mixing, chaos and non-linearity, fragmentation, repeating infinitely and disappearing on the horizon. Alchemists will listen, but their words are few. Better to be an enigma than to spread needless gossip and untrue rumors. Let vulture capitalism try to turn lead into gold. That is a simulacrum that will drag many an unwary participant down the rat-hole of unfettered consumerism and out-of-control spending in an attempt to buy happiness. When your garage is so full of crap your cars no longer fit, ask yourself this: have you turned lead into gold? Or have you been deceived by a marauding cooperate culture of overt consumerism and the blind pursuit of materialism? The alchemist’s garage, if he ever had one, is, of course, empty.
On grumps and nonsense
Do you have days when the world seems just a bit too serious for its own good? Don’t get me wrong, I’m as serious about the world and life as the next as long as the next guy is Groucho Marx. I get tired of long faces, wrinkled brows, and serious frowns, which are sometimes only too common in my world, but to tell the truth, I have no idea why. Certainly, tragic things happen, such as the death of young person, and these things must be faced seriously, but what about joy, happiness, comedy, silliness, and nonsense? Laughter, a good belly laugh, is often the best relief from this valley of tears in which we are forced to walk. Nonsense, that which makes little sense or a silly sense, is a great remedy for the serious side of life. I believe we are all given a healthy dose of the absurd as a shield against tragedy, crisis, tears, conflict, tense words, and pain. I don’t know if other animals laugh, but our sense of humor, often based on nonsense, is our shield against negativity that can make us dour and unpleasant. Going through life with a frown on your face neither helps others nor lengthens your life. Laughter releases endorphins and other happy chemicals that cheer our spirits, lift our souls, and brighten our worlds. If you can’t laugh at a joke, if you can’t smile when you are happy, if you cannot share your positive outlook in life, then you are sad tribute to the human experiment. All work and no play, does make you a sad piece of humanity. Tragedy may be a natural part of our lives, but if we cannot see any joy in our lives, this is, indeed, a dark journey into the night. Blessed with a sense of nonsense, we wield our shield as a weapon to ward off the ravages of stress, sadness, and conflict, laughing in the face of tragedy and making it to the hope of sunrise and a new day. Nonsense and its accompanying comedy is our armor when things get tough. We joke, laugh, smile, and joke and laugh some more. Laughter is infectious, fills the heart with gladness, chases away the ghosts of the day, conquers giants, and tames dragons, and lights those dark corners of the soul that weigh on us. The light of nonsense and humor and comedy and laughter are subversive and corrosive to authority. The problem with taking yourself too seriously, of believing your own press clippings, of letting your ego get the best of you, will turn you into one of the most seriously obnoxious and friendless people on earth. Keeping a great sense of humor, a highly developed sense of the ridiculous, a profound understanding of nonsense alive within your spirit will serve you well in almost any situation. People derive life from smiles, humor, comedy and will gravitate toward it, but they will also tend to drift away from the over-serious, the complaining, the conflicted, and the negative. Being able to see the nonsensical in life, laughing at the challenges thrown at you, will help you get through it all. Laughter cannot heal a tragedy, but it can help endure it. There is always hope when one does not focus on the critical negativity that has taken over the lives of grumps, curmudgeons, and cranks who can only see the dark side of everything, never have a positive word for anyone, and go around with a permanent frown or scowl on their faces, unable to experience joy, happiness or pleasure. In the end, nonsense is a great reaction to negativity, liberating us from overbearing sadness and subverting a cold, cruel world of grumpiness.
On grumps and nonsense
Do you have days when the world seems just a bit too serious for its own good? Don’t get me wrong, I’m as serious about the world and life as the next as long as the next guy is Groucho Marx. I get tired of long faces, wrinkled brows, and serious frowns, which are sometimes only too common in my world, but to tell the truth, I have no idea why. Certainly, tragic things happen, such as the death of young person, and these things must be faced seriously, but what about joy, happiness, comedy, silliness, and nonsense? Laughter, a good belly laugh, is often the best relief from this valley of tears in which we are forced to walk. Nonsense, that which makes little sense or a silly sense, is a great remedy for the serious side of life. I believe we are all given a healthy dose of the absurd as a shield against tragedy, crisis, tears, conflict, tense words, and pain. I don’t know if other animals laugh, but our sense of humor, often based on nonsense, is our shield against negativity that can make us dour and unpleasant. Going through life with a frown on your face neither helps others nor lengthens your life. Laughter releases endorphins and other happy chemicals that cheer our spirits, lift our souls, and brighten our worlds. If you can’t laugh at a joke, if you can’t smile when you are happy, if you cannot share your positive outlook in life, then you are sad tribute to the human experiment. All work and no play, does make you a sad piece of humanity. Tragedy may be a natural part of our lives, but if we cannot see any joy in our lives, this is, indeed, a dark journey into the night. Blessed with a sense of nonsense, we wield our shield as a weapon to ward off the ravages of stress, sadness, and conflict, laughing in the face of tragedy and making it to the hope of sunrise and a new day. Nonsense and its accompanying comedy is our armor when things get tough. We joke, laugh, smile, and joke and laugh some more. Laughter is infectious, fills the heart with gladness, chases away the ghosts of the day, conquers giants, and tames dragons, and lights those dark corners of the soul that weigh on us. The light of nonsense and humor and comedy and laughter are subversive and corrosive to authority. The problem with taking yourself too seriously, of believing your own press clippings, of letting your ego get the best of you, will turn you into one of the most seriously obnoxious and friendless people on earth. Keeping a great sense of humor, a highly developed sense of the ridiculous, a profound understanding of nonsense alive within your spirit will serve you well in almost any situation. People derive life from smiles, humor, comedy and will gravitate toward it, but they will also tend to drift away from the over-serious, the complaining, the conflicted, and the negative. Being able to see the nonsensical in life, laughing at the challenges thrown at you, will help you get through it all. Laughter cannot heal a tragedy, but it can help endure it. There is always hope when one does not focus on the critical negativity that has taken over the lives of grumps, curmudgeons, and cranks who can only see the dark side of everything, never have a positive word for anyone, and go around with a permanent frown or scowl on their faces, unable to experience joy, happiness or pleasure. In the end, nonsense is a great reaction to negativity, liberating us from overbearing sadness and subverting a cold, cruel world of grumpiness.
On pumpkins
Do you think that carving horrifying and creepy faces into large orange gourds and illuminating them from the inside out with a candle is odd? America’s fascination and obsession with this bizarre, if not oddly repressive, tradition is, without a doubt, weird. No one carves faces into other large vegetables, so why mess with pumpkins? Sure, they are about the same size as a human head, they are hollow, and they are this striking orange color, but how does all of that add up to the tradition of carving an ugly face into the front of the thing? I understand that as human beings we need safe avenues of expression for our fears, repressed memories, nightmares, scary visions and the like, but carving pumpkins for Halloween is a bit of a mystery even if you invoke a completely Freudian interpretation of the carving act. The kids tend to love this activity, and as a child I always tried to outdo myself by making the fangs sharper, the eyes more evil, the nose more fiendish. In Spanish we have a word for the distorted pumpkin heads which are created: esperpento, which speaks to the exaggerated monstrosity represented by the disfigured and hideous face of the pumpkin. It’s as if we need to create something truly ugly and display it for the whole world to see. The creation of the monstrous face speaks most clearly to a series of ancient harvest celebrations and the superstitious traditions associated with it that have grown into the practice of Halloween. Many sources will defend the Christian associations with the celebration of Halloween and ceremonies for the remembrance of the dead, but the actual practices of Halloween proceed from a much murkier past that has long since been forgotten that has to do with forest spirits, monsters, ghosts, and fear. The “Jack-O-Lantern” or illuminated carved pumpkin seems to embody this fall festival as people make light of what scares them, admitting that they not only fear death, but that they also fear those things that go “bump” in the night. Halloween is that opportunity to recognize our basest fears: the dark, death, wild animals, nuclear weapons, the economy, and even fear itself. People express their fears and repressions in different ways, not the least of which is carving pumpkins and later dressing up like their favorite superhero. All of this is very irrational, but who ever said that fear is rational? We carve the pumpkin because we want to control that which frightens us, so the pumpkin becomes a mirror for us as we probe the dark side to our souls in search of those things that have no face, that reside in the shadows, the moan and growl, that have sharp teeth, that shape-shift and change. The fact that we do this once a year just before the onset of winter suggests that although most of our community is populated by rational empiricists who reject all superstition and irrational practices, there are still a huge part of the human experience that is at once irrational and inexplicable—logic falls short of its goal, and we end up scooping a bunch of pumpkin innards out on the kitchen table. I think that carving pumpkins into Jack-O-Lanterns serves some psychological purpose of letting the carver “get it out of his/her system” so to speak, that carving pumpkins is a healthy psychological practice that points to mental health and a firm grasp of reality. That said, I haven’t carved a pumpkin in ten years.
On pumpkins
Do you think that carving horrifying and creepy faces into large orange gourds and illuminating them from the inside out with a candle is odd? America’s fascination and obsession with this bizarre, if not oddly repressive, tradition is, without a doubt, weird. No one carves faces into other large vegetables, so why mess with pumpkins? Sure, they are about the same size as a human head, they are hollow, and they are this striking orange color, but how does all of that add up to the tradition of carving an ugly face into the front of the thing? I understand that as human beings we need safe avenues of expression for our fears, repressed memories, nightmares, scary visions and the like, but carving pumpkins for Halloween is a bit of a mystery even if you invoke a completely Freudian interpretation of the carving act. The kids tend to love this activity, and as a child I always tried to outdo myself by making the fangs sharper, the eyes more evil, the nose more fiendish. In Spanish we have a word for the distorted pumpkin heads which are created: esperpento, which speaks to the exaggerated monstrosity represented by the disfigured and hideous face of the pumpkin. It’s as if we need to create something truly ugly and display it for the whole world to see. The creation of the monstrous face speaks most clearly to a series of ancient harvest celebrations and the superstitious traditions associated with it that have grown into the practice of Halloween. Many sources will defend the Christian associations with the celebration of Halloween and ceremonies for the remembrance of the dead, but the actual practices of Halloween proceed from a much murkier past that has long since been forgotten that has to do with forest spirits, monsters, ghosts, and fear. The “Jack-O-Lantern” or illuminated carved pumpkin seems to embody this fall festival as people make light of what scares them, admitting that they not only fear death, but that they also fear those things that go “bump” in the night. Halloween is that opportunity to recognize our basest fears: the dark, death, wild animals, nuclear weapons, the economy, and even fear itself. People express their fears and repressions in different ways, not the least of which is carving pumpkins and later dressing up like their favorite superhero. All of this is very irrational, but who ever said that fear is rational? We carve the pumpkin because we want to control that which frightens us, so the pumpkin becomes a mirror for us as we probe the dark side to our souls in search of those things that have no face, that reside in the shadows, the moan and growl, that have sharp teeth, that shape-shift and change. The fact that we do this once a year just before the onset of winter suggests that although most of our community is populated by rational empiricists who reject all superstition and irrational practices, there are still a huge part of the human experience that is at once irrational and inexplicable—logic falls short of its goal, and we end up scooping a bunch of pumpkin innards out on the kitchen table. I think that carving pumpkins into Jack-O-Lanterns serves some psychological purpose of letting the carver “get it out of his/her system” so to speak, that carving pumpkins is a healthy psychological practice that points to mental health and a firm grasp of reality. That said, I haven’t carved a pumpkin in ten years.
On the thing that came from another world
This strange little film came out at a time when the world was wondering if it would have to duck and cover, and the world’s leaders were all caught up in dreams nuclear war, atom bombs, and anti-communist rhetoric. The whole world was Cold War obsessed, and the crazy senator from Wisconsin was carrying around lists of all the communists that worked in the State Department. Unsure of either the science or the ethics surrounding the nuclear age, people lived in fear that today might be their last day on earth if someone got crazy and punched the wrong button, sending nuclear weapons flying, helter-skelter, across the world and obliterating every living thing. So this archetypal ghost story comes with an interesting twist: one of our Cold War outposts in Alaska find a flying saucer in the ice near the North Pole, and they bring back, frozen in ice as if he were some wooly mammoth or something, an alien. This alien, played by Gun Smoke’s James Arness, is a rather blood-thirsty and violent creature who wants to wipe out the men and woman who are temporarily stranded in the Arctic wasteland. In the true spirit of American bootstrap initiatives, they fight back and (spoiler alert!) and defeat said creature. When I first saw this film back in the sixties, I was just a kid and it scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Now I can listen to characters talk, understand their fear of the unknown, and experience their total blind panic in a very direct fashion. This film gives a strange vicarious thrill, but it is not cathartic, and the ending leaves one feeling both incomplete and nervous. This movie predates Alien by almost thirty years, but the story is there. There is a direct threat to the security and well-being of the people at the outpost, and those in command must do something to resolve the situation. What I found incredibly creepy about this film is this: the difference between life and death is very fine, and it doesn’t take much to move from one to the other. The intensity of the film, the nervous tension among the characters, the fear, and the violent nature of the human response drain the viewer of energy because the emotional response to this film is extreme. The fear of the unknown is strong, overwhelming, intimidating, reckless, chaotic, unpredictable, and powerful. People do crazy things when they must confront their fears, and unsurprisingly, most of the time they turn tale and run. This movie is a Cold War product because it reflected both the Cold War fears of the unknown and American bravery and ingenuity for dealing with an unknown and dangerous power. The movie shows these good intentioned, but violent, soldiers working for their country. They and their reaction to the situation is heroic and exemplary, even in the face of certain death in an isolated and inhospitable location thousands of miles from civilization. There’s even an embedded newspaper man with the troops to shout about the first amendment, free speech, and freedom of the press. Though the film is shot in glorious black and white, it’s really rather red, white, and blue.
On the thing that came from another world
This strange little film came out at a time when the world was wondering if it would have to duck and cover, and the world’s leaders were all caught up in dreams nuclear war, atom bombs, and anti-communist rhetoric. The whole world was Cold War obsessed, and the crazy senator from Wisconsin was carrying around lists of all the communists that worked in the State Department. Unsure of either the science or the ethics surrounding the nuclear age, people lived in fear that today might be their last day on earth if someone got crazy and punched the wrong button, sending nuclear weapons flying, helter-skelter, across the world and obliterating every living thing. So this archetypal ghost story comes with an interesting twist: one of our Cold War outposts in Alaska find a flying saucer in the ice near the North Pole, and they bring back, frozen in ice as if he were some wooly mammoth or something, an alien. This alien, played by Gun Smoke’s James Arness, is a rather blood-thirsty and violent creature who wants to wipe out the men and woman who are temporarily stranded in the Arctic wasteland. In the true spirit of American bootstrap initiatives, they fight back and (spoiler alert!) and defeat said creature. When I first saw this film back in the sixties, I was just a kid and it scared the heebie-jeebies out of me. Now I can listen to characters talk, understand their fear of the unknown, and experience their total blind panic in a very direct fashion. This film gives a strange vicarious thrill, but it is not cathartic, and the ending leaves one feeling both incomplete and nervous. This movie predates Alien by almost thirty years, but the story is there. There is a direct threat to the security and well-being of the people at the outpost, and those in command must do something to resolve the situation. What I found incredibly creepy about this film is this: the difference between life and death is very fine, and it doesn’t take much to move from one to the other. The intensity of the film, the nervous tension among the characters, the fear, and the violent nature of the human response drain the viewer of energy because the emotional response to this film is extreme. The fear of the unknown is strong, overwhelming, intimidating, reckless, chaotic, unpredictable, and powerful. People do crazy things when they must confront their fears, and unsurprisingly, most of the time they turn tale and run. This movie is a Cold War product because it reflected both the Cold War fears of the unknown and American bravery and ingenuity for dealing with an unknown and dangerous power. The movie shows these good intentioned, but violent, soldiers working for their country. They and their reaction to the situation is heroic and exemplary, even in the face of certain death in an isolated and inhospitable location thousands of miles from civilization. There’s even an embedded newspaper man with the troops to shout about the first amendment, free speech, and freedom of the press. Though the film is shot in glorious black and white, it’s really rather red, white, and blue.
On time poverty
I think we all wish we had more time to do the things we would like to do. As a nation, we run to work, run to school, run to piano lessons, to football practice, to band practice, to the grocery store, to church, to whatever the next thing is. Today I didn’t eat lunch until 5 pm, which was totally my fault for bad planning, but I felt like I was running to and fro in the earth without a moment to breath, think, or take stock of the day–not to be sure. Time slips away and the day is gone, and I often feel like I’ve accomplished little or nothing, all the while thinking about what I have to do tomorrow, which is already stacking up as a busy day, and I’m not even there yet. We have successfully filled our days with so many meetings, events, happenings, practices, and duties that we must blindly scurry from place to place like so many moles looking for our next meal. Should lunch or dinner be something that we wolf down just to gain a little protein and few calories so we don’t pass out at the next football game? We text messages instead of talk to people, we send emails instead of communicating, we skype because we can’t be in two places at once. We double-ook and over-commit ourselves, and before we know it, we are late to everything, stop lights are our enemies, traffic and parking are more of challenge than pleasure. As we rush about trying to make everyone happy, we neglect our own poor abandoned soul in favor of trying to please everyone, so basically no one is happy. They don’t call it the rat race for nothing. There has to be a point in everyone’s life when you reach a breaking point: your clothes are sweaty and wrinkled, you did just miss a meeting, you don’t know where you are supposed to be, your head hurts, your stomach grumbles, you don’t really know what your life has become other than a chaotic jumble of people, places, and things. You no longer know what a rose smells like unless it comes in an air-freshener, you don’t remember the last time you sat with someone and just talked about nothing. You are stressed and cranky and facing an all-nighter because someone wants another paper or a report or an accounting or something. Should you have another cup of coffee really quickly? Or maybe a shower will help you wake up? Everything turns into a band-aid, a patch job so you can get the next task done. You lose perspective. If only you had more time to get things done. Is it time to start saying “no” and begin to recuperate your life? Is there more to life than over-committing to a dozen causes, to working sixty hours a week, to creating a schedule that is so hostile that your life is no longer your own? Perhaps.
On time poverty
I think we all wish we had more time to do the things we would like to do. As a nation, we run to work, run to school, run to piano lessons, to football practice, to band practice, to the grocery store, to church, to whatever the next thing is. Today I didn’t eat lunch until 5 pm, which was totally my fault for bad planning, but I felt like I was running to and fro in the earth without a moment to breath, think, or take stock of the day–not to be sure. Time slips away and the day is gone, and I often feel like I’ve accomplished little or nothing, all the while thinking about what I have to do tomorrow, which is already stacking up as a busy day, and I’m not even there yet. We have successfully filled our days with so many meetings, events, happenings, practices, and duties that we must blindly scurry from place to place like so many moles looking for our next meal. Should lunch or dinner be something that we wolf down just to gain a little protein and few calories so we don’t pass out at the next football game? We text messages instead of talk to people, we send emails instead of communicating, we skype because we can’t be in two places at once. We double-ook and over-commit ourselves, and before we know it, we are late to everything, stop lights are our enemies, traffic and parking are more of challenge than pleasure. As we rush about trying to make everyone happy, we neglect our own poor abandoned soul in favor of trying to please everyone, so basically no one is happy. They don’t call it the rat race for nothing. There has to be a point in everyone’s life when you reach a breaking point: your clothes are sweaty and wrinkled, you did just miss a meeting, you don’t know where you are supposed to be, your head hurts, your stomach grumbles, you don’t really know what your life has become other than a chaotic jumble of people, places, and things. You no longer know what a rose smells like unless it comes in an air-freshener, you don’t remember the last time you sat with someone and just talked about nothing. You are stressed and cranky and facing an all-nighter because someone wants another paper or a report or an accounting or something. Should you have another cup of coffee really quickly? Or maybe a shower will help you wake up? Everything turns into a band-aid, a patch job so you can get the next task done. You lose perspective. If only you had more time to get things done. Is it time to start saying “no” and begin to recuperate your life? Is there more to life than over-committing to a dozen causes, to working sixty hours a week, to creating a schedule that is so hostile that your life is no longer your own? Perhaps.