Currently listening to: Just for Now by Imogen Heap

Six weeks ago today…

There’s this underlying suckiness to Saturdays even if the day isn’t completely horrid. I know eventually that will change, but for now, that’s just the way it is. I just choose to accept it & get through it.

So, first day of NaNoWriMo and draft #2. Met with my writing group this morning. Only eked out 649 words. Two of which were: “Chapter 1.” Every little word counts! A little unsure about where it’s going, but I’m keeping with it. I think once I get through Chapter 1 I’ll feel more confident. At least that’s what I’m telling myself. In reading draft #1, & given recent events, I’ve found that I want to change one central premise of the story. I always knew it didn’t ring true before, & now even less so. So, chapter 1 is about working that in. I know it ties in well with the rest of the story, it’s laying it out for the first time. It requires totally changing up what was my 1st chapter in draft #1. I know draft #2 is not going to look much like draft #1, if for nothing else than the fact that I’m going with 1st person POV. But whole chapters, scenes, ideas are going to get tossed & new ones worked in. That’s what a rewrite is. As much as possible, I’m trying to avoid looking at draft #1. I want to start clean in away. Draft #1 was about working out the plot & characters. This one is about the writing & finessing. I need something decent by end of the year for conferences!

So, have to do a little work this afternoon, & am going to dinner & a movie with a friend this evening. The plan is to come home & write later tonight. I want to stay on track with my word count. If anything, I’d like to be ahead of 50K by the end of the month. I don’t know how realistic that is. Life has a way of getting in the way. But still, it’s nice to have goals these days.

Oh, doing one more thing today: buying flowers or a plant. It’s become my Saturday thing. A way to maybe make the day less sucky. Something for the house–to brighten or liven the place up. I just need the day to be about something besides my memories.

Image: DarthShrine via flickr

This is the first bit of my first person experiment. I’m enjoying writing it so far, so I’ll probably continue. It is currently untitled, as I haven’t been able to find one that fits. I really am just writing without much planning for this experiment, so it probably shows in my writing. Maybe it can be called “The Calling” as a working title. I don’t know. Read, critique, comment, thank you <3

~*~

I had only been walking for three days, and yet it felt like three weeks. I was footsore and weary, having travelled from my home in Farender to where I now made camp, in the barren plains of Hunity. The terrain I had been travelling over had changed dramatically since I had started out, lush green forests and fast running streams turning into nothing but dust and dirt. The trees were long dead. Quickly I completed all the tasks necessary in making camp, and sat down wearily on my bedroll under the night sky.

Staring up at the stars, I reviewed my reasoning’s for going on this journey. A calling I thought with a smirk, a faint tug at my will, telling me to go somewhere. THAT is my reasoning. I shook my head in exasperation. I had always been wilful as a child, and that trait had continued into adulthood. The smirk turned into a frown as I remembered the argument I had had with my father the day before I left, the argument that resulted in me having to walk the whole way, rather than by horseback.

“No” my father said as soon as I had mentioned leaving, rising from the ornate wooden chair he had been seated in. “You need to stay, there is much I need to teach you, court manners and the like, no, I forbid you to go!” My father was a big man, tall and broad, a body gained through years of war. I had seen a glimmer of rage pass through his chocolate eyes, tanned skin flushing with anger, hair pinned back in a warrior’s tail, Lordship headdress of Farender resting almost daintily on his head. I had just stared back at him, not letting any hint of emotion cross my facial features. “I must,” I had said simply, following him with my eyes as he stepped down from his high podium, where he spent most of his time listening to the problems of the villages he controlled, and walked briskly over to me. Standing right in front of me, eye to eye, he muttered one word. “No.” I sighed; I knew it was going to be hard to get his approval, yet I hadn’t expected this level of resistance. “Father,” I started, turning away from him, “I’m going to go whether you want me to or not.” I turned back at him, coming at him from another angle. “I’ll walk if I have to” I said, expecting him to finally give in. Instead he spat on the floor in front of me, “Fine” he growled, a smirk crossing his thin lips. “Walk. Walk away from here, away from me and your mother, away from your life, away from your inheritance, just walk”. I bowed my head and turned away.

“Oh and Mathius?” I heard my father say nonchalantly. “Yes?” I said, turning back to him, expecting an apology or some recognition that he had just made a mistake.

“Don’t come back. I disown you.” He said simply, turning away from me. I just stood dumbly, not quite taking in what I had just heard. Disowned I thought, I was no longer the first son and heir of Great Lord Martiln Carter, gryphon killer and one of the Kings most trusted Lords. Now I was homeless, friendless and without a family. Closing my eyes, I resolved I wouldn’t let the fear welling up in me show to my father.

I bowed low, “As you wish my lord” I put emphasis on the title, hoping he might regret his actions and take me back, but all I got was a wave of the hand and a “dismissed.”

I left the great hall then, knowing there was no point in trying to make peace with the lord. Instead I took a walk around the castle, taking one last look at the familiar surroundings before I left. Liedrach Castle was a grand place, built by my father shortly after his promotion to “Grand Lord”. It was built from dark grey stone, imported from Nermia specifically for the construction. I strode through the many corridors, following the rich red carpet on the floor, tracing my callused fingers over the many tapestries adorning the walls. I slowed to a halt as I noticed one of the tapestries. “The battle of Lo Valley” I whispered, remembering the many times I had sat on my father’s knee while he regaled me with the story. It had been my favourite tale as a child. I traced the outline of my father depicted on the rough fabric with a sigh. Suddenly I realized where I was. If I’m looking at the Lo Valley tapestry that means I’m in the corridor of my room.

Looking around I discovered that this was so. Old habits die hard I thought to myself smiling sardonically. With a shrug I walked the rest of the corridor, stopping at the last door on the left. My door I thought, cautiously following the grains on the wood nostalgically. Sighing once more I entered my bedchamber. It was a large room, heated by the hearth in the corner, fed with wood I gathered myself from the woods near the castle. My sleeping pallet in the corner of the room was as I had left it that morning, unmade. My walls were bare, as was the simple wooden table in the middle of the room. Most of my personal belongings were kept in the room adjoining this one. As I wandered through, I glanced at all the books upon their shelves, my mind upon other matters. Picking up a haversack I stared around the room for things I may want to take with me. Clothes, gold, paper, anything I thought might be useful I packed away. I looked around once more quickly, making sure I had everything I needed.

I left my bedchamber then, heading down in the general direction of the kitchen; nodding in greeting to the many people I passed, visiting nobles and servants alike. I knew I needed rations for my journey, but I also knew that it would be hard to persuade Bellamin the cook to make me enough to last for at least a week, especially if my father wants me out the castle as soon as I can I thought sadly.

I had argued with Bellamin as well that day, but finally I persuaded him to let me have bread and salted meat for my journey. Thanking him, and heading out of the kitchen, I glanced back lovingly at the room. I had spent many days and evenings in this room, preparing meals, washing up, and being a general pain.

I had headed out into the courtyard next, to say my final good-byes to the guards who had helped train me in the use of weapons, and to Panben, my father’s in-house wizard, who had been my tutor for many years. “Mathius?” a female voice called out from across the courtyard. Looking up I noticed my mother Lady Magthyra Carter, hands to her mouth, tears running down her cheeks. “Mother” I said, making my way over, embracing her tightly. “Mother, don’t cry.” I could hear and feel her sobbing into my chest. “It will be alright Mother,” I said softly, stroking her golden hair. She broke out of my embrace, and, holding me at arms length, she spoke to me, tears still glistening in her hazel eyes. “How can you say it will be alright?” she asked me “Your father has disowned you, taken you away from me. Taken away my little Mathius” sobbing again, she pulled me back into her arms, “I will always love you Mother” I replied, “you will always be my mother, whether father agrees or not.” I kissed her forehead lightly. “My little Mathius” she whispered softly, eyes closing. I felt tears roll down my cheeks, “Goodbye Mother” I said sensitively, pulling away from her.

I left her standing there then, sobbing into her hands.

That was why I was now out in the wilderness, on my own. I had stopped off at a few towns on the way to my camp of this night, having stocked up on provisions and rumours of the kingdom. I shrugged No point fretting over what happened I thought to myself. I am nameless; I just have to deal with it. Since I had been disowned and lost my name, I had taken to calling myself Mathius Quickarrow, after my innate ability with the longbow. I sighed and rolled over I should get some sleep I thought wearily.

“Describe your wedding day.”*
—
(This is a hypothetical, future wedding day, as I am single, and not likely to get married any time soon…)
—

I guess it’s a natural thing, to have your wedding day planned: seems like almost every girl I’ve ever met has their perfect wedding planned; and I’ve watched my cousins with their own weddings, how anal they were about very specific details that only they’d remember (to be honest, I don’t remember the color of the flowers).
I saw these things, I saw how crazy it made everyone, and it just reinforced an idea I had been mulling about in my head about my own, inevitable, wedding: I’m not having one.

Don’t get me wrong: as a child, and teenager, I had these extravagant weddings planned: I’d be married on a cliff, overlooking the ocean, at sunset ; in a castle in Europe, on the beach (also at sunset), in Notre Dame… It wasn’t until I was 18 when I had pretty much settled on the wedding I would have, if I ever got married: We’d be married in a garden (the garden changed over the years, but it was always somewhere green, and outdoors), in either the spring or fall, and the reception would be right in the park where we were married: a nice picnic, with music and such.
I guess, though, after the weddings, and after 23 years of knowing my family all too well, and finding myself, learning who I was and what I valued: I decided I don’t want a wedding.
Getting married is a beautiful thing, shared between two people who vow to commit themselves to each other for the rest of their lives. I am not religious, so there’s no point in having the ceremony in a Church. I don’t need people reading about marriage from The Bible. All I need to be married is whoever my significant other is. That’s all that matters on that day. It seems to me that a wedding is nothing more than a performance for the benefit of everyone else around you. People get crazy, and cranky, and nervous. Those going to the wedding (women, I mean… not men) worry about the clothes they’re going to wear: It took me a full month to find the right dress, shoes to go with it, and a proper handbag.
Now, I’m not opposed to having a party after I’m married - that’s perfectly alright. The reception concept of the wedding is fine. I just disagree with the ceremony… which I imagine, for myself, will come about like this:
“You know what? Let’s go to Vegas”
“That sounds like a great idea!”
I don’t need romance.

The party that we’ll have afterward, whenever we get back and have the money to rent a hall, and hire a band (or DJ), will be a fun affair - music, booze, food, and people can sit wherever they want to, instead of having place settings. The buffet style is much less formal, and invites people to just have fun and enjoy as much as they want. That’s what I want.

—
*Writing Prompt (it’s random)

“Write from the point of view of a birdcage whose occupant recently died”*
—

I am just a cage, a hollow bell that cannot toll.
I had a golden treasure, whose sweet song could raise the sun, banish the moon.
I was never a prison: I was the frame: gilded so elegantly to show you off.
Now I am just a cage. I am bars, meshed together; empty, alone, and left to rust. Now, I barely am.

—
Ok, it’s short. shut up.
—

*Creative Writing Prompt #226

Prompt: “What are you the most afraid of? Write a fictional story (or maybe a true one) about you that would explain to a stranger where your fear came from.”

—

I tried, once, to figure out where all my myriad of fears come from: clowns, broken glass in my drinking water, bees, roller coasters… the list goes on, and I can guarantee there’s little, if any, connection between them.
I never saw anyone swallow broken glass, I was never stung by bees (to date), and I used to go on roller coasters… well, as far as you could consider rides meant for 5 year olds “roller coasters”.
So, in my personal search for the source of all my “running away and crying” moments, I think I figured it out.
Television.
No, let me be more specific. I used to watch this program: Rescue 911. It was hosted by William Shatner, and was all about real life 911 calls, and how 911 responded to help the people. It could have been a better show if a.) they showed only stories where everyone lived, or b.) never showed it at all.
Understand, I was about 6 when this show was on the air, and it ran for a pretty long time (to my recollection). My mom, my brother, and myself - we all watched this religiously. What was wrong with us?
Every week I’d be faced with a new personal tragedy from someone’s life - falling down a hill and being stung by hundreds of bees, getting your leg caught between the tracks of the rollaer coaster, and the cart on the tracks, running around the house and tripping on a wire that sends boiling hot oil flying and falling on top of you, falling into a washing machine…
Every week there would be some part of my life that was now shrouded with death. I didn’t learn to be careful: I learned to be afraid. The only thing waiting for me outside of my bed was death; I was prepared for it though: I had seen the show. I could live in fear, but be alive.

…I still don’t know where the clown thing comes from though. I thought I had it beat until I saw The Dark Knight… that didn’t do anything to relieve my fear of clowns… Maybe it WAS The Joker that horribly scarred me for life…

If I had known a mother, I expect the advice she would have given would have been words, full of the wisdom of forgotten dreams and lost ambition, that should stay with me until it became necessary, in my age, to pass on those words to her grandchildren. Having grown up with no mother, however, I find I lack the necessary words, and history in them, to pass on. Were I to possess such words, I imagine they would be something along the lines of:

“The world knows who you are, and forces you to come into yourself.”

Well, I admit, those aren’t very cheery words. I would like to say the sum of my experiences could be broken down to “Live life, and life lets you be happy”, as I’ve known some people to tell their progeny, but uttering such lies would break my poor mother’s heart… if I had one.

After the event at the Old City, I realized that, indeed, the world did know who I was, and it was I who was ignorant of it, and the world seemed to not appreciate my complacency.

—

It was a fair day, as I strolled down the cobbled street of the Old City, as I, and those who saw the Great Age of Invention, knew it then. Helzog’s dirigibles were no longer the dreams of one lonely man, shunned from society by those of a wiser age, and inter-continental travel was finally a reality once again; the glorious forms would shimmer against the sun, and cast glittering shadows on he streets so that they looked like rivers paved with silver and gold.

Riding on one was still a dream far off for myself, though I always took umbrage that Helzog didn’t afford me one free ride after all I had done for him, though that is a story for another time.

As I have said, I had no knowledge of my mother. My father, however, was a well respected chef at The Gyser in Villa. I was given the luxury of feasting on some of rarest of foods when I lived with him; reflecting upon it, though, I realize that perhaps we, as humans, should have been more conscious of those things we ate so willingly. Had we been more careful, I feel certain I’d be able to eat that succulent Dodo meat once again.

I digress.

Back when I was a child, living with my father meant, not only a stable home, but the chance to explore the world, always in search of new ingredients, new cities to open a new restaurant, yet, never settling.

It was upon the occasion of my 16th birthday, when my father threw me out into the world to find my own path. Of course, by today’s standards, this seems cruel, but it was nothing more than tradition back then. I had no talent or the gastronomical arts, and an apprenticeship, it was felt by not only my father, but the chefs that I would have trained under, and myself, would only lead to an eventual, accidental death.

With money enough to live by, given to me by my father, I traveled to the Old City for the first time. In need of a place to live, I quickly found a boarding house. I didn’t “shop around” as had been suggested by the Tourist Board, but instead settled on the first boarding house I visited. The room I would occupy had a northern exposure, and a view of the forest just outside the city’s wall. A basic bed, a bed table, and a broken mirror. I obtained wax candles for myself, and would procure a few more necessities a lady needs. Food was included in the price, and the landlady did laundry for everyone. I’m certain there are those who sought boarding and found a larger room with a balcony, a whole mirror, and candles included, but after living there a few days, I realized that the price I paid, which was marginally less than I had expected to pay, also paid for the pleasant company of the Dawson family: Mr. and Mrs. and son, Joshua, who was my elder by a few years, and was therefore considered an oddity.

I still needed a profession, and so, for months on end, I would disappear: searching the continent for the path hat life had waiting for me. I would come back none the wiser, with money I had earned from various odd jobs.

I would watch as the world slowly changed; carriages were the domain of the poor, while the rich began driving automobiles. Some cities grew larger, and new ones were sprouting up all the time. Through the radio-waves we learned of expansion projects, and politics.

At the Dawson Boarding House though, it seems that time managed to stand still.

As much as life with my father had been like a home, I knew it wasn’t, not really. A father and daughter, in those days, were no family, and, especially with my lack of culinary prowess, there was nothing I could talk to my father about. His attitude toward me was more of a responsibility than love, though I expect that that had to do with whatever had happened with my mother.

Walking down the cobbled streets, however, on what was roughly my fifth return to the Dawson Boarding House, I had felt, more than anything, that I was coming home. I had been away from the Mr. and Mrs. for well over a year by that point, and I had just turned 23.

The Mr. and Mrs. were a peculiarity to the city: people couldn’t’ quite grasp how a woman was able to help her husband run a business, and let their now 27 year old son still live at home with them. Businesses were to be run by the bachelor or spinster; this was so that their businesses would not suffer from their personal lives.

I expect, though, that I was also an oddity to the people in Old City. I first felt the stares when I had come there seven years prior, though those were stares of curiosity, ones I had shared whenever someone new would move to Villa. As I left and came back, I could still feel the eyes. I imagine it must have been my frequent returns to a place known as “odd”, with dress and mannerisms from distance places.

I turned the brass knob on the old re-painted oak door at number 58 Ivy Lane, and expected, and was comforted, by the smell of stew cooking on the stove in the kitchen. A mechanized hand, as I have come to expect, attached to the wall, and connected to the door via a system akin to scissors, grabbed my top hat - a well-worn garment that I always felt made me appear rather dapper, though the material had lost its sheen months ago.

If there was ever a place time forgot, it was surely the Dawson’s house: it never changed, the paint never chipped, the floors never began to squeak with age. the Mr. and Mrs. of course, got older. The Mister once had hair as black as a winter’s night, but now white hair had begun to find its way through. The Missus’ hair had gone white at an early age, according to her, and now the only way to tell she had been aging was by her eve declining height. Joshua hadn’t changed much ever. His blue eyes always seemed to be looking off in the distance, beyond where you were, into the ether. His ginger hair had become wilder since I had left. From a woman’s perspective, I considered it lucky on his part that he was blessed with a light beard. Beards need maintenance to look good on a face, and Joshua’s lack of maintenance on his hair led me to suspect that, were he to have a beard, it would not be an unusual sight to see bits of last week’s dinner in it.

My room was the same as it had always been, though the view had changed. The forest was no longer the only sight outside my window. The Wall, the previous border, was now being used as a place to walk on top of, a place to sit and relax, a place to take your lunch. The city had grew beyond the wall, and the forest had a few less trees.

The broken mirror was neither more nor less broken than when I first claimed that room as mine all those years prior.

“Dinner in 20!” I heard the Missus shout. Her voice carried as well as it always had, the slightly nasal intonation giving it a shrill quality, though it was quite comforting.

Things had changed at the boarding house of course. Boarders move all the time, I’m told. Few ever return. The men and women I had called friends before leaving on my journeys were only ever rarely there when I returned. Some men went onto to run businesses, others to the Church. The women often settled down and had children, a few went on to businesses. I don’t believe any woman who passed through that boarding house had anything to do with the matriarchal spiritual worships, though I have known a few girls from Villa who offered spiritual counsel to those who followed their family’s own branch of the divine. I had only ever dabbled in the affairs of the heart, and by 23 I was certain that, were I to settle down, it would be with a man, and it would be with Sebastian, a boarder around Joshua’s age. A quiet man, with a book in hand, and a high collar, Sebastian seemed to make no friends while I stayed at the house, though always took time to indulge me in his company and his smile. Time came that I had to leave again, the news-radio spoke of a new settlement to the east, over the mountains, and I found a new chance to find my place. Sebastian, by the time I had returned, was gone, and I tried hard not regretting being more aggresive in my pursuit of him, or actually pursuing him, the world knows what you are.

Now with Sebastian gone, I had no late night disucssions on the stars to look forwad to, and, sullen, went to dinner where I met the new Boarders.

She was a petite blonde, a group of people who always made me quake ith embarassment inside: a majority of my life spent in idulging, what I could tell of my family’s very brunette blood line through the few pictures my father kept, has made sure that a petite blond is something I’d never be. Magda, as she allowed me to call her, was a very nice person. She was also around my age, but had a son, Travis. Travis was no more than six, by my guess, and had that same far away look that Joshua had.

“Winnie, dear, good to see you back!” the Missus said, as she poured stew into a cracked brown bowl, and passed it down the table.

“Happy to be back” I replied, as I usually did. I always meant it too. Here were people who had become a surrogate family, and it was comfortable being there.

The Mister tapped on his mahogany pipe after udoing his tie, and nodded casually in my direction. Joshua focused solely on his bowl of stew, as did Travis, and the conversation, as always, was left up to the ladies.

I spoke of the new fashion trends up in Villa, of the upcoming music scene in Bandmar, and the town of Hasfar - a new settlement of destitute people who fled from the class consious cities in the north, and were living solely off the land, and bartering goods and services, instead of relying on old coins and paper money.

“And what do you think of that?” the Mister asked, rather unexpectedly.

This was the first time, in the years I had been there, that he had asked my opinion on anything.

“Well, they all seem to have a lot of hope. I expect that they’ll end up manufacturing something useful, and rejoin classed society.”

He nodded again, mumbled a “well said” and turned his attention to his paper bulletin.

A good, smart answer, though not my real one. I didn’t enjoy practiing deceit, but in this case an answer of “Their lives don’t really matter, it’s not where I’m meant to be” was too cold for the Dawsons. A man named Bejamine once strayed into the house, and spent about a month here before being kicked out by the Mister for his opinions on the troubles over the Barrow Mountains, which, roughly, were “Not my problem”. For the Mister and the Missus, it was believed that everyone had to share everyone else’s suffering, even if no one took action to help. If you couldn’t feel the people’s pain, it was important, then, that you acknowledge their situation, even if you’ll have nothing to do with it. I learned this quickly, and found that adding a hopeful sentance about their future was enough to keep them happy, and keep me ldoging there.

I lit a candle, though now the electric light was gaining prevalence. It felt very fashionable to look at the six faces of my reflection in that old broken mirror with only the soft glow of the candle, though I admit the electric light would have made this slighlty narcissistic ritual of staring at myself in the mirror, easier and brighter viewing, it would have lost its appeal. In the shdows of the candlelight, there were echoes of things that had been, and whispers of things that would be. In the shadows cast by the electric light, it was all too plain that my face was just a heart shaped face, and that my bedside table would never be anything but.

I had managed, over my years of travelling, to amass a small collection of objects from the places I had been. I hung some cerimoiously on the walls and door. A carpet that was hand made for me laid beside the bed, and a blanket that I never allowed the Missus to wash, which smelt of berries, and summer, and the ocean, was now the only one I would ever use, unless the winter hit hard with endless snow.

The pants were tossed in a basket along with the linene shirt, and I put on my night clothes, when there came a knock at the door.

I folded my arms over my chest when Joshua burst in before I could answer. It was wrong, and odd for him to have left his room in the basement at all, let alone to come into my room, and I admit I should have been more shocked than I was.

We all  have shadows, or disowned, repressed, dissociated parts of ourselves, and as we grow and develop from one stage to the next, and even as we grow into higher stages of development, a simple fact remains — the shadow does not go away, but rather follows us as we ascend into the higher reaches of self. Is it possible that certain types of shadow qualities are more probable to arise at certain levels of development? When we apply this question to the integral or teal level of development, what types of shadow material will we generally encounter in both ourselves and others? When we have the courage to take an honest view of ourselves, and as we learn more about and live an integral life, what shadow tendencies do we see? Let’s explore, with a light heart and hand, the general flavors of shadow material that we may be grappling with specifically once we acquire an Integral awareness. See Figure 1. Two specific shadow manifestations that can potentially arise with Integral awareness, at the teal level of development, can be called the “integralexpert” and the “1st tier allergy.”

Figure 1. Wilber/Combs Lattice

We do not necessarily need to understand the Integral approach (or this chart) for our center of gravity to be stationed at teal. With that said, once we learn the Integral model, in all of its dimensions, we can often come away feeling like we now fully understand everything. Comprehending the Integral model helps us feel as though we can find a place for everything and anything we come across, both within and without, which is truly wonderful — but it can easily begin to eclipse our relationship with the Mystery, with the Great Unknown.  Here, it is possible for the “integral expert” shadow to manifest. This shadow quality can actually inhibit our growth and development. For instance, if we feel that we know everything, why would we continue to explore how the Integral model manifests in real time? How is it possible to approach the mystery of existence from beginner’s mind? How can we let the grace of Spirit fall into us if we are closed to new possibilities arising? We want to be aware that the potential for this “integral expert” shadow to arise is very real and to notice how it manifests. This is no fault of the Integral approach, but an issue of translation on the part of the practitioner. Once we are integrally informed, there seems to be a tendency to feel like we know everything, while Integral wisdom simply suggests a few parameters to help honor everything we CANNOT know…

While it is true that “cognition is necessary but not sufficient” to grow into higher stages of consciousness, many of us tend to step off the developmental ladder once the mind is properly satiated. And what can satiate a thirsty mind more than Integral theory? Again, this is not a fault of the theory. For many, understanding cognitively the Integral approach seems to replace the need for true state training. We cognitively grasp the existence and importance of states. We are even cognizant of how they unfold in a stage-like progression, moving from gross to subtle to causal to nondual. See figure 1. What occurs is that we truly and rather innocently mistake the map for the territory. We can often find ourselves and others more interested in talking about practice, rather than actually engaging practice on a regular basis. We can be quick to judge without actually experiencing, first hand, these topics that so fascinate and intrigue us. There is a tendency to fall victim to the “talking school” or become “armchair” philosophers — meaning, we have a conceptual understanding, a cognitive understanding, but this understanding is not grounded in any real world experience, not grounded emotionally, experientially, socially, or relationally. This can be applied to much more than state training of course, and this is used as only one of many examples of how this “integral expert” shadow quality may arise.

In extreme cases, the “integral expert” shadow can actually manifest itself in a way where people begin to misuse the Integral model to disengage from the world, to hide from life, negating all responsibility. For example, if we are approached by someone who has feedback about our behavior, or how we have shown up in a meeting, or during an exchange, one response that seems to reflect this “integral expert” shadow quality is “you should 3-2-1 that”. We may not neccesarily say this outloud, but there is a tendency to internally experience this and so we brush off feedback — justifying ourselves by thinking “this person is just projecting onto me.” Instead of actually receiving, what could be very helpful feedback, we actually push it away. What is ironic here is that we actually push feedback away by using the 3-2-1 process instead of using the 3-2-1 process to go deeper into the feedback that was so graciously offered. What the Integral model invites, encourages and almost demands from us to do is actually participate in the world more, for the simple fact that we do have a greater understanding and awareness — not to use the tools of the model to hide or turn away from manifest reality.  Learn it, live it, apply it… That is what the Integral approach calls us to do in every moment.

Another shadow quality that may arise at the teal level of development can be called the “first tier allergy”, which is the general resistance to participating with all structures prior to teal.  This often shows up as mistaking the idea that people can be color coded according to the developmental model as seen in Figure 1. We are all probability waves, as Kohlberg points out — the probability of finding a particular behavior at a particular time tends to follow the 25-50-25 rule. But often too many of us walk around dismissing people as being “so totally green” or “way too orange”. With these strong judgements, we tend to cut ourselves off from 95% of the world. Elitism is fine — because everyone is invited, snobbery is not. All too often we come off as Integral snobs when we use developmental schemes as a way to judge others and ultimately ignore them simply because they are not inhabiting the same developmental space that we are. One of the major benefits of Integral awareness is that we can act as developmental wizards, understanding that each and every level of development is utterly needed and appropriate, that we can locate within ourselves all of the levels of first tier, and realize that everyone has the right to be at any stage they are stationed at. This is a Upaya, or a skillful means of the model — one that could potentially help the world tremendously in a number of areas from politics to spirituality, education to business, ecology to healthcare. The importance of understanding where someone is stationed developmentally is not to judge them and write them off completely, but rather to inform us so that we can then choose the best way to interact with this person to have the best possible outcome. This outcome is understanding. And an understanding that then translates into action in the world on the part of the person we were just engaging. Imagine if we were to touch one person a day with the implications of the Integral approach? The possibilities are endless.

Of course the “expert” and “allergy” can manifest at each developmental stage and these are generally a part of the growth process. As we grow from one stage to the next we tend to dis-identify with the stage we previously inhabited. Another way to say this is that we make our previous subject, object — we turn our 1st-person experience into a 3rd- person experience. During that process, it is almost certain that we can acquire an “allergy” (or an addiction, but that’s another blog post) to our previous level of development. Once we grow into a higher stage, it is also possible that with a deeper and wider understanding of self, we can feel as “expert” to our previous self. The difference at the integral or teal level of development is that the “expert” and “allergy” of the growth process in first tier, has the potential to actually turn into shadow qualities.  We now have greater vision and responsibility to recognize the “integral expert” and “1st tier allergy” shadows and to work with these repressed aspects of self. Fortunately, the Integral model not only includes, but encourages us to work with our shadow traits. The 3-2-1 process is a great place to start.

- Kelly Sosan Bearer

Set in the same universe of Learning the World, where stars are surrounded by green habitats, “Who’s Afraid of Wolf 359?,” by Ken McLeod starts out looking like a romp across the stars. The narrator sleeps with the wrong woman, and rather than work for the next 257 years to pay off his fine, he agrees to go “clean up” Wolf 359. He then receives a series of rude surprises and deals out a few surprises of his own. Like “Always,” the first-person narrator is never named. Your conception of him shifts radically through the story. He starts out acting like Don Juan and ends up more like Genghis Khan.

The overall effect is jarring, but right there in the beginning, the story tells you what to expect:

When you’re as old as I am, you’ll find your memory’s not what it was. It’s not that you lose memories. That hasn’t happened to me or anyone else since the Paleocosmic Era, the Old Space Age, when people lived in caves on the Moon. My trouble is that I’ve gained memories, and I don’t know which of them are real. I was very casual about memory storage back then, I seem to recall. This could happen to you too, if you’re not careful. So be warned. Do as I say, not as I did.

Some of the tales about me contradict each other, or couldn’t possibly have happened, because that’s how I told them in the first place. Others I blame on the writers and tellers. They make things up. I’ve never done that. If I’ve told stories that couldn’t be true, it’s because that’s how I remember them

It reminds of me of what happened when I read “Stars Seen Through Stone.” The opening promised that weird things would happen, but you might not notice them. I didn’t notice, and I was way past wondering where the fantasy element had gone, when the weird things finally started happening. Wikiworld, on the other hand, told you exactly what was going to happen in the first few sentences. The fun part was seeing exactly how it happened.

In all these stories, the opening follows the principle that the beginning should tell you what kind of story you’re getting into. I already know that I’m a lazy reader, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that sometimes I failed to catch the clue train. For those of you who have read some of these other stories, I’m curious: did you remember what the beginning told you as you read the rest of the story?

Tomorrow: “A Small Room in Koboldtown”

Update: A reading is available on Escape Pod.

Surely you are all aware that Death Cab For Cutie’s forthcoming album ‘Narrow Stairs’ is due to hit the shops and cause download meltdown on 13 May 2008.

But perhaps you have not all had access to some of the yummy exclusives and previews scattered around the media.

Paste Magazine has sent Ben Gibbard back to a cabin in Big Sur to write about his inspirations for ‘Narrow Stairs.’ Apparently Gibbard is a big fan of the Beat writer Jack Kerouac, who recoiled from the sudden surge of fame from ‘On The Road’ to a small cabin in Big Sur,the experience immortalized in his book of the same name. Gibbard reflects on a variety of topics, candidly and forthrightly, including all the awkward life-transitions he so gracefully encapsulates in many of his lyrics. You can read the article here.

Gibbard also features in Curt Worden’s film ‘One.Fast Move.Or I’m Gone,’ which is a documentary reflection on Kerouac’s experience at Big Sur, including interviews with Michael McClure, Lawrence Ferlinghetti, Caroyln Cassady, Joyce Johnson, and many other of Kerouac’s contemporaries, as well as artists influenced by the great JK, including Tom Waits, Patti Smith, Ben Gibbard, Sam Shepard, and many others. Find out more about the movie here. Thank you to Mr. Worden for the information and link. We will look forward to the film’s release with happy, anxious anticipation, for we are big Kerouac fans at FUG IT.

The excellent blog Daytrotter also had Death Cab record several songs in their Futureappletree Studio One in Rock Island, ILL. The set features two sneak-peek downloads of songs from the upcoming album, as well as one of FUG IT’s personal favorites, ‘Movie Script Ending‘ (from Photo Album). There are a total of 6 downloads, and some words from Mr. Gibbard himself about the songs, their content and the context in which they were written. If you are not already familiar with the wonderful people of Daytrotter, who do at least 5 recording sessions with talented artists each week, check out their ‘about’ page here.

The video for Death Cab’s first single off ‘Narrow Stairs,’ ‘I Will Possess Your Heart,’ is out on YouTube now.

So yesterday was a lot of fun. A bunch of us went to the state park and hung out. We had hot dogs cooked over charcoal and then walked around and looked at the falls. The car I was in left after the other and we walked around a bit longer. Then we went on some swings. I know that doesn’t seem significant to most of you but I’m not gonna lie, it was pretty much a big deal to swing since I haven’t really since last May. Only a few of you know why. Not going to go into it. But it made me ridiculously happy. The car ride back was also fun, talking in hick voices and smelling the fresh manure! Nothing like it! I’m glad for friends.

Other news, I can’t wait for this semester to be over… and at the same time, I can. I do NOT want to take my finals, at all. Nor do I want that Chaucer paper to be due on Monday. But I have to and it is. So all I can do is hope I get a concussion before that. Just kidding.

So yeah. I should get to work on that. But I will share the Facebook album with you.

I’m not an overtly emotional person. I assume that people don’t have time to know what I’m feeling (if it’s negative) or that they ought to know what I’m feeling when it’s positive. I have a hard time expressing emotion. There are times when I’d really like to walk up to people that I care about, and I mean deeply care about, hug them and tell them I love them and that I’m glad I know them and that they bother to care about me. But every time I think about it, I start to say something then just say something else entirely. Like about ponies. Or something stupid like that. It’s a hard habit to break. Telling people that you care sets you up for disappointment. And I don’t like being disappointed. But anyway, why am I thinking about that today? Because several times today/this weekend I wanted to say the three words that make you most vulnerable to a couple people I consider close friends. But I didn’t. Maybe they’ll read this. Maybe they won’t. Either way, just blogging about wanting to say it doesn’t count.

On we go. Chaucer makes me want to die. Every time I think about it. I want to die. But my Chaucer paper is the last paper I have to write for this semester. This fact almost fills me with joy. Almost.

I got decent hours for next semester at MJ. I’ll still be done by 3 every day with classes and work. So it will be good. My finals week hours aren’t so fantastic but I’ll get over it. Might as well get used to being up and around by 7:30 again. I’ll have to be up and in the dining hall at OBC by 7 every morning this summer anyway.

Anyway, I should get going. I have to go buy whipped cream. Actually, the important part of this trip is me going to the bank to deposit my check. But still. Whipped cream is important too. Umm… well, I think that’s all. Oh, by the way, if the first paragraph seems awfully familiar to our interactions, yeah. Ha. Maybe someday. Or should I say perhaps someday?

And then there are days where I feel like I’m on top of the world. Days where I feel like I have people who actually care about me, people who, dare I say it, LOVE me.

I was at O—B—C— this weekend. I really like Thelma. She’s so funny but not in a comedienne way you know. Just the way she gets stressed and the way she reacts to stuff. I was making a video and she said something about being glad to work with me. And Evelyn. Let me just say, we pretty much bonded this Saturday. We talked about people and life and how she used to scare me. Then we put a checkerboard pattern on the floor with the foam mats that got for the kitchen. And working at O—B—C— has really helped me bond with the Lindermans, I have to say. Mrs. and I are much closer than we used to be. And Mr. and I, though we’ve always been pretty tight, have a lot more to chat about. I love it.

I have to say, I missed Art and Donna this weekend but they will have a special surprise waiting for them.

And even here, there are a couple people I really appreciate having around. Or who I really appreciate being able to text when I’m up to my ears in other people’s dirty plates and insanity running rampant around the kitchen. (They probably don’t realize quite how “attached” I think I’m becoming. They don’t realized that they’re “stuck” with me now.) If you’re reading this…

These other days when the sun is shining and I feel like the person I want to be are fantastic. It’s like my life is actually going ok. I feel like I can be an encouragement to others and that as much as I give to the people I care about, I’ll never run out. And it’s because I get that back. It’s mutual. Unlike some friendships I’ve had where I give until I have nothing left and I just break down.

But today, this week, right now, I feel like I am pretty much where I want to be in life. No, it’s not perfect. I forget to read for a class or can’t figure out what to do about my “future” but it all pales in comparison.

That’s really all I have to say right now. Have a brazzle dazzle day!

There are days when I miss this friend I used to have more than life itself. Most days, I just regret letting my guard down so much and I regret letting myself be that much of a metaphorical crutch. But there are days when I find myself reading the poetry I wrote when I knew her, looking at the pictures we took, reading the blogs that I wrote when we were friends. There are days when I still wonder what I could have done that would have been “right” that would have meant we never stopped being friends. There are days when my heart breaks for the deep friendship that we could still be sharing, a friendship that happens so rarely. A friendship where two people know each other and everything they’re thinking without any of it being spoken.

There are days when I wonder if I will ever be able to have that close of a friendship. I’m not talking about romantic love, mind you. That is another post entirely.  I’m talking about a truly close friend with whom you don’t have to be the “together” one, friendship where you can fall apart and still have a friend in them.

I guess I’ve always seen my friendships as me benefiting other people, me using whatever “talents” I have to make their lives better. But I’m burnt out. I cannot be the one that people run to all the time, not without a more “give and take” kind of relationship. So many times, I finish a conversation with people, emotionally drained and all I can do is crawl into bed and cry because even if I’m having issues, none of them were addressed. It was all about the other person.

Now I know that sometimes that’s what is needed for the other person and I’m happy to be there for my friends, but when I don’t feel like I have anyone I can admit my feelings to, it really takes its toll.

There are days when I’m so lonely that I talk to pictures on my wall. And there are days at home where I have lengthy conversations with my cat, Han, who is pretty much my best friend. (Don’t get me wrong, I LOVE having the house to myself when I’m home but sometimes… especially when I’m without a car…)

There are days when I’m so frustrated with myself for coming across too strong in a friendship and I worry about coming across as emotionally needy.

There are days when the happiest part of my day is reading my mediocre poetry out loud to people when I don’t even understand why they like me. There are days, plenty of them, when I wonder why people in my life even want to get to know me, wonder why they think I’m funny, wonder why they want to introduce me to people they know. There are days when I just sit back and look at the day and think, “Who was that person in my body today and why are they so much cooler than me?”

Don’t tell me I have self-esteem issues. Don’t tell me I’m crazy. Don’t tell me you love me. I know the first two and I probably won’t believe you if you said the last one. I just needed to get this off my chest.

So that’s all. It’s just one of those days…

Ein Open-Source-Shooter vom Feinsten, der leider noch etwas unbekannt ist.  Als Quake mod gestartet ist Nexuiz derzeit bei der 2.4.2 Version, die sich auch grafisch sehen lässt. Vergleichen lässt es sich am besten mit der Unreal Tournament Serie, da es auch hier für die einzelnen Waffen jeweils 2 Feuermodi gibt.

Noch ein paar weitere Infos zu Nexuiz: Es läuft unter Windows, Linux! und Mac und stellt keine größeren Ansprüche an das System. Nexuiz besitzt einen Einzellspieler-Modus ( wobei die Intelligenz der hier anzutreffenden Bots etwas zuwünschen ürbig lässt). Im Multiplayer sind  Spielvarianten wie Deathmatch (auch im Team), Capture the Flag oder Last Man Standing (und noch einige mehr) möglich.

In meinen Augen zeichnet sich das Spiel durch die vielen verschiedene Maps und die ständigen Updates aus. Wer also auf etwas schnellere Shooter steht sollte sich Nexuiz mal downloaden , kostet ja auch nix.

As the Arabian proverb points out, ‘It is not the road ahead that wears you out – it is the grain of sand in your shoe.” This grain of sand in our ethereal shoes is one word that remains the single most confused topic of conversation to date – Spirituality.  Any serious discussion of spirituality requires a clear understanding of what we intend when we utter this multi-meaning concept. If we use the Integral model, we can begin to very skillfully untangle this ball of convoluted confusion.

For starters, people tend to use the word “spirituality” in five different ways, with five very different meanings. And most of us are not even aware of this fact. Before we start to disagree with one another over these hot, heavy and heated spiritual topics, it is important to identify that we are indeed disagreeing over the same meaning. Otherwise you are disagreeing over apples and I am disagreeing over oranges, and the whole thing turns into a big waste of time for all parties involved. So first, we must agree that we are indeed disagreeing over the same issue, before we can continue with any specific spiritual consideration.

We can contextualize the five meanings of spirituality by using the Integral model. The Integral model is comprised of many elements. The five main elements include: quadrants, levels, lines, states and types. Spirituality has a very different meaning depending on which aspect of spirituality we intend. Spirituality can mean: (1) a line of development or a multiple intelligence; (2) the highest level or stage of a line of development; (3) a state of consciousness; (4) a type or an attitude; or (5) or a specific quadrant. Each one of these usages are valid, but we must state which aspect of spirituality we are referring to when engaging such topics, otherwise the conversation has no chance of getting off the ground.

1. Lines: When speaking of spirituality, some people are referring to a spiritual line of development- what is of ultimate concern?- which is a separate developmental line or capacity that unfolds through stages. People have different lines of development: cognitive, emotional, moral, kinesthetic, etc. Individuals tend to do really well in some areas of their life, such as in musical and cognitive aptitudes, and perform poorly in other areas, like athletics or interpersonal relationships. This is due to their varying lines of development. So when one uses the word spirituality to mean one’s spiritual capacity, they are referring to a line of development.
2. Levels: When speaking of spirituality, some people are referring to the highest level or stage of a developmental line. As these lines of development grow through stages (i.e. pre-personal to transpersonal) we do not generally refer to the lower or middle levels as spiritual, but people do describe the highest level or levels of a line of development as spiritual. In fact, the word transpersonal is often used to describe these highest stages in any particular developmental line.

3. States: Some people term spirituality to describe spiritual or religious experiences, such as peak experiences or meditative experiences. Within the Integral framework, these are refered to as states of consciousness.
4. Types: Another way that people use the word spirituality relates to a type of person that possess spiritual qualities or one that has a special attitude, such as love, compassion and/or wisdom. But when one is referring to a person as spiritual, they are referring to a type of person or one who has a spiritual disposition. It’s important to note that love, compassion and wisdom also grow through levels. But here, we are referring to these as qualities rather than capacities.

5. Quadrants: The quadrants represent four of the most important dimensions of reality and experience. These dimensions of reality are the interior and exterior aspects of the individual and the collective. These quadrants, among other things, generate 1st-person, 2nd- person, and 3rd-person perspectives that one finds in all major human languages, across all cultures. Here, some people refer to a specific quadrant as spiritual. For example, some refer to the UL quadrant (“I”) as spiritual because it houses the Transcendental “I” or the Ultimate “I” in its farther reaches. Some see the LL quadrant (“you/we”) as spiritual because it houses the “Ultimate Thou” or the “Great Other”. Some refer to the LR quadrant (“IT’s”) as spiritual as it houses the “Ultimate IT” or the “Great System” of the web of life in its highest reaches. And some find the UR quadrant (“IT”) to be spiritual as it houses the “Great It” as Spirit.

Now that we have taken a brief tour through the five meanings of spirituality, it is absolutely necessary to specify how one is using the word when engaging in conversations regarding this topic. This is the minimal scheme required to have such discussions. As a road rule, let’s agree that before we begin disagreeing with one another, we state just what we mean when we say “spirituality.” By following this simple injunction, we will save a lot of time, energy and emotion that can then be used to engage in an intelligent conversation regarding this topic.

By clearly defining the five different meanings of the word spirituality, we have now taken that pesky grain of sand out of our shoes. We can continue the path ahead with more clarity and sanity as we begin to broach the many meaningful topics of spirituality. And we don’t have to lose a friend in the process….well, of course, unless you want to.

- Kelly Sosan Bearer

Buddhist Geeks

Listen to audio dialogue here: Discover Yourself as a Perspective-Taking  Being

Running Time: 27:50
Hosted by:

Guests:

Diane Musho Hamilton, Zen sensei and Big Mind lineage holder, joins us to discuss her personal story on the path of awakening. From experiencing the death of several friends at a young age, to studying with Chogyam Trunpga in the mid-80s, to becoming the first lineage holder of a unique new spiritual process called Big Mind, join us as Diane shares the intimate details of her life as a seeker (and non-seeker).

In this dialogue we also touch in on the importance that the work of integral philosopher Ken Wilber has had on her teaching, especially with regards to what Wilber calls the three primordial perspectives. These three perspectives can be summarized by the pronouns, “I” (first-person), “we” (second-person), and “it” (third-person). Find out why these perspectives are so important to someone who is trying to bring together the spiritual quest with all of their other endeavors.

This is part 1 of a two-part series. Listen to Part 2, The Three Faces of Spirit: Where is Awareness Locating Itself? (airing next week)

Related Resources:

- BigMind.org
- Integral Institute
- Ken Wilber