Monday, April 07, 2025

sobering, if not stultifying

In prison this morning, conversation about our experiences in school and concerns about where things are in education.

Later, writing a reference for a former student with whom I studied in Maine State Prison, I'm reminded of Jacques Rancière (b.1940) and Joseph Jacotot (4March 1770 - 30July 1840) in The Ignorant Schoolmaster, Five Lessons in Intellectual Emancipation:   

 “Whoever looks always finds. He doesn’t necessarily find what he was looking for, and even less what he was supposed to find. But he finds something new to relate to the thing he already knows. What is essential is the continuous vigilance, the attention that never subsides without irrationality setting in…”

“There aren’t two sorts of mind. There is inequality in the manifestations of intelligence, according to the greater or lesser energy communicated to the intelligence by the will for discovering and combining new relations; but there is no hierarchy of intellectual capacity. Emancipation is becoming conscious of this equality of nature. This is what opens the way to all adventure in the land of knowledge. It is a matter of daring to be adventurous, and not whether one learns more or less well or more or less quickly.” 

“The only mistake would be to take our opinions for the truth.”

“Reason begins when discourses organized with the goal of being right cease, beings where equality is recognized: not an equality decreed by law or force, not a passively received equality, but an equality in act, verified, at each step by those marchers who, in their constant attention to themselves a[n]d in their endless revolving around the truth, find the right sentences to make themselves understood by others.”

“Equality was not an end to attain, but a point of departure, a supposition to maintain in every circumstance. ” 

https://divnapopov.com/2020/06/03/jacques-ranciere-the-ignorant-schoolmaster-five-lessons-in-intellectual-emancipation/

It was always a bone of contention, this premise that 'All men [humans] have equal intelligence.' Also, that the key to education is finding out, not being told the way things are. Not explication, but investigation.

The revelation that came to Joseph Jacotot amounts to this: the logic of the explicative system had to be overturned. Explication is not necessary to remedy an incapacity to understand.

On the contrary, that very incapacity provides the structuring fiction of the explicative conception of the world. It is the explicator who needs the incapable and not the other way

around; it is he who constitutes the incapable as such. To explain something to someone is first of all to show him he cannot understand it by himself. Before being the act of the pedagogue, explication is the myth of pedagogy, the parable of a world divided into knowing minds and ignorant ones, ripe minds and immature ones, the capable and the incapable, the intelligent and the stupid. The explicator’s special trick consists of this double inaugural gesture. On the one hand, he decrees the absolute beginning: it is only now that the act of learning will begin. On the other, having thrown a veil of ignorance over everything that is to be learned, he appoints himself to the task of lifting it. Until he came along, the child has been groping blindly, figuring out riddles. Now he will learn. He heard words and repeated them. But now it is time to read, and he will not understand words if he doesn’t understand syllables, and he won’t understand syllables if he doesn’t understand letters that neither the book nor his parents can make him understand—only the master’s word. The pedagogical myth, we said, divides the world into two. More precisely, it divides intelligence into two. It says that there is an inferior intelligence and a superior one. The former registers perceptions by chance, retains them, interprets and repeats them empirically, within the closed circle of habit and need. This is the intelligence of the young child and the common man. The superior intelligence knows things by reason, proceeds by method, from the simple to the complex, from the part to the whole. It is this intelligence that allows the master to transmit his knowledge by adapting it to the intellectual capacities of the student and allows him to verify that the student has satisfactorily understood what he learned. Such is the principle of explication. From this point on, for Jacotot, such will be the principle of enforced stultification.*

*In the absence of a precise English equivalent for the French term abrutir (to render stupid,

to treat like a brute), I’ve translated it as “stultify." Stultify carries the connotations of numbing

and deadening better than the word "stupefy,” which implies a sense of wonderment or amazement absent in the French.— TRANS. [Kristin Ross] 

            (--p.6, Rancière

Some suggest today that it is a stultifying experience taking place, the absence of any productive intelligence at work in the stultifying behavior of so-called leaders. Just casual whim throwing causal chaos over everything.

“The most thought-provoking thing in our thought-provoking time is that we are still not thinking.”          

(--Martin Heidegger)

Sobering, if not stultifying.

From Sunday Evening Practice: 

 Chapter Sixty-seven

The whole world says the Tao that I have attained is so great that It seems unreal.

Because It is indeed so great, thus It seemed unreal.

If It were real, It would have been insignificantly small.

I have Three Treasures that I hold and guard.

The first is Kindness.

The second is Simplicity.

The third is Humbleness.

With Kindness, one can be courageous.

With Simplicity, one can be generous.

With Humbleness, one can be the lead to provide guidance.

Now, if one abandons kindness and yet tries to be courageous,

If one abandons simplicity and yet tries to be generous.

If one abandons humbleness and yet tries to lead as guidance,

He is doomed to perish.

One who fights a battle with kindness shall win.

            (-from Tao Te Ching, translator uncertain) 

A prayer for those doomed to thrive!

Sunday, April 06, 2025

thanks for stopping, bye

 Live as though there is no death

Die as though there is no life

In the morning there might be coffee

Or, if you are gone, the coffee is gone

Either way, UConn women are champs

Duke men lost

Does anybody really know what time it is

living life as one

 Jesus didn't want

us to praise him


he wanted us

to be him


Siddhartha Gautama

didn't want us to copy


his lifestyle, he wanted

us to be him


who is Christ that we 

become him


who is Buddha that we

become him --


I look out window

I see sky, I see earth


become that, says christ

become this, says buddha


Christ disappears, Buddha

disappears -- only this


only that, remains --

become that, become this


(christ smiles through air

buddha smiles through ground)

hic, haec, hoc

 if you love me

keep my word


if you word me

give my love away


if you are me

love keeps giving


let me say it plain --

find me here, be me there


this, this

is christ the toward

sitting now in such

Reading obituaries of old chums and classmates from sixty eight years ago. Dead now or vanished into fog of time the curious wonder of where are they now passes this Sunday morning.

No obituary should survive a ten minute printing. They are silly things, their dates, places, accomplishments, loved ones. Write them up, print them, then burn them in metal trash can top, be done with them.

Audiéntes autem unus post unum exíbant, incipiéntes a senióribus. 

 

But upon hearing this, they went away, one by one, beginning with the eldest.   

 

(Sexta, Antiphona, 6apr25)

Not always the eldest. Some younger. Makes for some wistfulness that they went younger than old.

We elderly are a strange lot. No rhyme or reason to be still here, except to protest stupidity and venality in public and private venues. But that might just be crankiness and bitterness. Hard telling.

 I write brief notes on two obituary pages, two good guys from north 6th street high school who became Franciscan brothers, lived, served, and died on Long Island, that foreign country.

My obituary will be brief — “He accomplished nothing and stood by it.”

Maybe a quote from Creeley or Lowell or Roethke or Hugo — one of their lines about being poor passing facts or what’s wrong will always be wrong or words words as if all worlds were there, or my wisdom I wear in despair of something better, or, no dog knows my smell.

Let the dead be buried with other dead, no need for exculpatory or exorbitant, or exhortatory, or exorcistic wallpaper.

We were all barely reliable and passable human beings who dodged our way through bullets or bulletins sounding dangerous inevitability or tragic outcomes necessitating sudden and profound rumination.

I used to sit with the dying. 

I sat with the dead. 

A gift of being a hospice volunteer. 

It was quiet. It was deeply concentrating. They died. I drove home after contemplating in still rooms with them their sudden silence. 

We sat, silently, in that silence.

And do sit now in such.

Saturday, April 05, 2025

plus ca change

 I no longer know 

what I am doing here.

     Did you ever know?

No, never.

     Then, what’s changed?

I no longer want to know.

     Oh!

Yeah.

      Did you ever want to know?

I don’t think so, no.

you can't be forever blessed

 An American Tune

https://youtu.be/O6cfYS-LVEQ?si=QmkF8u3NOfqFtdmX

Lyrics
Many's the time I've been mistakenAnd many times confusedYes, and I've often felt forsakenAnd certainly misused
Oh, but I'm alright, I'm alrightI'm just weary to my bonesStill, you don't expect to be bright and bon vivantSo far away from home, so far away from home
And I don't know a soul who's not been batteredI don't have a friend who feels at easeI don't know a dream that's not been shatteredOr driven to its knees
But it's alright, it's alrightFor we lived so well so longStill, when I think of theRoad we're traveling onI wonder what's gone wrongI can't help it, I wonder what has gone wrong
And I dreamed I was dyingI dreamed that my soul rose unexpectedlyAnd looking back down at meSmiled reassuringly
And I dreamed I was flyingAnd high up above my eyes could clearly seeThe Statue of LibertySailing away to seaAnd I dreamed I was flying
We come on the ship they call The MayflowerWe come on the ship that sailed the moonWe come in the age's most uncertain hoursAnd sing an American tune
Oh, and it's alright, it's alright, it's alrightYou can't be forever blessedStill, tomorrow's going to be another working dayAnd I'm trying to get some restThat's all I'm trying to get some rest

Songwriter: Paul Simon, 1973
American Tune lyrics © Sony/atv Songs Llc

noch einmal, bitte — 5apr25, hands off

 a hermit’s statement articulating god

 I may be

Alone, but

still

I protest


sein;christ … being;christ … to/be;christ

 am I christian

you ask, i say


Without church

or religion


Without scripture

or cafeteria


I am

idiothythmically


nakedly

sein;christ


(Being;Christ)

Where what is


Is;Christ

as it is


to/be;christ

In Itself


As it is

sein;christ 


Is what

I am

none are so blind as

Is he insane?

Is he cruel?


Temporizing

Questions


Of course 

He is


Only the

Obtuse ask


Everyone else

Knows, sees, hears


The obvious

Truth, sight, sound

Friday, April 04, 2025

remembering

 Martin, in 1968 today 

I was in Washington DC 


when you were shot


I grieved, then

I grieve, now

not an ethics hypothetical

 Google says: "The so-called Trolley Problem was first discussed by Philippa Foot in 1967 as a way to test moral intuitions regarding the doctrine of double effect, Kantian principles and utilitarianism."

Teaching it at university was always an interesting, if not annoying, class.


Yesterday, a version of the thought experiment took place in Bristol Pennsylvania. Only it was a version that thought cannot abide.


Amtrak suspended service for several hours between Penn Station in New York and the main rail station in Philadelphia after one of its trains struck and killed three people in Bristol, Pa., on Thursday. 

 

The train hit three people on the tracks at around 6:10 p.m. near Bristol Station, according to an Amtrak spokeswoman. The train was traveling from Boston to Richmond, Va. There were no reported injuries among the 236 passengers and crew members on the train, the spokeswoman added. 

 

The police were responding to a call around 5:58 p.m. that multiple people were on the train tracks, Bristol Borough Police Chief Joe Moors said. As officers walked up the hill to the tracks, Chief Moors said, they saw the train hit all three people. Bristol is a small community about 20 miles northeast of Philadelphia. 

 

The three people were members of the same family, he said. It is not immediately clear why they were on the track. No further information was released as of Thursday evening.

https://www.nytimes.com/2025/04/03/us/amtrak-train-crash-bucks-county-pa.html 

My grandfather was chief steward employed by Pennsylvania Railroad in the 1950s. He'd tell us tales of his looped travels from NY to PA to Chicago and back. We always knew what the weather would be in two days when he returned home.

This sad event is not an ethics hypothetical. 

Why were they on the track?

Why are you where you are?

There's no one solution to Foot's proposed problem, here embellished.

Years ago I travelled this Amtrak route monthly to Pennsylvania to do training sessions for supervisors and managers at an agency working with children and adults with developmental challenges. I knew the route well.

I look out my window in Maine.

What metaphoric train rocks and clacks around a turn coming upon me where I am on the tracks of inopportune conveyance?

If prayer is of any use, I say a prayer for the family. What prayer I say is suspect and suspicious. It is the plight of contemporary culture to pray and call prayer into question at the same time.

If there is God, or a God, I'm fairly sure God or a God understands the plight of the one praying and the ones being prayed for.

That's the complex theological problem which might be or not being taught at university today.

But, as quasi-retired lecturer in philosophy and untiring inquiry -- it is what is trying to teach me,

(See that wording?)

It is, what is, trying to teach, me.

Oremus pro invincem!

confabulation

 Being feared

is not

Being loved


Fools prefer fear

Wise ones understand

only love liberates


We live in a time 

of fools; we long for

a surround of love


Do you remember

love and fear -- confusing

them -- try again to see it 


through. Being is love

non-Being is what fear

(the narcissist) sees 


unreflectively --

seeing only self

limited and uncaring

Thursday, April 03, 2025

who's that knocking at my door; ne me quitte pas

We're not "spiritual" because it is a handy habit that improves our health and ability to cope with the demands and difficulties of this existence. We practice spirituality because the very existence of this world relies on ongoing access to a reality that subsumes a greater reality beyond which the foundation and subsistence of Being-Itself becomes a presentiment of what-is-to-be, an intuitive becoming of what-is-emerging, as it emerges, with an admixture of participation and subtle influence.

In other words: Is spirituality that way of being which embodies the future by embodying the present as it embodies the origin/past in its real and current manifestation?

  ...spirituality is not simply a matter of individual choice, individual beliefs, or individual actions. Rather, spirituality is a force that we encounter in the world itself, one that conditions the

intuitive engagements that individual subjects have with the world and that also shapes the very material make-up of the world itself. Both subjects and objects are affected by—and, in a certain sense, affect—spirituality, even if this affection happens pre-consciously, pre-theoretically: intuitively.


Spirituality, therefore, is a dynamic, vital force that shapes our pre-theo-

retical horizons—not just intra-subjectively, but supra-subjectively, includ-

ing the very material make-up of our world—in a way that is necessary for

experience itself but of which we may not be consciously aware, even as

we are being guided by it.

(--p.56, in Phenomenological Spirituality and its Relationship to Religion, by Neal DeRoo)

Looking into one's interior horizon, one looks into the inner horizon of that wherein we reside. The inner looking into the inner. The particular interior gaze reciprocated by the greater interior gaze. Like the psalm -- deep is calling upon deep.

Why bother?

The external world is one of flux and flight, barriers and fight, constraints and deadends. Witness the shenanigans and posturing in the world of politics and dualistic ideologies. It is a push-me pull-you of arrogance and ego seeking to impose personal will for purposes of acclamation, reward, and external satisfaction.

What if . . .

What if all that exterior and external aggregation is actually sliding illusion forming and reforming the unnecessaries of existence (that which stands out and away from, the partial) -- away from that which is core and constancy of immoveable and unchanging wholeness -- the authentic diversity of what is most real versus the pretend accomplishment of fabricated things and stuff that take as their essence that which is corruptible and transient. 

Is there an incorruptible realm that is opposite the corruptible realm of human enterprise and transaction?

Perhaps the reason to bother considering the descent into the interior spirit of reality is to discover the intransigent and incorruptible. That realm where the essential is invisible to the eye. That intuitive atmosphere where what we see is what is there. What we feel is that which is truly being, felt. That which we think is what is being, thought.

I do not know what this submersion into the depths of Being would consist of. I do know that the incursion into that realm has been the jarring stuff of mystics and saints, arhats and masters, mahatmas and gurus who've transcended, if only for a brief spell, the surface of perception for the dizzying boundless immersion into, (what can we call it), What-Is-Truly-Here, What-Is Truly-There, What-Is-Wholly-Nowhere.

Not everyone is interested in such a quest.

Perhaps, not many should be so interested.

Such a "not just intra-subjectively, but supra-subjectively" would be dizzying and disorienting.

Perhaps such caution is reflected in the warning in scripture that no one can see the face of God and live.

There be dragons in that terra incognita, in that unexplored terrain that drops through, into, below, and beyond what is known.

I understand the hesitancy and the caution.

Never go anywhere you're not called.

Still, we listen.

Deep in the night and deep in the day, we listen.

But, I suspect, any sound is filtered through our fear. We're mired in duality. We fear what is good is also what is evil. So we stay put, warn others off, and stand our ground against perceived enemies and potential wrong turns. 

Is it something that looks like fear?

https://youtu.be/zsl8jEIddJc?si=_LUIqHPfYgnr1a-H 

https://www.bluegrasslyrics.com/song/whos-that-knocking-at-my-door/

Or, something that looks like love?

https://slimmersion-france.com/resources/culture/lyrics/ne-me-quitte-pass-jacques-brel/ 

Our task seems to be the question of fear or love.

No hurry.

No worry.

There's no place to go but here. 

Right where you are, be the right you are.

misérichorde

 Remnant

Religion


Sits 

Silently


Trying to 

Remember


When

Namelessness 


Seemed a

Comfort


When The Name

 HaShem (הַשֵּׁם)


Unpronounceable 

Merely gazed


At wet road

A rainy memory


Confit-I-or . . .

Misereres


Sharpen the

Miséricordes


Our medieval

Dagger obviating


Wounded

Continuance


Out of

Mercy

wakeless

 This, too,

Shall pass


This breath,

Gone


This country,

Knifed


An idiot

Rules


Christians

Mock God


Dollar is

Christ


No antidote

for ignorance


Buddhists

Walk (kinhin) away


Fools’ folly

Formaldehydes 


Our lifeless

Souls


In ditch

A red cap


It was

No accident


There

Will be


No

Calling hours

Wednesday, April 02, 2025

for ghosts

 Front light

Above door

Down road 

Shines bright

This dark

Dark night

bensonhurst style

 I suppose it sounds

Gratuitous to say the man

Must be demented


We don’t talk about

A man in an important

Position as being clinically


An as*hole, I apologize, the truth

Isn’t easy to articulate

But he is very very off, sadly


Making everybody suffer

Except his buddies, smacking

around the rest of us, and I’d


Wish for him to be punched

In the face in front of everyone 

Give him a bloody nose


The way the neighborhood

Dealt with arrogant bullies

When the time was right


As it is

right

now

at lori’s birthday

 God gives birth

You find earth


Good for you

Good for us too

pore over this

 If you’re

Self absorbed

You are a wet and

Laden sponge


If you have

Let go all you carry

you sit high & dry

As sage of sink —


Squeezed empty

Ready to cleanse

Soul asks for enough

Water to wipe away 


Accumulated fear

useless remnants

To begin again

To remember origin

Tuesday, April 01, 2025

he stands for something

 Good going, 

Senator Booker,

Thanks for

Speaking for

US

playing one's hand

Trying to decide whether to immolate myself in front of the Federal Post Office, or, to open the second container of Coffee Milk by Oakhurst. It's a hard decision. Someone could take a photo of my burned body next to the sign "This Toast is for Trump" and try to sell it to the Nebraska Sentinel and Morning Post for big bucks. 

On the other hand, I could put off the coffee milk for another time and put off the conflagration for never and continue listening to Peter Baker and Susan Glasser's book The Divider (c.2022). It is, nevertheless, hard to imagine a less qualified, more morally and characterologically flawed human being as president than the one from 2016 and 2025. 

Even the zippo lighter and red gasoline can understand the futility of trying to make a statement when there are no ears or eyes interested in anything said or done. They hide themselves behind the dumpster and look for a vw beetle gas tank and an open pack of Camels to put their lives back on the path to meaning. Surely, they think, the price of a first class piece of mail will drop, and pizza will no longer think pineapple or anchovies are seemly adornment for what goes into a large "You've tried the rest, now try the best" pie box.

They say spring has come

And the sky is filled with mist,

Yet on the mountains,


No flowers, only snow.



Ryokan (1758-1831)

Dog snores by chair.

Paul G. Tremblay's Cabin at the End of the World (c.2018) paperback sits on passenger seat of truck. It was 75% off at GoodWill, a steal for 26 cents. Stephen King's blurb said he really liked it. We need a more palatable horror than that of Pennsylvania Avenue. 

The grey Volkswagen turns into driveway.

The pot's right. Go ahead, deal 'em.

Let's get this game under way.

I'll have a sarsaparilla, barkeep. 

Keep the change, honey. 

I'm feeling lucky. 

Count me some chips please.

Ain't it great to be alive!

april, first

 fool

me


once

and


again


am 

foolish . . .


April come

she will

the intersection of itself

 Sociopaths

Gathering other

Sociopaths


No conscience

Emulating

No conscience


Uh oh —

All goes to

Willful greed


The deviousness

Of separation

Into othering..,


Can wholeness

Re-emerge can 

holiness reincarnate


Can mind, heart and

longing (will) 

Intersection one another


Crossing (momentarily

and finally) that which

seemed separate & suspect


This intersecting reality

holding no opposition, no

sameness, as through-ing


(Yes), through-ing,

The movement through

one as other as one


Having to see, having to

feel, having longing-being

turning with what is turning…


No sociopath can abide

What is turning through

The intersection of Itself


We need to name, need 

learn to pronounce what-is

Emerging through (yes)


This 

(Yes)

Love

Monday, March 31, 2025

turn turn turn

“Awareness of being is happiness.” (—Rupert Spira)

Being is happiness in awareness.

Happiness is being-awareness.

“Is” happiness awares being.

go ahead, reach for it -- ha

 the lyric went: "Nothing's

gonna change my world"


We missed it. They were 

singing "Nothing" is gonna


change my world. As it does,

does nothing, it changes


everything in ways that

somethings never can


Jai Guru Deva, Om all across

the universe, nothing changes


everything, everyone, everyplace

glorifying (divine) teacher

Sunday, March 30, 2025

ask it, ask it now

 Myanmar suffers earthquake

Gaza suffers hamas and Israel


Ukraine suffers putin and Russia

America suffers trump and maga


I suffer you, you suffer me

What if Being were our conscious joy

words, words, as if all worlds were there

 World

Is made of

Words


Speak well

A world of

Peace


Speak poorly

A world of

Tears


Become

A poet, save

The world


   Cf, A Token, poem by Robert creeley)

into the light of the dark bright night

 No need to know where 


you’ve been, 


you were never there


Redwing blackbird, a brief 



while on bare branch


Flies off eyeing feeder


La vie est drôle


We never been nor seldom are



Where thought thinks we’ve been


or are --


It’s a magic trick, memory, presto


chango, hoc est corpus meum, hocus



pocus —


When we realize this, there is no there


There


Nor, hardly, any here 



Here


Smoke and mirrors, in Hebrew


“I will create as I speak,


Aramaic "I create like 



the word" (אברא כדברא),


avda kedavra  – “what is 


said must be done.”


Given time, everything is



Spoken into existence


Everything spoken out of


Existence


Speak now, 



Then,


Be silent


The world comes


The world goes



Blessed be 


the surrounding


Breath 


sounding 



Itself


Into appearance, 


then


Disappearance

 

You were only

 

Waiting for 

this moment

To arise



When you 


think 


about it


What



Really


Is


There


Here


 cf  https://youtu.be/7epRPz0LGPE?si=7CB2arHz3ZTiUYu6