December 20, 2009 archive

The Wounded Knee Massacre: 119th Anniversary

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The Sand Creek Massacre and the Washita Massacre both led to the Wounded Knee Massacre. The Sand Creek Massacre brought the realization that “the soldiers were destroying everything Cheyenne – the land, the buffalo, and the people themselves,” and the Washita Massacre added even more genocidal evidence to those facts. The Sand Creek Massacre caused the Cheyenne to put away their old grievances with the Sioux and join them in defending their lives against the U.S. extermination policy. The Washita Massacre did that even more so. After putting the Wounded Knee Massacre briefly into historical perspective, we’ll focus solely on the Wounded Knee Massacre itself for the 119th Anniversary of the Wounded Knee Massacre.

Jack Summers and Forced Bible Study in School

Simulposted from the NEW Wild Wild Left!

Picture my surprise when I opened an email from Care to Causes labeled “Student Refuses to Study Bible as Literature” only to find the actual article titled, “Willful Ignorance: Should Students Be Able to Choose What Not to Study?

(Care to Causes does decent environmental work and women’s causes, but is far from one of the best sources out there…)

I took the bait, and clicked through to the essay, only to have my pre-coffee neurons scream in revolt. The author has it wrong on so many levels that I had to respond. I chose the most obvious two, and stated my objections, only to find if I did not allow C2C full access to post to my facebook at will, I could not post on their site. Strike two, baby.

Newton South High School has a reading requirement for standard sophomore English to read passages from the Bible as an example of comparative literature in class. Jack objected. Those are the facts. John Hilliard of Newton’s newspaper mangled the facts so badly in his report, that Jack’s mother felt compelled to write a Letter to the Editor to refute the misstating of facts: from Jack’s age,(16 not 15) and the type of class,(the reporter claimed it an elective honors class, which it is not) to the slant that he was a slacker trying to get out of work. (Jack turned in an alternative project of his own volition)

Maybe its just me, but if you have perused the links, by now aren’t you wondering how so many could miss the forest for the trees?

WHY was this piece of text chosen in the first place?  

Docudharma Times Sunday December 20




Sunday’s Headlines:

Obama, Denied Full Victory on 2 Issues, Takes Validation

China blamed as anger mounts over climate deal

FBI walks tightrope in outreach to Muslims, fighting terrorism

Productivity rises as workers do more with less

In Iran, a blind musician leads the way for a women’s orchestra

Christians in lands across Middle East face uncertain time this Christmas

Sri Lankan guards ‘sexually abused girls’ in Tamil refugee camp

Banda Aceh’s triumph over war and disaster

Auschwitz theft ‘was a professional job’

Eurostar trains suspended as cold weather continues

African musicians nurtured by Starehe School

Tijuana’s security chief needs all of it he can get

11th Dimensional Chess & Social Movements

Cross-posted at Daily Kos

I hope the title of this diary will cause people to think.

It should be clear to many that although I voted for Obama in the election, he was not my choice to be the nominee.  Despite the rhetoric of his campaign, I saw him from the start as too closely connected to those at The Hamilton Project, the entrenched, corporate sector that holds too tight on power.  What bothered me most was that the marketing said the opposite.  He is now elected, so what matters today and in the future is his performance and what it means to Democrats and Americans.

Yesterday I watched the latest episode of Bill Moyers with Robert Kuttner and Matt Taibbi.

Watching and listening to the conversation, I wondered to myself how it was possible for someone who many told us was playing 11th dimensional chess to screw up the health “reform” situation (not to mention some other important issues) so badly.  More important, what are the ramifications.  The answer came from Robert Kuttner, and if you keep reading, you will discover.

Late Night Karaoke

Open Thread

blog slam

and no, you don’t get to know who wrote it.

thank you.  I thought that you were sorry you’d asked me to weigh in over at DocuDharma, but I am gladdened that you used my phrase.  I was expecting to be flamed over at DocuDharma (a thousand worse things have happened to me in 46 years, so I don’t care), but then I saw that diary is a day old.  I am surprised at the Hallway-Monitor-Wannabees over at DK who are so conscientious about three paragraphs, as if the DK diary is some precious literary form, or political expression is imperfect unless shaped a certain way.  And then they’re talking about whether 1 per day requires a minimal separation, or whether you can cheat the Hallway Monitor by doing two diaries just moments apart, as long as you pay the price by waiting 23 hours before and after — utter nonsense.  Just craziness.

Obama Is Not The Enemy

We should seriously consider primarying him, though.

We need to talk about it.

comment war

or whatever with all that text.

That’s this evening’s new news.

I want to talk about the news.

Can we do that? Can we get around here hassling each other publicly about issues, without all this comment war?

Fuck comment war. How about we get into “You can do just about whatever you want here, and we’ll pretty much ignore you.”

That kicks hell out of comment war.

On The Nature Of Consciousness: It’s ALL Your Responsibility


Samadhi and the God-laugh of creation

         I found myself one night sitting back with my eyes closed and witnessing what I could never truly describe but what I can best suggest as the dynamic, uncreated, convulsing, primordial energy of the universe; the fiery, orgiastic rippling cauldron of molten prima materia, cascading about within me, and then pouring out into the world as form; and it was upon opening my eyes that I recognized what I had never conceived as plausible- that I was carrying within myself this living, undulating, cosmic clay which I was projecting out and thus manufacturing the world; which is to say, I knew then that …I was God, and that we are all God, effortlessly producing a world yet without a clue of how we are doing it. I was making everything that night. The whole thing. That is, I was making the world, but not the I who the world thought I was, not even the nobody who I was, but the I which lives before the me in all of us; the original self, casting out the glowing, red, swirling energy of creation, out of the core, out of the mind of God, out into the realm of form, figure, and content.

         And let me tell you I was laughing. I was laughing a laugh I had never laughed before in my life. I was laughing God’s laugh- the God-laugh which has never known care, nor worry, nor entrapment; the God-laugh which sprays out the universe from the immanent, infinite, incomprehensible bliss of formless consciousness; the great, emancipating God-laugh of hilarious nonexpectation, disbelief, and ambitionless wonder at the impossibility and unavoidable realization that I, God, was creating the miracle of creation.

         I had come to exist in the non-existent space. An infinite bridge across a finite chasm. A flame within an inferno. A drop inside the storm.

         I was in the storm. I was the storm. And everything else sped up and catapulted through the living stasis of my soul. It was an exhilarating, innocent act of creation; I gave ground in the hollow of my wonder and the world grew through that infinite hole. The unworldly, horrible stillness in which I basked seemed impossibly to produce the song of everything else. How is that possible I haven’t a clue. Not one.

         I can only presume that the whole shmeer about becoming what you are, or what you could be- but as yet you never have been- eventually comes right back to where it started- to you. But when it gets there- and let me tell you it gets there, with all the fire and brimstone of your day- there is no ‘you’ left to conceive of it. Because, instead, you conceive it, immaculately conceive it.

         That night the prisoner and the warden had changed places. Good and Evil fused into one. And God leapt up for joy inside of me.

         The primitive understandings which had so embalmed me all my terrible and fabulous life instantly vaporized away, and the Creator’s eyes …looked through me. The pulsing, primal, fluid medium flowed out of me, I did not know what I was making, nor how I was doing it, but to be sure it was me.

         When finally you encounter the Great Soul, you will not hesitate to call it I. You are the source of all things. All of it. Like the root-stock of a great underground rhizome, when you stick your head finally out of the ether, whoever is around you …is you.

Samadhi and the God-laugh of creation, by Jack Haas

Original v. Cover — #4 of a Series

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After publishing this essay earlier today, and then attempting, after the fact, to add a poll, two extensive efforts to produce a comprehensive diary have vanished into the netherworld.

Organ Donation: Too Important for Opt In 20091219

Organ donation is a topic not thought about very much, but it should be.  Since the first successful kidney transplant in the 1950s, the technology has improved by a huge margin, so now most transplanted organs function within design parameters.  Sounds great, right?

The problem is that there are many fewer organs available than required.  We shall discuss some the the scientific and logistical problems, and then a, in my estimate, viable solution.  Please keep with me here, because it is important.

Original v. Cover — #4 of a Series

As always, this writer is indebted to wikipedia, which is a treasure trove of information about almost any subject imaginable, and was particularly useful as a reference for this diary.

The longest night of the year lies two days days ahead, on December 21st, representing yet another Winter Solstice. Celebrations of the Winter Solstice first appeared in ancient times, predating the more prevalent holiday traditions that are more familiar to most of us.  

The Winter Solstice represented both an end and a beginning.  It marked an end to the year, a time when livestock were typically slaughtered to conserve precious food stocks. Given the rare and abundant luxury of fresh meat, and the prospect of a long winter ahead, these celebrations represented a sort of bacchanalia before battening down the hatches for the long months that loomed ahead.  It also marked the anticipation of longer days ahead, heralding warmer temperatures and more sunlight, necessary to grow the food that sustained life.  

At the time of the Winter Solstice, many wondered if the provisions set aside for the long winter ahead would be sufficient to prevent starvation, which was particularly common during the months of January and April.  So, these celebrations also marked the beginning of the long night ahead, when anxiety and uncertainty became unwelcome companions.

During this time of year, we are surrounded and inundated with reminders that this is a special, magical season — one of great hope and joy.  Many among us are swept away by the endless gatherings with friends and family, colorful decorations and bright lights, reassuring strains of Bing Crosby’s crooning of “White Christmas”, Jimmy Stewart’s performance in “Its a Wonderful Life”, and the many other trappings of the season.  Avoiding the Madison Avenue created expectation we should hope to emulate is almost impossible to avoid.  One cannot turn on the television, particularly on December 24th and 25th, without being reminded that if their life does not resemble the mirth portrayed on the screen, that their life is lacking, as if such reminders are necessary.  Music of the season is heard in stores, offices, and sometimes just outside our front door.  Regarding the latter topic, there seem to be those for whom draping their home and yard in a mass of colorful lights and decorations is not enough.  They must also play amplified, tinny, annoying renditions of holiday tunes for hours on end, and in their spirit of dubious generosity, ensure that the rest of the neighborhood is able to “share” in their enthusiasm.  

Some of us seek that ever elusive Holy Grail of the “perfect” holiday season, and all too often, discover that these hopes and aspirations fall far short of the result.  Suicides, divorces, and admissions to alcohol/drug treatment centers are common during and shortly after the winter holiday season.

We can easily forget that the gaiety so prevalent in our midst is not shared by everyone.  There are many who are living on the brink, struggling from paycheck to paycheck (if they are fortunate enough to be employed), ever fearful that one of many possible and unavoidable developments could push them over the edge.  Many of the excesses of the season that we are told are necessary for a “proper” holiday observance requires vast expenditures, with funds that continue to shrink.  For these individuals, this becomes a time of attempts to adopt the “spirit of the season”, coupled with fear that money spent for unnecessaries today will be needed for necessities tomorrow.  

Then there are the millions who are mired in despair, joined by legions of newcomers, who could not have possibly imagined a short time ago that such would become their fate as well.  For those unfortunates, in particular, every reminder of the gaiety of the season becomes a stinging mockery of their destitute condition.  

 

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