William Gibson probes the nature of reality with far more acumen and style than I ever will possess, and yet, to some extent, we are pilgrims on the same path, venturing forward (and backward) into worlds of perception constructed by ourselves and by others, linked both by illusions and solid edifices, by technology and ritual, by habit and memory.
His primary subject in his fiction always has been technology and it has been said that in a sense, he is the father of 'Second Life', and all shared virtual realities in cyberspace. The seed sprang forth from his imagination perhaps to be caught and nurtured by other minds and finally brought into 'being', as far as anything in cyberspace can make any claim to 'be'.
In a recent work, 'Spook Country', a conceptual artist recreates historical moments at the locations where they occurred. His art exists only through the conduit of cyberspace. The work cannot be experienced unless you have the technology. Among other things, in Hollywood, he has re-created the death of River Phoenix, the heart attack of Fitzgerald... If some one had the technology and the co-ordinates, he or she could embark upon a virtual tour of Hollywood's celebrity trauma histories.
I am not a techie and thus cannot convey all the details, but it involves something akin to a GPS system and, as is the case in most of Gibson's fiction, there is far more to this than meets the eye. It is not a novel simply about the aspirations and accomplishments of an artist but is a rich tapestry where spies and politics are interwoven with Gibson's own musings about the essential nature of reality, a philosophical action novel as it were.
From 'Spook Country':
'The world we walk around in would be channels... and given what broadcast television wound up being, that doesn't sound so good. But think about blogs, how each one is actually trying to describe reality...
'But when you look at blogs, where you're most likely to find the real info is in the links. It's contextual, and not only who the blog's linked to, but who's linked to the blog...'
'We're all doing VR, every time we look at a screen. We have been for decades now. We just do it. We didn't need the goggles, the gloves. It just happened. VR was an even more specific way we had of telling us where we were going. Without scaring us too much, right? The locative, though, lots of us are already doing it. But you can't just do the locative with your nervous system. One day you will. We'll have internalised the interface. It'll have evolved to the point where we will forget about it. Then you'll just walk down the street...'
In another chapter, he describes the altar of a woman who practices Santeria as follows:
'Her altar there was a maze of objects, charged with meaning. Vials of foul water, the half-assembled plastic kit of a Soviet bomber, a soldier's felt shoulder patch in purple and yellow, old bottles with bubbles trapped within their glass, air from days gone a hundred years or more. The things comprised a mesh, Juana said, about which the deiteis were more easily manifest.'
William Gibson appears to have an ongoing fascination with Santeria. The religion has been explored in earlier novels as well. The idea that there are 'two sides to the coin' where these deities are concerned is only part of it. For some reason, this particular religion has grown deep roots in his imagination. I have known Wiccans who became obsessed with Santeria. Raymond Buckland, who originally explored his own Northern pagan heritage became fascinated with Santeria as well.
Originally an African religion, it was imported to the Americas with slaves and there married with Roman Catholicism to create a new synthesis of deities and practices. Perhaps one reason why it appeals to Europeans is the way that it incorporates the symbols of European Catholicism (so influential in our civilisation for 2000 years) into a system of belief that is very primal.
The goddess Ochun adopts the persona of Our Lady of Charity, Le Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre, patroness of Cuba.
Ochun has been said to be 'the unseen mother at every gathering'. In the original Yoruba mythology, she was the sole female among the 16 original deities or forces. Without her participation, all attempts at creating the world were fruitless. Cuban tales of Ochun portray her, inter alia, as a woman who was willing to become a prostitute in order to recover her children. She is the primal driving force of fertility and of motherhood. She is the essence of beauty and harmony, mother of Elegba, the Trickster.
As Ochun, Our Lady of Charity assumes the mantle of St. Mary Magdalene to some extent. The sexual aspects of Our Lady in Christianity are suppressed. She is portrayed as the Eternal Virgin, pure and 'undefiled' by human sexual desire or experience. In the Santeria traditions, sexual energy is part of the power of the deity, akin to electricity. In fact, many of the rituals are designed to 'tap into' that energy.
Discussion of Santeria, however, was not my original intention. What interested me most about these two quotes in juxtaposition was the way that religion and magic mirrored the technology of cyberspace and virtual reality. This is a comparison that William Gibson has made in other novels as well.
A truly potent ritual links the believer with a spiritual 'network' that is far more than global in nature as it reaches upward and downward into all other realms, ensnaring the gods and other powers in its links. Or perhaps the Goddess could be perceived as the ever-weaving spider at the very centre of the web, and the believer catches hold of one of the sticky gossamer threads to become part of the construct that distributes power throughout the universe.
In his comment about blogs, he states that the reality contained in them is 'contextual', and that the real information is in the links. In other words, the creation of a post is nothing more than the portal through which writer and reader ultimate connects to the world. Nothing exists in vacuo.
In cyberspace, it is navigation that is the key to power. You can link to the internet and remain ignorant if you cannot find the right links, pinpoint the correct goals. The sheer volume of information in cyberspace can be as much of an obstacle to enlightenment as a blank page might be. The experts are those who possess the power of navigation and at speeds that are dazzling or mind-boggling.
The same is true with respect to magic or religion. Creating a sacred circle or space and conjuring a demon or power within it is only a beginning. Having the ability to control the power or to use it rather than being destroyed by it is the key to success or indeed survival in many cases. One could make a similar analogy with respect to the use of hallucinogenic drugs. Mind-altering experiences, whether drug-induced, ritually-induced or cybernetically-induced can be dangerous to a careless or inexperienced user.
Showing posts with label Nature of Reality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Nature of Reality. Show all posts
Friday, March 26, 2010
Monday, January 28, 2008
Dreams of the Dead
The ancients relied on dreams to predict the future or to advise them as to which course to take in a specific situation. There were temples throughout the ancient world that were devoted to the practice of incubation. This involved spending the night in a chamber inside the temple or at least within the temple precincts in order to receive a visitation either from the gods or some one or something delegated to act as the representative of the gods.
I dreamt last night of some one who died a few years ago. He was my best friend and, in my dream, he had not died, but had almost died. He had disappeared, his house had been sold and his possessions dispersed (as in reality) but he had survived.
In the dream, I was in Manhattan, the city where we originally met in reality, but in the dream he was standing at a counter in a shop, his back to me. I recognised him by his clothing and stance, something impossible or unlikely in reality. In fact, in the dream, he was dressed in a fashion he never would have chosen in reality.
Furthermore, in my dream, he had become addicted to heroin and was attempting to purchase drugs from a chemist. Obviously this twist was inspired by 'Trainspotting' and another film I had seen recently quite late at night. (Does any one wonder about the proliferation of drug addiction films on television lately? I have been awakened from a fitful sleep to 'Candy', 'Trainspotting' and a few other films whose names escape me but all were centred on intravenous and illegal drug use. Not the most pleasant awakening in the middle of the night, especially if the film is showing some one undergoing withdrawals.) In any case, let me make it quite clear that my friend was as far from a drug user in reality as any one could be. In fact, I think it was his refusal to take prescribed necessary medications that contributed to his death.
In my dream, I was astounded by the fortuitous nature of our reunion in Manhattan. I do not live in Manhattan now (either in the dream or in reality) nor do I visit New York often. What were the odds??? In the dream, I was poised to ask him why he had not telephoned me after his survival from his impending death but then realised I no longer had the telephone, having cancelled the service after his death (both in reality and in the dream).
I persuaded him to move into a rather bleak little cottage on my parent's property (in the dream). I waited to hear from him but when he did not contact me, rather to my surprise, given our extraordinary good fortune in having met again, went to visit him. I saw him through a screen window in the throes of terrible withdrawals...
I tried to imagine what could help in these circumstances and decided to bring him one of my cats. He was as much a feline lover as I, both in reality and in the dream. In interacting with the cat, his suffering vanished and he was in both good humour and good health.
He asked if I wished to listen to some music and referred to a very extensive CD collection in the dream. At that point, I marvelled that, despite the loss of everything else, he had managed to retain his music collection. (We both loved classical music in the dream as in reality.)
I have made this rather tedious recital of details from a dream only because it fascinates me how the two worlds cross and intersect. My consciousness and memory in the dream were equal if not greater than that in reality. I remembered every cassette and CD he owned as well as all the valuables he had lost in his 'near-death' experience... in reality, his surviving brother either sold or took all his possessions to the local dump. The dream, however, contained a wealth of detail that was sheer fantasy. It is amazing how our minds create and engineer such impressively detailed 'sets' for our dreams.
Furthermore, once again, I experienced a world that has existed since my early childhood, a world containing detailed cities, roads and buildings that do not exist anywhere except in my dreams. The cities in my dreams run parallel to those in reality. 'London', 'Paris' and 'Rome' exist in my dreams, but their landscapes and planning is quite distinct from the cities I know in reality. The property my parents inherited and one that I revisit again and again in my dreams is very different in dream from reality, but the dream place has a substantial 'reality' of its own that has grown and evolved in dreams over the year. There is no bleak little cottage on that land in reality.
If I had been a 'patient' undergoing incubation in the ancient world, I would have scrutinised my dream and viewed it as a message from the gods or at least a message from the dead. As it is, I view it as a strange combination of films that intruded upon my consciousness while sleeping and wishful thinking. How wonderful it would be if my friend had not died, even if he had become addicted to drugs by some bizarre twist of fate! How wonderful if I could have moved him to the relative safety of a little cottage on some property owned by my family... (Or it is myself here, wishing for some safe haven that does not exist?)
To raise some one from the dead ... That is a concept that has haunted epic poetry, myth, literature and film from time immemorial. In most tales, meddling with the afterlife and attempting to bring a soul BACK leads to danger, misery and tragedy. Even in my dream, I could not bring my friend BACK properly. He was afflicted with an addiction to an illegal substance and moreover one that he evidently was unable to obtain!
The price I paid for my dream is false memories. At the end of the dream, we spent some time with all my pets. Here as well the dead were raised to life again and cats and birds who died in this reality lived again in the dream. Furthermore, the birds not only sang but left their cages to fly to my hand. It ultimately became a dream of paradise in a way, albeit of a rather modest sort.
The false memories engendered by this dream are far more profound and potent than any that could be aroused by simple waking memory at this point. After all, there is an immediacy and 'reality' to dreams. My friend walked and talked with me last night and we spent time with some of my most beloved pets from the past.
Now, forever mixed with the real memories I have of my friend will be memories of this dream. A person created partly of memory and partly from imagination now shadows the real friend I had in this life.
If I had been a patient undergoing incubation in a temple, I would view this dream as some sort of message from the gods or a portent for the future... In fact, I recognise that much of it probably was directly inspired by a film playing on the television as I slept, assimilated into my dream. Bringing my friend back to life, however, was my own contribution to the mix. The strange dream meeting in Manhattan was prompted by a recent unsuccessful attempt to trace one of my best friends from University who moved to Spain. One no doubt can trace every component to a recent thought or influence. Even so, thoughts flit through the mind momentarily, leaving little trace... A dream, on the other hand, can leave emotions in its wake that do not disperse for days. I expect I will be 'haunted' by this dream for some time. To that extent, it now is as much a part of my reality as any 'real' experience.
One day later: My cat died in the night, quite without any warning. I am still stunned. No matter how we try to come to terms with death or believe in an afterlife, it remains extremely difficult to cope with the loss of a loved one, whether animal or human. Lionheart appeared to be in excellent health. There was no indication whatsoever.
I dreamt last night of some one who died a few years ago. He was my best friend and, in my dream, he had not died, but had almost died. He had disappeared, his house had been sold and his possessions dispersed (as in reality) but he had survived.
In the dream, I was in Manhattan, the city where we originally met in reality, but in the dream he was standing at a counter in a shop, his back to me. I recognised him by his clothing and stance, something impossible or unlikely in reality. In fact, in the dream, he was dressed in a fashion he never would have chosen in reality.
Furthermore, in my dream, he had become addicted to heroin and was attempting to purchase drugs from a chemist. Obviously this twist was inspired by 'Trainspotting' and another film I had seen recently quite late at night. (Does any one wonder about the proliferation of drug addiction films on television lately? I have been awakened from a fitful sleep to 'Candy', 'Trainspotting' and a few other films whose names escape me but all were centred on intravenous and illegal drug use. Not the most pleasant awakening in the middle of the night, especially if the film is showing some one undergoing withdrawals.) In any case, let me make it quite clear that my friend was as far from a drug user in reality as any one could be. In fact, I think it was his refusal to take prescribed necessary medications that contributed to his death.
In my dream, I was astounded by the fortuitous nature of our reunion in Manhattan. I do not live in Manhattan now (either in the dream or in reality) nor do I visit New York often. What were the odds??? In the dream, I was poised to ask him why he had not telephoned me after his survival from his impending death but then realised I no longer had the telephone, having cancelled the service after his death (both in reality and in the dream).
I persuaded him to move into a rather bleak little cottage on my parent's property (in the dream). I waited to hear from him but when he did not contact me, rather to my surprise, given our extraordinary good fortune in having met again, went to visit him. I saw him through a screen window in the throes of terrible withdrawals...
I tried to imagine what could help in these circumstances and decided to bring him one of my cats. He was as much a feline lover as I, both in reality and in the dream. In interacting with the cat, his suffering vanished and he was in both good humour and good health.
He asked if I wished to listen to some music and referred to a very extensive CD collection in the dream. At that point, I marvelled that, despite the loss of everything else, he had managed to retain his music collection. (We both loved classical music in the dream as in reality.)
I have made this rather tedious recital of details from a dream only because it fascinates me how the two worlds cross and intersect. My consciousness and memory in the dream were equal if not greater than that in reality. I remembered every cassette and CD he owned as well as all the valuables he had lost in his 'near-death' experience... in reality, his surviving brother either sold or took all his possessions to the local dump. The dream, however, contained a wealth of detail that was sheer fantasy. It is amazing how our minds create and engineer such impressively detailed 'sets' for our dreams.
Furthermore, once again, I experienced a world that has existed since my early childhood, a world containing detailed cities, roads and buildings that do not exist anywhere except in my dreams. The cities in my dreams run parallel to those in reality. 'London', 'Paris' and 'Rome' exist in my dreams, but their landscapes and planning is quite distinct from the cities I know in reality. The property my parents inherited and one that I revisit again and again in my dreams is very different in dream from reality, but the dream place has a substantial 'reality' of its own that has grown and evolved in dreams over the year. There is no bleak little cottage on that land in reality.
If I had been a 'patient' undergoing incubation in the ancient world, I would have scrutinised my dream and viewed it as a message from the gods or at least a message from the dead. As it is, I view it as a strange combination of films that intruded upon my consciousness while sleeping and wishful thinking. How wonderful it would be if my friend had not died, even if he had become addicted to drugs by some bizarre twist of fate! How wonderful if I could have moved him to the relative safety of a little cottage on some property owned by my family... (Or it is myself here, wishing for some safe haven that does not exist?)
To raise some one from the dead ... That is a concept that has haunted epic poetry, myth, literature and film from time immemorial. In most tales, meddling with the afterlife and attempting to bring a soul BACK leads to danger, misery and tragedy. Even in my dream, I could not bring my friend BACK properly. He was afflicted with an addiction to an illegal substance and moreover one that he evidently was unable to obtain!
The price I paid for my dream is false memories. At the end of the dream, we spent some time with all my pets. Here as well the dead were raised to life again and cats and birds who died in this reality lived again in the dream. Furthermore, the birds not only sang but left their cages to fly to my hand. It ultimately became a dream of paradise in a way, albeit of a rather modest sort.
The false memories engendered by this dream are far more profound and potent than any that could be aroused by simple waking memory at this point. After all, there is an immediacy and 'reality' to dreams. My friend walked and talked with me last night and we spent time with some of my most beloved pets from the past.
Now, forever mixed with the real memories I have of my friend will be memories of this dream. A person created partly of memory and partly from imagination now shadows the real friend I had in this life.
If I had been a patient undergoing incubation in a temple, I would view this dream as some sort of message from the gods or a portent for the future... In fact, I recognise that much of it probably was directly inspired by a film playing on the television as I slept, assimilated into my dream. Bringing my friend back to life, however, was my own contribution to the mix. The strange dream meeting in Manhattan was prompted by a recent unsuccessful attempt to trace one of my best friends from University who moved to Spain. One no doubt can trace every component to a recent thought or influence. Even so, thoughts flit through the mind momentarily, leaving little trace... A dream, on the other hand, can leave emotions in its wake that do not disperse for days. I expect I will be 'haunted' by this dream for some time. To that extent, it now is as much a part of my reality as any 'real' experience.
One day later: My cat died in the night, quite without any warning. I am still stunned. No matter how we try to come to terms with death or believe in an afterlife, it remains extremely difficult to cope with the loss of a loved one, whether animal or human. Lionheart appeared to be in excellent health. There was no indication whatsoever.
Thursday, September 27, 2007
Paradise and Trust
I posted some photographs of flowers and musings upon my own state of mind. Now I ask: Why should pain and struggle be glorified by any one (including myself) over simple contentment?
It is amazing how much our own personal experiences define our emotions. It now seems to me that there was a rather 'Gothic' attitude in my responses to plants and landscapes. Perhaps I shall learn to be at home in Paradise after all...
As a young girl, I thought that tropical island fantasies were too seductive. The Viking influence in me called for a more difficult road, a steep and perilous path that, should determination be stronger than discouragement, one day would lead to the highest point between Heaven and Earth.
Is it possible for a person simply to accept a gift of life when it is magnificant and utterly perfect? Experience often makes us distrust a trap when a desire is too seductive, when every element appears to conspire to offer our secret heart's desire.
In that complexity alone, one can create a maze of misery. Trust and faith ultimately must triumph or happiness, even if it were a reality, is soon refashioned into illusion by a doubting mind.
Although this is not my French music page, I feel that a song by Charles Aznavour would be apt at this point:
'Emmenez-Moi' by Charles Aznavour
Vers les docks où le poids et l'ennui
Me courbent le dos
Ils arrivent le ventre alourdi
De fruits les bateaux
Ils viennent du bout du monde
Apportant avec eux
Des idées vagabondes
Aux reflets de ciels bleus
De mirages
Traînant un parfum poivré
De pays inconnus
Et d'éternels étés
Où l'on vit presque nus
Sur les plages
Moi qui n'ai connu toute ma vie
Que le ciel du nord
J'aimerais débarbouiller ce gris
En virant de bord
Emmenez-moi au bout de la terre
Emmenez-moi au pays des merveilles
Il me semble que la misère
Serait moins pénible au soleil
Dans les bars à la tombée du jour
Avec les marins
Quand on parle de filles et d'amour
Un verre à la main
Je perds la notion des choses
Et soudain ma pensée
M'enlève et me dépose
Un merveilleux été
Sur la grève
Où je vois tendant les bras
L'amour qui comme un fou
Court au devant de moi
Et je me pends au cou
De mon rêve
Quand les bars ferment, que les marins
Rejoignent leur bord
Moi je rêve encore jusqu'au matin
Debout sur le port
Un beau jour sur un rafiot craquant
De la coque au pont
Pour partir je travaillerais dans
La soute à charbon
Prenant la route qui mène
A mes rêves d'enfant
Sur des îles lointaines
Où rien n'est important
Que de vivre
Où les filles alanguies
Vous ravissent le cœur
En tressant m'a t'on dit
De ces colliers de fleurs
Qui enivrent
Je fuirais laissant là mon passé
Sans aucun remords
Sans bagage et le cœur libéré
En chantant très fort.
The lyrics really embody the Epicurian philosophy and the attitude of living for the day, but it was the refrain and not the body of the song that occurred to me here:
'Take me to the edge of the earth, take me to marvelous countries.' If 'misery is less painful in the sunshine', then surely happiness would be magnified in the same conditions!
Tuesday, January 2, 2007
Magic and Reality
For any one who studies or practices magic, all seasons are magical, as 'natural magic' seeks to comprehend and harness natural powers. The season of the Winter Solstice always has felt particularly magical to me, however, and the way that Christian traditions incorporate ancient pagan ones is for me a compelling reason to participate in all of these beautiful rituals.
Children fascinated with magic often think in terms of making things happen that are contrary to 'natural law' but I always believed that magic was a matter rather of tapping into natural law. There is an old magical analogy of life as a river. The magician or practitioner of magic simply learns how to divert the flow of the water.
By this means, it is possible to change the course of one's life or the course of events to some extent. To what extent it is possible to affect natural powers such as the wind and rain would depend on the skill of the practitioner. It is interesting to compare a modern meteorologist with an ancient witch. After all, they have discovered that clouds can be 'seeded' with rain, haven't they? I am not much of a scientist alas. I often wish I had found science more interesting as a child. It appeared dry and tedious, when in fact it deals with the very structure of our planet and our existence here.
Unfortunately, Christianity and Science presented themselves as adversaries to some extent in past centuries and this ridiculous emnity has poisoned the wells of knowledge in the West. The 'Age of Enlightenment' did not improve the relationship between Christianity and Science, seeking to disprove the existence of God and attempting to set Science as a Deity in His/Her stead, rather than acknowledging a binding relationship between them. Islam, on the other hand, declares that science is a matter of learning more about Allah. To love Allah is to try to understand all of Allah's creations. 'Nearness to God' is achieved with knowledge rather than ignorance.
I am not an advocate for any organised religion, but I do believe that a life without a spiritual foundation is an empty shell of an existence. Religions merely offer signposts and often these signposts misdirect, but at the heart of every great religion must be a desire to understand as much as possible about the 'other realm', that world that we cannot see and yet of which each one of us is aware to varying degrees.
Some perceive this 'other realm' as one which is above us somewhere in the heavens, where some see it as another layer of our own reality. I have had an awareness of layers of existence on more than one occasion, and this awareness was so vast and complex that my senses could not support it. It was akin to sensory 'overload'. I believe that my friend Fleming has experienced this as well.
Of course, there are those who might say that this sounds suspiciously like madness... In my opinion, the fundamental difference between a madman and a seer is that the seer has some control over his/her visions and always retains the power of return. The madman, on the other hand, cannot return to this reality at will.
I feared that as a child, actually. I longed to visit other realms but I feared that if I allowed myself to believe too strongly in any fantasy, I might find myself imprisoned in it.
Children fascinated with magic often think in terms of making things happen that are contrary to 'natural law' but I always believed that magic was a matter rather of tapping into natural law. There is an old magical analogy of life as a river. The magician or practitioner of magic simply learns how to divert the flow of the water.
By this means, it is possible to change the course of one's life or the course of events to some extent. To what extent it is possible to affect natural powers such as the wind and rain would depend on the skill of the practitioner. It is interesting to compare a modern meteorologist with an ancient witch. After all, they have discovered that clouds can be 'seeded' with rain, haven't they? I am not much of a scientist alas. I often wish I had found science more interesting as a child. It appeared dry and tedious, when in fact it deals with the very structure of our planet and our existence here.
Unfortunately, Christianity and Science presented themselves as adversaries to some extent in past centuries and this ridiculous emnity has poisoned the wells of knowledge in the West. The 'Age of Enlightenment' did not improve the relationship between Christianity and Science, seeking to disprove the existence of God and attempting to set Science as a Deity in His/Her stead, rather than acknowledging a binding relationship between them. Islam, on the other hand, declares that science is a matter of learning more about Allah. To love Allah is to try to understand all of Allah's creations. 'Nearness to God' is achieved with knowledge rather than ignorance.
I am not an advocate for any organised religion, but I do believe that a life without a spiritual foundation is an empty shell of an existence. Religions merely offer signposts and often these signposts misdirect, but at the heart of every great religion must be a desire to understand as much as possible about the 'other realm', that world that we cannot see and yet of which each one of us is aware to varying degrees.
Some perceive this 'other realm' as one which is above us somewhere in the heavens, where some see it as another layer of our own reality. I have had an awareness of layers of existence on more than one occasion, and this awareness was so vast and complex that my senses could not support it. It was akin to sensory 'overload'. I believe that my friend Fleming has experienced this as well.
Of course, there are those who might say that this sounds suspiciously like madness... In my opinion, the fundamental difference between a madman and a seer is that the seer has some control over his/her visions and always retains the power of return. The madman, on the other hand, cannot return to this reality at will.
I feared that as a child, actually. I longed to visit other realms but I feared that if I allowed myself to believe too strongly in any fantasy, I might find myself imprisoned in it.
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