*Congressional Reform Act of 2011*, now *2012*

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Ffolkes,
At last, someone who gets it!…. I will sign this in a New York second when it becomes a petition….. I don’t normally send stuff like this via email, or post twice in one day, but I found this on Facebook this morning, and this is the proper venue for it to get to everyone who can make a difference….you.

Warren Buffett, “I could end the deficit in 5 minutes,” he told CNBC. “You just pass a law that says that anytime there is a deficit of more than 3% of GDP, all sitting members of Congress are ineligible for re-election. The 26th amendment (granting the right to vote for 18 year-olds) took only 3 months & 8 days to be ratified! Why? Simple! The people demanded it. That was in 1971…before computers, e-mail, cell phones, etc. Of the 27 amendments to the  Constitution, seven (7) took 1 year or less to become the law of the land…all because of public pressure.

Warren Buffet is asking each addressee to forward this email to a minimum of twenty people on their address list; in turn ask each of those to do likewise. In three days, most people in The United States of America will have the
message. This is one idea that really should be passed around.

*Congressional Reform Act of 2011* (too late, 2012 is here, so let’s delay this no longer….gigoid)

1. No Tenure / No Pension. A Congressman collects a salary while in office
and receives no pay when they are out of office.

2. Congress (past, present & future) participates in Social Security. All
funds in the Congressional retirement fund move to the Social Security
system immediately. All future funds flow into the Social Security system,
and Congress participates with the American people. It may not be used for
any other purpose.

3. Congress can purchase their own retirement plan, just as all Americans
do.

4. Congress will no longer vote themselves a pay raise. Congressional pay
will rise by the lower of CPI or 3%.

5. Congress loses their current health care system and participates in the
same health care system as the American people.

6. Congress must equally abide by all laws they impose on the American
people.

7. All contracts with past and present Congressmen are void effective 1/1/12.
The American people did not make this contract with Congressmen. Congressmen
made all these contracts for themselves. Serving in Congress is an honor,
not a career. The Founding Fathers envisioned citizen legislators, so ours
should serve their term’s), then go home and back to work.

If each person contacts a minimum of twenty people then it will only take
three days for most people (in the U.S.) to receive the message. Maybe it is
time.

THIS IS HOW YOU (WE) FIX CONGRESS!!!!! If you agree with the above, pass it on.

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

In the eye of the storm, laughing….

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Ffolkes,
The Muse is near, whispering softly in my ear, sweet phrases to warm the heart and mind. Caught up, time creeps in tiny shoes to a new garden, where, ahh, magnolia, lavender, honeysuckle, and roses reside! Breathing in each essence fills another sense, and another, and another, until, breathless, powerful, bright images in my inner eye crash from side to side, too many to take in all at once; just flashes here, of cunning birds and fiery hair, of passionate lovers; and more images there, of sad-eyed minstrels and passive bears. Kings, and queens, and little tailors, too, parading past like wraiths, gossiping of society in the underworlds. Elegant women, and fashionable men, always guarded carefully, never to see the pain/despair of their own making, never learning to laugh, never learning to live. As the Muse slips away, the calliope winds down to silence, and I am released from thrall, empty now, yet more whole…..
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Far or forgot to me is near;
Shadow and sunlight are the same;
The vanished gods to me appear;
And one to me are shame and fame.
They reckon ill who leave me out;
When me they fly, I am the wings;
I am the doubter and the doubt,
And I the hymn the Brahmin sings.
— Ralph Waldo Emerson, Brahma

And what was it the Brahmin sang? A song of life. THE song of life. The song we all sing, every day, every minute, every second of every hour, our life sings us along with time. Do we sing, or  are we the song? We may never know, and it will never matter; the song still sounds, and while it sings, we may dance. When we dance, poems conceived come to life. When we live, we are the music, and the poem is how we dance our life. It may not make sense, but it makes sense anyway, doesn’t it?……Music is life, and life is the song we sing; as long as we live, the music will play, the song will be sung, and the dance, oh, the dance, it will go on……

Living Dead
the path is
chosen, to live forever is to die
forever.

To not know when you’ll
die
is to find
life
wherever you are.
— Alagad

More proof, or at least evidence, that life is where you find it…..you just gotta keep your eyes and mind open, so it doesn’t slap you upside the head….
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“If my decomposing carcass helps nourish the roots of a juniper tree or the wings of a vulture – that is immortality enough for me. And as much as anyone deserves.” — Edward Abbey

Good attitude, dude! This is true humility, and the mark of true wisdom lies handsomely upon Edward’s brow. This is not your normal Pearl of Virtual Wisdom, it goes beyond that, into the realm of real wisdom, the kind you can use every day, only to find it never grows old, or untrue. This is the kind of attitude toward life that could get you into the Christian Heaven, even if one had been born and died a pagan, because if there is a God up there who really cares about this sort of thing, She/He would recognize when someone had gotten the message, even if it wasn’t the message that was sent. This is the sort of humility that one sees from a saint, or a sadhi, or a master yogi, or a master of Tao. The first shall be last, and the last shall be first…….
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“The problem … is that we have run out of dinosaurs to form oil with. Scientists working for the Department of Energy have tried to form oil using other animals; they’ve piled thousands of tons of sand and Middle Eastern countries on top of cows, raccoons, haddock, laboratory rats, etc., but so far all they have managed to do is run up an enormous bulldozer-rental bill and anger a lot of Middle Eastern persons.  None of the animals turned into oil, although most of the laboratory rats developed cancer.” — Dave Barry, Postpetroleum Guzzler

Wickedly funny!…wonderful twist of the psyche to describe real events as scathing satire…..Dave forgot to mention that one of the reasons these attempts to make oil were so widely condemned by the Middle Easterners, was because they included using dead Middle Eastern people along with the other carbon based life forms they were bombing. Hell, it’d piss me off, too….it already does, and I wasn’t there. Actually, I’m pissed mostly because the government blokes figured they would be better off if they lied to us about why we were interfering in the Middle East; they didn’t HAVE to tell us it was all about the dictator, and saving all the poor Muslims from their own mullahs. They could have just come out and said, “hey, our oil supplies are looking a bit chancy here; we need to go over and secure some more oil producing countries as our protectorates or something, so you all don’t have to worry about filling up your gas-guzzling SUV’s for Memorial Day weekend. You will however, have to pay four dollars or more a gallon, to help pay for the war, but, hey, what are a few sacrifices in the all-important obsessive pursuit of leisure, and the joy of consuming more than you produce? And it only cost 150,000, more or less, civilian Iraqi’s their lives……there’s plenty more where they came from, right?…..

“The history of the race, and each individual’s experience, are thick with evidence that a truth is not hard to kill and that a lie told well is immortal.” — Mark Twain (Samuel Clemens) (1835-1910) — Advice to Youth (published 1923)
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Then gently scan your brother man,
Still gentler sister woman;
Though they may gang a kennin’ wrang,
To step aside is human.
— Robert Burns (1759-1796) — Address to the Unco Guid

Nice…. no comment needed. Just read, ponder, & enjoy……and it’s good advice, as well……
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Those who are skilled in combat do not become angered, those who are skilled at winning do not become afraid. Thus the wise win before the fight, while the ignorant fight to win.

Here is a very subtle, yet powerful observation, one whose veracity I can personally affirm. I figured out at a fairly young age that people couldn’t always be trusted to act honorably, or even sensibly, on a consistent basis. I also noted that on the occasions when two people ended up in a dispute, it was generally for that reason, that one or both of them was being irrational. As a final conclusion, I observed that in situations where physical force is threatened, or more simply, in a fight, the longer it went on, the higher the chance that I would suffer injury, or worse. This was unacceptable to me, so I began my education in the martial arts with that purpose in mind, to remove fighting as a means of settling a dispute from my existence.

I found that what is stated above is absolute truth; when one is confident of their ability to deal with violence without coming to harm, fear is removed as a factor in the outcome, instead serving as motivation and ally in the quest for a successful result. Without fear, the mind remains clear, and the correct strategy for success is more easily seen. The absence of fear, besides enhancing our mental state, also improves physical performance; the concept of “freezing”, or of reactions being slowed down from the paralyzing effect of fear, is prevented from being a factor. In short, you get faster, and smarter.

This simple fact, that fear is eliminated, is the strongest ally a person can have in such situations, and greatly improves one’s chances of avoiding injury, and defeat. Even defeat is more palatable, for having done all one can do, and for the lessons there to be learned that can help the next time someone gives in to their bozoid tendencies, at a time and place that makes it impossible to ignore, ridicule, or redirect……

“In a philosophical dispute, he gains most who is defeated, since he learns most.” — Epicurus
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Some days it just goes easier than others. As I’m yet unsure as to which sort of day this is (there has been evidence of more than one possible path today could take), I will count my blessings, and declare this one “finis!” As far as I intend to take it anyway…..I do have SOME compassion for others! At any rate, y’all take care out there….it’s getting pretty weird…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

That’s not a real basilisk, is it?….

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Ffolkes,
It’s morning, and I mean that in a good way…..of course, I could be lying. Or, alternately, I could be telling the truth. There’s no way to really know, is there? All human communication revolves around that one little question, to wit: Is this idiot telling the truth, or is he living up to the poor expectations of the world around him, and lying his little butt off?  I never thought about it before, but it turns out that when we sit down to read something, we are expecting the truth.

We just naturally assume (or perhaps not so naturally at all….) that the person of whom we have requested information, or are merely conversing with, is going to deal fairly, and tell the truth. But, you know something? The person to whom we are speaking has given no guarantees of the that, not usually. We don’t walk up and begin by saying, “Where is the men’s room, and please don’t lie to me….?”, now, do we? No we don’t. We just assume we’re getting the real deal, when in fact, we could be wandering around in a daze, looking as confused as we really are….
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“Idolatry is committed, not merely by setting up false gods, but also by setting up false devils; by making men afraid of war or alcohol, or economic law, when they should be afraid of spiritual corruption and cowardice.” — G. K. Chesterton, Illustrated London News, 9/11/09

Here is a line you probably won’t see in the letters to the editor section these days, though I see it did at least get published. It’s a pretty good example of how the beloved ruling class runs things; they tell the public what they should be afraid of, and shroud their lies in partial truths. They make demons out of the regular folks who live in another country, telling the public how they want to kill us and take away our freedoms, of which they are supposedly jealous.

I’ll tell you what, I don’t think they’re jealous any more; I think they’re afraid of us, because we keep coming over and dropping bombs on them when they won’t sell us enough oil, or try to jack up the price too much. I think this country has no moral justification for the way we treat other nations; there can be none when the primary motivating factor is so obviously the money. Where’s the money? Just ask that question and watch them scurry around like the little parasites that they are…..
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As I learn to trust the Universe, I no longer need to carry a big stick, semiautomatic pistol, and bowie knife.

This process is running backward for me. The more I experience, and the more I observe in the world around me, the stronger becomes my urge to arm myself in more than merely a figurative sense. And if one intends to obtain arms for use, there’s no sense in them being of second rate or smaller caliber.

I figure a 16 gauge pump action over & under, a good rifle or two, two or three different range handguns, and assorted peripheral weapons of a sharp nature, for both hand-to-hand (daggers, stilettos, bayonets, swords) and at-a-distance fighting (shuriken, throwing knives, blowguns; maybe a slingshot with explosive pellets, or a crossbow with explosive bolts, just in case). That list ought to allow the flexibility for me deal with most situations. If not, well, it won’t be for lack of planning, or fire power, on my part…..
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“Virtue is its own reward.  There’s a pleasure in doing good which sufficiently pays itself.” — Sir John Vanbrugh, The Relapse

….A few days ago, we (that’s the royal ‘we’, meaning me, or I, or both of us in here…) discussed the reverse of this proposition, to wit: “Stupidity, like Virtue, is its own reward.”–David E. Williamson. It was the contemplation of this subject from which the inspiration for axiom #4 of Peruaosophy sprang. That axiom reads, “Excellence is its own reward”, and remains as one of the lynch-pins of my personal beliefs.

I discovered the truth of this proposition at a young age, and the attitude served me well enough over the years that I was adjudged as valedictorian of my high school graduating class. Mind you, that’s not a guarantor of success in life; there aren’t any guarantees issued to any of us for that. But, it sure is a good way to give what one actually does the greatest possibility of succeeding. It is certainly more effective than just doing the minimum required, with the bonus of feeling a sense of accomplishment and satisfaction that never accompanies a half-hearted effort……
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“The hardest part about gaining any new idea is sweeping out the false idea occupying that niche. As long as that niche is occupied, evidence and proof and logical demonstration get nowhere. But once the niche is emptied of the wrong idea that has been filling it – once you can honestly say, “I don’t know,” then it becomes possible to get at the truth.” — Robert A. Heinlein

Bob obviously sees this in a clear light. But the way he said this seems to imply that emptying out a false belief is not extremely difficult to do, and can even be useful in assisting others to see the light. That just isn’t so. Nothing, absolutely nothing, is more difficult than getting someone to give up on a false belief, especially if it has been held since childhood. People treat these types of beliefs as if they were carved into stone, sent down from heaven on a tablet carved by the hand of God, because they were led to believe in its truth at an age when they had no preconceptions, or any defense against them, and accepted everything they were told by their parents as valid information, with no need for verification.

As social creatures, we need to be able to make that assumption, that what others tell us is true. But reality often differs from our assumptions, because a lot of humans don’t abide by the same rules as everyone else does. A significant proportion of people, knowing that others tend to believe what they’re told, will use that characteristic to take advantage, lying their little hearts out to achieve the goals on their agenda, not caring at all whether they have used the other person selfishly.

It is therefore in our best interests to submit any information from others to our own personal crap detector, to determine whether the data can be trusted…. everyone has one, everyone is issued one at birth. Most folks tend to forget it is there, so it gets rusty from disuse; it’s there, though. One merely needs to learn to use it on a daily, or even hourly basis….. and don’t be afraid to use the delete button with joyful abandon……
___________________________________

A rabbi spoke with God about heaven and hell. “I will show you hell,” God said, and they went into a room which had a large pot of stew in the middle. The smell was delicious, but around the pot sat people who were famished and desperate. All were holding spoons with very long handles which reached to the pot, but, because the handles were longer than their arms, it was impossible to get the stew back into their mouths.

“Now I will show you heaven”, God said, and they went into an identical room. There was a similar pot of stew, the smell was delicious, and the people had identical spoons, but they were well-nourished and happy. “It’s simple,’ God said. “You see, they have learned to feed one another”. — Medieval Jewish story

Now, see, isn’t that a fine little parable? Another piece of evidence, in my mind, that all of the major forms of religious belief have their roots in the truth, even if the reality of life they observe and pursue is based on unjustifiable faith. When one stops to think about it, that is actually a pretty good description of how most, if not all, of the major religions operate. The basic truths they espouse are the same, for the most part, (humility, honor, compassion, justice, charity), but the method of expressing those virtues varies widely, according to cultural habits that dictate the specific form it takes.

In simpler terms, people invariably distort the basic premises upon which religions were founded, turning the articles of faith into a tool for manipulating other people, for their own personal gain. It has happened time after time throughout mankind’s short but eventful history, and continues to this very day. It’s also the primary reason that I avoid most churches and religions as I go about my business; the interactions invariably turn into dangerous neighborhoods of discussion, often ending in clashes of discordant argument, and mutual resentment. Better all around that I just leave them to their own devices…..which I tend to do, religiously….
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Not a bad morning’s work, if I do say so…. it’s certainly more than good enough for government work, a beast with which I am all-too-familiar. Brr, makes me shiver, just remembering….. well, another day out there to explore. Let’s see what trouble we can stir up today….. Y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Unless the Hottentot objects, we’ll have the nachos….

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Ffolkes,
FATAL LOGIC ERROR – Engage Brain and (R)etry  Click….ah, there we go. Okay, back online. Sorry, got caught in an early morning endless loop, and almost couldn’t find the kill switch. But all is well now. Well, all is as well as its gonna get, what with global warming, overpopulation, growing famine and drought, conservative reactionism, and this year’s version of the swine flu. At least the ozone layer is okay….oh, wait, that’s almost gone too. Hmmm, okay, so maybe things aren’t all that great right now. But, at least you still have your health, yes?…..
___________________________________

“Winston Churchill, the present would-be British Fuhrer, is a person with a range of ideas limited to the adventures and opportunities of British political life.  He has never given evidence of thinking extensively, or of any scientific or literary capacity…  His ideology, picked up in the garrison life of India, on the reefs of South Africa, the maternal home and the conversation of wealthy Conservative households, is a pitiful jumble of incoherent nonsense.  A boy scout is better equipped.  He has served his purpose and it is high time he retired upon his laurels before we forget the debt we owe him…” — H. G. Wells, Tribune article, December 15, 1944

History is written by the winners….and Winnie had way more than his 15 minutes in the spotlight at center stage….. which is perhaps why it seems to mean more when such a damning criticism comes from such an unimpeachable source. H.G. Wells can certainly be considered one of the most erudite and realistic of modern philosophers; certainly his imagination of the possibilities inherent in new technology certifies him as more than merely intelligent, even somewhat spookily prophetic.

As time goes on, our society continues to advance very tidily along the same pathway into the future that Mr. Wells envisioned when gripped in the powerful and creative fist of his inspiration. His condemnation of Churchill’s curmudgeonly manners and persona are perhaps justified in the main; however, how can one not appreciate the attitude needed to carry on this famous conversation by the PM at his finest: “Mr. Prime Minister!” said the outraged Duchess of Whatever, “you are a drunken boor!” “Churchill merely responded with, “Certainly, madame, but tomorrow morning I won’t be drunk, and you will still be ugly.”…. If it’s a true anecdote, (I haven’t personally tried to verify its provenance…), it’s well worth an occasional re-telling, if only to remind us of proper protocol when consorting with those who wear sable and ermine to dinner…..
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“I may not understand what you say, but I’ll defend to your death my right to deny it.” — Albert Alligator, in Pogo, 26 September 1951

It’s an election year, and the circus has started early. Six of the eight supposed candidates for the Republican nominee who will be offered up as a sacrifice at the altar of Obama next November have already talked themselves out of the contest (such as it is…), and now we are sentenced to at least six or eight more months of only three brands of ignorance, any one of which would be a disaster in the making as President.

If any one of the three currently leading candidates should, through some form of dark magic, happen to be elected, I’d wager serious money that we would be on the brink of World War III within a matter of weeks….it’s pretty scary. Especially when one of the front runners admits to being committed to passing a law that would make it illegal to operate the government of this country using any standards but those of the conservative right.

Yes, folks, the fanatical right-wing dingbats are coming out of the closet, and we had best remember that they too are heavily armed citizens. Only our own right to bear arms has kept them under control this long; if we aren’t careful, we’ll be living under strictly religious precepts, whether we like it or not…..

“Here’s to the New Boss, same as the Old Boss…and I get on my knees and pray we don’t get fooled again.” — Pete Townshend
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If on my theme I rightly think,
There are five reasons why men drink,–
Good wine, a friend, because I ‘m dry,
Or lest I should be by and by,
Or any other reason why.
— John Sirmond (c. 1589-1649) — Causae Bibendi

Beautifully stated! This is the type of poetry one wants on hand when some busybody asks why one is taking a drink, any time they consider it inappropriate. There’s just something about seeing a man having a drink that arouses the outrage of women (mostly of Mrs. Grundy’s ilk), preachers, reformers, and Second Lieutenants, every time. It’s getting so a man can’t sit down to a bottle of beer without some blathering idiot telling him he’s gonna get fat, or trying to make him feel like a heel for not spending that money on some charity of their choosing.

Don’t stop me now, I’m on a roll….. no, not really. I just think it’s weird that so many people feel like everyone should live by their rules, and are not shy about telling everyone they meet that they are the best judge of what (they think) should be considered acceptable behavior. Nine times out of nine, you’ll find that these moralists (a more polite way of saying bigoted, hypocritical assholes)  are guilty of every act they ascribe to others, or, if not, sure wish deep down that they could be…..
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But you shall not escape my iambics.

Soft, sinuous patterns of unearthly beauty blithely commune with sinking stars, as pale shadows of former virtue hover near, ever clean, ever tolerant. These unbidden habits are worn with age and care, ready now for dissolution, welcoming gladly the kiss of death’s handmaiden. Unknown to all, the child stands aside, and weeps for the lost days of youth, days that now shall never be, nor yearned for ever after. Only darkness shall lay upon the landscape, cold, hard, and eternal.

Such then are the signs and portents as we enter into the unknown future, and they are grave indeed. Uncertainty will be our sole companion, as the search for hope yields no result. The lamentations of the gods shall sound the elegy for Man, who never learned to see the gift that was made, so many echoes ago, in the hopeful past; thus will we pass this plane of existence as we came, baffled and afraid…..

Well, sorry….this was supposed to be a poem, but it just ran away with me there for a few minutes. I’ll have to come back later and look at it with fresh eyes….. Okay, so it’s not bad, as a not-poem goes. I’ve certainly created worse…..I’ll just have to put it out there, and let it fly or not, as it chooses… (I do tend to anthropomorphize fairly often; its a gift…..)
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Teach me to feel another’s woe,
To hide the fault I see;
That mercy I to others show,
That mercy show to me.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
— The Universal Prayer, Stanza 10

Perfect poem! The Golden Rule never smelled sweeter, and could rightly be called a rose in this guise, but by no other name would it smell as sweet. Who knows what I really mean by that? I certainly don’t; it sounds good, though, eh? I’ll settle for that…
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Having thus discharged another morning’s duty (remember, duty is a choice!), I shall now release your attention from my control, and send you on your way into the day, hopefully infused with good karma and positive attitude, our best weapons against the minions of evil that cross our paths each day. Y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid –The *only* duly authorized Computer Curmudgeon.

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Parsing algorithms at the Sign of the Four….

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Ffolkes,
Often times the words flow freely, tripping out lightly to rest momentarily before someone’s eye, then fluttering away to tease and please the children playing nearby. The flow grows, and the the pace increases, the words assume more urgency, more passion, more, more, more, until they are practically exploding onto the page, assaulting the eyes demanding meaning, scaring the children as they rush by, intent on mayhem. The flow then slows, reassumes the passive, lazy feeling of a late summer day, long lemonade in hand, with the only purpose of killing time, killing it so well, no charges are brought. But then, for some reason, the flow stops…… and I take another sip of coffee…..let’s dive in, shall we?…..
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Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale,
And nightly to the listening earth
Repeats the story of her birth;
While all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
— Joseph Addison (1672-1719) — Ode

I don’t have any comment here, not of any great profundity. I just like this poem, for several reasons that are too personal to go into just now; it would take too much time, trying to explain something that I don’t fully understand within myself in a way that would be understandable to others. This actually happens a lot to me when I am judging art; I  don’t know much of anything about painting, or sculpting, or the finer points of writing poetry, only what I’ve read. But I do know what I like, and what I don’t, so I just go by that, and let the rest take care of itself as best it can….and I know I like this poem…….you enjoy it too, so this won’t be a complete waste of our time together, what?….
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“I, for one, do not think homosexuality is the latest advance over heterosexuality in the scale of human evolution. Homosexuality is a sickness, just as are baby-rape or wanting to become head of General Motors.” — Eldridge Cleaver

While I can in no way agree with Eldridge’s opinion on homosexuality, I do agree with his definition of sickness, one that goes beyond the usual defined parameters of the concept of sickness, past the physical into the behavioral. Pedophilia can, I think, be placed in the category of something that everyone recognizes, as an abnormality that produces behavior that is extreme, to put it decorously. Unfortunately, we also have another subset of humanity that engages in avarice and power-seeking in the extreme, who have somehow convinced most of the rest of humanity that they are not only not sick or broken, but are just the type of folks that anyone could want in a position of responsibility.

Now, obviously, that’s a crock of BS. No rational person would ever consider taking the reins of power over others without serious doubts as to their ability to do the job well; such jobs preclude any but the most serendipitous results by their very nature. But, to those folks who want that power, it is their ticket to ride the gravy train of public service, and they will lie, cheat, and steal to whatever degree is necessary to secure their desired place atop the heap.

For the most part, we let them do it, if only because we don’t have the ruthlessness and disregard for human rights that are the hallmark characteristics of those who would be king. But then, if we did, we would be them, and that is just as unacceptable. We just need to find a way to keep them as poorly funded and poorly supported as possible, so they don’t do as much harm in their thrashing about…..
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“Look at these three words written larger than all the rest, and with special pride never written before or since — tall words, proudly saying “We the people” .. these words and the words that follow … must apply to everyone or they mean nothing.” — Kirk, “The Omega Glory,” stardate unknown.

“No one need think that the world can be ruled without blood. The civil sword shall and must be red and bloody.” — Martin Luther

The American Dream isn’t as shiny as it used to be; the fact of its existence only contributes to the feeling that it is an unattainable dream, a lie promulgated to keep the ignorant going each day to their little job, eyes focused on the big bright picture of SUCCESS! that hovers ever out of reach. Each successive generation who is disappointed once again, who sees no fundamental changes in the way things are run in the world, soon understands that it is mostly futile to fight the status quo. Thus, the soil of American thought grows to be ever more fertile ground to nurture change, more ready to accept the fact that it is probably a good time to hold the next American Revolution, wherein the forces of reason will battle the forces of ignorance, hopefully to settle the matter, once and for all………. now that we’ve had our serious political discussion for the morning, here are a few thoughts in a lighter vein, if no less sarcastic….

“He who knows nothing, loves nothing. He who can do nothing understands nothing. He who understands nothing is worthless.” — Paracelsus
(But he can still run for President! This is like a job want-ad for a Republican POTUS, and all the current candidates fit right in there….)

“Genius may have its limitations, but stupidity is not thus handicapped.” — Elbert Hubbard

What this country needs is more unemployed politicians.

“Congressional terms should be … ten to twenty with no possibility of parole.” — Walt Handelsman

A little sweet, a little tart, a little savory, and you’ve got a flavorful stew…..
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“Marjoe and Doshen were meditating in a field when Doshen just went and smacked Marjoe upside the head.  “What the hell did you do that for?” asked Marjoe.  “Nyuck nyuck nyuck,” replied Doshen. At that moment, Marjoe ordered pizza.

Hackish humor can be pretty subtle. This isn’t particularly surprising, as working in abstruse fields of mathematics can cause some interesting changes to the mind, leaving it open to new vistas of previously little-known parts of reality. This koan is a clear indicator of this kind of vision; it is true to the principles of Zen thought, while immersing itself completely into modern hacker culture, with an almost calculated  irreverence thrown in for decorative purposes. The funniest part of it, to me, is that I can see myself having this interchange with some of my friends; and, yes, we are all considered a bit strange by the Mundanes. At least it keeps me off the streets….

“Thousands of candles can be lighted from a single candle, and the life of the candle will not be shortened. Happiness never decreases by being shared.” — Buddha
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If reality wants to get in touch, it knows where I am.

Am I a dreamer, dreaming that I write? Or am I a writer, writing my dream? Reality is always a slippery slope, if only because taking one’s attention away from dealing with it can be either help or hindrance. And only in retrospect can one tell which took place….. I always liked the way Philip K. Dick defined reality, as “…what is left when you stop believing in it.” This viewpoint shows both insight and experience, in a man who should know; he spent much of his life struggling with a form of Schizophrenia that makes any perception suspect, even those we hold to be most familiar.

It is no picnic trying to get along in life when one’s sense of what is real is constantly being challenged by what is perceived. It can’t be easy to be in a crowd when one believes they can hear what others are thinking; we who do not suffer from this sort of delusion or hallucination cannot really understand how terrifying it is to live with this every day.

I’ve had some struggles of my own in this respect; reality takes on a very dark, foreboding aspect when one is suffering clinical depression, and the climb back into the light can be an exhausting effort. So, one learns to adjust feelings in ourselves, to make changes to the only part of reality over which we have any power to do so. We can change ourselves, if we wish, but we cannot change anything in reality, beyond exercising our means of perceiving it. In my younger days, when I knew so much more than I know now, I once wrote, “true power is control over the routes of perception.” I didn’t know then that I was closer to the mark than I thought……
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As the words flow gently toward the final destination,let us bid adieu to another trip through the nether portions of my mind. I’m happy that I could still find my way out; we could have been stuck there for days!….. Y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Tickets to Oz aren’t cheap…

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Ffolkes,
Man, oh man! Sometimes that first sip of good coffee in the morning is almost like a small orgasm. As its warmth and flavor permeates my mouth and throat, every tight nerve and muscle seems to smooth out and relax, my eyes clear like the fog is burning off, and every part of me feels at one with the universe, if only for a split second. Or maybe that’s just me….. but it sure makes the task of flogging this old body to get up and move somewhat less of a challenge. Now, if I could only fall asleep easily, all would be well. Seems like my brain doesn’t want to shut down at night, unless I bludgeon my consciousness with 3 or 4 adult beverages. And who wants to do that every night? Not me….ah well, no sense in whining about it now; I’m up. So I guess I may as well get on with it…..

“I came here to chew bubble gum and kick ass…..and I’m all out of bubble gum.” — From THEY LIVE!
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All nature is but art, unknown to thee;
All chance, direction, which thou canst not see;
All discord, harmony not understood;
All partial evil, universal good;
And spite of pride, in erring reason’s spite,
One truth is clear, Whatever is, is right.
— Alexander Pope (1688-1744)
— Essay on Man, Epistle i, Line 289

Mssr. Pope’s poetry may be regarded as one of the indications that mankind has gotten as far as we have toward being truly civilized (current idiocy not being counted; the world’s in a mess, ffolkes…). And such a poem as this one hardly needs my praise or discussion; how can one argue with the last line? Soon after finding it in the database, I found the one below by Emily, one of my all-time favorite poems. So, this section requires nothing but your kind attention. The lessons to be learned here today are in the words of the poets themselves…..

I’m Nobody! Who are you?
Are you- Nobody- Too?
Then there’s a pair of us?
Don’t tell! they’d advertise-you know!
How dreary-to be- Somebody!
How public-like a Frog-
To tell one’s name-the livelong June-
To an admiring Bog!
— Emily Dickinson
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“Faith is one of those words that connotes, however irrationally, some kind of virtue in itself.” — Louis J. Halle

This is a very subtle point, and highly insightful. How many times have we heard some religious fanatic use scripture to argue against what is real, or more often, against what is possible? And by using scripture, that person assumes that they are right, and stand on higher moral ground than the other person, merely by quoting the text they believe to be true according to their faith. The insight here involves the word ‘rational’, for that is where most fanatics tend to veer away from the truth, and charge off into faith-based assumption.

Myself, I’ve never understood it; I never saw ‘faith’ as virtuous; it always seemed more ‘put on’ or shallow to me. It seemed to me that most of the people who I saw that claimed to be faithful Christians only made that claim at times they were preparing to act in an un-Christian manner, or when their beliefs were challenged somehow. They didn’t wear the Jesus suit all the time, but instead, put it on when it is convenient, or when needed to keep from having to think. In my entire life, I don’t think I’ve met more than 3 real, actual Christians; people who lived by the same precepts as Jesus did, without trying to foist it on anyone else.

Instead of proselytizing, which the fanatics tend to do when confronted, these ffolkes ask themselves what Jesus would have done, and then do it. They don’t quote scripture, they provide an example of what is in the scripture by the way they live. Much more honest, and they make better neighbors than the ones who are always making the assumption that having faith is all they need to do to make it to heaven, never realizing that they’re actually on a different road, one paved with good intentions……and we all know where that road leads!
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“In the greatest confusion there is still an open channel to the soul. It may be difficult to find because by midlife it is overgrown, and some of the wildest thickets that surround it grow out of what we describe as education. But the channel is always there, and it is our business to keep it open, to have access to the deepest part of ourselves — to that part of us which is conscious of a higher consciousness, by means of which we make final judgments and put everything together. The independence of this consciousness, which has the strength to be immune to the noise of history and the distractions of our immediate surroundings, is what the life struggle is all about. The soul has to find and hold its ground against hostile forces, sometimes embodied in ideas which frequently deny its very existence, and which indeed often seem to be trying to annul it altogether.” — Saul Bellow

This is why I love diving for pearls. Every once in a while one comes across a pearl that so closely parallels one’s own thoughts, it’s spooky.  The only words I would take issue with here (“higher consciousness”) can be considered as the single exception, which solidifies the evidence of the truth of the theorem, that each of us is unique, no matter how dissimilar we may appear to be. Other than that, I would tend to agree with every point of his statement, without any further qualifications. Naturally, there are points of discussion that are apparent; I’d be surprised if any statement on this subject didn’t present some anomaly to at least one other person with a different POV. But taken as a whole, with a gestalt viewpoint, it is a clear marker of the road that leads to higher consciousness, and right action…..and that is a pretty cool place to hang out, exploring our uniqueness in the playgrounds of the universe……
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Under the old format of Pearls of Virtual Wisdom, several individual pearls would be given, one after another, to make a certain philosophical point, or underline some particular concept suggested by the quotes, using differing and often contradictory elements to reach the objective. This is such a quiz, with the conclusion, as always, left as an exercise for the Gentle Reader, to wit: you….. oh, and just ask yourselves, “Which of these is not like the others?”….

“The militia of these free commonwealths, entitled and accustomed to their arms, when compared with any possible army, must be _tremendous and irresistible_. Who are the militia? _are they not ourselves?_. Is it feared, then, that we shall turn our arms _each man against his own bosom?_. Congress have no power to disarm the militia. Their swords, and every other terrible implement of the soldier, are _the birth-right of an American_…the unlimited power of the sword is not in the hands of either the _federal or state governments_, but, where I trust in God it will ever remain,_in the hands of the people_.” — Tench Coxe 20 Feb. 1788

“Government is about coercion. Limiting government is the single most important instrument for guaranteeing liberty. We’re working on a third generation which has little in the way of education about what our Constitution means and why it was written. Thus, we’ve fallen easy prey to charlatans, quacks, and hustlers.” — Dr. Walter Williams

“”If we are to survive, this nation must end its love affair with guns.”  — U.S. Attorney General Janet Reno.

“If we are to survive, this nation must end its love affair with big brother government and individuals must relearn what it means to be free.” — Jeff Chan, chan@shell.portal.com

“No freeman shall ever be debarred the use of arms.” — Thomas Jefferson (1743-1826), June 1

Where do you keep your gun?…..I keep mine at an undisclosed location, close and instantly accessible (note, I did not say how many I keep)…. Never thought I’d need one, until the Bill of Rights was ignominiously and stealthily terminated, whereupon it became obvious that in the future, one of our first concerns if we wish to continue living, is that we will need to have adequate ammunition, of a caliber appropriate to the weapons stored with our water, food, and books….the other necessities for survival in a world gone mad…..
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“I expect to pass through this life but once. If, therefore, there be any good thing I can do to any fellow being, let me do it now, and not defer or neglect it, as I shall not pass this way again.” — William Penn

Even if one believes that we come back to life multiple times, this suggests an excellent way to approach life in the Now. Who knows what our time is like when we are not here? Could be worse, could be better, and no direct evidence to tell us which, only speculation. So, we may as well optimize our chances of improving our lot; acting otherwise is for fools….and I do try so hard NOT to be a fool. Nature seems to have provided us with an ample supply of them, without otherwise adept people displaying their Bozoid Tendencies for all to see…. besides, I don’t know about y’all, but I sure feel better when I do something for someone else, especially if I don’t expect any reward; better than if I look away, and pretend I didn’t see the homeless vagrant begging for food, thinking to myself, “I can’t help Everyone.” My response to that idea is, “well, no, perhaps not, but you might be able to help one at a time…..” And the beat goes on….
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Well, ’twas a bit of a struggle, but it has a chance to fly; I’ll go ahead and throw it up there and hope it manages to miss the ground for a time… 🙂 At any rate, it fits right in with the rest of the dross and drivel on this blog; I’m nothing if not cruelly honest, at least with my self. S’okay, I have thick skin, and a dull scalpel….. y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

In the shelter of the 39th Parallel….

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Part IV….

Reality Considered As A Slippery Slope

“Yes! Living in today’s complex world of the future IS much like having a hive of bees live  in your head. But…..there they are!” – Firesign Theater. Sometimes, in my more lucid moments of reflection, I wonder if everyone else ever feels like that. If they did, then maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much when I do, because a burden shared is a burden eased.

In the immediate aftermath of the events described in detail in Part III, I continued to work, and for some strange reason, not a single psychiatrist or psychologist, nor any other therapist or administrative staff, suggested that perhaps the staff members who were involved might wish to talk about those events. It didn’t occur to me that maybe I should take some time off; I thought keeping busy was best, and when staff take time off, the ones who remain have to cover the time one would be off, thus making the job even harder. So I came to work, but I had changed, both my attitude, and my approach to the job.

Holding group therapy, and other normal, mundane functions of the job became low priority in my sphere of perceptions, while being alert to the possibility of small situations that could conceivably worsen became my focus. In retrospect, I firmly believe that my adrenal gland was regularly and periodically giving me doses of our natural defense system’s ‘pick-me-up’ in response to how I perceived the events around me. My hearing became extremely acute; I distinctly remember, on more than one occasion, hearing a small noise while standing in an office doorway, and when I had tracked it to its’ source, I found that I had to go around three concrete walls, and through two metal doors to find what turned out to be two young men arguing, but not in particularly loud voices. No one else had heard anything.

Instead of a mental health therapist, I became a ‘brain cop’, ever alert to the slightest quirk in even the most delusional of individuals, often being able to intuit what they would do before they acted, magically appearing just as they would start to move. Even these agitated individuals can be fairly easily redirected, or at least distracted from their initial violent impulses, with the correct timing. And if the timing wasn’t quite right, well, I became even faster at assuming physical control, with the intent of entirely removing violence as one of their behavioral options, no matter what the situation.

As became obvious later, I was becoming somewhat grandiose myself, trying to assume the sole responsibility for the safety of ‘everyone’ in my space. I had forgotten, or refused to remember, a very old saying in the field of mental health, which cautions, “You will know that a nervous breakdown is imminent when you begin to believe that what you are doing is very important.” In my narrowed field of perceptions, what I was doing assumed a HUGE importance.

After a year of this, I wish I could say that I’d had enough, and asked for help. Perhaps my feet would have found the path I needed to follow sooner than I did. But, I didn’t; another friend at work finally worked up the nerve to point out to me some of the things I was doing, and how they weren’t in my best interests, or in the best interests of the folks I was there to help. She was very compassionate and supportive, and despite what I wanted to believe, I’m not deliberately stupid, and had to admit the veracity of what she was telling me. I was broken inside, and no matter how hard I tried, I wasn’t going to be able to fix what was broken by myself…..fortunately for me, I didn’t have to.

I asked to see the on-duty physician the night my friend spoke to me, and after some discussion, often somewhat heated on my part, I decided to leave work, due to a temporary disability caused by repeated exposure to extreme stress. In the next days, I began seeing a psychiatrist, at the suggestion of a lawyer I had been advised to see, who would ensure that my claim for disability got me the help I needed.

For the next two years, I saw the good Doctor K, and my time with him became a weekly hour of calm in the midst of the intermittent storms in my mind. My last year of work had been marked by sleeping problems, periods of anxiety & depression, and the advent of the beginning symptoms of a physical disorder that wouldn’t fully manifest for another five years, but caused, in the present, a constant feeling of lethargy and general malaise.

With time away from work, and compassionate care from my psychiatrist, my anxiety and depression became less pronounced, and eventually I processed my feelings about what had occurred to the point where I was no longer troubled by daytime flashbacks and nightly dreams of the horrible events. I found my way back to my center, but as a changed person. I am much more in touch now with my emotions, and have learned not to block them out as much when they are too strong. It has taught me that it is okay to break down, and even to cry, as long as you remember to believe that you can always get back up…..but, it’s a struggle that continues each day, and won’t ever be completely gone…..

Well, there you have it. I don’t know if this is interesting to others or not, nor do I wish to concern myself with that. I wrote this as a form of  therapy, and re-reading it continues that process; I’m still somewhat emotionally fragile, compared to my former self, but life goes on, and we all do the best we can. All you can do is all you can do…..

Tomorrow, this space will once again hold a Daily Pearl of Virtual Wisdom…..y’all take care out there…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

A budgie in the hand, and two more on ice….

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Ffolkes,

     Part III of Repercussions….

On a day in mid-August of 1984, I was working once again at Napa State Hospital (NSH) as a Psychiatric Technician. Since the adolescent program where I previously worked had closed, I was assigned to a unit designated T8. The T-building is a two-story edifice which encompasses enough space for 10 units housing up to 45 adult individuals each, an industrial kitchen with two separate dining rooms, serving meals in both rooms in rotation, for eight of the units, and several program offices for the Program managers and support staff.

The population was all male, in a program whose purpose was to treat a variety of different diagnoses. The residents of the program, who were diagnosed with Schizophrenia, Bi-Polar Disorders, Personality Disorders, along with a wide variety of other psychiatric conditions, were housed together on eight units with dormitories where they slept at night. On this particular late summer’s day, the men on T8 were relatively quiet, as everyone tried to cope with the stifling heat common to the area at this time of the year. The buildings at NSH were built in the 1950’s, all of concrete, and could be very uncomfortable.

A couple of hours into the shift, we escorted our charges out the door, downstairs to the hallway leading to the dining room for dinner. It is always the most dangerous part of the shift; the residents are hungry, and the walk to the dining room necessarily leaves the staff spread apart in order to keep an eye on everyone. The team I worked with was a good one, and with all of us staying alert, we got to the dining room and supervised the clients, who were conversant with the routine, until all were seated and eating, except a couple of stragglers still in line.

The phone on the wall rang, and one of the kitchen employees picked up to answer. She listened a moment, then turned to quickly address us nursing staff, saying in a strained voice, “T6 needs help, stat!” “Stat” is the medical code word for an emergency situation, requiring staff to respond as fast as possible to lend assistance. Two of us immediately broke into a run, out of the door to the left down the hallway to the stairway door leading up to T6. We hit the open hall door at a full run and bounded up the stairs, slowing as we came to the doorway to scan the situation before entering into the main day hall of the unit.

To the left was the medication room door, bottom half closed, top open to the room. A female staff member in the open upper half pointed across the day hall at a resident there, saying only, “that’s him” In the middle of the room, near the chairs grouped in front of the TV, lay another of the residents, curled into a ball and shivering violently. A female staff member could be seen in the nursing office, still calling for help. No one was in the TV area; most of the clients were on the way to the dining room, as were most of the staff, so my teammate, named Lee, and I were the first responders at the scene. I looked straight ahead from the door as I moved into the room, and saw a sight I will see in dreams for the rest of my days, burned indelibly on my memory in an instant that lasted forever.

I saw the body of a male staff member, obviously unconscious; he lay on his back straight in front of me about 10 feet away. I recognized him as the T-6 shift lead, a friend named Al, who had oriented me to the program when I first came on board. I observed that he was breathing, but his complexion had a very bad looking, chalky grey cast to it. Another 15 feet beyond where he lay paced the apparent perpetrator, who immediately began yelling at me in a threatening voice, shouting, ” Yeah I did that, come and get me!.” He was about 6’1″, approximately 190 lbs., appeared to be in good shape, and very obviously was in an agitated psychotic state, just coming down after an explosion of rage, and still pumped up to fight.

As I approached him, I had to step over the body of my friend, and very carefully moved toward the agitated individual, on full alert and fully adrenalized. Time had slowed to a crawl, and I could hear the harsh breathing from the aggressor as he paced in a tight circle, mumbling to himself between yells in my direction. Lee, the other staff who had come in with me, is an experienced PT, and like me, a veteran of such situations.

     He silently crossed behind me to the left, quickly circling around to the opposite side, so we could approach from both directions. As I stepped up to the aggressor, I casually took his left arm, just as Lee did the same on the other side. Both of us had been trained to use a special hold which allows control of the arm without stressing it by putting it in unnatural positions, allowing you to use your weight to control the arm, quickly tiring the subject. He began to try rip his arms from our grasp, yelling obscenities at us, and flailing about.

Lee was experienced, but only weighed about 110 lbs. dripping wet, and I could tell he wasn’t going to be able to hold the right arm much longer, and I would then be the unhappy recipient of an attempted blow to the head. I had to think fast, so I dropped my weight while holding his arm, then lifted him upward until his weight went onto his toes, just enough that I was able to control the direction of our movement.

     I quickly directed all three of us right into the chairs a few feet away, knowing that I could direct him hard enough to cause his legs to run into the arm of the heavy chair, causing him to imbalance and fall over to the floor, with me still on top grimly keeping a death-grip on his arm. This unfortunately left Lee underneath him, but as I knew he would, he wriggled free, still holding the right arm, and we were then able to use our combined weight to hold him securely on the floor until more help arrived.

Very soon after we got control of the still wildly struggling individual, more people arrived, helped us to restrain him, then per procedure, move him to a secure room, where he could be restrained with leather straps on a bed until he regained control, as the psychotic rage passed. Once he was secure, Lee and I returned to the day hall where Al still lay, being examined by the on-duty physician, surrounded by silent and worried looking staff. A paramedic team arrived with a gurney stretcher, Al was lifted onto it gently, and rushed to the emergency room at the nearest hospital a few miles away. The doctor was only able to stand there shaking his head sadly, with a grave expression, saying over and over, “it’s bad, it’s bad”. After writing up the incident reports, Lee and I finished our shift on our unit, quietly raging inside but still outwardly under control.

After our shift ended, we went to the hospital to see if Al had been stabilized and/or had regained consciousness; before we left work, we had heard only periodic updates that told us he was still in surgery. When we arrived, we were told he was in a coma, in critical condition, and being monitored for fluid pressure on the brain. His prognosis was serious and guarded, meaning the doctors didn’t know whether he would recover or not, only time would tell.

Four days later, Al died without ever waking up. The doctors explained that he had apparently been struck full in the face, a massive blow to the nose. The doctors related he had received in essence two blows, one to the face and nose, and one to the back of the head when he fell to the floor. In reality, he never stood much chance of a full recovery; even if he had lived, the likelihood of a severe loss of brain function would almost certainly have made him a full-time bed patient, requiring full nursing care to survive. He would never have been able to speak, or walk, or hold his family again.

   Al was survived by his wife and four children. At the funeral a day after his death all of us who had worked with Al stood by his casket at the memorial service as we and his family bid him a tearful farewell. We could but stare in shock, and wonder at the terrible waste of a good man’s life, silent as the sadness filled us.

And I, I was filled with a such a sense of rage and sorrow, such waves of pain and anguish that I could barely speak for the clenching of my jaw. For the first time in my life and career, I had been unable to protect someone I had cared for, and I was filled with an immensely deep sense of regret for having arrived on the scene too late to save my friend…..

     My equilibrium was completely shattered, and I could not find my center, nor even momentary peace, despite recognizing that we had done as much as we could, and held no personal responsibility for his death. That knowledge gave me no comfort, and I entered the realm of the “walking dead”, gripped by madness and and soul-deep pain….

To be continued…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Remarkably obscene patterns in the sand….

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Ffolkes,
Here is the second of four parts…

In 1973, at the age of 23, I attended school to study to take the state examination for a license as a Psychiatric Technician (PT). The classes were subsidized by, and took place at, Atascadero State Hospital (ASH) in Central California. College credits were given through the local J.C., Cuesta College in nearby San Luis Obispo. In conjunction with the classes, students were allowed, and encouraged, to work 20 hours per week in the hospital, as a supplement to the clinical hours required to complete the courses. So began my journey in the mental health industry, and unknown to me at the time, down the path to darkness…..

The hospital at Atascadero is a maximum security facility that houses up to 1200 individuals, who are committed to the bleak, prison-like hospital by the state courts, having been judged as being either unable to stand trial due to being unable to understand the charges, or because they were unable to cooperate in their own defense, due to mental illness. Some of these men (it is an all-male facility; women in the same legal categories were housed in another facility) were also committed by the courts as being Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity, or were those who had manifested symptoms of mental illness after being convicted of crimes and sent to prison. A very few of them were not insane, but were master manipulators, career criminals with very good lawyers who had convinced the court to send them to the hospital rather than prison. These individuals caused a great many problems, as they would manipulate their less functional peers into giving up their property, or doing their will, or  incite them to violence, just to watch the results from a safe distance, for amusement.

Working in a maximum security facility as a therapist is possibly one of the most difficult jobs man has ever created. A prison-like environment makes it difficult to create the ambiance necessary to allow the men being treated to feel safe and comfortable enough to deal with their individual problems. The danger of housing so many people with mental illness is an ever-present and overriding concern, as one of the primary characteristics of those with these types of diagnoses is a lack, or even absence, of impulse control. As a result, managing assaultive behavior becomes a necessary adjunct to treatment.

The Department of Mental Health, working with employees from all the state hospitals, developed a policy for dealing with the issue; subsequently, training in Management of Assaultive Behavior (MAB) was given to every employee who came into contact with the committed individuals. Since the facility was classed as maximum security, the training was especially important for the Hospital Police, who were responsible for maintaining the security of the physical plant, and for the therapists (psychiatrists and psychologists, nurses, psychiatric technicians, and ancillary staff such as occupational and rehabilitation therapists) who were the primary care-givers for the individuals. These teams were taught specific techniques for recognizing the warning signs of impending violent behavior, how to re-direct when possible, and methods for physically controlling individuals who were acting out in a violent manner, without causing or sustaining injury.

Most of these principles and techniques, if not all, were very similar to the Judo and Kung Fu that I had been taught, so my prior training and experience became valuable tools for me, helping me to be skillful in keeping safe both the aggressors and victims involved in the violent episodes so frequently found in settings such as ASH. I became one of the people who specialized in MAB, which necessarily meant that whenever a violent incident broke out, I was one of the first to respond, as I was adept at controlling the situation without any of the participants sustaining injury, the primary goal in such instances.

Working in such a high stress environment as a maximum security hospital was both physically and emotionally draining, and after three years at ASH I had had enough. I moved north to work at Napa State Hospital, in order to get back to being a therapist rather than a glorified cop. I obtained a position as a PT in a treatment program for adolescents at NSH in 1976. To me, it was  a wonderful change; the kids in the program, lived ina co-educational environment, and were smaller as a rule than the full-grown men I was used to; in addition, there were far fewer individuals who had already learned to resort to violence, compared to those who were housed at ASH. It was also different for being co-ed, as I had previously not worked with any women, or girls, in a therapeutic setting. Because of my experience in MAB, violence on the unit where I worked became a non-viable behavior for the adolescents, and after a few months the number of incidents that took place on the unit were greatly reduced.

After a few years at NSH, I decided to take an extended sabbatical from working as a PT, and traveled around California for a few months, until not working became a bore; I was raised to be productive, and needed to get back to work. I applied to and was hired to work in another state hospital in Camarillo, a relatively small town near Ventura in Southern California. At CSH I once again worked with adolescents, as they had a similar program, patterned after the one at NSH. My martial arts training, which I had continued all this time, once again proved to be a valuable tool, and I again became the first responder at any outbreaks of violence among the individuals under treatment.

I met my wife at Camarillo; she was another PT in the adolescent program. We worked together, began dating, fell in love, married and started our family. It was a challenging period for me; between work, parenting, maintaining my marriage, home maintenance, and the myriad of little things that are the activities of daily life in this country, I was a very busy, very stressed individual. But I loved it that way, and was happy and content for some years.

     The economy at that time changed for the worse; we were unable to keep up with our mortgage payments, and lost our house to foreclosure. We decided to move north, to the Sonoma Valley, to raise our children in a country setting, with very well-respected schools, and a much lower crime rate than the southern California area in which we had lived.

I eventually hired on back at NSH, but the adolescent program was no longer open, so I began working with adults, on an all-male unit, with a group of individuals with a wide variety of diagnoses. As the level of security at Napa was not maximum, and the degree of MAB training was not up to the higher standards at ASH, the units in the program where I worked were very dangerous, a situation which ultimately led to my downfall.

     It was about this time when I calculated that, in my career as a PT, I had worked in the most stressful environments in the entire world, outside of battlefields, constantly in danger, and my martial arts background had become not just useful, but absolutely critical. I estimated the number of violent incidents in which I had been involved, and found that over the years I had an average of one major incident (translation: a knock-down, drag-out fight, in real-time, with real opponents, who are actively engaged in trying to hurt or maim me, or someone else) per week since I had started as a PT at ASH. My calculations came to a minimum of 728 incidents. I was appalled, but also somewhat proud of this figure; in all those incidents only one of the individuals had sustained a minor injury, and I had sustained one minor injury myself. Not a bad record, all in all…2 partial failures and 726 successful outcomes.

However, the damage to my psyche that had accumulated through the years had by this time reached an unprecedented and dangerous level, and I was finding it extremely difficult to maintain the now uncertain equilibrium I had achieved. My experiences had left me burdened with an indelible, hidden wound in my soul, in my very center. The experiences to which I’d been exposed eventually culminated in one specific incident that brought all of my pent-up stress to the surface, and affected me so deeply that I still feel the effects today……I became, quite literally, one of the “walking wounded”, a condition with which my generation, due to the Vietnam War, had become all too familiar. It was a single incident, that happened one night in 1984, and to this day I have never fully recovered…..

To be continued…..

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!

Belaboring toast points for profit….

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4

Ffolkes,
Today, and for the next three days, I’ll be posting some material I wrote last year, while writing on a site called GoodBlogs. Technically, they have the online rights to it, but it is still mine, and is completely appropriate for this venue. Therefore, I am publishing all four pieces here on WordPress, just because I want to, and to give my brain a few days to dive for pearls, and to renew and redirect my creative urges. Together the four pieces tell a true story, of my time in Hell…..it’s titled, “Repercussions”……

Part the first…..

When I was four, my father was stationed in Japan with the US Army, at a base near Okinawa. He was there for about 18 months, and the rest of the family, my mother and, at the time, four kids joined him there for the last seven months of his tour of duty. During that time, I was made aware, simply by traveling to and living there, that the world was much larger than I thought, and there were a lot of different kinds of people living in it. He was an officer at the time, so the six of us lived in a large house on base, with two Japanese housekeepers. Learning about Mariko and her sister, whose name escapes me, taught us many things about Japanese culture, and my mind grew in leaps and bounds.

One of the things we learned were some basic Judo (the gentle way) techniques, by one of Mariko’s friends who was member of a dojo (school). This exposure to the martial arts stayed with me, but after returning to the USA, there was little opportunity to pursue the arts further. Especially when my parents had another child, and money became a permanent issue in the household. But I never forgot Mariko, (who made the best cinnamon roles ever) or any of my experiences in Japan.

Much later in my life when I went to college, at the University of California at Berkeley, Judo was offered as a physical education course, and I at last had the opportunity to study in earnest what so long ago had made such an impression on my young mind. I took the course for 3 quarters (UCB had switched to a four-quarter-per-calendar year schedule some years before my admission), much as a duck takes to water, and after less than 9 months I had earned my brown belt, second degree.

I loved the arts with a passion I had not felt since I first discovered science-fiction at age ten. It was, perhaps, a lesser passion than when I discovered that girls weren’t so yucky after all, but studying the arts became a significant part of my life, and I have studied one art or another ever since, a matter of about 40 years. After Judo, I took some lessons in Karate (the empty-hand), Tae Kwon Do and Shotokan styles, a little bit of Tai Chi, and some Aikido..

    Then in my late twenties, I joined my first class in the Chinese art of Kung Fu. All my other exposure, Tai Chi aside (which though useful in that respect, was an art not primarily designed for use in fighting), had been to arts developed in Japan and Korea. I learned that all of those arts had been patterned after the precepts of Kung Fu many centuries before.

The origins of Kung Fu are shrouded in some mystery, but the consensus is that the monks of the Taoist temple of the order of the Shaolin were the first to learn the basic art, and developed it as a means of protecting their temple from the degradations of the numerous marauding warlords fighting over the various geographic regions in China. It is said that the art was brought to them by none other than Bhodi Dharma, an ancient warrior of India who traveled all over the Far East during his life, using his unspeakably powerful skills, developed by him during many years of studying Yoga, to protect the weak and oppressed, much like a wandering knight in Europe during the age of chivalry.

The Shaolin monks developed the skills they learned to such a high degree that the temple was eventually destroyed by warlords who had developed cannons, because they feared the monks so much. The monks scattered over the rest of China taking their skills with them, teaching them to the people, and to monks at other temples. It was said that a Shaolin monk could disappear from sight, could walk through walls, and fly through the air, and their reputation protected them probably as much as their fighting skills.

In the 1970’s there was a show on TV called Kung Fu, loosely based on a figure in Shaolin history, their greatest warrior, whose name on the show was Kwai Chang Caine. Though it was subject, unfortunately, to the occasionally bizarre demands of Hollywood culture, it was nonetheless a relatively accurate representation of how such a monk might have approached the new culture in the United States, and gave a good idea of how effective the skills learned by the monks could be, even against superior numbers and weaponry.

When I was first introduced to Kung Fu, it seemed as though all the other arts I had studied became irrelevant. I had graduated from the high-school level of Karate and Aikido to a more advanced university, that started with basics, then led the student into deeper and deeper knowledge, not just of the techniques of fighting and training, but knowledge of both the body and the mind, which are never considered to be separate entities in Chinese culture.

    The techniques learned became only a part of what one learns; much of the rest of what is taught was concerned with learning to control one’s mind and spirit. The first lesson was the most important one, and it consists of one concept…..restraint. Simply put, we do not learn these skills to fight, but to grow; to learn how to accept the danger that exists in human society without being paralyzed by fear, allowing one’s higher principles to guide action for the betterment of all creatures.

Learning Kung Fu, as well as the other martial arts I studied, was a seminal part of my own developing philosophy of life, and has been, in my mind, an invaluable tool in my own growth. But learning the arts, as I was later to learn, would have repercussions so powerful, and so all-encompassing, that they would send shock waves of pain and anguish down every step of my path in the world; repercussions that would stay with me for the rest of my life…..

To be continued…….

—
Sometimes I sits and thinks,
and sometimes
I just sits.

gigoid

Dozer

Kowabunga!