The Waste Land

Turning and turning in the widening gyre
    The falcon cannot hear the falconer;
    Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold;
    Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world,
    The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere
    The ceremony of innocence is drowned;
    The best lack all conviction, while the worst
    Are full of passionate intensity.

  Surely some revelation is at hand;
    Surely the Second Coming is at hand.
    The Second Coming! Hardly are those words out
    When a vast image out of Spiritus Mundi
    Troubles my sight: a waste of desert sand;
    A shape with lion body and the head of a man,
    A gaze blank and pitiless as the sun,
    Is moving its slow thighs, while all about it
    Wind shadows of the indignant desert birds.

    

The darkness drops again but now I know
    That twenty centuries of stony sleep
    Were vexed to nightmare by a rocking cradle,
    And what rough beast, its hour come round at last,
    Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

Earlier this year, my wife and I accidentally broke my daughter's brain. See, we live in a first world country, and are fortunately blessed. We have enough wealth to and go see movies occasionally. One film we saw, was Rio. And my daughter was taken with it. . .  Rio the place, and the idea became her paradise. It was all she talked about, it was where she wanted to go. Her dream . . . 

(Sounds like Rihanna doesn't it, maybe Rio is The New Earth)

What happens in the world's largest trash city will transform you.

A week after my daughter's enthrallment with RIO, she tagged along w/ her mother who went to a film that was playing in her art dept. at school. It too was about Rio, but in this case the garbage generated by what in my daughter's mind, was ostensibly, Paradise. The two worlds clashed. . . 

This is the place where I live. The conflict between the glory of our world, and the suffering that we've created, the garbage.

So how do we arrive at a new world?

this world, our wonderful pyramid, is built upon a slow climb to the top, with a broad wide base supporting the few lucky enough to be positioned high in the structure.

This is a system built upon property--a patriarchal ownership society.

Let's stop Waiting and talk Endgame . . .

(we are all going to get old. we are going to fall apart, and we are going to die.)

--It will be beautiful though
suffering is the price of incarnating in material, yet are we as a species adding to the suffering of the life of the world?

we don't have to destroy the world in our search for connection or meaning or to stave off the inevitable.

maybe we should own less, and love more?

Ester Dean, by the way, is not Rihanna, but definitely a "star".

all the connection we need . . .

the mask of god saves (?)

\

. . .

just see what you've done to the church of the american indian

caput mortuum

tiger/lily