~Chapter Thirteen~                           PAPER TOWEL MONKEYS "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)." --- Walt Whitman        The modern spiritual approach to how life should be lived while in the here and now, is one that caters to the idea that being in the here and now is all that matters.  Being overly concerned about the future or the past is considered a waste of valuable learning time.  All that should matter, is the moment at hand.  According to the new agers, there's nothing that can be done about the past or future, so why try?      I respectfully disagree.  As much as I appreciate still being alive to enjoy the present, my instincts tell me that later is going to be so much better. At least I hope so.  Based on nothing more than a series of recurring (and vivid) dreams, I feel confident that there will be a later for us. Not necessarily for us as individuals, but for us as a species. Then again, there could be an asteroid drawing a bead on us as we speak.          I'll take a chance, and ignore some unforseen, extinction level event type of calamity. Wrapped in the safety of my dreams, I've seen how our world has finally learned how to view itself as a single, living thing. How could such a thing have come about? For one thing, we'd learned how to remove the desperation from our lives.  That was done in large part, by making it our mission to see that everyone's basic needs for survival are handsomely met. We've learned, at long last, to accept our roles on this Earth as its inhabitants, and not its owners. In my dreams at least, is a vision of a better world.  Delusion's a helluva thing.        Delusion or not, we'd eventually heard nature's warnings, and heeded them in my dreamscape. How could we have learned to listen to something to which we were oblivious for most of our presence here on this Earth? Honestly, I don't know, but I'd very much like to find out. I do know however, that the surest way to ruin a miracle, is to try and understand it.  Why even try?     But it's tantalizing to think that if dreams are the reflection of some other reality, then why not? But I'm never alone while projecting myself into the "what if" offered by my dreams.  There, standing guard over this lofty goal of outgrowing our old shoes, was the sentinel of my own skeptical nature. It's a big, mean looking thing. At least so far, it's kept me from becoming one of those pop-culture prophets with their chakrah crystals and harmonic convergence charts.        In spite of my skeptical nature,I was ready to dabble into spiritualism, but not that ready. I don't like how some people in that area of thought came by their enlightenment, with their ability to fool a gullible public at its core.  Plus, they're always smiling.  From my perspective, that kind of enlightenment can't be explained unless they're drinking some really potent herbal tea.       Maybe I'm still too cynical to get it, but just in using a word like "metaphysical" sounds rather false to me. I'm not saying it is false mind you.  It's only that I'm not quite yet ready to give up my security blanket of cynicism. I'll be keeping my science nearby, just in case my spiritual wings should happen to get singed by my flying too close to the sun. Not only that, but I don't wanna give up my angst yet either. It helps keep a person alert. In a way, I'm thankful for the source of that angst, which is an unbinding faith in the stupidity of the masses.  Maybe my attitude toward this country's weak mindedness will relax a little as I get older, but I rather  hope not.  Mild anger makes for a really good workout.        To allay any suspicions that I might be getting softer with age, there's the fact that I still get a little too excited when I hear people like Larry Flynt speak their minds. He was a guest on a talk show one night. He was on one of the few shows in which a person is given more than the standard 3 minutes to instill in the viewer, their sense of outrage.  Up till then, I didn't really have much of an opinion of the publisher of "Hustler" magazine.  Even as a progressive, I felt his publication was a little bit obscene.  But, any prejudice I might have had quickly disappeared when I heard how impassioned he was about the right wing movement that's taking shape here in the states.      When asked if he'd ever reconsidered his atheistic views, he responded in his characteristically flagrant way and said, "My feeling is that if the Christians would just take some Lithium, I think they'd be just fine."        Spoken like a true skeptic. But there's a difference between me, and the atheist. They don't believe in anything beyond trolling for top soil trout. When you're dead, that's the end of the story, as far as they're concerned. That's fine.  We're still living in a free country so far.  I don't believe that myself, but don't pretend to know what lies beyond this mortal coil either. It doesn't matter whether I know, or don't know. I'm just glad I have  a mind that likes asking questions.        It's hard to be bored when you want to know about everything, including those tantalizing mysteries that might never be answered. That's bully for me. Having so many questions are the bread and butter for the skeptic, because they're asked out of passion and zeal. Skeptics are clever and intense. They sometimes accomplish wondrous deeds, and are less interested in mere words.     These are the people who get things done, if they have the stamina for it. Just because skeptics don't believe in heaven, that doesn't mean they don't long for it. Maybe they can help usher it in, right in the here and now. Hopelessly disenfranchised from their peers, they sometimes look to a future that's more akin to their own belief in what a heaven should be. Maybe, if there is to be a paradise for us, it will be the dreamers who build it.           In the meantime, true liberation is occasionally glimpsed in the words of the skeptics, as they're ascribed with the kind of freedom that has to be earned.  It's not just handed to you by an organization that's dependant upon mass delusion. A person blessed with a truly freed mind seeks out the kind of goals that soar with imagination, even if he or she doubts whether they're attainable. There are those who believe in freedom's coming, and the whole world is invited to join in. But wherever freedom rings, the need for change often chimes in as well. We've always had freedom, but so far anyway, only a few are allowed to live it. Ways will be adopted which can help us to see ourselves as a single species. Our basic wants and needs tightly  bind us together.  No tedious differences can keep us apart. The division that's still guiding our lives today is getting tiresome, and must be abandoned. Historians will look back to the time before the 21st century had come and gone. They'll see it as the time of when, because of a stubborn and mindless insistence that change could be kept at bay, it almost was.  It's true that all living things will experience change, but the key word here is "living."  Because of human arrogance, we were on the verge of no longer being here to witness the coming changes on this planet.  As the Buddhist will tell you, nothing is so permanent as change. But the fearful and ignorant mind doesn't recognize this truth.  It resists any ideas of change, regardless of the evidence that supports its necessity.     And while we're on the subject of the fearful and the ignorant, let's touch on politics.  I know, even I'M yawning at the idea. In America, an appropriate example has been recorded. The conservatives (what they were trying to conserve is still in question) were resentful that they were losing ground in the face of the new age.  A president, William Jefferson Clinton had come to represent everything the traditionalists hated.  A secret campaign was begun.  The fundamentalists were avidly searching for ways to discredit him. Not that Clinton himself wasn't doing a bang up job of it all alone, but even so, his allegiance resided with the people (at least in principal). As a 20th century democrat (whatever this meant at the time), he wished to make at least some of the breaks given to the wealthy--- available to the poor. A worthy goal, even for a politician. His party knew the days of the middle classes were coming rapidly to an end. The wealthy felt threatened by this, as the middle class buffer zone between them and the poor was vanishing. Panic set in. One of the ways to stay in power, was to sock it to the poor, while giving all the breaks to the rich.  Besides, without the poor, who'd fight the wars that were, at that very moment, being dreamed up?  There were those who'd already been lobbied to take over the whole show, and to put into place a new form of government. The right longed to have a government that was so powerful, that even its people wouldn't be able to stand in the way.  The American people could be talked into anything, so long as it stirred in them, swelling patriotism. But the illusion of democracy would be seriously compromised, should such rash action actually be implemented. There was always the possibility that they wouldn't be as gullible as before.  Fear was always the way to drum up blind duty to country before.  With no new threats yet dreamed up, they needed something else. That something needed to put the cons back into the driver's seat.  No, there had to be an easier way. But any dreams of a new kind of government had to be put on the back burner for now.  This Clinton fellow was really getting to be a nuisance, with his clever talk about living in a global community. Such talk made those who were concerned only with their own agendas look bad. In the glory days, such a man of the people would have taken a bullet, but no one really took presidents all that seriously anymore. They were little better than figure heads now, front men who were at the tender mercy of the big house. Not to mention how tough it was to kill someone in the high profile world that was being fueled by the ever vigilant media. It was a house divided, but that had always been so. Everyone in congress was at odds with each other, dooming any chances for any vision that might create a union among the citizens. How can a nation's citizens feel any sense of unity, if the people they'd elected into office (it was the only choice given to the people of that time) were generally at each other's throats? Given the people's continuing tendency to keep playing the age old game of follow their leaders, it became accepted wisdom that there should be such a division among themselves too.        As I write this, there's this Clinton scandal thing taking place, although I fail to understand the controversy. So our loveable leader has a weak spot for portly, trailer park girls? So what? What a man does in his private life is no concern of mine. Like they say, so long as he's not screwing the country.  What with all the stink however, I'm sure all this sex scandal business will stick to our memories over the years, given how much news coverage it's received.         At this moment in our history, it's all anybody's talking about.  Well, that and the latest sports figure to get into trouble again. But the republicans are definitely on about something.  Seems like they want very much to start calling all the all shots again. It's been quite  a while since we'd had a republican agenda in the limelight of a high stakes game of political posturing.  As if anything they have to offer the country would be any better. I don't like it when the Democrats start getting too cocky either.  But my blood runs cold when ever I wonder about what lows the Conservatives will stoop in order to regain the throne.        It was clear that this Clinton fellow had to go, and that's all there was to it. So decided the cons. I don't want to waste any further space and time in giving them the full title. They agreed that they just couldn't have people shot anymore. That would be to obvious these days, not that it didn't still go on. Gun play was usually reserved for those in less prominent positions. But all this talk of world cooperation and peace was making the cons nervous. The tried and true political agenda for creating a war was becoming increasingly more difficult to come by, what with no more Soviet Union and all.        There was always the Middle East, but conventional weapons were plenty good enough for the likes of Hussein, and the other oil barons. No, what was needed now, was a really big war.  One that was so big, that it would gather enough momentum to quantify an increased defense budget. No one would question such a budget, if it meant an abandonment of our soldiers.  So what if some of that funding got misplaced, and ended up in a few political pockets? Clinton wanted no part of this after he saw how his predecessor had failed to make history to sufficiently seal his name in the history books. That so-called war would best be remembered in history as the war that was waged for the sanctity of oil rights. Not to mention how Saddam's "army" had surrendered to anyone even remotely looking like an American. They were so terrified, that one pathetic swathe of soldiers surrendered themselves to a passing cable news crew. It was pretty evident that these poor soldiers didn't really have their hearts in this whole war thing.  It didn't seem that their boss really gave a damn about them.  Most governments have always viewed their soldiers as disposable as shaving blades.        There were relatively few American or British casualties through the duration of this campaign, most of which were accidental shootings in several cases involving "friendly fire."   So we were told over here by the bought and paid for media. But if the reports of these so-called friendly fire incidents were true, Americans were being shot to death over there, and usually by other Americans. How would historians look at this little tidbit of information?        Clinton washed his hands of any war that as everyone knew, was waged for lower gas prices in the states. The money wasn't flowing like it could, not without the flow of oil as well.  If only there could be a new threat to national security, thought the cons.     I wonder if maybe some of them looked back fondly to the day of Hitler's reign. A more perfect threat, the world couldn't ask for. Hitler had demonstrated irrevocably, that through the guise of nationalist revitalization, a tiny (and economically dead) country like Germany could sweep over the world. People whose motivation is to seek and seize power and wealth, find such a moment in history intoxicating. Germany's economy grew ominously, through the instruments of war.        No one on capitol hill would cop to it naturally, but Hitler's principles were taken to heart the moment when it was realized how much money could be spent in the preparedness for war. And if it should be that there are no current wars to be fought (a sign perhaps that warfare is becoming passe'?), then new enemies will be found. There are still plenty of regions in the world, where dictators are getting away with barbarism. But they go on ruling, generally unchecked. Somewhere in the world, there just had to be another Castro, Hussein, or Hitler.  But where?        No one really wants war anymore (now that it's getting harder to hide secrets), but when funds get short, it's time to start waving guns around. U.S. citizens must be reminded from time to time that, "by god, you're still a member of the most powerful country in the world." Patriotic pride isn't so hard to conjure up in a country of people who were brought up constantly being reminded of this.        Some minds turned to Pearl Harbor, and how it was rumored that Franklin Roosevelt himself played a hand in Japan's dastardly attack on America. His request to join Europe in the war effort had been rejected by congress three times. After Pearl Harbor, that was all changed. Could a similar method be used today to horns waggle the mindless and culled public? A glorious new campaign of war could begin without a hitch, if the Americans felt there was a sufficient threat on their doorsteps.  But we'll leave this rather scary idea to some possible future. We shouldn't waste too much more time on berating or trashing patriotism. For one thing, a people tend to defend their turf, even if the method by which they came by it is questionable.  That is, people will defend their positions, even if their dead wrong.  There's nothing wrong with having pride in who you think you are, but maybe a little tweaking is in order.  How about this? If anyone's going to create the conditions needed for globalization, America certainly has the most resources. That in itself, could be the source of patriotism in the future, except the American dream would be accessible to an entire world. We could go on and on about this conspiracy or that, but I imagine that almost everyone has seen enough foul play in this country to have a pretty good indication that all isn't what it seems. This is a country that kills its own presidents. It may even be a country that starts wars, simply to turn a profit. But just in raising such ideas is a risky prepositon, at best.  If the unseemly underbelly of government doesn't like they way it's being rubbed, it will find a way to rid itself of the irritation. More importantly, so far as these essays are concerned is that, if we were to turn this into a history lesson, it would become painfully obvious that we don't know what we're talking about. Also, it would go against the true goal of finding the spirituality that's been ignored now for so long. Aren't we getting anxious to get into the good stuff?        It's just that I love a good conspiracy.  But, it does tend to put people off.  That's because "they can't HANDLE the truth!" I think the world would be a better place if we learned how to appreciate creative, vs. destructive will.  It's just that it's always been easier to rule through the threat of destruction, and the fear that results, than it's been to create a lasting peace.  When particularly manic, I sometimes go so far as suggesting that "if everyone else thought the way I did, then we'd be living in a much better world."  That claim usually generates lots of dispute, but I think most of us would be hard pressed to find many people who goes out of their way not to run over ants while bicycling.  Maybe I'm a little unrealistic at times.     Apart from the poverty, when all's said and done, I'm grateful that I've maintained a creative approach to life.  As a way to manage my illness, I've been building these life-sized animals.  They're what I jokingly call my "paper towel monkeys." That's because people seem partial to the primates I've done with a modicum of success.  The one thing that's always gotten me through, is my  creativity. I believe we're all creative beasts at heart, but it's just not encouraged like it used to be. Some of us have no choice but to create, and not destroy. Whenever I try to share this aspect of myself with others, I'm usually left unsatisfied.  So often, my preference for creativity over destruction is viewed as arrogance.  Nobody in this country likes a wise guy.        Expressing a more creative approach to life is often met with a conflict of ideals.  I go through this sort of clash of the egos thing, every time I try introducing myself to someone. I have this incessant need to keep reaching out, as I guess we all do.  It's just that I'm not very good at it. But if there's one thing about myself that gives me pride, it's this capacity for creativity. I've never had the money to do the high quality work I'd like, but the need to sculpt persists. And, as with everything else I enjoy, it has to be big.        I've spent a few years now building these life-sized animals, making them as realistic as possible. This isn't easy either, since I'm forced to use what most would consider trash. I'm creating these elephants, hippos, rhinos, and dinosaurs using nothing but old newspapers, masking tape (about thirty rolls per piece), and gallons of glue. After constructing a wooden armature, the aforementioned materials are used to lay on the muscle and hide of the beast.                    Here's a sign that we've arrived in a bold new age.  If you wish to see my sculptures, go to my website at www.primalcast.com.  Well, I guess the point is kind of academic here.  After all, you're on my site now.  Anyway, this has been a tremendous release for me.  Plus, each new animal created gives me a little more feeling of self-worth.  Everyone should try it.         When I'm finished with a given piece, it's only natural that I want someone with whom to share this joy. So I go rushing out into the real world with photos of my growing menagerie. People generally respond favorably, but when they realize that this is what I do in lieu of actually having a job, there's usually this look of pity on their face. It says, "gee, that's really nice work you do, but since it doesn't pay too well, does it? Have you checked the want ads? I think they're hiring now down at the Burger Shack."            To put it another way, we don't seem to be living in a culture that has all that much, well... culture. People are told how important it is to be creative, but end up dedicating their lives to being anything but. Parents Beam with pride over how well their little Brandon or Heather can draw, and rush everyone that comes into their home right over to the 'fridge where the Crayon creations are placed on semi-permanent display.  But just like the refrigerator masterpieces of youth, the creative spark that drives children to draw ends up in the trash as well.        As you might guess, this refrigerator art gallery thing was a regular ritual in the place where I grew up. Mom knew early on that this illustration phase wasn't going to go away anytime soon. My creative drive only intensified when I squished clay in my palms for the first time. I wonder if Mom would have encouraged my art so much if she knew how my obsession for it would make me grow up to be a honest to goodness "starving artist." Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against making an honest buck. I've had many, many jobs, but eventually they all paled before the greater need for creative expression, and the rush of being able to achieve it. Although many aren't aware of this, creative acts are the primary reason that we've been put onto this Earth. Not just for the artist either, because everyone has this calling. We're not just talking about painting, sculpting, or writing exclusively here, because every conscious act can become an art form. The nature of any creative act, this exorcizing of the conscious will, is to make manifest in life, certain aspects of love and joy. When a person feels joy (or misery), this must be shared with others. Sometimes, the most powerful feelings can be conveyed through acts of creation. Creativity is its own reward. The reason why creative will is so strong, is precisely because of the joy that it tries to represent, and sometimes even accomplishes. How do you express the unexpressed? You create. The more negative, or destructive emotions are easier to express though.  That's because they're more readily supported in your present evolutionary state. Fear runs rampant in the now, even as you deny it. The aggression that results is a relatively simple thing to write, sculpt, or paint about.  A culture's priorities are easily recognized in its creativity.  Movies, paintings, novels--- they all, more or less, directly reflect a society's ideals.  The culture reflects the subconsciousness of a society.       You can also tell a lot about the individual by what he or she creates.  To wit... what a strange little kid I was. Not that adulthood's changed anything in the "strange" department, but there was this one particular phase I went through at an early age.  Since I didn't grow up to become a serial killer (those people were dead when I got there, I SWEAR), then it's safe to assume I was an instigator.         I went through this puzzling period where I'd draw in red ink, various acts of dismemberment. Even as I drew them, I couldn't understand why I did it. I've never been violent, and wouldn't think of hurting another living thing. Not even a fly. Isn't that what Norman Bates said at the end of "Psycho?" Anyway, I still wonder why at such a young age, did I have this affinity for gore and carnage? It couldn't be helped. The terrible things depicted in those early doodles were the product of the terrible world into which you were born. To distill it down some, you were an unhappy kid. It had nothing to do in this case with how you were raised, because you've always been loved. What would compel you to put onto paper, such unpleasant images? There's no big mystery involved here. You'd learned that it was the best way to get the attention you've always craved, plain and simple. You figured out that the more people you got worked up, the more attention you'd manage to get.         I suppose it's the kind of thing all kids do.  Only, instead of screaming and crying myself, it was much more satisfying if I could make others do it instead.  Everyone wants to be appreciated. Only for me, the choice was to use the only tools I was given. That attention was gained through learning how to draw at an early age.  The sometimes peculiar way in which I chose to illustrate a given subject was due to the violence of our time.        As a five year old, I'd deduced that the more outrageous the picture, the more attention it demanded. The only people who seemed to be getting all the hoopla, were all those who were hurting each other on the news, and in the movies. Since it would never cross my mind to do anyone or anything harm or violence (to this day, I really DO try not to run over any ants while bicycling down the side walk), it sometimes showed up on my drawing tablet. That's how I learned to get that controversy. I got that rise from the attention. I got noticed. If these essays ever get noticed, then the controversy train will really get to rolling.  People have this allergic reaction to anything that might make them have to reconsider things.      Incidentally, I'm far less comfortable with giving my own perspective and experience, than I am with addressing the world at large. However, some personal stuff is bound to get thrown into the mix now and again. As long as we're discussing the creative spirit, I guess I qualify to make some observations known. As a matter of fact, the only way I've ever been comfortable expressing myself, is creatively.        I guess all I'm saying is, we'd be living in a better world if more people would make paper monkeys, instead of wars.  As examples of how this spirit can work, I have only my own experiences from which to draw, as it were. I think it'll serve in the broader context as well. I just want to make this clear before we continue. To expand on whether or not these writings are original, I've concluded that it doesn't matter in the end (we'll see if this holds true for those from whom I may have borrowed later). For instance, I've seen hundreds of paintings that illustrated horses, and other animals. We all have. Some were good, and others were really horrible.        Regardless of how good or horrible they might have been, all of them were unique. Each painting bore within them the indivisible presence of the person who'd done them. Similarly, when people care enough about my sculpture to offer comments, they tell me how they're somehow, different than the other works they'd seen done by other artists. They say that my animals (whether they are taken from existing forms, or are purely fantasy) have a quality about them.  My critters, I'm told, have  personality.        If a personality can be detected in my creations, or in anyone else's for that matter, it's because any artist worth his/her oil paint, imbues their art with some aspect of themselves.  But I think it goes beyond that, I think.  Because of my belief that all living things have in them a soul, then that same belief should be represented in my art. It's arrogant to think that this soul business is a phenomenon reserved only for humans. I insist that this quality should shine through in the eyes of my animal creations. And judging from the remarks made by family, friends, and those who've purchased castings of my works, I've apparently succeeded to some degree. Gee. Ain't I special?        There could well be a million people who've done a million variations of what a lion or an elephant should look like, but that doesn't mean there's no more room for further interpretations. Even though I'm not feeling that these words are necessarily original, I still think they're valid. At least it makes me feel better to believe that. The same thing could easily be said of the millions of love songs written through the ages. As is to be expected when writing of something so enigmatic as love, many of these songs fail miserably to capture what it's all about. 99% of such works are almost unbearable, because they are generally limited to those who've felt love on a deeply personal level. It's like trying to share the benefits of a good belch.  After getting rid of all that extra pressure, you feel great, while others are left repulsed. What makes perfect sense to the author, sounds like utter nonsense to the listener. But every so often, a visionary gives love a whack, and the world is moved. Sometimes it takes a million tries before a truth is revealed, but it's usually worth the wait. Everyone has feelings, but few feel confident enough to reveal them. But when they do, each creative act is unique to the vision of those who create it. It can be profoundly personal in nature, but given how connected we all are it's bound to strike a common chord if it's done correctly. This is just as true with any other act of creation. There's always enough room for another animal sculpture in the world, especially if it was done out of a passion and respect for the natural world. No greater homage can be paid. As for love and joy in this world, you say they are elusive. No matter how often attempts have been made to capture them, they remain mysterious and enigmatic.        I think it helps if you create for its own sake, and not with the need to profit from it.  Any truly creative efforts are labors of love, born of a hunger to fill up a feeling of emptiness with something that has an eternal appeal. Speaking for myself (hey, it's more rare than you might think), I don't create because I want to, but because I have to. Any sufficiently creative person will tell you this same thing. For me, an image will pop into my head, and that's that. I have to get it out of my head and into reality. This has the added attraction of bringing others into my world, and I feel less alone. That's the drive of creativity to me. If there's one thing that can give a person fulfillment in life, it's the ability to listen to the pleas of their soul. The soul appreciates those who do this, and in turn, it gives a person a window into a dimension that cannot exist without joy. This dimension's actually born of joy.     I'm lucky enough to have felt joy in my life.  Like when, every so often, I come to an intersection at 3 in the morning, and there's actually NOT a mini van getting to that same intersection at that exact same moment.  Ok, maybe there are other joyous moments too.  Like when  doing something like a sculpture, which makes me feel so alive and well. It increases the dopamine response, and is really quite addictive if done to snuff.       Of course any creative person knows this already, or else wouldn't remain so insistent on doing it.  I think one of the signs that the world is getting better, is if there's a surge in the sales of paper towels and glue.  Naturally, someone is taking my sculpting technique to heart, and is discovering the joy of making paper towel monkeys for themselves.  After that, world peace is inevitable.   People need to reclaim their calling.  Any real passion or love is usually left behind, along with their youth. The dreams of children are spurred on by a child's soul. It's a rare and precious thing to not lose sight of this, but many people do. It's the child in us that have generated lasting works of beauty. And just as there are never too many love songs in this world, neither are there too many courageous words. This is specifically true when the purpose of those words are to raise an awareness in people's minds that might not have otherwise have been given its due.  Passion is contagious, given the chance to spread.        I think it'd be great if everyone would do this, what we're doing now. It's an effective means to get in touch with the soul, and to rekindle forgotten dreams. The most promising seeds can sprout in the most unpromising soil. I've forgotten who else once said that. I think it was on Star Trek.  As a side bar your honor, I was originally planning on calling this collection of essays, "Everything I Know, I Learned From Watching Star Trek."  Apparently, someone's already used that title.  Just my freakin' luck.     Don't worry folks, no rubber ears being worn here. I stopped wearing those years ago. Getting back to sculpting though, the personality which gets transferred into the work is due in no small way to the soul which willed them into existence. Don't doubt that a similar thing can happen as you write, because it's likely to be just as unique.     Then again, it could also be taken as just so much egotistical fluff. Regardless of what's behind this exercise, I really feel as though it's something greater that's coaxing me on. When engaged in any creative pursuit, it does make us forget about how alone we may be feeling at the time. It's hard to ever feel lonely however, when you have a brain that never leaves you be.         If one looks inward for long enough, a person would be surprised to discover this part of themselves that usually stays so buried.  Then again, this sentiment might only be rationalizing.  It could be a way of dealing with the isolation. There's a certain amount of  frustration that can come with being so isolated all the time.  Sometimes, while looking at the stars, I see something extraordinary.  A group of stars I'd never noticed before, or some other anomaly that reminds me that we're not alone out here.  But the moment is tainted by the inevitable realization that it would have been nice to share such a moment with someone with a soaring curiosity.              Let's face it, there are certain other activities that quickly come to mind. Things I'd rather be doing than sitting here writing. In general point of fact, I could remain almost totally isolated from others, if not for the pesky hormone factor. I was just getting into the word play comfort zone, when SHE appeared.  All I was doing was taking a moment to stretch out a little.  I made the mistake of looking at the television.  Even though it's usually muted, I love the Spanish channel.  Latino women are gorgeous.     My primal senses are still doing their best to remind me of the biological duty of being born a male. Sometimes, I wish they'd just simmer down a bit. We have set the goal for ourselves to evolve into the next step, but this is harder to manage when the senses are stirred, and the pineal awakens.  Thank goodness, I can turn to my more civilized side during such moments of weakness.             At least this is my hope.  After all, my inner voice is  supposed to be the rational, patient, and spiritual version of myself. It's  my voice of reason, the cackle of my soul, the keeper of the flame, the bringer of the light, the calm before the... You can't deny your sexual self. While in this dimension, sexual contact is the closest your soul can get to the soul of another. Sex is supposed to be the ultimate, symbolic expression of love and communion. Your biology is based on this. I'm not talking about the need to procreate here, although sex is useful to that end as well of course. What we're talking about right now is in how biology is a tool through which the soul acts as a corporeal being in its vessel of flesh and blood. The sexual act is the soul's way of identifying itself to you, and is even a way for it to remind you that it's alive and well inside of you. That's why, beyond the biological connotations, thinking about sex is appropriate.  As for the infrequency of the sexual experience, not everyone wants sex without emotional intensity.             Truthfully, the thought of a one night stand is unappealing to me. Sex just for the sake of sexual pleasure feels wrong.  I'd actually prefer to feel more comfortable with a woman first, you know, maybe get to know her a little.  Actually, I tend to test her resolve by seeing how much of my nervous babbling she can take too. I figure if she can absorb that kind of assault, then she can take anything.  I'd very much like to be able to say that the sole reason I've had such limited experience, sexually speaking, is because of my thoughtful nature. But what it really comes down to economic viability.          I'm fairly sure it's due mostly to not being able to afford a woman, that I set such impossibly high standards for myself.  But speaking strictly from statistical stance, how many sexual relationships have most 38 year-olds had? Fifteen, twenty? I haven't a clue.   My still being unattached is also because of how women scare me. After all, they're pretty, but scary things. Especially the ones to whom I'm attracted, you know, that fetish of mine. Seems my white whale has surfaced again.        I'm appalled that, at least initially, it's only sexual drive that makes me approach those rarest of life forms, the buxom vixen. You see, just talking about it makes me bow my head in shame. I like to pride myself as being above such primitive knuckle dragging, which isn't to say that, within the context of these passages, I'm not also proud of my animal heritage.           I still contend that we must acknowledge our animal selves, if we're to move beyond them. But the animal in me, the one that wants a heartier sex life, can be a bit too much to tame.  Damn television's pretty distracting.  So is this Hispanic lady.  It doesn't seem to bother me that she doesn't speak English.  Her body's doing the only talking I need to understand.  It's also fun to hear one or two recognizable words surface among all the dissonance.  She seems to be mentioning Blue Oyster Cult a lot for some reason.  How hot is THAT?       Note to myself: Buy more paper towels.  Naturally, I'm talking about the ones I use to build my animals. Slight pause, whilst I adjust my accutriments.  I'm just gonna slip out of the room for a few minutes.  I'll be right back. Seems the beast won that round.  It's our beasts within that have given us the survival skills we once depended upon simply to survive. For this we owe them a debt of gratitude, but it's that same animal past that also threatens us all in the now. The time is rapidly coming when the secrets which have been hidden for so long now, will be revealed to us.  As we peer with ever increasing precision into the double helix, whole new worlds will open up for us. Any doubts of the origin of all life will quickly dissipate, and this revelation will usher in the new age of humanity. Once that happens, it's more likely than not, that the definition of humanity will be in need of a tailor. Adjustments will need to be done, from head to foot.            Once the molecular mechanism of all life is revealed fully, yes things will certainly change.  But will this alone help us enter some golden new age? Science is my religion, and if I were to choose just one method to aid in understanding, that would be it (I believe this has been made clear by now). But as I've already suggested, even science comes up lacking. A problem presents itself when ever a person gets so involved with how something works. A person tends to forget who or what is responsible for all of this wonder to begin with.        Sadly, to me at least, many scientists consider themselves atheists. One of my favorites, Carl Sagan put it something like this: If you believe that a god or gods created the universe, then you're forced into asking the next brave question, "then who created them?" And if you can ask yourself this, then why not save a step and just say that he always existed.        He then sums up by suggesting that instead of saying god has always existed, let's cut out the middle man, and say that the universe always has. It exists of its own volition. It needs no creator, because it was already here. It's really only a matter of semantics.  Either that, or one of the biggest cop outs of all time. In the end, it doesn't matter what you choose to call it--- god, the universe, the cosmos, or some kind of creative force. All of these are simply different titles or explanations for the biggest mystery of all time. Names help you to identify whatever it is that's created what you perceive to be the known universe. You humble yourself before the lord in recognition of those parts of the universe that can only be observed directly. After that, science begins to fail you. So far at least, it can only quantify but the tiniest fraction of what's truly out there, or just as accurately, what's in there. We know that as a species, we've only just begun to take it all in. Everyday, physicists look ever more deeply into the mysterious puzzles of time and motion. Just when they think they've discovered the biggest or littlest thing there is, that's when they're stunned to find something that is even yet bigger or smaller. As a monument to human exploration, this realization does little to discourage the human desire to know. The universe promises challenge without end. It's the ultimate caper, and everyone loves a good mystery.        I'm not so sure about that. It appears to me that most people are still willing to settle for the simplest explanation of all, that a god or gods are wholly responsible for all creation. Where's the fun it that?  Maybe my stubbornness stems from my living at the anterior edge of the bible belt, here in middle America.  I'm surrounded by these people who feel no need to ponder any questions at all.  Their biggest concern usually orbits around whether pro wrestling is real or fixed.  Now that I think about it, it's an intriguing question in all fairness.        Many folks in these here parts seem perfectly content to simply base their beliefs (and their lives) on faith alone. Yes, I envy them for being able to do that. I wish terribly that I could just roll over and go to sleep, along with the rest of the religious world. It'd be nice to be able to find rest so easily.  My wager is, they're not dependant on horse tranquilizers to get to sleep at night like I am either.  I wonder what it'd be like to be that happy? Even if it's happiness based on delusion, it's still got to be pretty nice. Some people love constant struggle, because it reminds them that they're still alive. It's the thrill of the chase that matters most, and not the shiny prize that it might yield up. Incidentally, what evidence is there that people are happy just because they have faith? It's mostly just all talk.  They need to convince people of their enormous beliefs, but mostly, they need to convince themselves of such beliefs.  It's part of the group mentality.        No one's truly happy today, for the most part. Happiness comes in small slices.  Good feelings can rapidly be replaced by an awareness of how conditional such happiness is. We think we can find happiness in others, which we can, at least for short periods of time. Ultimately though, happiness comes from within. And that's a real wallop to a society where individuality means nothing, and conformity means everything. Put more plainly, when a  society makes us feel like invalids if we dare to go against the grain, where does that leave the individual in general? So often, it's the individual who has to forego critical thought, just in order to feel accepted.        What a horrible thought it is to realize that if we're to EVER find true happiness, then it's up to the self to find it. Case and point: If a person has found joy in their faith for instance, and truly believed in those things they say, then they wouldn't be running around knocking on doors,  trying to convince others of these beliefs. If god works in silence (which I've heard some people claim), then what's all the shouting about? It's actually just a variation on a theme. Someone else once said that there is a measure of strength that comes simply in knowing. But yes, it's also evident that nobody really seems all that convinced that what they believe, is what's true. People react defensively, even violently, if you suggest to them anything that contradicts what they've managed to cling to for most of their lives.            It's been my experience (again, living in the bible belt) that the utterance of but a single word is sometimes enough to send most people into a finger wagging rage. Mention the word "evolution," and you almost always get the same response. There's always this smirk of self satisfaction on their face as they proudly declare, "Your great great grandparents might have come from a monkey, but not mine!" Why does this word represent such a threat to the average American?

~Chapter Thirteen~                           PAPER TOWEL MONKEYS "Do I contradict myself? Very well then, I contradict myself, (I am large, I contain multitudes)." --- Walt Whitman        The modern spiritual approach to how life should be lived while in the here and now, is one that caters to the idea that being in the here and now is all that matters.  Being overly concerned about the future or the past is considered a waste of valuable learning time.  All that should matter, is the moment at hand.  According to the new agers, there's nothing that can be done about the past or future, so why try?      I respectfully disagree.  As much as I appreciate still being alive to enjoy the present, my instincts tell me that later is going to be so much better. At least I hope so.  Based on nothing more than a series of recurring (and vivid) dreams, I feel confident that there will be a later for us. Not necessarily for us as individuals, but for us as a species. Then again, there could be an asteroid drawing a bead on us as we speak.          I'll take a chance, and ignore some unforseen, extinction level event type of calamity. Wrapped in the safety of my dreams, I've seen how our world has finally learned how to view itself as a single, living thing. How could such a thing have come about? For one thing, we'd learned how to remove the desperation from our lives.  That was done in large part, by making it our mission to see that everyone's basic needs for survival are handsomely met. We've learned, at long last, to accept our roles on this Earth as its inhabitants, and not its owners. In my dreams at least, is a vision of a better world.  Delusion's a helluva thing.        Delusion or not, we'd eventually heard nature's warnings, and heeded them in my dreamscape. How could we have learned to listen to something to which we were oblivious for most of our presence here on this Earth? Honestly, I don't know, but I'd very much like to find out. I do know however, that the surest way to ruin a miracle, is to try and understand it.  Why even try?     But it's tantalizing to think that if dreams are the reflection of some other reality, then why not? But I'm never alone while projecting myself into the "what if" offered by my dreams.  There, standing guard over this lofty goal of outgrowing our old shoes, was the sentinel of my own skeptical nature. It's a big, mean looking thing. At least so far, it's kept me from becoming one of those pop-culture prophets with their chakrah crystals and harmonic convergence charts.        In spite of my skeptical nature,I was ready to dabble into spiritualism, but not that ready. I don't like how some people in that area of thought came by their enlightenment, with their ability to fool a gullible public at its core.  Plus, they're always smiling.  From my perspective, that kind of enlightenment can't be explained unless they're drinking some really potent herbal tea.       Maybe I'm still too cynical to get it, but just in using a word like "metaphysical" sounds rather false to me. I'm not saying it is false mind you.  It's only that I'm not quite yet ready to give up my security blanket of cynicism. I'll be keeping my science nearby, just in case my spiritual wings should happen to get singed by my flying too close to the sun. Not only that, but I don't wanna give up my angst yet either. It helps keep a person alert. In a way, I'm thankful for the source of that angst, which is an unbinding faith in the stupidity of the masses.  Maybe my attitude toward this country's weak mindedness will relax a little as I get older, but I rather  hope not.  Mild anger makes for a really good workout.        To allay any suspicions that I might be getting softer with age, there's the fact that I still get a little too excited when I hear people like Larry Flynt speak their minds. He was a guest on a talk show one night. He was on one of the few shows in which a person is given more than the standard 3 minutes to instill in the viewer, their sense of outrage.  Up till then, I didn't really have much of an opinion of the publisher of "Hustler" magazine.  Even as a progressive, I felt his publication was a little bit obscene.  But, any prejudice I might have had quickly disappeared when I heard how impassioned he was about the right wing movement that's taking shape here in the states.      When asked if he'd ever reconsidered his atheistic views, he responded in his characteristically flagrant way and said, "My feeling is that if the Christians would just take some Lithium, I think they'd be just fine."        Spoken like a true skeptic. But there's a difference between me, and the atheist. They don't believe in anything beyond trolling for top soil trout. When you're dead, that's the end of the story, as far as they're concerned. That's fine.  We're still living in a free country so far.  I don't believe that myself, but don't pretend to know what lies beyond this mortal coil either. It doesn't matter whether I know, or don't know. I'm just glad I have  a mind that likes asking questions.        It's hard to be bored when you want to know about everything, including those tantalizing mysteries that might never be answered. That's bully for me. Having so many questions are the bread and butter for the skeptic, because they're asked out of passion and zeal. Skeptics are clever and intense. They sometimes accomplish wondrous deeds, and are less interested in mere words.     These are the people who get things done, if they have the stamina for it. Just because skeptics don't believe in heaven, that doesn't mean they don't long for it. Maybe they can help usher it in, right in the here and now. Hopelessly disenfranchised from their peers, they sometimes look to a future that's more akin to their own belief in what a heaven should be. Maybe, if there is to be a paradise for us, it will be the dreamers who build it.           In the meantime, true liberation is occasionally glimpsed in the words of the skeptics, as they're ascribed with the kind of freedom that has to be earned.  It's not just handed to you by an organization that's dependant upon mass delusion. A person blessed with a truly freed mind seeks out the kind of goals that soar with imagination, even if he or she doubts whether they're attainable. There are those who believe in freedom's coming, and the whole world is invited to join in. But wherever freedom rings, the need for change often chimes in as well. We've always had freedom, but so far anyway, only a few are allowed to live it. Ways will be adopted which can help us to see ourselves as a single species. Our basic wants and needs tightly  bind us together.  No tedious differences can keep us apart. The division that's still guiding our lives today is getting tiresome, and must be abandoned. Historians will look back to the time before the 21st century had come and gone. They'll see it as the time of when, because of a stubborn and mindless insistence that change could be kept at bay, it almost was.  It's true that all living things will experience change, but the key word here is "living."  Because of human arrogance, we were on the verge of no longer being here to witness the coming changes on this planet.  As the Buddhist will tell you, nothing is so permanent as change. But the fearful and ignorant mind doesn't recognize this truth.  It resists any ideas of change, regardless of the evidence that supports its necessity.     And while we're on the subject of the fearful and the ignorant, let's touch on politics.  I know, even I'M yawning at the idea. In America, an appropriate example has been recorded. The conservatives (what they were trying to conserve is still in question) were resentful that they were losing ground in the face of the new age.  A president, William Jefferson Clinton had come to represent everything the traditionalists hated.  A secret campaign was begun.  The fundamentalists were avidly searching for ways to discredit him. Not that Clinton himself wasn't doing a bang up job of it all alone, but even so, his allegiance resided with the people (at least in principal). As a 20th century democrat (whatever this meant at the time), he wished to make at least some of the breaks given to the wealthy--- available to the poor. A worthy goal, even for a politician. His party knew the days of the middle classes were coming rapidly to an end. The wealthy felt threatened by this, as the middle class buffer zone between them and the poor was vanishing. Panic set in. One of the ways to stay in power, was to sock it to the poor, while giving all the breaks to the rich.  Besides, without the poor, who'd fight the wars that were, at that very moment, being dreamed up?  There were those who'd already been lobbied to take over the whole show, and to put into place a new form of government. The right longed to have a government that was so powerful, that even its people wouldn't be able to stand in the way.  The American people could be talked into anything, so long as it stirred in them, swelling patriotism. But the illusion of democracy would be seriously compromised, should such rash action actually be implemented. There was always the possibility that they wouldn't be as gullible as before.  Fear was always the way to drum up blind duty to country before.  With no new threats yet dreamed up, they needed something else. That something needed to put the cons back into the driver's seat.  No, there had to be an easier way. But any dreams of a new kind of government had to be put on the back burner for now.  This Clinton fellow was really getting to be a nuisance, with his clever talk about living in a global community. Such talk made those who were concerned only with their own agendas look bad. In the glory days, such a man of the people would have taken a bullet, but no one really took presidents all that seriously anymore. They were little better than figure heads now, front men who were at the tender mercy of the big house. Not to mention how tough it was to kill someone in the high profile world that was being fueled by the ever vigilant media. It was a house divided, but that had always been so. Everyone in congress was at odds with each other, dooming any chances for any vision that might create a union among the citizens. How can a nation's citizens feel any sense of unity, if the people they'd elected into office (it was the only choice given to the people of that time) were generally at each other's throats? Given the people's continuing tendency to keep playing the age old game of follow their leaders, it became accepted wisdom that there should be such a division among themselves too.        As I write this, there's this Clinton scandal thing taking place, although I fail to understand the controversy. So our loveable leader has a weak spot for portly, trailer park girls? So what? What a man does in his private life is no concern of mine. Like they say, so long as he's not screwing the country.  What with all the stink however, I'm sure all this sex scandal business will stick to our memories over the years, given how much news coverage it's received.         At this moment in our history, it's all anybody's talking about.  Well, that and the latest sports figure to get into trouble again. But the republicans are definitely on about something.  Seems like they want very much to start calling all the all shots again. It's been quite  a while since we'd had a republican agenda in the limelight of a high stakes game of political posturing.  As if anything they have to offer the country would be any better. I don't like it when the Democrats start getting too cocky either.  But my blood runs cold when ever I wonder about what lows the Conservatives will stoop in order to regain the throne.        It was clear that this Clinton fellow had to go, and that's all there was to it. So decided the cons. I don't want to waste any further space and time in giving them the full title. They agreed that they just couldn't have people shot anymore. That would be to obvious these days, not that it didn't still go on. Gun play was usually reserved for those in less prominent positions. But all this talk of world cooperation and peace was making the cons nervous. The tried and true political agenda for creating a war was becoming increasingly more difficult to come by, what with no more Soviet Union and all.        There was always the Middle East, but conventional weapons were plenty good enough for the likes of Hussein, and the other oil barons. No, what was needed now, was a really big war.  One that was so big, that it would gather enough momentum to quantify an increased defense budget. No one would question such a budget, if it meant an abandonment of our soldiers.  So what if some of that funding got misplaced, and ended up in a few political pockets? Clinton wanted no part of this after he saw how his predecessor had failed to make history to sufficiently seal his name in the history books. That so-called war would best be remembered in history as the war that was waged for the sanctity of oil rights. Not to mention how Saddam's "army" had surrendered to anyone even remotely looking like an American. They were so terrified, that one pathetic swathe of soldiers surrendered themselves to a passing cable news crew. It was pretty evident that these poor soldiers didn't really have their hearts in this whole war thing.  It didn't seem that their boss really gave a damn about them.  Most governments have always viewed their soldiers as disposable as shaving blades.        There were relatively few American or British casualties through the duration of this campaign, most of which were accidental shootings in several cases involving "friendly fire."   So we were told over here by the bought and paid for media. But if the reports of these so-called friendly fire incidents were true, Americans were being shot to death over there, and usually by other Americans. How would historians look at this little tidbit of information?        Clinton washed his hands of any war that as everyone knew, was waged for lower gas prices in the states. The money wasn't flowing like it could, not without the flow of oil as well.  If only there could be a new threat to national security, thought the cons.     I wonder if maybe some of them looked back fondly to the day of Hitler's reign. A more perfect threat, the world couldn't ask for. Hitler had demonstrated irrevocably, that through the guise of nationalist revitalization, a tiny (and economically dead) country like Germany could sweep over the world. People whose motivation is to seek and seize power and wealth, find such a moment in history intoxicating. Germany's economy grew ominously, through the instruments of war.        No one on capitol hill would cop to it naturally, but Hitler's principles were taken to heart the moment when it was realized how much money could be spent in the preparedness for war. And if it should be that there are no current wars to be fought (a sign perhaps that warfare is becoming passe'?), then new enemies will be found. There are still plenty of regions in the world, where dictators are getting away with barbarism. But they go on ruling, generally unchecked. Somewhere in the world, there just had to be another Castro, Hussein, or Hitler.  But where?        No one really wants war anymore (now that it's getting harder to hide secrets), but when funds get short, it's time to start waving guns around. U.S. citizens must be reminded from time to time that, "by god, you're still a member of the most powerful country in the world." Patriotic pride isn't so hard to conjure up in a country of people who were brought up constantly being reminded of this.        Some minds turned to Pearl Harbor, and how it was rumored that Franklin Roosevelt himself played a hand in Japan's dastardly attack on America. His request to join Europe in the war effort had been rejected by congress three times. After Pearl Harbor, that was all changed. Could a similar method be used today to horns waggle the mindless and culled public? A glorious new campaign of war could begin without a hitch, if the Americans felt there was a sufficient threat on their doorsteps.  But we'll leave this rather scary idea to some possible future. We shouldn't waste too much more time on berating or trashing patriotism. For one thing, a people tend to defend their turf, even if the method by which they came by it is questionable.  That is, people will defend their positions, even if their dead wrong.  There's nothing wrong with having pride in who you think you are, but maybe a little tweaking is in order.  How about this? If anyone's going to create the conditions needed for globalization, America certainly has the most resources. That in itself, could be the source of patriotism in the future, except the American dream would be accessible to an entire world. We could go on and on about this conspiracy or that, but I imagine that almost everyone has seen enough foul play in this country to have a pretty good indication that all isn't what it seems. This is a country that kills its own presidents. It may even be a country that starts wars, simply to turn a profit. But just in raising such ideas is a risky prepositon, at best.  If the unseemly underbelly of government doesn't like they way it's being rubbed, it will find a way to rid itself of the irritation. More importantly, so far as these essays are concerned is that, if we were to turn this into a history lesson, it would become painfully obvious that we don't know what we're talking about. Also, it would go against the true goal of finding the spirituality that's been ignored now for so long. Aren't we getting anxious to get into the good stuff?        It's just that I love a good conspiracy.  But, it does tend to put people off.  That's because "they can't HANDLE the truth!" I think the world would be a better place if we learned how to appreciate creative, vs. destructive will.  It's just that it's always been easier to rule through the threat of destruction, and the fear that results, than it's been to create a lasting peace.  When particularly manic, I sometimes go so far as suggesting that "if everyone else thought the way I did, then we'd be living in a much better world."  That claim usually generates lots of dispute, but I think most of us would be hard pressed to find many people who goes out of their way not to run over ants while bicycling.  Maybe I'm a little unrealistic at times.     Apart from the poverty, when all's said and done, I'm grateful that I've maintained a creative approach to life.  As a way to manage my illness, I've been building these life-sized animals.  They're what I jokingly call my "paper towel monkeys." That's because people seem partial to the primates I've done with a modicum of success.  The one thing that's always gotten me through, is my  creativity. I believe we're all creative beasts at heart, but it's just not encouraged like it used to be. Some of us have no choice but to create, and not destroy. Whenever I try to share this aspect of myself with others, I'm usually left unsatisfied.  So often, my preference for creativity over destruction is viewed as arrogance.  Nobody in this country likes a wise guy.        Expressing a more creative approach to life is often met with a conflict of ideals.  I go through this sort of clash of the egos thing, every time I try introducing myself to someone. I have this incessant need to keep reaching out, as I guess we all do.  It's just that I'm not very good at it. But if there's one thing about myself that gives me pride, it's this capacity for creativity. I've never had the money to do the high quality work I'd like, but the need to sculpt persists. And, as with everything else I enjoy, it has to be big.        I've spent a few years now building these life-sized animals, making them as realistic as possible. This isn't easy either, since I'm forced to use what most would consider trash. I'm creating these elephants, hippos, rhinos, and dinosaurs using nothing but old newspapers, masking tape (about thirty rolls per piece), and gallons of glue. After constructing a wooden armature, the aforementioned materials are used to lay on the muscle and hide of the beast.                    Here's a sign that we've arrived in a bold new age.  If you wish to see my sculptures, go to my website at www.primalcast.com.  Well, I guess the point is kind of academic here.  After all, you're on my site now.  Anyway, this has been a tremendous release for me.  Plus, each new animal created gives me a little more feeling of self-worth.  Everyone should try it.         When I'm finished with a given piece, it's only natural that I want someone with whom to share this joy. So I go rushing out into the real world with photos of my growing menagerie. People generally respond favorably, but when they realize that this is what I do in lieu of actually having a job, there's usually this look of pity on their face. It says, "gee, that's really nice work you do, but since it doesn't pay too well, does it? Have you checked the want ads? I think they're hiring now down at the Burger Shack."            To put it another way, we don't seem to be living in a culture that has all that much, well... culture. People are told how important it is to be creative, but end up dedicating their lives to being anything but. Parents Beam with pride over how well their little Brandon or Heather can draw, and rush everyone that comes into their home right over to the 'fridge where the Crayon creations are placed on semi-permanent display.  But just like the refrigerator masterpieces of youth, the creative spark that drives children to draw ends up in the trash as well.        As you might guess, this refrigerator art gallery thing was a regular ritual in the place where I grew up. Mom knew early on that this illustration phase wasn't going to go away anytime soon. My creative drive only intensified when I squished clay in my palms for the first time. I wonder if Mom would have encouraged my art so much if she knew how my obsession for it would make me grow up to be a honest to goodness "starving artist." Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against making an honest buck. I've had many, many jobs, but eventually they all paled before the greater need for creative expression, and the rush of being able to achieve it. Although many aren't aware of this, creative acts are the primary reason that we've been put onto this Earth. Not just for the artist either, because everyone has this calling. We're not just talking about painting, sculpting, or writing exclusively here, because every conscious act can become an art form. The nature of any creative act, this exorcizing of the conscious will, is to make manifest in life, certain aspects of love and joy. When a person feels joy (or misery), this must be shared with others. Sometimes, the most powerful feelings can be conveyed through acts of creation. Creativity is its own reward. The reason why creative will is so strong, is precisely because of the joy that it tries to represent, and sometimes even accomplishes. How do you express the unexpressed? You create. The more negative, or destructive emotions are easier to express though.  That's because they're more readily supported in your present evolutionary state. Fear runs rampant in the now, even as you deny it. The aggression that results is a relatively simple thing to write, sculpt, or paint about.  A culture's priorities are easily recognized in its creativity.  Movies, paintings, novels--- they all, more or less, directly reflect a society's ideals.  The culture reflects the subconsciousness of a society.       You can also tell a lot about the individual by what he or she creates.  To wit... what a strange little kid I was. Not that adulthood's changed anything in the "strange" department, but there was this one particular phase I went through at an early age.  Since I didn't grow up to become a serial killer (those people were dead when I got there, I SWEAR), then it's safe to assume I was an instigator.         I went through this puzzling period where I'd draw in red ink, various acts of dismemberment. Even as I drew them, I couldn't understand why I did it. I've never been violent, and wouldn't think of hurting another living thing. Not even a fly. Isn't that what Norman Bates said at the end of "Psycho?" Anyway, I still wonder why at such a young age, did I have this affinity for gore and carnage? It couldn't be helped. The terrible things depicted in those early doodles were the product of the terrible world into which you were born. To distill it down some, you were an unhappy kid. It had nothing to do in this case with how you were raised, because you've always been loved. What would compel you to put onto paper, such unpleasant images? There's no big mystery involved here. You'd learned that it was the best way to get the attention you've always craved, plain and simple. You figured out that the more people you got worked up, the more attention you'd manage to get.         I suppose it's the kind of thing all kids do.  Only, instead of screaming and crying myself, it was much more satisfying if I could make others do it instead.  Everyone wants to be appreciated. Only for me, the choice was to use the only tools I was given. That attention was gained through learning how to draw at an early age.  The sometimes peculiar way in which I chose to illustrate a given subject was due to the violence of our time.        As a five year old, I'd deduced that the more outrageous the picture, the more attention it demanded. The only people who seemed to be getting all the hoopla, were all those who were hurting each other on the news, and in the movies. Since it would never cross my mind to do anyone or anything harm or violence (to this day, I really DO try not to run over any ants while bicycling down the side walk), it sometimes showed up on my drawing tablet. That's how I learned to get that controversy. I got that rise from the attention. I got noticed. If these essays ever get noticed, then the controversy train will really get to rolling.  People have this allergic reaction to anything that might make them have to reconsider things.      Incidentally, I'm far less comfortable with giving my own perspective and experience, than I am with addressing the world at large. However, some personal stuff is bound to get thrown into the mix now and again. As long as we're discussing the creative spirit, I guess I qualify to make some observations known. As a matter of fact, the only way I've ever been comfortable expressing myself, is creatively.        I guess all I'm saying is, we'd be living in a better world if more people would make paper monkeys, instead of wars.  As examples of how this spirit can work, I have only my own experiences from which to draw, as it were. I think it'll serve in the broader context as well. I just want to make this clear before we continue. To expand on whether or not these writings are original, I've concluded that it doesn't matter in the end (we'll see if this holds true for those from whom I may have borrowed later). For instance, I've seen hundreds of paintings that illustrated horses, and other animals. We all have. Some were good, and others were really horrible.        Regardless of how good or horrible they might have been, all of them were unique. Each painting bore within them the indivisible presence of the person who'd done them. Similarly, when people care enough about my sculpture to offer comments, they tell me how they're somehow, different than the other works they'd seen done by other artists. They say that my animals (whether they are taken from existing forms, or are purely fantasy) have a quality about them.  My critters, I'm told, have  personality.        If a personality can be detected in my creations, or in anyone else's for that matter, it's because any artist worth his/her oil paint, imbues their art with some aspect of themselves.  But I think it goes beyond that, I think.  Because of my belief that all living things have in them a soul, then that same belief should be represented in my art. It's arrogant to think that this soul business is a phenomenon reserved only for humans. I insist that this quality should shine through in the eyes of my animal creations. And judging from the remarks made by family, friends, and those who've purchased castings of my works, I've apparently succeeded to some degree. Gee. Ain't I special?        There could well be a million people who've done a million variations of what a lion or an elephant should look like, but that doesn't mean there's no more room for further interpretations. Even though I'm not feeling that these words are necessarily original, I still think they're valid. At least it makes me feel better to believe that. The same thing could easily be said of the millions of love songs written through the ages. As is to be expected when writing of something so enigmatic as love, many of these songs fail miserably to capture what it's all about. 99% of such works are almost unbearable, because they are generally limited to those who've felt love on a deeply personal level. It's like trying to share the benefits of a good belch.  After getting rid of all that extra pressure, you feel great, while others are left repulsed. What makes perfect sense to the author, sounds like utter nonsense to the listener. But every so often, a visionary gives love a whack, and the world is moved. Sometimes it takes a million tries before a truth is revealed, but it's usually worth the wait. Everyone has feelings, but few feel confident enough to reveal them. But when they do, each creative act is unique to the vision of those who create it. It can be profoundly personal in nature, but given how connected we all are it's bound to strike a common chord if it's done correctly. This is just as true with any other act of creation. There's always enough room for another animal sculpture in the world, especially if it was done out of a passion and respect for the natural world. No greater homage can be paid. As for love and joy in this world, you say they are elusive. No matter how often attempts have been made to capture them, they remain mysterious and enigmatic.        I think it helps if you create for its own sake, and not with the need to profit from it.  Any truly creative efforts are labors of love, born of a hunger to fill up a feeling of emptiness with something that has an eternal appeal. Speaking for myself (hey, it's more rare than you might think), I don't create because I want to, but because I have to. Any sufficiently creative person will tell you this same thing. For me, an image will pop into my head, and that's that. I have to get it out of my head and into reality. This has the added attraction of bringing others into my world, and I feel less alone. That's the drive of creativity to me. If there's one thing that can give a person fulfillment in life, it's the ability to listen to the pleas of their soul. The soul appreciates those who do this, and in turn, it gives a person a window into a dimension that cannot exist without joy. This dimension's actually born of joy.     I'm lucky enough to have felt joy in my life.  Like when, every so often, I come to an intersection at 3 in the morning, and there's actually NOT a mini van getting to that same intersection at that exact same moment.  Ok, maybe there are other joyous moments too.  Like when  doing something like a sculpture, which makes me feel so alive and well. It increases the dopamine response, and is really quite addictive if done to snuff.       Of course any creative person knows this already, or else wouldn't remain so insistent on doing it.  I think one of the signs that the world is getting better, is if there's a surge in the sales of paper towels and glue.  Naturally, someone is taking my sculpting technique to heart, and is discovering the joy of making paper towel monkeys for themselves.  After that, world peace is inevitable.   People need to reclaim their calling.  Any real passion or love is usually left behind, along with their youth. The dreams of children are spurred on by a child's soul. It's a rare and precious thing to not lose sight of this, but many people do. It's the child in us that have generated lasting works of beauty. And just as there are never too many love songs in this world, neither are there too many courageous words. This is specifically true when the purpose of those words are to raise an awareness in people's minds that might not have otherwise have been given its due.  Passion is contagious, given the chance to spread.        I think it'd be great if everyone would do this, what we're doing now. It's an effective means to get in touch with the soul, and to rekindle forgotten dreams. The most promising seeds can sprout in the most unpromising soil. I've forgotten who else once said that. I think it was on Star Trek.  As a side bar your honor, I was originally planning on calling this collection of essays, "Everything I Know, I Learned From Watching Star Trek."  Apparently, someone's already used that title.  Just my freakin' luck.     Don't worry folks, no rubber ears being worn here. I stopped wearing those years ago. Getting back to sculpting though, the personality which gets transferred into the work is due in no small way to the soul which willed them into existence. Don't doubt that a similar thing can happen as you write, because it's likely to be just as unique.     Then again, it could also be taken as just so much egotistical fluff. Regardless of what's behind this exercise, I really feel as though it's something greater that's coaxing me on. When engaged in any creative pursuit, it does make us forget about how alone we may be feeling at the time. It's hard to ever feel lonely however, when you have a brain that never leaves you be.         If one looks inward for long enough, a person would be surprised to discover this part of themselves that usually stays so buried.  Then again, this sentiment might only be rationalizing.  It could be a way of dealing with the isolation. There's a certain amount of  frustration that can come with being so isolated all the time.  Sometimes, while looking at the stars, I see something extraordinary.  A group of stars I'd never noticed before, or some other anomaly that reminds me that we're not alone out here.  But the moment is tainted by the inevitable realization that it would have been nice to share such a moment with someone with a soaring curiosity.              Let's face it, there are certain other activities that quickly come to mind. Things I'd rather be doing than sitting here writing. In general point of fact, I could remain almost totally isolated from others, if not for the pesky hormone factor. I was just getting into the word play comfort zone, when SHE appeared.  All I was doing was taking a moment to stretch out a little.  I made the mistake of looking at the television.  Even though it's usually muted, I love the Spanish channel.  Latino women are gorgeous.     My primal senses are still doing their best to remind me of the biological duty of being born a male. Sometimes, I wish they'd just simmer down a bit. We have set the goal for ourselves to evolve into the next step, but this is harder to manage when the senses are stirred, and the pineal awakens.  Thank goodness, I can turn to my more civilized side during such moments of weakness.             At least this is my hope.  After all, my inner voice is  supposed to be the rational, patient, and spiritual version of myself. It's  my voice of reason, the cackle of my soul, the keeper of the flame, the bringer of the light, the calm before the... You can't deny your sexual self. While in this dimension, sexual contact is the closest your soul can get to the soul of another. Sex is supposed to be the ultimate, symbolic expression of love and communion. Your biology is based on this. I'm not talking about the need to procreate here, although sex is useful to that end as well of course. What we're talking about right now is in how biology is a tool through which the soul acts as a corporeal being in its vessel of flesh and blood. The sexual act is the soul's way of identifying itself to you, and is even a way for it to remind you that it's alive and well inside of you. That's why, beyond the biological connotations, thinking about sex is appropriate.  As for the infrequency of the sexual experience, not everyone wants sex without emotional intensity.             Truthfully, the thought of a one night stand is unappealing to me. Sex just for the sake of sexual pleasure feels wrong.  I'd actually prefer to feel more comfortable with a woman first, you know, maybe get to know her a little.  Actually, I tend to test her resolve by seeing how much of my nervous babbling she can take too. I figure if she can absorb that kind of assault, then she can take anything.  I'd very much like to be able to say that the sole reason I've had such limited experience, sexually speaking, is because of my thoughtful nature. But what it really comes down to economic viability.          I'm fairly sure it's due mostly to not being able to afford a woman, that I set such impossibly high standards for myself.  But speaking strictly from statistical stance, how many sexual relationships have most 38 year-olds had? Fifteen, twenty? I haven't a clue.   My still being unattached is also because of how women scare me. After all, they're pretty, but scary things. Especially the ones to whom I'm attracted, you know, that fetish of mine. Seems my white whale has surfaced again.        I'm appalled that, at least initially, it's only sexual drive that makes me approach those rarest of life forms, the buxom vixen. You see, just talking about it makes me bow my head in shame. I like to pride myself as being above such primitive knuckle dragging, which isn't to say that, within the context of these passages, I'm not also proud of my animal heritage.           I still contend that we must acknowledge our animal selves, if we're to move beyond them. But the animal in me, the one that wants a heartier sex life, can be a bit too much to tame.  Damn television's pretty distracting.  So is this Hispanic lady.  It doesn't seem to bother me that she doesn't speak English.  Her body's doing the only talking I need to understand.  It's also fun to hear one or two recognizable words surface among all the dissonance.  She seems to be mentioning Blue Oyster Cult a lot for some reason.  How hot is THAT?       Note to myself: Buy more paper towels.  Naturally, I'm talking about the ones I use to build my animals. Slight pause, whilst I adjust my accutriments.  I'm just gonna slip out of the room for a few minutes.  I'll be right back. Seems the beast won that round.  It's our beasts within that have given us the survival skills we once depended upon simply to survive. For this we owe them a debt of gratitude, but it's that same animal past that also threatens us all in the now. The time is rapidly coming when the secrets which have been hidden for so long now, will be revealed to us.  As we peer with ever increasing precision into the double helix, whole new worlds will open up for us. Any doubts of the origin of all life will quickly dissipate, and this revelation will usher in the new age of humanity. Once that happens, it's more likely than not, that the definition of humanity will be in need of a tailor. Adjustments will need to be done, from head to foot.            Once the molecular mechanism of all life is revealed fully, yes things will certainly change.  But will this alone help us enter some golden new age? Science is my religion, and if I were to choose just one method to aid in understanding, that would be it (I believe this has been made clear by now). But as I've already suggested, even science comes up lacking. A problem presents itself when ever a person gets so involved with how something works. A person tends to forget who or what is responsible for all of this wonder to begin with.        Sadly, to me at least, many scientists consider themselves atheists. One of my favorites, Carl Sagan put it something like this: If you believe that a god or gods created the universe, then you're forced into asking the next brave question, "then who created them?" And if you can ask yourself this, then why not save a step and just say that he always existed.        He then sums up by suggesting that instead of saying god has always existed, let's cut out the middle man, and say that the universe always has. It exists of its own volition. It needs no creator, because it was already here. It's really only a matter of semantics.  Either that, or one of the biggest cop outs of all time. In the end, it doesn't matter what you choose to call it--- god, the universe, the cosmos, or some kind of creative force. All of these are simply different titles or explanations for the biggest mystery of all time. Names help you to identify whatever it is that's created what you perceive to be the known universe. You humble yourself before the lord in recognition of those parts of the universe that can only be observed directly. After that, science begins to fail you. So far at least, it can only quantify but the tiniest fraction of what's truly out there, or just as accurately, what's in there. We know that as a species, we've only just begun to take it all in. Everyday, physicists look ever more deeply into the mysterious puzzles of time and motion. Just when they think they've discovered the biggest or littlest thing there is, that's when they're stunned to find something that is even yet bigger or smaller. As a monument to human exploration, this realization does little to discourage the human desire to know. The universe promises challenge without end. It's the ultimate caper, and everyone loves a good mystery.        I'm not so sure about that. It appears to me that most people are still willing to settle for the simplest explanation of all, that a god or gods are wholly responsible for all creation. Where's the fun it that?  Maybe my stubbornness stems from my living at the anterior edge of the bible belt, here in middle America.  I'm surrounded by these people who feel no need to ponder any questions at all.  Their biggest concern usually orbits around whether pro wrestling is real or fixed.  Now that I think about it, it's an intriguing question in all fairness.        Many folks in these here parts seem perfectly content to simply base their beliefs (and their lives) on faith alone. Yes, I envy them for being able to do that. I wish terribly that I could just roll over and go to sleep, along with the rest of the religious world. It'd be nice to be able to find rest so easily.  My wager is, they're not dependant on horse tranquilizers to get to sleep at night like I am either.  I wonder what it'd be like to be that happy? Even if it's happiness based on delusion, it's still got to be pretty nice. Some people love constant struggle, because it reminds them that they're still alive. It's the thrill of the chase that matters most, and not the shiny prize that it might yield up. Incidentally, what evidence is there that people are happy just because they have faith? It's mostly just all talk.  They need to convince people of their enormous beliefs, but mostly, they need to convince themselves of such beliefs.  It's part of the group mentality.        No one's truly happy today, for the most part. Happiness comes in small slices.  Good feelings can rapidly be replaced by an awareness of how conditional such happiness is. We think we can find happiness in others, which we can, at least for short periods of time. Ultimately though, happiness comes from within. And that's a real wallop to a society where individuality means nothing, and conformity means everything. Put more plainly, when a  society makes us feel like invalids if we dare to go against the grain, where does that leave the individual in general? So often, it's the individual who has to forego critical thought, just in order to feel accepted.        What a horrible thought it is to realize that if we're to EVER find true happiness, then it's up to the self to find it. Case and point: If a person has found joy in their faith for instance, and truly believed in those things they say, then they wouldn't be running around knocking on doors,  trying to convince others of these beliefs. If god works in silence (which I've heard some people claim), then what's all the shouting about? It's actually just a variation on a theme. Someone else once said that there is a measure of strength that comes simply in knowing. But yes, it's also evident that nobody really seems all that convinced that what they believe, is what's true. People react defensively, even violently, if you suggest to them anything that contradicts what they've managed to cling to for most of their lives.            It's been my experience (again, living in the bible belt) that the utterance of but a single word is sometimes enough to send most people into a finger wagging rage. Mention the word "evolution," and you almost always get the same response. There's always this smirk of self satisfaction on their face as they proudly declare, "Your great great grandparents might have come from a monkey, but not mine!" Why does this word represent such a threat to the average American?