I sit here at the desk with thoughts in my head transferred to black words on white looking back at me, each word a still point in a running monologue of the mind. I look at the green world outside through the window, the world I live in, look around at the interior, books and art supplies, an external reproduction of my own interior. I read on facebook about the civil war of terrorism going on in America, see pictures and stories of white men, and sometimes white women, seething with hatred for everybody else, video clips of cops killing people with hands up, a group of people calling it murder, another group justifying it. I saw tv journalist Chris Hayes attempt to interview a lawyer, Mat Staver, who advises the Kentucky clerk in jail for contempt of court. His firm, based in Jerry Falwell's church university in Lynchburg, Virginia, is the one with the agenda. They found in her a stooge willing to go along with their show, someone who dwells in willful ignorance, an easy target, the broad side of a barn. He said she got in touch with them, which I'm automatically inclined to doubt, now that I see whose agenda is directing the show. Soon after he started talking, I learned not to be taking anything he said for true, which he verified repeatedly. He has great future potential for a republican congressman.
I see the stories we get through the news, in all its forms, caricatures of a collective dream shared by all connected to American news sources. Fake news is willfully ignorant and serves the willfully ignorant portion of the population. The politicians, like Jindal, Cruz, McConnell, the list goes on and on, are demonstrably ignorant by will. Jindal went to Oxford. Somebody as stupid as he acts is ignorant by will power. He plays the role of somebody who could not get into Oxford in England or Oxford in Georgia. He is a master at working CEOs, convincing them to give him more free money. He's a master deceiver. His apparent ignorance is a magnet to the willfully ignorant, the Fake news viewers. At the same time he deceives voters to support him, he deceives donors to get their money. The propagandists have discovered the population of the willfully ignorant easy to manipulate as wet clay. Tell them what to say, promise national attention and money, it's done, no matter how stupid it sounds. It's smokescreen, so content doesn't matter at all.
I call this the world of the collective mind. It is a world we are trained to believe is "real" and amounts to "the real world." I've been told countless times along the way I need to get with the real world, start watching television. In a way, it is a record of human activity across a vast spectrum. This so-called real world is composed mostly of the worst of us as human beings in civilization. I pay attention to this world with curiosity driven by its unpredictable turns, assess the bigger world I live in, the big world that includes my small world of Air Bellows. The big world implodes and I go with it, like when the volcano under Yellowstone blows, it will take out the western half of the continent and counteract global warming with several years of dense volcanic ash in the atmosphere. The world of the mind. The world I live in is green, birds fly from tree to tree, donkeys graze in the meadow among wildflowers. I seldom hear a plane fly over, cars seldom go down the road, almost never a motorcycle. Wind blows, the wind chimes ring a melody of chance notes. Crickets and katydids, I can't tell if they're outside or inside my head. A crow in flight calling in crow language across sky. Even from inside the house, I can make out where the crow is located in the landscape around the house by ear from inside the house.
Caterpillar just now returned to the house after being outside for twelve hours. Unusual this late in her life, I've been outside calling her, worrying myself into a swivet, calling it concern instead of worry. I wrote everything before this paragraph with worry over Caterpillar in the front of my mind, telling self, "don't worry, be happy," she's having a girl's night out. I saw her walking down the path from the road above the birdfeeder, telling me she'd been the other side of the road or this side of the road in the tall grass. I have no idea. Caterpillar has favorite places in every direction from the house. The house is her center. She was born here, has lived here all her life. I jumped up when I saw her, put down a bowl of fresh catfood and put fresh water in her bowl to welcome her home. She ate and then drank like a camel. Ate again and drank more water. She wasn't looking for attention. She went back outside. I suspect she's tapped into wild mind, where she has not gone in some years. When she walked back out the door, I had the feeling she was still in wild mind. She was home, but still in the outdoors part of her mind. Next time she walks through the door, wild mind will have settled. She will say Mao when she sees me. Like Caterpillar lives happily in two worlds, I need both the simplicity of the green world and the complex world of the mind. For Caterpillar, I suspect it's the other way around. The green world is the complex world of predator and prey for her, in the house her simple life.
lewis carroll himself