14 December 2013

Notes - cowboy? / Grandma 8 (final) draft / there's a thin line

         Mid-afternoon. You are waiting for Carol at Kroger’s on Tylersville after having a late lunch at Panera/Chipotle. This morning early you and Carol shoveled the walk and driveway and not long after the temperature rose and it has been raining ever since. The morning and even now you are aggravated with arthritic conditions, which you attribute to the weather change.
         1415 hours. The car windows are half fogged up already as I sit here with the engine off. Shows how much body heat I throw out. I’ve been thinking off and on about snowflake shaped souls and on the universe being aware, that is, that physics, the atomic motions of things, within the motions of gravity and pressures of light are as not biologically living but are cognizant of ‘existence’ relative to other cognizant of ‘existence’ similar to how life forms are aware of themselves relative to Anaximenes’ basics conditions: hot, cold, wet and dry. This way each ‘dimensional level’ of existence has interrelated awareness’s. – I was going on but Carol arrived and we left for home. Here it is later, and after I read the newest Harper’s which arrived today. (1555)
         Your attempt here is to project a concept, a mold if you will of how this can be implanted into the Merlyn books as you see the works as a system which you are attempting, as it were, to bring to life. The work has ‘self-relativity’ built into it, and you want the universe, as it were also, to follow suit. In a lighter sense (pun intended) Grandma fits the part in that she knows who she is relative to human beings and to the earth in particular, i.e. the earth being the universe. What do you think, orndorff? – Amorella
         1601 hours. I don’t know. The 1601 caught me off guard and I began to wonder what the real writer of Shakespeare was doing during that year, 1601. To be honest here, I don’t think I was fully cognizant of much of anything while keyboarding this previous paragraph. So, in humor, I see that ‘a system’ may not be so cognizant either. After all, unless I am feeling unwell I pay very little or no attention to my cells, my biology at work. The system can work fairly well without me being conscious of anything. Therefore, it is fairly silly to me spend the time and energy of the physics of the universe having any sort of ‘self awareness’, After all what would be the purpose of it?
         What then is the purpose of anything, your species, for example, (whether the species exists beyond physical death or not) included? – Amorella
         I don’t know.
         Then how would you expect to know if a ‘system-in-context’ has a sense of ‘being’ of existing? – Amorella
         Good question, Amorella. The first importance of a fact is that a person and/or a group of people agreeing to make it a term word then to agree on its definition. This is all rather weak though because whether human beings existed or not the universe would still be here. Our species is not nearly so attached to the great sense of being as light and gravity are.  Now, if light and gravity were ‘conscious beings of existence’ then that would be interesting. The Mr. Gravity bedroom antics with Miss Light, now that would be a fun read, as would ‘Miss Light’s bedroom antics with Mr. Gravity.’ Dark matter could be the shades being drawn in such a setting. I like it because it leaves out of the drama, which I assume would be seen by us as mathematical without us ever discovering the porn in it all.

         So much for a cold rainy afternoon; Carol is heading upstairs for a nap. Perhaps you need one yourself. Later, cowboy. Post. - Amorella


         2155 hours. I have Grandma 8 completed but I am suspicious of its twisting.
         Drop it in and tomorrow read it with fresh eyes before we work on Pouch 8. – Post. – Amorella
***
Grandma’s Story 8 ©2013, rho, for GMG.One

About 2500 years ago, in 485 before the modern Common Era, we have a love story between a druidic priestess, Gadelin of the North Woods and a druidic priest, Mardynn Herremon of the East Woods, a cousin of Simon Breac, then High King of Ireland.

It is in the last year of the reign of Simon Breac that the priestess and priest’s love interest began. Gadelin is in her mid-twenties while Mardynn is nearly thirty when, at the Great Wooden Hall of Tara, they are ordered by a jealous King Simon to compete to be the new official seer for the new king because the old seer had died suddenly and somewhat unexpectedly.

 The much older King Simon fell into an attraction with Gadelin because of her youth, her long coal-black hair, her contrasting fair skin, her athletic prowess and most of all for her passion to please the Moon God. Gadelin did not mind secretly sleeping with King Simon during the Full Moon as much as she did setting up the exact appointments to do so.

She slept with King Simon Breac during each of the full moons for six months when he suddenly orders her to compete with her known lover the druidic Priest Mardynn to be his official Seer. The next day with less than the usual fanfare the king announced the competition in Court at the great wooden hall atop the five hundred and fifty foot high Hill of Tara.

Gadelin slept with her lover Mardynn on the Half Moon. No one knew who she slept with during the First and Third Quarter Moons but many assumed she had two secret commoners for her ritual.

She bedded one of four men on each four-moon phase once a moonth no matter what. Even I, Grandma, realized that at the time Mardynn was a most loyal druidic guardian, worshipper and lover of the Moon in all of Ireland. Gadelin believed the moon god really created the sexual tension and his physical release through each of her Moon Lovers. She kept that a secret but not from Grandma.

Mardynn loved his Half Moon Goddess best and Gadelin was his best priestess partner to enact his sexual tension and release with the Moon Goddess once a moonth. The problem becomes that he privately comes to the conclusion that being the Official Seer will provide him with much more power than being the best Lover to Mardynn whom he thought of as the Goddess in Half Moon.

 Simon the King was the North and Mardynn the South during the Full Moon. As the Hall of Tara was aligned North to South Priestess Gadelin felt she would gain much wisdom from me, Mother Earth, in the process.

Gadelin thinks little of the upcoming competition. When she has a man in bed she is always in control. Always. She was twelve and living north of the River Boyne when she first had intercourse. It was with her older cousin who had much more experience. Gadelin is a natural, you see.

After the competition had been announced, during warm evening of the next Half Moon, Priestess Gadelin confidently strolled into Mardynn’s small round stone walled hut in the East Woods south of the River Boyn. She discovers her Priestly Mardynn is not home. She sniffs the air and does not detect his scent. Gadelin concludes, ‘He has not been here all day or last night.’

“I can see Gadelin yet,” says Grandma, “she is so confident that Mardynn will show up.‘

I know he thinks of me as the moon goddess when we make love. A man in love with a goddess gives himself completely.’ Her cleverness spreads rosy across her cheeks, she thinks in a shifting. He cannot know that I will be making love with the Moon God at the same time. Mardynn will be here, he will not disappoint his moon goddess.

Priestess Gadelin waits and waits and in quickened death waits still. So do Simon and Mardynn too. Those in any walk of life who attempt to love a Moon God-an-Goddess eventually over-indulge.
Round and round and round the three all go,
And where they stop no bodies know,

To mistake a Fate for Necessity’s Call,
Is to liken Moby Dick for a common Arctic narwhal.

Says this old Grandma’s tongue and gums
From this dream now past future dreams come.

***
         You are still uncomfortable with the words of Loren Eiseley in the post on 11 December:
** **
“Men talk much of matter and energy, of the struggle for existence that molds the shape of life.  These things exist, it is true; but more delicate, elusive, quicker than the fins in water, is that mysterious principle known as "organization," which leaves all other mysteries concerned with life stale and insignificant by comparison.  For that without organization life does not persist is obvious.  Yet this organization itself is not strictly the product of life, nor of selection.  Like some dark and passing shadow within matter, it cups out the eyes' small windows or spaces the notes of a meadowlark's song in the interior of a mottled egg.  That principle--I am beginning to suspect-- was there before the living in the deeps of water."

** **
         2211 hours. Now that you bring it to my full attention here is why I feel this once secret feeling in my immediate thoughts. Examples of ‘organization’ exist throughout these books and notes and blog. You are an ‘organization’ to me and still a mysterious one at that. Now, the mystery may be nothing more than my natural humanity more fully conscious, projected by my heartansoulanmind in a balance of sorts not fully conscious to me. What I am saying is that there need not be an alien presence here or an angelic one either – just myself being more cautiously known to myself. This is something that everyone who has ever looked deeply into a mirror can understand. I do feel the connection, and it is similar to what Eiseley speaks of in his paragraph. This is a connection we all have whether we recognize it or not, with all other forms of physical matter fused with natural human spiritual energy. I cannot love (have a deep intimate relationship) with an alien or an angel, but I can have a relationship with the natural environment of which I am those elements so organized, and I can have a relationship (be it via the heart, the soul and or the mind) with those living or anything existing at the time of my own existence. What else is living but this and the senses that allow our existential physical forms? You tell me, Amorella.
         An apt comment here is a quotation from the lyrics of a song by one of your favorite singers: “There is a thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning.” Post. - Amorella

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