Being around traditional Native American culture means knowing that there is attention to circles or cycles. Life is a big circle and time flows endlessly in that circle/cycle.
It’s a big difference in attitude. Usually in the U.S., time is monochronic – time is an arrow; use it or lose it, manage every second. Glance at the clock every hour and grimace. And, at the end, your clock has run out.
If you are one circle of nature inside the circle of life, though, you think cyclically, like: “What goes around comes around.”
Hey, painting will come back around. It’ll have its time in my life again.
I read a little online about the book Biocentrism, a theory that biology is the center of everything. Well, everything requires a conscious observer. The author thinks that time is a mental construct, created by consciousness. Space as well, I think. When you’re away from your kitchen, the particles that comprise your stove are in a flux of possible states. It’s not until you come back and observe your stove, that the particles coalesce into a specific form, in a specific spot on the floor. And time apparently is constructed for that object, including a past; the time when you weren’t actively observing it. (?)
Not sure from the tidbits I’ve read, but that’s quite a concept of time.
I think he’s distorting the results of quantum physics experiments, but thinking a little about his theory was a good brain exercise. And gave me another view of time. Time being actually triggered by life.
What attitude would a believer in that theory have?
When we domesticate animals, do they get dumber?
I couldn’t imagine anything poetic in the mind of this (dumb!) sheep I met yesterday. Its mind was only on getting some food. So…prose. Just Spanish practice for me! The sheep is alive only to serve as fur for us naked bugs. But domestication only goes so far – a hungry mouth can never be domesticated. (But now I want to know if we are dumber because of our own domestication. Maybe Neanderthals were geniuses. And while I’m thinking about that, I google & find this . I can’t stop laughing at the two side-by-side pictures. I’m definitely too easily entertained.)
El humor de la cabra
…en un cuerpo de una oveja
Soy para el pelo de bichos. Sólo la boca me pertenece. ¡Ayúdame! ¿Sea incapaz de hacer nada a causa de esos bichos raros con bastones? Me di un cabezazo al vientre de un bicho en suéter (la escritora). Una boca hambrienta no puede ser domesticada.
I’ve been doing a little stream of consciousness writing every day, if only a few words. Today it was several words. Here is today’s stream:
Sintecho: ¨Soy larga sarta de errores.¨
Sintecho versus contecho
Sin trabajo versus con trabajo
Por no trabajar te castigan con la muerte.
La muerte, la escarcha de tu humillación, igual que en la calle.
Sólo una calle permanente. ¡Felicitaciones! con techo.
Homeless person: “I’m a long string of mistakes.”
Homeless (literally: without roof) versus with a roof,
without work versus with work.
For not working, they punish you with death.
Death, the frost of your humiliation, same as on the street.
(It’s) Just a permanent street. Congratulations, with a roof.
Senhejmulo: “Mi estas longa fadeno da eraroj.”
Sentegmentulo kontraŭ tiu kun tegmento.
Sen laboro kontraŭ kun laboro.
Pro neniu laborpozicio, oni punas vin per la morto.
Morto, la prujno de via humiligo, same kiel sur la strato.
Nur, estas strato eterna. Gratulon, kun tegmento.
I saw a rabbit today!
I’m marking the start of a Ci poem, in the form of Santaici, 三台词.
A Santaici is an easy Ci / ĉinesko aŭ cio. It has 4 verses of 6 syllables each, and the second and fourth verses have end rhyme.
Eyes of a rabbit
I don’t run when I should.
I float two pools of brown.
I float you in those pools.
With the kill, you will drown.
I know I can’t do this in Spanish. I’ll try tonight, but … I sat down and typed this, but there aren’t enough words, and the last verse has too many syllables anyway and it doesn’t rhyme. But is it chilling? OK, it’s not going to be a Santaici, so I added a couple more words. It’s still very spare.
Ojos de conejo
No me voy, ¡debo escapar!
Derramo dos mares marrones.
Te derramo en los mares.
En matanza, te ahogas.