Noises of Spring

Spring arrives finally with the birds chattering and competing in mating calls, singing their presence.  The wind blows though branches a little louder as the buds swell and early flowers appear on the maples.  A few insects begin to explore, adding the persistent hum of little wings.  And of course the streams are filled and water soothingly provides background in lapping waves, showers and storms, bubbling brooks.

That’s the natural picture.  Here in the metropolitan suburbs that is less noticed than the noise of cleanup and construction, as the crews pile out of the houses where they have been refinishing kitchens and sprucing up living rooms.  Roofs need to be repaired or redone entirely, a three day racket of crowbars, hammers, and fierce language, much of it in Spanish.  Yards are now ripe for loud fertilization, followed by the roar of motors on mowers that have reached the size of semi-trailers, and the whine of blowers that could defeat the North wind himself.  Left over storm damage necessitates the constant attention of chain saws.  When there are peaceful moments, somebody has decided to sand their boat, or did their garden with a gas tiller.  If the hush gets to great, the general consensus seems to be that what is desperately needed is loud music _ opera, rock, whatever _ blasted into the yard while the barbeque grills are prepared.

Even in the few blessed hours when such is not occurring _ which are rare because the yard crews now arrive at seven or before and don’t finish until nightfall, and at least one person is always home to provide some sort of noise, even if it is just yelling at the screaming kids _ other aural intrusions from civilization are all around.  We are under one of the flight paths for the New York airports, so certain days there is a huge jet overhead every few minutes, some of them shaking the house with the roar of old engines.  Here on the North Shore, helicopters stream up and down the coast, into the nearby hospital or ferrying the rich from Manhattan to the Hampton’s playgrounds.  And there is always some wealthy hobbyist on the weekends flying his private plane low over the scene, presumably taking  charming photos while disturbing everyone else.

It’s a price we pay, I guess, for our lifestyles.  They used to claim that the suburbs were quieter than the city, but having tried both recently I have to think the decibel level can get worse here, where there is almost no regulation and hardly and rules or civility.  Not that the countryside is really any better, I suppose.  No, all we can do is accept it and try to build a cone of silence or sound to drown everything else in a constant war of sound.

-

There are three ways to deal with the sounds that can distract me:  concentration, acceptance, or isolation.  Each has its virtues and faults, and work some times and not others.  Everyone has to use them these days because silence is absent from the land.

Concentration allows me to get so involved in whatever I am doing that I simply ignore everything around me, including the sounds.  This works well when I am at work or doing some major project, or even when I am simply engrossed in what I am doing _ reading a book, eating dinner, watching the internet.  The disadvantage, of course, is precisely that I am unaware of what is going on and may be punished by something in the environment that I should have noticed.

Acceptance is much advised by; various spiritual disciplines. Don’t fight the noise, accept it as part of all, make its cacophony part of your own energy, use it as a lever to higher and wider consciousness.  The roar of a jet, the whine of the chain saw, are just elements of the tapestry of experience and properly understood and internalized, they add to rather than detract from the experience.  I can seem to do that once in a while, but I confess I am no saint, and a good deal of the time I curse the rattle of the low-flying helicopter or the atonal horn melodies of two or three blowers competing with one another.

The normal option, for just about everyone, seems to be isolation.  That involves, for example, sound proof windows which are never opened.  When I was young, a rite of the season was to take off the storm windows and put on the screens, the throw open the house to outside ventilation.  No more.  One clattering lawn mower at seven in the morning is enough to end that old tradition.  Instead, when the quiet sanctuary of the home is left behind, people carry their isolation bubbles with them.  This usually takes the form of earphones running telephones, computers, or music as a loud feed overcoming all outside distraction.  Of course, it does make it more likely that I will simply walk in front of a garbage truck as I hum along with some lively tune.

-

Po’ Ears

 

I

Hear all nature with its noise -

Lovely noise!

What a universe enchanted its harmony deploys!

How it lingers, lingers, lingers,

All around from dawn to night!

While the children point their fingers

At the constant birdcall singers

With an innocent delight;

Keeping time, time, time,

In a sort of mystic rhyme,

To the sweet encapsulation that their harmony enjoys

From the noise, noise, noise, noise,

Noise, noise, noise,

From the rustling and the trilling of the noise.

II

Hear the happy neighbor noise – back yard

Happy noise!

What a mix of pleasant simple restful joys

In the balmy air of night

Full of family delight!-

From the wind chimes gentle notes,

Drift all in tune,

What surprising music floats

Cause a listener to smile, as one dotes 

On the moon!

And the children with their toys,

What a blend of harmony arise from girls and boys!

So much poise!

It employs!

Of the Future! – endless in delight

While the parents drink Rob Roys

Fill the air with chatter  about nothing much the matter

Adding noise, noise, noise-

Adding noise, noise, noise, noise,

Noise, noise, noise,

To the ringing and the singing  flow of noise!

III

Hear the loud power noise

noxious noise!

What a tale of hubris, now, their screaming roar annoys!

Although vanished in the night

By dawn they start to fight!

Horrific mufflers leak

They can only shriek, shriek,

Out of tune.

In a wretched mass destruction of the peace,

In a mad and frantic scramble of the peace,

Echoes increase, increase, increase,

Huge vibrations never cease

And a resolute endeavor

Now – now to do, or never,

Until the rising of the pale-faced moon.

Oh, the noise, noise, noise!

What a waste of wealth employs             

Grand desire!

How they snort and clash and roar!

What a horror they outpour

In quiet neighborhoods rise higher!

Yet the ear, it fully knows,

With the smashing,

And the crashing,

While the whining ebbs and flows;

Yet the ear discerns no joys

In the mowers,

And the blowers,

Concentration all destroyed,

By the steaming and the screaming in the volume of the noise -

Of the noise -

Of the noise, noise, noise, noise,

Noise, noise, noise -

In the ripping and the whipping of the noise!

IV

Hear the rolling of the noise -

Background noise!         

What a world of human beings their constant hum deploys!

Even in the depth of night,

How we hear it in its might

An incessant menace in its drone!

For every sound that floats

From the rust in engine’s throats

Is a groan.

And the people – ah, the people -

Both well-off and all unequal,

All alone,

And who working, working, working,

Cause that muffled monotone,

Feel so righteous in not shirking

Social duty all their own -

They are neither man nor woman -

They are neither brute nor human-

They are Tools: -

And their job they cannot shirk,               

As they work, work, work,

Work

Creating lots of noise!

And their boss always enjoys

Lots of necessary noise!

And he pays them, and destroys,

Using time, time, time,

In a sort of mystic rhyme,

To the necessary noise: -

All that noise:

Using time, time, time,

In a sort of mystic rhyme,

To the throbbing of the noise –

Of the noise, noise, noise: -

To the sobbing of the noise: -

Keeping time, time, time,

Filled with poise, poise, poise,

In a happy mystic rhyme,

To the working out the noise -

All that noise, noise, noise -

To the working out the noise -

All that noise, noise, noise, noise,

Noise, noise, noise,-

All that crashing and that mashing from the noise.

 

-

I always think of you as one of the younger generation, thirty years or so “behind”me. And as such, I know your world has always been filled with sound _ what I call noise _ both as foreground and background, often competing. It was true with my own children.

It is impossible to find “natural quiet” anymore. Oh, there are earplugs and soundproofing and you can construct a room or a personal space that is totally isolated from everything else, with its own aural ambience, whatever you choose. But if you wander out of your little bubble, there are nothing but chaotic intrusions, from distant aircraft, traffic, and sirens, to local saws, mowers, blowers, and no matter where out or in pumped in or pumped up music of some kind. In your house there are always TV’s or music systems or game consoles or internet information or cellphones. If you just sit, somewhere, you will hear something made by people drowning out anything that is not.

It’s a generation divide. My children do not care, and I’m sure you do not either, but it is a loss of what I consider part of the good world. It is a disconnect from our environment and how we are tied together. But you cannot understand, and that is less something for me to be angry at than to pity you for.
-
The notion of rights, responsibilities, civility, and of course legal regulation always trails the actual conditions.  Nobody worries about the use of water until the supply or disposal somehow becomes threatened.  In an extremely rapidly moving world, that means that our social interactions are far behind the true environment, and we seem to lurch between disasters and massive annoyances.  Noise may be one of the more minor of those, but it is one of the most pervasive.

Not long ago, a certain amount of silence was expected, even in cities.  One day or another would be reserved for religious quiet; there were certain hours when nothing public was to be done _ bars closed early and markets opened late.  There was a rhythm to the days of the week that reserved the most raucous activity for a weekend .

Oh, there were exceptions, even in the country, at certain times and for certain patterns.  You could always expect to hear an occasional train whistle even in remote country, and in the last century saws mechanical and otherwise would echo through the forest.  But the exceptions became the rule, with distant traffic noise always humming,  jets throbbing overhead, distant sirens wailing.  And with “labor saving devices” all local activity became raucously public.  Mowing, blowing, power washing, trimming trees, moving dirt, painting, building, roofing, even relaxation and play are accompanied by constant and massive decibels.

If its your activity, you don’t care.  But each sound affects everyone else, and someone is always doing something, and it is a 24/7 world so there is no cease.  The old polite rules are shattered.  I suspect sometime in the future there will be some changes _ I am not sure what _ but this is one of those situations, like polluted water, that now seems to be getting so out of hand that even those who admire their own noises are beginning to resent others’.  There are probably, also, coming to be real effects on the general natural environment and public health. 

But for now, all we can do is accept and endure.  It’s not the worst thing.  Right now, that is the true sound of spring.
-


We ran into John and Jan in a nice little bar on level three, one of the high class ones so I knew they had some money.  After a few beers we were exchanging stories, although the background music sometimes got a little loud.

John said, “there, that was what we were trying to do.”

Jan added, “and it worked out pretty well,  financially at least.”  They exchanged glances.  We encouraged them to tell us more.

“Well,” John continued, “A few years ago we had the bright idea to create a complete set of ambience recordings,”

“You know,” interrupted Jan, “like those background white noise generators or sound of waves that people use to get to sleep?” We nodded.

“Our idea was to expand it and customize.  We wanted a set of a real full day _ twenty four hours _ at one location, inside and out, just as if you were living there.  We thought maybe consolidate all the interesting stuff so there would be one new twenty four hour loop for every week of the year.”

“And we wanted it identifiable,” continued Jan.  “So we started with a cabin in the Ozarks _ a nice brook, woods, two acre meadow, lots of nice stuff, and set pretty much so the seasons were each about three months long. “

“And we recorded and edited there for a year, a bit more,” John noted.  “Not just the insects and wind and all that outside stuff, but homey sounds of the fireplace, or the rooms being swept by a whisk broom or a fire crackling on cold evenings. The hardest part, actually, was editing out the unnatural sounds _ like us, or the jet planes overhead _ that we didn’t want.”

“Gee, that sounds really interesting,” my wife replied.  “Did it work out when you sold it?”

“Yeah, actually it was doing pretty well, and we had great plans _ didn’t we, hon?”

“Oh, yeah, “ John took another sip of beer, “we did pretty well on the internet, and we were going to do a bunch of other types of locations, adding video, but of course we never got a chance…”

“Well, on the other hand, it’s why we’re so well off now,” commented Jan.  “When everyone had to move down here we suddenly became the hot item.  We get played everywhere all the time, we license to scientific study teams, people pay us to talk about our experiences.  There seems to be no end to the money.”

“Just think,” finished John, “we spent all that time recording everything as background sound, as something people could play while they slept or relaxed,  a bit of peace in their lives.  And now it’s the centerpiece of what everyone is trying to recover if we can ever get back up there again.”  
-
Noise is, I suppose, a minor irritant of modern life.  That it is pervasive and intrusive and adds to our confusion and unhappiness is probably irrelevant since it is a byproduct of so much that we find necessary.  As with many other irritants, the next generations will grow used to it and ignore it and it will not much matter.

The sounds of spring to me are still the babbling brook, the singing redwing blackbird, the breeze rustling the new leaves, maybe even a distant tractor chugging along plowing a field.  I am as out of time as an ancient peasant from a Breughel painting.

In all that there is a lesson.  The world is moving on, and without me, and it is actually doing as well as it ever does.  My solutions to what I perceive as problems are not required, and will be ignored as they probably should be.  And, to be honest, some of my distress at things such as the noise level this moment are probably nothing more than a general peevishness at having become so old and irrelevant.



Political Sci-Fi

Political parties are often dominated by older people, and since older people always think the crazy new days are going to hell, it is probably natural that one tendency in politics is to think that we are always racing away from a golden age.  The cures for all the problems and madness of today are in a return to the values and practices of the past.  That has probably been true since the first humans strung together a couple of grunts for communication.

A countertendency in the last few centuries, building on apocalyptic visions of the last few millennia, is that we must change completely and move to something new, something radical, something untried since all the old ways have failed us.  Problems can only be solved by some massive new approach, usually logically worked out from a contemporary trend.  In a nutshell, that is the “Western” concept of progress.

Both of these approaches have their faults and virtues.  The main problem is that as history and science have extended our concept of time past, their proponents have tended to elongate their cosmic visions of the unknowable future.  Once upon a time, not returning to the ways of our ancestors would ruin us before the next election, and not allowing for progress would harm the prosperity in the next decade.  But now the actions must be taken to avoid catastrophe for grandchildren, or generations yet unborn, or in thousands of years.  And at that scale, any projection is, politely, science fiction.

The future always surprises us, for we are incapable of predicting it.   You do not know what will happen to you later today, let alone in ten years.  What seems important this minute may become trivial in light of what will actually occur later _ in fact, it is almost certain to fade into obscurity.  We know our individual lives work out this way _how can we possibly think that politicians dreaming of doom or destiny for millions or billions like us into the decades ahead can possibly be other than raving lunatics, seeking present gain with fantasy pleas about the future?

-

Over the years, I have seen many politically “critical” crises or expectations come and go, which I can easily categorize by decade.  Each was supposed to change the world, then faded away.  In the fifties the world was settling down for a long golden age, except for those pesky Russians and a likely nuclear war; in the sixties parts of the world were turning into enemies like dominoes, and children were going crazy; in the seventies the cities were turning into hellholes and clean air and water were gone forever; in the eighties we all needed to wear sweaters because the oil was gone and the Arabs were going to own everything;  in the nineties paradise on earth was going to arrive except that the Japanese were going to own everything;  In the last decade _ well, take your choice. 

My own crises by decade were different, of course, but none of my long term projections meant very much.  My careers changed and I made more money than I once thought possible.  On the other hand, several times on the verge of seeming wealth, the companies I worked for went under and my options became worthless.  My kids became what all children do _ which is unknowable in advance.  None of my long term projections ended up being anything more than fantasies to help make it through the short-term daily and yearly problems.

Politicians, in sci-fi mode to attract cult followers, now tell us entitlements will chain our grandchildren to slavery, which is nonsense.  Even if older people survive plagues, war, and whatever else might happen to kill them all off, the younger generation would simply revolt and enslave the old geezers instead.  It’s happened before.  Food may become scarce, any of millions of things good and bad may happen, trying to figure out ten, twenty, fifty year projections is still a fantasy.  But politicians are worse, they pretend their fantasy is scientific or social truth.

-

Wiffengoofs

To the halls of congress gleaming, to the dingy statehouse cells

With the advertising themes that cast a spell
Come politicos assembled
With their palms held open wide
And their shouting dire predictions serves them well

Yes, the worst of things will happen

If we don’t do what they say
For our children, or some hundred years to last
They will really do quite little
‘cause this moment doesn’t count
Then they’ll pass and be forgotten with the rest

They’re poor little prophets who’ve lost their way

Bah, bah, bah
Intellectual lightweights who’ve gone astray
Bah, bah, bah
Political hucksters off on a spree
Spouting slogans of dooms they foresee
Anything to achieve victory

Bah, bah, bah
-

If you are convinced that a political view is correct, that some terrible thing will happen in the distant future unless action is immediately done, what can you do?  Sure, you can vote for an appropriate person, or contribute to the movement, or even join in demonstrations.  But with millions of people or more voting, and billions not voting in your area, what effect can it all have, globally?  It seems foolish, like going to the ocean with even thousands of others and building a sand dike against the rising tide.

You can certainly change the near and short term.  You can act locally, you can act today.  But, again, how much does your individual action matter.  If you stop pouring pollution into the water, but everyone else keeps doing so, nothing constructive has happened.  That is, after all, what governments are for. 

The key issue is you thinking you know the problem, or your voting for someone who you think knows the problem.  That sets up rigid preconceptions and hardline positions that often accomplish nothing.  The proper way to go about it is to find a political party that is flexible, and a person who can listen to experts, and a wise leader who can actually apply some common sense not only to the answers, but also to the questions themselves.

That is a hard pill to swallow, because you always know that you are right, or at least the most right.  If you care deeply, then you assume you must understand correctly.  And when you translate that into political action, thought becomes slogans and slogans become policy, and the true issues and their possible solutions are often lost.  And all the time, the people leading the cause tend to play on the position as merely a lever to keep them in power, and like dedicated fanatics everywhere, even if they believe what they say, the inability to evaluate other options makes much of what you really think should happen an exercise in futility.  The worst thing is, of course, that unlike short term problems and short term solutions to them, the long term issues are never evaluated while the politicians are actually in power, and we may never learn if any of the scenarios were true or not.

-

The world and its problems, current and future, are extremely complicated and often have no solutions, only outcomes.  Politicians, however, need to represent something that sets them apart from other candidates;  that makes them more acceptable and desirable than their opponents, and that can be clearly expressed in slogans which are understood by those with little time to follow deep issues.

Seizing on one topic, no matter how important, is always a dangerous exaggeration, especially when projecting far future consequences.  The real world does not exist in a static state, where one variable can be manipulated to see what happens.  Everything is always happening all the time, and what seems trivial this moment may turn out to be gigantic ten years from now.  At this moment, for example, who can possibly predict the full effects of computerized surveillance and enforcement if they should continue to become less expensive and more widespread?  And that is only things we might be aware of _ there are countless other things happening in a world of seven billion _ mad doctors in hidden labs,  paranoid dictators and generals, budding prophets in obscure tenements, infinite threats and infinite hopes and all plunging forward at the same time to interact somehow in what will come.  Single variables just dilute into nothingness.

A good example is a concern with national finances.  Finance is always a mass illusion _ the purchasing power and value of anything depends on belief in a common myth.  Thinking that current twenty or fifty year projections of finance and its effect on future society have any meaning for today _ the current phrase is our grandchildren will be paying for our spending _ is a grandiose empty dream.  The rest of what the world is will not stand still, the world of our grandchildren will probably not resemble today in any way _ for better or worse _ and it is unlikely that worrying about our illusions of their financial responsibilities will play much of a part.  These are simply recasting of religious sermons meant not to much influence the future, but to gain control of us today.

The extremely complicated real world needs to be dealt with now, today, this year _ not fifty years from now.  Sure, we can clean up the air and water and protect the environment and live more within our means.  But we can rationally do it only for the short term, and adjust as the times move on.  Telling us how much our sacrifices will mean (or how dire our sins will work out) after we have died is _ in politics _ simply a shortcut to public power and the purse that goes with it.

-

Cassandra lived down the block, in the tiny old blue cape cod.  None of us knew her background, she seemed to have been around forever, and her world was always falling apart and soon to be gone.  Which, she constantly reminded us, was all our fault.  She sometimes ran for local office, and sometimes won, but her only compass once in office was to oppose any change _since dealing with situations that always change is what organizations must do, she was rapidly unpopular and, at least in her own terms, unsuccessful.

Her predictions covered everything from the rowdy behavior of the neighbor’s kids (they’d come to a bad end) to the fall in property values that would inevitably follow an unmowed lawn across the street.  She told us how the town was falling apart, and indeed how the world itself would soon be no more, and certainly no more as we’d like it to be.  She could take any tiny element and like a pulp novelist spin it into an ongoing and irresistible wave of horror.  And with so many to choose from, some predictions inevitably turned out to be more or less right _ these were the only ones she remembered and let nobody else forget.

But her own place and her own family were secure.  Until one of her grown sons became drug addicted, lost his career and home, moved back in with her, and burned the house down one rainy night.  It was the real catastrophe she had expected for everyone.  But she never saw it coming, and whatever she might have done within her own sphere to head it off remained forever unexamined.

-

The thing is, life is lived in the short term, and the world never repeats.  Nobody, not even your children, live your own life again.  Dreaming about the long-term is in many ways just a fantasy to escape the duties of the present _ and while you are dreaming, accidents of the moment can destroy you and all your plans.  Trying to direct the world of the future with laws about the present is just as futile.  What society needs are good laws now, justice now, problems solved now.  Politicians who stick their brain into a futuristic slogan-lined hole in the sand help no one, and simply aggravate the situation. 

Where will our country be in one hundred years, socially or fiscally or environmentally?  Nobody knows, not scientists, not prophets, most especially not politicians.  We look back a hundred years ago and mostly laugh, although we do appreciate a few of the things that were done such as preserving national parks (basically on land nobody wanted at the time, however).  Our grandchildren, should there be any, will mostly appreciate that we survived somehow, and left something for them to work with, but the exact shape of what they have and what they do with it will remain, for us, an eternal mystery.

So when a politician tells you what must be done to save the future, or to restore the past, go and read a nice science fiction thriller instead.  It is more likely to be useful.  Look for politicians that tell us what we need to do now, honestly, and you generally find that they either want to preserve much of the status quo, or they want to change certain parts of it, which are valid political points of discussion.  But if they say benefits will accrue ten or twenty or fifty years on, that pain today means wonderful gain in the imaginary future, ignore them as you would any other bad novelist.  The time is now, the place is here, and the actions that mean anything happen this very instant.

 

Envy Today

All of the traditional seven deadly Christian sins seem rampant today, although perhaps no more than they ever were.  Envy certainly remains pernicious and ubiquitous in American society.  It is encountered in the writings on grand ideas, in public discussions, in private conversations.  And in myself.  It is an unavoidable undertone in our culture.

For example, the poor envy the rich, nominally for their wealth and possessions but implicitly for the way they seem to be in control of their lives.  The rich, surprisingly, envy the poor because  they feel they do not have to work nor undergo the constant pressures on the upper class, and of course because they are expected to help contribute to the support of those poor.  The healthy are envied by the sick, and even the lame are often envied by the healthy for the “special favors” they receive from the common resources.  Worse than that, envy is a sin of comparison, and the group to whom you wish to compare yourself is selected by you.  A person with more prestige and power than ninety percent of everyone may still envy all of those to whom she compares herself _ ignoring the rest entirely.

This is somewhat the result of our myth that anyone can be anything.  All one must do to succeed is to work hard and work smart.  Anyone has a niche that is grand, if they only seek it diligently.   On the other hand, anyone who cannot succeed on such terms is considered a failure to society and the self.  But since, from their standpoint, they tried as hard as they could _ well what is left but to envy the “winners.”

Life is mostly a lottery.  I didn’t get to choose my birth, or genes, or heritage.  I don’t have much influence over my death.  Perhaps my talents, if any, fit no existing niche _ a born general in a time of peace.  It remains true that fortune favors the prepared, but many of those most prepared never encounter significant fortune.  Thus I may envy those luckier than I am.

As Dante illustrated, the worst aspect of the classic sins is that they are internally corrosive.  Each day and each moment for each of us unfolds with no comparative reference to other people.  As the song says, we should live, laugh, love and be happy.  In fact, not only should we strive to avoid envy, but we should develop pity for those consumed by it.

-

I am short and nearsighted, so I could never be an NFL wide receiver or an airline pilot.  Other jobs turned out not to pay so well.  No relative handed me a company to run.  It soon became clear that I couldn’t “be anything I wanted.”
 

Then they said, well, “within reason,” which meant finding an appropriate niche and working hard.  But I soon discovered that no matter what the niche, the most ruthless always became the rulers.  The best at selling lies (including to themselves) were the most well rewarded.  My personality was lacking to excel at either.  They told me to change _ a kind of metaphysical destruction of my personality _  but even there I found that was difficult.  I was handicapped by who I was and unlikely to catch up to the naturals even if tried hard _ just as extra workouts could never make me a wide receiver.
 

Eventually, I did find my place, where I made an adequate living at a reasonable career and found happiness in the rest of my life.  I worked really hard _ it seems to me everyone generally works really hard _ but some get a lot more reward for the same amount of effort.  I can’t help sometimes envying those born with a silver spoon.

-

Hot Dog

Oh, I wish I were somebody else entirely
With health and wealth and notoriety
‘Cause if I just had what that other guy has
The universe would be in love with me

-

I expect you want me to suggest how you should banish, or at least handle, envy, but I can’t do that.  You will make your own mistakes, as I continue to make mine, and you will work out your own struggles with who you should be.  You are not me, and your subjective universe is totally different than the one I inhabit.  All I ask is that you sometimes reflect on the role of envy in your outlook, for sometimes  attitudes can distort your vision without your being aware of them.

You need to work and plan and follow a purpose, and in that journey some envy giving you a direction to follow can be a good roadmap.  If you do not let it fall into hopeless excuses, envy can help provide a set of concrete goals in life.  But, like driving at night, keep in mind that the most near and the most accessible are the most important and the most useful.  Envy of the most distant and unattainable will simply lead to frustration.

Remember, in that regard, that those telling you of cosmic purpose, whom you perhaps envy for their clear decisive position, are somewhat suspect.  Like anyone telling you what you should do in anything else, the most obvious are also the most powerful and the most persuasive _ the rulers and the salesmen.  Which is to say that they are the ruthless and the liars, whose main purpose is to keep you content  (or at least accepting) so that they can remain on top.  There is little need to envy an empty soul.
-

Envy, like all the sins, is an internal phenomenon.  No overt acts are involved, and there is no crime committed.  Envy can be the motivation for overt acts and crimes, but in itself is only something in our mind, like the taste of chocolate.

Envy is also only destructive at extremes.  To eliminate it is to become less than human.  Like all other human characteristics, it plays a useful part in who we are, and is a part of the beautiful ecology of our internal consciousness.  The problem is when it becomes rampant, when it corrosively overcomes all the rest of the environment of our minds and drives us into areas which our reason and other human characteristics restrain.  Envy is a sin only as it blinds us to the alternate _ and more likely _ possibilities of the patterns we are trying to discover about us.

The worst consequence is that we become easy to predict and manipulate by others, who learn to fully predict what will control us, even without our knowledge.  That is not the real sin, of course, but it is a practical result that makes us less able to shape our worlds to our needs.  And there is nobody more helpless than someone who cannot themselves understand the levers by which they are easily worked.

-

The ant and the grasshopper became friends as the warm summer stretched along, and would meet over a beer every week at the Meadow Tavern.

“Oh, I envy you, grasshopper,” said the ant.  “You sing and play all day long without a care in the world, sitting and flying and wooing the ladies and just enjoying life.  I wish I could be more like you.”

“Well, ant,” replied the grasshopper, “actually I often envy you.  You have a strong purpose to your life and are always building for the future while I have nothing to show for my days but shadows and memories.  In these longer nights, I am sometimes frightened by the emptiness.”

The first frost inevitably came along, and grasshopper died as expected, penniless and with no other legacy than an empty husk in the dust.  A few weeks later, a freak hurricane, driven by global warming, came along and destroyed the ants nest, drowning them all.  Catastrophes envy nobody.
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As a kid, I attended church every Sunday and paid attention to the sermons.  Sermons are an interesting device, when squirming on a hard pew, to focus the mind on some particular aspect of life.  Usually they centered on some topic from the bible, and cruised off from there.  It is at times an extremely profitable way of thinking, and one often too lost in this world of instant connections and virtual everywhere at once.

I have tried to regain the habit, now that I have the time, to attempt much the same thing fairly often.  Take a simple word, or a single concept, and let it play out, recoil, investigate the nooks and crannies called into consciousness, explore it from one side and another.  I do this not to change my outlook, nor to encounter revelations, nor even to improve my prospects for the future, but simply for the joy of it, as another way to encounter the world in all its fullness.  We have the miracle of infinite consciousness, but only to the extent we sometimes exercise it to its fullest capacity, which can be done by straining at trying to understand the apparently simplest things as well as the most complex. 

Forsythia

Forsythia

Here on Long Island, the most reliable indicator that spring has arrived is the blooming of the forsythia.  Bulbs are too easily fooled, early and late, and vary in their habits by where they happen to be placed.  Most of the shrubs are too late, when some leaves are out and the grass is already green.  But when forsythia brightens the landscape, it is a clear sign that the heavy snows (except a possible freak storm) are over and will melt almost as soon as they arrive, and that it is time to get outside to meet the germinating weeds on their own terms.

Aesthetically, forsythia is a wonderful yellow, brilliant in the sun and with an unearthly glow in the mists common at this time of year.  They often companion with large weeping willows along the water, a harmony of blue, green, and gold.  They punctuate brown hillsides and accent the reddish tones as the tree buds swell.  There is a prediction of the gaudier azaleas to follow.  As a bonus, they are presentably interesting throughout the winter with their tangled shoots, and lushly green in the summer.

Forsythia requires humans as completely as any of our other companion species.  Around here, they must be planted _ not becoming invasive like bamboo.  Our trimming is required for them to maintain vigor and health. You never see them, for example, sprouting in a forest, unless it is an abandoned habitation of some kind.

You can find where they come from, what species they are linked to, on the internet if you wish.  The main thing is they are cheap, easy, rewarding, and reliable.  They stay under control _ unlike, for example, a tree that grows too large _ and are long lasting and hardy.  And so, a gardener’s ode to forsythia, a wonderful plant, a true indication that spring is near.

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The winter can drag on and on,  I am an impatient guy, and usually around the third or fourth weeks in February I make a bouquet of cuttings and bring them in to force in a vase of water.  A week or so later I have a lovely golden cloud brightening the kitchen.  It lasts a surprisingly long time, and instead of dying and shriveling up, it elegantly fugues into green shoots and leaves, which I keep until the full spring has kicked in outside and the real bushes are in full bloom.

Some would see this aesthetic treat as selfish vandalism.  After all, I am going out a damaging a perfectly naturalized plant for my own temporary enjoyment.  I can rationalize and say that the storms of winter often do worse damage, or that I will have to trim in the summer anyway, or that without me the plant wouldn’t be there in the first place, or that the next owner of the house may rip out everything and start over.  That is all true.  Yet the fact is that right now, this year, the forsythia is under my stewardship and I am hurting it just because I can.

That’s one of our problems with everything.  Heisenberg’s principle applies almost as much to nature as it does to atomic theory _ you can’t observe something without affecting it.  Wilderness is quite wonderful in theory, but we see it from a human-centric perspective, which means from our perspective it must be known in order to exist.  In some ways, that forsythia serves a human purpose on a human world and that it is all it is.  In others, of course, it is part of far more than my daily kitchen décor, and what I have done is sacrilege.

I cannot reconcile the views, but I want to be aware of such contradictions.  In the meantime, I am happy and appreciative and feel spring is just a little closer.

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Forsythia! No folklore name

On hillsides, blobs of brilliant yellow
In mist with willows glowing mellow
An import from far Asian shores
Found in every garden store
So cheap we’re always buying more
I force it when our spring seems slow
And write odd poems to its fame.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forsythia

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Forsythia illustrates perfectly the good and bad of our present civilization.  It is innocuous and makes me happy and I can brighten my yard and appreciate the landscaping of neighbors and parks.  On the other hand, there is only one variety or so now distributed worldwide with vast expenditure of energy and concentration at only a few breeding stations.  Native species, not so colorful, spectacular, nor immediately rewarding to the suburban landscape are crowded out and eliminated, continuing the destruction of local ecologies.

When I grow it, I take all the standard measures which are also full of evil effect.  Fertilizer runs down into harbors and streams, water over the summer depletes the aquifer, when I trim the cuttings are shipped off to the town recycling center, using more energy.  My selfish use is definitely a blight on any ecology or aesthetic outside of the human one, beyond my own fancies.  If other perspectives are valid, they never have a chance.

Even if I change my ways, I am helpless to change the larger pattern.  Others will grow the shrub, the garden center could care less about loss of my business, the global distribution will continue without a ripple.  If I should become adamant and start petitions and organize meetings, I will be merely seen as a harmless or annoying crank.  Forsythia presents no clear and present danger to anyone.  It is simply symptomatic of the unclear and distant dangers we seem to generate by multitudes.
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In Eighteenth Century Britain, countless country parsons spent their time carefully observing, analyzing, and recording the details of common nature, certain that by so doing the were opening the glories of god’s handiwork for everyone to better understand.  One of the most tragic consequences of the theory of evolution was the cruel alternative to this vision of the miraculous in everyday experience,  a scientific model that seemingly required no wonder nor glory, but simply chance, circumstance, and heartless struggle.

You could do worse than to assume the mindset of one of those clerics, and take an hour or so with a magnifying glass and possibly a sketchpad and truly examine a forsythia in flower.  Any life form is amazing, and too often you can ignore the complexity and just take much for granted.  Flowers especially are marvelous objects, whether from the hand of god or accident of nature or both.  Carefully regard the construction, the pattern of growth, and try to truly comprehend what it all means and how it fits with everything else.

More than that, carefully accept an artistic viewpoint and try to understand why a flower is beautiful, how it enriches you to notice it,  how important it is to have beauty in your life as part of centering and opening yourself to true experience.   The grand aesthetics of your world are not just in museums, but rather in all that is around you all the time that there seems all too little time to contemplate.  By doing this consciously, you will edge just a little closer to discovering what life and truth are truly about, and what you should fight to preserve.

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A pair of cardinals was ready to build a nest in big forsythia outside my kitchen window.

“Leave everything to me, honey,”  said the bright red male.  She flew off to find food.  He carefully constructed a beautiful nest on the sturdiest branches he could find,  naturally the lowest.  He showed her the nest proudly when she got back.

“Oh, that will never do!  Haven’t you seen that big orange cat that prowls around just looking for innocents like us to have for dinner?”

She left again, and with a little frustration the nest was rebuilt at the very top of the bush, which required considerable reengineering because of the flexibility of the supports.

But when his mate returned, she said “No, no, I’m sorry.  Don’t you know the crows will see this and swoop down to eat our eggs?”

He said he’d do better, and moved the nest a bit lower so that it was screened from prying eyes in the sky.  But the result was the same _ “Well, it’s safe enough from birds and cats, but I’ve noticed in early summer the human here trims everything back right through where it is now.”

“I give up,” said the male.  “Where do you think it should be?” 

“Oh, just a few inches lower dear.”  Although exhausted, he did as she wished, and the nest remained safe and a happy home for this summer’s brood.

The moral?  Location, location, location _ and ask the expert for advice before you do anything.

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A forsythia is inconsequential and transient, due to die or be replaced, useless except for giving beauty and somehow making sure there will be more forsythias.  Pretty much like each of us. But it is also a symbol of everything _ more than that, reality itself.

The moments when I experience it are only there if I take the time and make an effort to do so.  Otherwise it is ignored and just another part of the grey nothing surrounding me as I go about my important tasks.