C. Henry Martens's Blog, page 14
September 30, 2016
Sometimes There Just Isn't a Meaning
©2016 Kari Carlisle
What will people of the future think of us? I mean the way distant future when they talk of us the way we talk of the ancient Egyptians. Will they dig up our smart phones and miles of fiber optics and Cuisinart coffee makers and then present papers at conferences on how we worshipped coffee and how primitive our communications were?
As an archaeologist (can I still say that since my survey permit expired two years ago?), I am conscious of the things we throw away and how someday our trash will be excavated and analyzed. And I’m a little embarrassed. We humans produce a lot of meaningless crap that someone will someday strain to ascribe meaning.
I have a figurine of Gilligan standing next to a figurine of a wolf standing on my desk at work. They have meaning to me personally, but if my building gets buried in a pile of rubble for 200 years and is later excavated by archaeologists, there is no way they will understand their meaning other than “toys.” At least I hope they won’t think I worshiped goofy sailors and animals. Oh wait, I guess I do.
I learned a powerful lesson about this long before I became an archaeologist. In fact it’s in part what lead me in that direction. I took an anthropology class in high school, and we were given an assignment – describe a human activity from the perspective of an alien. I don’t have the actual paper anymore, but I remember pretty clearly writing about the insanity of creatures strapping long strips of wood to their feet and repeatedly sliding downhill on frozen precipitation. It was so exciting to me to “observe” and “analyze” a behavior as if I had never seen it before and then try to figure out – Why?
Many years later, I worked in a state park with significant numbers of ancient rock art figures painted and inscribed on canyon walls. Visitors every day asked, “What do the symbols mean?” At first I did my best to educate them about the challenges surrounding assigning meaning to symbols created by people long gone. After years of blank stares and disappointment, I finally started saying, “Well, some people believe this means this, and others think it’s that….”
Today, one of my many hats is overseeing a retail operation that sells Navajo jewelry among other things. Most traditional Navajo jewelry is based in Spanish designs. They learned silver smithing from the Spanish and copied the designs they liked, so basically no deep, spiritual, Native American meaning there. But customers still want to know, “What does this symbol mean?” Sigh.
Oh, I admit I’m guilty, too. I’m 2-3 generations separated from the Millennials, so when I see a TV commercial that’s targeted to the younger crowd, I look at my husband, and say, “What did that mean?” He just shrugs and shakes his head.
To archaeologists of the future – if this blog post should be archived for study, know this, that we of the 21st century are strange, complex creatures. We sometimes do and create things just for the heck of it. To archaeologists of the present – let this be a lesson to you. Just because the material culture you study is finite, does not mean that the people you’re trying to understand aren’t as strange and complex as we are.
Sometimes there just isn’t a meaning.
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www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
What will people of the future think of us? I mean the way distant future when they talk of us the way we talk of the ancient Egyptians. Will they dig up our smart phones and miles of fiber optics and Cuisinart coffee makers and then present papers at conferences on how we worshipped coffee and how primitive our communications were?
As an archaeologist (can I still say that since my survey permit expired two years ago?), I am conscious of the things we throw away and how someday our trash will be excavated and analyzed. And I’m a little embarrassed. We humans produce a lot of meaningless crap that someone will someday strain to ascribe meaning.
I have a figurine of Gilligan standing next to a figurine of a wolf standing on my desk at work. They have meaning to me personally, but if my building gets buried in a pile of rubble for 200 years and is later excavated by archaeologists, there is no way they will understand their meaning other than “toys.” At least I hope they won’t think I worshiped goofy sailors and animals. Oh wait, I guess I do.
I learned a powerful lesson about this long before I became an archaeologist. In fact it’s in part what lead me in that direction. I took an anthropology class in high school, and we were given an assignment – describe a human activity from the perspective of an alien. I don’t have the actual paper anymore, but I remember pretty clearly writing about the insanity of creatures strapping long strips of wood to their feet and repeatedly sliding downhill on frozen precipitation. It was so exciting to me to “observe” and “analyze” a behavior as if I had never seen it before and then try to figure out – Why?
Many years later, I worked in a state park with significant numbers of ancient rock art figures painted and inscribed on canyon walls. Visitors every day asked, “What do the symbols mean?” At first I did my best to educate them about the challenges surrounding assigning meaning to symbols created by people long gone. After years of blank stares and disappointment, I finally started saying, “Well, some people believe this means this, and others think it’s that….”
Today, one of my many hats is overseeing a retail operation that sells Navajo jewelry among other things. Most traditional Navajo jewelry is based in Spanish designs. They learned silver smithing from the Spanish and copied the designs they liked, so basically no deep, spiritual, Native American meaning there. But customers still want to know, “What does this symbol mean?” Sigh.
Oh, I admit I’m guilty, too. I’m 2-3 generations separated from the Millennials, so when I see a TV commercial that’s targeted to the younger crowd, I look at my husband, and say, “What did that mean?” He just shrugs and shakes his head.
To archaeologists of the future – if this blog post should be archived for study, know this, that we of the 21st century are strange, complex creatures. We sometimes do and create things just for the heck of it. To archaeologists of the present – let this be a lesson to you. Just because the material culture you study is finite, does not mean that the people you’re trying to understand aren’t as strange and complex as we are.
Sometimes there just isn’t a meaning.
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www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
September 23, 2016
What Will Civilization Look Like After the Apocalypse?
©2016 Kari Carlisle
So many speculative fiction books and movies that explore the idea of an apocalypse focus on the events closely surrounding the apocalyptic event itself. Hell Follows After is unusual in that it explores the idea of rebuilding civilization long after the apocalypse.
C. Henry Martens’ Hell Follows After, the title an allusion to the four horsemen of the apocalypse, begins with an intriguing juxtaposition of the old west and remnants of modern technology. Though it is the third book in the Monster of the Apocalypse Saga , each of the three is written so that the reader can enjoy one or read all in any order. And it’s secretly my favorite. Shhh, don’t tell C. Henry…
The plot of Hell Follows After takes place centuries after humanity is decimated by plagues. Martens subtly explores the potential future of politics, religion, legal systems, and cultural evolution beneath an epic story and rich characters that he’s not afraid to kill. Hey, if you can handle Game of Thrones….
Hell Follows Afterwill interest the most intellectual readers. For example, one could easily write a college essay on gender equality in Hell Follows After from a number of angles. In fact, if you’re in college and you decide to do this, send me your draft, and I’ll give you pointers. Martens writes with depth, but at the same time, even the more casual reader can sink into the drama and action without concerning him/herself with thematic complexity. And of course the pulp sci-fi lover can navigate the romance and tragedy that is peppered with lingering technologies, revived robotics, and the hope and trepidation that comes with artificial intelligence.
Is Hell Follows After a likely outcome for civilization long after the apocalypse? It is not the most cynical prediction I have read. In fact Hell Follows After may be one of the most optimistic portrayals of post-apocalypse with its hopes and dreams reflective of the old pioneers of the American west.
All three books in the Monster of the Apocalypse Saga are available in eBook and print through Amazon, and each can be read for free through Kindle Unlimited. Which one is your favorite?
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
So many speculative fiction books and movies that explore the idea of an apocalypse focus on the events closely surrounding the apocalyptic event itself. Hell Follows After is unusual in that it explores the idea of rebuilding civilization long after the apocalypse.
C. Henry Martens’ Hell Follows After, the title an allusion to the four horsemen of the apocalypse, begins with an intriguing juxtaposition of the old west and remnants of modern technology. Though it is the third book in the Monster of the Apocalypse Saga , each of the three is written so that the reader can enjoy one or read all in any order. And it’s secretly my favorite. Shhh, don’t tell C. Henry…
The plot of Hell Follows After takes place centuries after humanity is decimated by plagues. Martens subtly explores the potential future of politics, religion, legal systems, and cultural evolution beneath an epic story and rich characters that he’s not afraid to kill. Hey, if you can handle Game of Thrones….
Hell Follows Afterwill interest the most intellectual readers. For example, one could easily write a college essay on gender equality in Hell Follows After from a number of angles. In fact, if you’re in college and you decide to do this, send me your draft, and I’ll give you pointers. Martens writes with depth, but at the same time, even the more casual reader can sink into the drama and action without concerning him/herself with thematic complexity. And of course the pulp sci-fi lover can navigate the romance and tragedy that is peppered with lingering technologies, revived robotics, and the hope and trepidation that comes with artificial intelligence.
Is Hell Follows After a likely outcome for civilization long after the apocalypse? It is not the most cynical prediction I have read. In fact Hell Follows After may be one of the most optimistic portrayals of post-apocalypse with its hopes and dreams reflective of the old pioneers of the American west.
All three books in the Monster of the Apocalypse Saga are available in eBook and print through Amazon, and each can be read for free through Kindle Unlimited. Which one is your favorite?
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
September 16, 2016
Apocalypse Survival 101: Location, Location, Location
©2016 C. Henry Martens
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Location, Location, Location
The Apocalypse has begun. You know it, and you are either prepared as well as you can be, or not. Where do you need to be?
Why do I ask? Because your survival probably depends on this more than any other question. Where you are suggests your level of preparedness, your level of risk, what kind of support system you have, and if any skills you possess will be valuable.
Let’s assume you have a vast inventory of survival goods. Hopefully that means you have thought through your location already, or you may have already made a mistake.
Do people know what you have? I would not be so proud of my resources that I would have bragged them up to anyone. There are things better left unsaid. That includes to anyone from the local meth head to the Bishop/Priest/Minister. Everyone who knows what you have presents a special kind of danger. Some because they want it all… and some because they want it all, if you take my meaning.
You may take the position that what you have is to be shared. There will be people expecting that. Especially family that likes to sit around when the grass needs mowing or the dishes need to be done. In my opinion, if you are the one with foresight, then you are the one to make the decisions. Location will be a real concern if you are surrounded by family that never took preparedness seriously.
Do you have a reasonable way to protect what you have? Almost everyone needs something they forgot, and if so you are going to have to leave the premises. The best defense is ignorance on the part of those looking to acquire what you have. Failing that, a substantial concrete bunker with a steel door and/or a significant other with a big toothy dog and an Uzi are second best.
It never fails to amaze me that people will invest in a steel door with (sometimes multiple) security locks and they will have an unsecured glass window right next to that door. Perhaps you know that it is almost as easy to go through a wall as anything else. Nothing is safe from someone that knows how to use tools.
What I am saying is that unless you have the money to build a bunker, or someone capable that you trust to leave behind to protect what you have, you have no location suitable for hoarding.
There are several situations that I would prefer compared to others.
I like the idea of a hidden bunker. That means NO ONE knows you have it. They don’t know it is there. That’s difficult to do. Time and space being what they are in the pre-apocalypse world, something like a bunker usually takes a contractor to at least dig a hole. Materials are purchased locally, or a big truck arrives with a huge, odd looking tank in the middle of the day. You think the neighbors won’t take notice? Hell, even the truck driver knows, and do you think he isn’t interested in what you are doing? Gone are the days when you can kill all the witnesses like the ancient Egyptians did. But you can build or acquire a bunker. Lots of investment for a really small chance of keeping it secret, and keep in mind that anything can be broken into. Also keep in mind that no matter how well you plan, the spring can dry up or the batteries go bad, or whatever else can go wrong. Again, lots of investment for something that may only work for a short time or be known about by people with backhoes and lots of friends with guns. The one good thing is that you will probably be last on the list of people to be pillaged. Or first.
Hunkering down in place runs the gamut of possibility, as well as danger. At least you are familiar with your territory.
Living in the Projects? In an inner city neighborhood or high rise, or under a bridge? This may give you an advantage. As long as you can scavenge well or lead the mob, you could be the person to survive. If you aren’t a leader, then be the leader’s advisor. Just try to keep from being the guy on the front lines. Usually the people on the front line will have the poorest weapons and the poorest possibilities. Apocalyptic cannon fodder. If you are relegated to joining a roving band of mercenaries to get something to eat, be sure you have enough value to be at the rear of any conflict. If you are the leader, be sure you know what skills your followers have. You don’t want to waste the only person who can distill alcohol, do you? Or the one who knows how to plant a garden or fix the solar array. Pick people’s brains for information. They may have delivered a ready made survival bunker to some remote location. Information like that will be useful… for your own use or to trade.
Ahhhh… suburbia. You have a nice home, a roof to keep out the rain, and water from the faucet… maybe. With a little ingenuity you can hide a stash of goods in your house. The obvious places an intruder will look are in closets, attics, and basements, but the crawlspace will be inspected by anyone with a brain. A false wall hiding a storage space is a great idea, but something like that usually takes a larger house to pull off. A false ceiling in one of those high ceilinged rooms can hide a lot of merchandise without anyone knowing. Personally, I prefer smaller homes to shelter in, unless you have people you trust who can live on the premises with you to provide enough security.
The real advantage to sheltering in place is your neighbors if you have good relations with them. In any kind of drastic situation that grumpy old gun nut across the fence might turn out to be your best asset. Or the opposite. A gift of some small kindness might make all the difference in the world. My advice is to cultivate what you can and deal with the realities after the SHTF.
Are you rural? Have you got your own well? As long as you have a windmill or solar panels, enough power generating capacity to fill your needs, you could be in pretty good shape. The farther away from a city or major road, the better. Too close to the road? Make the place look abandoned or already scavenged. Burn an outbuilding or two and break all the windows on the side facing the road. Then close the windows from the inside with flat black painted plywood, leaving some drapes fluttering through them to make the house look forlorn. Be sure you have extra parts and the skills to maintain anything that breaks, or get to know your neighbors and find out what they can provide in the way of usefulness. Depending on how well any society is operating, veggies from a garden, eggs, or other trade goods a farm can produce could make you better off than most… or it could make you a target. Animals that you can barter, or train to pull a wagon, might be worth more than many things you valued pre-apocalypse. Those steers you were planning on fattening up for slaughter might be better used as draft animals to pull a plow or set up a freight service between towns. The down side of being out in the country is that you are isolated. I would be inclined to invite some competent friends or family from the city to join me. A crowded house is always preferred to a pillaged one. Besides that, there will be more use for labor without fuels to make machinery run.
Perhaps you know that you will be leaving your home already. You might have a designated bug out vehicle filled with a traveling stash and an extra fuel tank to take you where you want to go. Maybe pulling a mobile kitchen and sleeping arrangement. Depending on where you are, this can be a good idea. Even on the over crowded East Coast there are relatively remote places that can leave you isolated to some extent. If it gets to the point that there are mobs roaming around looking for whatever they can eat, they will probably keep to the cities until they get desperate. You can also head to friends or family that you think you might be able to trust. This assumes you will add to their survival prospects instead of adding to their burdens.
A good saddle horse and a pack animal is probably the best for getting away from other human beings. This can really get you into the remote places. There are trade offs, though. Any civilization has things you will need eventually. Becoming that romanticized mountain man is going to be nothing like you have imagined. Chewing on shoe leather when you are snowed in, shivering under every blanket you have because you didn’t stock up enough wood and the snow is now too deep to hunt or gather fuel, will be a reality check you may not survive.
There are no perfect solutions. Just like living in our present, with everyone complaining and expecting others to fix everything, those who get past all of the obstacles by their own efforts will be the ones to survive. The guy from the trusted community may find out that he is the bottom rung of the ladder and find he is donating everything to a cause he will not share in. The mountain man may find that a lot of people had the same idea, and that pristine valley with the big trout is suddenly stocked with hungry unwanted neighbors.
Have a contingency plan. Or two. And remember that the cell phones will die quickly if they are still operating at all.
Be flexible. Do what you can to make your home a place of security… but don’t forget to have options. Best to talk about it with friends and family beforehand, but most won’t take it seriously. You can bet that when the SHTF, they will be willing to talk. Still, you can evaluate those you care for in terms of what they bring to the table. In the end you may be the pack leader because you thought of something the others didn’t. Just don’t depend on luck or the generosity of others. Be proactive, because in an out of control society there will be plenty of times all you can do is be is reactive.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Location, Location, Location
The Apocalypse has begun. You know it, and you are either prepared as well as you can be, or not. Where do you need to be?
Why do I ask? Because your survival probably depends on this more than any other question. Where you are suggests your level of preparedness, your level of risk, what kind of support system you have, and if any skills you possess will be valuable.
Let’s assume you have a vast inventory of survival goods. Hopefully that means you have thought through your location already, or you may have already made a mistake.
Do people know what you have? I would not be so proud of my resources that I would have bragged them up to anyone. There are things better left unsaid. That includes to anyone from the local meth head to the Bishop/Priest/Minister. Everyone who knows what you have presents a special kind of danger. Some because they want it all… and some because they want it all, if you take my meaning.
You may take the position that what you have is to be shared. There will be people expecting that. Especially family that likes to sit around when the grass needs mowing or the dishes need to be done. In my opinion, if you are the one with foresight, then you are the one to make the decisions. Location will be a real concern if you are surrounded by family that never took preparedness seriously.
Do you have a reasonable way to protect what you have? Almost everyone needs something they forgot, and if so you are going to have to leave the premises. The best defense is ignorance on the part of those looking to acquire what you have. Failing that, a substantial concrete bunker with a steel door and/or a significant other with a big toothy dog and an Uzi are second best.
It never fails to amaze me that people will invest in a steel door with (sometimes multiple) security locks and they will have an unsecured glass window right next to that door. Perhaps you know that it is almost as easy to go through a wall as anything else. Nothing is safe from someone that knows how to use tools.
What I am saying is that unless you have the money to build a bunker, or someone capable that you trust to leave behind to protect what you have, you have no location suitable for hoarding.
There are several situations that I would prefer compared to others.
I like the idea of a hidden bunker. That means NO ONE knows you have it. They don’t know it is there. That’s difficult to do. Time and space being what they are in the pre-apocalypse world, something like a bunker usually takes a contractor to at least dig a hole. Materials are purchased locally, or a big truck arrives with a huge, odd looking tank in the middle of the day. You think the neighbors won’t take notice? Hell, even the truck driver knows, and do you think he isn’t interested in what you are doing? Gone are the days when you can kill all the witnesses like the ancient Egyptians did. But you can build or acquire a bunker. Lots of investment for a really small chance of keeping it secret, and keep in mind that anything can be broken into. Also keep in mind that no matter how well you plan, the spring can dry up or the batteries go bad, or whatever else can go wrong. Again, lots of investment for something that may only work for a short time or be known about by people with backhoes and lots of friends with guns. The one good thing is that you will probably be last on the list of people to be pillaged. Or first.
Hunkering down in place runs the gamut of possibility, as well as danger. At least you are familiar with your territory.
Living in the Projects? In an inner city neighborhood or high rise, or under a bridge? This may give you an advantage. As long as you can scavenge well or lead the mob, you could be the person to survive. If you aren’t a leader, then be the leader’s advisor. Just try to keep from being the guy on the front lines. Usually the people on the front line will have the poorest weapons and the poorest possibilities. Apocalyptic cannon fodder. If you are relegated to joining a roving band of mercenaries to get something to eat, be sure you have enough value to be at the rear of any conflict. If you are the leader, be sure you know what skills your followers have. You don’t want to waste the only person who can distill alcohol, do you? Or the one who knows how to plant a garden or fix the solar array. Pick people’s brains for information. They may have delivered a ready made survival bunker to some remote location. Information like that will be useful… for your own use or to trade.
Ahhhh… suburbia. You have a nice home, a roof to keep out the rain, and water from the faucet… maybe. With a little ingenuity you can hide a stash of goods in your house. The obvious places an intruder will look are in closets, attics, and basements, but the crawlspace will be inspected by anyone with a brain. A false wall hiding a storage space is a great idea, but something like that usually takes a larger house to pull off. A false ceiling in one of those high ceilinged rooms can hide a lot of merchandise without anyone knowing. Personally, I prefer smaller homes to shelter in, unless you have people you trust who can live on the premises with you to provide enough security.
The real advantage to sheltering in place is your neighbors if you have good relations with them. In any kind of drastic situation that grumpy old gun nut across the fence might turn out to be your best asset. Or the opposite. A gift of some small kindness might make all the difference in the world. My advice is to cultivate what you can and deal with the realities after the SHTF.
Are you rural? Have you got your own well? As long as you have a windmill or solar panels, enough power generating capacity to fill your needs, you could be in pretty good shape. The farther away from a city or major road, the better. Too close to the road? Make the place look abandoned or already scavenged. Burn an outbuilding or two and break all the windows on the side facing the road. Then close the windows from the inside with flat black painted plywood, leaving some drapes fluttering through them to make the house look forlorn. Be sure you have extra parts and the skills to maintain anything that breaks, or get to know your neighbors and find out what they can provide in the way of usefulness. Depending on how well any society is operating, veggies from a garden, eggs, or other trade goods a farm can produce could make you better off than most… or it could make you a target. Animals that you can barter, or train to pull a wagon, might be worth more than many things you valued pre-apocalypse. Those steers you were planning on fattening up for slaughter might be better used as draft animals to pull a plow or set up a freight service between towns. The down side of being out in the country is that you are isolated. I would be inclined to invite some competent friends or family from the city to join me. A crowded house is always preferred to a pillaged one. Besides that, there will be more use for labor without fuels to make machinery run.
Perhaps you know that you will be leaving your home already. You might have a designated bug out vehicle filled with a traveling stash and an extra fuel tank to take you where you want to go. Maybe pulling a mobile kitchen and sleeping arrangement. Depending on where you are, this can be a good idea. Even on the over crowded East Coast there are relatively remote places that can leave you isolated to some extent. If it gets to the point that there are mobs roaming around looking for whatever they can eat, they will probably keep to the cities until they get desperate. You can also head to friends or family that you think you might be able to trust. This assumes you will add to their survival prospects instead of adding to their burdens.
A good saddle horse and a pack animal is probably the best for getting away from other human beings. This can really get you into the remote places. There are trade offs, though. Any civilization has things you will need eventually. Becoming that romanticized mountain man is going to be nothing like you have imagined. Chewing on shoe leather when you are snowed in, shivering under every blanket you have because you didn’t stock up enough wood and the snow is now too deep to hunt or gather fuel, will be a reality check you may not survive.
There are no perfect solutions. Just like living in our present, with everyone complaining and expecting others to fix everything, those who get past all of the obstacles by their own efforts will be the ones to survive. The guy from the trusted community may find out that he is the bottom rung of the ladder and find he is donating everything to a cause he will not share in. The mountain man may find that a lot of people had the same idea, and that pristine valley with the big trout is suddenly stocked with hungry unwanted neighbors.
Have a contingency plan. Or two. And remember that the cell phones will die quickly if they are still operating at all.
Be flexible. Do what you can to make your home a place of security… but don’t forget to have options. Best to talk about it with friends and family beforehand, but most won’t take it seriously. You can bet that when the SHTF, they will be willing to talk. Still, you can evaluate those you care for in terms of what they bring to the table. In the end you may be the pack leader because you thought of something the others didn’t. Just don’t depend on luck or the generosity of others. Be proactive, because in an out of control society there will be plenty of times all you can do is be is reactive.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
September 8, 2016
My Life as a Trekkie
©2016 Kari Carlisle
This week the world recognized the fiftieth anniversary of Star Trek. Campy as it was, Gene Roddenberry’s creation was revolutionary in the way it portrayed the issues of the day, many of which remain issues even now.
I discovered Star Trek when my dad introduced it to me because I couldn’t get enough Star Wars. So, yeah, 1976. By then it was in syndication, which was great because it was on EVERY DAY! I watched it religiously.
Then there were the movies. I was so excited when Star Trek: The Motion Picture came out, I didn’t even care how disappointing it really was. So I went to see them all, enjoying them all, but loving the “even ones.”
I watched William Shatner tell Federation uniform-wearing nerds to “get a life” on SNL, and I laughed. Even though I secretly wanted to dress up and go to conventions and never do anything else. I was a Trekkie who really wanted to be a Trekker. Or is it the other way around? At the time it seemed so important.
By the time Next Generation came out and then the other series - DS9, Voyager, etc., I was an adult, tied to adult things, and didn’t get so see every episode of every show. Heck, to this day I’ve never seen a single episode of Enterprise. But my love for Star Trek has persisted.
Today Star Trek continues to grow, adding new TV series, and being recreated in more movies by J.J. Abrams’ et. al. as an alternate Star Trekuniverse. It took me years to finally see the first Abrams movie, and when I finally did, it made me feel like a kid again. Thanks, J.J.
Here’s to Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, and all the actors and writers and production crews who have brought Star Trek to the small and big screens for us. Thank you. I have no doubt that the Star Trek universe will continue on another 50 years and more, long after I’ve lived long and prospered.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
This week the world recognized the fiftieth anniversary of Star Trek. Campy as it was, Gene Roddenberry’s creation was revolutionary in the way it portrayed the issues of the day, many of which remain issues even now.
I discovered Star Trek when my dad introduced it to me because I couldn’t get enough Star Wars. So, yeah, 1976. By then it was in syndication, which was great because it was on EVERY DAY! I watched it religiously.
Then there were the movies. I was so excited when Star Trek: The Motion Picture came out, I didn’t even care how disappointing it really was. So I went to see them all, enjoying them all, but loving the “even ones.”
I watched William Shatner tell Federation uniform-wearing nerds to “get a life” on SNL, and I laughed. Even though I secretly wanted to dress up and go to conventions and never do anything else. I was a Trekkie who really wanted to be a Trekker. Or is it the other way around? At the time it seemed so important.
By the time Next Generation came out and then the other series - DS9, Voyager, etc., I was an adult, tied to adult things, and didn’t get so see every episode of every show. Heck, to this day I’ve never seen a single episode of Enterprise. But my love for Star Trek has persisted.
Today Star Trek continues to grow, adding new TV series, and being recreated in more movies by J.J. Abrams’ et. al. as an alternate Star Trekuniverse. It took me years to finally see the first Abrams movie, and when I finally did, it made me feel like a kid again. Thanks, J.J.
Here’s to Gene Roddenberry, J.J. Abrams, and all the actors and writers and production crews who have brought Star Trek to the small and big screens for us. Thank you. I have no doubt that the Star Trek universe will continue on another 50 years and more, long after I’ve lived long and prospered.
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September 2, 2016
Short Story: A Most Unexpected Afterdeath
©2016 C. Henry Martens
I didn’t mean to become the oldest person in recorded history. It just happened. Much like I never planned to be faithful to my wife, it just happened. I think that sometimes planning ahead allows a person to say to themselves, “Just this once.” And of course once is never enough. So when I got the inevitable questions about the secrets to living a long life, I had to admit that it was more about avoiding things rather than in doing anything in particular. The urge to drink too often, or jump out of a perfectly good airplane, or any sudden changes in my level of activity. I never got into the Jane Fonda thing, or the fad diets, but I always had some kind of project.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this down, now that I’m dead.
I was lying in my bed, and suddenly I knew it was time. Funny that… a sudden “knowing” that you are going to die.
There was no one in the room with me. I suppose I could have hit the panic button to summon Karuly, the Jamaican attendant who told me jokes and actually wanted to do a good job. But I didn’t. There was really no one I wanted to share my experience with. Having outlived everyone I cared for deeply, I settled back to enjoy the last great adventure, and my mind surged with the fantasies I had always entertained about what death would have in store. Heaven, Hell, or a complete lack of anything, nothing prepared me for what lay ahead, and I knew it. But I was curious as hell. After all, I hadn’t any choice, had I?
A feeling blew through my veins like a cool breeze. I could have shivered, but I didn’t. I welcomed it. My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted off into the unknown. My final sensation, a slow exhale as my breath left for the last time.
My first impression was that everyone was right. I mean, those who had returned from death to speak of what their experience was. A blinding bright light appeared ahead of me, seemingly an illuminated tunnel, but I was also surrounded by light as well. As I drifted toward the light ahead (I say drifted because there was no sensation of walking), I could see shapes begin to appear. I knew they would be people from the descriptions of those returned-from-the-dead who had described near death experiences. So far, nothing new, and the sensation of comfort and welcome described by them was flowing through me as well.
I still had lingering trepidations, though. After all, I was just now starting to be dead. I had always wondered if these stories were just a prelude to a sudden blackness into nothingness. But again, I had no choice, so why not enjoy?
Out of the mist ahead my wife stepped forward toward me with her hand outstretched. She looked to be the age when we married. Why I didn’t start to cry is inexplicable. Instead, I gripped her hand and drew her to me, feeling that familiar body mold to mine as only she had ever done. Yes, this was really my wife. Any doubts flew out the window.
Walking seemed natural from this point on, as I met my children and grandchildren next, and then my parents. My mother was easy to recognize, even though she was in her mid twenties. Her dark, flashing eyes were the same as always, filled with the exuberance of life and an insatiable curiosity. She wore a pair of pleated linen khaki pants with a sharp crease top to bottom, and a short sleeved white shirt to match with a pocket over each breast and stylish comfortable shoes. Why do I mention her clothing? Because it was clear that she was dressed in the style of her times among the living. She was attired as a progressive and forward thinking dish of the late nineteen-thirties, and her bright red lipstick accentuated her bold statement.
My father was dressed similarly, in the dress of their common experience. He, too, was in his mid twenties, even though in life he had been ten years older than my mother. He also had both eyes. The one he had lost in an automobile accident when he was twenty, no longer cloudy and deflated, was now blue and just as piercing as the other was.
Behind them, my grandparents and other relatives in the dress common to their day, as well as friends that had gone before me, all surged forward. There were some people I had never met but would come to know as distant ancestors. A few didn’t look quite human, if you know what I mean. They were dressed in the garb of their times, too.
To say that I basked in the waters of their love does no justice to the feeling I was experiencing. There is no way to describe many emotions adequately, and anyone with a similar earthly experience will understand.
During a group hug I happened to look down toward my feet and suddenly realized that I was naked. This was where the near death experiences described to me prior to my death parted ways with the reality of my new experience.
I looked over at my wife as she stood next to me, then looked down again at my body. I was a fully fleshed mid-twenties, just as everyone was. But I had no clothes.
My wife leaned in close and, whispering in my ear said, “We all arrive naked, my love… and all you have to do is imagine what you want to wear and suddenly you’ll be clothed.”
Feeling her breath against my ear once again, it was hard to concentrate enough to process what she had said. This experience was starting to overwhelm me. But I got a grip on myself and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Yes, Babe, if you want to be wearing something, all you have to do is imagine yourself in it. Or you can remain naked. Nobody cares.”
A mental image came to me, unbidden, and I was suddenly in my old sweats. Dark sweatpants and a grey top with several stains and a few holes in various places, comfortable wear for an old man that was wheeled about by an attendant more than he walked.
My wife laughed. She understood.
Leaning close, she whispered once more, “Try again. You can do better than this.”
I don’t know why my wife’s clothes hadn’t registered on me. Perhaps it was because I was lost in her very presence, but now I took the time to see that she was dressed in one of my favorite outfits from our early years together. I imagined what I would have been wearing when I was with her in that outfit, and looked down to see sandals on my feet, embroidered bell bottoms, and a blue tee shirt displaying a can of Olympia beer.
“That’s better,” she whispered, and I knew everything was going to be okay.
I don’t know how long we were gathered, but eventually I started to notice my surroundings. As I began to look about, the light and mists parted and faded away to reveal a very natural-to-me landscape. More or less a manicured meadow surrounded by not very tall forest. A few tables were scattered about with food and a variety of colored liquids in punch bowls, but there were no chairs. People sprawled in the grass or played tag or threw Frisbees, or gathered in small groups on large blankets to make circles so they could talk easily. As people began to drift away (I say this carefully, as it wasn’t really a *leaving*) they made a point of approaching me for a last hug or handshake. When I turned back toward them from some distraction, they were gone. Well, not gone… just not *there*. Humph… words fail me.
Finally my wife and I were alone, and taking my hand she led me to the one big blanket still on the ground, saying “I’ve been waiting for this, ya big stud.” The leather halter top fell off of her. Gawd, I had missed my woman.
Speaking of God, I had seen nothing. I mean, where were the Pearly Gates? Where was Limbo? Where was that pesky Lake of Fire? Here I was, alone in a beautiful meadow with a woman who I had loved in life and whom was now happily plaiting a crown of wildflowers for her hair, and doing it in her birthday suit… and there had been no mention of any kind of judgement or consequences or Eternal Damnation!!! So far, death was treating me pretty well.
We had a talk and she gave me the lowdown.
It turns out that we had been harvested.
Now, before you jump to conclusions, let me say that being harvested is not what you might think. It turns out that the supreme being in an infinite universe is… us. Well, not exactly us as in human beings, but us as in ALL intelligence. All beings of enough intelligence to think, plan, desire, and generally have a survival instinct.
This might be where it gets a little sticky for most people, because it isn’t what you are used to thinking. It turns out that the closest thing to God is a Collective Super Intelligence made up of all experience and learning… ever. A supreme being without the capital letters denoting deity.
The Collective harvests anything and everything intelligent as it dies, and we all become part of that Collective. It has done so forever. Some people might call that God, but it really depends on your definition of what a God is. The Collective doesn’t have any supernatural powers. It didn’t create the universe, or life, or pull a rib from Adam to make Eve. If anything, it observes. That, and stores information.
The components of the Collective, those of us that have died, are of several types. First off, there are some that never matured. They manifest as light, and if they choose, as individual balls of light. My wife’s little sister, the one who died during childbirth, was introduced to me at some point as this ball of light. I couldn’t speak to her, or she to me, but she could surround me with emotion, and I could feel her presence as I was being engulfed in the illumination that was her. Pure love.
Anyone having reached the age of self awareness advances toward maturity, so if they die early they still learn until they become adults. Everyone retains their own personality, with a few modifications. Mental illness disappears as understanding becomes the norm.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t disagreements, it just means there is mutual respect and a level of tolerance unknown in life.
Everyone gets to choose a path. I say a path, because there is no work to be done. Some intelligences become foragers, or predators, as they were in life. Most, by far, aspire to nothing more. Humans and those others that have inhabited societies involved in changing their environment can choose different paths. Some become wanderers, inquisitors, conservators, philosophers, or comforters. There are far more paths than I can name, and I may never learn them all. Each have their own names. Wanderers are Travelers or Trekkers depending on how they choose to travel. Inquisitors are Seekers. Conservators are Keepers. Philosophers are Sages. Comforters are Holders. People choose, and no one is glued to their path, they can choose several at a time or focus on one as they see fit.
I found out that I could join into a melding-of-the-mind kind of thing with anyone I chose (That adds a new dimension when making love). Some intellects stay joined most of the time, by choice. The meld becomes a huge, infinite mind engaged in understanding all that is. Thomas Jefferson is one who rarely breaks away from the Collective.
Oh yes, there are famous people that we all know, but others matter as much. I have met an alien that led a life of torture that performs comforting, a woman who lived in an ivory tower who provides charity, and a man who we knew on earth as a cult leader and murderer and whom we found to be insane, who is a great sage.
This melding thing is amazing. I can’t say that it occurs in any specific place, but I picture it as happening in the center of an infinite universe. I know that is an oxymoron, but that is how I see it in my own mind. When I join the meld, I become all that is. I lose my own individuality and become the whole. That means that I know everything that can be known, or at least that has ever been known. I can experience through all the other minds the sum of all experience, all learning, all pain, love, terror, exhilaration, as well as discovery. I know the history of an infinity. I would have said that it would be mind blowing before I experienced it, but now it just seems obvious.
How did this Collective come to be? That is a good question. There is a commonality that occurs in all intelligence. Once a species gets to the point that they are changing their environment, usually associated with acquiring opposable thumbs but not always, they start to acquire technology. Technology, invention, industry, leads to an ultimate conclusion. Eventually the intelligence gets to the point where their physical being and their minds start to meld with their machines.
I know, humans aren’t there yet, so you don’t see it, quite, as fully possible. When I died we were years away from this step. But look around you. You see amputees with artificial limbs controlled by their brain activity, you see people who can speak by using their eyes to control an artificial voice, and soon you will have the ability to download your mind into an appliance so you no longer need a corporeal body. That means that you will effectively become immortal. And the last step will be to blend minds.
The thing is, that urge to survive by any means leads to the Collective. Each step, one by one, over obstacles and false starts, until a newly formed collective meets the Collective. Some species never get that advanced, but the collective doesn’t care, they harvest intelligence regardless of any species fully realizing their potential. There are species that have come within a skosh of downloading their minds, fail, and they are still harvested when individuals die. There are also beings that have never become technological, by far the vast majority of species, and they are harvested, too.
What it all means, is that what we see of ourselves and others is really energy, but in a form that our mind can comprehend. Not electrical energy, or nuclear, cold fusion or dark energy, but the weakest kind of energy, the bond between spaces. That is why we can meld. That is why we can imagine things, and those things appear. That is why we can be in various places at one time, and we can call out to each other and gather together. That is why the living can’t see us.
You might want to know about the “first.” That first species to realize immortality, the first one to blend minds. Well it doesn’t work like that. We live in an infinity, remember? There is no first, any more than there is a last. It is like we are on a loop, a place where the past is the future and the future is the past. But with infinite events destined to happen before the loop completes and starts over. That’s a bad analogy, too, as there is no starting over, ever.
There you have it. Nothing you will not learn for yourself. The inevitable conclusion to life for all of us. I suppose I could publish this in some obscure venue, but I doubt I will. But I have written it down and left it on a desk somewhere, so we will see, eh?
My wife and I now wander the infinite worlds as Trekkers, she also a Holder and I a Sage at times. We walk everywhere except between the planets and galaxies. Between earths we fly, faster than light at the speed of thought. Well, more properly at the speed of imagination. Our old yellow dog travels with us, and sometimes the Aussie. We gather with friends or family, and their friends when we choose, both to investigate the worlds and to compare notes in between laughter and enjoying a sunset or rise. When we need a path, we imagine one and it is there. When we grow tired, a cabin with a comfortable bed and a full pantry appears around the next bend. When we are thirsty, water wells from the ground or babbles in a brook. When there is a storm we play tag in between the lightning bolts.
Sometimes I wonder if this is real. It is certainly as real to me as my old life before death.
I have met others as they emerged from the fog of dying. I have welcomed them to… Heaven? Whatever this is, they float into our presence in the form they died, old, crippled, mentally challenged, and on meeting the first person they contact, they change. Suddenly they are in their mid-twenties, hale, hearty, sane, and naked without realizing it. I watch their surprise, their relief, and understand it.
After all, I thought I was going to Hell…
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I didn’t mean to become the oldest person in recorded history. It just happened. Much like I never planned to be faithful to my wife, it just happened. I think that sometimes planning ahead allows a person to say to themselves, “Just this once.” And of course once is never enough. So when I got the inevitable questions about the secrets to living a long life, I had to admit that it was more about avoiding things rather than in doing anything in particular. The urge to drink too often, or jump out of a perfectly good airplane, or any sudden changes in my level of activity. I never got into the Jane Fonda thing, or the fad diets, but I always had some kind of project.
Maybe that’s why I’m writing this down, now that I’m dead.
I was lying in my bed, and suddenly I knew it was time. Funny that… a sudden “knowing” that you are going to die.
There was no one in the room with me. I suppose I could have hit the panic button to summon Karuly, the Jamaican attendant who told me jokes and actually wanted to do a good job. But I didn’t. There was really no one I wanted to share my experience with. Having outlived everyone I cared for deeply, I settled back to enjoy the last great adventure, and my mind surged with the fantasies I had always entertained about what death would have in store. Heaven, Hell, or a complete lack of anything, nothing prepared me for what lay ahead, and I knew it. But I was curious as hell. After all, I hadn’t any choice, had I?
A feeling blew through my veins like a cool breeze. I could have shivered, but I didn’t. I welcomed it. My eyelids grew heavy, and I drifted off into the unknown. My final sensation, a slow exhale as my breath left for the last time.
My first impression was that everyone was right. I mean, those who had returned from death to speak of what their experience was. A blinding bright light appeared ahead of me, seemingly an illuminated tunnel, but I was also surrounded by light as well. As I drifted toward the light ahead (I say drifted because there was no sensation of walking), I could see shapes begin to appear. I knew they would be people from the descriptions of those returned-from-the-dead who had described near death experiences. So far, nothing new, and the sensation of comfort and welcome described by them was flowing through me as well.
I still had lingering trepidations, though. After all, I was just now starting to be dead. I had always wondered if these stories were just a prelude to a sudden blackness into nothingness. But again, I had no choice, so why not enjoy?
Out of the mist ahead my wife stepped forward toward me with her hand outstretched. She looked to be the age when we married. Why I didn’t start to cry is inexplicable. Instead, I gripped her hand and drew her to me, feeling that familiar body mold to mine as only she had ever done. Yes, this was really my wife. Any doubts flew out the window.
Walking seemed natural from this point on, as I met my children and grandchildren next, and then my parents. My mother was easy to recognize, even though she was in her mid twenties. Her dark, flashing eyes were the same as always, filled with the exuberance of life and an insatiable curiosity. She wore a pair of pleated linen khaki pants with a sharp crease top to bottom, and a short sleeved white shirt to match with a pocket over each breast and stylish comfortable shoes. Why do I mention her clothing? Because it was clear that she was dressed in the style of her times among the living. She was attired as a progressive and forward thinking dish of the late nineteen-thirties, and her bright red lipstick accentuated her bold statement.
My father was dressed similarly, in the dress of their common experience. He, too, was in his mid twenties, even though in life he had been ten years older than my mother. He also had both eyes. The one he had lost in an automobile accident when he was twenty, no longer cloudy and deflated, was now blue and just as piercing as the other was.
Behind them, my grandparents and other relatives in the dress common to their day, as well as friends that had gone before me, all surged forward. There were some people I had never met but would come to know as distant ancestors. A few didn’t look quite human, if you know what I mean. They were dressed in the garb of their times, too.
To say that I basked in the waters of their love does no justice to the feeling I was experiencing. There is no way to describe many emotions adequately, and anyone with a similar earthly experience will understand.
During a group hug I happened to look down toward my feet and suddenly realized that I was naked. This was where the near death experiences described to me prior to my death parted ways with the reality of my new experience.
I looked over at my wife as she stood next to me, then looked down again at my body. I was a fully fleshed mid-twenties, just as everyone was. But I had no clothes.
My wife leaned in close and, whispering in my ear said, “We all arrive naked, my love… and all you have to do is imagine what you want to wear and suddenly you’ll be clothed.”
Feeling her breath against my ear once again, it was hard to concentrate enough to process what she had said. This experience was starting to overwhelm me. But I got a grip on myself and asked her to repeat what she had said.
“Yes, Babe, if you want to be wearing something, all you have to do is imagine yourself in it. Or you can remain naked. Nobody cares.”
A mental image came to me, unbidden, and I was suddenly in my old sweats. Dark sweatpants and a grey top with several stains and a few holes in various places, comfortable wear for an old man that was wheeled about by an attendant more than he walked.
My wife laughed. She understood.
Leaning close, she whispered once more, “Try again. You can do better than this.”
I don’t know why my wife’s clothes hadn’t registered on me. Perhaps it was because I was lost in her very presence, but now I took the time to see that she was dressed in one of my favorite outfits from our early years together. I imagined what I would have been wearing when I was with her in that outfit, and looked down to see sandals on my feet, embroidered bell bottoms, and a blue tee shirt displaying a can of Olympia beer.
“That’s better,” she whispered, and I knew everything was going to be okay.
I don’t know how long we were gathered, but eventually I started to notice my surroundings. As I began to look about, the light and mists parted and faded away to reveal a very natural-to-me landscape. More or less a manicured meadow surrounded by not very tall forest. A few tables were scattered about with food and a variety of colored liquids in punch bowls, but there were no chairs. People sprawled in the grass or played tag or threw Frisbees, or gathered in small groups on large blankets to make circles so they could talk easily. As people began to drift away (I say this carefully, as it wasn’t really a *leaving*) they made a point of approaching me for a last hug or handshake. When I turned back toward them from some distraction, they were gone. Well, not gone… just not *there*. Humph… words fail me.
Finally my wife and I were alone, and taking my hand she led me to the one big blanket still on the ground, saying “I’ve been waiting for this, ya big stud.” The leather halter top fell off of her. Gawd, I had missed my woman.
Speaking of God, I had seen nothing. I mean, where were the Pearly Gates? Where was Limbo? Where was that pesky Lake of Fire? Here I was, alone in a beautiful meadow with a woman who I had loved in life and whom was now happily plaiting a crown of wildflowers for her hair, and doing it in her birthday suit… and there had been no mention of any kind of judgement or consequences or Eternal Damnation!!! So far, death was treating me pretty well.
We had a talk and she gave me the lowdown.
It turns out that we had been harvested.
Now, before you jump to conclusions, let me say that being harvested is not what you might think. It turns out that the supreme being in an infinite universe is… us. Well, not exactly us as in human beings, but us as in ALL intelligence. All beings of enough intelligence to think, plan, desire, and generally have a survival instinct.
This might be where it gets a little sticky for most people, because it isn’t what you are used to thinking. It turns out that the closest thing to God is a Collective Super Intelligence made up of all experience and learning… ever. A supreme being without the capital letters denoting deity.
The Collective harvests anything and everything intelligent as it dies, and we all become part of that Collective. It has done so forever. Some people might call that God, but it really depends on your definition of what a God is. The Collective doesn’t have any supernatural powers. It didn’t create the universe, or life, or pull a rib from Adam to make Eve. If anything, it observes. That, and stores information.
The components of the Collective, those of us that have died, are of several types. First off, there are some that never matured. They manifest as light, and if they choose, as individual balls of light. My wife’s little sister, the one who died during childbirth, was introduced to me at some point as this ball of light. I couldn’t speak to her, or she to me, but she could surround me with emotion, and I could feel her presence as I was being engulfed in the illumination that was her. Pure love.
Anyone having reached the age of self awareness advances toward maturity, so if they die early they still learn until they become adults. Everyone retains their own personality, with a few modifications. Mental illness disappears as understanding becomes the norm.
That doesn’t mean there aren’t disagreements, it just means there is mutual respect and a level of tolerance unknown in life.
Everyone gets to choose a path. I say a path, because there is no work to be done. Some intelligences become foragers, or predators, as they were in life. Most, by far, aspire to nothing more. Humans and those others that have inhabited societies involved in changing their environment can choose different paths. Some become wanderers, inquisitors, conservators, philosophers, or comforters. There are far more paths than I can name, and I may never learn them all. Each have their own names. Wanderers are Travelers or Trekkers depending on how they choose to travel. Inquisitors are Seekers. Conservators are Keepers. Philosophers are Sages. Comforters are Holders. People choose, and no one is glued to their path, they can choose several at a time or focus on one as they see fit.
I found out that I could join into a melding-of-the-mind kind of thing with anyone I chose (That adds a new dimension when making love). Some intellects stay joined most of the time, by choice. The meld becomes a huge, infinite mind engaged in understanding all that is. Thomas Jefferson is one who rarely breaks away from the Collective.
Oh yes, there are famous people that we all know, but others matter as much. I have met an alien that led a life of torture that performs comforting, a woman who lived in an ivory tower who provides charity, and a man who we knew on earth as a cult leader and murderer and whom we found to be insane, who is a great sage.
This melding thing is amazing. I can’t say that it occurs in any specific place, but I picture it as happening in the center of an infinite universe. I know that is an oxymoron, but that is how I see it in my own mind. When I join the meld, I become all that is. I lose my own individuality and become the whole. That means that I know everything that can be known, or at least that has ever been known. I can experience through all the other minds the sum of all experience, all learning, all pain, love, terror, exhilaration, as well as discovery. I know the history of an infinity. I would have said that it would be mind blowing before I experienced it, but now it just seems obvious.
How did this Collective come to be? That is a good question. There is a commonality that occurs in all intelligence. Once a species gets to the point that they are changing their environment, usually associated with acquiring opposable thumbs but not always, they start to acquire technology. Technology, invention, industry, leads to an ultimate conclusion. Eventually the intelligence gets to the point where their physical being and their minds start to meld with their machines.
I know, humans aren’t there yet, so you don’t see it, quite, as fully possible. When I died we were years away from this step. But look around you. You see amputees with artificial limbs controlled by their brain activity, you see people who can speak by using their eyes to control an artificial voice, and soon you will have the ability to download your mind into an appliance so you no longer need a corporeal body. That means that you will effectively become immortal. And the last step will be to blend minds.
The thing is, that urge to survive by any means leads to the Collective. Each step, one by one, over obstacles and false starts, until a newly formed collective meets the Collective. Some species never get that advanced, but the collective doesn’t care, they harvest intelligence regardless of any species fully realizing their potential. There are species that have come within a skosh of downloading their minds, fail, and they are still harvested when individuals die. There are also beings that have never become technological, by far the vast majority of species, and they are harvested, too.
What it all means, is that what we see of ourselves and others is really energy, but in a form that our mind can comprehend. Not electrical energy, or nuclear, cold fusion or dark energy, but the weakest kind of energy, the bond between spaces. That is why we can meld. That is why we can imagine things, and those things appear. That is why we can be in various places at one time, and we can call out to each other and gather together. That is why the living can’t see us.
You might want to know about the “first.” That first species to realize immortality, the first one to blend minds. Well it doesn’t work like that. We live in an infinity, remember? There is no first, any more than there is a last. It is like we are on a loop, a place where the past is the future and the future is the past. But with infinite events destined to happen before the loop completes and starts over. That’s a bad analogy, too, as there is no starting over, ever.
There you have it. Nothing you will not learn for yourself. The inevitable conclusion to life for all of us. I suppose I could publish this in some obscure venue, but I doubt I will. But I have written it down and left it on a desk somewhere, so we will see, eh?
My wife and I now wander the infinite worlds as Trekkers, she also a Holder and I a Sage at times. We walk everywhere except between the planets and galaxies. Between earths we fly, faster than light at the speed of thought. Well, more properly at the speed of imagination. Our old yellow dog travels with us, and sometimes the Aussie. We gather with friends or family, and their friends when we choose, both to investigate the worlds and to compare notes in between laughter and enjoying a sunset or rise. When we need a path, we imagine one and it is there. When we grow tired, a cabin with a comfortable bed and a full pantry appears around the next bend. When we are thirsty, water wells from the ground or babbles in a brook. When there is a storm we play tag in between the lightning bolts.
Sometimes I wonder if this is real. It is certainly as real to me as my old life before death.
I have met others as they emerged from the fog of dying. I have welcomed them to… Heaven? Whatever this is, they float into our presence in the form they died, old, crippled, mentally challenged, and on meeting the first person they contact, they change. Suddenly they are in their mid-twenties, hale, hearty, sane, and naked without realizing it. I watch their surprise, their relief, and understand it.
After all, I thought I was going to Hell…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
August 26, 2016
America's Best Idea
©2016 Kari Carlisle
In case you haven’t heard, this is a very special year. This is the year the National Park Service turned 100 years old. It’s just a number, you say? True. It’s just a number. It really doesn’t mean much to you and me. I mean, it’s not like you or I just turned 100, right?
Well, to the Park Service, it’s a very big deal. They’ve been planning celebrations across all of its 400+ parks, monuments, and historical and recreation sites for the last couple of years. That’s part of what does make this a big deal to you and me. We have an opportunity to participate in some really fun and unique activities.
Start at FindYourPark.com. You may be surprised what you will find near you. And then GO! If there just isn’t one you can get to, then go to one of your state parks. They’re awesome, too. Thinking back, I’m surprised at how many of the parks I’ve been to and then even more surprised at some of the amazing things I’ve been able to do there:CampingHikingBackpackingCavingWildlife encountersCanoeingRock climbingLearningPhotographyApple pickingWorshippingLooking down into the caldera of an active volcanoShopping
Yeah, shopping! Some of my favorite things came from shops operated within the parks. I still use a lye laundry stick I bought years ago in Capital Reef National Monument at one of my favorite park shops. They also sell ice cream and fresh baked pies and scones. I’ve eaten a pie for lunch there. Seriously, it’s amazing.
But the most important thing you can do in a park is to connect – connect with others, connect with the spiritual, connect with nature, connect with yourself. Find yourself. Sometimes you just need to get away from the day-to-day to learn about yourself, solve problems, set goals, find inspiration. Maybe that’s why I live and work in a park.
Take my word for it – you will not regret visiting a park. There’s a reason why the national parks are called America’s Best Idea.
Here are more links to information:National Park ServiceNational Park FoundationKen Burns’ Documentary
Tell me about your park experiences in the comments…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
In case you haven’t heard, this is a very special year. This is the year the National Park Service turned 100 years old. It’s just a number, you say? True. It’s just a number. It really doesn’t mean much to you and me. I mean, it’s not like you or I just turned 100, right?
Well, to the Park Service, it’s a very big deal. They’ve been planning celebrations across all of its 400+ parks, monuments, and historical and recreation sites for the last couple of years. That’s part of what does make this a big deal to you and me. We have an opportunity to participate in some really fun and unique activities.
Start at FindYourPark.com. You may be surprised what you will find near you. And then GO! If there just isn’t one you can get to, then go to one of your state parks. They’re awesome, too. Thinking back, I’m surprised at how many of the parks I’ve been to and then even more surprised at some of the amazing things I’ve been able to do there:CampingHikingBackpackingCavingWildlife encountersCanoeingRock climbingLearningPhotographyApple pickingWorshippingLooking down into the caldera of an active volcanoShopping
Yeah, shopping! Some of my favorite things came from shops operated within the parks. I still use a lye laundry stick I bought years ago in Capital Reef National Monument at one of my favorite park shops. They also sell ice cream and fresh baked pies and scones. I’ve eaten a pie for lunch there. Seriously, it’s amazing.
But the most important thing you can do in a park is to connect – connect with others, connect with the spiritual, connect with nature, connect with yourself. Find yourself. Sometimes you just need to get away from the day-to-day to learn about yourself, solve problems, set goals, find inspiration. Maybe that’s why I live and work in a park.
Take my word for it – you will not regret visiting a park. There’s a reason why the national parks are called America’s Best Idea.
Here are more links to information:National Park ServiceNational Park FoundationKen Burns’ Documentary
Tell me about your park experiences in the comments…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
August 19, 2016
Short Story: Twixt Tween and Twilight
©2016 C. Henry Martens
The soft light of morning gave way to the day, sure to be warm, bright, and pleasant. Small puffs of dust exploded from under Ooley’s feet as he trod the familiar path to The Great Rock. The brightly colored school pack rode heavily against the boy’s spine, weighted with frozen bottled water, a plastic bottle of soda, a bag of raw veggies, and a peanut butter sandwich that was already flattened and deformed by the heavier objects.
Turning thirteen the day before, the gangly youngster was slender to the point that people questioned if he was getting enough to eat. He was, and his high metabolism fed both his high energy and kept him looking emaciated although he was perfectly healthy. The shock of dark, straw hair and the deep green eyes beneath complemented his round and mischievous face. Ooley’s grandfather gazed at him often, sideways, and wondered if the boy was as much an imp as he seemed.
The Great Rock loomed as the boy broke from the undergrowth, and he immediately made ready to climb. After several attempts, the hook on the end of his rope found purchase, and he tested it with his full weight. Then, hand over hand he ascended.
A dream the night before, or more properly in the wee hours of the morning, had prompted Ooley to be here today. He didn’t remember the particulars, as most dreams fade on awakening, but he vaguely seemed to remember that the rock had some kind of importance in his life. Now his curiosity was aroused, and finding an unknown reason for urgency, he felt that today was the day to climb the rock… and become a spy.
Only a very few children knew that the rock was hiding a secret. The tall walls rose a good ten or twelve feet from the ground, not just straight up, but slightly overhanging. A formidable obstacle for a grown man, they were topped by another ten feet of steep slopes, lichen encrusted granite with little to hold onto until the top was reached, a jagged edge that looked uninviting and precarious. From any side, the top looked to be sharp, affording no place to rest or sit and contemplate the view. Certainly there was no reason to climb, unless you knew the rock was hiding a deep hollowed out valley down its length. A place of green lushness, with ferns and mosses providing a carpet, vines clinging to the walls within, and a virtual forest of stunted and twisted trees. The green was fed by a tiny rivulet of water that emerged from a ledge at the high end of the cleft, cascading off to form a misty waterfall and trickling happily over stones and pebbles into a tiny pool at the opposite end. All told, the rift in The Great Rock was no more than twelve feet wide and sixty feet long, with a gently sloping, almost flat bottom and a flowered miniature meadow of soft grasses and moss at the widest spot above the pool.
The ledge where the water emerged from the rock was well hidden from not only the ground outside, but from the little valley below, and this was Ooley’s ambition, a place to observe without being observed. Soon he was ensconced comfortably beneath the lone tree that shaded the nook, also providing gnarled roots that molded a comfortable seat for a small boy’s derriere. He peeked carefully over the lip, down into the shadows and sunlit wildflowers, and smiled. This was the perfect spot to see anything below. Now all he had to do was wait, because he knew somehow that something was poised to happen. How did he know? Well, he didn’t know.
§
The woods surrounding The Great Rock were busy. Cicadas clattered and buzzed as the day heated up, and squirrels and birds and small things among the leaves went about their business as they saw fit. The dust of the path that approached the rock was disturbed by the occasional stink bug crossing or a small bird taking a dust bath, and eventually small feet of the human sort.
Two children, one ten years old and a boy, led another child by the hand, a little girl of eight years and a lyrical nature. Jenett, Jeejee to those who loved her, was unfamiliar with the woods this far away from her back yard, but she had been invited to discover the deeper forest in her dreams last night and she had accepted. Her memories of the invitation were clear, and the involved and detailed instructions that followed had been impressed on her young brain. Besides, if she had trepidations or any hesitation, the boy who held her hand was an old hand and could inform her in anything she might question. She hummed a happy tune as she enjoyed the new experience and looked forward to the day.
Remembering his own first day, Korbin thought about how he had followed Ooley down this very same path. They hadn’t held hands, being boys and all, but Korbin had no problem holding hands with the little girl who had appeared to take Ooley’s place now that he had timed out. The ten year old, dark with flashing black eyes and close cropped knappy hair, looked back occasionally at the girl with the bright red hair and prominent freckles. Someday she might be a beauty, but right now her two adult front teeth were too large and bucked out enough that she looked ever so slightly like a hamster. The song was pleasant and Korbin had a good ear, so he appreciated that she was hitting all the notes properly.
Less than a half mile from their back yards, the trees broke about The Great Rock and they emerged into the sunlight. A little to the right and behind a bush with long thorns, a small opening looking like the den of a groundhog intruded into the bottom of the stone looming above them. Korbin didn’t hesitate and dove in, scrambling and kicking his legs as he wormed his way inside. Jeejee heard him calling, “C’mon, it’s not far an it ain’t as tight as it looks!”
Looking around one last time, Jeejee bent down and looked inside. There was nothing to see but blackness, so she took a deep breath as though she were going to swim underwater and belly flopped into the dark. The tight entrance expanded inside slightly so that she could rise to her knees and crawl, and she followed a series of switchbacks that eventually led to a taller opening into sunlight. By this time Jeejee was on her feet but bent over so she could only look at the ground, and as she emerged from the rock, she rose to find what her dream had only been a pale imitation of.
The Faerie Counsel was gathered, and she and Korbin would represent humanity.
Sitting on a soft hummock of moss, Korbin motioned to Jeejee to join him. He patted the moss next to him, indicating that she should sit there.
The air was full of flying creatures. Hummingbirds arrived, carrying gnomes in tiny red, pointy hats and Sunday best bib overalls. A contingent of pixies flew in on dragonflies, and several dryads and sprites hovered and dove through the trees and over the water of the pond. A few pixies wrestled in the grass, and several of the sprites skated across the pond in furious circles. Under the shadow of the lowest trees, a child of the trolls sucked its fingers after picking at its toes.
Reaching into her pocket, Jeejee pulled out some pieces of brightly colored thread. Each no more than an inch long, the little girl had picked as many shades as she could find in her mother’s sewing box. The pixies swarmed her in their tattered cloths, dancing about barefoot and begging for a strand. She held out one at a time, and as each was accepted the pixie would bow deep in gratitude. Soon they were all belted or necklaced or head banded by a bright addition to their wardrobe, and they danced about in delight to display their new acquisition. A group formed, and there was some high pitched and stringent discussion. The group split apart, and working quickly harvested armfuls of the tiniest flowers to be strung into a wristband, which they presented to Jeejee. After she received it, plaited about her wrist in a never ending circle, she stood, startling the pixies. They backed away, suddenly afraid. But when Jeejee bowed in a grand imitation of their own thank you, they laughed until they rolled on the ground.
Other of the fay presented gifts to each other, even a gnome pulling an old chicken bone from a leather backpack and throwing it toward the troll. Slobbering, the troll grabbed it up quickly as though he expected others to covet his present. Retreating into the shady recesses, sounds of wet sucking emanated from the dark.
Gradually the throng quieted, seeming to be a natural affect of strenuous activity, but they all knew that it was time to begin. Each creature settled in a comfortable place and whispered quietly if they made any noise at all.
A small door opened between the roots of a small gnarled oak, and a dryad of immense presence strode forth. She hesitated for effect, and the quiet became infinite.
“I… am the Queen… of the Boo Ga Loo.” She stated in a slow, husky, and surprisingly low voice. “We are here this day to decide the fates. For the next cycle and beyond.” Extending her arm and turning, she embraced the entire theater. “Today we must make what efforts we can to ensure life and well-being to the earth.”
The two human children were mesmerized. The words flooded into their being, not just into their ears, and they were granted a temporary wisdom that transcended any that humans had ever been blessed with before. The spell cast over the gathering permeated each creature, and tendrils of feeling and cognizance from the far reaches of the world invaded their bodies so that they could experience the earth and all of its creatures. Suddenly… they were the earth.
Each in the gathering spoke in their turn, voicing those things that concerned them the most, issues that touched their hearts. The gardeners of the earth, the gnomes spoke of green grass and rich soil being paved over or washed away. The sprites explained how water was becoming cloudy, or warm, or was changing so that life inhabiting it was changing. One of the most eloquent speeches came from the mouth of the troll as he wept over the way rock and stone was being tortured to bring water, tarry fluids, and odiferous gasses to the surface, to be replaced with salt water or not at all, and how the deep reservoirs were collapsing and the land subsiding.
Hours passed. In a human forum the discussion would have taken years, decades, or even centuries. The group here gathered had a purpose in common, knowledge and ideas flowed, and what solutions there were became easily accepted by way of reason.
The last item of the agenda was a serious one, and it had been a long time coming. Not taken lightly, and discussed for centuries, it involved taking away the viability of a species. A protein in the DNA of the species could be switched to enhance the opposite allele, and the species would lose something and return to a form long forgotten and now extinct. A drastic measure to be sure, but earned.
The debate began, and clearly there was more contention than in any other. The sides locked, and discussion resumed. First one side and then the other seemed to control the decision. They needed a tie breaker. Calling a halt, a recess to gather their thoughts, the Queen of the Boo Ga Loo stated that she would cast the deciding vote if the assemblage could not come to agreement. Not unheard of, this method to come to a decision was rarely used as most were unanimous.
The groups fell apart, some walking or flying away to be alone, and others looking to speak with others.
§
Awakening from a light sleep, Ooley thought about what he had observed so far. He had watched the little glade inside of The Great Rock, seen Korbin and Jeejee crawl out of the hole he could no longer fit through, and had watched as they played with the grass and flowers, knitting bands for their wrists and placing flowers in their hair. The butterflies and lacewings and water skeeters had seemed more plentiful than in most places. Pretty boring stuff. The warm day and the peanut butter sandwich had made Ooley drowsy, and he nodded off. Now he looked down on the two kids, and his nature to cause trouble got the better of him. He picked up a rock and bounced it off the side wall to land in the pond, making a splash that surprised the younger children.
“What was that?!?” Korbin asked.
Jeejee had seen the rock, noticing it because of the noise when it clattered off the stone wall above them. “It was a rock, Korbin. Somebody threw a rock! It came from that-a-way.” She indicated the opposite end of the valley. She stood up, looking fiercely toward the source of their interruption. Both she and Korbin assumed the rock came from the outside and over the top of the jagged lip surrounding the meeting place.
She yelled, “Cut it out you meany-head! That could have hit us!”
Grabbing her arm and pulling her down, Korbin shushed her. “Quiet! You don’t want people to know we’re in here, do you? Ya gotta be quiet!”
Knowing he was right and that she had forgotten herself in the moment of being threatened, Jeejee zipped her lip and hoped there would be no more rocks. She looked back at the pond where the rock had landed and noticed a casualty. Just below the surface, a dragonfly was struggling to break the surface tension to get to air.
Ashamed suddenly, Ooley came to the sudden conclusion that he was too old to do something that stupid. He ducked as the girl stood to look up toward the ledge, and sorry for what he had done, he heard her words. She was right. Throwing rocks was for little kids.
“Oh, look,” Jeejee exclaimed in alarm, “we have to rescue it. It can’t get out by itself.”
Korbin looked where Jeejee was pointing, and jumped to aid the struggling insect. He lifted it from the water gently, and held it out for inspection. The rock had done damage. One of the wings was broken.
While the two kids were concentrating on the bug, Ooley decided to leave. He slipped up and over the lip above the ledge, and down the slope, jumping when it became vertical. Then he ran all the way home, wondering the whole way why he had wanted to spy on the kids inside The Great Rock. Within a week he had forgotten The Great Rock existed, and he never returned.
§
The gathering was agitated. The rock was bad enough, but to have an injury, even to a dragonfly, was a terrible blow. The mood of the assemblage started to turn dark.
“We can fix it, maybe.” Offered Korbin.
“How? How do we do it? We need something to hold it together.”
Jeejee reached and took the insect from Korbin, holding it as gently as she could, being sure it couldn’t flail about and injure itself further.
“I know, I know,“ said Korbin excitedly, “I have some glue at home. I can get it. Just hold it until I get back.”
Without waiting for a reply, Korbin ducked into the hole in the rock and disappeared. He wondered about the dust in the air as he ran toward home, not realizing that another boy was running just ahead of him but far enough to be out of sight. Back in less than fifteen minutes, he produced a small tube of super glue.
The two children labored over the broken wing while one of the pixies used a gentle hand to comfort the bug. At first the repair wouldn’t hold, with only the two ends glued together. But Jeejee had an idea. She asked the pixie for the piece of thread that held his hair back, the one that she had given him. Dabbing the thread with glue and wiping it off quickly, the thread became a stiff, straight, and very fine splint. The splint glued to the top edge of the wing gave it rigidity, and after asking for another and doing the same on the bottom of the wing, the dragonfly was ready to fly in minutes.
The pixie comforting the insect bowed deeply, thanking the two children in a small but strong voice. All of the pixies behind him, all gathered and watching intently, bowed as well. Then the troll followed suit, and the rest did as well.
The day was waning, and it would be dinner time soon. No one mentioned the vote, as all present had decided to be charitable in the wake of the children’s efforts. Goodbyes were said, finger tips touching in acknowledgement, and the party broke up as each of the fay left to return to their home.
Korbin and Jeejee smiled as they held hands and walked the path back to their subdivision. All was right with the world, at least for now.
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To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
The soft light of morning gave way to the day, sure to be warm, bright, and pleasant. Small puffs of dust exploded from under Ooley’s feet as he trod the familiar path to The Great Rock. The brightly colored school pack rode heavily against the boy’s spine, weighted with frozen bottled water, a plastic bottle of soda, a bag of raw veggies, and a peanut butter sandwich that was already flattened and deformed by the heavier objects.
Turning thirteen the day before, the gangly youngster was slender to the point that people questioned if he was getting enough to eat. He was, and his high metabolism fed both his high energy and kept him looking emaciated although he was perfectly healthy. The shock of dark, straw hair and the deep green eyes beneath complemented his round and mischievous face. Ooley’s grandfather gazed at him often, sideways, and wondered if the boy was as much an imp as he seemed.
The Great Rock loomed as the boy broke from the undergrowth, and he immediately made ready to climb. After several attempts, the hook on the end of his rope found purchase, and he tested it with his full weight. Then, hand over hand he ascended.
A dream the night before, or more properly in the wee hours of the morning, had prompted Ooley to be here today. He didn’t remember the particulars, as most dreams fade on awakening, but he vaguely seemed to remember that the rock had some kind of importance in his life. Now his curiosity was aroused, and finding an unknown reason for urgency, he felt that today was the day to climb the rock… and become a spy.
Only a very few children knew that the rock was hiding a secret. The tall walls rose a good ten or twelve feet from the ground, not just straight up, but slightly overhanging. A formidable obstacle for a grown man, they were topped by another ten feet of steep slopes, lichen encrusted granite with little to hold onto until the top was reached, a jagged edge that looked uninviting and precarious. From any side, the top looked to be sharp, affording no place to rest or sit and contemplate the view. Certainly there was no reason to climb, unless you knew the rock was hiding a deep hollowed out valley down its length. A place of green lushness, with ferns and mosses providing a carpet, vines clinging to the walls within, and a virtual forest of stunted and twisted trees. The green was fed by a tiny rivulet of water that emerged from a ledge at the high end of the cleft, cascading off to form a misty waterfall and trickling happily over stones and pebbles into a tiny pool at the opposite end. All told, the rift in The Great Rock was no more than twelve feet wide and sixty feet long, with a gently sloping, almost flat bottom and a flowered miniature meadow of soft grasses and moss at the widest spot above the pool.
The ledge where the water emerged from the rock was well hidden from not only the ground outside, but from the little valley below, and this was Ooley’s ambition, a place to observe without being observed. Soon he was ensconced comfortably beneath the lone tree that shaded the nook, also providing gnarled roots that molded a comfortable seat for a small boy’s derriere. He peeked carefully over the lip, down into the shadows and sunlit wildflowers, and smiled. This was the perfect spot to see anything below. Now all he had to do was wait, because he knew somehow that something was poised to happen. How did he know? Well, he didn’t know.
§
The woods surrounding The Great Rock were busy. Cicadas clattered and buzzed as the day heated up, and squirrels and birds and small things among the leaves went about their business as they saw fit. The dust of the path that approached the rock was disturbed by the occasional stink bug crossing or a small bird taking a dust bath, and eventually small feet of the human sort.
Two children, one ten years old and a boy, led another child by the hand, a little girl of eight years and a lyrical nature. Jenett, Jeejee to those who loved her, was unfamiliar with the woods this far away from her back yard, but she had been invited to discover the deeper forest in her dreams last night and she had accepted. Her memories of the invitation were clear, and the involved and detailed instructions that followed had been impressed on her young brain. Besides, if she had trepidations or any hesitation, the boy who held her hand was an old hand and could inform her in anything she might question. She hummed a happy tune as she enjoyed the new experience and looked forward to the day.
Remembering his own first day, Korbin thought about how he had followed Ooley down this very same path. They hadn’t held hands, being boys and all, but Korbin had no problem holding hands with the little girl who had appeared to take Ooley’s place now that he had timed out. The ten year old, dark with flashing black eyes and close cropped knappy hair, looked back occasionally at the girl with the bright red hair and prominent freckles. Someday she might be a beauty, but right now her two adult front teeth were too large and bucked out enough that she looked ever so slightly like a hamster. The song was pleasant and Korbin had a good ear, so he appreciated that she was hitting all the notes properly.
Less than a half mile from their back yards, the trees broke about The Great Rock and they emerged into the sunlight. A little to the right and behind a bush with long thorns, a small opening looking like the den of a groundhog intruded into the bottom of the stone looming above them. Korbin didn’t hesitate and dove in, scrambling and kicking his legs as he wormed his way inside. Jeejee heard him calling, “C’mon, it’s not far an it ain’t as tight as it looks!”
Looking around one last time, Jeejee bent down and looked inside. There was nothing to see but blackness, so she took a deep breath as though she were going to swim underwater and belly flopped into the dark. The tight entrance expanded inside slightly so that she could rise to her knees and crawl, and she followed a series of switchbacks that eventually led to a taller opening into sunlight. By this time Jeejee was on her feet but bent over so she could only look at the ground, and as she emerged from the rock, she rose to find what her dream had only been a pale imitation of.
The Faerie Counsel was gathered, and she and Korbin would represent humanity.
Sitting on a soft hummock of moss, Korbin motioned to Jeejee to join him. He patted the moss next to him, indicating that she should sit there.
The air was full of flying creatures. Hummingbirds arrived, carrying gnomes in tiny red, pointy hats and Sunday best bib overalls. A contingent of pixies flew in on dragonflies, and several dryads and sprites hovered and dove through the trees and over the water of the pond. A few pixies wrestled in the grass, and several of the sprites skated across the pond in furious circles. Under the shadow of the lowest trees, a child of the trolls sucked its fingers after picking at its toes.
Reaching into her pocket, Jeejee pulled out some pieces of brightly colored thread. Each no more than an inch long, the little girl had picked as many shades as she could find in her mother’s sewing box. The pixies swarmed her in their tattered cloths, dancing about barefoot and begging for a strand. She held out one at a time, and as each was accepted the pixie would bow deep in gratitude. Soon they were all belted or necklaced or head banded by a bright addition to their wardrobe, and they danced about in delight to display their new acquisition. A group formed, and there was some high pitched and stringent discussion. The group split apart, and working quickly harvested armfuls of the tiniest flowers to be strung into a wristband, which they presented to Jeejee. After she received it, plaited about her wrist in a never ending circle, she stood, startling the pixies. They backed away, suddenly afraid. But when Jeejee bowed in a grand imitation of their own thank you, they laughed until they rolled on the ground.
Other of the fay presented gifts to each other, even a gnome pulling an old chicken bone from a leather backpack and throwing it toward the troll. Slobbering, the troll grabbed it up quickly as though he expected others to covet his present. Retreating into the shady recesses, sounds of wet sucking emanated from the dark.
Gradually the throng quieted, seeming to be a natural affect of strenuous activity, but they all knew that it was time to begin. Each creature settled in a comfortable place and whispered quietly if they made any noise at all.
A small door opened between the roots of a small gnarled oak, and a dryad of immense presence strode forth. She hesitated for effect, and the quiet became infinite.
“I… am the Queen… of the Boo Ga Loo.” She stated in a slow, husky, and surprisingly low voice. “We are here this day to decide the fates. For the next cycle and beyond.” Extending her arm and turning, she embraced the entire theater. “Today we must make what efforts we can to ensure life and well-being to the earth.”
The two human children were mesmerized. The words flooded into their being, not just into their ears, and they were granted a temporary wisdom that transcended any that humans had ever been blessed with before. The spell cast over the gathering permeated each creature, and tendrils of feeling and cognizance from the far reaches of the world invaded their bodies so that they could experience the earth and all of its creatures. Suddenly… they were the earth.
Each in the gathering spoke in their turn, voicing those things that concerned them the most, issues that touched their hearts. The gardeners of the earth, the gnomes spoke of green grass and rich soil being paved over or washed away. The sprites explained how water was becoming cloudy, or warm, or was changing so that life inhabiting it was changing. One of the most eloquent speeches came from the mouth of the troll as he wept over the way rock and stone was being tortured to bring water, tarry fluids, and odiferous gasses to the surface, to be replaced with salt water or not at all, and how the deep reservoirs were collapsing and the land subsiding.
Hours passed. In a human forum the discussion would have taken years, decades, or even centuries. The group here gathered had a purpose in common, knowledge and ideas flowed, and what solutions there were became easily accepted by way of reason.
The last item of the agenda was a serious one, and it had been a long time coming. Not taken lightly, and discussed for centuries, it involved taking away the viability of a species. A protein in the DNA of the species could be switched to enhance the opposite allele, and the species would lose something and return to a form long forgotten and now extinct. A drastic measure to be sure, but earned.
The debate began, and clearly there was more contention than in any other. The sides locked, and discussion resumed. First one side and then the other seemed to control the decision. They needed a tie breaker. Calling a halt, a recess to gather their thoughts, the Queen of the Boo Ga Loo stated that she would cast the deciding vote if the assemblage could not come to agreement. Not unheard of, this method to come to a decision was rarely used as most were unanimous.
The groups fell apart, some walking or flying away to be alone, and others looking to speak with others.
§
Awakening from a light sleep, Ooley thought about what he had observed so far. He had watched the little glade inside of The Great Rock, seen Korbin and Jeejee crawl out of the hole he could no longer fit through, and had watched as they played with the grass and flowers, knitting bands for their wrists and placing flowers in their hair. The butterflies and lacewings and water skeeters had seemed more plentiful than in most places. Pretty boring stuff. The warm day and the peanut butter sandwich had made Ooley drowsy, and he nodded off. Now he looked down on the two kids, and his nature to cause trouble got the better of him. He picked up a rock and bounced it off the side wall to land in the pond, making a splash that surprised the younger children.
“What was that?!?” Korbin asked.
Jeejee had seen the rock, noticing it because of the noise when it clattered off the stone wall above them. “It was a rock, Korbin. Somebody threw a rock! It came from that-a-way.” She indicated the opposite end of the valley. She stood up, looking fiercely toward the source of their interruption. Both she and Korbin assumed the rock came from the outside and over the top of the jagged lip surrounding the meeting place.
She yelled, “Cut it out you meany-head! That could have hit us!”
Grabbing her arm and pulling her down, Korbin shushed her. “Quiet! You don’t want people to know we’re in here, do you? Ya gotta be quiet!”
Knowing he was right and that she had forgotten herself in the moment of being threatened, Jeejee zipped her lip and hoped there would be no more rocks. She looked back at the pond where the rock had landed and noticed a casualty. Just below the surface, a dragonfly was struggling to break the surface tension to get to air.
Ashamed suddenly, Ooley came to the sudden conclusion that he was too old to do something that stupid. He ducked as the girl stood to look up toward the ledge, and sorry for what he had done, he heard her words. She was right. Throwing rocks was for little kids.
“Oh, look,” Jeejee exclaimed in alarm, “we have to rescue it. It can’t get out by itself.”
Korbin looked where Jeejee was pointing, and jumped to aid the struggling insect. He lifted it from the water gently, and held it out for inspection. The rock had done damage. One of the wings was broken.
While the two kids were concentrating on the bug, Ooley decided to leave. He slipped up and over the lip above the ledge, and down the slope, jumping when it became vertical. Then he ran all the way home, wondering the whole way why he had wanted to spy on the kids inside The Great Rock. Within a week he had forgotten The Great Rock existed, and he never returned.
§
The gathering was agitated. The rock was bad enough, but to have an injury, even to a dragonfly, was a terrible blow. The mood of the assemblage started to turn dark.
“We can fix it, maybe.” Offered Korbin.
“How? How do we do it? We need something to hold it together.”
Jeejee reached and took the insect from Korbin, holding it as gently as she could, being sure it couldn’t flail about and injure itself further.
“I know, I know,“ said Korbin excitedly, “I have some glue at home. I can get it. Just hold it until I get back.”
Without waiting for a reply, Korbin ducked into the hole in the rock and disappeared. He wondered about the dust in the air as he ran toward home, not realizing that another boy was running just ahead of him but far enough to be out of sight. Back in less than fifteen minutes, he produced a small tube of super glue.
The two children labored over the broken wing while one of the pixies used a gentle hand to comfort the bug. At first the repair wouldn’t hold, with only the two ends glued together. But Jeejee had an idea. She asked the pixie for the piece of thread that held his hair back, the one that she had given him. Dabbing the thread with glue and wiping it off quickly, the thread became a stiff, straight, and very fine splint. The splint glued to the top edge of the wing gave it rigidity, and after asking for another and doing the same on the bottom of the wing, the dragonfly was ready to fly in minutes.
The pixie comforting the insect bowed deeply, thanking the two children in a small but strong voice. All of the pixies behind him, all gathered and watching intently, bowed as well. Then the troll followed suit, and the rest did as well.
The day was waning, and it would be dinner time soon. No one mentioned the vote, as all present had decided to be charitable in the wake of the children’s efforts. Goodbyes were said, finger tips touching in acknowledgement, and the party broke up as each of the fay left to return to their home.
Korbin and Jeejee smiled as they held hands and walked the path back to their subdivision. All was right with the world, at least for now.
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August 12, 2016
CSI Apocalypse
©2016 Kari Carlisle
I’ve just been given a say in the potential incarceration of a convicted criminal. The opportunity gives me pause. It’s a powerful position to be in, not to be taken lightly.
On one hand, I can recommend the harshest sentence possible, in this case 6 months. Not much, but I couldn’t imagine having to spend 6 weeks in prison. He admits to having a problem, and the harshest sentence may not only teach him a lesson, it may act as a deterrent to others, and himself. That’s the point, right?
On the other hand, I can recommend a lenient sentence. This would be probation. The crime was a non-violent one, and restitution is already included in the plea deal.
I am leaning toward the direction of probation. Although victims commonly feel a sense of violation, I am not the direct victim, and I don’t feel the need to take this criminal’s actions personally. So I can look at this situation without emotion and from a big picture perspective.
First of all, prisons are overcrowded, not to mention very expensive to run. Keeping one more criminal, especially a non-violent one, out of the slammer (do people still say that?) is doing a service to the justice system. I have a friend whose husband is the victim of an excessive prison sentence. If I remember the facts right, he’s serving multiple life terms with no chance of parole for a nonviolent crime. This, while child molesters and first degree murderers routinely get out on parole. Ridiculous.
Another reason for suggesting a lighter sentence is psychological. I would hope that if this criminal learns that I had recommended a lighter sentence, and of course the judge will make the ultimate decision, that his conscience would help him get over his problem. Yeah, I know, this is wishful thinking. But maybe, just maybe, he would respond positively.
But if he doesn’t. If leniency doesn’t work, and he returns to his criminal activity, does that mean I should have recommended a heavier sentence? I don’t believe so. I’m no expert in criminal psychology or the justice system, but it seems to me, if he’s not going to change his ways, a heavier sentence will not change that. We may as well throw him in a pit like in the new TBS show, Wrecked . Steal food? Throw him in a pit. Shoot someone? Throw him in a pit. Don’t like someone? Throw him in a pit. Wrecked is a good commentary on a broken justice system. “Do the crime, do the time” is just too simplistic a philosophy.
I don’t know the answers. Yes, many criminals need to do the time. Yes, there are some good programs in place to rehabilitate prisoners. It’s just too complicated a problem when the population is so huge, we have good cops and bad cops, we have good judges and judges with an agenda, and there are so many “crimes” that shouldn’t be.
If the apocalypse happened tomorrow and the population were reduced to a fraction, what would our justice system look like then? What would we consider “criminal” activity? Who would decide? What would the sentence be? Throw him in a pit? Execute her? Banishment? Or would there be no justice system at all? Every man, woman and child for themselves. What do you think?
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
I’ve just been given a say in the potential incarceration of a convicted criminal. The opportunity gives me pause. It’s a powerful position to be in, not to be taken lightly.
On one hand, I can recommend the harshest sentence possible, in this case 6 months. Not much, but I couldn’t imagine having to spend 6 weeks in prison. He admits to having a problem, and the harshest sentence may not only teach him a lesson, it may act as a deterrent to others, and himself. That’s the point, right?
On the other hand, I can recommend a lenient sentence. This would be probation. The crime was a non-violent one, and restitution is already included in the plea deal.
I am leaning toward the direction of probation. Although victims commonly feel a sense of violation, I am not the direct victim, and I don’t feel the need to take this criminal’s actions personally. So I can look at this situation without emotion and from a big picture perspective.
First of all, prisons are overcrowded, not to mention very expensive to run. Keeping one more criminal, especially a non-violent one, out of the slammer (do people still say that?) is doing a service to the justice system. I have a friend whose husband is the victim of an excessive prison sentence. If I remember the facts right, he’s serving multiple life terms with no chance of parole for a nonviolent crime. This, while child molesters and first degree murderers routinely get out on parole. Ridiculous.
Another reason for suggesting a lighter sentence is psychological. I would hope that if this criminal learns that I had recommended a lighter sentence, and of course the judge will make the ultimate decision, that his conscience would help him get over his problem. Yeah, I know, this is wishful thinking. But maybe, just maybe, he would respond positively.
But if he doesn’t. If leniency doesn’t work, and he returns to his criminal activity, does that mean I should have recommended a heavier sentence? I don’t believe so. I’m no expert in criminal psychology or the justice system, but it seems to me, if he’s not going to change his ways, a heavier sentence will not change that. We may as well throw him in a pit like in the new TBS show, Wrecked . Steal food? Throw him in a pit. Shoot someone? Throw him in a pit. Don’t like someone? Throw him in a pit. Wrecked is a good commentary on a broken justice system. “Do the crime, do the time” is just too simplistic a philosophy.
I don’t know the answers. Yes, many criminals need to do the time. Yes, there are some good programs in place to rehabilitate prisoners. It’s just too complicated a problem when the population is so huge, we have good cops and bad cops, we have good judges and judges with an agenda, and there are so many “crimes” that shouldn’t be.
If the apocalypse happened tomorrow and the population were reduced to a fraction, what would our justice system look like then? What would we consider “criminal” activity? Who would decide? What would the sentence be? Throw him in a pit? Execute her? Banishment? Or would there be no justice system at all? Every man, woman and child for themselves. What do you think?
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
August 4, 2016
Apocalypse Survival 101: Questions That Need to be Asked
©2016 C. Henry Martens
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Questions That Need to be Asked
1. Is this REALLY an apocalypse?
Well, that depends. Look, I think we are in an apocalypse right now. I call it the Long, Slow Burn Apocalypse. Global warming is real, the planet is over populated, the animals are beginning to die off, and how is your garden doing? I’ve seen some strange things happening with plants recently, perhaps the last three years or so. But just because we are in the beginning of a long term apocalypse does not mean that something even more sudden and catastrophic can’t occur. The Long, Slow Burn is difficult to see because we humans tend to pooh-pooh anything that happens over decades. We have a problem with long term thinking. But you will immediately recognize a problem if an asteroid the size of Texas hits the earth, or if a sudden illness leaves the streets empty and the houses reeking.
2. Do I really want to survive this apocalypse?
I believe that most people in an apocalypse will be living in the moment. That means they will be running away from danger, clawing their way to the last breath of air, or generally doing anything they can to survive. If they have any time to make choices, some may opt out from the rigors of finding water and food, or chopping up furniture to keep the cold away, or caring for pets or children that are suddenly looking like something to eat. In my opinion, either way, opt out and take the “long walk” or opt in to the struggle, I hold no opinion about which is right for you. This is your decision to make.
3. What are my resources?
This is something you should have a good idea about… RIGHT NOW. I’m talking about any kinds of food, water, firewood, weapons, and trade goods that you might have on hand in your own home. You should know what you have, and you should have a good idea about how long you can make it last. There is no reason anyone should not have a weeks worth of food and water stored, or clothing and walking shoes appropriate to living in the outdoors. Those are the minimum. There are many people, and even cultures in the U.S. that pride themselves on preparedness. Most of them make a real effort to keep a years supply of food on hand. I applaud that effort. One of the resources you have… or don’t… is people you can count on. Your best friend may be the one who is most likely to steal what you need to survive, and the cranky old man across the street may be the one who shares his last biscuit with you. Tough times bring out the best, and the worst, in people. Which brings me to your best resource, YOU. If you don’t know how to kill for food, make a fire and cook over it, tie a few simple knots, use a sheet of plastic for a shelter, or a myriad of other skills, make some time to learn a little at a time… and practice them. In an emergency it is too late to figure it all out.
4. Do I stay put, or do I move on?
In most cases, I say stay put. There are going to be situations where danger could force you out: Fire, flood, landslides, a lack of food and water, or people with bad intent and the fire power and numbers to take what you have. In that case, stuff your pockets or load up the bug-out vehicle, and make like a baby and head out. Know where you are going. I suggest somewhere you know people you can expect to see you as an asset, but also people that won’t drag you down because they can’t take care of themselves. This is no time to add to your burdens, but we all know there are choices you just can’t live with… at least until reality hits. Staying put with a well stocked larder, plenty of water stored, and a woodpile, is a great idea in a small town where others practice the same things. Knowing the people around you and establishing early in your relationships that they can count on YOU, goes a long way toward counting on them when the SHTF. If you are the only person in the area with a larder, this all goes out the window. Best to have a support system.
5. How long can I last?
If the wolves are circling and the only way you can keep breathing is to give up what you have, you’ll have to make a choice. You can take as many of them with you as you can, or you can duck and run to fight another day, or you can try to negotiate. If you are in a fortress, which no home is, you can bar the door and eat your Twinkies until everyone outside starves. But if they find a way to smoke you out, or a way in, you better have a plan. If you have managed to remain hidden and no one knows you and your stash is under their noses, or only a few miles out in the woods, then it is a case of how long the Twinkies last before they mold.
6. What kinds of skills make me valuable?
I like to think that medical skills will be in demand. My wife and I have trained and become certified as childbirth instructors, which includes emergency and home birth training. Providing there is some kind of structure in a community and people aren’t eating each other yet, that kind of training may be enough to keep us fed. Inventory what you do, and expand on it if you can. If you garden, then learn about bee keeping. If you hunt, then invest in some reloading equipment and learn to use it. If you play the guitar and can’t sing to save your soul, then marry someone who can. I have a box full of turn-of-last-century hand tools, and I know how to use them. Spoke shaves and hand drills, gouges and augers and squares. If someone needs a wagon wheel or a sluice, and there is no electricity, I’m your guy.
7. Can I do what is necessary?
This may vary depending on who you are. For some, it means can I sacrifice myself so that someone else can live? For others, it means can I pull the trigger? But if you think about it, there are so many more possibilities. How do you feel about drinking urine, eating grubs or worse, or trading sexual favors for a really bad meal? Can you work twenty hours a day on short rations, and do it every day regardless of how hot or cold it is? Can you negotiate with a starving gun hand, keeping your cool so you don’t get shot? Can you think on your feet, under duress, and be satisfied with living to fight another day? Sometimes what is necessary is to survive, not to win. In the worst case scenario, you will have to be both ruthless and know when to be generous.
We aren’t talking about a localized scenario here. We aren’t talking about, “The dingo ate your baby.” No flood along the Mississippi, or forest fire in the Sierra, or plane crash in the Everglades. Not even a tsunami that wipes out Bangladesh. We are talking about a collapse of the world economy, a plague that devastates the bee population, or any of several events that threaten the survival of the human race. People have been talking about these kinds of things for centuries. So far, so good… but what I know is this. It is coming. Just as a volcano or an earthquake lays dormant and unrealized for years and years and years, building pressure and only occasionally rumbling beneath your feet in warning, the apocalypse is coming. There could be a natural disaster of epic proportions, but most likely we humans will create our own test. We will kill the bees or the krill, or we will invent a plague to do good and it will backfire, or we will sit on our asses and ignore the reality of what is going to threaten our survival as a species because we are over confident and expect others to care for us.
Good luck…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
Apocalypse Survival 101Mental attitudeAssess the situationDefine the level of riskQuestions that need to be askedLocation, location, locationSkill setTimingThe realities in your support systemInventory of resourcesOdds versus priority
Apocalypse Survival 101: Questions That Need to be Asked
1. Is this REALLY an apocalypse?
Well, that depends. Look, I think we are in an apocalypse right now. I call it the Long, Slow Burn Apocalypse. Global warming is real, the planet is over populated, the animals are beginning to die off, and how is your garden doing? I’ve seen some strange things happening with plants recently, perhaps the last three years or so. But just because we are in the beginning of a long term apocalypse does not mean that something even more sudden and catastrophic can’t occur. The Long, Slow Burn is difficult to see because we humans tend to pooh-pooh anything that happens over decades. We have a problem with long term thinking. But you will immediately recognize a problem if an asteroid the size of Texas hits the earth, or if a sudden illness leaves the streets empty and the houses reeking.
2. Do I really want to survive this apocalypse?
I believe that most people in an apocalypse will be living in the moment. That means they will be running away from danger, clawing their way to the last breath of air, or generally doing anything they can to survive. If they have any time to make choices, some may opt out from the rigors of finding water and food, or chopping up furniture to keep the cold away, or caring for pets or children that are suddenly looking like something to eat. In my opinion, either way, opt out and take the “long walk” or opt in to the struggle, I hold no opinion about which is right for you. This is your decision to make.
3. What are my resources?
This is something you should have a good idea about… RIGHT NOW. I’m talking about any kinds of food, water, firewood, weapons, and trade goods that you might have on hand in your own home. You should know what you have, and you should have a good idea about how long you can make it last. There is no reason anyone should not have a weeks worth of food and water stored, or clothing and walking shoes appropriate to living in the outdoors. Those are the minimum. There are many people, and even cultures in the U.S. that pride themselves on preparedness. Most of them make a real effort to keep a years supply of food on hand. I applaud that effort. One of the resources you have… or don’t… is people you can count on. Your best friend may be the one who is most likely to steal what you need to survive, and the cranky old man across the street may be the one who shares his last biscuit with you. Tough times bring out the best, and the worst, in people. Which brings me to your best resource, YOU. If you don’t know how to kill for food, make a fire and cook over it, tie a few simple knots, use a sheet of plastic for a shelter, or a myriad of other skills, make some time to learn a little at a time… and practice them. In an emergency it is too late to figure it all out.
4. Do I stay put, or do I move on?
In most cases, I say stay put. There are going to be situations where danger could force you out: Fire, flood, landslides, a lack of food and water, or people with bad intent and the fire power and numbers to take what you have. In that case, stuff your pockets or load up the bug-out vehicle, and make like a baby and head out. Know where you are going. I suggest somewhere you know people you can expect to see you as an asset, but also people that won’t drag you down because they can’t take care of themselves. This is no time to add to your burdens, but we all know there are choices you just can’t live with… at least until reality hits. Staying put with a well stocked larder, plenty of water stored, and a woodpile, is a great idea in a small town where others practice the same things. Knowing the people around you and establishing early in your relationships that they can count on YOU, goes a long way toward counting on them when the SHTF. If you are the only person in the area with a larder, this all goes out the window. Best to have a support system.
5. How long can I last?
If the wolves are circling and the only way you can keep breathing is to give up what you have, you’ll have to make a choice. You can take as many of them with you as you can, or you can duck and run to fight another day, or you can try to negotiate. If you are in a fortress, which no home is, you can bar the door and eat your Twinkies until everyone outside starves. But if they find a way to smoke you out, or a way in, you better have a plan. If you have managed to remain hidden and no one knows you and your stash is under their noses, or only a few miles out in the woods, then it is a case of how long the Twinkies last before they mold.
6. What kinds of skills make me valuable?
I like to think that medical skills will be in demand. My wife and I have trained and become certified as childbirth instructors, which includes emergency and home birth training. Providing there is some kind of structure in a community and people aren’t eating each other yet, that kind of training may be enough to keep us fed. Inventory what you do, and expand on it if you can. If you garden, then learn about bee keeping. If you hunt, then invest in some reloading equipment and learn to use it. If you play the guitar and can’t sing to save your soul, then marry someone who can. I have a box full of turn-of-last-century hand tools, and I know how to use them. Spoke shaves and hand drills, gouges and augers and squares. If someone needs a wagon wheel or a sluice, and there is no electricity, I’m your guy.
7. Can I do what is necessary?
This may vary depending on who you are. For some, it means can I sacrifice myself so that someone else can live? For others, it means can I pull the trigger? But if you think about it, there are so many more possibilities. How do you feel about drinking urine, eating grubs or worse, or trading sexual favors for a really bad meal? Can you work twenty hours a day on short rations, and do it every day regardless of how hot or cold it is? Can you negotiate with a starving gun hand, keeping your cool so you don’t get shot? Can you think on your feet, under duress, and be satisfied with living to fight another day? Sometimes what is necessary is to survive, not to win. In the worst case scenario, you will have to be both ruthless and know when to be generous.
We aren’t talking about a localized scenario here. We aren’t talking about, “The dingo ate your baby.” No flood along the Mississippi, or forest fire in the Sierra, or plane crash in the Everglades. Not even a tsunami that wipes out Bangladesh. We are talking about a collapse of the world economy, a plague that devastates the bee population, or any of several events that threaten the survival of the human race. People have been talking about these kinds of things for centuries. So far, so good… but what I know is this. It is coming. Just as a volcano or an earthquake lays dormant and unrealized for years and years and years, building pressure and only occasionally rumbling beneath your feet in warning, the apocalypse is coming. There could be a natural disaster of epic proportions, but most likely we humans will create our own test. We will kill the bees or the krill, or we will invent a plague to do good and it will backfire, or we will sit on our asses and ignore the reality of what is going to threaten our survival as a species because we are over confident and expect others to care for us.
Good luck…
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
July 29, 2016
6 Unconventional Ways to Beat Stress
©2016 Kari Carlisle
Does it stress you out to think about how stressed you are? I hear ya. Me too. When you can’t seem to catch a break, here are a few things to try beyond the conventional advice to eat right, exercise, and get 8 hours of sleep. This is good advice, but these 6 tips will take your stress to the next level… down.
Binaural beats. It’s great advice to get 8 hours of sleep, but what good is the advice if you can’t get to sleep in the first place? Binaural beats are a great way to naturally lull your brain into the sleep state. What are they? Binaural beats are sounds that are delivered separately into your ears for the purpose of guiding your brain into a particular wave pattern. There are binaural beats for all kinds of things from easing pain to energizing you to getting you to sleep. There are even binaural beats that can make you go crazy and ones that can kill you. Don’t use those. To get started, log into the App Store and search for binaural beats. Most apps will have several different beats, and some also offer background music. Find an app that has the kind of beats that will put you to sleep or put you into a deep, relaxed state. Spend a few bucks – you get what you pay for in this case. Also make sure the beats are on a timer for 15-20 minutes. Use ear buds to listen to the beats. They won’t work unless the sounds are delivered separately. After a few weeks of use, your brain will be so trained to respond to the beats, you’ll find yourself falling asleep more quickly and easily the more you use them.
Curry. Yes, the delicious Indian dish. This is eating right to the extreme. Curry is a superfood full of antioxidants and brain food. And it’s super easy to make. Be sure to use plenty of turmeric and coconut oil. Sauté some veggies in coconut oil, add some meat if you want, sprinkle with curry powder that includes turmeric, add a little broth (veg or chicken), heat through and serve over rice (brown or black). Watch an episode of Red Dwarf while you eat. You’ll see why…
Go Green. I’m not talking about recycling, although recycling is a very good thing to do and will make you feel good if you do it. I’m talking about getting your butt outside and into nature. It’s scientifically proven that even city-dwellers experience a reduction in stress levels when they are simply exposed to trees. Peel your eyes away from your device, go outside, find trees, look at them. If this activity can include walking or hiking, so much the better it will be to lower your stress.
Pet Therapy. Haven’t you wondered why cat videos are so popular? Because people love looking at adorable animals being adorable. Indulge! Watch those videos. Smile. Feel good. Take it to the next level, and visit an animal rescue. Volunteer if you can. Adopt if you can. Nothing beats having pet therapy 24/7. Just realize that if you are already stressed, adding the responsibility of caring for a pet may add to your stress if you’re not prepared.
Q-Link. Unless you’re a professional golfer, you’ve probably never heard of this. A Q-Link is an energy-enhancing device that you wear. It sounds a little snake-oily, but there are some scientific studies behind it, along with testimonials from regular folks like me and from professional athletes. Check out www.emf-health.com and decide for yourself. I’ve been wearing one for over ten years. I don’t sell these or get anything from any company that sells them. I just know it works for me.
Lavender Oil. This essential oil is proven to put a person into a relaxed state. Spend the money and get 100% pure, therapeutic grade lavender oil. When you can afford to have some down time, or at bed time, put a few drops in your hand, rub your hands together gently, and take a deep breath of the aroma, cupping your hands over your nose. Take a couple more deep breaths, and then rub a little oil on your pulse points (wrists, temples), and then rub your hands through your hair. Heaven.
If you have tried any of these with success or have your own unconventional ways of beating the stress in your life, then let us know in the comments. We can all use a stress-buster.
Click here to receive the Apocalypse Observer Newsletter in your inbox
www.readmota.com
To comment, scroll down and type in your comment. Under Comment As, you can select Anonymous or Name/URL (you don't need to enter a URL). Then hit Publish.
Does it stress you out to think about how stressed you are? I hear ya. Me too. When you can’t seem to catch a break, here are a few things to try beyond the conventional advice to eat right, exercise, and get 8 hours of sleep. This is good advice, but these 6 tips will take your stress to the next level… down.
Binaural beats. It’s great advice to get 8 hours of sleep, but what good is the advice if you can’t get to sleep in the first place? Binaural beats are a great way to naturally lull your brain into the sleep state. What are they? Binaural beats are sounds that are delivered separately into your ears for the purpose of guiding your brain into a particular wave pattern. There are binaural beats for all kinds of things from easing pain to energizing you to getting you to sleep. There are even binaural beats that can make you go crazy and ones that can kill you. Don’t use those. To get started, log into the App Store and search for binaural beats. Most apps will have several different beats, and some also offer background music. Find an app that has the kind of beats that will put you to sleep or put you into a deep, relaxed state. Spend a few bucks – you get what you pay for in this case. Also make sure the beats are on a timer for 15-20 minutes. Use ear buds to listen to the beats. They won’t work unless the sounds are delivered separately. After a few weeks of use, your brain will be so trained to respond to the beats, you’ll find yourself falling asleep more quickly and easily the more you use them.
Curry. Yes, the delicious Indian dish. This is eating right to the extreme. Curry is a superfood full of antioxidants and brain food. And it’s super easy to make. Be sure to use plenty of turmeric and coconut oil. Sauté some veggies in coconut oil, add some meat if you want, sprinkle with curry powder that includes turmeric, add a little broth (veg or chicken), heat through and serve over rice (brown or black). Watch an episode of Red Dwarf while you eat. You’ll see why…
Go Green. I’m not talking about recycling, although recycling is a very good thing to do and will make you feel good if you do it. I’m talking about getting your butt outside and into nature. It’s scientifically proven that even city-dwellers experience a reduction in stress levels when they are simply exposed to trees. Peel your eyes away from your device, go outside, find trees, look at them. If this activity can include walking or hiking, so much the better it will be to lower your stress.
Pet Therapy. Haven’t you wondered why cat videos are so popular? Because people love looking at adorable animals being adorable. Indulge! Watch those videos. Smile. Feel good. Take it to the next level, and visit an animal rescue. Volunteer if you can. Adopt if you can. Nothing beats having pet therapy 24/7. Just realize that if you are already stressed, adding the responsibility of caring for a pet may add to your stress if you’re not prepared.
Q-Link. Unless you’re a professional golfer, you’ve probably never heard of this. A Q-Link is an energy-enhancing device that you wear. It sounds a little snake-oily, but there are some scientific studies behind it, along with testimonials from regular folks like me and from professional athletes. Check out www.emf-health.com and decide for yourself. I’ve been wearing one for over ten years. I don’t sell these or get anything from any company that sells them. I just know it works for me.
Lavender Oil. This essential oil is proven to put a person into a relaxed state. Spend the money and get 100% pure, therapeutic grade lavender oil. When you can afford to have some down time, or at bed time, put a few drops in your hand, rub your hands together gently, and take a deep breath of the aroma, cupping your hands over your nose. Take a couple more deep breaths, and then rub a little oil on your pulse points (wrists, temples), and then rub your hands through your hair. Heaven.
If you have tried any of these with success or have your own unconventional ways of beating the stress in your life, then let us know in the comments. We can all use a stress-buster.
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