Remusings

F: I could accuse you of the same fault Terence, of sweeping generalizations and knee jerk aversions. T: As is your prerogative of course. But do tell more. F: Your constant tirade against modern science and rationalism , bears within it many contradictions you know. It seems like your demonization of science is solely calling for the glorification of the irrational. How can that not be anything but simply reactionary? T: Granted. I do have a particular bent for the irrational and absurd . And I do seek out and revel in finding the edges of the impossible , the improbable , the unexplainable , and to some the indigestible . But, the way I see it, I am simply tooting for the underdog here. Don't you think the irrational deserves a mascot too, like science is for the rational? F: But don't you find that to be quite myopic, un-ruminated? T: Rationally, yes. Irrationally, well.... F: Now that is just aversion! T: Okay. You got me there friend. But my reverence for ...

It was one of those conversations had in tipsy stupors, when the topic of religion materialized in our midst. The thread that led to this theme included multiple steps - beginning with the sorry state of our world today, quickly transforming into global geopolitical dynamics, to the polarities of East vs. West. Hanging out with social scientists can lead one into such snaking trialogues, which more often than not were cyclical. And too often they ended with somebody raising their arms in despair and yelling "Fuck it! It's all going to hell!" "Western religions are not worth busting your heads over!" said my friend, almost on the edge of one of those cries of despair. Terence and I were being thoroughly entertained by (and partaking in) Baba's periodic outbursts for a couple of hours now. "These religions are suffering from such a crisis of spirit. There is nothing left in them. Christians are no longer christians -their new religion is money!" ...

The Soul of Time by Trumbull Stickney THE SOUL OF TIME  T IME'S a circumference  Whereof the segment of our station seems  A long straight line from nothing into naught.  Therefore we say " progress, " " infinity " —  Dull words whose object  Hangs in the air of error and delights  Our boyish minds ahunt for butterflies.  For aspiration studies not the sky  But looks for stars; the victories of faith  Are soldiered none the less with certainties,  And all the multitudinous armies decked  With banners blown ahead and flute before  March not to the desert or th' Elysian fields,  But in the track of some discovery,  The grip and cognizance of something true,  Which won resolves a better distribution  Between the dreaming mind and real truth.  I cannot understand you.  'T is because  You lean over my meaning's edge and feel  A dizziness of the things I have not said. ...