BurningbirdI get my cable modem today, which means I can move my work on ThreadNeedle over to the server. Unfortunately, that’s the same server that serves this weblog as well as my other sites.
My way of saying stuff happens.
Progress reports, status, work in effort reported over at ThreadNeedle discussion.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
Euan of The Obvious? has made the move from Blogger to a new MT-based weblog in a new location (time to update links, folks). Congrats on the move, Euan. And remember – if you need help with MT, all you have to do is holler. Since you’re having template – and most likely CSS – problems, I won’t be able to help you, but I’ll commiserate nicely.
Speaking of MT, it sounds like Ben and Mena’s server is being overwhelmed and they need to make a move, themselves. I’m not exactly rolling in dough at the moment but I’m finally plunking down a bit for my MT installation – especially since I’ll be extending my use of MT throughout all of my websites.
I was going to send a well done to Dorothea for duckling rescue when I realized it was David who did the rescuing. So – well done, David!
AKMA’s thinking about creating a U Blog gift shop. There’s a problem though – we have no school colors. We have no school motto. (We have no school, but that’s besides the point.) Life’s issues may march on – the good with the bad, the happy and the sad – but everyone knows a school needs school colors and a motto. Something Latin. What’s Latin for blog? Now, what’s Latin for blog that doesn’t sound like a disease?
A quiet thanks to my favorite songbird, Shannon: Smoochies, girl – you made my day yesterday.
And now, this blog will self-destruct in five seconds: one, two, three, ….
To get my degree in psychology, I had to establish a specific hypothesis and then design and conduct experiments to either prove or disprove it. I based my hypothesis on the work conducted by Dr. Martin Seligman on Learned Helplessness.
Dr. Seligman’s theory is that an organism (dogs, rats, college sophomores, or other), when exposed to circumstances beyond their control will eventually give up trying to effect change. That doesn’t sound remarkable – why try to change your circumstances when they’re beyond your control? What is interesting, though, is that even when circumstances change and the organism can effect change, they don’t because they no longer have the ability to even recognize that they now have control. They have literally learned how to be helpless.
The end results of learned helplessness can run the extremes of resigned acceptance and indifference to incompetence and burnout to severe personal depression.
Dr. Seligman and others continued this research and further expanded the theory to conclude that the level of helplessness a person experienced was directly dependent on how much they internalized the cause of the helplessness. In other words, if a person attributed the lack of control to something within themselves, they’re going to experience learned helplessness at its most extreme. They’re going to get severely depressed.
For my work, my hypothesis was that the degree of helplessness a person experiences can be mitigated by another emotion – anger. The way to cure helplessness? Piss the person off.
Sorry. I know you all wanted me to say something along the lines of “learned optimism”, enabling personal empowerment, love, joy, or some other form of positive emotionalism. No can do. In the work I conducted as a senior in college and in my own experience, I have found that, at times, there is no healthier or more motivating emotion than anger. And anger, more than any other emotion, is the one most suppressed by society.
Is a loved one ill? Accept that it’s God’s will. Job sucks? Accept that only a few people have good jobs. Has a disaster hit? Accept that it’s a result of bad karma. Don’t waste your time trying to fight back and, whatever you do, control your temper – you’ll live longer if you do.
Anger has become socially unacceptable.
Well, that’s just bullshit.
Revolution isn’t based on calm reason, but the fact that enough people became angry at the status quo and fight to effect change.
People don’t fight injustice because, in a moment of love for humanity, they decided to devote time to fighting the injustice. The people saw something that made them angry, and their love of humanity helped channel that anger into positive results.
If we all followed the dictate of “accepting God’s will” as an explanation for illness, we wouldn’t have doctors – we’d have more priests. And a lot more dead people.
Now, anger can be destructive, as we witnessed recently with the shootings at LAX. Usually, though, this type of out of control anger is based on the very thing that we’re fighting – learned helplessness. Except, instead of becoming internally self-destructive, the person externalizes the destruction, literally going ballistic.
Healthy anger isn’t out of control – it’s not red-faced screaming accompanied by acts of unpurposeful destruction. Healthy anger is not shooting innocent people at a ticket counter, nor is it road rage, or abuse of loved ones.
Healthy anger is passion and purpose, determination, and change.
Anger led to the Civil Rights movement and stopped the Vietnam war. Anger prevents corporate monopolies and brings down corrupt politicians. And anger can heal.
Anger applied effectively and appropriately, is not only healthy for an individual – it’s necessary for a thriving society. If it’s angry people that forge a new society, it’s the gently melancholic, the intellectually pessimistic, and the complacent and indifferent people that destroy it.
Go ahead, get mad. You’ll feel better.
An archive of this page, with comments, is at the Wayback Machine
We drove down a street lined with tall trees, expansive green lawns, and gardens full of roses and tiger lilies. Along the way, neighbors were hanging red, white, and blue bunting and putting small flags near sidewalks and under trees.
The weather was cooler because of a storm earlier in the day so the windows of the car were down and we could hear people talking, laughing, against a background evensong of bird and cicada. We breathed in the sharp, green, fresh smell of earth after a rain.
The early evening was too fine to head home so we wondered neighborhood after neighborhood, all peaceful, beautiful – bordered with homes displaying some form of red, white, and blue.
People were out and about, walking and playing, and as we slowly passed most looked up and smiled at us – on this night at least, the distrust and wariness of strangers was momentarily forgotten, lost in the spirit of the holiday.
In these surroundings, I was forcefully reminded that the heart of this country is not based in tall buildings or found in the actions of the powerful and rich; it exists in the simple neighborhoods, among the quiet people.
“I love this town”, I said.
My roommate concurred.
“Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have a home here?”
He turned to me and smiled. “Sure. And you could chat with your neighbors about your views on the Pledge of Allegience as you’re putting out the flags.”
Well, yes. There is that.
Happy 4th of July everyone.
Recovered from the Wayback Machine.
As some of you know, I collect rare minerals, in traditional crystalline habit, thumbnail sized, and with matrix.
All of which is just a fancy way of saying that I collect crystals.
I started the collection years and years ago with a watermelon tourmaline cross-section, soon joined by dioptase, azurite, rhodochrosite, barite, cinnabar, and so on. I now have what is a fairly impressive collection for an amateur.
Now collecting crystals isn’t as easy as it might sound; the crystal collector is faced with two major obstacles – the Rip-off Artist and the Mystic.
The RO-Artist is the person who solemnly assures you that Herkimer Diamonds are the Real Thing, when you know that they are nothing more than a commonly occurring variety of quartz. They’ll sell you glass and call it topaz, or push lab-grown crystals as natural.
My favorite RO-Artist experience was at the 2001 Tucson Gem & Mineral show. I forayed into the small sideshows held in the motels throughout town, an experience not for the neophyte collector as anything goes — anything — in the sideshows.
In one motel room, I was negotiating for a nice rhodonite crystal when a man appeared in the doorway with a small micro-mount containing, as he assured one and all, a piece of the Moon. He then entered into spirited negotiations with mine host of the rhodonite for the price of the specimen.
After a bit of haggling back and forth, mine host had to decline the $1500.00 asking price with a sad comment about “…it being worth ten times the price”. At which point both gentlemen fell into an expectant and hopeful silence.
Excuse me, but do I have rube printed in big bold letters across my back? I bought the rhodonite and left.
Of course, I wasn’t always the victor in these little encounters, and I have several specimens of dubious heritage in my collection. However, I’m particularly fond of these little mistakes, because each is a celebration of my willingness to take a chance, to explore outside the safe confines of the main show – to risk possible failure in the hopes of finding that one special gem, that one important piece.
If the RO-Artist is a unique and interesting challenge, they at least entertain rather than irritate, and that brings me to the Mystic.
In one rock shop, I was examining a lovely rose quartz cluster when a woman next to me started telling me about the mystical powers associated with rose quartz.
“Rose quartz will strengthen the bonds of love.”
It’s a rock.
“Rose quartz also has healing energies, particularly if your illness results from a loss or special sadness in your life.”
It’s a rock.
“I have a special rose quartz crystal that I keep beside my bed at night.”
It’s a …. lady, you need to get a life.
For the most part, I tolerated the Mystic because they had the best intentions at heart, however there was one encounter with a Mystic that left me cold.
A friend of mine, Joan, was (and is) into every New Age gimmick in the world – crystals, astral photography, pyramids, the whole bit. Because she is my friend, I also supported her in these little adventures because they were harmless and brought her joy. What’s a little mystical power of crystals between friends?
However, several years ago, events took a darker turn when Joan was diagnosed with breast cancer.
In the midst of her traditional medical treatment, including chemo-therapy and surgery, Joan discovered a Mystic who recommended a retreat, fasting, and several unusual and potentially dangerous sounding treatments. In alarm, I insisted on going with my friend the next time she met with this “miracle worker”.
The Mystic seemed ordinary enough and at first she didn’t say anything unusual or harmful – the necessity of peaceful surroundings, extra sleep, spring water, eating more of certain types of foods known to be high in anti-oxidants. However, as the conversation progressed, she started getting into the need for Joan to undergo unusual procedures such as daily colonics, week-long fastings to achieve a “pure” state, and so on. At that point, I intervened.
“Why must Joan fast for a week?”
She must rid her body of the pollutants that are interfering with her healing process.
“Isn’t it dangerous for Joan, already in a weakened state, to go without food of any form for a week?”
She would be given herbal teas, and participate in group meditation, which would give her strength.
“What’s contained in the teas?”
Various healing and soothing herbs.
“What herbs, and how will the group meditation give her strength?”
At this point, the Mystic, sensing an unbeliever answered with the response all charlatans have used since the dawn of time: the experience is spiritual one and I, as an outsider, couldn’t possibly understand.
I pulled an Older Sister/Close Friend routine and got my friend the hell out of there. When I got home, I took my favorite dioptase crystal – the beauty of my collection and my pride and joy – and put it into a small, hand-painted wooden box lined with cotton. Giving it to Joan, I told her that this crystal had special powers. In the darkest moments of fear, I told her to take the crystal out of the box and to hold it tight and remember that it represented the most healing power of all – love.
Several months later Joan gave me back the dioptase, telling me that she no longer needed it. She was going to be just fine.
