RCI Air

Artists make art. Students learn. Athletes compete. They listen closely.

In ceaseless radial procession, we are relentlessly bombarded with random cosmic input. RCI. Myriad objects, some formed as thoughts, enter our reception zones. It is my responsibility to arrange, manage, file, interrupt, judge and subsequently put them into play. In total they become my collective thoughts….

Which trigger my actions….

Which shapes my persona.

Eventually, with grace and élan or a clumsy stumbling, I become me and we become us. As a result of this random (but sometimes structured), cosmic input. Aristotle was pilot even then. I fly my flaws like a flummoxed frequent flyer. Both sad and true. Still I look through the plexiglass portal seeking upgrade.

Why are you here? To teach me something? To show me something? To whisper a secret softly in my ear? I know it's a federal offense to tamper with the smoke detector, let's move along.

To inspire, motivate or support? To lead, follow or make the hole? To love? To find lift?

Why use the broad stroke of crimson, when a single gold dab will do? What is the message? How will I know? Is there any? What's the ETA?

How will French literature get me to 401K, algebra to joy and enlightenment or catechism closer to a better BMI? It's a painting of a pipe. It tastes like blue. More turbulence with choppy air.

Who really cares if I do a half-ironman in less than five hours, swim 2,000 meters before sunrise or bench 3 bills?

This input is coming at us faster and faster. We should be getting better at processing it, but we get stuck on inconsequential cliche and often only hear the voice booming with most volume. We pledge allegiance to the status quo. We follow and obey. Distraction is now an art form. A very profitable one. Follow your fingers to the weapons of mass distraction.

Artists then paint as commissioned. Students learn only enough to succeed and athletes compete solely as entertainment. Better learn some navigation skills.

Seemingly random neurons swirl with little heed for innuendo, screaming ideal's sonnets grown radical. Who's air space are we in?

Art for art. Learning for knowledge. The joy of movement. Relax deeply. Thou shalt not go gentle into that good night.

Compete for the art of knowing. Today. There is still time. Listen closely. Here comes another. Be courageous: smile. Have some mini-pretzels and a diet coke.

Time, money, and love:

Time, money, and love -- three great ideas running our lives. Of these three, only love is real. I believe we do everything for reasons of love, avoidance of love, or neurotic displacement of love. Time is not as real as it looks and feels. The time of physics is a quantity within equations. Human time is different. The past may appear distant or close in time depending on how we feel. Time may move slowly or quickly. Look within, you'll see this is true. Money is a symbolic displacement for love and time. Money is the most powerful force of our civilization; people give up freedom, love, and time for money. If you focus too much on money, you risk no time for the love in your life -- friends, children, and good works. Too little money and your spouse may leave you. With enough money "everybody loves you" -- for your money. "Time saving machinery" is now so effective that we could get ten hours of work done in two hours. It should be heaven on earth by now. But heaven never comes, and keeps waiting for better and faster technology. With every increase in machine/computing power we invent new tasks and expectations. The carrot keeps receding into the horizon. Now, it's nonstop working and shopping seven days a week, twenty-four hours a day. Forget the Sabbath -- only God gets to rest on the seventh day.

Pic: Final boarding call for the RCI non-stop flight to me. Please make sure seat belt is low and tight.