BBC brings thoughts out of me

I was listening to an anthropologist on the BBC the other night talk about cultural evolution; both natural and coerced. The diversity of languages is quickly on the decline as fewer languages are being spoken, some of these purely oral traditions with no way of communicating in the written forms. Although purely natural in many ways, languages and culture have -through out history- risen and fallen,today's trend of western adaption is estimated to reduce the lingul diversity by half. (I think the final number he quoted was only 300 different languages) Half! Think about that. Would people tolerate the annihilation of half the total animal diversity? What about half the plant diversity? Ok so culture may not be quite as fundamental but each can be just as unique and enriching. The man went on to talk about some of the unique features found in some of the fading cultures. Tribes that have no past tense and speak of only the present. Tribes that have no words for I, he or she and instead talk of we and us. The belief of living in a balance between the dream world and reality, the spiritual and the physical. He said many cultures have this last one in common. This blur in reality between life in dreams and what we (the enlightened) would call being awake. Similar to the thelogy of man being mediators between the spiritual realm and the physical, no? It made me wonder about the importance of instinct, innate/creation understandings, and the hunches, premonitions, gut feelings we ourselves have. How does our culture explain these? The mysticism has certainly been eliminated. Perhaps the closest we come to, in main stream cultural acceptance, is luck, chance, the belief in "something greater". And even these stances are usually taken half heartedly.

With these thoughts in mind, I'm going to try and start a dream journal. It may not lead me to some spiritual realm but it could bring insight into my own life. Dreams really are not given enough credit in our culture and I think I'd like to explore them a little. Don't worry kids, I won't get too Freudian on you.

Finding my muse

She would strike her match and watch it burn, just long enough to ensure the flame would last. The wonder of it still held her captive as she considered an advancement as such should. The taming of fire was right up there with the invention of the wheel or the first harvest of grain and if one was to forget such things, she thought, one might slip away into the mindset of the granted. Purposefully this flame was held close to the dark end of an ignescent, which caught quite quickly in a shout of light. Though extinguished in its height, none the longest of flames, it still was not without impact, nor without meaning. Curls of music sang in the air, telling stories in 3D picture shows. It would cling to your cloths and swirl in your nostrils. Sweet notes of cinnamon, cedar and grey powdered ash.

Thus began a writer’s ritual, of sorts, to appease a muse. Mischievous muse makes madness of me like peanut butter stuck to roof tops. (Mouths of course) And still no whispers appeared.

Neglect

Sad neglect. So many thoughts, words, stories, and yet I neglect. Chalk it up to being busy. Spoon on the excuse of work. Stir in summer air, spring flowers, the possibility of taking up kick-boxing. But really it comes down to neglect.

*My sister turned 23 the other day. I have a package put together for her. I even attempted to make her a mixed CD.
*John gave me the most beautiful ring. I scares me little to wear something of so much value - both monitary and personal.
*My skin is growing tan, warm, dry. I feel like I'm ready to be taken out of the oven.
*I looked over some old postings and am disappointed in the direction my writing has come; More personal antidotes and less meaningful rich expressings.
*My house needs to be cleaned. Like a spring cleaning. Soap on floors, windows opened to let in the air. Elminate the dust and lingering cat hair.
*I'm really into the Decemberists right now. Well, at least thier album - Her Majesty.
*I think there are chipmunks living in my attic- or as my sister would say chickmunks.
*I'm trying to tile my bathroom floor- Lord help me is an honest prayer.

I feel like I'm a water ballon growing big and fat at the end of a hose. So much potential, so much inside to be let out. Today I've just gushed it all out. Tomorrow it may leak sadly through a pin hole. I'm going to put more effort into chasing off the neglect.