[MD] Suffering the Seeds of Change

[MarshaV]

Greetings Dan,

ZMM wasn't recommended to me until the middle 80s 
when I had started taking philosophy classes at 
UCONN.   I too loved it from beginning, right 
from the first siting of a red-winged blackbird, 
but it was the chautauqua held me tight.  I have 
read or listened to it many, many times now and I 
still find it the most exciting book I've ever 
read.  I have also given away many copies, not 
too long ago to a Brazilian art student I met at 
an open, life drawing session.  It feels good to give the book to someone.

Anyway, I love the stories.  They are magic.


Marsha




At 12:11 AM 7/7/2009, you wrote:



>Hey John
>
>Great story, thank you for sharing. The stories 
>of our lives are (to me) much more interesting 
>and Dynamic than static philosophy. It's like 
>discovering there's still magic in the world 
>when you've long ago given up on any such belief.
>
>They tell me I was baptized a Catholic. I don't 
>remember. I do remember that my mother took us 
>boys to mass a couple times a week but my father 
>never went. In those days the mass was said in 
>Latin. My father said he didn't understand so he saw no reason to go.
>
>After our mother died in a auto crash, there 
>wasn't any more church. I learned later that 
>there was more than a good chance I might have 
>grown up going to a Catholic school had our 
>mother lived. I was very young but the oldest of 
>three boys. I imagine I remember her better than 
>my brothers but I don't know for sure. I seem to 
>remember an old priest telling me how hard life 
>would be without my mother. He was right. But life is hard for everyone.
>
>I saw ZMM on the grocery shelf near the check 
>out. It was 1974. I liked the title and the 
>picture on the cover... so I threw the book on 
>the conveyor belt along with assorted grocery 
>items. I think it cost a buck ninety five... a 
>lot of money back then. I took the book home and 
>started to read and I was instantly enthralled.
>
>I knew it, I kept saying (to myself) over and 
>again. But it was Robert Pirsig's brutal honesty 
>with himself that, for me, lent the most power 
>to the book. Now, many years of living later, I 
>make feeble attempts at doing the same through 
>my own writings. Once in a while I get it right. Most times, though, I don't.
>
>I lent that first ZMM book out to my oldest 
>younger brother. Years later I was helping him 
>move and found it sitting on his bookshelf. I 
>said: Oh, that's the book I loaned you. Did you 
>read it? He said no. It was too hard to get 
>through. He said: I thought it'd be about fixing 
>motorcycles. I said, but it is. He asked if I 
>wanted it back. I said no. Keep it. Maybe you'll 
>pick it up again one of these days. That was twenty years ago or so.
>
>Over the years I've bought and given away over a 
>dozen copies of both ZMM and LILA, I'm sure. I 
>don't think anyone has ever read one. At least 
>no one has ever brought it up to me. I figure if 
>they wanted to talk about the books, they'd say 
>something. Their silence gives me the impression 
>they didn't read it and I don't want to put them on the spot by inquiring.
>
>I guess that's why I enjoy this discussion 
>group. People I know in real life don't really 
>talk about philosophy like we do here, and they 
>look at me funny if I try. Maybe if I was more of an academic... but I'm not.
>
>Years ago we used to camp at a gravel quarry, 
>before the owner of the place rolled his truck 
>and ended up dead, pinned beneath it. My oldest 
>son was about Chris's age. His name is Chris 
>too. I took along a copy of ZMM and read it 
>aloud in the campsite beside the river. We 
>enjoyed it very much... at least I did, and I 
>think he did too. ZMM impressed me as being so 
>much more powerful when read aloud.
>
>Sometimes other people would walk up and hear me 
>reading and stop to listen. Later, they'd say, 
>what was that book you were reading? And I'd 
>show them. They'd say, cool. And walk away. I'd 
>think to myself, cool? I just read you part of 
>one of the most powerful books ever written and 
>all you say is, cool? Don't you want to read it 
>too? Don't you want to write down the title?
>
>But... I ramble. Thanks again for sharing the 
>great story. I enjoyed reading it.
>
>Dan
>
>----------------------------------------
> > Date: Sat, 4 Jul 2009 11:40:07 -0700
> > From: ridgecoyote at gmail.com
> > To: moq_discuss at moqtalk.org
> > Subject: [MD] Suffering the Seeds of Change
> >
> > for Dan and gav
> >
> >
> >
> > I want to know what became of the changes
> >
> > We waited for love to bring
> >
> > Were they only the fitful dreams
> >
> > Of some greater awakening?
> >
> > I've been aware of the time going by
> >
> > They say in the end its the wink of an eye
> >
> > And when the morning light comes streaming in
> >
> > You'll get up and do it again
> >
> > Amen
> >
> >
> > The Pretender, Jackson Browne
> >
> >
> >
> > This is a story about intellectual seeds - books - stories that unfold in
> > one's brain, send roots down and sprouts up and become more than words on a
> > page or symbols on a screen. Its a short story about a short story that was
> > a powerful seed of change at a time in my life when I was fertile soil.
> >
> >
> > I'd come out of a seven year marriage that went bad early and was
> > quasi-attending Sierra Community College, 
> just on the edges of the foothills
> > of those mountains, about a half hour out of Sacramento.
> >
> >
> > I was working part time in various construction projects, piece work in the
> > valley or odd jobs here and there, going to school full time with no real
> > agenda except pursuit of philosophical excellence in life. I'd always been
> > interested in Philosophy and discussed such with high school friends. Zen
> > and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance had a big impact on my outlook. It
> > resonated in such strong ways that it became a seed of change so that I
> > didn't quite fit with normal social goals anymore.
> >
> >
> > To be honest, I hadn't done much of that before ZAMM, but at least after I
> > had some intellectual confirmation for my lack of enthusiasm for fitting
> > into life in America in the mid 80's.
> >
> >
> > The most telling effect of Pirsig's thought on my life at that time was a
> > little saying I found myself muttering as I wandered the halls of econobox
> > buildings, the wide courtyards and spacious 
> library of this fine institution
> > of lower learning. I'd remind myself often, "use the institution, don't let
> > the institution use you." Pirsig's demonstration-idea of a gradeless,
> > degreeless school inspired this outlook. I wasn't there to jump through
> > those adcademic hoops. It was an enthralling notion and it worked out a
> > lot better in practice than you'd initially think.
> >
> >
> > It worked out especially well at that time 
> for a basically homeless guy with
> > no serious agenda, showering in a late PE class, reading and studying late
> > in the library, and then sleeping at one of several coyote camping sites
> > where my tan VW Rabbit Pickup with camper shell and mattress would slide
> > right under some oaks, blending well with the golden california grasses.
> >
> >
> > I was only accosted once, and a simple and truthful, "Yeah officer my wife
> > kicked me out" was all it took to get out of 
> the glare of the spotlight with
> > a mild admonishment to move along in the morning. The fact that I'd been
> > doing that for three months didn't come up in the conversation.
> >
> >
> > One gray and drizzly day, I picked up a book on the "New!" stand at the
> > library. Bright red garish cover, Big black blocky letters spelling out
> > title and author, Demon Box, by Ken Kesey. I liked One Flew Over The
> > Cuckoo's Nest, book and movie, and was glad to see something new by this
> > author. I sat down in a comfy chair and stayed there for the next five
> > hours. Blew off a couple classes, but hey, you know my motto.
> >
> >
> > The book was irresistible to me because Kesey 
> was very much a central figure
> > in that whole magic summer of love 60's thing which had been a mad object
> > of desire for me my whole adult life. Think of a starving urchin with his
> > nose up against the window of a bakery; that was me going to a Seventh Day
> > Adventist boarding school on the coast with the lights of Santa Cruz
> > twinkling enticingly across Monterey Bay. While trapped there I read
> > everything I could get my hands on about the sixties - experiencing
> > vicariously a world of music, free love and drugs while living a
> > vegetarian, teetotaling, non-dancing Adventist existence and longing to be
> > set free.
> >
> >
> > Demon Box, a collection of short stories, was ideally suited to my lonely
> > longings for those good times long gone. The first story that that
> > captivated my attention, The Day Superman Died introduced me to the
> > person/character of Neal Cassady. It took place on Kesey's Oregon farm and
> > reported Kesey's experience at the news of the death of his old driver and
> > pard. A story of some sadness, exploring the questions I asked myself
> > often, "what happened to the summer of love? And how did it all go so wrong
> > so quickly?"
> >
> >
> > I hadn't read Kerouac's On The Road yet, but I'd certainly heard a lot
> > about it and I hadn't read the Electric Kool 
> Aid Acid Test yet either, but I
> > knew of it and the Merry Pranksters on the good ship Furthur by reputation.
> > I was impressed to learn that they both 
> feature the same Neal at the Wheel -
> > Neal Cassady, called Dean Moriarity by Kerouac and lots of other things by
> > other people. It's rare enough to be at the very center of any social
> > movement, but here was a guy who was so fascinating that he was the center
> > of both the Beat Generation AND right there in the cosmic eye of the
> > psychedelic sixties. Featured hero of Ginsberg's Howl, subject of song by
> > the Grateful Dead, pretty much the most dynamic individual of his age and
> > pretty much forgotten and ignored subsequently.
> >
> >
> > He was all dynamic, Neal was. If you want to make a case for possessing
> > some static quality to balance the dynamic aspects, Neal would be your
> > poster boy. A literary genius who inspired other great writers and
> > songsters, he never published or produced anything significant himself and
> > thus drifted into obscurity after dying of drugs and exposure on those
> > railroad ties in Mexico. Casey Jones had better watch his speed, indeed.
> >
> >
> > That story kept me reading Kesey's book to the end. The end was the longest
> > story in the book, the Title track, as it were, the short story, "Demon
> > Box", which contained the biggest seeds of change for me so far.
> >
> >
> > The story unfolds in a hot tub, at this 
> famous institute in Big Sur, I think
> > it's Esalen, but it was called something else in the story. And I'm not
> > sure who the character of Dr. Klaus Woofner was modeled upon, but he is
> > lecturing his acolytes in the hot tub on the futility of existence. He
> > illustrates his point with a little thought experiment designed to inspire
> > dialogue on the second law of thermodynamics known as Maxwell's
> > Demon.
> >
> >
> >
> > Basically a demon, only today I think I'd 
> call it a daemon, as in background
> > process, controls heated molecules in a way that obviates the rules of
> > entropy. Woofner shows how this demon always takes more energy than he can
> > "create" and draws parallels with the ego-self of the modern man which is
> > slowly running out of steam.
> >
> >
> > Kesey is intrigued and promises to continue the discussion in the morning,
> > but the good bus Further, in which Neal had wandered off to find an old
> > meth cooking buddy in the nearby hills, comes back under the wild man's
> > honking and revving and collects the group for furthur travels and Kesey
> > never sees Woofner again until much, much later.
> >
> >
> > Much much later, Kesey is on his farm, the pranksters all scattered, Neal
> > dead on those train tracks and Ken gets an invitation to attend a
> > psychological convention in Orlando, complete with trip to Disney World, in
> > commemoration of the 20th anniversary of publication of Cuckoo's Nest.
> > Keynote speaker is the famous Klaus Woofner which decides it for Kesey to
> > go.
> >
> >
> > Kesey wrote that book while working the night shift at a mental hospital.
> > The same institute where experimentations with a new drug, LSD, were taking
> > place. He did a little experimenting with the new drug himself, wrote some
> > of his book while on it and shared the experience with his friends and the
> > rest, as they say, is history.
> >
> >
> > Now returning 20 years later to the institute, he finds a lot of things
> > changed, but a lot of things also, depressingly, the same.
> >
> >
> > As Kesey arrives at the institute to be Limo'ed to the airport and whisked
> > with a Dr. of the institute to the convention, a new arrival is admitted. A
> > whirling dervish of teenage girldom, nearly blind with thick coke-bottle
> > glasses and a seeing eye cane festooned with ribbons, decorations and a
> > donald duck head that quacks everytime she takes a swing at an orderly.
> > Kesey is intrigued and amused because she's belting out a Zen chant against
> > her would-be captors, something along the lines of *Namah samanta vajranam
> > chanda maharoshana Sphataya hum traka ham mam*
> >
> >
> > She notices Kesey's notice and bellows at him, "What's yer problem slick,
> > ain't you ever seen anybody on a bad trip before?" Kesey doesn't really
> > have a chance to answer that yeah, he's seen 
> his few, been on a few as well,
> > before she' s hauled off.
> >
> >
> > Orlando turns out depressing. Klaus Woofner's keynote speech turns out to
> > be the same explication of Maxwell's Demon Box that he'd heard before. And
> > though Woofner is now a pink, bald dwarf in a wheel chair, his wit and
> > intellect are sharp and biting as ever. His assessment of the current state
> > of psychological health in America is not a happy one. Kesey, hungover
> > the next morning, misses a chance to reconnect with his old friend and
> > mentor. Again. As well as forgetting to bring something neato back from
> > Disney World. The guilts wash over him on the long ride back and he just
> > gets more and more depressed.
> >
> >
> > When they get back to the institute, he's sitting and waiting for his ride,
> > a photo falls from his bag. It's one of his favorites, one of his son, in a
> > crib, at the back of the bus looking up and 
> out at a world with the trust of
> > a child in his eyes, the trust that says it must be ok to be babysat by a
> > speed freak if dad says its ok. The depression that has been building all
> > day now peaks as he feels the failings to come through for people. It's
> > the knowledge not so much of so much dissapointed as it is of so much
> > signified. It all just washes over him. It's a feeling I, on the other
> > side of a bad marriage that started out so cocky and strong understood
> > completely and Kesey, writing in retrospect after the death of his son
> > explains better than anyone I've ever read. And then he, and I reading him,
> > are saved by a voice in his ear:
> >
> >
> > "Hey slick, is that look on your face for real?" It's the wild girl from
> > the last time he was here. Now sedate and waiting for her ride as well.
> >
> >
> > Kesey replies that it's about as real as it gets.
> >
> >
> > "Well good. If there's anything I despise it's a fake funk. What's got you
> > so down?"
> >
> >
> > He mumbles a brief non-answer and is 
> interrupted by the girl grabbing a book
> > out of his bag that's all decorated and mandala'ed up the yinyang, and he
> > tells her that it's the chinese book of changes called the "I Ching".
> >
> >
> > "Burton or Erhard? I read the Erhard in the original German and it was so
> > different from the English translation that I figured if this much is lost
> > in translation from German to English, how much more ridiculous it would be
> > to expect any accuracy from the Chinese to the German. Last time I threw
> > the I Ching I threw it at my seeing eye dog who ate it. Being a German
> > Shepard he just couldn't resist something in his mother tongue."
> >
> >
> > Kesey, now intrigued more than a little asks her what that wild chant was
> > when she was admitted.
> >
> >
> > "Ah, that was Gary Snyder's Spel against Demons" but then she recognizes
> > Kesey from the back of a book cover and says "Far fucking out" - then
> > asks, author to author, some advice on 
> dealing with the publisher of her new
> > book entitled, "Tits and Zits - Teenage Girl Genius Conquers the World"
> >
> >
> > Kesey, having experience with Pranksters figures his leg is being pulled,
> > stalls by asking her who her publisher is, fully ready to BS her with a
> > bunch of hokey verbiage if she names a big obvious publishing house, but
> > her reply of "Binford and Mort" , being a rather obscure and unheard-of
> > specialty house takes him aback and forces give her the lame but safe
> > advice, "Well I don't think you can go wrong 
> following the advice of Binford
> > and Mort."
> >
> >
> > Her ride arrives and as she's getting up to leave, Kesey, feeling better,
> > asks her, "Hey Missy, just off the top of your IQ, what do YOU make of the
> > second law of Thermodynamics?"
> >
> >
> > A sly smile comes over her face and she leans next to his ear to almost
> > whisper,
> >
> >
> > "Entropy is only a problem in a closed system."
> >
> >
> > The story finishes with Kesey discovering the girl has left her donald duck
> > seeing eye cane, and sees that it will make the perfect gift for his son.
> > And everybody will admire it and want one and ask for it and not find it
> > till one day, almost as if by magic, you'll go to Disneyland and it will be
> > there.
> >
> >
> > A great story, but that tagline of Entropy being a problem in a closed
> > system just lit me up like a lightbulb. I knew what he meant and it took
> > the dark lid of suffering off my life in a way that few words have. A few
> > words, fitly spoken are like apples of gold on platters of silver. And you
> > can quote me on that. I walked out of that library and into the evening and
> > decided to do something different for a change. I went to a bible study.
> > I'd had an invitation from this guy I knew, 
> and I also had had an invitation
> > from this girl I liked, and I figured two different invitations to the same
> > event MEANT something, ya know? Not that I needed a lot of bible study.
> > Being subjected to an Adventist education is basically the equivalent of 12
> > years of seminary. Them Adventists are keen on "biblical accuracy" and I
> > figured that the last thing I needed was more training in a system I didn't
> > accept anymore.
> >
> >
> > But the first thing I needed was some sort of social life to offset my
> > loneliness. So I went. And there I met Bill.
> >
> >
> > Bill, who ended up as my best friend, roomate, introduced me to his best
> > friend/ex-girlfriend, whom I married, was asked to be my best man at my
> > wedding, even as I was asked to be his and 
> went through so many adventures I
> > can't recount them all. And certainly not now at the end of this long short
> > story... But it all came about from the seeds planted by words on a page,
> > and the serendipitiousness of living in a non-closed system that came to me
> > when I needed them most.
> >
> >
> > Bill has always been primarily a 
> math-physics-computer-oriented kind of guy,
> > so he was the perfect audience that evening for my excited recitation of
> > Maxwell's Demon Box and how it all fit together so perfectly for me. He
> > liked it a lot. I felt that I'd found a soul mate just because he
> > understood.
> >
> >
> > I have always been a bit more poetically oriented myself, more on the
> > romantic than the classic side of things, so I was the perfect audience for
> > Bill's story as well, which he introduced to me by saying, "That's really
> > cool that you're into all that stuff. Most people have no idea what I'm
> > talking about when I mention that I'm Neal Cassady's grandson."
> >
> >
> >
> > John Carl
> >
> >
> > Out on the road today, I saw a deadhead sticker on Cadillac
> >
> > A little voice inside my head said don't look back you can never look back.
> >
> > I thought I knew what love was, what did I know?
> >
> >
> > Those days are gone forever, I should just let them go...
> >
> >
> > Don Henley, Boys of Summer
> >
> >
> > Amen
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"Compassion diminishes fright about your own pain 
and increases inner strength." ~His Holiness, the Dalai Lama