Howling at the Ether

It's about a half moon now, full or empty, and I hardly howl. Ether is what's not there. But there remains a lot of silliness up here in Blogojoland, with people twittering their way to stardom and offsite to reality TV for playings out of vacuity in public. It's almost as if there's something there to howl at. But there's not.

Plenty of people - I guess actually most of us - refuse to let go of that merry-go-round reach for the gold ring, as if only that can make the swirling fun (I don't think anyone allows it anymore anyhow, because of insurance rules). We really have bought in to this more is better and enough is never enough kind of rendering up of good ideas to great ones. Wanting so terribly much to be the one to patent the one great invention, the one great turn of phrase, to seed the one great love, all in stark imitation of that Jesus who turned his back only when we turned ours on Him. A house of mirrors for certain.

(Risk mitigation efforts must prevent that leap which could so easily crash)

There is only tilling of the soil. There is only collective conservation of our commons, and its protection from despoiling by those who would exploit it when no-one's looking.  Which is so very different from heaping praise upon praise they way that teenagers do in the lunch room and then cut each other down behind backs with text. Rehearsal of life's drama. Trust is such hard work.

No one quite realizes that it's in the earnest effort to get noticed, even or especially when the stylistic requirement is for irony alone, which raises consciousness as the very thing we are in common, and which must be preserved. 

I look for Christ there, in the ether, lunatic though that must be, because Christ never was actually Christ either, except as everyone started looking in that same direction, and likely howling. Christ was just a Man, caught up in our projections. 

And now the Church, which is become so very opposite to a humane institution. Try it out. Abortion is often the humane alternative. Divorce. Merciful death. But these things are strung out on the cross of abstraction, making them, by projection again, horrific because we imagine them done to us as conscious beings. There is no human but in the making. There is nothing without touch. Abstraction is by definition patriarchal, and can never be humane. It was the Church invented waterboarding, to rectify wayward souls. Extracting information came much much later. And having law on your side is never a good excuse.

I look for Christ up in the ether, distorting the otherwise perfect angles to that grid, with improbable love, never for me alone, though it might feel so. I expect real touch down here. I reach out for no gold ring, and try to spend most of my time walking. Try, but fail miserably, I must add.

There is no touch here in the ether. It is the wrong aspiration. The ether will quicken when we find Christ in one another here below. I am a trued believer in Nothing that is not There. You. 

Yoohooo! Hello out there? ooooooooooooooooooOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!

Excuse me now, I have some work to do.