…for many investigative purposes, children are easily enough replaced by rats…

Yet this alchemy was so powerful that once he massaged that elastic between his little thumb and forefinger, all was forever lost.

“Unlike their more graceful cousins, the primitive frogs kept their back legs straight out after they jumped. So they don’t land on their feet. Instead, they do an ungainly belly flop, and then struggle to get to their feet and jump again.”

So it seems that there is more to it, then. If I think about it more, I can imagine that perhaps the neuro-muscular necessities are not linearly action-based… perhaps even that the ability (vision, musculature, nerve endings) to land is layered atop the ability to leap (think, more powerful legs that can push are likely to be able to cushion an impact); and/or that the ability to leap has a distinct survival advantage over the ability to land (on its own) and would be selected for, and assembled in that evolution-type way, prior to any landing gear.

Interesting in its own right; but it brings to mind a personal experience which I am now forced to re-evaluate:

Several years ago, on my first ski trip, Iryna took control and began to instruct me, for our first trip down the mountain. On our way to the lift, we covered balance, shuffling, and even how to ascend the hill with that sideways ski-crawl. Being a relative neophyte, I absorbed and didn’t think much beyond what she was teaching.

It wasn’t until we were coming close to the top of the mountain– while still on the lift — that I realized I didn’t really know how to ‘stop’. That is, I had no clue how to brake, decelerate, prevent forward motion, etc. I mentioned this to Iryna, and she tried to describe how it was done, but I was lost, and the top was approaching too fast. Sadly, when we got there, I was gently pushed into a sliding carom-shot into the poor child in front of me (he wasn’t proficient either, but that’s no reason to send a 200+ pound bearded man on a collision-course with him). I clipped him from behind, vainly trying to throw myself sideways but only succeeding in nailing him in the back of the legs and sending us into a tangled knot, directly in the path of skiers exiting the lift.

The awkward manifestation isn’t quite the point, however. Rather, I think now that Iryna was unwittingly (or not so unwittingly– she’s a very clever girl) recapitulating ontogeny by arming me with mobility before any type of deceleration, and much like the above-mentioned frogs I chose a type of belly-flop as my only recourse to stopping.

(Via Scientific American.)

Before I get into it, here’s the article:
The Willpower Paradox from Scientific American, July 2010

I might expand this later, but the operative ideas include:

1. the ‘before me’ would accomplish less by self-direction, more by exploration.
2. The negative of this was: things could end up half-assed, if I didn’t push to conclusion; and also, I took a lot of direction from exterior sources (especially insistent people and constructed, fantastical models (like, ‘rock star’)).
3. The ‘recent me’ has been trying the opposite — extensive planning, self-imposed deadlines, revisioning, etc. (which has been frustrating and disappointing, and leads to inner rebellions thru the cracks).
4. The ‘recent-recent me’ has been questioning this, and now (perhaps because I opened up myself to discovery) a flood of information and stimuli has swept in to help (like this article).

Now — the article isn’t conclusive. In fact, the experiment is a bit narrow, and some commenters point out some questions that I think are relevant…

But I still get fired up at the potential confirmation– and to wrap it up, I might talk about “Night Skiing” and how much we know by guessing.

Here’s the really good news: CIA director Leon Panetta says there are fewer than 100 Al-Qaeda combatants in Afghanistan. Here’s the utterly confusing news: The U.S has over 94,000 highly trained human beings in Afghanistan whose express purpose is to destroy Al-Qaeda. I bring this up as a prod to get you to question your own allotment of martial force, Gemini. You definitely need to make sure you have a lavish reserve of fighting spirit primed to serve your highest goals. Just make sure, please, that it’s pointed in the right direction

Despite being tired, there’s a dark, powerful push that lingers behind the curtains. That’s the best way to describe it, the best I can think of: imagine, if you will, a slowly brewing storm-cloud, a thunderhead-to-be, full of force, slowly becoming something terrible, inexorable, natural.

The ‘portentous storm’ feeling is helped, no doubt, by the grey, wet sky and the chill expectancy that swirls around my naked toes. With the song ‘Closer’ by Kings of Leon pulsing with dark, torn, sexual sobbing out of my speakers, the moment crests to a perfect, precise point, and I look out the back window to see the august silhouette of our resident hawk on top of the telephone pole.

I think it is obvious that good things are on their way, just about to break into the surface of today.

…[R]ather than creating immutable, unchanging spaces that define a particular experience, they suggest inhabitant and structure can—and should—mutually influence each other. -Ethan Marcotte

This is my living faith, an active faith, a faith of verbs: to question, explore, experiment, experience, walk, run, dance, play, eat, love, learn, dare, taste, touch, smell, listen, argue, speak, write, read, draw, provoke, emote, scream, sin, repent, cry, kneel, pray, bow, rise, stand, look, laugh, cajole, create, confront, confound, walk back, walk forward, circle, hide, and seek. To seek: to embrace the questions, be wary of answers.
- Terry Tempest Williams

Now, to dive into the computurgical world of ‘code’, where every word itself is an action, not transmitting so much as instructing. More later.

http://data.worldbank.org/
http://www.thenewhumanism.org/
http://www.npr.org/

Such to the dead might appear the world of living — charged with information, with meaning, yet somehow always just, terribly, beyond that fateful limen where any lamp of comprehension might beam forth
–Thomas Pynchon, Against The Day

This is a rough/simple version of where we are — sitting a few long blocks down from the Forbidden City and Tianamen, and right at the crossroads of some heavy shopping areas. Earlier research suggests — though I cannot be sure — that the highly rated Da Dong Roast Duck restaurant is very very close. Will confirm tomorrow. Here’s the obviously-off-but-close plot of the path to the mythic Duck: google map.

Get to Air China, no wait, up to desk — reservations are cancelled and no one knows why. Call Natashka in China — she’s busy working magic over phone, last minute tickets… Katya some tears “why can’t we do anything right?”. Last minute before the ticketing closes, confirmation comes through — we have tickets. Race through 1st security, then out to the gate security. Send Katya through first to intercept bags on the other side — realizing we have way too many bags for comfort. Family becomes divided — Iryna with black backpack getting manually screened, me with the baby food which must be manually tested … katya scrambling to gather up all the bags, shoes, belts, etc.

Family reconvenes after security — Iryna sends Katya to buy water… young ciunter person from Air China comes to us — “we’re looking for you because you haven’t checked in at the gate yet.” She helps us to the gate — everyone’s already on board. we basically collapse in cordoned off area before the gate –all our stuff is overflowing, blankets trailing, and Iryna wants food for the flight. They try to assure her there’s food on the plane and she uncharacteristically agrees (she’s over-freaked at this point). We trundle on the plane with so much stuff in tow — car seat hanging, bags off shoulder, blankets flowing, etc. — I am over-irritated with the amount of stuff, the jamming in the overheads, the stumbling over people.….….

spent long time getting car seat secured — finally able to tighten belt (but in a way that made it so so hard to open later). get baby in, baby freaking out more than a little, everyone finally shoved into their seats, take off.

baby doesn’t last too too long — though baby in seat behind strikes up a conversation with him, they bond over the single finger “1” … he gets very tired and cries — iryna tries to put him to sleep — arm rests don’t raise up in the front/bulkhead seats. Iryna lies Lucian on ground — stewardess says “you can’t do that — against regulations” iryna says — “only for a little bit” stewardess says “ok”.

they bring bassinet out — doens’t work. Iryna finally gets crew to switch her with others — so she can lay Lucian down on seats. two young chinese men come up and sit next to katya and i — iryna and lucian go back to 3 seats in a row. Iryna puts baby to sleep.

Katya musci and dozing. Me, can’t sleep. check on iryna & baby. watch weird desert city kung fu movie. mummy bandage fight. incredible tea. Liked sesame cookie — told stewardess — she sayd “really? maybe u just really hungry”. Air China the mosst helpful ever experienced.

long night. no real sleep. iryna handles baby poop and food with usual expertise. she is amzing.

Arrive early morning, beijing. amazing airport– shiny, lights, curved space. empty, walk thru entry/passports. gather luggage, stand in tranfer line a few minutes then realize… then go out thru customs no problem.

Nataliya & Shu shu waiting with coffee (later learned this was bought night before, and reheated in AM). blue gumby-like mascot for Shanghai … lucian likes … high fives.

hugs, laughter, walk to car. car seat jammed in. drive from airport to beijing downtown — first looks like Upstate NY, with some curved roofs every so often– same trees, brown colors, small snow, old industrial buildings. Many nests in tree-top. License plates have english letters, surprised.

A mode is just a sequence of steps
– Nathaniel S. Clark

Trying to weave some new modes from old thread, to mix metaphors joyfully. The wind is blowing; it’s going to be tumultuous.

This is always a beautiful shock to my inner-climate-sense, since I grew up in {was forged in the Iroquois fires of} Upstate New York {and also subsequently in the Mohican Valley of Wastefield, MA} where February is still bitterly cold, and March is, more often than not, a sluggish and grimy old Lion. Meaning: my inner senses do not ever expect to see soft green buds, light purple umbrella-flowers, explosions of flower-cones, or rounded peaks of bell-like petals dotting the landscape. But here they are, in this beautiful hybrid world of Southern California.

Walking through our favorite desert-in-miniature a few days ago, we were impressed to see the Yucca bell-towers, the Nightshade, the African Violets, and the feral spike-balls of the Wild Cucumber. And, while not exactly a flower (though bearing a small tuft of flowers at the end of a stalk), the black sage has run rampant, weaving tendrils of its particular dry desert spice through the warm air.

I can’t help but wax a little poetic — it puts me in such a reverie, even while remembering it.

More to write, more to remember– but the day has started, so here we go.

I could move in so many different directions right now. I suppose that is part of my quiet joy — a moment of implicit potential always makes me smile, and the ideas are all jockeying for position in line. In the end, I will probably leave them– all of them. It is too late, and I am too far gone. But it is certainly nice to have them.

We are capable of seeing our future, aren’t we? We can, should we choose, look ahead and see exactly where we’re going, right down to the texture and quality of the air, at night, some decade hence. I know this because I have seen this day, this night, before– and I knew (somehow, somewhere, deep within) that I would experience this. I feel this is one shard of a vision from a night, long ago, in my Easthampton attic. For one moment, I knew New York City was outside my window. Then, I could feel the soft, cool jasmine air on my face. And then… well, much more.

If this seems cryptic, I apologize. I do not intend for it to be so. I mean this very literally– we carry within us not just the seeds, but the vision, of our future. For some reason, we do not permit ourselves to be aware of it, most of the time. So it forces itself on us, in flashes, in moments where we lose control of our single focus and let our consciousness blossom… For me, I see many things when I am entrained in a repetitive task. For this reason, and this reason only, the work at the ‘deli’ in Wastefield was a gift– the repetitive motion was like a dream invocation. I was a shaman for 4 to 6 hours a day, that summer.

I do not understand it, I cannot always evoke it, and I certainly cannot force the visions to be more significant. I see simple things for the most part– dropping coins in a stairwell, telling my father it’s his turn to row, or a particular taste of the air on some spring night in California. Of course, it would be eminently more useful to see some major events.

But there it is.

I did tell you that it was late, and I would not be able to extend the proper hospitality to the small pageant of ideas who got all dressed up for the night’s pleasure. A long long year-and-a-half of broken and shell-shocked sleep leaves me defenseless, at least when the caffeine finally trickles out of the system. And it is that time. Bled dry. So to speak.

So I look back through the many dark windows of past nights, hoping to catch my own eye– for I know I am looking forward, somewhere back there, wondering at this taste, this tremor, this vision. And I look forward, again, to see if I can make sense of the shapes in the dark.

Interesting because this feeling is tied to an environmental vision, not a domestic one.

My ears are buzzing like they’re filled with boar bristles. Electric boar bristles. It’s been a long day.

My throat is a continuous lost sigh.

I am going to bed.