Tag Archives: COVID and Truth

Data Pixels: This much is true

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I don’t know where the days disappeared to, what place at the back of time, what dimension. Were they even present in my present? They just went somewhere as if there was some universal zoomba grinding around all of my surfaces of recognition picking up the dirty particularization specks of time or large fallen fetuses of leaves curled tight which are constantly peeling off of my bare feet as I enter the house. The leaves that were once attached distinctions now wind-blown disconnections. They have come down, down to the ground. Nine days of heat and entropy. Nine days of explosive change. Nine days of amnesia.

In this now moment, I sit on the deck and speculate about a bird that just flew low down over me and squawk chirped. The bird-shape individualized and milliseconds behind it the shadow trailing. I saw them and I thought, “Is it always like this?”

Is there the event, the action, the sense of being real and at the same time a trail of who we are?

The living roundness of a living entity appears and too soon for the eye-mind to register, the shadow appears but not like the bird. It is shifted by change in the precise moment of being cast, created. The intensity and direction of the phantom of the bird which could be perceived in a second to be ‘ this one thing’ is more of less saturated darkness. The sun’s direction, the interference of wind in leaves, the stately sailing ships of clouds, the cast shadows of other objects defying the sun, the star dark of the deck umbrella all interpret the flat black and white appearance of the bird itself as it moves low down so only my left eye registers this passage of bird riding on the wind dragging its shadow like a second home.

I spun out, was pinwheeled by the events last Monday. Saturday and Sunday were given over to pacing and muttering the monologue I have tried to memorize previously. Why is it so difficult to commit other’s words to memory for me? I add to the list while I am abusing myself: You can’t do math, understand flat pack instructions for assemblage, learn new technology without agony. The suffering is part of the imprisonment of a slow mind.
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Is it because I find so many things in my life easy? I can grasp new ideas about cultural, emotional, scientific or physiological discoveries as quickly as a toad whips out its astonishing length of tongue and zip it into my self. It becomes disgested. It becomes my new view of the world with unbelievable speed. I can physically feel it settle into my being. Yes! I see it. I swallow it and digest it. It is now part of me.

As I prepare the monologue for an audition, I am now more like a baby strapped into a high chair than like a lightning quick toad. The bib tied onto me, no matter how expansive, cannot protect me. The spoon of mashed up something which looks predigested moves toward my mouth and my lips are clamshell locked. The concept, the system, the monologue is forced into my face by sheer persistence and it is simply spewed back. I don’t absorb this new information. I wear the mess of it upon my person. The failure is like mashed peas slowly creeping down my front, my face, my arms and some ends plastered in my hair.

I have gone from the Fast Train to an old truck on a pockmarked road. I hit an area of cognition that has lain dormant for years or maybe for this entire lifetime. The level of contrast between instantaneous absorption of far-reaching concepts and the infantile attempts to close the thumb and index finger around an item of information is dumbfounding, It snaps my head back every time.

A bird flies low and both it and its shadow exist but in different worlds. Nothing is simple. There is no one thing. Ever.

I am shifting. Time is shifting. The world is rebooting itself. It is a time to be curious, to simply watch and ask questions. We ask, “What is true?” And we wait.

Mr. Robot

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I have just “found” the Mr. Robot series and it is enlightening to view it in the face of the disruption we are experiencing in the world today. Questions arise from the story’s script such as: “Who controls me?” and “Is anything I do originating from what I think of as self?”

During the turmoil that has arisen from societal dissatisfaction with hundreds of years of inculcated cruelty, institutionalized inequality and the resultant blatant public murders of those who are deemed lesser and of no value, people have begun to vibrate at a high rate of anxiety. The questioning of self is resulting in either a defensiveness of a person’s long-held views or a denial of the reality that seems to condemn what the person holds as the truth.

People react in various ways in order to disclaim their part in the system. They have a choice of saying, “It isn’t true. It is information that is being created to control my reaction.” Or they have a choice of saying, “I didn’t do anything. I didn’t know. It is too much for me, too big for me. I don’t have any power.  I am just standing here passively being a good person.” Or what we are seeing on social media is a third response which is growing stronger. “The people who are killed are at fault. They aren’t like me. They somehow deserve what happened to them.”

It is fascinating to see the philosophy of the early settlers winding through our world, still, in 2020. Preachers in Plymouth delivered hellfire sermons based on the philosophy that a person’s soul was either blessed by God or under the control of Satan before he or she was born. The signs that a person was anointed by God were found in skin colour, physical beauty, wealth, and perfection of health. To ensure that the devil did not rule children, it was recommended that children have the “devil” beaten out of them if they behaved badly.

And it was well known in the religious community that the mark of Cain was punishment. At some point after the start of the slave trade in the United States, many protestant denominations began teaching the belief that the mark of Cain was a dark skin tone,  Cain had killed his brother Abel and let Abel’s blood flow on the earth.

We think that we are in a world that is clear of the past and somehow balanced correctly in the now. But as we see how an inherited belief that the colour of a person’s skin is the result of some sin, some lack of being fully human, we start to wake up. We start to question everything that we have been inducted to believe in.


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An interesting example of how we view the world showed up on my social media feed. A man who understood how conditioning works explained that the map that Americans sit staring at in their 12 years of public schooling is nothing more than propaganda. The USA is placed in the dead centre of the world in order to reinforce the idea that America is special, the centre of the known universe. The other continents are not depicted in their actual sizes. The comparative size of the USA to other nations and of North America to other continents is inaccurate. Power is size. Power is being in the centre. And so the conditioning is ubiquitous. It is in every part of our social context.

What we are being driven to face is the question of what matters. Which of my actions has any inherent power?  Does it matter if someone I don’t know dies of COVID? Does it matter in my life if someone is living without clean drinking water? Does it matter if someone unlike me is being deprived of social justice?

We don’t like the feeling because it forces us to understand how we are formed. Each cell is a thought we have implanted in our concept of reality. We are so very uneasy with having to question all that we consider “normal”. It is painful. It is disturbing. It frightens us to a place where we feel like unprotected children and so we react like children.

As I was weeding my garden yesterday after viewing Mr Robot, I heard a question in my mind. “Is anything you think emanating from your own mind? Is everything you think just something you were taught, conditioned to believe, planted by some societal conditioning?”

I stood up with the weeds still connected to the roots swinging in my hand. And I knew. I suddenly knew. I had no way of knowing.