Up In The Sky, It's...

"The man who does not think for himself, does not think at all." -- Oscar Wilde

"If you believe in Truth, then you must also believe that you do not know it." -- Joseph P. Farrell

For the last 150 to 200 years we, as a culture, have been obsessed with the complete and ultimate ruin of our species.  Why?  Why do we have this deep-seated desire to see our ultimate demise?

It doesn't matter what believe system you ascribe to, be it atheist, New Age, or any of the major or minor religions, all of them are ultimately focused on complete and utter ruin.  There's an anti-christ under every rock, a twelfth imam in every water well and a tenth incarnation of Buddha around every turn.  There's saviors riding on every cloud, blue kachinas in every town square and Altairians on every moving light in the sky.

In every case, we want to believe that some authority will come to save us from ourselves, and rule with an iron fist, and anyone that doesn't adhere to whatever will be tortured, murdered or otherwise unpleasantly dealt with.

With this sort of cultural underpinning, it is no wonder we always end up with dictators, monarchs and other unpleasant totalitarian leaders.  We collectively beg for it.  We seek it in all we do.  We live for the hope of having what amounts to a great Parent In The Sky who will tell us when to brush our teeth and when to go to bed.

Basically, we are all trained from birth that we are incapable of handling our own affairs.  We are worthless scum who need to be herded like cattle and placed under the watchful eye.  We are incapable of maturing both as individuals, and as a species because we tell each other constantly that we are not allowed to think for ourselves, and we ridicule anyone who does.

We tell outselves that we are incapable of determining what is morally right and wrong without resorting to some ghostly authority 'out there,' who will dictate our every movement, read our thoughts and punish us for our mistakes.  Is it any wonder we are in the mess that we are?

It takes on such mundane expressions.  We need authorities to tell us what the weather is going to be, because we can't trust our own perceptions and experiences.  We need a Santa Claus to objectively watch our every action and determine if we are worthy of gifts.  We can't possibly understand the complexities of celestial mechanics or the workings of the human body.  We have to leave all that to experts highly trained in the mystery schools and hidden arts.

There is an amazing dichotomy among the vast majority of people.  They believe fervently in gods that are loving and doting upon creation, but then will inevitably destroy it all because some part of that creation is displeasing.  We set up these gods to be moral authorities, whose tenets we must follow blindly, yet those gods behave in decidedly immoral ways.

Christians, for instance, can simultaneously believe in a god that in one part of the book offers the Hebrews wealth and power and kingdoms as the chosen followers, and in the second part, the son of that very same god is tempted by ultimate evil with the EXACT same things and refuses them.  In the first part of the book, the god offers 10 rules that must be followed unquestioningly, while in the second part, the son of that same god SUPPLANTS the 10 rules with two, yet christians still demand that everyone adhere to the original 10.  How does someone hold such dichotomies and contradictions in their minds with such fervency?

How can we as a species abhor dictators and kings, but worship gods that are both?  How can we claim moral superiority in the name of some god, and yet that very god acts in ways that are decidedly immoral and unjust?

Ultimately, how can we claim to be the pinnacle of a perfect creation from a perfect being, and yet sit around wringing our hands in anticipation of its destruction at the hands of a wrathful creator?  Those are the actions of a child, who frustrated that their sand castle didn't turn out perfectly, kicks it to the ground in an infantile act of anger.

As if all of this isn't absurd enough, there is the recent notion that some select group of folks will be chosen to sit in the peanut galley and watch the whole thing while sitting on their morally superior duffs.  Now tell me, from a true moral standpoint, is it right that some arbitrary group of people be selected to watch horror and destruction, doing nothing to stop it becuase they have some moral superiority?  What complete rubbish!  First of all, we are bound by moral action to do all we can to stop the horror and suffering.  Second, it sets up a system whereby people compete in the most horrific ways to be the ones sitting in the stands watching this horror.

And this is what we call religion?

Why do we require some outside force to come in and destroy all that humankind has every achieved in order to establish the most horrific and authoritarian dictatorship ever conceived?  Even more confusing is why do we call this the new Golden Age?

Instead, why don't we take our futures and our destinies into our own hands?  Why don't we take full and unequivocal credit for bringing in the Golden Age by the labor of our own hands?  Why do we need Second Comings, Twelfth Imams, Tenth Reincarnations, and Space Aliens to do what we are completely capable of doing ourselves...whether it be complete and utter destruction, or the institution of a Golden Age?

There's no excuse for this sort of purile and unquestioning servitude, other than our own acquiescence to it.  We human being are quite capable of great beauty and unthinkable horrors on our own volition.  We don't need any outside agency to achieve either of these extremes.  So why not consciously choose the path of our destiny?  Why not choose peace and beauty and harmony as expressions of our collective natures, rather than authoritarian death and destruction through inaction and avoidance of responsibility?

If we can have anything we want, then let's choose to make 2012 a year of renewal, regrowth and re-creativity, rather than all sitting around cowering at the possibility of some boogy man leaping out of the Central American rain forest, or vengeful god riding the clouds meting out bloody destruction?

Take it upon yourself to reason and learn and be responsible not only for your present situation, but your future, as well.  If, as the book says, we are made in the image and likeness, then we have the capacity for endless creation or utter destruction.  It is our choice which one we anticipate and desire.

We can choose the modern meaning of apocalypse, which is ruin, death and rot, or the original meaning, which is to reveal the truth (literally to open the veil).  The old ways are dying, there is no doubt about that.  Five hundred years of crushing slavery is falling apart.  Now is our chance to choose what will replace it.  Stop focusing on the death and start anticipating the new growth and beauty that follows.

Renewal is a painful experience, but it doesn't have to be hopeless. 

Traffic As Metaphor

This morning was a classic Jakarta moment.

Indonesians, for all their laid-back, chilled out politeness, don't like to stop for anything.  The whole goal of driving in here is to go from point A to point B without stopping, even if you have to go ten miles out of your way.  As a consequence, if traffic slows down too much, they start jumping into the next lane, even if the other lane is on-coming traffic.

Now, to get out of my neighborhood in the general direction of my office, one has to cross a two-lane bridge.  It's the only one for a mile in any direction, and all 43 1/3 billion people in the 'hood have to cross it to get out.

So, this morning, one of the Kopaja buses decided the outbound lane wasn't moving fast enough for him.  Naturally, he jumped into the oncoming lane, because Gosh!  There's no cars coming on THIS side.  He raced along until, in the dead center of the bridge, he discovered the oncoming traffic.  No accidents, mind you, just the Indonesian version of a Mexican stand-off.  Since everyone and their mother followed the bus, he couldn't back up.  What with the OTHER half of humanity sitting in front of him, he couldn't go forward.  And, since all the motorcycles here make it a hobby to weave in and out of traffic to get to the front of things, there was a HUGE knot of motorcycles packed literally tire to tire.

Meanwhile, all the cars trying to prevent anyone from jumping in front of them, had wedged nose to tail with each other.  It was almost to the point where you could walk on heads to get across.  There was barely an inch to move and no one was giving an inch, at the risk of losing a centimeter of advancement.  You know those finger puzzles with 15 numbers and 16 spaces, and you have to maneuver them around to try to put them in order?  That was the scene at the bridge.

My driver, being rather aggressive, even by Jakarta standards, had got us so thoroughly jammed in the center of this mess that I was literally rubbing knees with the bikers around me.  And as I sat there, huffing copious amounts of diesel, gas and kerosine fumes, it occured to me that this was a perfect metaphor for the global economic situation.

Like Violet in Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, the banksters wanted all their profit, and they wanted it NOW!  In their supreme impatience, they jumped into the on-coming lane (derivatives) until they met up with opposing traffic (limited growth).  Suddenly, there was a massive jam up.  The motorcycles (day traders) weaved and bobbed until they were all piled up at the head of the line.  All the mutual funders and pensioners (cars) were lined up nose to tail to get their inch or two.  Now there's no way out without backing up, and we can't back up because all the 'me-toos' have piled in behind.

I must have looked rather ridiculous, since I was the only white boy in a sea of stressed out brown faces, and I was laughing my ass off.  I just couldn't help myself.  I was cracking knee caps in a mini version of a global problem.

Here we sit, in a global traffic jam, huffing fumes, grinding our teeth.  No one will give an inch lest they lose their place at the trough.  Can't go back, can't go forward.  The absurdity of it all.  And all because the banksters didn't want to lose even a fraction of a cent of profit.  Greedy little bastards.  JK Rowling was right to make them ugly liitle goblins with long, spindly fingers and specks of drool at the corners of their mouths.  Even the nice duds can't make them look like anythng but goblins.

Of course, the 71 3/7 quintillion people on the bridge this morning finally figured it out, but not without severe damage to my knee caps and a mystery scratch on my ankle.  So will the world figure it all out, eventually.  But someone's got to give and others will get hurt.  It's the unavoidable consequence of allowing the bankster buses to jump out of line and race up the hill.

All that driver wanted to do was pass the other buses and get to the waiting passengers up ahead.  His greed caused the entire mess and the waiting folks probably gave up and got a ride elsewhere.  Typical bankster.  If only he had stayed in line like the rest of us, he could have gotten the passengers anyway.  The bus ahead of him was already full.

I probably lost 4 years of my life huffing all those fumes, even with my handy dandy face mask on, all thanks to the greedy bankster.  I'd likely still be walking straight, as well.  Now I've got rotted out lungs and busted up knee caps because that greedy bastard couldn't wait like everyone else.

It was such a perfect image.  I was laughing so hard I nearly fell off the motorcycle when my driver lurched forward to prevent someone else from getting that inch in front of us.

It's amazing what you can learn while sitting in a colossal traffic jam, the likes of which the world has never seen.

Livin' In Da 'Hood Yo

For the most part, I try to bring you, dear reader, a taste of Indonesia that you, as a casual tourist, would never experience. The average traveler here would never visit an urban neighborhood or chat idly with the folks next door. Therefore, as your intrepid reporter, it is my job to give you a taste of real life here amongst the unwashed masses of Indonesia. Fortunately for you, I have spent considerable time and effort to master the language and to meet people so I can bring you a fairly accurate taste of real life here on The Far Side.

I am currently living in a neighborhood, or kampung, on the near west side of Jakarta, called Tanjung Duren. Tanjung means 'cape,' as in the geological feature, not the article of clothing. Duren is a particularly curious fruit with forbidding spines and an obnoxious smell, but with a delightful flavor and texture. My kampung is one of several that surround a pasar, or traditional market. Typically, the pasar is a two- to three-story building with a great number of outdoor stalls in the immediate area. Inside, you can usually find clothing, furnishings, apothecary, and other dry goods. In the outdoor area, the vendors hawk fruit, vegetables, meat, and fish of every description. Most people do their daily shopping in the pasar, with the occasional trip to one of the large supermarkets for imported items, frozen foods and other non-traditional needs. The pasar is rediculously cheap by western standards, even if you haven't mastered the art of negotiation, or 'nego.'

The pasars are spread around so that the majority of the local people are within reasonable walking distance from the kampungs. Typically, but not always, the pasars are frequented by the domesitc servants and a large, white foreigner walking through one is almost unheard of. If you are the large, white foreigner, you can expect prices to jump about 100-200% when you walk up. It is at this point that it becomes critical to know the language and the 'harga biasa,' or regular price.

An afternoon spent watching people at the pasar can be quite amusing and instructive. Indonesians have no concept of the value of time, so it is not unusual to see a maid or housewife spend hours haggling with several vendors to save 10-cents on a hand of bananas. Another interesting phenomenon is that folks will appear to be nigh on blows while haggling, only to smile and shake hands after the deal is consummated. Nego is the rule. No one ever pays first price for anything. I will typically make a show of disgust and offer 48% of first price. I can usually get within striking distance of harga biasa. It helps to know a little Javanese, too. Mostly is completely takes them by surprise when a foreigner uses the 'kampung language,' and by my third or fourth visit, they have stopped jacking the price on me.

Back in the 'hood, things are radically different from your typical American neighborhood. First of all, houses are abutted on three sides by other houses. The only opening into the house is the front, which usually includes a small fenced forecourt facing onto a 'gang,' or alleyway. There is no yard or garden, and the gangs are just wide enough for three people to walk abreast.

The gangs open at each end onto a narrow street or 'jalan.' Parking, for those who have cars, is allowed down one side, so there is only room for one car to pass. Both sides of the jalan are lined with ditches, so there is little room for error. Where the jalan connect with the 'jalan raya' (literally, free way), there is a formidable gate, usually with a small pedestrian entrance on the side. The gates are closed by 10pm every night, and the neighborhood is patrolled by hoodies who are given a stipend to watch TV and gossip about the comings and goings of the neighbors. The neighborhood patrol is run by the Bapak RT (pah-er-tay). When you move into a neighborhood, you are expected to register with the Pak RT and pay a nominal fee while leaving copies of your ID, no exceptions.

The day begins around 4am, with the call to prayer from the mosque. Every kampung has its own. Not long after that, the long parade begins. The opening salvo is the bread vendors. They typically ride motorcycles with boxes on the back carrying fresh bread. Almost all use an electronic call that typically says 'roti-roti' and gives the name of the bakery, as well as an obnoxious and repetitive jingle.

Close on the heels of the bread men are the food vendors. Here, you can get anything, from ingredients with the green grocer to fully cooked meals from the army of cook carts: soup, fried rice or noodles, tempe, tahu, fish...you name it. The meals come complete in a bowl with fork and spoon. You can transfer it to your own inside, or put the dirty dishes out and he'll be along later to collect them. Each one has their own call sign, from a sing-songy jingle to clanking bowls or wood blocks. From inside, you can hear who's going by and run out should the need hit you.

By 7am, you should have your trash bags hung on the fence. The trash man will be along shortly with a push cart to collect them and take them to a central location for burning. The 'barang-barang' man comes through several times a day and will buy junk and old clothing for recycling. Later, the shoe repairman, the rug vendor, the handiman, the clothes cart, and a whole host of others will pass by offering goods and services of every description.

One of my favorites is the Indonesian equivalent of the Fuller brush man, but instead of selling a selection of manufactured brooms and brushes, this guy carries all the raw materials and makes your item on the spot. You can custom order brooms and brushes of any kind, and he will cobble it together on your doorstep while you watch. I've even followed this guy for a while just to watch him do his thing. You can select your handle type and length, what bristle you want and what density. If you have a very specific need, you can show him what you need to do and he will design just the right brush for you.

This flotilla sets out seven days a week, every day of the year. If you had to, you could exist solely on the things that are brought directly to your door, including ice cream for dessert.

This doesn't include what you can get delivered. Here, not just pizza, but McDonald's, KFC and even the local restaurants will deliver piping hot meals to your door.

Almost no one keeps pets here. There are a few birders and children sometimes have turtles, but dogs and cats are virtually unheard of. Cats roam the neighborhood freely, not as pets but as vermin control. Dogs are considered 'haram,' or unclean, so you see very few of them. Mostly Chinese Buddhists or Christians will have them, if you find dogs at all. In some cases, they are raised for food, as there are several tribes in Indonesia that eat dog regularly.

There is nothing even remotely resembling zoning here. You can have a dirt floor shack next to an upscale multi-story. It is also not unusual for housewives to run a home business, such as a small store, laundry or other service. During the day, the men are off working, so the women rule the neighborhood from sun up to sun down.

The schools run pretty much year-round and kids go from around 6:30am until around 1pm. For the most part, there are no school buses, so kids walk or use an ojek or bajaj. Richer families will have the driver drop them and pick them up with the car. Most neighborhoods have at least one small playground near the center, but kids run freely throughout the streets and alleys, even after dark. Everyone watches out for everyone else. Strangers are watched very closely.

Most homes are multi-generational, with at least two living together. Another reason why a neighborhood will have such a mix of upscale and dirt houses is because once purchased, the lot is likely to stay in the hands of the family, and each generation will add to it, or even rebuild, if they are successful. If you know someone in the kampung, you are just as likely to know their children, parent and even grandparents, as they live in the same house or very near-by.

In a later installment, I'll describe more of daily life and what people do everyday, such as gathering to play games or just to chat. There's always some fun in the kampung!

As an aside, the English word, 'compound' referring to dwellings comes directly from the Indonesian word kampung. So now you know...