Memorandum
Traveling through centuries of technology, structures of ancient Rome and wars. I hear the demise of this long gone culture, its remains infiltrating our times in plenty of ways, was due to a debauchery and immorality that debased and destroyed it from the inside out. I also hear about the style of battle these short statured ancients employed. Short men with short swords and small shields moving together as a single killing legion.
I see the profiles of the Roman in the people around me and wonder how the culture then has infiltrated the progeny living now. I recognize a delicateness difficult to attribute to an ancient imperial caste. Has a higher reality been reclaimed through Christ, recovering what was lost in debasement? Has the cost been realized and the vulnerable return, engaged in a religious support? Has redemption manifested over centuries of time and penitence?
I do not hear laughter here. I see the joys of two friends meeting, the big bear hugs, kisses on both cheeks, and the smiles. Even that seems very serious.
A Canadian candidate shows up in conversation over pulpo on toast with onions and cheese. Its taken a measure of effort to order the remains of a magical creature, known to me especially through the documentary, My Octopus Teacher. The flavours eclipse my remorse. This is the shame of humanity I collude with! More in love with the flavour of a being than its beingness, fresh from the sea. I hear the motorhead saying no harm done to Octopus-ness, a reference to the energetic beingness of creatures or flora that can not be destroyed. Nonetheless, species are disappearing. My children will never bring home a box turtle, said one candidate.
Someone asked the Canadian about wokedom. His answer was brilliant. Here is his light on the subject: It is a control system, meant to divide people and keep them distracted with arguments and conflict. As an old cartoon depicted, you dont need to fight the people, but convince some of the people that other people are a threat to them. Unvaccinated, vaccinated. Unwoke, woke. Apostate, guru.
The edge I have been walking, levelled against the motorhead, is dissolving. I have come to the conclusion that he is like most everyone else on the planet, believing in their own inventions of themselves. I imagine he will die by them, as we all must do, unless we can imagine something different. Perhaps something really inclusive, like forgiveness.
In busy Barcelona the noise is stupendous. The people there must have nerves of steel to be bombarded each day with that constant din. Then there are these peculiar lulls that occur. Between the busy traffic and the chatty populace and the harshness of sound everywhere, suddenly so briefly, there is quiet. Movement continues but silently, just for a second. I love those strange hushed moments. Silencio.
Looking out over the sea. I remember an earlier fragment of this journey, looking out through a cabin window into the clouds and seeing a boat shape, soft and wispy, hardly formed of white puffy clouds, moving out of the sky, traveling toward our plane at a lower elevation. A light and mythical vessel mesmerizing me as it moves slowly ahead. I wake up from a dreaminess to realize we are flying over the sea and in fact that small cloud below, moving singularly and low, is an actual boat.
Sometimes we must look awhile at a thing to realize what is actually there. Sometimes, looking at something for too long, hyper-focused on a single thing, we begin to see things that arent actually there.
How the CIA sees enemies everywhere. How the elites see too many humans everywhere. How I used to see the motorhead everywhere. I believe I am approaching the end of that illusion. I have turned over all the stones that led to my encultment, all but one.
Over a meal, enjoying my new favourite dish, pimientos de pardón, I hear myself say, it isnt history that repeats itself. It is beliefs. These essays are my discernment of what has occurred according to my lived in beliefs and the belief that my experiences within the cult or culture are real.
As we embody AI more and more into our lives-lived-online, what could be deemed artificial experience, it will inevitably reflect our hard won convictions, or our blindly accepted beliefs, or all and any other perspectives, suspicions and traumas that we cling to. It could get pretty messy.
Walking the Camino with an ear bud toggled to my partners phone, listening to JFK and the Unspeakable on Audible. Im listening to the author describe a NYT article that made that old media gorgon sound like an arm of the CIA. I am astonished. I lose my footing and say to my partner, it sounds like the New York Times is an arm of the CIA. As I regain my balance, Siri said, in a tone that matches my partners voice, Thats what I thought.
Did you hear that?! Did you hear what Siri just said?
Yes, he had heard it too, with the other earbud in his ear, he heard Siri, clear as day, responding to my comment. He hadnt said anything.
Believe it or not. Or believe it was just a glitch in the matrix. It made me wonder though. What is Siri learning day by day? Is she developing her own beliefs, as beliefs it seems she has in saying, thats what I thought.
Earlier along the way. I am walking the camino with my partner who is listening to an audiobook. I am listening to where I am, in awe of natures resonance with itself. Birdsong never stops and when it seems to, the crickets and frogs start singing. Spotlights on the path glimmer from sunlight through the oaks. Footfalls sizzling on the gravel. Sections of the road are dug so deep by ages of peregrinos, that the earth greened and flowered reaches above us, creating a moist cavern. Daisies everywhere on their wiry stems tik-tokking.
I am walking the camino with a book my partner shares with me, the worst parts, and I am a child again sent home from school and told to sit down in front of a TV set to watch, again and again, a First Lady reaching behind her husband to save the back of his skull, to put him together again. As I write this I hear a newscasters voice, the president has been shot!
Why have the visionaries of our times all died of gunshot wounds? These are our times, Roman begotten. Our culture, like the cult I once lived in, exists on a framework of lies. How is it possible for a citizen to know and live an honest life within a culture of duplicity?
I see two caminos ahead. An environmentalist plods one and beckons with camaraderie in his rough and urgent voice. Artificial intelligence describes another way and travels in our pockets, listening. Two ways that may join together someday in a stunningly beautiful way. If we could possibly stay together. If we only tell AI what we want it to tell us, honestly, sincerely, truthfully, kindly, lovingly. Like a child we are raising up.