The Outlands Community's ArtGroup has been working full steam ahead on developing a technique which succeeds in rendering aspects of spiritual sexuality and we'requite pleased with the results. We are also looking to establish links with other groups like ours, this is more a renewal of effort upon one of the mandates that Llam had requested of us. Been on line since April, and succeeded in meeting Dori Hartley, which was miraculous in and of itself. Another of our desires / mandates is to find some scientific credibility to what we are doing here. I don't mean the old way of 'proof,' such as was done by Morey Bernstein with Bridey Murphy in the '50's. That does have its merits, but we are looking for math and mathematicians to provide us with a solid footing in Physics to describe the dimensions that people like Sara and Llam live in. That was outlined in the Everybody Book and in Stro Moon Daglo.

Another problem is getting noticed by search engines. It's a tough climb! But we shall persevere, sooner or later someone is going to notice and read all of our blogs. Llam assures us that the best thing that we can do right now is just keep posting. Considering the number of pages of text which all of us combined have posted on the blogs, we have a considerable literary / factual base from which to work.

As promised, this is Maalyon as I perceive him ~ ~

Good Yuletide to all!

I have been a pagan priest for many years now and a hippie for a lot longer. It means that I do not put too much stock in Christianity or its brothers Judaism and Islam. For many years I kidded myself that I was a spiritual person and I suppose that I could be - at times. Because I knew nothing personally of any form of Divinity I was really lost in a sea of ideas and visions. Sometimes Buddhism would sound so RIGHT. Then I would get going on Gnosticism and it would sound so RIGHT. Then, shading off into Neo-Platonism I would eventually become enthralled with the most ancient Greek gods and goddesses, coming to rest with Hekate and Dionysus. The former I understood for her darkness and her hurricane-like movement through me. The latter I understood, pre-Hellenic Divinity of intoxication and what to the proto-Greeks who invaded the area deigned to call "madness." It wasn't intil Socrates that we had a handy catalogue of how this madness might make manifest. Love - and he spoke of the insane attachment two lovers might have for one another - was first. Other forms included the ability to say / sing poetry (rhapsodie) and powerful discourse (sophism). While love, poetry and the ability to wow people with what you say does benefit from practice and rules, a close reading of the Symposium (and I think the Phaedrus) (or Phaedo) makes plain that Socrates was talkjing about the on-the-hoof variety. And it was in such a state that I felt picked out first by Hecate, then by Dionysus.

I have no particular "duties" as a priest. Today being the shortest day of the year (maybe it was yesterday) I note the rebirth of the sun, Sol Invictus; while I can no longer drink alcoholic joyjuice I do my best to stay intoxicated, usually with hyperstimulants and smart drugs, during the Saturnalia - that time of protracted drunkeness in the Roman Empire which became The Twelve Days of Christmas. And, yes, in years gone by, I have been very drunk for all twelve of those days, although by the end of it I was gagging on whatever I was chugging down. So my entries here and at my secret hideouts tend to be a bit loony, and the rest of the Community suffers along gladly.

SAo today I thought that I would introduce another Community member, one who has been with me for at least ten years. His name is Maalyon, pronounced May-EE-LEE-un. He is a star elemental and has his permanent abode at a double star a long way from here. The stars have a huge frozen planet which sort of revolves between and around them. Neither "Kathy" or Alfedas have succeeded in locating it. And as Maalyon is capable of being in several places at once, he does not "go home," he always is home. Or does home. I suppose it would be unjust of me not to attempt a picture to go with this introduction and I might just do that when I get done writing this. Thing is it is difficult for me to "see" him in my mind's eye.

Without too many of the gory details I went through a period of intense paranoia in the mid-nineties and grew more and more distrustful of Seima. She had the sense to withdraw from my ability to perceive her, but not before the arrival of Maalyon. One of the things Maalyon did was to screen Seima from my ability to perceive her. On the other hand he was possibly the most laid-back friendly entity I had ever met. Somewhere in my Stuff I have a dialogue that he'd begun with William Blake and Sattoo, another being with another story. It tries to define "space," which is a damned hard thing to do.

But I tell Maalyon's story tonight because nine years ago I was reflecting upon what little impact that I as a long-haired person (read "hippie") had had on the world. It seemed all for nothing that night: December 22, 1996. He listened to me for a long time and said little. He was lost in thought. Then he turned to me and said: "You say that you have had no impact. You have, but do not see it. I can see it. And as far as what you are as a social entity, well - your job is not finished yet."

He was right. Today is as strangled a world as it was in 1953, 1959, 1963, 1965, 1971, 1979, 1984, 1992, 1999. There is unnecessary war. The leaders of America are criminals, just as they have always been; America the nation of the lawyers, by the lawyers and for the lawyers. Especially corporate and insurance lawyers. Too many people starve to death every day. The ozone layer is still saying buh-bye! On it goes. But I stand fast tonight, there are things that I can do and I shall keep on doing them. Join with me this Yuletide, because our jobs are not finished yet.

Hierophantou Dionysou Hekatoessou

kyrie magiou kyrie androgynou kyrie cthoni kyrie nyx

and, steward, Outlands Community

For Dori Hartley

..whom I love. Painter of angels, painter of the anima in men, painter of the night. Of the first Goths and she will be the last, no idle claim. Lover of darkness and light and all color between, the fire climbs in seven arches and bursts through seven stars, is visible across all worlds. A trans-universal entity trance-universal energy, do you sense her in the aether? Do you nort know of her see-ing?
This is my friend, my blessed friend, each of us in our cove of angels and lands out there, miraculously brought together. We never have asked why, we only know that it is so, there is work to do, together and apart...like finding a home on an asteroid between galaxies, do I believe this? it is so.
"Knowing that we're only immortal
For a limited time"
Geddy Lee yes the man spoke the truth at times
"For I am gifted, even in November
Rawest of seasons
With so huge a sense,
Of her nakedly worn magnificence,
That I forget cruelty, and past betrayal,
Careless where the next bright bolt may fall.
Robert Graves, "In Dedication." It is certainly November for me. But there is fire in my bones once again, and I am of a dead cert you are that fire.

Sara deserves a lot more credit than i think we've given her for being the first one to want to express herself as an individual - not as a member of the Outlands Community - on the internet. Accordingly she set herself up on MySpace as Sara Synaptical and had a lot of fun...for about two months. When "Tom" sold out to Rupert Murdoch the place went totally to the dogs and she left, Stro left, leaving Llam, Seima and myself, but myself as representing the Community.

In expressing herself as she did in those days she was slutty, raunchy and terrifically funny by turns, and the material that consists of the "Succubus FAQ" over at the Succubi Girls originally saw the light of day there. Next to go was Stro Moon Daglo but as a musician, and he had garnered quite a number of other musicians on his page. When I got onto Blogger as Morion, Sara followed suit down the road, then Terrence Ausweiler. Meanwhile Stro set up house over at Getablog, followed by Irlene Davis, Joan of Arc and as of late, Reth. Michael Archontas set Himself up at Phlog.net, where last night a post that he worked on for seventy-five minutes disappeared; the Community has its Everybody book at Fotopages, and Llam has his at the same place. Then SonShon got into Xanga the other day. I have a journal, sort of anonymous, at a well-known blog-host, and we have one in reserve at MyOwnJournal, which seems like a clone of MySpace. By the way, Reth listed a fairly comprehensive list of URLs at his blog the other day.

For me personally I can see how it has changed us. We are certainly no longer insular as a Community, and Sara was the first to assert herself as a striking and forceful personality apart from the Community and apart from our relationship. This was scary for the both of us at times - she's laughing as I write - because when you get "out in the world" you very naturally see your home differently. And the people in it. But I must say, no-one has turned into a stranger, or ego-maniac, or turned on us and left.

Irlene I think is the most prominent example of how the changes beong in the world have affected us. She left here as a little girl with two other little girls, along with Hurrain, and when she comes back now for a visit, which she did the other day, she is a grown woman and something of a neurophilosopher as well, she can eaasily go on about neural pathways and energy-waves in the water, about different brains in different species; I don't think she could tell everything that she's come to know in the last six months. And, y'know? YOU hang out with dolphins and be in telepathic communication with them for six months, your brain would be different also. At least you'd be using it differently!

My experience of the Community members has changed as well. As we grew we were all packed into one little mental space - my head - which periodically got dosed with LSA and LSHA until the boundaries opened, or the gate got cracks...and Sara leaaked out. I was intimately aware of the presence of virtually everyone here, which was interesting...but I was drowning in the closeness, and to be honest, wasn't aware of it. When I see any of them now, they are very definitely individuals, and not cocooned or nascent or anything. Marraket is running around all over the world. "Kathy," one of our few non-terrestials, is combing this part of the universe for other sentient life-forms - as if there aren't a number here! (cetaceans, equids, corvids) Dor is still seemingly nascent but Alfedas recently indicated that he is communicating with us...we just do not know WHAT he is communicating, or how, for that matter. I know them know them all as people now, which is what I wanted, not fearing that I would never have the time to do that before I died. It just seems that every day, someone wants to say something. I got my latest chance to be Original Thinker when Naseni unwittingly got me going last week. And Michael Archontas indiciated that he is ready to go at it again at Phlog - which means I shall close and let him get going. Roy out.

Oh yeah - Michael is at http://phlog.net/user/michaelarchontas

Carl Jung might have appreciated the last two entries. I was once in touch with him while channeling, but he seemed too self-absorbed to respond to my few inquiries. The fact remains that he was a most unusual man. In his time of spiritual crisis, that is following his break with Sigmund Freud, if I read it right he was basically up shit's creek without the paddle, like as in, walking around psychotic. It is probably to our benefit culturally that he found so much with which to be absorbed over the course of his life - Greek mythology, the I Ching, misunderstanding the physics of Wolfgang Pauli (Jung's synchronicities are an attempt by Jung to make a very unscientific concept sound respectable), and above all, alchemy. To this day I have my doubts about his varied interets in these areas being of direct benefit to psychology as a discipline, but those who came after - most notably Gaston Bachelard and James Hillman - did much with what Jung left in his wake.

However, there is one work which Jung created and about which he had the greatest misgivings; in fact if my memory is working, it was never meant for publication. This is a longish theological essay (very short book) entitled in English, "Answer to Job." Before I get going about it, if you have ever considered the "evil problem," how could a good God allow suffering, this may be to your interests. First, a little note about Jung himself. He was the son of a Protestant minister (Lutheran if I recall), and like Nietzsche before him, he could not help being molded by the father's continual preoccupation with spiritual things - or what were considered spiritual things. This included a thorough familiairity with the Bible and the theological concepts current in that day. However, as a practicing psychologist Jung was ethically bound to keep his mouth shut on religious matters. It took Freud - of all people - to break that little barrier in the late thirties, when, at the end of his life, he wrote things like "Moses and Monotheism." Be that as it may, Jung long festered over the "evil problem" and focused upon the biblical book of Job as the years went by. The name is pronounced "Joeb," one syllable, and not "job" as in "get a - " In the oldest (Hebrew) texts available (Dead Sea Scrolls), it is actually spelled "iyyob." It is not a story original to the ancient Semitic people who became the Jews, because numerous parallels to its many tales exist in the even earlier writings of the various Canaanite, Babylonian and Sumerian cultures of that remote time. "Job" tells the story of a very pious good man - Job - who suffers every concivable misfortune possible: his children are killed by invaders, his cattle are stolen, he is covered with "boils" (possibly leprosy or bubonic plague) and just generally is having a bad hair day. This happens because the Old Testament god, Yahweh (Jehovah, YHWH) points out Job to Satan, saying what a great guy he is. Satan responds by telling YHWH that Job is pious because he's got it good, that if Job were to lose everything he would curse YHWH to his face. Apparently the then-almighty could not pass up a wager and tells Satan to go fuck with Job...which Satan does, as outlined above. To Job's credit, I guess, he does not respond to all of the horrible things that happen to him by giving YHWH the old heave-ho. Instead he does what many of us would do in such a sitch...he asks "Why me?" The book is then filled with much too much material about three (four?) well-meaning friends who keep pestering Job with the idea that somewhere,somehow, Job SINNED. That is one thing about which Job is adamant, I do wrong things like everyone else, but I am not hiding jack. Finally, having worn the poor bastard to a nub, the self-righteous idiots leave, and Job is now wondering, why did this happen to me...YHWH? True to form, YHWH shows up in a whirlwind, wondering who it is that has the stones to question what he, YHWH, does with "his" creation. He spends most of the rest of the book scaring poor Job by awesome displays of power, mocking the guy's insignificance in comparison to his own splendid self. Job never gets an answer from YHWH, merely shuts up, apologizes for bothering the crotchety deity, and is forgiven. Job gets more kids, more cows...more than he had before all of this went down.

Jung - remember Jung? - caught something in the story that theologians and saints had missed for millenia. While Job is alone, pissing and moaning about his fate - this is after the self-righteous goons leave - YHWH starts talking out of the aforementioned whirlwind, and asks a very curious question: "Who is it that darkens counsel?" In modern English this could well be paraphrased, "Who is hiding the answers that Job wants?" That is a very strange thing for an omnipotent, omniscient deity to ask - surely, if anyone had the answers to Job's question - "Why me?" - it should have been YHWH. But as Jung noted, YHWH never answered Job, he just scared the bejesus out of him. Jung went on to hypothesize that YHWH did not answer Job because he - YHWH - did not know the answers. In Jung's words (from memory), it was YHWH himself who "darkened counsel."

That is a very scary thing to say if one is a member of the Judeo/Christian/Islamic religious traditions, because it basically says that the almighty isn't and is as in the dark as we puny mortals.

The fact is, for all of the nonsense with which I feel Jung wasted his and our time, it balances out with this one essay. Jung was all apologetic about it because he was not a theologian. But he was no dummy, and after a lifetime of successfully seeing psychological symbolism in much Greek and alchemical literature, I feel that he touched the heart of the matter - he accurately analyzed YHWH from a psychological viewpoint.

[As a sidebar, I have been a little rough-shod on Jung. He did, after all, give us two psycho-sexual concepts which are central to self understanding. One of these is the anima / anime concept, which says that every man has a hidden spiritual feminine side (anima), every woman has a corresponding "male self" (anime). Jung also gave us the idea of our having a "shadow," a dark negative self which, if you think about it, is a good thing. If we went about with nary a negative feeling or thought, we early on would have happied ourselves into extinction: think of a bunch of hippies stoned out of their gourds on a boat off New Orleans the day Katrina wiped out the Big Easy. Dude, man, like lookit those waves, they're like cosm - - blub - - ]

Llam had asked me to underscore the importance of Jung on this point - the "evil problem" - in helping us to understand that our spirituality is, in the eyes of the Biblical religious traditions, nothing short of atheism. Which is too fucking bad. Poor Nietzsche took this 'way too seriously in his final years. Fritz, you were right, you were right, we do not need a tyrant. We need - we have Other, neti, neti.

So where does this leave you - me - us? In writing to a new friend the other day I had mentioned that the Buddha advised not to name things, and by implication ole Gautama was especially keen on "spiritual experiences", and I gave this example. Someone says "I have experienced God." No, you have not. "I have had a spritual experience." No, you have not. "I have had an experience." Better; but like the Buddha, if you've really had the blockbuster Nirvana you think is "there," you wouldn't be writing or talking about it. It was a joke about the Buddha when he was alive because it's true. All of our words cannot, are not made to, convey what Deity may or may not be. To speak poetically, you could not ask Fire to describe Water, or a blind person to explain what light is like.

So we have decided to wholesale hijack these words, "god," "deity," "divinity" and the like, and to once and for all toss ideas like momotheism and polytheism out of the window. They presuppose too much.

It is so ironic that one writer in the demesne of the Church understood this perfectly; it is much more ironic that he did so when the Inquisition was at its height, and he could easily have been burned for saying what he really thought. I am not talking about Eckhardt or van Ruuysbroeke. Saint John of the Cross knew that every spiritual doorway which opened before him was but one more retelling to himself all of the words, all of the ideas and symbols with which he had all of his life imbued himself. In answer to my three exclamations above, he would merely have shaken his head "No," and would not even have said "better" about the third version, just "No." Because one day, John came to the Wall. The Wall of which I speak is built of our very ability to use words, it is our use of language, it is language. And he was smart enough to recognize that one limitation - as did Jung - and call it the sham and fake it is. Because one day, from beyond that Wall, came Other, reaching to him after he, John, stopped reaching. Like Aquinas before him, John afterward became as silent as the knowledge which he knew - or DID, in our terms - writing only of necessity about anything but THAT. And of THAT he had a premonition in that four-line poem by which he best is remembered. In hoc signo transit - "by this sign, move on."

Deviant Art is quite the place. First I meet Naseni, then as we are closing yesterday I check the e-mail and find that Dori Hartley has moved in. An I say, wtf?

We are up to page forty-eight on the Psychedelic Talmud and have it up both at DA and at Webshots. Except for Matthew over at MySpace, I think that I'm the only one I know of using Webshots; Deviant Art, however, everyone seems to know. And fotopages.com and phlog.net, no-one knows them at all, it seems.

I am finding that I am here for no particular reason so I am going to boot out for now.

Naseni sent me a note at DA and I've slept a couple of hours and am waking with coffee and synephrine. Since my antivirus is running at the moment it would take about five minutes just to check where I left off at the last post, other than I'd left a link to Webshots and had been going on about the Evolu series and energy-patterns.

But I think that I shall get down to it, I often ramble my way through a subject. Atheism is a long streak in me, going back to my early childhood, when I was first put in Sunday school. It was a Prrresbyterrrian hausse o' worrrship, c'mpleat wi' Scots ministerrr. Nae th' Prrresbyterrrians ha' ga' nay sense o' humorrr aboot rrreligion, an' especially theirrrs, an they ha' nay sense o' aesthetic an th' beeyootayf'll eyethirrr. The long and the short of this was that I was made to feel sorry for some guy in a dress named Jesus, who could walk on water and make food out of nothing. Since I liked taking nylon curtains and wrapping myself in them to play dress-up so I could be a girl for a while, and then get my ass whipped for it, I could feel Jesus and his dress-up friends real close. And walking on water was definitely cool. I was four, by the way, Protestant cults are very lax about getting the kids in the door from day one. The only ones who can match the Catholic and Orthodox in this particular vigilence are the neo-nazi fundamentalist groups. (Note to myself: post entry some time about my stint as Baptist Sunday School teacher) My parents had not so much as mentioned the G-word up until this time, but my mother began by leading with her left. God, she explained, was some guy who lived in the sky who watched everything that everyone did, especially when they were alone. (Nylon curtains, picking my nose) She made it plain that he was on the same team as her and the old man, which kind of was a shoot-down. Two vultures in the house was bad enough, but one in the sky who was like a super-cop who would bend the world to pumish me for putting on lipstick or putting golf-balls under my tee-shirt to mimic breasts was a total bummer. To add insult to injury, shortly after being dragged into sunday school I was dragged into the regular church service for good measure. The church's interior is dark old birch with crudely-made stained-glass windows. Its one feature of merit is a well-made pipe-organ with real sixteen-foot stops in all of the traditional voices; it was a gift of one of the few modestly wealthy members who'd founded the church back in 1890. Old Betsy was trammeled upon by an organist who'd studied organ in Europe but cancelled her career when marriage / baby carriage came along, and she could make those pipes thunder and rattle when she got going. When she did it was always something in a minor key. It is not good to be four and have your bones rattled in a minor key by an organ and choir which seemed focused upon singing about how great my new third parent, God, was. My reaction was basically, wtf? In words, it came out like this: ''Mommy, I don't need this.'' Her reaction was a very swift, ''You will go to church.'' To quote my poem War in Heaven, ''I learned the fear early, the black of the abyss in other people's eyes.'' The ''war,'' however, was not in Heaven, but within my own abused life.

To learn ''God'' as Primal Fear is a good inducement to a very practical atheism. I was, to all practical intents, a prisoner of war in a war over which I had no control and of which I had very little understanding. The natural reaction of any rational human being is, ''Lieben heis lieben.'' Any prisoner of war will tell of episodes during their captivity when they literally kiss the collective ass of their captors in an effort to reduce the stress of the knowledge of the basically powerlessness of their lives. Because Christianity in its numerous hydra-like forms is based upon FEAR, every ''good Christian'' is a terrorized inmate of a huge concentration camp called the Church. The fist in the mink glove of the Church is, you are going to hell no matter how you grovel, kiss ass, be good, give it all away. I cannot at this point in my life understand why this is not THE conversation topic for those who take this mind-control seriously: ''So, what do you think THEY'RE gonna do to you in Hell when you die?'' ''I don't know, me, I'm hopin nano-technology will be developed enough when I'm older so that I just don't die.'' ''Yeah, I feel dat.''

I have a theory that when we first began to speak, some women and men saw that they could gain control of others simply by out-Godding them. Although the Rousseau/Engels model of the origins of civilization and property-ownership has severe limitations, enough of the basic concept is sturdy enough to have survived into the Post-

Structuralism of Levi-strauss himself. (Blasphemy!) The mythical First Tribes, an essential outgrowth of Rousseau's Noble Savage, did in fact have one attribute: generally, if you wanted to eat, fuck and have a home, you did your part of the gathering, hunting, fishing, whatever. The chicanery developed when the First Jocks said, ''Hey, we're busy protecting you pussies, we ain't got time to fucking gather and hunt. Give us some of that food, and some of those sexy kids, or you can defend your own skenk ass.'' Not to be outdone, the medicine men said, ''Hey, you wanna ward off the displeasure of the Ancestors and famine and pestilence, you better give us some of that food and those sexy kids, we ain't got time to fucking gather and hunt either. Of course if you think you can do your own healing, your own warding off the displeased Ancestors..." And here you've spent sixteen hours in the bush looking for little pigs, roots, berries and birds that weren't as big as you, or out in the water hoping that Nessie was looking for fish in some other place than where you were; ''Jesus God, HERE. Matilda, Brian, you go with these guys and do what they say.'' ''But Daddeeeee!''

To the best of my knowledge there have been only a handful of Spartacus-like revolts against the tyranny of religion as FEAR. As is becoming painfully clear, in the history of Western culture there were only three all-out assaults on the Structure:

1. Gnosticism, which almost toppled the authoritarian Church. Almost.

2. The philosophes of revolutionary eighteenth-century France, almost doing the same.

3. The psychedelicism which Doctor Timothy Leary launched in 1959.

Without apology I count Marxism under the aegis of number two. Karl Marx was Voltaire, Rousseau, Condorcet, Marat, de Sade and any other philosophe you care to name all rolled into one scrufty little Jewish guy who haunted the Library of the British Museum for many years, and managed to unify the discordances of the Age of Reason into a single and accurate critique; the bourgeois will do anything to control the proletariat. The rich get richer and the poor get poorer. America is a nation of the lawyers, by the lawyers and for the lawyers. It is ironic that the elitist aristocratic LAWYER Thomas Jefferson, who set the American law-machine in motion, is on the face of the $2 bill, while the funkier businessman Alexander Hamilton stares sudeways from the $10 bill.

Imagine the conversation in you wallet:

$10: ''Haha, Tom, I'm on a higher denomination than you!''

$2: ''Alex get real already, my laws determine where you go and how you get used.''

Think I can't bring this around? From my vantage-point as the steward of the Outlands Community, which acknowledges a Deity of other-than-the Structure or Languages' ability to conceive or even think about, in those terms we all of us are ATHEISTS. We have nothing to do with any sort of god, divinity, deity, ground of being which is about fear, control, manipulation or the rich getting richer and the poor getting poorer, and I am writing with the angelic steward of the Community with his hand on my shoulder saying ''Go, Roy, Go!'' We are revolutionaries and today is the day: throw of your fucking chains, kick these bastards into the cold dark depths of the universe and let them go back to hunting and gathering with the rest of us. To quote Paul Kantner:

''We are the forces of chaos and anarchy

Every thing they say we are, we are,

And we are very proud...of...ourselves;

Up against the wall, motherfucker!''

- from his We Should Be Together

Naseni, this one's for you.

I met someone at DA who took an interest in the Psychedelic Talmud, but serious and deep, we've traded a few PMs aabout it and its subject, from my perspective I know where he's at, but not in some ''one day you shall understand'' look down my slightly bulbous nose sense of superiority. To be quite honest there is still so much about the life I live with the OC (hmm, three abbreviations already) that just plain bewilders me.

As a poet I know how words will turn inside out if you just let go enough. In attempting to be able to eff the ineffable, I've absorbed hundreds of thousands of pages of writing on so many subjects that I can't be bothered to list them. I keep following this illusion, or delusion, that if I absorb enough words they'll explode. I think Llam is trying to get me to understand the illusion / delusion part when he requests me to work on things like the Evolu series which is hung up at Webshots. Look at one hundred pictures and you'll understand evolution better than Darwin and Lamarck out together, and the awfulness of the flaws of Intelluhjint Duhsign. When we worked on that series I watched Intelligent Design get reduced to rubble. I never seriously entertained the 2005 screwball version, I'm much better with Sheldrake's morphogenic resonance; the Evolu is just a picture of the symmetries and assymetries in a given Thing being moved around by the plasma-like energy fields which anyone who has been Outside for a while can sense looking at a tiny chickweed flower or the patterns which dust will make acording to the Strange Attractor principle inherent - so it seems - within these energies. There is no mind here, no Creator's tools. A pair of large rocks thrown into a still lake will make ever-shifting patterns in the water very similar to what I'm talking abou, but the only ''mind'' that I had when I used to toss large rocks into the water was the very fibrous-sounding ''galoosh'' I took such delight in while full of LSDEEEE. I'm being deliberately crude here, because to follow Intelligent Design to its logical conclusion says just that, somewhere in the universe is Someone much vaster than we mortals who is high on acid and throw

ing large planets into still pools of dark matter for the delightful ''galoosh.''

I'm yawning, which means I'll be back later. Oh yeah, Webshots:

http://community.webshots.com/user/thatgemini

and look for the eighty or so red and white pics under ''Evolu.''