Sunday, March 23, 2014

The Dark Crystal: Thra Voyages

-1-

Taba tried to steady herself as the floor continued to shift beneath her feet. Apparently, some part of her had not yet accepted that she would never grow accustomed to its constant motion. She knew there were those that loved it, but those were not her ancestors, not of her clan. The rolling of the waves only increased as she joined Kolo in their cabin, and she was beginning to wonder if she would be better off going up on deck, where she could see the hills of water as they approached, rather than being in this cramped, randomly pitching room. She had to hold on tightly to the ship’s screwed-down furniture to keep her gracile form from being tossed around like a cup.

She had just returned from visiting Swamp Mother, who was in a nearby cabin, and who was perhaps now regretting her insistence on separate lodgings. The Drenchen leader was slopping about violently in her sturdily constructed mudpen, and clearly did not want to be left alone. Taba hoped the discomfort might make her a little more agreeable when the time came, so she had taken leave of her as respectfully as she could. She had promised Swamp Mother to return when dinner was served, knowing that she would then spend her time convincing the bog-dweller to eat what she deemed "dust-dry shavings".

Taba looked over at Kolo, who was aggressively hunched over their cabin's table. He seemed to not be faring much better. She felt badly for him; much like her own folk, his Podling brethren were meant to live on the land, to be always in it and with it. He would be no less uncomfortable if they were being tossed around in outer space, caroming between the suns. “Hang on, Kolo,” she called to his bulky form, which was quickly turning greener and greener.

“I’ll be okay,” he snapped back at her moodily, as if she had insulted him.

“I know you will,” she soothed, but resisted the urge to move toward him, to give him a reassuring hug. She also resisted the temptation of reminding him of the squeals and screams he had given off at the sight of their journeying ship, and again when it had first come unmoored from the dock. He was only here because he believed in their cause, and for that she was glad.

Taba had been told that they would meet with Sea Mother’s ship in no more than two days’ travel out into the ocean, but the storm they were currently riding had not been anticipated by the ship’s sturdy Sifan crew. They had now been three days asea, and the tunna birds that had been sent out had not returned with their coded croaks of reassurance that Sea Mother’s ship was nearby. Chances were, she had been blown as far off course as they had.

A knock came at the door of the cabin, strangely casual and polite. She and Kolo headed for the door side by side, as if to prove to each other that they were the best suited for the ocean, but Taba made it there first. She heard Kolo grunt in disgust at himself and turn away as her hand touched the handle. She briefly thought that she should have let her companion get there first.

The Gelfling answering the door was the one who had made the impassioned ritual speech just before they departed, the second in command of their vessel. She realized now that with all the other things to attend to, she had never learned his name. “Sea Mother’s ship is in sight. Her decklights are just visible when we are both cresting the waves.”

She started at his words, mostly because the first mate rarely spoke more than a word or two at a time to her. Nor did he to anyone, according to Captain Yurr. “That’s wonderful news!” Taba exclaimed, and she felt her wings flexing in triumph under her cloak. “Did you hear that, Kolo? Our journey is nearly over!”

His body, gripping the bolted-down table, expressed no relief. "The first half, anyway," she barely heard him grumble.

“Not quite,” the second said. “We cannot approach her ship until the storm calms. We can’t risk the ships being smashed together. But we can work to keep each other in sight until it does. The wind is still high, but the rain is lessening.” Taba noted that he did seem a bit less soaked to the skin than he had been. She admired the way he could stay upright almost effortlessly, with only one hand braced against the ship’s frame. To her and Kolo, the ship felt in constant danger of being thrown apart.

“Thank you,” she said, and added, “I think my bodyguard and I will stay with Swamp Mother until the waves fade.”

“Of course,” he said, and she might have imagined the smirk she thought he was trying to hide. Unless it was a small snarl of disgust. The crew of Sifa had so far made little effort to hide their disdain for the Drenchen matriarch in the next cabin. This will be the hardest part, Taba thought, reminding them that after all this time, we are all still Gelfling.

He left with incredible physical grace, gliding down the pitching, yawing passage, and Taba envied him as she struggled to sit at the table along with her companion.

“Some bodyguard I am,” he groused. “I’m afraid I’m going to be the first protector to lose his wards to mere water.”

She placed a hand on his arm, which was tensed as hard as rock in his attempts to stay in the vicinity of the table. He might have thought himself ineffectual, but it stilled her nerves to feel the strength coiled in his bulk. “But water, in large enough amount," she reminded him, "can be stronger than any force we can muster. We must accept that, and set sail with respect for it nonetheless.” She glanced up at the boards above her heard, where she could hear boots striding around, all doing their part to keep the ship afloat. “Maybe that’s a lesson I can remind Sea Mother of, when we finally get the chance to meet her.”

He placed his huge, potato-like fingers of his other hand on hers. She smiled. She had known for many years that he would be the one to take this journey with her. She had watched him from the time he was a young pod, noted the strange way he had grown, not far out of infancy before he began towering over his dirt-covered playmates. That was where he had learned how to use his strength and size tenderly, being able to gauge a situation and when his power would be needed, and when to hold it back. She remembered watching with the elders -- as well as his equally amused and bewildered mother -- as he tried to join in all the little ones' games, and the difficulty he had as he had grown to over twice their size. True to the Podlings' generous ways, however, he was never made to feel different, or excluded in any way. Taba hoped that he would eventually come to learn his unique responsibility to his people, the ways he could contribute, and that was part of the reason she had asked him to come with her on this journey.

Taba didn't need the ability to dreamfast with him to know what he was thinking about in that moment, in an unmoored room far away from home. "They're doing fine, Kolo," she said calmly, barely audible above the wave that were still crashing relentlessly all around them. "Your village stands as still as you left it."

He raised his head slowly, as if it were even heavier than it looked. "We know," he said in his native tongue. "We think that maybe we should never have left home at times like this. But we know that we must be brave." He must have been even more stressed than he appeared, reverting to the Podling form of speech that implied consensus on an opinion, even though he was alone here. Alone except for her.

"Could you sleep?" Taba asked him, knowing that she would not be able to, but maybe his extra bulk would keep him swaying smoothly enough in his hammock to guide him into slumber.

Kolo shrugged. "We suppose."

She stood before he was able, went around behind him and put her arms as far around him as she could. "The world needs this, Kolo. You'll see. There will be wonders." She couldn't see his face, but hoped he was smiling. She had said the same thing to him just before he accepted her request to join her on this journey.

*2*

The wind and waves lasted two more days, and then they seemed to drop off suddenly. It happened so quickly that Taba was expecting the ship to take another slide down the back side of a wave, but it never came. Until she opened the windows and dared to see it with her own eyes, she would have sworn that they were hovering perched at the very peak of yet another gigantic wave. When she finally confirmed with her eyes what her feet felt, she roused Kolo from his bunk and tugged his half-sleeping form toward the porthole.

"Look!" she cried.

When Kolo rubbed his eyes with his balled-up fists before leaning his eye to the port, she was suddenly reminded of how relatively young he was. This both made her want to protect him, and inwardly shudder at the thought that he was the one who was supposed to be protecting *her*.

"Beautiful..." he breathed, seeming to exhale all the tension in his muscles that he had been storing up for the last week. "The water-mountains have finally turned to gentle rolling hills!"

"Come on," she urged, "let's make ourselves presentable and get above board. I want to get Swamp Mother over to Sea Mother's ship as soon as we can. Before any of them have a chance to change their minds, and start sailing in the opposite direction."

They busied themselves gathering their belongings together from the corners they had been scattered into over the previous days, and even Kolo found himself almost tipping over as he leaned into expected waves that never came. Taba relished the simple act of running as she headed down the short hallway to Swamp Mother's cabin, helped her out of her mud bath, and got her as presentable as she could be for the meeting.

Taba knew that the Drenchen put little to no emphasis on physical appearance, which was probably best for them, but her previous efforts to get Swamp Mother to understand other clans' etiquette had been in vain. At least she could get Swamp Mother out of the mud and mostly brushed off before being seen by anyone else. She hoped her earthy smell, so out of place out here on the seas, could be brushed away with it.

Kolo came to the door to escort them to the main deck, and Taba could tell that his eagerness was only because the sooner the job was done, the sooner they could head back to land. He was followed closely by the ship's first mate and Captain Yurr, who Taba was glad to see was managing to regain his composure, even when all his senses were confronted by a Swamp Mother free of her native soil.

"Where is she?" Swamp Mother was asking, looking at the beings in the doorway is if expecting Sea Mother to be instantly delivered to her.

"We are pulling abreast now, Mother," Captain Yurr said, as cordial as he would have been with anyone else.

Swamp Mother visually shuddered, bringing her formidable form -- which carried almost as much bulk as Kolo -- around to gape at the first mate. "Don't tell me you expect me to jump ships -- Girl, quit messing at me!" She swatted lightly at Taba, who was still trying to brush the biggest clods of dirt from her dress. How the material held together after being mostly submerged in mud for the duration of the trip, Taba couldn't guess.

"Certainly not, that won't be necessary, Mother," the first mate said coolly, "Sea Mother is well accustomed to switching ships, and will gladly come over to speak with you." He flicked his gaze to Taba just for a moment, and she flashed him a grateful smile. She suspected that he was a little fascinated with her, and she would have to let him know that she appreciated the way he had cleverly reacted to Swamp Mother's outburst as if it had been a generous offer.

"Let's get you above boards, Mother," Taba insisted, taking her elbow and gesturing to the door. "I'm sure the two of you will have much to discuss."

"So you keep saying," Swamp Mother said as she began waddling toward the door, prompting the males to back up, making room for the pair to move out into the hallway. "But as I continue to tell you, she won't talk to me. I've been resolved that we'll go to our graves without really knowing the source of the rift between our tribes."

"Perhaps that's a mystery we'll discover the answer to today," Taba said, hoping that it was so. It was the reason she had decided to entreat with these two Mothers first. The feud between the Sifa and Drenchen clans, she suspected, had gone on for so long that neither side knew what it had been about, or who had originally been at fault.

She noted that Swamp Mother had never taken off her gloves. They were caked with mossy grime and soaked with mud. She hoped the fact that they had come so far across open water would impress Sea Mother, but there was also the possibility she might not take notice. After all, Sea Mother herself thought nothing of making a week-long journey through storms.

"Are we ready?" Taba asked, eager to get the proceedings underway.

The first mate nodded, and led the way. Kolo let Swamp Mother pass, Taba guiding her by the elbow, under the guise of helping steady her in the gently-rolling boat, but more to make sure she went through with the task ahead. Taba heard him turn and follow, his heavy feet tromping evenly on the boards. The sound actually comforted her, made her a little less nervous.

After all, what she was attempting had never been done before. It had been many trine since any of the clans had communicated directly, much less come to any sort of truce, and what she was now proposing was even more audacious than that. She shook her head; she couldn't let herself think that far ahead, or she would become overwhelmed.

The band of four stepped up and out onto the deck of the ship, where Taba was fully assaulted by the sea. The suns were suddenly too bright, the smell of salt the only thing her nose could detect. As impressed as Taba had been with the size and bearing of the ship when she had approached it at the dock, it seemed like an entirely different vessel now, with many planks and rigging keeping it twinned alongside Sea Mother's ship. Combined, the boats had an even more profound sense of enormity. They even altered the sound of the waves, turning it into loud, random slaps and smacks as they slammed up against the twinned hulls, finding sudden resistance to their power.

Swamp Mother put her hand over Taba's and held on more tightly. Taba understood. The Drenchen lived in boggy areas, and coming to a place that had no thick vegetation between her and the horizon was entirely outside her experience.

While she had hoped that the open air would make her feel less vertiginous, watching the way the shadows of the masts sway actually made Taba's feet even more unsteady. She felt both crews' eyes on them as they walked across the deck, passing in and out of the complicated patterns of shadow as the suns' light was filtered down through the ropes and masts. There were Gelfling high in the rigging, lining every rail that lined the open central area of the desk, waiting in hushed reverence for the Sea Mother's presence. Taba hoped that Swamp Mother thought the silence was for her; she knew, however, that it was actually their leader's imminent appearance that was keeping their disgust for the Drenchen at bay. The interlopers were merely being tolerated.

It was true: the Drenchen were coarser, heavier and less concerned with cleanliness than the Sifa, for living in swamps held a certain futility to those attitudes. But Taba had since learned that it was all a matter of perspective; the Drenchen had more in common with the Pod People when it came to the need of feeling close to the body of Thra. Kolo, even at his young age, had helped her to see that. Living in mud, to a Drenchen, was a sybmbol of that connection, whereas the Sifa, spending all their mortal time next to or on the living ocean, felt very differently.

Taba's hand refrained from shaking only because it was holding Swamp Mother's elbow, and Taba tried to hold both Drenchen and Sifa worldviews in her mind as she drew Swamp Mother toward the meeting place at the center of the deck. It was the only way this meeting was going to come to any fruitful end.

Taba's eyes swept up again, to the paired, elegant curves of the sailing vessels that had drawn abreast, and been lashed together so expertly that they seemed to have been designed as one. A preternatural quiet had descended, as the band of three land-lifers (they had consistently been called that, and Taba had no issue being considered so) moved across the suns-bright deck, toward the widest gangplank, which had been laid across the exact center of both ships' siderails. Its edges were lined with the mingled Sifa crew of both vessels, forming a path that Sea Mother would proceed across.

When she appeared, she came into view suddenly, rising above the stairs on the far end of the gangplank. Taba and Kolo both gasped despite themselves. She was radiant, stately, and tall, clothed in robes a deeper blue than even the sea could hope to be. A tiara that appeared to be made of shaped and polished sea coral lay across her brow, which was lined but still unbowed.

She stepped across easily, her feet not even seeming to notice the slight difference in pitch of the boats that slightly twisted the plank in an erratic rhythm. She came down the steps on Taba's side just as elegantly. She could easily see why this woman had been chosen to be the Sifa's matriarch. She just as easily could have been a prow carving brought to life. Taba suddenly felt shabby standing next to Swamp Mother, even as she knew that this was a vain distinction. These women were equals in the eyes of their respective Gelfling tribes, no matter what their subjects thought of the other.

"Many waves have gone by," Sea Mother said, loud enough so all could hear, "since we have seen each other, Mother."

"Indeed," Swamp Mother snuffled. "Much less gray and wrinkles, we both had then, Mother."

This made Sea Mother smile, and Taba could feel the crews of both ships hesitantly relaxing around them. If any had thought this would be a hostile confrontation, they had no reason to fear. At least not yet. But the crux of the matter was yet to be stated.

Sea Mother's eye turned to Taba. "And who are your young companions?" she asked.

Taba was about to answer for herself, but Swamp Mother beat her to it. "This young member of the Woodland Tribe is Taba." She turned slightly to acknowledge the Podling behind her. "And this is our escort, Kolobanagulonomanun, of the Pod People."

Taba spoke up then, "We have traveled many waves bringing Swamp Mother to you for a purpose, Sea Mother."

"I do not doubt it," Sea Mother said.

"Hear her well, Sea Mother," Swamp Mother said. "A Drenchen does not undertake a sea voyage lightly. That is, when they see it necessary to undertake them at all."

At this, a slight chuckle came from the first mate, and Taba noted that it did not hold a note of derision to it, nor did he attempt to stifle it. She met his eyes and gave him a slight smile, which he returned.

Swamp Mother continued, "This young Gelfling has a message that I thought we all should listen to." She said this in a raised voice that gave the surrounding crews a sense of command she could muster, the tone that made her a powerful Mother.

"Then speak, young Taba," Sea Mother said, her face placid but her eyes sparkling. "The Sea listens." It was an old saying, the meaning clear.

Taba began cautiously, "Our world is changing, Sea Mother. For generations we have all prospered under the benevolent rule of the Skeksis, but we have also noticed how they have recently begun to draw away. This has made it all the more obvious how fragmented our people are, isolated within their tribes, with mistrust growing and old rivalries rekindled."

She took note of the way the Mothers watched each other as she spoke. At the mention of rivalries, they both took pains to show how relaxed they were, shifting and turning slightly to fully face each other, as if refusing to admit that they were part of the problem.

Taba continued, "If things continue the way they are, there will come a day when Gelfling will have to govern themselves, with little or no help from the Skeksis."

Sea Mother raised her hand a bit. "Forgive, young Taba, but we Sifa have little need for Skeksis as it is. We spend our days at sea, a place that they clearly have no wish to go. What do we stand to benefit from a new alliance with the Drenchen?" She was a bit too hasty to add, "Not that we still do not have an old, long-standing one." Swamp Mother nodded in agreement, although they must have known, as Taba did, that the clans had barely made contact with each other in more than many trine.

"What you shall benefit is trade," Taba explained. "There are many Drenchen ports that have fallen into disrepair, and could open new avenues for you both." When they both seemed unsure, she said, "Sea Mother, would you not want to construct not just keels, but entire new vessels from the Swamps of Sog's thanot trees? And Swamp Mother, imagine the prosperity for your people in the needed work to revitalize the ports? I can imagine wide tracts of swamps that could be cleared to allow Sifa ships far inland, along the way bringing the goods of all lands of the Silver Sea and picking up food and materials that can only be grown inland, giving the Sifa the ability to stay even longer asea..." She let her voice trail off, hoping that the Mothers would fill in the silence with their own hopes and dreams.

It was a long moment indeed until Sea Mother said, "And under whose authority do you broker this new alliance, Woodland one? And what do your people stand to profit?"

This would be the tricky part, Taba thought. "We would profit nothing, and I am under no authority than my own, Mother," she said. "I only wish to see the Gelfling reunited. As I have said, one day the Skeksis will have retreated fully into the Castle of the Crystal. They were immeasurably old when my grandfather was a boy, and they appear to be showing their age even more now. When the day comes that they no longer direct the courses of our society, I think we should all be able to provide for ourselves, don't you?"

They both still looked unsure. It was Swamp Mother who spoke, suddenly turning to address her. "What assurance do you have that the Skeksis are close to withdrawing from our lives? I have not gotten a satisfactory answer this, through all our travels together. Your argument seems to hinge on this, and yet we have no evidence. It seems that what has fueled our quest is your romantic idea that the Gelfling should put aside their histories and begin anew. You are still too young to know that this is sometimes impossible." Taba didn't like the way Swamp Mother arm was stiffening under her touch.

"Indeed," Sea Mother agreed. "The legacy of many generations is what you are asking us to put aside, all on the promise of some vague future gain."

Swamp Mother cocked an eye back at Sea Mother, and snorted in an amused way. "Hmph. Seems we are in agreement on that, at least."

Taba felt the situation spiraling away from her. She looked to Kolo, who seemed just as bewildered. Had she come all this way, to make these rivals agree only on the point that they did not wish to put aside their old grievances?

"And yet," Swamp Mother said, "there is something to be said for old troubles observed through a fresh eye. To whose benefit is it for us to perpetuate the squabbles of our mothers? Not they, for they are long gone. Not our children, for we put them in danger of conflicts they have even less hope of understanding."

Sea Mother was looking at Swamp Mother with an increasingly wary eye.

"Perhaps," the Drenchen continued, in a louder voice that must have carried to the Gelfling perched highest in the rigging of the combined ships, "all three times, past, present and future, are both served best by what this young Woodlander suggests." With this, she raised her hands, and slid the dirt-caked glove off of one of them.

The reaction from the crews of both vessels was instantaneous. A sudden hiss of mingled surprise and stifled revulsion came from every Gelfling present, and hands fell to sword hilts reflexively. A few weapons even made it partway out from leather sheaths in the time it took Kolo to leap between Swamp Mother and spread his tree-trunk arms out, trying to offer her protection in the direction of the largest concentration of Sifa.

Swamp Mother was unfazed, and kept her bare hand extended, even though Sea Mother could not see it behind Kolo's bulk. "We have found today that we agree on one thing," she said calmly, but still loudly enough to be heard by all. "Shall we see if we perhaps agree on more?"

Taba looked around, unable to fathom how quickly the situation had deteriorated. This isn't how she had pictured it at all. Her eyes fell across her ship's first mate, who had continued to remain silent. He only had one foot half a step in front of the other, his hand resting easily on his belt, but she knew from his stance that he was tensed, ready to jump into the fray on an instant's notice. It was this that calmed her most of all, because of the way his glittering eyes were fixed on her. He's prepared to defend *me*, she thought.

This thought made her a little braver, and she slowly raised a hand to lay on her bodyguard's arm. The muscles there were as hard and tensed as the ropes that kept the boats lashed together. "Kolo," she said, "please. Step away."

He looked at her, his marble-like podling eyes fearful. She nodded the slightest bit in assurance, and she felt his arms start to relax. He allowed himself to be led out of the charged space between the two Mothers, but she noted that the crews did not similarly relax.

Now all that stood between the Mothers was Swamp Mother's hand, cooly pale and clean, extended toward her counterpart. "Come, Sister Mother," she said. "Let us see if was can reach an accord. Dream with me."

Sea Mother had not moved an inch since the glove had come off, and even now the smooth, suns-worn lines of her elderly face were unreadable. Everyone knew the weight of Swamp Mother's request. If the two of them touched unclad hands, they would begin the dreamfast, in which they would psychically learn the stories of each other's lives in one intense, shared vision.

All knew what this meant for the mingled futures of their tribes. It was nearly impossible for two Gelfling bonded in this way to be able to hold grudges against each other. It was what Taba had hoped for; knowledge of another's cares and woes made their opponent's character at least understandable, and at best, dear.

Swamp Mother still hadn't moved. Her hands remained, neatly gloved, at her sides, partially hidden by the folds of her robes. "You would see me refuse, would you? You'd have my crews see their Mother spurn the friendly advance of a fellow Gelfling, even one from a clan as removed from our own as the Drenchen?"

Taba was holding her breath. She knew this was true, and it was why she had made this envoy first of all. If she could broach a deal between the Drenchen and Sifa, wouldn't she be able to unite all the clans? Could her far-flung dreams actually come to fruition?

"A crafty ploy," Sea Mother said, although to those closest, perhaps a slight upturning of the corners of her mouth could be observed. "And yet."

A shocked gasp went up from the mingled crews -- and Taba almost swore she heard one voice, from high in the rigging, cry out "No!" -- when Sea Mother sharply, decisively raised her hands and snapped off her own right glove, turning it inside out in the process. Never taking her eyes away from Swamp Mother's, she extended her hand in like fashion, taking care to present it entirely tipped to the side, her thumb pointing to the sky at the same angle as Swamp Mother's. Taba knew this was a symbol of mutual respect, so neither's hand would be underneath the other's.

Their palms met, and both Mothers' eyes rolled shut. No sound could be heard once the bond was made, fingers of entirely different shades clasping together. Even the waves seemed to understand the enormity of the situation and stilled their incessant slapping against the keels. Taba stood, feeling Kolo nervously shift from one foot to the other, while the Mothers stood as still as statues. On the inside, she knew, they were learning everything there was to know about each other, a two-way flood of images, sounds, smells, entire volumes of the stories of their lives pouring into each other. Just getting them to take this step was huge, but Taba knew the true test would come when all eyes were open and the moment of magic had passed.

When that moment came, the Mothers' hands separated as symmetrically as if they had the same owner. Their eyelids lifted in unison, and they saw each other in the light of new knowledge.

The next moment felt like it drew out forever. Taba didn't know what was going to happen next, until she saw the corners of Sea Mother's lips turn up in a heart-winning smile.

*3*

The crews had joined for a meal after the meeting. Huge steaming pots had been brought up from both galleys, and instead of fish stews, they had all been treated to a mix of meat and vegetables, thick enough to be rolled up in wide, flat leaves and devoured. To Taba, it was the most delicious thing she had ever tasted. She knew it was only because her tongue had been almost numb with sickness all through the turbulent onset of the voyage, but knowing the reason did not diminish her enjoyment.

She looked over to where the Mothers were sitting together, sharing more laughs than bites of their lunches. That, along with the sight of Kolo leaning back against the main mast, piling leaf after leaf into his mouth, made her have to keep herself from laughing giddily. She looked up at the men mingling, ranged across the main desk of both ship. They sat in groups, sharing tales of their voyages, and she could only wonder if their newly-forged alliance with the Drenchen made them as hopeful as she was. She wondered how much time was left before Gelfling of different clans would do the same, noticing their identity instead of seeing differences. At that moment, she felt strong, ready for however long the road ahead of her turned out to be.

Her eyes turned out to the horizon, where all three suns were visible, hovering various distances above the water. They blazed even brighter now that the storm had moved on, and her eyes automatically turned to Rose Sun, as they always seemed to when she had a choice of which to regard. It had always seemed like a balancing force between the yellow Great Sun and the violet Dying Sun. Her mother had always said the Rose Sun called to her because of her nature, the power that kept Great Sun from pulling the Universe down on itself, and kept Dying Sun spinning through the sky like a dancer.

She found herself trying to hold onto that moment's sense of harmony, knowing that she would need it in the times to come, much as her tongue would need to remember the taste of her meal to sustain her back to dry land. At the same time, she felt as if she needed for nothing, only the knowledge that the joy felt on this ship on this bright post-storm evening was her doing.

--

That night, Taba left Kolo in his hammock to snore through what must have been the best night's sleep he had gotten since they set sail. The sea, as if somehow knowing the new accord that had been forged that day, decided to take a night off, allowing the newly separated ships to take their new headings on entirely placid surfaces, only a light breeze filling the sails. Taba leaned into the wind as she stood at the side rail, just where Sea Mother's planks had delivered the Sifa queen to the ship's deck earlier in the day.

She only realized that she was not alone on the deck when a pair of pale hands came to rest on the railing next to hers. Turning with a start, she found herself looking into the eyes of the first mate. In the dimness, she could not read his expression. Did he come to confront her? She had hoped the crew would not take her actions as a means to diminish Sea Mother in any way. Was he here to voice his dissatisfaction?

"You did it," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice. Not only that, but she could see the way the moonlight reflecting off the shimmering water made his eyes sparkle in the bemused way they had earlier that day.

"I suppose I did," she said, relaxing. "But it's only a first step."

"Toward what?" he asked.

"My dream," she said, turning to look back out across the water. In the darkness, she couldn't tell exactly where the water and sky met, making her half-believe that the sea went on forever, into the outer darkness and beyond. She sighed, drinking in the beauty of this corner of Thra. She was constantly amazed by how the world seemed to know just what she needed, at every point of her life's journey, and offered it to her, whether it was the right vista at the right time, or a calm sea on the night her jangled nerves needed it most.

The first mate, having followed her gaze, leaned forward onto his elbows, pushing his face into the wind. "You wish to unite all clans, not just the Sifa and the Drenchen."

"That's right," she said. "I believe we need each other more than we think. Do you disagree with me?" she asked, almost fearfully.

"Not necessarily," he responded. "I myself have never seen a Skeksis in the flesh, but then I've been asea most of my life. It said that they were never young, so perhaps you are right when you say we should prepare for when we must govern ourselves without their counsel."

"I'm glad," she said, for his agreement and also for the fact that the darkness hid her blush from him. Why did she feel so strange around this Sifa, whose name she didn't even know?

"Still," he mused, still following her gaze toward the weird lights playing at the horizon, "you plan for a future that will not be seen until our grandchildren's age, most likely." Her invisible cheeks deepened even further. "There was one thing I think you didn't tell the entire truth about earlier."

"What's that?" She would not turn to meet his eyes, she would not turn...

"Your reason for this mission. You said it was for no gain of your own. While I sense the truth of that on the surface, I think there's more underneath."

Even though she knew she could easily hide in the night's shadows, there was something in the first mate's voice that made her not want to. In fact, she was considering something she never would have before today...

He was the one to suggest it first. "If you wish..." He hesitated, then pressed on with tangible fortitude. "It has been a day for dreamfasting, after all."

She seriously considered it for a moment. She almost accepted his offer, here sailing on calm seas in ivory moonlight, but then her eyes glimpsed those orangey lights far out on the sea. "I'm sorry," she breathed. "Today we witnessed a meeting that has not occurred in so many trine. The waters we pass through are unknown. Perhaps now is the time to proceed cautiously." That wasn't the whole truth, but close enough to it. It was true that there had been no reported dreamfasting between any members of different tribes, much less between Mothers, in longer than anyone could remember.

"I see," he said. His hands left the railing of the ship.

"I mean no offense," she quickly replied. "I will tell you some of my reason, at least as much as I can comfortably say aloud."

"I ask no explanation," he said. He had right to be frustrated or angry, but he didn't.

She turned away from the horizon to look at him. Her eyes had adjusted so fully that she could see him almost as clearly as she had on this same deck at noon. "I give it freely," she said. "My family has a long history, one that was not always proud. What I seek to do by uniting the clans is to right a wrong that was done long ago." She could only hope that he understood how hard it was for her to divulge even that much. But he continued to smile at her and for some reason that made the words come easier. "The world, the way it is now, all split and wounded, is something that an ancestor of mine felt he was responsible for. I've grown to take that burden on myself, and want to repair what I can."

"Then today must have been a large step toward that goal," the first mate said, "not one that many Gelfling would have been able to carry through, regardless of their clan."

At that moment, she wanted to take his hand, to know everything there was to know about him, and be known in return. But she paused, afraid. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken with someone like this, with whom she felt she could say anything and not be harshly judged. Was it because of him, or the fact that she didn't even know his name, and would likely never see him again once she was back on land? Earlier that day, they had both witnessed a bond forged forever by the joining of hands. Doing the same thing, in these very different circumstances, seemed wrong somehow. That, ultimately, was what prevented her from taking his hand, and the day would come when she would bitterly regret the way her decision had pivoted on her fear.

"I should get below deck," Taba said, self-consciously brushing the wind-strewn hair from her face.

"Perhaps," he said. "The night is colder than I expected. But if you find yourself unable to sleep, the watch is mine. Feel free to return."

She nodded, said a hurried goodnight and walked back to her cabin. It wasn't until she and Kolo were on the pier, waiting for Swamp Mother and their packs to be unloaded from the ship, that she related part of the story to him, more as a way of unburdening herself of it unfulfilled promise. But Kolo's response only made her feel worse: "First mates don't take watches on ships of this size, Taba."

She sighed, looked back toward the ship to see if she could catch sight of him. But then the time came to turn away from the sea, and she left herself without sight of him, as she had left herself without his name.

The Dark Crystal, as a film, resonates so deeply with those who experience it because of its central theme of healing. Jen lives in a world that he comes to realize he barely understands, and is given the task of solving a problem that he did not create, with tools that he doesn't know how to use. I think many people feel this way when faced with the trials of everyday life.

The world of Thra affords us the opportunity to tell the hero/heroine's journey across a vast canvas, one that has been populated and filigreed by the most inventive imaginations of the twentieth century. It has also been largely unexplored, which I why I think it's time to tell a story that is part quest, part travelogue, and part underpinning to the existing Thra mythology.

This is where Taba comes in. As you may have inferred from the preliminary chapters presented here, she is the sole descendant of Gyr, the wayfaring Gelfling who felt responsible for the rift that caused the UrSkeks to split at the time of the last Great Conjunction. He never was able to atone for what he did, but he passed the burden down to his children, and on to theirs, until only Taba was left to carry it. She takes this seriously, and after years of trying to work behind the scenes to mend the rift between the scattered Gelfling clans, has now taken it upon herself to bring the Mothers together, in whatever combinations she can facilitate, and get them to dreamfast, which she hopes will cause the old animosities -- and old psychological walls -- to come down.

Taba doesn't undertake this journey alone. Having grown up alongside the Pod People (a link that her many-times-great grandmother shared, and endured through the generations) she has a close friend in Kolo. Having grown up unusually large and strong among his smaller brethren, he has had to learn to not only reign in his strength and move carefully, but he must be very aware and thoughtful at all times of his surroundings. Because of this, Taba sees a great ally in him, along with their deep source of friendship. He is potential incarnate, in her eyes, and she wants to get him out of his village and into a world that needs his strength.

On their journey, they'll travel from the depths of the Cave of Obscurity to the vast expanse of the Crystal Sea, from the forests of the Woodland clan to the Crystal Palace, where they'll find -- by way of a shadowy figure that follows them as they journey across their world -- that the Skeksis might not the benevolent leaders they appear to be.

All this leads toward the Gelfling Gathering and the creation of the Wall of Destiny, which Taba and Kolo will be able to witness firsthand, being instrumental to ensuring the first meeting of the Gelfling Mothers for many hundreds of trine.

In doing so, Taba manages to fulfill the task that her ancestor unknowingly set before her, that of uniting the Gelfling clans. Kolo comes into his own, as well, finding his place in a world that he has never felt truly at home in. During their journey they, as much as their people, and their world, will take their first steps to becoming whole.

Saturday, March 15, 2014

Them Ol’ Singularity Blues

My work computer just got upgraded. I've moved out of the realm of Windows XP and am fully upgraded to Windows 7 (yeah, I know). I also have a second monitor now, which I've never worked with before. It's started me wondering if I should put the analytical stuff (like spreadsheets) on the left screen and more creative stuff (composing emails, creating formulas) on the right, just so they come into alignment with the appropriate sides of my brain. Or maybe it's the other way around.

I can see an appreciable increase in speed, too. This must be a significantly more fiery brand of processor I'm dealing with. It's got me thinking about Ray Kurzweil's prediction of The Singularity, the point in time when computers are able to make as many computations per second as the human mind. In his theory, computers will then begin to advance beyond human thought, becoming more and more superior to us and eventually taking over to become the dominant life force on the planet. This has been quoted as having an 80% likelihood of happening before 2017. Whether the computers will then keep us around as organic power sources (like in The Matrix) or decide that we're a threat and kill us off (like Skynet in the Terminator movies) remains to be seen.

At the root of this theory is the question: if you make a computer as powerful as the human mind, will it act the same as a human mind? At first I didn't see how we could ever compete with a computer than could outpace us thought-wise. We now have computers that can play chess and perform surgery better than us -- what's to stop them from overtaking us in all other areas as well?

I think I've finally arrived at my answer, and it stems from something I thought about as a child. Back when computers only displayed the color green and were the size of a microwave, I thought of a way that a person might make an intelligent computer. All it would take, I reckoned, would be for someone to input the entire contents of a dictionary, with instructions for the computer to take any word it didn't understand and look it up. Any word in the definition that wasn't understood could also be looked up... and so on. In my kid mind, I figured this would make the computer able to comprehend anything it was told.

What I didn't realize until much later is that this process won't result in any kind of comprehension. All you'll get is a computer chasing its tail in an infinite loop, eternally referencing an exponentially-growing list of words. And here is where I base my argument against Kurzweil, and declare that computers will never be able to supplant the human mind.

We spend so much time marveling at what computers can do -- we carry more computing power in our pockets that all of NASA had when they did the moon launches in the '60s. They can tell us exactly where we are in the world at any moment, can extrapolate incredibly complex patterns far into the future and far into the past. They can design equations and forms more complex and efficient than we ever could. But let me talk about what computers *can't* do...

It boils down to just one thing. Computers can't know what it's like to be human. The more I learn about being a sentient being, the more I realize how unique an experience it really is. And having said that, it's the one thing that we share with every other person on the planet. We all know what it's like to be an individual but still part of different levels of connection to others, and share a common experience in being run by basically the same physical and mental rules.

Creation of a computer that can emulate a human mind means, first and foremost, that we can understand the human mind thoroughly enough to program one. Frankly, I don't think we're ever going to be able to do that. We're getting closer all the time, of course, but reaching the day when we fully understand the infinitely complex interplay of genetics, psychology, and biological chemistry that make a person recognizable as a person? I don't see it happening anytime soon.

How could a computer ever learn to associate the feel of grass on the soles of the feet to the carefree happiness of childhood? Or on the flip side, how could a computer ever figure out how to equate the absence of light to a desperate feeling of terror that's born out of no logical reason (by which I mean, fear of the dark)? So many things that humans do, norms we've adapted, can be traced back to origins that no longer apply to us. Take that fear of the dark, for instance. Humans tend to limit their societally-meaningful activities to certain hours (i.e. daytime), simply because certain wavelengths of light are more prevalent then, which goes back to a time when you had to be able to see reliably when hunting and gathering, and not get hunted and gathered yourself in the process. A computer could follow these rules, but would never be able to understand them. If we are ever going to take the threat of computers matching and maybe surpassing us seriously, we have to assume that at some point they're going to have to fundamentally comprehend how to feel like a human.

And frankly, they just can't do that. Ever since we were born, each one of us has been soaking up human experience, making associations, drawing connections, making intuitive leaps of logic that work outside of language. For example, a person who writes a song is drawing on a lifetime of experience of listening to music, the rules that they have learned about how it's done (and when to break those rules), and creating emotional associations to thousands of pieces of music, based on where they were when they heard them, who they recall being with, and all the emotional circumstances around it. Again, a computer can be told that major keys are "happier" than minor chords, but they can't *feel* it. And that's only one of what must be thousands of little routines and subroutines that go off in our heads when we hear music. Most of which we aren't even conscious of.

The other part is chemical reinforcement. Think about something that you're good at, something you understand on a fundamental level. It's probably because you feel good when you think about it, or some kind of enjoyment you get from finding things out about it. You're passionate about it... but how do you program passion? You've got to admit that there's a level of expertise a person who really cares about a subject has, that a person who simply knows everything there is to know about it doesn't.

And aside from programming passion, assuming that we can understand and emulate such things in computer code, what else is going on in our heads that we don't even realize yet? When the field of neuroscience is entirely depleted, then we might have a shot at writing a computer program that can faithfully recreate it.

Here I'm going to make an assertion that everything we humans do that isn't physically keeping us alive... is art. And by that I mean the most fundamental definition of art: taking an idea and manifesting it in the real world. Seen in this light, everything is art. The tools we use, the things we make, even ideological structures like politics and religion. It's all art. And human-created art only means something to other humans. Because the only reason you and I can both appreciate or utilize the same kind of art is that we have the human experience to inform it, and not only make it comprehensible, but to make it worth comprehending.

The only truly computer that could ever hope to surpass a human would be one that doesn't even know it's a computer. Unless you have been born, grown and matured as a human, humanity is only an abstract concept. And that's something that no computer can ever understand. Then again, Kurzweil's whole desire to replicate a human mind in a computer is so that we can download the entire contents of our mind into one and live eternally, if virtually. But then, how long would you live this way before you lost your humanness?

Saturday, March 8, 2014

The Reality of the Reality

One of the things I've learned from writing this blog -- and especially in trying to keep the pace of one article a week -- is that when you find the same idea coming at you from several different angles, it's best to give up looking for a new subject and delve into what's been presented to you. I've never been a big believer in synchronicity -- I think there are vastly more coincidences that almost happen than those that do -- but sometimes stuff just lines up, and it's best to pay attention when it does. This week has been a stronger example than usual.

My playlist at work contains a lot of podshows, so while I'm crunching numbers and interweaving Excel formulas, I also have a constant stream of stories and facts running through my head. This arrangement of programs -- which include NPR's Fresh Air, Cracked, Nerdist, Love & Radio, Snap Judgment, The Sound of Plaid, and Radiolab, among others -- have this week conspired to talk about how the world around us, and reality itself, is dictated by the attitude we bring to it.

For a while now, I have been stumbling across references to the idea that our consciousness somehow shapes the reality we see and feel. Not just our perception of it, but reality itself. I first came across the idea years ago with the work of theoretical physicist Brian Greene, who revealed to me that the Universe is a pretty ambiguous place. Energy, particles and waves are constantly interchanging, never really deciding where they are or where they're going until someone pays attention. As weird as it is to think about, it's been experimentally proven that you can make light behave differently just by checking on what it's doing.

On a seemingly unrelated subject, I've been hearing a lot about the color blue... specifically, how people didn't really decide that it was a color until recently, historically speaking. If you go back into ancient writings as current as Homer, you'll find that he did use color to describe things, but never the color blue, even when he was talking about the sky or the ocean. This happens across all cultures, apparently; first they name the colors of red and yellow, and not until they've defined all the other colors do they entertain the concept of blue. And thus, until then they don't even notice it exists. I recently learned that Russians, who have more words than we do for the color blue, can *see* more blues than we English-speakers do. They actually can tell finer differences between shades. Our mental definition of something defines our reality.

Then there's the hearing-impaired population of Columbia. When the government first started sponsoring state-run schools for the deaf, the students created their own homegrown version of sign language. As the system got more complicated and intricate over the years, they found that the students actually started thinking more and more elaborate thoughts. They weren't just getting better at signing, they were getting better at *thinking*. The two skills developed in tandem.

So already you can see how developments in language and rational thought seem to move in some weird sort of parallel. Next there's the case of Jill Bolte Taylor, who had a massive stroke and took eight years regaining full control of her mind. She writes in her book "My Stroke of Insight" about how her stroke not only knocked out a lot of her language capabilities, but also her "inner voice", those strings of word-thoughts that start running through our heads the moment we first learn speech. She talks about what a blissful existence it was for a time, living quietly, being fully in the present all the time, to not even have words to separate herself from the world around her. When she put her hand down on a table, not being conscious of the labels "hand" or "table", she only saw the combined object as part of a continuum, like two waves rolling along on the ocean -- without language to differentiate them, it was pointless to try to determine where one ended and the other began.

And maybe that's the right way to look at the world, even if it's not the most practical. After all, the bodies that we inhabit aren't in any way permanent or static. In his book "What Technology Wants", tech writer Kevin Kelly calls our bodies a "river of atoms", turning over their component particles in entirety every few years. It's an exponentially higher version of the old question of whether a car that's had all its parts replaced is still the same car. Taken in this light, you can see how the way we choose to delineate items in the world -- for example, when the ceiling stops and changes direction it becomes a wall, my phone is fundamentally different from the table it sits on, you and I are completely separate entities -- limits the way we think about all these things, by putting them in isolating little boxes.

It seemed like all these bits of insight were leading me toward something greater, and it came together when I heard a quote from Genesis P-Orridge, founding member of industrial-music pioneers Throbbing Gristle. They said "Reality is as real as we allow it to be". Are you wondering why I used the pronoun "they" in that last sentence? Because he considers himself to be merely one half of a "pandrogyne", a single entity made up of himself and his late wife. This singular creature, they say, is represented in this world by Genesis and in the worlds that come after by his wife, Lady Jaye. Now, it might seem strange to think of a singular human in this pluralized way, but after hearing everything that I had already heard this week, my mind was more open than usual to considering his point of view. They (before the "she" part of them passed away) felt extremely close, shared astral projection experiences, and even underwent cosmetic surgeries to look more alike. It's a very strange and kind of beautiful love story, all driven by people who didn't let the idea of their physical and mental differentiation determine what they considered to be their shared identity.

Up until I heard that story on the podcast Love & Radio, whenever I heard about the impermeability of reality, it made me wonder whether it matters or not that our consciousness can change the physical character of the Universe. After all, we still live and die, still get sick and heal, still have to get up in the morning and go to work, still have to make sure the people we love are safe and have something to eat. Does it really matter that the Universe doesn't really decide what it's going to do until we notice it? Then along came the story of Genesis and Jaye, where two people actually worked to make their reality closer to what they wanted it to be, what they imagined it *should* be. Maybe I'm guilty of enabling reality to become all too real. Maybe we all are.

Saturday, March 1, 2014

To Prequel or Not To Prequel

Sometimes I like to play temporal games in my head. I'll think of something that, in my mind, didn't happen all that long ago, say the release of Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace (15 years ago), and see what was that old when it happened. I recently realized that when I do this at the premiere of the next promised Star Wars movie (2015), the distance between it, Return of the Jedi (1983) and The Phantom Menace (1999) will all be equidistant. It definitely shows how time gets skewed depending on what age you are. That's kind of how I decided it was time to consider once and for all what I think of the prequel trilogy and clear the decks for the upcoming Disney Era.

Let me state it up front: I'm not a prequel apologist, but for the most part I enjoy them. I know that a lot of people regard them as borderline sacrilegious. My wife, for one, refuses to watch them and finds the original films inviolable -- she doesn't even acknowledge the Episode IV, V, and VI designations. But a few years ago, we went to a concert featuring the music of all six films. It was narrated live by Anthony Daniels himself, and played by a full orchestra under a giant screen that played appropriate montages from the movies. On the way to the concert, just to give her some context, I summarized the story of the prequels for her, and was surprised that the story actually sounded better when summarized than shown in the films themselves. That's when it hit me that Lucas is a fantastic storyteller as far as subtext goes, but when he has to put character action and dialogue on top of it, that's when he falls down.

Ever since then, I keep turning back to the prequels, trying to appreciate them on a deeper level. I find that beyond all the silly side characters, lack of compelling new environments, wonky physics (using sound waves in space to break up asteroids?!?), and clunky dialogue, the underlying story not only holds up, but is shockingly subversive, especially the way the very concept of "good guys" and "bad guys" completely flips around with the execution of Order 66.

I actually feel bad for George Lucas. In his shoes, what would you think? You make movies that not only earn colossal amounts of money, but make incredible impacts on pop culture and society in general. At the same time, you are also barraged by both critics and fans saying that they're immature crap. I think that what Lucas tried to do with the Star Wars prequels was to give everyone everything that they thought they wanted. He simultaneously tried to tell the story he wanted to tell, and also wanted everyone to like it, in an almost openly insecure way. So it comes as no surprise that he didn't entirely succeed.

Let me clear a common misconception out of the way immediately -- Lucas didn't make the prequels for money. In the mid-90s, he didn't need to think about returning to the Star Wars well ever again. That was even more true than in the seventies; he had only been able to make the original film off the goodwill he had garnered from American Graffiti, he financed The Empire Strikes Back himself, and even Return of the Jedi being a blockbuster was hardly a sure thing when he was working through production complications -- it could have been ended up being directed by David Lynch and having Billy Dee Williams fully replacing Harrison Ford. If anything, it was the conversion of the towering Wookiees to the diminutive Ewoks (even the name is a reversal!) that was the most blatant merchandising cash grab. Plus, we're talking about one of the most philanthropic members of the entertainment industry. So saying that the prequels were fueled by any measure of greed just isn't true.

No, the reason Lucas went back, I think, is that he had been living with one of the iconic villains of cinema in his psyche for twenty years, and now thought to himself, "But how did Darth Vader get that way? *Why* is he so evil?" Honestly, it's a question that someone *should* ask themselves at fifty that they didn't think to ask at thirty... And so he tried his best to answer. At their heart, the prequel trilogy is a meditation on the nature of evil -- How does one decide to be evil? Do all villains truly believe they are doing the right thing?

One of the main complaints about the Star Wars prequels is that, in the sixteen years between trilogies, the fans had built the Expanded Universe (the overall canon composed of ancillary books, comics, and video games) that was much more adult and serious in tone than Lucas ever intended it to be. He's maintained since the beginning that the target audience of his movies is ten years old, and I'm sure he felt that he was just staying true to his original vision. Most of us, though, just thought -- somewhat unfairly -- that we were taking his creation more seriously than he was, and could "do" Star Wars better than he could.

Case in point: I recently read a debate about what the best order watch the movies when introduce newcomers to the series -- and fans with young kids think about this more than you'd think. Despite the fact that Lucas has voiced his intention that the films should be watched in "episode order"... first prequels, then the original films, I've often thought that I'd like to expose my daughter to them in the chronological order that I was... original trilogy, then prequels.

But the best solution I've heard is called The Machete Order, created by SW fan Rod Hilton. I assume he took that name from the fact that it omits Episode 1 entirely, a point that I'll talk about in a minute. The Machete Order runs thusly: the original Star Wars (aka A New Hope), The Empire Strikes Back, Attack of the Clones, Revenge of the Sith, Return of the Jedi. Taken this way, you get two films about Luke, two films about Anakin, and the final chapter that concludes both their stories. It's kind of shaping a new super-size trilogy out of the six, plus it preserves the best of the plot twists -- the true identity of Luke's father gets held suspended for over five hours of screen time! Plus, I personally love the revelation of who Yoda is in ESB, even though that ship has probably sailed for most kids. The Machete Order even adds extra drama, because right after seeing Anakin's fall to the dark side, you realize how much Luke looks and acts like he's doing the same thing at the beginning of ROTJ, all dressed in black and apparently willing to sacrifice his friends to further his own plans. The more I think about it, the more brilliant it gets.

It's the exclusion of Episode I that seems most radical, and actually makes the most sense. There's not a lot of plot carryover from that film into the rest of the prequel trilogy, and Lucas course-corrected based on fan reaction to the first movie by barely mentioning either midichlorians or Jar Jar Binks in the subsequent films. Not only that, but Anakin's jarring transition from innocent kid to surly, power-hungry teen is taken away. (And I never cared for the way that both Anakin and Jar Jar independently blunder their way into saving the day at the end.) Without Episode I the prequels are darker, full of ominous premonitions, death, and Anakin's awareness of his own power fueling his mounting fury at a universe that he can't wield control over.

Most of all, it takes care of the corner that Lucas had painted himself into with the prequels, which was that he had married himself to the idea of a trilogy right from the start. He didn't have enough story to stretch across them, so he was forced to throw droid factories and pod races at them until they filled out the needed time.

I think I've already made up my mind about how I'm going to show the movies to my daughter. The Machete Order it is! Episodes IV, V, II, III, then VI. And I think I'm going to go with the "non-Special Edition" of the original movie. Han should shoot first, and you shouldn't see Jabba the Hutt until his reveal in Return of the Jedi. But it will definitely be Special Editions for the others. Cloud City should look super-awesome instead of just regular awesome, and the Sarlacc should have a huge toothy beak. I'll even trade in "Lapti Nek" for "Jedi Rocks" if that means I don't have to sit through that horrible "Yub Nub" song that originally closed out the entire series. Yikes.

It seems that Star Wars is so deeply ingrained in our collective philosophy that we don't even understand what it means to us until it's presented imperfectly. The reason no one liked the idea of midichlorians is that it took away the possibility that *anyone* could become a Jedi with the right training. Heck, as a kid in the seventies, I half-believed that no matter how small or unassuming I seemed, I could lift an X-wing out of a swamp with my mind if I tried hard enough. Saying that Jedi were born special took that away, and Lucas was right to backpedal. He's always used the inherent power of myth to make compelling stories, and I think he's learning along with the rest of us that Star Wars is really a collective story. We know on an instinctive level what we want it to be, even if we don't immediately know how to articulate it. My hope is that he is training the next generation of storytellers what he's learned, and we'll continue to be enchanted for many years to come.

Saturday, February 22, 2014

Millennial US

Decades from now, when we look back at the economic collapse of the late 00's, I think we're going to realize that it was a turning point in our history. It's going to come to be looked at, not as a recession to bounce back from, but an essential restructuring that will change a lot about the way America is supposed to work.

In the back of my mind, I had been thinking since the early 90s that capitalism shouldn't work. Back when Borders was in its heyday of IPOs and stock splitting, when everything was blue skies and candy rainbows, I realized that the key to success in terms of American corporations was to grow continually, never slowing (and even increasing if you can manage it), doing more and more to keep the stockholders happy so they'll keep investing. It was apparent to me even then that this was an unsustainable pattern, but many people smarter than me about these sorts of things seemed fine with it. (Seth Meyers once had a joke that rang especially true with me: "When everyone's making money, no one examines the system because they're too busy saying 'WHEEE!'")

So what did Borders do to keep said investors happy? Expand internationally, opened more and more stores, spreading themselves thinner and thinner until an inevitable downturn in the market caused them not to be able to scale back fast enough, and the whole thing came crashing down. I think it really was a larger example of how most people live their lives: exist on credit under the assumption of never-ending income.

In any event, this was one case out of many. The crash has put America in a position of there suddenly being more able-bodied people than there are jobs. That doesn't seem like it's going to change anytime soon. Companies that downsize just learn to make do with less people -- even if Borders had completely bounced back, do you think they would have ballooned their staff back to its former levels? Of course not.

At the same time, there are more and more complaints about the "millennial generation", who are (to hear it told) are lazy, shiftless and spoiled -- which, you may remember, is how EVERY GENERATION SINCE THE BABY BOOMERS has been described, particularly by the generation that came before.

But here's the thing -- and let me talk about this by way of my own experience -- I recently went through a period of almost two years of unemployment. Now, during that time, I suppose I could have taken a minimum-wage job somewhere, but I put in the time and effort and looked for something in my field of expertise. And that wasn't just a matter of pride or vanity, but that to do so would have been a step down from the unemployment benefits that I was getting. Early on I did the math and realized that if I took a job that paid less than $13.50 with healthcare deductions (almost twice the current minimum wage), I would be actually bringing home less money and food for my family to live on.

This is why you'll never hear me complaining about benefits programs -- these "entitlements" you often hear Republicans complaining that the rest of us think we deserve. Thanks to these programs, my family was "entitled" to survive with comparatively minimal change -- we kept our home, ate three meals a day, and maintained our Internet connection so I could keep looking for jobs.

It's really a testament how great our country is that I could afford to take the time to look for the right job, rather than have to take the first thing I could get. And it's exactly this fact that is being brought against the millennials. They're not lazy and shiftless -- at least not any more so than the generations before them -- they're trying to find the best way to navigate in a business system that is actively working against them being able to get a decently-paying job. And they're being ridiculed for it.

The truth is, more members of today's society than ever before are starting at a baseline that was the end goal for most of human history... having a sanitary place to live, enough food to eat, and something to wear. Each generation seems to start off a little better off than the one before. And yet, we expect them to work just as hard, if not harder, to make more money to get more stuff.

Up until now, America has run on the continued accumulation of wealth. But as the cost of living decreases -- and rest assured that it is, a person with a full-time job can afford technology that would seem like a king's black magic to a person with a full-time job twenty years ago -- we should start asking ourselves what wealth gets us, exactly. And whether a person's value to society is equal to the amount of money they can pump back into it.

So can we really blame young folks if they can get by without dedicating themselves to a career that they really don't want -- and less and less really need? It seems as though we're moving toward a civilization where more people, instead of what they *have* to do, can do what they believe they *should* do, That's something I can definitely get behind.

The biggest problem America has had up until now is the power structure that has been in place. We can't change to alternative energy, too many jobs depend on the auto and gasoline industries! It's cheaper for the military to continue to produce tanks and planes than to close the plants! Well, we're closer now than ever before to the perfect time and place to make these kinds of fundamental changes.

Here's my proposal: privatize our infrastructure (and from here on out, bear in mind that I'm no student of finance or business, so it's entirely possible that I have no idea what I'm talking about.) As I understand it, private companies like Halliburton made billions of dollars providing ancillary supplies for the military during the wars of the last decade. I don't see a reason why similar companies can't take over supplying what we might need to build a smart power grid, or maintain our highways and replace aging bridges, or construct wind farms/solar panel fields/flood levees/nuclear plants so that we can reduce our carbon emissions and set an example for the rest of the world. Hell, with a healthy, competitive infrastructure-renovation industry, we could even branch out internationally and work toward getting the whole world up to code.

But it takes a change of mindset to put something this big into production. It needs people who aren't beholden to the way America has been run up until now. It takes someone with a new mindset, someone who hasn't already bought into the go-to-school-then-go-to-work-until-you-retire paradigm. Someone who, I don't know, might be seen as lazy and shiftless, but is really being afforded the opportunity to find new ways to work within and outside the current system.

See what I'm getting at here?

Saturday, February 15, 2014

The Longhair Chronicles

It started in my senior year of high school. Actually, if you take a look at my yearbook picture, you can start to tell by the way my hair seems to have a little extra anchorman-esque volume... that's because it's being swept back and tucked in, out of view of the camera lens. Earlier that year, I had made a decision to let my hair grow.

At the time, I didn't really think about why I had decided to do this... although I do remember that way back in my sophomore year -- before I found my home with the theater crowd -- I used to hang out with a small, strange group of guys at lunch. They would talk about the kung fu movie that had been on the previous Saturday night, the various exploratory expeditions they took into their neighborhood's storm drains, and seemed obsessed with accurately emulating the drawing style of six-year olds. I didn't really fit in with this crowd, but I didn't seem to fit in anywhere else anyway. The reason I hung out with them is merely that they seemed to accept me as one of their own. I did watch the Saturday night kung fu movie and had a working knowledge of Monty Python, but that was the only touchpoint I had with them. They contributed one lasting thing to my psyche, however, which was the nickname "The Man With the Flowing Hair". They must have dubbed me this because I was getting a little shaggy; then, as now, I didn't spend a lot of time thinking about how long it had been since my last haircut.

Later, at the end of my high school career, I made the conscious decision to stop cutting my hair. Perhaps I wanted to live up to the only nickname I ever had in high school, or (more likely) I knew that I was about to start moving into the next stage of my life, and was looking make some kind of radical change to mark the occasion.

It's not like I was the only guy around with long hair, of course. This was the tail end of the 80s, and long hair had been the hallmark of rock bands for quite a while. A change was starting, though. I seemed to notice it more as Metallica slowly moved from garage band into the mainstream... hair was changing from a moussed-up symbol of glam excess into a legitimate, serious statement, that rare form of rebellion that can actually be achieved with literally no effort.

I let my hair grow throughout that summer, and by the time I started attending U of M in the fall, it had officially reached the "awkward" stage. It wasn't quite long in the traditional sense of the word, but at least long enough to flip up at the ends, especially when it was humid. I had my student ID picture taken on a rainy day, and it looked like I had done the old 60s trick of using orange juice cans as rollers all around the bottom.

I might have stopped then, but if I was having any second thoughts about my hairstyle, it was dispelled by a fellow student in my freshman English class. His hair was uniformly long and awesome-looking, and it looked like it just grew that way, which I mistakenly thought would happen to mine if I just could get it long enough.

My choice of era to start growing my hair turned out to be fortuitous. In 1991 grunge swept in, making long hair stylish again, and I had a substantial headstart on guys who wanted to look more like Chris Cornell or Eddie Vedder. On a blustery winter day almost two years after I had started consciously growing it, I was walking through a passage between two university buildings, and a gust of wind blew my hair so that it got stuck in the corner of my mouth for the first time.

After that, I realized I wanted to give it some sort of shape instead of just letting it grow wild, so I decided to keep the front trimmed just enough to make it look like it was long and swept back. Here I made my second possibly mistaken assumption: that it wouldn't look like a mullet. That hairstyle had already been moved into mainstream consciousness by Mr. Billy Ray Cyrus, but hadn't yet become synonymous with "redneck". I don't think my choice of style went that far, but I was probably walking a dangerously fine line.

Nobody at home seemed to object to my choice, which in retrospect seems strange. I never heard a negative word from my parents, grandparents, or girlfriend. In fact, my younger brother took a stab at growing his out similarly, for a while. Maybe they knew better than I did that I was looking for a kind of handle for my identity. The beginning of college is a bewildering time for everyone, trying to find your bearings in a situation that is so alien (and alienating) than anything you've known before...

But through those college years, and even after, my long hair was my calling card. There were only one or two other guys in the Men's Glee Club (my only social circle) that had similarly long hair. I suppose it gave me a little boost of confidence when, standing along with up to sixty other identically-dressed men, I had something that made me somewhat unique.

I kept the hairstyle for over ten years, all the way up until the summer of 1999. I had been silently thinking about it for a week or two, when I turned to that girlfriend who had been so supportive and in the interim had become my wife, and said, "I think I'm ready to get rid of this." She made an appointment for me with her hairdresser, and I had it done. I didn't get it as short as I currently have it, but back to my high school length. It was another five years (and a little bit more thinning) before I switched to the length I have now.

Looking back at it now, I'm noticing how my hairstyle choice then actually fits into my current personal philosophy, which must have been forming back then even though I wasn't aware of it. In my search for a way to visually define myself, I was stating that I didn't think there was anything else particular noticeable about myself.

This philosophy has two seemingly contradictory sides: first, that every person is utterly, entirely unique; and second, that no one is particularly special. It's this second part that seems to go against the grain of everything we're taught in Western society, so let me see if I can explain my thoughts on it a little more fully... It's a given that each of us is an almost infinitely complex tapestry of genetics and experience. We're dropped into a particular time, a particular place, and particular circumstances that we have no choice about. And all things being equal, none of us holds a particularly privileged place in any of it.

Think of all the people in your life, spread out around you in a sort of bulls-eye pattern. Everyone's is different, but for example, say that closest to you is your family: kids, spouse, siblings, parents. Moving farther out are your closest friends, then an ever-widening circle of less familiar friends, acquaintances, ranging all the way out to people you might have spoken to once. Now consider that you are also represented somewhere in the patterns of everyone else in your pattern. It's this change from ego-centric to omni-centric thinking that should make you realize how peripheral you are in almost everyone's life but your own.

I'm not saying that as individuals we're unimportant. In fact, I'm saying that we're all equally important. When you stop thinking that other people are inherently better or worse than you, a whole raft of possibilities become open to you. 90% of what you think you can't do is actually within your reach. It's really just a matter of application, what you're willing to put yourself through to get there. The trick is finding your natural talents and following them.

I think this pursuit of something to physically distinguish themselves is really people looking to find their "thing", the hook that makes them easily recognizable. For some it's a particular profession, for others it's a pop cultural obsession, or in my case, a hairstyle. There's a comfort in knowing something definite in a mass of humanity that are all headed in different directions.

I really wasn't aware of an ulterior motive for letting my hair grow at the time, but clearly I had one. I thought I needed something to make me memorable, when really it was my thoughts and actions that I should have been focusing my attention on. It took ten years for me to have the confidence let go of that particular piece of vanity.

So, did it ultimately work for me? Did I really gain anything by growing out my hair? Well, the answer is yes and no. While I think I did garner a certain amount of confidence from it, I don't think there's one positive experience or personal connection that I made with anyone that was at all influenced by it. As we all should eventually learn, you're not defined by your defining characteristic.

Friday, February 7, 2014

Aaron's Top 10 Influential Albums

Lately I've seen folks on Facebook posting lists of their "ten most influential" albums. The idea is that you're supposed to not think about it too much, just scrape off what floats to the top of your mind when you think of your formative musical years. The stuff you loved, the stuff you know backwards and forwards, the stuff that turned you down a different musical path. But when I read my friends' posts, all it did was make me wonder how they came up with their lists... what made that album so special? And how did it affect what they listened to next? I figured I could do what I wanted my friends to do. I tried to figure out exactly *why* and *how* those albums informed my tastes in the years to come. So here we go -- and I put them in chronological order, because that's how it should be:

1. ABBA - Greatest Hits (1977). Current music was kind of lacking in the house I grew up in. My parents had a stack of pop 45s they had accumulated through the 50s and 60s, of course, but they hadn't really jumped onto the rock-LP bandwagon. Most of the full albums on the shelf had to justify their presence by being designed as longer-form works -- namely, classical music and Broadway musicals. Three notable exceptions to this were Neil Diamond, Barry Manilow, and ABBA. And while I make no apologies for my Fanilowism, what's really remained most fresh in my mind is the Swedish quartet that was once offered one *billion* dollars to mount a reunion tour (they declined, for some reason). I think the reason it does, is that it was a logical pop continuation of the full-orchestration trend that classical and musicals had already set me up for. An ABBA single is full of harmonies, wide washes of sound, and seemingly every instrument they happened to have lying around the studio. Few of their songs sound much alike, and it instilled in me a tendency to pay close attention to other style-hopping kitchen-sink-including artists (see: ELO, late-era Beatles, Jellyfish, Arcade Fire, Janelle Monae, and almost every other artist further down this list).

2. The Police - Synchronicity (1982). This was the first cassette that was bought when my brother got a boom box for his tenth birthday, and we conspired to take full control of our listening habits. "Every Breath You Take" was ubiquitous at the time, but I think I was more interested in the thrashier "Synchronicity II" and its accompanying apocalypse-of-garbage video. What we discovered, though, was a varied record of surreal randomness, bouncing from the obvious radio hits to the Middle-Eastern freakout of "Mother" and the the jazz-leaning "O My God". It was a gateway album for all manner of unapologetic weirdness that I loved during the 80s, and still try to seek out today.

3. Asia - Alpha (1983). For the first ten years of my pop musical education, MTV was the beginning and end. Even now, I'm stumbling across unknown (to me, anyway) aspects of what else was going on in music at the time. With this kind of televised tunnel vision, I was frequently exposed to musicians who had already enjoyed long, storied careers, but with no context I accepted them as just as new as everything else I was hearing. I had no idea who prog-rock titans such as Yes, King Crimson, and ELP were yet, much less that it had taken various members of those groups to form "supergroup" Asia. All I knew was that I loved their expansive sound, the way Geoff Downe's stacks of keyboards and Steve Howe's thrashy guitar sensibilities balanced and spun off of Carl Palmer's thundering drums. It all came together to sound gloriously *huge*. By the time I heard the orchestra come in at the end of their massive ballad "The Smile Has Left Your Eyes", I was sold. Talk to folks who knew me in high school, and you'll learn that this one rarely left the little cassette-holding pocket in the door of my Honda Civic. One of the best closing tracks ever, "Daylight", still gives me goosebumps.

4. Judas Priest - Defenders of the Faith (1984). If you're twelve and starting to learn about heavy metal, JP ain't a bad place to start. Following my predetermined M.O., their influence is due to the way they could fill an arena with sound (Two lead guitarists! *Two*!), but for the first time I also was fascinated with the edginess of the lyrics (single entendre "Eat Me Alive" and the chilly vampire-as-metaphor ode "Love Bites" come immediately to mind). This was the first album where I sat down, put the headphones on and actually tried to figure out how they were doing what they were doing, through repetitious study. Seriously, give me a tennis racket, and I can still air-hammer every one of those Downing/Tipton crossfire guitar solos.

5. Level 42 - World Machine (1985). I've already talked in a different blog entry about how I first came to hear Level 42, but looking back, I can now see that it also changed the way I listen to music, and by that I mean how I *physically* listen to music. Now, if you don't mind my setting the Wayback Machine a little, you'll recall that cassettes had two sides, and had to be flipped and rewound/fast-forwarded appropriately if you wanted to listen to something on the other side. The lead single, "Something About You" was the first track on side 1, but the tipping point of deciding to shell out the cash to buy the album came when I heard the first song on side 2, "Hot Water". So for a while after buying it, my brother or I would play "something About You", flip it over, rewind to the beginning of side 2, and listen to "Hot Water". Repeat ad nauseum. After a while, we'd get tired or distracted and let the tape roll farther and farther into the respective sides before turning it over, and that was when I found that the second songs on both sides were good, too. And then the thirds. And the fourths. To this day, I still feel that I've listened to the first track on this album about twice as many times as the last. But this process made me more inclined to look beyond what singles were being hyped, beyond the videos and into what I think are still referred to as "deep cuts". There's much more risk and reward, I found, in discovering things for yourself. It was the first little break in the headlock MTV had me in.

6. They Might Be Giants - Lincoln (1988). Ironically, it was MTV that made me fully realize that there was music out there that it wasn't telling me about. Late on Sunday nights, the show 120 Minutes would play "college radio" videos that wouldn't get played at any other time. It's where I saw XTC's "Dear God" for the first time (as outlined in another blog entry) and also where I discovered "Ana Ng", the opening track from TMBG's second album. The next day, I bought the cassette (I think I made a quick detour into a record store while Christmas caroling downtown with my high school choir) and listened. This album broke so many rules... there should be ten songs at most, not eighteen! Songs need to be around four minutes, not two (there's only one song that tops out at well over three)! Songs shouldn't take left turns and play bridges that seemed totally unrelated! In the span of 40 minutes, TMBG handed me sushi-proportioned bites of rock, jazz, samba, military marches, and even a Christmas song, thereby upending everything that seven years of televised pop indoctrination had drilled into me. I still love them for that.

7. XTC - Oranges and Lemons (1989). Everyone has that one album that defines their high school years, and this is mine. Even if it hadn't been the shared soundtrack of my and Amy's early relationship, I would still have been entranced by it. I listened to it so much that I haven't actually played it in years. I know it so thoroughly that I think I'd just end up listening to it on autopilot. Maybe if I put enough time between me and it, I can experience it somewhat anew when I finally return to wander across Andy Partridge's chrome-plated Technicolor soundscape. Until then, I can at least acknowledge how good it felt to find an album so finely tuned to my spirit. It's somewhat contradictory in its style, utterly cohesive in its variance, a surprisingly upbeat collection considering that it contains songs like "Here Comes President Kill Again" and "Cynical Days". Maybe that's because it's bookended by the psychedelic explosion of "The Garden of Earthly Delights" and the introspective, soaring "Chalkhills and Children". Both are songs that marvel at the breadth and depth of the world, but in totally different ways. Splattered everywhere in between is wordplay, immaculate production, and hooky songcraft. It's like all the music I heard in the 80s was leading up to this.

8. Fishbone - The Reality of My Surroundings (1991). It's hard to come up with a better album opening... a multiplied, distorted voice intones what I think is "We will save you now!", followed with a spinning guitar hook that keeps repeating over and over, picking up speed until it smashes into the opening riff of "Fight The Youth". You know you're listening to a great album when there just about every other track would also be an equally epic opener. Honestly, every song here (except the live, silly, and kind of icky "Babyhead") can do no wrong. It's political, it's celebratory, it's punk and gospel and thrash and funk and jazz all rolled into one sparkling package, albeit with sharp edges. Fishbone taught me something that I didn't realize through much of the formal, studio-pristine eighties... music that's fueled by exuberance and enthusiasm is *so* much better.

9. Prince - The Gold Experience (1995). Prince is magic. This we know. But when I take a look back over the advanced-to-expert level of completion I have of his music, this album stands out the tallest. Not bad, considering it was a contractually obligated release (and thus marked not under his given name, but his rebellious 0)+> symbol). With songs strung together by a loose concept of "The Dawn", which is apparently some kind of virtual reality jukebox, he dives headlong into his id-vs.-ego shenanigans with a shot of adrenaline he hadn't had since Diamonds and Pearls. He starts with the 1-2 punch of "P Control" and "Endorphinmachine", and doesn't let up much until the closing number "Gold", in which he takes the spirit of his excellent earlier song "The Cross" and cranks it up to 10. I could just write a list of why every song on this album is awesome, but I'll spare you. I'll just say that it could just as easily be called "The Human Experience", because it ranges from the profane to the sacred, from isolation to connectedness, and the whole time glows under its own power. This is what artists do when they buck the system and become beholden to no one but themselves.

10. Bjork - Homogenic (1999). There's something to be said for an artist who finally cracks the code of what their true voice should be, and you can actually hear that happening to Bjork here. It's appropriate that she opens the album with "Hunter", where the refrain "I'm going hunting" means more than just looking for someone to love... it's looking for inspiration, a new way of existing. Up until this point, Bjork had sort of been comfortably defined by her Iceland-pixie image, with songs that were menacing and silly in equal measure. But on this album, she dives so much deeper... Here's my theory about it. I could be totally wrong, but I think all these love songs are her singing to *herself*. When she says, "You lift me up to a state of emergency" or "This is an alarm call, so wake up, wake up now," when she sings of love unravelling in one song and being woven back together in another, she's being self-reflective, issuing a personal challenge to accept and love herself right before our ears. Don't believe me? Then consider the video that Chris Cunningham made of the final track, the ethereal "All Is Full of Love". It features two china-and-chrome robots kissing each other in slow motion, and both have Bjork's face. Knowing this, these songs ring even more deeply, and show me how the right music can reveal a person's soul.

After the turn of the century, things get fuzzy. Of course, it's hard to pick an album that you've lived with for less than ten years and analyze how it's influenced you. If it's done its job, if it's burrowed its way into your soul and taken up permanent residence, guiding you along the path of your personal future, it takes more time than that. But while there are always new paths to explore, your past will always inform your present as much as you let it. Choose wisely and forge ahead.