Observing Or Participating?

Well to me anyway. I'm back in London (temporarily). I just took time out to do nothing and found that I can't do nothing. And I love that.

I've realised that I can't stay still. 

As much as it sounds idyllic, I cannot sit on a rock and meditate. Maybe if someone taught me to get into a trance-like state (suitable for rock sitting) then I would figure how that works. I worked out that in fact I'm very happy with where I am. I loved my rock - and I already live in a trance-like state. I am a very lucky person – I have my roll as well as my rock. 

I'm participating.

Sitting still doesn’t mean doing nothing of course. 

As you would expect it sends your brain on a crazy ride that makes up for one's lack of physical motion. It delights in making the ride very whacky indeed. It is probably a symptom of our 'normal' life that our brain feels it has this deal with our devil - so it winds us up with violent mental electric shockerey. 

Some thoughts emerged from my most recent road-trip. 

They were recurring so I place them here to remind me of their work in progress. Frankly I will never answer them fully. Nor do I particularly care to. They provide a constant source of amusement, curiosity and challenge. They remind me what an utterly useless soul I am. They dare me to answer them. I should even have the temerity to conjur such daft questions shocks me as I see them written down.

"Do I have the ability/strength to change the course of my life?"

"Why is the source of creativity so impossible to put my finger on?"

"Do I really know anything for real? Does it really matter?"

"Actually - why is it that I'm unable to retain my mojo in the face of arcane human laws and systemic stupidity?"

"Why do I like so few people I meet?"

I have my roll.

I found myself asking these things as I sat at total peace and in a wonderful place. I'm very lucky that I have a very small selection of people around me that I love and that love me. I will protect them, their's and my own space above everything. I am fiercely protective and have the following two simple guidelines that ensure my sanity. 

• Total respect and lifetime support for people who return that respect – there's no other transaction involved. 
• Demand distance. I give everyone theirs - just don't ever ask me stuff that suggests you don’t get that.

Finally

Victor Frankl asked one hell of a question.

"Should we look for meaning at all?" 

He goes on.

"I doubt whether a doctor can answer this question in general terms. For the meaning of life differs from man to man, from day to day and from hour to hour. What matters, therefore, is not the meaning of life in general but rather the specific meaning of a person's life at a given moment. One should not search for an abstract meaning of life. 

Everyone has his own specific vocation or mission in life to carry out a concrete assignment which demands fulfilment. Therein he cannot be replaced nor can his life be repeated. Thus, everyone's task is as unique as is his specific opportunity to implement it. 

As each situation in life represents a challenge to man and presents a problem for him to solve, the questions of the meaning of life may actually be reversed. Ultimately, man should not ask what the meaning of his life is, but rather he must recognize that it is he which is asked. 

In a word, each man is questioned by life; and he can only answer to life by answering for his own life; to life he can only respond by being responsible." 

Frankl may not have given us the answer, but he asked the only question that mattered to him.

He was most definitely participating.

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Leaving the hat at the rock...

Heading back to the other world 24 hours from now.

I just took a walk through the plain towards the mountains to the East. I didn't make it to the mountain. I had a strong feeling that something else was there - it told me to go away. It was a strong sense of something present and that didn't want to have to tell me twice.

It is a part of the area that becomes a dead-end to the South of a massive valley system. You can climb over it but I never made it - or simply chose the wrong paths. I can do that.

I thought I heard a low growl to accompany the instruction but that was almost certainly my imagination - or possibly the wind in the rocks.

Imprinted on my mind will be the tiniest things as I head out of Dodge. The simplest things.

For example. 

There is no real desert (if we are meant to believe that that word suggests a paucity of things).  Only quite the opposite. Being in such a seemingly desolate place inspires the most rich and elevated state of the all the senses. This hasn't surprised me because of all we get told about such things. But to experience it has been one of the most amazing things I've ever done. Ever.

I have been more short on things to do and think about in London.

I didn't come here to see animals or plants or geology. I came to get away from anything predictable or arranged in any way. I didn't come here to find myself or some inner peace. I didn't come with anything but an open mind as to what to find and so it found me.

I don't expect the visual specialness of this place to survive long in my world but the sharp reminders they have given me will surely live on.

Some of the things this place rammed home to me:

• Get some sense of space back inside your head to even allow yourself to look, let alone think.
• Walk around and take those other perspectives much more seriously. Things can begin to look a whole lot closer and further and different. And as a result they will definitely tell you things you never knew.
• Always have a good quality tyre guage handy. Even when drinking coffee.
• Just because you are part of a system, and may even have voted for it, don't feel you can't kick up a good storm.
• Remember that even in surprising places something vibrant and long lasting can grow up and survive. Don't begrudge the occasional Pygmy Falcon.
• Listen to the energy that is all around you. If you hear nothing then you are either dead or you need a hearing aid.
• Leave the hat at the shack by the rock. You will look utterly ridiculous at the airport with 400 others.

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The Journey Not The Destination

I'm writing this 24 hours before reaching the dunes at Sossusvlei. World famous for spectacular systems of sand, structure and visual magnificence. Getting up at 4 30 am to drive South-East 120 km along the splinter track.

In most cases I hate getting advance notes about stuff. Reviews that aim to set (and then more often than not disappoint) expectations. A really distasteful facet of our modern Western mediocrity. Reviews on almost anything fall short - by a long shot. Movies, Restaurants, Hotels, Pizzas - almost always fiction.

I'm much more optimistic about Sossusvlei.

Nothing here in Namibia has disappointed me. This country has so much beauty in its people and its land. Its people have a difficult life of course - 53% unemployed - but they have a wonderful passion for life somehow. I am not here long enough to figure out why but it is apparent in every move and sense.

Everywhere seems neatly kept, the roads, when tarmac, are smooth and smartly maintained. The airport is one building so not much can go wrong in there. I have only seen a very small part.

24 Hours later.

Hmm.

It's not the dunes fault. They didn't ask to become a destination. The observation is that we 'Western fools' are spoiled of course. We expect cable cars and neatly decked vantage points with easy access and HD. For Sand Dunes read Ski-Resort.

Sossusvlei is amazing but mostly because it is a journey not a place. It is not to have arrived at it. It is a road that lasts for 62 km and spears itself as far as it can go into the natural and vast desert of sand. It was 40 degrees. It has mirages, empty rivers and salt flats at the base level. Everything is in a state of death and rebirth. For every dead tree that is burned to a cinder there is a Springbok herd grazing away under a very green tree. It is certainly the oddest blend of place. Part Ramatualle, part Chamonix, part Sahara, part Richmond Park.

The mistake I made was thinking of it as a place.

PS.

Hints, tips and notes to intrepid travellers who hire 4x4 and then actually go off road. 

To avoid getting stuck 62 km into a desert. Reduce the bar (pressure) in all 4 tires from 2.5 to 1.5 (possibly even 'comma' 0,8) to avoid getting stuck (like me) in soft sand. Also maintain momentum on inclines in dunes. Only stop facing downwards. Turn off energy wasting air-con. And hire a fully grown 4x4. Not a Nissan X-Trail - apparently. Also be sure to find a highly competent South African holidaying 4x4 expert/genius/super-hero close by called Herrold. He will have all the tips, pressure guages and towing equipment required to save you from certain death - in 8 minutes.

In The Midst, an Oryx and an Ostrich graze…

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Zebra's Crossing

5 30 am, very light but with some dark still left in it. 

I heard an unusual thudding from behind the shack. I walked quietly (I thought) around the rock. Just in time to see a herd of around 20 Zebra shuffling smartly but closely past. 

Not quietly enough.

They had seen me before I had even emerged. An already anxious initial scamper turned into a furious run which broke the stillness for a good few minutes. Dust flew, birds shot into the sky. Grass mixed with shards of marble filled the air - their incredible strength impressed even the very wind they were on.

What was in their mind?

Me. Something quite rightly to be feared and definitely not of their animal world-view. Their rituals are perfect and balanced. Unspoilt in the main. Wandering and scavenging endlessly within a vast desert of rock and parched grass. Although at the mercy of man these systems just about remain - and should be safeguarded at all cost. The only rules for them being the need for pro-creation, water and food.

Unfortunately they have also had to wise up and gain a healthy understanding of the human. They have unnatural restrictions placed on them by us - crazy and endless territorial fences and the occasional idiot in a missile 4x4.

The Clash Of The Systems.

Being at peace and remote anywhere in the world is a great privilege in these times. Alone with just our thoughts -away from the unrelenting rapid-fire attack of the daily daily of our effluent societies.

A privilege for many reasons.

Of course - and not least - the ability to stop and think about the hamster wheel from a healthy distance. If every routine could slow long enough, or return us to a more natural routine - a more sustainable system - imagine how different things could be. It ain't gonna happen. I can't think of that many folk who I could persuade to give much of anything up.

Time places demands on us that we simply accept. We are conditioned to just want and need more. We now have our millions of fences. Sadly we seem to have little choice in our shrinking Western bubble.

Interesting though, why watching a herd of Zebra, caused me to think differently.

Because it was such a unique sight I took my rightful perspective on my place in this natural system. I'm the idiot missile 4x4. However unintentionally charging around the place helping to erect the fences - adding more dopey rules. Imposing stupid regulations on something that naturally works very well. Sadly humans pro-created faster than Zebras and we will probably end up killing them all off by taking all their lands and by maintaining our demands for luggage and shoes.

Staring at this incredible landscape I think how tough it's going to be to recall the moment - aim to be that wee bit more intentional. In a few short days time I will be back in the midst of it all.

We've smothered, then killed, almost everything natural in our lives. We've done it out of sheer fear. We've done so by our silly rules and systems. Mostly ruinous to creativity - designed to control and minimize freedom and expression. And worse - stupidly/consciously implicated - we've allowed it to happen to us. We didn't run. We didn't cause the wind of dust and rock that we should have.

I'll try to recall my encounter with the Zebra's in the line at Terminal 5. I will certainly see them before they see me.

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The Winds Of The Khomas

Sound plays real tricks on you -especially at night - wherever you are in the world.

My home, KuangaKuanga is, fundamentally, a large rock with a shack attached. It aches with sounds at night. It pings, clangs and dings as its corrugated tin roof shrinks. Naturally it contracts and it contorts as it cools from incredibly high temperatures by day - a whole lot less by 3 am. The lizards in it must think they are under perpetual enemy fire. I did find a bullet today.

Strange then to be shocked by the wind by day. I hadn't thought of it before but every living system on the planet has its equivalent of the wind. From the driving energy of the immense currents at sea, to the photo-synthesis of the light from the sun.  

As one wanders around these remote lands a blast can come from nowhere. It hits you like a punch to the head. It is intoxicating and its story is always different. I can't read it yet but watching the movie has made me interested. Like a thought the wind is there and then gone. Like a thought I can't enjoy it long enough so I try to imagine it again when it has left. Impossible.

Where does it come from isn't the question I have. How can I understand and harness its deeper message is more interesting to me. What part does it play in my own system of things?

For some reason the wind seems to have something far more important to say out here. It has pretty much single-handedly shaped the people and the land for millennia. Everything here has been affected by it. It has lifted the very rocks, smashed them into tiny pieces and moved them hundreds of miles. It decides when the clouds come. And when they go. They are not invited at present.

Like much of this place you don't get to see what is here - but you know it's out there. Keeping an eye on you and at any moment - if you disrespect it - you will die.

Like every living system there is something indefinable and yet present that drives it on. The energy within it and within all that it embraces.

There is an invisible force that owns this place and the wind is its hands and fingers - touching everything.

Wandering in any potentially hostile terrain ensures that all your senses are very alive. In tune to each rock and every inch of the arrid soil. A snake, a leopard - anything could be lying in wait and watching for any slip. Flies hurt your head and remind you of all that is wrong in the world. Airports for example.

A lizard shoots along the path in front of me.

The direction I am taking is aimless yet trodden by something much larger than me - or the lizard. The wind blows long white grasses into the reptiles way. The wind's strange and invisible force whips this entire micro-fantasy up into intense musical notes. Whilst messing with the reptile the same wind reminds me of the searing heat - the bass drum of hot coals just got unloaded into my face.

My eyes are half closed from the white wind and the glare from the white ground. The rocky pass up into the higher mountain is suddenly not a pass. Enormous boulders that house the cats and the Oryx are far bigger than London buses and stand in my way. It is dark.

This forces the wind to whistle through any remaining narrow spaces - like a diabolical organ it reaches a deeply impressive tone. At this height the only competing sound is that from my own heart pounding inside my head.

The wind is telling me to back off this mountain. I nod. I'm off.

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Road Kill

The music of the road is rock. An impossible barrage of the sharpest shale assaulting the underneath of the poor 4x4.

Along the way, of the 8 or so vehicles in all of this long day, 3 of them now destined to be the tire mans customers. Their cars bowing down into to the ditch or praying upwards into the air - their inhabitants now furiously learning how to 'jack' the thing.

The desert 'Moonscape' is relentless. Rising and falling like a drunk only interspersed by spectacular red dunes on fire with their duty. A haze of dust, history and my squinting eyesight is set at what must be 100 miles away. I know it should only be 15 or so at this altitude but it's a 100 here.

On one implausible escarpment is perched a dozen sinister black shacks. Later I find out they are 'luxury' tents playing host to certifiable rock climbers. I imagine they will wear asbestos gloves and suits to scale the Mountains Of Lava. These suits are presumably illegal now.

Mile after mile of sand, shale, dust, shredded tires, more mountain and splendid desolation. Stunning.

On the horizon I know there are 65 Million year old petrified dunes. I've driven for long enough so when the smallest of signs confirms the road I need to turn off on is ahead I'm right there.

A track turns into nothing.

This place is so remote and so alone in its own spatial cosmos imagine my surprise when the man at the gate asked me my room number.

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Choice or Random Act?

A fork emerges in the road that probably wasn't even a road. Now most definitely a fork.

It's a tangled sprawl of wire and cactus, dust and busted tires. As I drive slowly into its haze I'm starting to make out a filling station, a hotel/church combination with carols being sung inside the open windows. 4 Camels dressed for dinner. Incredibly a sign for an ATM alongside a car graveyard scene direct  from Pixar's cutting room floor. It's 11 am and heading towards 40 degrees. My mind is playing Laura's theme from Twin Peaks.

I've arrived at Solitaire.

Several movies have had scenes filmed here. That is completely unsurprising.

My thought is 'Why here?' How did this choice get made? Was there a rock or a tree or a specific set of circumstances that caused it? Well yes but I don't know what they were. I will Google it when I can.

Solitaire is only sort of on the way to somewhere. The dunes of Sossusvlei to the South-West. A loose gravel hell - a road of immense length stretches North. South. The Namibian desert to the West. The Moonscapes of Nauklufteberg and Rotterkaum to the East. South Africa a million and a half miles to the South.

Solitaire rocks.

It is the complete article. A travellers oasis. 

An oasis of random acts. It has everything it needs squashed into a fork in the road. Whoever started it, and they or their offspring may well still run it, gets my vote. A stunning visual cacophony of what life here is all about. Solitude in one way, brutal and naked terrain in another but utter connection at the human level in every way.

The store sells everything. Poetry carved into rocks, wing mirrors, carved garden chairs and as much beer as anyone could want. People smile at each other as those who congregate knowingly at the top of the baddest black run at the swankiest ski-resort. An achievement just getting this far. I bought a hat fit for Clint Eastwood.

The most busy and popular chap at Solitaire is the dude repairing tires. A long queue of sad 'there, but for the grace of God, go I'. He works 24 x 7.

Nothing punctures his dedication.

The Town…

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There is no switch

Nothing quite prepares you for the sight as you round the bend in the road. Now high up on the Rantberge about to descend into the desert. The Spreetshoogte Pass.

I can see for a thousand miles. The breath definitely taken away.

Impossible to describe a desert - this simply inexplicable geological masterpiece. My home for a week. Living in such a remote place with no compute connectivity and deafening peace is at once beautifully chaotic and positively disturbing. Positively.

The immense distances mean nothing. 

1500 million years has not changed the impossible volcanic landscape stretched out before me very much - but I feel completely different. It's interesting how my Western mind pokes and challenges me as to how long I could feel inspired by this place. I will find out.

The relentless search for fresh input has slowed in its pace. Data to my brain now gets translated through uncommon bird sounds, snakes, lizards and insects crawling through my mind. 56 varieties of Scorpion.

The minute sparkling silica at my feet constantly shifted around by weird bugs and ants. Petrified twigs still slightly attached to the main branch are banging against the skeleton of a once proud antelope - or whatever it was. In other times I would be standing neck deep in a river.

An extraordinary performance is in continuous play that will outlive my time here.

A stark absence of all the usual western stimulus forces me into a random form of active seeking. Intrigue comes from a shadow now. And as the wind wanders over hot rock and dead grass my eyes follow and my brain rushes to cling on. In vain mostly.

I find myself bathing easily in this release from the everyday. The word to describe this could be contemplation but I know it isn't. Contrasting this new state with all the stuff - that becomes so stifling and irritating back in the other world - I could say I'm reflecting - but I'm not. Happily now a million miles from anything that I used to call important. Peace of heart and mind - that's enough.

What's the point comparing this place, my current mind and emotions with that totally other world. None - other that to realise the futility of needing to.

I have to break through needing to.

There is no switch.

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Revealing Inspiration

Staring at something - one thing - for an extended period has the bizarre effect of inducing myriad other thoughts. The mind forces this to happen. It wanders. I guess it does so to ensure we don't lose our minds with the compression and pressure of that amount of blinding focus. 

It can unsettle - but mastering it has big rewards.

What's interesting about the phenomena is to consider the puzzle it suggests. To in some way have fathomed how this actually works. Figure it out so that we might ride the wave - always on the hunt for creative inspiration as we train our minds to deliberately flitter around searching a breakthrough answer. Seeking that bigger and better thought.

By being tuned in to being tuned out - and in - yet all over the idea of the conundrum is a mercurial and confounding skill.

People around you - watching and listening would get concerned that you have lost interest in them or their conversation when in fact they have inspired you to go find new mental pay-dirt. You are off in search.

Locking into this state of mind is a hard thing to do. It is tough to describe in a way that people can understand or indeed be taught.

In Search Of The Bedouin Mind

Listen to what your eyes are telling you. Look for the stuff that they aren't. In your head turn the scene around through as many dimensions as you can. Pull the scene apart. Juxtapose the ordinary items and let the narrative in your head go wild. Throw stuff into the scene. Play with the words and related suggestions that enter your consciousness. You won't know where they came from. Imagine you are seeing what you see now for the first time – afresh.

Imagine you have stumbled across this arrangement and you weren't supposed to - it has shocked you.  

This is a recognized state of creativity that flies in and out within a nano-second. The cheating comedian that occupies the brain laughs at our poor performance. This gymnastics will tire you out but it's the life of the bedouin mind and you have to learn to follow its tracks.

Pay attention to its dance. It's disturbing and heightens your flow of adrenaline. You feel on edge. Bits are flying past your mind, your eyes and that inner voice is abusing you for fun. You feel a fraud, a traitor and a killer celebrity all at the same time. The thrill of it is unlike anything else.

You have had an idea.

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I haven't reached the desert yet.

I can feel the pull of it though. Empty but full. Simple yet highly complex.

My imagination only has the typical stuff from third parties to go on. Countless (but brilliant) documentaries of animals and plants that can survive the apparent vacuum and the heat. All in HD of course. People asking me if I have completely lost it. Why.

No room service, no internet. No respite from what it is. No problem.

I've heard horror stories, seen the movies where you just have to eat fellow travellers. Some of whom you have chosen to award less value to - in terms of the escape. You are close to going mad with lack of water or hope - you were certainly looking the wrong way when the sinister music started. You are living in the broken fuselage of life.

So this time tomorrow I will have covered the several hundred kilometres to arrive beyond contact from the rest of humanity. I will have travelled from minus 20 degrees C. To plus 35 or more degrees C. That's a lot of C. In 48 hours.

My mind pictures the scene. The arrid land, the sparse bush, the occasional animal, spider or snake. The unknown and unplaceable noises amid the cool of the night. The sound of new winds, sand and silence. All rolled up. The amazing and diabolical graphic statements of the dunes. 

From the air it looks like the moon. From down there I am expecting something far more distant and yet human - far from Hollywood. I am expecting to hear my mind working.

I can imagine a place that has been utterly ravaged by the sun and the wind. It has been hit by a violence that I can only imagine and nothing survived. I can also forsee a microscopic abundance of life itself. Not a microcosm but life. Itself. I can sense a different air, I can conjur a thrill of a different nature.

Will I be right!

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Living Systems & The Curious Case Of The Sociable Weavers

Strange. I like strange. 

I'm happy with it because it reminds me never take anything in life for granted. We are all living with Pygmy Falcons and Strange Attractors. Let me explain. 

Peoples, animals, insects - indeed every species and individual within them are all drawn to different things. Good job too of course otherwise everyone of them would be watching X-Factor.

However it does make for interesting challenges when developing, transforming and changing anything.

The Sociable Weaver is a bird found all over Southern Africa but particularly common here in Namibia where I'm writing this. When you first see its nest you are struck by the sheer audacity and crazy scale of it. Next your mind admires the beauty of it and then finally the complexity. Each structure hosts many families and a single tree can host many similar thatched constructions. 

Like all complex systems it embraces some strange stuff too. 

In the case of the Sociable Weaver's 'system' that has to be the Pygmy Falcon. The Pygmy Falcon shares the structure - lives there too. It probably does no work to help the Weavers build it. It mostly eats small insects, grasshoppers and geckos and yet it will also occasionally take one of its hosts as supper.

Anyway, how did the Weavers make this outrageous thing? 

Stuck, defying gravity in the fork in a tree or the cross rails of a telegraph pole. How did they all work together to achieve this? How did they know what the end result would look like as they weaver away? 

No drawings that I can see.

Well they do and it is an incredible living system. It houses many birds - a social network. In the telegraph pole versions the nest even has data connectivity. Not yet broadband though. Although they are probably too sensible to sign/switch on. The structure creates the perfect temperatures, air cooled to survive the heat and sufficient strength to survive the incredible winds. The downside - with too much rain (not much chance) it can get too heavy and break the branch it's built on.

So, in complexity theory, and given certain important parameters, communities, Birds, Zebra, Ants, Meerkats or Human teams all become self organizing around a mission - or just anyway.

Teams, and the individuals that make them up, become naturally attracted to certain 'flowing states'. These states are effectively the patterns that they make up - which are in turn the system.

These flowing states are known as 'strange attractors' in chaos theory. This metaphor is helpful in understanding the value of the visual frameworks in our work too. Without a frame of reference, or a vision, it is simple to see how easily unintended consequences would show up. We don't really want the Pygmy Falcon but the tax we pay gets us to live gecko free.

By observing the patterns of any organization, and in our case that's typically the people - their knowledge and the data, we can start to gather valuable clues about the business or the community itself. Armed this way we can then begin to map the way in which the 'enterprise' thinks and works.

Initially (and as in the case of the Social Weaver - the need to mate and survive) it starts with identifying the existing strange attractor. And then in our case a Vision or a better outcome. By degree we start to build the frame. As it emerges we are agreeing the shape (or that an existing shape needs to alter in some way).

During the evolution of the framework we - and the Sociable Weavers - are building a new shape - and as each new stick or twig gets added - setting the new course by plotting fresh patterns to operate by. Every season repairs are made to the nest as new families get accepted or new improvements/repairs need to be made.

Somehow the Weavers get there by some instinctive engineering and us by having a proven and logical framework and blueprint.

Not consensus though.

Why? It's not a viable objective in nature - nor is it in business. 

There are deaths along the way and fearsome battles. So it's important to figure out how to feel good with disagreement. I watched the Weavers attack each other - Sociably. Fighting for territory and not allowing newcomers access. It gets vicious. It's real life.

Our work in simplifying complexity is creating an agreed vision - the 'strange attractor' - and in some basic way the shared meaning that needs to come with that. It's hard. Many people attack the newcomers. They fight for their territory. Their twigs get criticised. It can get very emotional. Kill your own damn gecko then!

It's worth understanding a working definition of the idea of a shared mission.

We often observe agreement in teams out of the lack of a better idea. Terrifying. An almost last ditch acceptance. People can easily just give up in the face of strong opinion. Good or bad. This is not a good place to be. But at least with a framework in mind it is often better than the opposite. A bland and open vacuum devoid of real thought. I don't know where the Social Weavers get their grand design from but it sure works for them. 

I'm sure a new nesting system will see a few blind-eyed Sociable Weavers at the end.

Because in developing our visual framework we attack the ultimate objective (strange attractor) from multiple directions and at different stages, a lack of an answer or agreement earlier on will become the breakthrough idea later. 

It's not consensus necessarily but a greater revealing of a shared sense of something. That's a big part of our grand design. It saves on the medical bills.

This 'something' emerges by degrees. Over time it starts to add up more to the participants. It has arisen, surfaced if you like, after leaving some form of positive vacuum of 'good enough' - returning later to a far better thought. It is becoming in some way instinctive.

All this happens because the framework is already there. 

It is in our heads and on the wall just and just as present as the grand design exists in the DNA of the Weaver. It insists on each member of the 'team' tackling different dimensions of the same objective. Different patterns start coming together in the search for a 'system' of things that will suit everyone. Well hopefully everyone.

This is the power of reasonable logic. There is an innate energy being applied. Whether natural and instinctive (as in the case of the Sociable Weaver) or us working as a co-creative (if not consensual) team this is the real value of developing 'systems' within visual and logical frameworks.

We are all Sociable Weavers. Bring on that Pygmy Falcon

If you want to be yet more impressed by this bird check this out! http://findarticles.com/p/articles/mi_m1170/is_2002_Jan-Feb/ai_80903894/

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Life On the Road

4-30am

Very early alarm. Very. Suddenly standing in the shower. For a long time. Fast reboot to Awake Mode. Urgent e-mails first. Ghostly coffee machines, trouser presses stand idle. Who uses those things? Mind numbing, arcane - poorly written entreaties to conserve toiletries interrupt these precious moments with sufficient toxicity to ensure their destiny – they go in the trash. The hotel room is starting to throttle my mind. Gotta leave.

6-00am

Arriving, coffee in hand (with luck) to the empty shell that in a few days will entertain the big cheeses. A combined emotion of anticipation and creative determination to beat the scene before me. The walls are a mixture of challenges. Barriers to a fast start.

Despite requiring 'flat' walls there is a language barrier. Yes they will be flat. So why the fascination with ornamentation. Walls that were guaranteed to be clear of any protrusion – now a profusion of clocks, switches, whiteboards, wires, dado rails, oil paintings, hooks, wooden fish, mooses heads, windows, doors, spanish arches, medieval chests full of lead, helpful cabinets full of hand wipes – pizza trays, felt pens and thousands of paper clips, curtain rails, architectural follies, overhead screens and the like.

Shortly after 6-00am

The room is always a further obstacle course. Always unhelpful and ugly chairs - oddly assorted tables with the attendant rats nest of cables, phone leads, data cables, routers, modems, biro's, broken floor traps, dead pigeons and unwary carpet tiles, now soaked with the stain of previous ceremonies. Yes the death meetings or conferences of yore.

Sooo...

Firstly the big decisions. Can I cut round the ditritus before me? Will Roger find enough flat surfaces to cling to? Can I find sufficient space to draw even a thought bubble?

Or?

Build an entire wall. An inner skin of 8ft x 4ft lightweight panels joined together with the worlds most ingenious material - gaffa tape. Gaffa tape is compulsory kit for all high level strategic thinking. Build a wall. Yes a wall.

8-00 am.

The room now has the appearance of 'flat' walls suitable to create something elegant, meaningful and worthy. I can relax. There will be decision quality today.

Posted via email from Just Thinking!

Free To Think

Flying is a great opportunity to think. I think. Nope it's not! Crap, what's going on.

The freedom and space to think can completely blow my head to pieces - release from insane schedules and pressure cooker thinking now becomes a hurdle. Great. Thanks. Right now thinking is the hardest thing to do. Am I even awake to what's going on.

Thought seems to demand me to scan an infinite universe of conundrums while harvesting conflicting implausibilities. And that is when I can even latch onto something. That’s not often. Each useless fragment taunts me with violent shrugs of utter contempt. I know where writers block lives. Possibly even the precise cave. Anything of any value guarded by fogged out sprites - lurking like some ferral pimpernels in the inner walls of my mind.

Vapour thin cloths hanging, messed up bits of something dart for a second with the thought seductively exposed and then gone. A second earlier I'd projected the diabolical ideas that were mine alone. I thought. Now lost.

I start giving in to the more easy to catch mediocre notions. I capture and commit to my selection of meaningless junk. Then tear them off the big screen that suddenly assembled with the rush of a jet plane. Fooling me into thinking that I'm thinking. It's like slashing at the neck of an infinite snake to finally pull something lucid into the real world of my real world.

What's so bloody annoying is that I know the better stuff is in my fucking head - I am just bloody useless at trapping.

Now look.

Posted via email from Just Thinking!