the trouble with energy is that there’s so much of it in the universe that there’s hardly room for anything else, yet no one can see it – perception itself is symphony of wild and tumultuous energy events, so the experts tell us, in which, in cahoots with the matrix, the brain, itself a highly energised energy eventscape (if i may coin a word), generates visible holographics which, if all goes well, correspond to an intricately filtered and conditioned selection of features derived in some logical way from the matrix.
logic of course is what keeps the ontos all more or less organised and makes life itself a fairly successful experiment, and although as a species, we’re not terrific at it, i for one can usually succeed in guiding the forksful into the right hole in my face, so my personal perceptual predicament isn’t too much worse than that of a guinea pig or horseshoe bat. nevertheless it leaves the conscientious postmod-savvy intelligent lay reader in no position to say anything at all about anything at all without going way beyond the evidence. is there anything at all behind the hologram? and if so isn’t it too, just ‘energy?’
as a farmer of sorts, although on the very smallest scale, i spend a fair amount of time and energy shunting energy in its some of its bulkier forms around a small localised section of the food web. food web, now there’s a feast for an energy nut, if any topic ever was, wider than the world wide web and probably more to the point for most of us, especially the unhuman majority such as birds and kangaroos.
in the city of course, energy is most uproarious in road traffic, small children, lawn mowers, and the urban version of the food-web, visible mainly as food shops, where energy equals food. because it all costs, most people prefer to think of ideals like love and
in contrast my day starts with a blast of a now rare and subtle energy that still has the power to grip the imagination and wring from the hardest hearts a brief, blissful smile of nostalgia. the earth rotates till it reaches that critical stage where some sudden or slow accumulation of some kind of energy trips the switch which triggers in ned, the handsomest black austrolorp in the mallee, the rousing and stretching and wing-flapping routine that culminates in that glorious, ringing, brazen trumpet blast roosters are famous for. cockadoodledoo! i’ve watched him – his whole body is totally in it – every part of him a-quiver with energy. roosters for a mile around can be heard in the distance discharging again and again that surge of power from energies so subtle no human being unaided by sensitive technology can feel them.
gaia is still warming her other side so i doze, preferring my own home-brewed holographics in the form of dreams to the metrical ones, until first light, when i light my little fire of sticks and twigs and convert them back into the hot, blazing brilliance of last summer’s long sunny days in enough of a flare-up to brew my coffee, which energises me enough to get breakfast, which i eat while waiting for the first sunbeam to reach my window pane and glide into my van and warm me. i bask in it.
this energises me enough to get out and feed the goats. does anyone remember that bit in lord malquist and mr moon where he starts listing the events involved in getting common objects such as handkerchiefs and cuff-links into one’s life starting from the object and working back through all the processes of production and transportation to the clearing of land and planting of seeds, or the first scrape of the miner’s shovel – all of it great energised lumps of energy, systematically manipulated in a glorious frenzy of expenditure, driven by the creative energy of a human idea. well, goats are just as good at sucking process.
the energy of my sunbeam plus that of my herby eggs with toast and onions drives the transporting the whole summer-full of sunny days of energy of half a bale of energetically harvested oaten hay across the apparent surface of the holographic goat-yard to the goats, who are loudly expending the high energy of dreamland in clamourous bleats of that loveliest energy of all – love. they love their hay, they love their oats and barley, and they love their big steel buckets of nice shiny rain water, they love each other and they even love me.
and talking of love, which as my fluffy bunny spirit guide tells me is not energy, but sometimes conditions energy, there really is a difference in the growth rate of pea-plants who are loved and those who aren’t. isn’t energy weird stuff?
v o wyverne
(this article appeared first in Mensa’s TableAus)