Doesn't Phaedrus tell Chris the same thing late in ZMM?

`Were you really insane?''
Why should he ask that?
No!
Astonishment hits. But Chris's eyes sparkle.
`Ì knew it,'' he says. [ZMM]

Lila's Child came about on account of my love for writing. Robert Pirsig
inspired me years ago when I read ZMM while his assistance with LC made me
realize what I was missing by not writing.

I wish I could say I had teachers who inspired me as well. I cannot. I was
a poor student. The closest any of them ever got to praising my writings
was to accuse me of plagiarism. It upset me at the time but now I look back
and say: wow. They honestly thought my writing was that good that I must
have copied it from somewhere.

What about you? What inspired you to start painting? Did you always fancy
doing it? Or was there a defining moment in your life when you knew you
were meant to paint?

On Sat, Dec 21, 2013 at 10:30 AM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote:

>
> Hi Dan,
>
> From my very limited experience, I'd say that the pre-static (before fear
> and thinking) response is always to give 150%, but that is not very
> advantageous for the survival of the "self" in dangerous situations. I did
> later notice that from the intensity of the incident, all the thoughts that
> had been floating through my mind that morning vacated.  Gone!   It made me
> laugh at myself!  I will get the details concerning the driver some time
> this weekend, but from what I could see, they were very fortunate to have
> survived.
>
> Outside the line is where the best stuff happens.  I recently reread RMP's
> introduction to the twenty-fifth anniversary edition of ZAMM.  He said
> Phaedrus was never insane.  Outside the line is where all the creative
> stuff happens, but it is extremely dangerous.  It surprised me that both
> Jack Kerouac and Allen Ginsberg did a stint in a hospital for
> schizophrenia.  Tough times, indeed!  I had my moments of insanity, but
> love and responsibility to my children always kept me in check.   But now I
> feel free to fly, and do so in my studio.  Not as dangerous as flying over
> an un-netted sea like Icarus.  My studio is my favorite place to be.
>
> Do you think that your sister being a writer offered you permission to go
> back to that childhood longing to be a writer.  And there was 'LILA's
> Child', that must have stirred the juices.  Did you get assistance from
> others?  I had helpers get me back to making art, and I am grateful to them.
>
>
> Marsha
>
>
>
>
>
>
> > On Dec 21, 2013, at 2:44 AM, Dan Glover <[email protected]> wrote:
> >
> > Not only does she draw outside the lines, my sister writes too. It's sort
> > of funny that not only are we both artists, but we're both the black
> sheep
> > of the family... never living up to our purported potential in the eyes
> of
> > our parents or siblings. She moved off ages ago when she was just a
> > teenager and I followed suit shortly thereafter. I never made it as far
> as
> > she did, however... I only got about three blocks from home while she
> made
> > it across the country.
> >
> > My father only sneered when he asked what I wanted to do when I grew up
> and
> > I told him: to write. For a long time I tried to please him... perhaps
> not
> > consciously but nevertheless I found myself attempting to follow his path
> > through life. Only where he never failed to succeed, I never failed to
> > fail. A short time before he passed away he told me what a disappointment
> > I'd been to him, maybe not in so many words but I got the gist of what he
> > was saying.
> >
> > I have no doubt that he always did his best for me, but we were not only
> > separated by generation but by spirit. He believed in hard work. He had
> > fought a war and came home a winner. He had learned to hate the enemy so
> > thoroughly that it still simmered fifty years after the fact. The stories
> > he told us when we were children inspired me to want to be a Marine like
> he
> > was. When I grew older I realized my nature wasn't suited for such a
> > regimented life.
> >
> > He died a rich man but all his money couldn't buy him another minute on
> > this good earth. I never got to talk to my father about it but I think
> the
> > MOQ would say that money is a form of social quality. It has nothing to
> do
> > with biological patterns other than to use them to its own advantage. The
> > rich feed off the poor all the while rationalizing that they are the
> chosen
> > few and so deserve more than anyone else.
> >
> > Money lends a sort of useless succor to our lives. It fools us into
> > believing if we only have enough of it, we will be the comfortable and
> good
> > citizens who drop a few dollars into the Salvation Army bucket at
> Christmas
> > time. If we happen to see a street person approaching us, however, we
> > become fearful and cross the street to avoid the confrontation of seeing
> > the want arising in their eyes.
> >
> > Hard work only tires me out so I avoid it whenever possible. I work
> enough
> > to get by and then I stop. Today, a homeless man stopped by the church
> > where I work. The secretary and the priest turned him out empty-handed.
> As
> > he was leaving I followed and called out to him. I gave him the money I
> had
> > in my pocket and a lunch I had brought. I didn't do it on account of
> > feeling sorry for him. I did it because I had at one time been that same
> > person and someone had paid it forward with me.
> >
> > Is that why you stopped for that accident today? Did you see yourself
> > trapped in that vehicle? Or were you just being a good citizen, doing
> what
> > was expected of you?
> >
> > Everything changes in an instant. Most people never realize that when
> they
> > leave for work in the morning, they might not return. They don't
> recognize
> > themselves in the dirty bedraggled faces that haunt the shadows of the
> > alleyways and crack houses that dot the underbellies of the cities where
> > they live. Most people believe in forever. Others may face misfortune and
> > death but not them.
> >
> > I think it shocks us to realize the slender thread that holds us in place
> > can be snapped at any time so we tend to ignore that possibility. We
> > believe if we are good and righteous that goodness and righteousness will
> > follow us the rest of our days and we'll die comfortably in our sleep,
> old
> > and worn out, with our loving family there beside us, not homeless and
> > alone.
> >
> > Anyway...
> >
> >
> >
> >> On Fri, Dec 20, 2013 at 11:11 PM, MarshaV <[email protected]> wrote:
> >>
> >>
> >> Hi Dan,
> >>
> >> While inspiring a collage of different experiences, I find 'Butterfly
> >> Picnic' to be a little gem.  I really like it.  *That the woman was
> >> watching, but not seeing*. Such a familiar mystery!  Your explanation is
> >> also interesting from several different angles.  -  Drawing outside the
> >> lines is an interesting metaphor.  There is the dependence on the lines
> to
> >> be able to experience the freedom of moving away from them.  And didn't
> >> your sister draw outside the line by taking you to the museum?
> >>
> >> Yesterday was an interesting day.  It was very busy.  My last stop was
> at
> >> the grocery store to shop for food for the weekend.  I live two miles
> from
> >> the store and was driving home when I witnessed a very bad accident.
>  The
> >> oncoming driver was not killed, but it was very dramatic.  I saw the car
> >> lose control, hit many guard tails, take flight and twist through the
> air
> >> over an embankment to land right-side up in a gulch.  It was surreal.
>  Of
> >> course I stopped to help, but more experienced men arrived almost
> >> immediately.  There was only the driver who was conscious and talking,
> but
> >> trapped in the car.  Since I was one of two witnesses, I stayed to
> offer my
> >> name and explanation to the police.  What had I watched?  What did I
> see?
> >> The whole tenor of the day changed in a few moments, certainly for the
> >> driver, but also for this witness.  I am still shocked how quickly and
> >> dramatically things seem to change.
> >>
> >>
> >> Marsha
> >>
> >>
> >>> snip...
>
>
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