Canyon Country Zephyr page 11

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dawn wind through the forest, the questioning calls of obscure birds. He hears the flutelike song, cool as silver, of a hermit thrush.

tions like quarterly profits, stock value, interest rates, and so forth. They take these formulations in deadly earnest; if, for example, their short-term profits are up, the Gross Domestic Product is growing, interest rates and market prices are favorable, they are likely to hire more employees (as cheaply as possible, of course) and consume even more natural resources, so that quarterly profits will spike and the company's stock value will as well.

"He waits for a while, hands under his head, watching the light beyond the open doorway for the cabin. The subtle, stealthy shift from violet and blue to morning gray. He opens his sleeping bag, rolls off the bed and walks naked to the door, where he stands for some indefinable length of time gazing out, leaning against the door frame.

This is the self-reinforcing "world created by thought that nurtures further thought" which Deloria warned us about. The "dangerous proposition" here is that none of these standard business abstractions considers the consequences of elevated consumption of natural resources on relevant ecological habitats, including the atmosphere; the very climate and physical reality upon which the survival of all that lives depends.

"The sun is close but not yet up. A few dim stars still hang blinking on the west. Deer are grazing at the far side of the clearing, near the foot of the fire tower - dim figures in the pearl-gray light. The dark and somber forest surrounds them all with its heavy stillness." (p. 11).

This is a dangerous disconnection.

I propose that we call this multi-national corporate unreality Bubble Land, because it floats above the actuality of habitats, ignoring both them and the surrounding atmosphere. Committed to expansion, Bubble Land sucks up more and more natural resources from the finite habitats beneath it, debilitating them to the point of extinction, and farting out an ever greater plethora of greenhouse gases and wastes.

Whether it's called Capitalism

or socialism

makes little difference; both of these oligarchic, militaristic,

expansionist, acquisitive, industrializing,

and technocratic systems

are driven by

the same motives;.

both are self-destroying.

With rare exceptions, the honchos of Bubble Land do not recognize that they are functioning within a bubble (it is, after all, an extraordinarily real-seeming bubble—like Disneyland). Consequently, they assert that the values fundamental to Bubble Land describe the way life works, and see themselves as the ultimate realists. As Deloria warned, they make the cardinal error of seeing their world of thought as self-sustaining—as real—instead of self-reinforcing.

To sum up. Ed predicted that the military-industrial state will go smack down within a century because the following train of thought was obvious to him, as it is to indigenous people world-wide. First, that in order to survive, all beings, whether plant, animal or human, require suitable habitat. Meaning physical space, plus other living systems compatible with our own survival: and vital to it all, that our survival be compatible with theirs. Because all predators, and that's what we are, are dependent on their prey to survive.

We're struck not only by the elegance of his description, but also by its capacity to evoke chords of memory; moments when the sun was a rim of fire over the sharp relief of desert mountains or when we saw a lone cliffrose blooming on a sandstone flat. We sense something fundamental in his approach, and therefore assume we'll find any number of parallels in other novelists.

And second, there are no exceptions to the foregoing, which means that any

But alas. You can read one bestselling, well-reviewed novel after another and find nothing like it. The acrid truth is that in our world nature is a stage, a backdrop, to human interaction. People may walk or piss under trees, but they do not interact with them as indigenous people do.

I propose that we call this multi-national

corporate unreality

Bubble Land,

because it floats above the actuality of habitats,

ignoring both them and the surrounding atmosphere.

Writers making a living on the big market are well aware of this and learn to describe nature sparingly; just enough to give the reader the feeling of walking in a park or standing on a lawn, and then they plunge into the human-centered melodrama. Stephen King, touted as the world's best-selling writer, gave the following trenchant advice to wannabe authors: "It's...important to remember that it's not about the setting, anyway - it's about the story...In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling." (On Writing, pp. 176,178). You can't say King hasn't sized up his readers.

Let me end this point with an analogy. The relationships we learn the most from are those in which we interact with people without trying to use them for our own purposes. This is when we have to pay attention, and in time we learn to love paying attention, because the process deepens emotional involvement. It's no different with nature. Love of wildness comes from observation, which is only sustained by emotional involvement.

species, including ours, which chronically overpopulates ecosystems will sooner or later experience a die-back. And that no economic system can grant immunity from this, no matter how much it "grows" and advances its technology. To the contrary, it worsens matters because so-called growth can only mean consuming resources in an ever widening spiral, destroying more and more habitat, until the system caves in on itself.

Now a third point. Deloria said, "Civilized man...in taking the thinking approach to his world now confronts an almost wholly artificial environment, a manufactured construct. It is a world created by thought that in turn nurtures further thought to the exclusion of other functions. The creation of an artificial world, and our reliance on it, is a dangerous proposition." (pp. 55-56).

Our great-great-great grandchildren will look back at the myopia of our powerful corporate leaders with sardonic wonder. They'll say, "Didn't those mothers KNOW they were living in a goddam bubble?"

A writer they'll respect is Edward Abbey.

Last summer I saw a news short about two self-assured women, both former CEOs of major multinational corporations, each of whom had just won her Republican primary for high office in California. As they stood beaming before a tumultuous crowd, one crowed that they were "two business women from the real world who know how to create jobs, balance budgets, and get things done."

Scott Thompson is a regular contributor to The Zephyr. He lives in West Virginia.

Their proud declaration stuck in my craw because I can't think of a subculture on our planet that is more embedded in unreality than massive multinational corporations. By comparison, your average hospital psychiatric ward does a much better job of orienting itself.

The big-time corporate world governs its behaviors according to abstrac-

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	dawn wind through the forest, the questioning calls of obscure birds. He hears the flutelike song, cool as silver, of a hermit thrush. tions like quarterly profits, stock value, interest rates, and so forth. They take these formulations in deadly earnest; if, for example, their short-term profits are up, the Gross Domestic Product is growing, interest rates and market prices are favorable, they are likely to hire more employees (as cheaply as possible, of course) and consume even more natural resources, so that quarterly profits will spike and the company's stock value will as well. "He waits for a while, hands under his head, watching the light beyond the open doorway for the cabin. The subtle, stealthy shift from violet and blue to morning gray. He opens his sleeping bag, rolls off the bed and walks naked to the door, where he stands for some indefinable length of time gazing out, leaning against the door frame. This is the self-reinforcing "world created by thought that nurtures further thought" which Deloria warned us about. The "dangerous proposition" here is that none of these standard business abstractions considers the consequences of elevated consumption of natural resources on relevant ecological habitats, including the atmosphere; the very climate and physical reality upon which the survival of all that lives depends. "The sun is close but not yet up. A few dim stars still hang blinking on the west. Deer are grazing at the far side of the clearing, near the foot of the fire tower - dim figures in the pearl-gray light. The dark and somber forest surrounds them all with its heavy stillness." (p. 11). This is a dangerous disconnection. I propose that we call this multi-national corporate unreality Bubble Land, because it floats above the actuality of habitats, ignoring both them and the surrounding atmosphere. Committed to expansion, Bubble Land sucks up more and more natural resources from the finite habitats beneath it, debilitating them to the point of extinction, and farting out an ever greater plethora of greenhouse gases and wastes. Whether it's called Capitalism or socialism makes little difference; both of these oligarchic, militaristic, expansionist, acquisitive, industrializing, and technocratic systems are driven by the same motives;. both are self-destroying. With rare exceptions, the honchos of Bubble Land do not recognize that they are functioning within a bubble (it is, after all, an extraordinarily real-seeming bubble—like Disneyland). Consequently, they assert that the values fundamental to Bubble Land describe the way life works, and see themselves as the ultimate realists. As Deloria warned, they make the cardinal error of seeing their world of thought as self-sustaining—as real—instead of self-reinforcing. To sum up. Ed predicted that the military-industrial state will go smack down within a century because the following train of thought was obvious to him, as it is to indigenous people world-wide. First, that in order to survive, all beings, whether plant, animal or human, require suitable habitat. Meaning physical space, plus other living systems compatible with our own survival: and vital to it all, that our survival be compatible with theirs. Because all predators, and that's what we are, are dependent on their prey to survive. We're struck not only by the elegance of his description, but also by its capacity to evoke chords of memory; moments when the sun was a rim of fire over the sharp relief of desert mountains or when we saw a lone cliffrose blooming on a sandstone flat. We sense something fundamental in his approach, and therefore assume we'll find any number of parallels in other novelists. And second, there are no exceptions to the foregoing, which means that any But alas. You can read one bestselling, well-reviewed novel after another and find nothing like it. The acrid truth is that in our world nature is a stage, a backdrop, to human interaction. People may walk or piss under trees, but they do not interact with them as indigenous people do. I propose that we call this multi-national corporate unreality Bubble Land, because it floats above the actuality of habitats, ignoring both them and the surrounding atmosphere. Writers making a living on the big market are well aware of this and learn to describe nature sparingly; just enough to give the reader the feeling of walking in a park or standing on a lawn, and then they plunge into the human-centered melodrama. Stephen King, touted as the world's best-selling writer, gave the following trenchant advice to wannabe authors: "It's...important to remember that it's not about the setting, anyway - it's about the story...In many cases when a reader puts a story aside because it 'got boring,' the boredom arose because the writer grew enchanted with his powers of description and lost sight of his priority, which is to keep the ball rolling." (On Writing, pp. 176,178). You can't say King hasn't sized up his readers. Let me end this point with an analogy. The relationships we learn the most from are those in which we interact with people without trying to use them for our own purposes. This is when we have to pay attention, and in time we learn to love paying attention, because the process deepens emotional involvement. It's no different with nature. Love of wildness comes from observation, which is only sustained by emotional involvement. species, including ours, which chronically overpopulates ecosystems will sooner or later experience a die-back. And that no economic system can grant immunity from this, no matter how much it "grows" and advances its technology. To the contrary, it worsens matters because so-called growth can only mean consuming resources in an ever widening spiral, destroying more and more habitat, until the system caves in on itself. Now a third point. Deloria said, "Civilized man...in taking the thinking approach to his world now confronts an almost wholly artificial environment, a manufactured construct. It is a world created by thought that in turn nurtures further thought to the exclusion of other functions. The creation of an artificial world, and our reliance on it, is a dangerous proposition." (pp. 55-56). Our great-great-great grandchildren will look back at the myopia of our powerful corporate leaders with sardonic wonder. They'll say, "Didn't those mothers KNOW they were living in a goddam bubble?" A writer they'll respect is Edward Abbey. Last summer I saw a news short about two self-assured women, both former CEOs of major multinational corporations, each of whom had just won her Republican primary for high office in California. As they stood beaming before a tumultuous crowd, one crowed that they were "two business women from the real world who know how to create jobs, balance budgets, and get things done." Scott Thompson is a regular contributor to The Zephyr. He lives in West Virginia. Their proud declaration stuck in my craw because I can't think of a subculture on our planet that is more embedded in unreality than massive multinational corporations. By comparison, your average hospital psychiatric ward does a much better job of orienting itself. The big-time corporate world governs its behaviors according to abstrac-

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