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ALT-EPISTEMOLOGY, to the Max! Author John O’Conner’s “Terence McKenna”

August 23, 2026

I’ve been reading actual printed books from the library. My latest, A SHORT STRANGE TRIP, is an autobiographical account of author John O’Conner’s wrestling with Terence McKenna — the environments he inhabited, his strange life and its disjunction with his even stranger, incomprehensible? ways of thinking, rendered simultaneously luminous and “truly” absurd, not only for his audience while he was alive, but for John O’Conner, who sets out, and in fact, is utterly determined, to grok, and therefore explain for us peons, McKenna at every level; but then has to admit that he ends up totally flummoxed.

I especially loved O’Conner’s deft, sly, wavering, epistemological ruminations, for example, p. 245:

“Terence, in the manner of Kant’s ne plus ultra, or “nothing further beyond,” bemoaned the limitations of any organized system of knowledge while admitting simultaneously the impossibility of rejecting any system altogether. His beliefs were malleable, his footing in the world ambidextrous. In this respect, we’re not so unlike him. Our beliefs, characterized by doubt as much as by certainty, tend to shape-shift. Even Mr. Egghead Extraordinaire, Ludwig Wittgenstein. . .

 

[Note: whose works I personally wrestled with in my PhD dissertation entitled This Is NOT A Book About Wittgenstein. Wittgenstein was, you might say, my McKenna. Or better: my O’Conner’s version of McKenna!]

. . . widely considered the 20th century’s most important thinker, generally refrained from making definitive statements about truth or falsity and, by extension, what he did or didn’t believe, sensing it’d lead to theoretical cul-de-sacs. Terence Likewise. Much of the time, we know so little about reality, he suggested, that we don’t even know how little we know. But we know enough to know that some of what we know, even if unknowable, se still sorta know, you know? All of us, I’d argue, are caught in the same bottomless, gravitational tug-of-war, both committed and uncommitted — polyamorous, if you will — to our beliefs.”

 

To quote O’Conner one more time: “Belief is a moving target, its whereabouts unknown.”

Now apply the above to current, increasing epistemological weirdness — in any area, politics, health, education, religion, media, etc. — inside me, inside you, coursing, no, tumbling, twisting into ephemeral macabre shapes —  through all of us. Frankly, I wonder if anyone who still “firmly believes” in anything is not suffering from “cognitive dissonance.” This goes especially for those who want to cling to the dogmas of whatever their religion.

And in saying that, yes, I admit I suffer from my own reflexively arrogant “judgmental” attitude, itself totally dogmatic!

 

 

 

 

OLD WOMAN BUYS NEW SHOES: An All-Too-Human Encounter

August 22, 2026

Re: yesterday’s post: I just now noticed that I forgot the “t” in the title word “Perspectives” — and fixed it. And felt my face flood with shame. WHAT?

And then, noticed how my mistake triggered that instant emotional reaction. Showing me that I’m still, even at 83 years of age, liable to see myself as I imagine others do rather than just be myself, no matter what!

 

Okay, so here’s a story that illustrates the above and then some!

When out and about, I am beginning to notice that I am either very social (open), or very distant (closed). Yesterday, in the mall, I was in my social mode. Meaning, I walked around continuously, and in a relaxed manner, expressing through eyes and face and aura, the LOVE coursing through my heart.

This easily attained social mode is new. I sure don’t remember it in my 30s, or 40s, or 50s, or 60s, or even 70s. But now! What is it that’s changed? Why am I no longer always closed off, in public, apt to “keep my distance”?

I do think that, at least in part, it’s because I no longer care what people think of me. .  .

Oh yeah? Then what was that “shameful” moment about? 

Well, usually, I don’t care anymore what people think of me, how they do or do not see me. I am an old woman, accustomed to being ignored. But: that only happens when there is no expression on my face! For without expression, a lined old face “falls,” so that I appear stern, mean and/or depressed; so much so that others are likely to steer clear around me!

But, when I “light up,” when I “come alive,” then instantly, so do others. As if they can relax: “She’s not a bitter old woman after all.”

In my “on” mode, I’m often full of humor, making fun especially of myself, out loud, in public! For example, I’ve been noticing that I swear a lot these days, which surprises me, since I thought I had left that habit behind. Yesterday, in the mall shoe store I walked into to see if I could find, on sale, a second pair of walking shoes, I found myself swearing, noticed it, and said so, laughing to the clerk, a young black dude with dreads, who seemed hesitant, uncomfortable, unsure of himself. I likely instinctively realized this, and used humor to “break the ice.” It worked. Sort of. I think!

As he was holding and investigating the sale shoe I had picked off the shelf, I happened to glance down at his shoes, to see that, wow, they were huge, black, and beautiful. I said so. Then, oops! Immediately prior to saying so, I had also noticed that he had on an ankle monitor, just above the left shoe. Also black. Easy to NOT see. But I DID see it.

And so, when I humorously mentioned his shoes to him, because I had also just then, while in the act of mentioning, noticed his ankle monitor. . . did he realize I had seen the monitor too? Likely, but I’m not sure. In any case, that moment, now awkward for me, due to my inadvertent noticing, seemed to stretch on and on. Did it for him as well? I really don’t know.

He did seem hesitant, awkward himself, throughout our encounter, and now his hesitancy was making more sense. I wondered when he had been hired for this job. I wondered how long had he been on probation and what was was his possible “crime”?

A part of me, of course, as an old white woman in a financial transaction with a young black man, was automatically paying close attention to our interaction, and yes, making sure that I wouldn’t be “cheated.” I needn’t have worried. The black dude handed the shoes over to the other man working there, likely his boss.

But though, I must admit, “suspicion” was wafting through my awareness, it wasn’t nearly as prominent as the prevailing humor, which continued until I completed my purchase and left the store.

P.S. I do think, in the end, that his instinctive fear of me had also been eased by the unexpected tone of our encounter.