I'm sure anyone who has found this blog will have found Pandora by now but i had to mention as i am listening to new great stuff on my Camera Obscura station, that Pandora is nothing short of awesome. If you haven't heard of or heard Pandora you must, immediately, before they start charging something.
If you didn't get the memo, as i didn't for a long time, Pandora is a website wherein lucky music whores such as myself create their own radio station. So first you put in the name of a song or an artist you particularly like. Right now that is Camera Obscura and naturally enough it starts off with a song by them or that particular song. But that is not where it ends.
Pandora is part of the Music Genome Project, which means that it takes some basic similarities between music you like and music you don't know about and it gives it to you. For free. Okay so you don't get to steal the song. Which is fine as i believe that good musicians are rewarded for doing good work by our cash. If you like it enough, however, you may buy it. Having no external MP3 device right now this isn't all that important to me bu i can see losing paychecks to it at some point if i ever do have such an external device.
Granted, if you have a varied emotional look on things and set up a Camera Obscura radio station be prepared for having the Glasgow blues. Given a choice between the Glasgow blues and the Delta Blues...well it would be a toss up but i know that the delta blues would make me sweat whereas the glasgow blues would make me feel like i've been standing in a steady piss for days on end. Oh wait. I have. I'm living in southeastern wisconsin.
It is probably in your best interest as an avid listener to have a more balanced view of your radio stations for fear of falling into a serious funk. Which is pretty much where i am but that, of course, is complicated by having many sad things to think about right now. Besides, it may be blue but my lord is it gorgeous.
Well. Not much else to say really. Go forth good people and listen.
Friday, June 13, 2008
Monday, June 2, 2008
Film Review: Rambo
Wow.
No that is not the review. The wow is pertaining to the fact that i seem to be scraping the bottom of the barrel for something to post about. I could be posting about my new old computer or the fact that i just sorta finished another drawing but no. I am about to post about Rambo.
The worst thing about that wow is that Rambo wasn't nearly as cretinous as i expected. Yes there is an awful and i do mean awful amount of blood and no you will not be seeing any oscar caliber anything in here but it is - finally - a completely stripped down version of Rambo no frills and very little patriotic bombast.
Yeah we get this old hero wandering through the forests and jungles of Burma, but he isn't fighting a war on his own for a change. He does not single handedly defeat the evil empire and he is insistent (with precious few words) that everything he does and can do will have absolutely no effect on anything, ever. It's a suitably grim outlook on the burmese genocide and a reflection of a dim opinion of the human race in general.
So what do we have?
We have Rambo doing his best, and failing frankly, to defend a group of woefully idealistic american missionaries trying admirably to do their christian best in a situation way beyond them. We have a character who we have seen over and over again struggle against his own idealism only to finally give in completely to the inner demons of his own nature. We have a Rambo who is irredemably negative and almost nihilistic in the realization of who he is. And we have a disgustingly graphic version of genocide captured gratuitously on film, daring the spectator to turn away.
The movie simply does not believe in dialog. I would contend that had the script been better written there would have been no need at all for speaking and frankly that would have made it a better movie. It hinges entirely on what we already know of Rambo but what has taken four movies for him to figure out. That all he is and all he ever will be is a killer and the only real choice in it is who he kills for. In this simple realization there is a strange sort of mirroring of the Burmese military who have absolutely no regard for life whatsoever in this movie. I don't think this mirroring is intentional at all but it is there nonetheless. In one scene we have Rambo and cohorts slinking into the enemy camp to release the remnants of the mission who are being held prisoner in the midst of a drunken orgy that is an obvious mockery of morality of any kind. I found myself hoping that the whole camp would be wiped out under the capable hands of our intrepid reagan era hero. But no. He stays on task, rescues the missionaries - or whats left of them - and slinks off into the night without any comment on his own thoughts about what he's seen. We get the feeling that none of it suprises him anymore, that all of it is drearily familiar territory in much the same way that genocides and the horror of power washes over us daily without nearly as much notice or outrage as it should.
No. It is not a good movie. No it is not worth seeing. No it was not worth reviving the character for. But at least it takes itself in a different direction and retires itself with some dignity which it fights very very hard for and spills a revolting amount of blood to obtain.
Perfomances of note: Are you kidding?
Direction: Bloody and bloody detailed.
Writing: The less the better.
Anything else? A Silly recap of rambos life delivered in a montage (which sadly has become a parodic trademark of Sylvester Stallone) and a quick and painful recap of the history of Burma even though its completely unneccesary as if to say "we will show you this to justify what our hero is about to do to the burmese military."
No that is not the review. The wow is pertaining to the fact that i seem to be scraping the bottom of the barrel for something to post about. I could be posting about my new old computer or the fact that i just sorta finished another drawing but no. I am about to post about Rambo.
The worst thing about that wow is that Rambo wasn't nearly as cretinous as i expected. Yes there is an awful and i do mean awful amount of blood and no you will not be seeing any oscar caliber anything in here but it is - finally - a completely stripped down version of Rambo no frills and very little patriotic bombast.
Yeah we get this old hero wandering through the forests and jungles of Burma, but he isn't fighting a war on his own for a change. He does not single handedly defeat the evil empire and he is insistent (with precious few words) that everything he does and can do will have absolutely no effect on anything, ever. It's a suitably grim outlook on the burmese genocide and a reflection of a dim opinion of the human race in general.
So what do we have?
We have Rambo doing his best, and failing frankly, to defend a group of woefully idealistic american missionaries trying admirably to do their christian best in a situation way beyond them. We have a character who we have seen over and over again struggle against his own idealism only to finally give in completely to the inner demons of his own nature. We have a Rambo who is irredemably negative and almost nihilistic in the realization of who he is. And we have a disgustingly graphic version of genocide captured gratuitously on film, daring the spectator to turn away.
The movie simply does not believe in dialog. I would contend that had the script been better written there would have been no need at all for speaking and frankly that would have made it a better movie. It hinges entirely on what we already know of Rambo but what has taken four movies for him to figure out. That all he is and all he ever will be is a killer and the only real choice in it is who he kills for. In this simple realization there is a strange sort of mirroring of the Burmese military who have absolutely no regard for life whatsoever in this movie. I don't think this mirroring is intentional at all but it is there nonetheless. In one scene we have Rambo and cohorts slinking into the enemy camp to release the remnants of the mission who are being held prisoner in the midst of a drunken orgy that is an obvious mockery of morality of any kind. I found myself hoping that the whole camp would be wiped out under the capable hands of our intrepid reagan era hero. But no. He stays on task, rescues the missionaries - or whats left of them - and slinks off into the night without any comment on his own thoughts about what he's seen. We get the feeling that none of it suprises him anymore, that all of it is drearily familiar territory in much the same way that genocides and the horror of power washes over us daily without nearly as much notice or outrage as it should.
No. It is not a good movie. No it is not worth seeing. No it was not worth reviving the character for. But at least it takes itself in a different direction and retires itself with some dignity which it fights very very hard for and spills a revolting amount of blood to obtain.
Perfomances of note: Are you kidding?
Direction: Bloody and bloody detailed.
Writing: The less the better.
Anything else? A Silly recap of rambos life delivered in a montage (which sadly has become a parodic trademark of Sylvester Stallone) and a quick and painful recap of the history of Burma even though its completely unneccesary as if to say "we will show you this to justify what our hero is about to do to the burmese military."
Friday, May 30, 2008
Music Review: Bright Eyes "Lifted or The Story is in the Soil, Keep Your Ear to the Ground
After yesterdays rambling bloggness it should be apparent that my head is not exactly...something. Its not something. Thats brilliant. It covers whatever point i am trying to make though. Clear enough for you all?
This is why it is so nice to have a collection of music that reflects and illuminates the fog of feeling and logic that swirls around me, particularly right now when i am experiencing a mild coffee induced anxiety attack - which inspires its own set of memories that are pleasant and unpleasant revolving around past anxiety attacks of mine and others and how they have felt, how they have been dealt with etc.
The music i have recently chosen is Bright Eyes "Lifted..." Unlike one past Bright Eyes cd which i own that was pressed in 2000, this one elevates itself past the heart stitched sleeves and attempts to transcend the wounding rather than wallow in it. Lets be clear, though. It doesn't entirely succeed.
There is something deeply self indulgent about all of the Bright Eyes music that i've heard and yet it seems to earn it and be worthy of it in some bizarre way that i can't fully comprehend. Conor Oberst's voice is one angle for this phenomenon. It has a character in its wavering, cracking, scratchy, vaguely whininess, that reminds me instantly of Modest Mouse in that 'i'm just barely holding it together' sort of way. Its wonderfully desperate. Generally i'm wary of the desperate, feeling that it may be teetering on the brink of disingenuousness. Knowing from my own experience with the desperation of expression that we frequently confuse the need for expressing something with what needs to be expressed.
The lyrics and music that attends the vocals go a long way towards legitimizing it, though. To say the album seems a tad overproduced would be like saying baroque architecture is a tad on the ornate side of things. But even in the obvious overproduction, digital mixing, and whatnot it feels stripped down, as though they used a sick amount of technology to make it sound like it was recorded on a victorola circa 1923. Somehow it works. And it works well.
Emotionally speaking, even though i can't shake the vague sensation that i'm being put on by a master at mimicry of the human heart, it's convincing enough and feels like Conor and friends are ripping out the still pumping heart out of their collective chests and showing it to you - grinning - before stuffing it back in to fill back up with the next set of experiences. It's good. It's definately worth owning, but it still feels just a little unsettling in its presentation. Maybe it's supposed to. Maybe its worth a listen simply because the music world of today is gorged on piss poor poets regurgitating the old wounds of the human heart, and at the very least here is a band that is doing something a little more beautiful with all that blood.
For instance, the spare and beautiful anthemesque "Nothing Gets Crossed Out":
"Because I Have been feeling sentimental for days gone by...all those summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting our time. Remember all those songs and the way we smiled in those basements made of music. But now i've got to crawl to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as i thought."
If this were the entirety of the song i would probably grown, get reflective of my own mental state of the past few years and look back with emotional disgust at some high school nonsense and say that it has its place but i can't share the space anymore. But it goes on and lands with a nice, weak, hesitant finish:
"But if everything that happens is supposed to be and its all predetermined, you can't change your destiny. Then i guess i'll just keep moving and someday, maybe, I'll get to where i'm going."
Not bad. Not entirely transcendent but is there anything in ourselves that is, in reality, transcendent? Or does it just feel like that - a little tottering step here and there and the occasional awareness that you are where you are and where you are is where you're supposed to be.
This is why it is so nice to have a collection of music that reflects and illuminates the fog of feeling and logic that swirls around me, particularly right now when i am experiencing a mild coffee induced anxiety attack - which inspires its own set of memories that are pleasant and unpleasant revolving around past anxiety attacks of mine and others and how they have felt, how they have been dealt with etc.
The music i have recently chosen is Bright Eyes "Lifted..." Unlike one past Bright Eyes cd which i own that was pressed in 2000, this one elevates itself past the heart stitched sleeves and attempts to transcend the wounding rather than wallow in it. Lets be clear, though. It doesn't entirely succeed.
There is something deeply self indulgent about all of the Bright Eyes music that i've heard and yet it seems to earn it and be worthy of it in some bizarre way that i can't fully comprehend. Conor Oberst's voice is one angle for this phenomenon. It has a character in its wavering, cracking, scratchy, vaguely whininess, that reminds me instantly of Modest Mouse in that 'i'm just barely holding it together' sort of way. Its wonderfully desperate. Generally i'm wary of the desperate, feeling that it may be teetering on the brink of disingenuousness. Knowing from my own experience with the desperation of expression that we frequently confuse the need for expressing something with what needs to be expressed.
The lyrics and music that attends the vocals go a long way towards legitimizing it, though. To say the album seems a tad overproduced would be like saying baroque architecture is a tad on the ornate side of things. But even in the obvious overproduction, digital mixing, and whatnot it feels stripped down, as though they used a sick amount of technology to make it sound like it was recorded on a victorola circa 1923. Somehow it works. And it works well.
Emotionally speaking, even though i can't shake the vague sensation that i'm being put on by a master at mimicry of the human heart, it's convincing enough and feels like Conor and friends are ripping out the still pumping heart out of their collective chests and showing it to you - grinning - before stuffing it back in to fill back up with the next set of experiences. It's good. It's definately worth owning, but it still feels just a little unsettling in its presentation. Maybe it's supposed to. Maybe its worth a listen simply because the music world of today is gorged on piss poor poets regurgitating the old wounds of the human heart, and at the very least here is a band that is doing something a little more beautiful with all that blood.
For instance, the spare and beautiful anthemesque "Nothing Gets Crossed Out":
"Because I Have been feeling sentimental for days gone by...all those summers singing, drinking, laughing, wasting our time. Remember all those songs and the way we smiled in those basements made of music. But now i've got to crawl to get anywhere at all. I'm not as strong as i thought."
If this were the entirety of the song i would probably grown, get reflective of my own mental state of the past few years and look back with emotional disgust at some high school nonsense and say that it has its place but i can't share the space anymore. But it goes on and lands with a nice, weak, hesitant finish:
"But if everything that happens is supposed to be and its all predetermined, you can't change your destiny. Then i guess i'll just keep moving and someday, maybe, I'll get to where i'm going."
Not bad. Not entirely transcendent but is there anything in ourselves that is, in reality, transcendent? Or does it just feel like that - a little tottering step here and there and the occasional awareness that you are where you are and where you are is where you're supposed to be.
Thursday, May 29, 2008
Mistakes We Should Have Known We Were Making
So.
So.
So.
So-so.
One thing i regularly say to myself - that i say a little too regularly to myself in fact - is "I am an idiot." It's a fairly common expression for people who are smart enough to not be idiots to use when they have done something that they must acknowledge as stupid. In reality (whatever that is) when i have said "i am an idiot" it means simply that i acknowledge having made some mistakes.
Well.
That said:
I am a frigging idiot.
My brain/heart/symposium of being has undergone a significant self inflicted upheaval of late and a few mistakes have been made of the colossal 'oh my god i can't believe i was so stupid' variety. But there you go. Its amazing to me just how many toes you can shoot off of your own foot when dissident portions of your rebellious brain conspire against every other good sense you may have and blind you to the fact that you are not, in fact, blazing away at parts of your life that you wish to change but rather systematically losing podiatric appendages at an alarmingly rapid pace.
Some of the change i have undergone has been necessary. Absolutely. I was losing my mind for quite some time. Things were falling apart in my head and heart and it was not good, not pleasant, and in fact held a level of emotional pain i haven't known ever. The fact that i was experiencing this pain pretty much blinded me to many practical, personal, social, and every other sort of consideration i could take in my own life. Change had to be made, for sure. But let's be honest here. I had the emotional and mental maturity level generally considered to be present in large extinct reptiles with big spiky tails and like those reptiles, suddenly deposited in a Tiffany's emporium i swung that tail and crashed around busting things that didn't really need to be busted. So without getting too specific to those involved in my wreckage and without naming names to protect the completely innocent, i humbly make my apologies. I love you probably more than you will ever adequately know.
So. To all of you fellow codependents out there who might be asking: Are things better now that you have upheaved yourself? Does drastic change really improve things?
Yes and no. Clarity in ones own life is required. Conciousness is a necessity. Things have gotten slightly clearer now that i have done drastic and pretty stupid things. I can at least recognize that stupid things were done. So. I can say with some honesty that at least the fog is clearer. I now know i am looking at fog with my eyes half open and i know that whatever mistakes i made i have made them and they are owned by me and no one else.
At times my self esteem level is hovering somewhere above primordial ooze and i feel like i should have a government warning tatooed on my forehead to be read by those who would dare to attempt to get close to me. At other times...
Hmmm...
At other times i am enjoying the view. All of this probably sounds pretty cryptic. Those who know me will probably know what i'm talking about and those who don't i hope you enjoy the brilliant writing.
Oh and for those of you who may be wondering, the 'we' used in the title refers to the cast of angels and better demons of my harsh nature that have taken up space in the high rise condo of my psyche. They are very busy these days, spring cleaning, dusting, clearing cobwebs, redecorating, buying shit from Ikea and deciding what the sofa set says about them as a person. Some of them are very good. They are clear eyed, determined, unhappy at the task before them but aware that it is their task to perform. After all who really likes moving furniture? The others routinely sit on balconies of the high rise throwing rubbish down at the Ikea and Ragstock trucks as they pull up to unload. But such is life. We live. We screw up. We make it. Sometimes barely and sometimes not at all. But there you go. Life sucks and in its sucking there is so much that is beautiful.
So. I am getting help wherever i can find it. Mostly from myself. Really only from myself. And as my favorite Kimya says "The people in my head still visit me sometimes and they bring all of their friends but i don't mind" cuz (altering lyrics slightly) i'm getting better at feeling bad and thats why i'm still here.
Once again: I love you all so very much. Anyone who reads this. Even if you hate me. I'm not very good with this love thing. But you know i'm going to get better at it. It's happening already. One of these days the work i am doing will pay off and i will have discovered that i have shaved down that big spiky lizard into the shape of something nice and friendly and not liable to destroy the furniture. Something like a beagle maybe.
With an extraordinary amount of love and gratitude to all, and to one in particular-
Prince Lyov Nikolayevitch Myshkin
So.
So.
So-so.
One thing i regularly say to myself - that i say a little too regularly to myself in fact - is "I am an idiot." It's a fairly common expression for people who are smart enough to not be idiots to use when they have done something that they must acknowledge as stupid. In reality (whatever that is) when i have said "i am an idiot" it means simply that i acknowledge having made some mistakes.
Well.
That said:
I am a frigging idiot.
My brain/heart/symposium of being has undergone a significant self inflicted upheaval of late and a few mistakes have been made of the colossal 'oh my god i can't believe i was so stupid' variety. But there you go. Its amazing to me just how many toes you can shoot off of your own foot when dissident portions of your rebellious brain conspire against every other good sense you may have and blind you to the fact that you are not, in fact, blazing away at parts of your life that you wish to change but rather systematically losing podiatric appendages at an alarmingly rapid pace.
Some of the change i have undergone has been necessary. Absolutely. I was losing my mind for quite some time. Things were falling apart in my head and heart and it was not good, not pleasant, and in fact held a level of emotional pain i haven't known ever. The fact that i was experiencing this pain pretty much blinded me to many practical, personal, social, and every other sort of consideration i could take in my own life. Change had to be made, for sure. But let's be honest here. I had the emotional and mental maturity level generally considered to be present in large extinct reptiles with big spiky tails and like those reptiles, suddenly deposited in a Tiffany's emporium i swung that tail and crashed around busting things that didn't really need to be busted. So without getting too specific to those involved in my wreckage and without naming names to protect the completely innocent, i humbly make my apologies. I love you probably more than you will ever adequately know.
So. To all of you fellow codependents out there who might be asking: Are things better now that you have upheaved yourself? Does drastic change really improve things?
Yes and no. Clarity in ones own life is required. Conciousness is a necessity. Things have gotten slightly clearer now that i have done drastic and pretty stupid things. I can at least recognize that stupid things were done. So. I can say with some honesty that at least the fog is clearer. I now know i am looking at fog with my eyes half open and i know that whatever mistakes i made i have made them and they are owned by me and no one else.
At times my self esteem level is hovering somewhere above primordial ooze and i feel like i should have a government warning tatooed on my forehead to be read by those who would dare to attempt to get close to me. At other times...
Hmmm...
At other times i am enjoying the view. All of this probably sounds pretty cryptic. Those who know me will probably know what i'm talking about and those who don't i hope you enjoy the brilliant writing.
Oh and for those of you who may be wondering, the 'we' used in the title refers to the cast of angels and better demons of my harsh nature that have taken up space in the high rise condo of my psyche. They are very busy these days, spring cleaning, dusting, clearing cobwebs, redecorating, buying shit from Ikea and deciding what the sofa set says about them as a person. Some of them are very good. They are clear eyed, determined, unhappy at the task before them but aware that it is their task to perform. After all who really likes moving furniture? The others routinely sit on balconies of the high rise throwing rubbish down at the Ikea and Ragstock trucks as they pull up to unload. But such is life. We live. We screw up. We make it. Sometimes barely and sometimes not at all. But there you go. Life sucks and in its sucking there is so much that is beautiful.
So. I am getting help wherever i can find it. Mostly from myself. Really only from myself. And as my favorite Kimya says "The people in my head still visit me sometimes and they bring all of their friends but i don't mind" cuz (altering lyrics slightly) i'm getting better at feeling bad and thats why i'm still here.
Once again: I love you all so very much. Anyone who reads this. Even if you hate me. I'm not very good with this love thing. But you know i'm going to get better at it. It's happening already. One of these days the work i am doing will pay off and i will have discovered that i have shaved down that big spiky lizard into the shape of something nice and friendly and not liable to destroy the furniture. Something like a beagle maybe.
With an extraordinary amount of love and gratitude to all, and to one in particular-
Prince Lyov Nikolayevitch Myshkin
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Book Review: The Accidental Buddhist
As i've said once before i have started taking my spirituality seriously, something i have put off doing for -oh...well...forever. Like most people i have been avoiding spending any time trying to actually understand what it is i believe about the world and my place in it. I have dabbled in this and that pursuit, have acquired a love of gospel music without being a christian, thoroughly appreciate islamic architecture, whatever and so forth. Basically i have been living with what somebody once termed 'the god shaped hole in my heart' for some time while fundamentally ignoring what that means and thinking that through sheer dumb luck mostly i will get through and be happy.
Well. Having acquired some honesty with myself (not an easy thing to do when you are constantly running as fast and as far from that same self as you can, which in my case is not very fast - i'm a lousy runner) I am now feeling that i had better put a shape in that hole, abd it better fit or, or, or...what?
It's the what that this little book tries to answer in it's own quirky little way. The author Dinty W.Moore very early describes his own prolongued struggle trying to jam something in that god shaped hole with little success and much frustration along with a vague sense of discontentment. So what does he do? He reads a book. It just so happens that the book is by a zen master named Thich Nhat Hahn and it sends him on an often funny but always thoughtful quest to find the intersection where Buddhism and American Culture intersect.
This is a book that is about making connections, as all books are to some extent. We all seek to connect ourselves to the world, to our friends, our families, our loved ones, our jobs, but rarely - it seems - to our selves in any real sense. We struggle ceaselessly on, boats against the current, to get through the next day intact, and often we arrive at that unintended destination with a sense of 'how exactly did i get here?' Moore, on his frazzled somewhat quixotic quest brings us into contact with a truly american character, trying to struggle with some fairly unamerican ideas and his trepidations at his own sitting practice and constant ruminations on his 'Monkey Mind' remind us that it isn't easy, but it is human.
What is beautiful about his narration is that it directly addresses aspects of buddhism that tend to pop up in all of our monkey minds at some point. Where do ornate statues of gold buddhas fit into an american life? Are they just a silly artifice? Are they important to our understanding of buddhism because they are an artifice? And whats with all of this sitting anyway? Does a completely eastern religion fit into our devoutly western lifestyles and attitudes? And really who cares?
He also addresses the basic premise of our understanding of buddhism with a hell of a good dose of american witticism: "The problem is clearly inside. My mind is a monkey and the monkey needs Ritalin." Like a bouncing buddha at the bottom of the screen, Moore pops in at dozens of buddhist sanctuaries, retreats, functions, sittings. He sits, and sits, and then sits some more, always wondering, always thinking about these intersections, all the while slowly recognizing himself in what he is learning, slowly shaping his self to fit that god shaped hole in his heart.
It isn't a great book. Moore can be annoyingly flippant at times. His wit is funny but i wouldn't exactly call it sharp - although it cuts pretty well here and there. As a whole, however, it is one of the finest and most accessible books for beginning buddhists in america because it is quintessentially american in its approach. Unlike reading directly from the Dalai Lama or Thich Nhat Hahn - which really aren't terribly inaccesible, Moore definately relates to his audience. He's the Lisa Simpson version of buddhist, capable of quips and humor but struggling with mindfulness in a culture where mindfulness is the spiritual equivalent of worshipping the devil or singing to aliens while brewing up apocalyptic kool aid.
It is the mindfulness of a Lisa Simpson where buddhism collects its american spirit and wanders off in wonderful avenues. At least i think so. We may never have the pleasure of taking long walks among the cherry trees as Basho did (unless we live in DC) but we do have ourselves, this moment, and something very american that can live comfortably and happily within the mindfulness of buddhism.
So before you take my advice and read this book. Sit. Just Sit. Take a half hour or so and get comfortable, stare at a wall, breathe deep and then sit. Try it on. See if it fits. Filling the hole in us is part of the quest of living, get used to it. Enjoy it. When you're done sitting, get up, put on that fedora, get the bullwhip out and go start your quest. There are far worse places to start it than The Accidental Buddhist and you may have to go through them at some point, but why not start it with a fellow traveller whose already tread some of that ground?
Well. Having acquired some honesty with myself (not an easy thing to do when you are constantly running as fast and as far from that same self as you can, which in my case is not very fast - i'm a lousy runner) I am now feeling that i had better put a shape in that hole, abd it better fit or, or, or...what?
It's the what that this little book tries to answer in it's own quirky little way. The author Dinty W.Moore very early describes his own prolongued struggle trying to jam something in that god shaped hole with little success and much frustration along with a vague sense of discontentment. So what does he do? He reads a book. It just so happens that the book is by a zen master named Thich Nhat Hahn and it sends him on an often funny but always thoughtful quest to find the intersection where Buddhism and American Culture intersect.
This is a book that is about making connections, as all books are to some extent. We all seek to connect ourselves to the world, to our friends, our families, our loved ones, our jobs, but rarely - it seems - to our selves in any real sense. We struggle ceaselessly on, boats against the current, to get through the next day intact, and often we arrive at that unintended destination with a sense of 'how exactly did i get here?' Moore, on his frazzled somewhat quixotic quest brings us into contact with a truly american character, trying to struggle with some fairly unamerican ideas and his trepidations at his own sitting practice and constant ruminations on his 'Monkey Mind' remind us that it isn't easy, but it is human.
What is beautiful about his narration is that it directly addresses aspects of buddhism that tend to pop up in all of our monkey minds at some point. Where do ornate statues of gold buddhas fit into an american life? Are they just a silly artifice? Are they important to our understanding of buddhism because they are an artifice? And whats with all of this sitting anyway? Does a completely eastern religion fit into our devoutly western lifestyles and attitudes? And really who cares?
He also addresses the basic premise of our understanding of buddhism with a hell of a good dose of american witticism: "The problem is clearly inside. My mind is a monkey and the monkey needs Ritalin." Like a bouncing buddha at the bottom of the screen, Moore pops in at dozens of buddhist sanctuaries, retreats, functions, sittings. He sits, and sits, and then sits some more, always wondering, always thinking about these intersections, all the while slowly recognizing himself in what he is learning, slowly shaping his self to fit that god shaped hole in his heart.
It isn't a great book. Moore can be annoyingly flippant at times. His wit is funny but i wouldn't exactly call it sharp - although it cuts pretty well here and there. As a whole, however, it is one of the finest and most accessible books for beginning buddhists in america because it is quintessentially american in its approach. Unlike reading directly from the Dalai Lama or Thich Nhat Hahn - which really aren't terribly inaccesible, Moore definately relates to his audience. He's the Lisa Simpson version of buddhist, capable of quips and humor but struggling with mindfulness in a culture where mindfulness is the spiritual equivalent of worshipping the devil or singing to aliens while brewing up apocalyptic kool aid.
It is the mindfulness of a Lisa Simpson where buddhism collects its american spirit and wanders off in wonderful avenues. At least i think so. We may never have the pleasure of taking long walks among the cherry trees as Basho did (unless we live in DC) but we do have ourselves, this moment, and something very american that can live comfortably and happily within the mindfulness of buddhism.
So before you take my advice and read this book. Sit. Just Sit. Take a half hour or so and get comfortable, stare at a wall, breathe deep and then sit. Try it on. See if it fits. Filling the hole in us is part of the quest of living, get used to it. Enjoy it. When you're done sitting, get up, put on that fedora, get the bullwhip out and go start your quest. There are far worse places to start it than The Accidental Buddhist and you may have to go through them at some point, but why not start it with a fellow traveller whose already tread some of that ground?
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Fields of condos, forests of subdivisions - My uncomfortable experience with southeastern wisconsin
Before i begin, a disclaimer:
I have lived in southeastern wisconsin for my entire life, much of it spent sprouting among the fields and streams of what was once called the countryside. It was a land i loved. In many ways it is responsible for who i have become and as i hope to explain, that's both a good and bad thing. I still love it but it has become something that i've been haunted by because, well, i find it a bit of a ghost of its former self. So I write this with a sense of loss and love but i maintain that the people who live there, for the most part, are a fine bunch, even if i do find them a bit misguided. If this is read by those in southeastern wisconsin, particularly my friends and family, I'm sure I'll be branded a bit of a traitor. Whatever. I love you guys and i love my country but i just don't find much of it left anymore and i'm a bit angry. I guess the word i'm looking for is nostalgic but at the same time i feel like america itself, with wisconsin as a microcosm, is losing some of its identity in the rampant and juvenile pursuit of growth for growths sake.
Okay. On with it.
I've been away for a few years, one state over in Minnesota - land of the hated Vikings. In that time my infrequent visits have witnessed some shocking changes to damned near everything from Madison to Milwaukee and Chicago to Saukville. This is a huge stretch of land but for reasons that absolutely boggle my understanding it's becoming so much smaller. It now feels like the ideal of the american dream, as popularized by TV, Radio, Martha Stewart and G.W. America has fallen out of the sky and carpet bombed the entire area. Once scenic drives have been covered with highways, McMansions are everywhere and, like rabbits, breed at an astounding rate, Stripmalls that remain mostly vacant seem to be spawn from freeway detritus as if the offramps themselves have grown appendages. A common joke has become - when you plant a Walmart its weeds - a bank, a Car Tires, Battery Plus, Sams Club, etc grow along with it.
Okay. I know its a common complaint. I'm definately on a very crowded soap box here. Let me just try and state that I don't believe for a second that this is just a problem of corrupt city planning, or a philosophy of 'keeping up with the Joneses.' I believe that, at it's core, we're looking at a crisis of identity. No i am not going to launch into an 'American Values' lecture. It's pointless. In fact it's worse than pointless. There never has been, in this country, anything in it's history that would ever lend us to believe that we've had something like a set of cohesive values. In fact, if social history shows us anything about our country it is that there have always been a fracture of values some of them slamming straight into each other.
When i was a kid growing up in small town america of southeastern wisconsin, the forests and landscape was a phenomena. It was a daily living experience, one that provided enormous comfort and delight and fueled imagination. It was a place of escape, of worship, of life, of direct and tangible experience but also of necessary fear - which only served to fuel the fun. I could walk out my door, grab my bike and in seconds be on a back trail somewhere. I could be up a tree, or just sitting calmly by a river, listening to my thoughts, breathing in the cool, feeling very quiet. It became a part of my identity, a part of who I was, and ever since then I have gravitated to places where I felt that people understood the sanctity of those things.
These days those same places where i wandered happily and got lost have been paved over. All over southeast wisconsin this has happened, to the point where i have only the memories of those things. As a people we don't seem to see far beyond our front door. We manicure our lawns, afraid of what the neighbors may think if we don't. We grow our stripmalls conveniently within reach of our magnificent, if dubiously built, homes so that we may scurry out, procure what we need and scurry back, in time for the football game. As communities we enact ordinances on house color, the height of road signs, the size of shrubs in the front yard all in an epic quest for what? Living each others lives, i think, flattening the spiritual, psychological growth of each other until it becomes a dull grayish aesthetic past that covers everything with sameness.
So basically, that's it. I think all of this growth is a loss of ourselves. The more we lose ourselves with this careless planting of weeds the less we can possibly have of ourselves in the future. It is an utter failure of our society to even consider experience. Is it an experience to drive to a Walmart or a Sam's Club? I suppose it could be. Is it an experience to live in a house that looks exactly like your neighbors, same hedges, one of four possible colors, slightly different floor plan, sleeps twelve when there are only three? Again. It could be. But i don't think so.
It is character that makes us as a society. It seems to me that my country and my state has been living in a state of fear about it's character. We've paved and smoothed and flattened its rough but beautiful edges, thrown bridges over its brooks, planted buildings over its fields, grown condos and mansions on ridges and in forests. We are systematically assasinating the character of the land and in doing so we are murdering our own wonderful identities as individuals. We are becoming mundane, indistinguishable, the living dead, surviving on the brains and souls of those more vibrant than us, and on stolen moments of experience that lift us out of our early graves into a fleeting experience of delight.
It is environment caring for you, teaching you daily, guiding you and growing you in it's character that creates you and makes you strong and willing and able to experience yourself wholly. We desperately need people to admire good architecture without fearing it, to believe that the purpose of the forest is to be the forest, to believe that a road doesn't need to be straight or fast, and that an open field is not an empty canvas for a third rate starving architect.
Things will grow of course, things will be built, bridges constructed, towns will overflow their boundaries. These things must and will happen but it is unconscionable to our identities as human beings to do so without heart. This isn't a simple lesson in aesthetics or a polemic against urban sprawl. It is a necessity that we open ourselves, become MORE human rather than less, and learn not how to change things to how we want them but how things as they are can change us into how we wish to be.
That's all for now.
I have lived in southeastern wisconsin for my entire life, much of it spent sprouting among the fields and streams of what was once called the countryside. It was a land i loved. In many ways it is responsible for who i have become and as i hope to explain, that's both a good and bad thing. I still love it but it has become something that i've been haunted by because, well, i find it a bit of a ghost of its former self. So I write this with a sense of loss and love but i maintain that the people who live there, for the most part, are a fine bunch, even if i do find them a bit misguided. If this is read by those in southeastern wisconsin, particularly my friends and family, I'm sure I'll be branded a bit of a traitor. Whatever. I love you guys and i love my country but i just don't find much of it left anymore and i'm a bit angry. I guess the word i'm looking for is nostalgic but at the same time i feel like america itself, with wisconsin as a microcosm, is losing some of its identity in the rampant and juvenile pursuit of growth for growths sake.
Okay. On with it.
I've been away for a few years, one state over in Minnesota - land of the hated Vikings. In that time my infrequent visits have witnessed some shocking changes to damned near everything from Madison to Milwaukee and Chicago to Saukville. This is a huge stretch of land but for reasons that absolutely boggle my understanding it's becoming so much smaller. It now feels like the ideal of the american dream, as popularized by TV, Radio, Martha Stewart and G.W. America has fallen out of the sky and carpet bombed the entire area. Once scenic drives have been covered with highways, McMansions are everywhere and, like rabbits, breed at an astounding rate, Stripmalls that remain mostly vacant seem to be spawn from freeway detritus as if the offramps themselves have grown appendages. A common joke has become - when you plant a Walmart its weeds - a bank, a Car Tires, Battery Plus, Sams Club, etc grow along with it.
Okay. I know its a common complaint. I'm definately on a very crowded soap box here. Let me just try and state that I don't believe for a second that this is just a problem of corrupt city planning, or a philosophy of 'keeping up with the Joneses.' I believe that, at it's core, we're looking at a crisis of identity. No i am not going to launch into an 'American Values' lecture. It's pointless. In fact it's worse than pointless. There never has been, in this country, anything in it's history that would ever lend us to believe that we've had something like a set of cohesive values. In fact, if social history shows us anything about our country it is that there have always been a fracture of values some of them slamming straight into each other.
When i was a kid growing up in small town america of southeastern wisconsin, the forests and landscape was a phenomena. It was a daily living experience, one that provided enormous comfort and delight and fueled imagination. It was a place of escape, of worship, of life, of direct and tangible experience but also of necessary fear - which only served to fuel the fun. I could walk out my door, grab my bike and in seconds be on a back trail somewhere. I could be up a tree, or just sitting calmly by a river, listening to my thoughts, breathing in the cool, feeling very quiet. It became a part of my identity, a part of who I was, and ever since then I have gravitated to places where I felt that people understood the sanctity of those things.
These days those same places where i wandered happily and got lost have been paved over. All over southeast wisconsin this has happened, to the point where i have only the memories of those things. As a people we don't seem to see far beyond our front door. We manicure our lawns, afraid of what the neighbors may think if we don't. We grow our stripmalls conveniently within reach of our magnificent, if dubiously built, homes so that we may scurry out, procure what we need and scurry back, in time for the football game. As communities we enact ordinances on house color, the height of road signs, the size of shrubs in the front yard all in an epic quest for what? Living each others lives, i think, flattening the spiritual, psychological growth of each other until it becomes a dull grayish aesthetic past that covers everything with sameness.
So basically, that's it. I think all of this growth is a loss of ourselves. The more we lose ourselves with this careless planting of weeds the less we can possibly have of ourselves in the future. It is an utter failure of our society to even consider experience. Is it an experience to drive to a Walmart or a Sam's Club? I suppose it could be. Is it an experience to live in a house that looks exactly like your neighbors, same hedges, one of four possible colors, slightly different floor plan, sleeps twelve when there are only three? Again. It could be. But i don't think so.
It is character that makes us as a society. It seems to me that my country and my state has been living in a state of fear about it's character. We've paved and smoothed and flattened its rough but beautiful edges, thrown bridges over its brooks, planted buildings over its fields, grown condos and mansions on ridges and in forests. We are systematically assasinating the character of the land and in doing so we are murdering our own wonderful identities as individuals. We are becoming mundane, indistinguishable, the living dead, surviving on the brains and souls of those more vibrant than us, and on stolen moments of experience that lift us out of our early graves into a fleeting experience of delight.
It is environment caring for you, teaching you daily, guiding you and growing you in it's character that creates you and makes you strong and willing and able to experience yourself wholly. We desperately need people to admire good architecture without fearing it, to believe that the purpose of the forest is to be the forest, to believe that a road doesn't need to be straight or fast, and that an open field is not an empty canvas for a third rate starving architect.
Things will grow of course, things will be built, bridges constructed, towns will overflow their boundaries. These things must and will happen but it is unconscionable to our identities as human beings to do so without heart. This isn't a simple lesson in aesthetics or a polemic against urban sprawl. It is a necessity that we open ourselves, become MORE human rather than less, and learn not how to change things to how we want them but how things as they are can change us into how we wish to be.
That's all for now.
Friday, January 25, 2008
My Fly Is Open or my tale of Zen Instruction.
Howdy.
The first thing i need to say is that i don't know how to sit. I'm a pretty tall guy, one might say - lanky and the whole cross legged thing has always been a bit of a problem with me resulting in detentions and other repercussions from a wee age when teachers were a bit more strict and believed that a young lad in a great deal of pain could easily be confused with a troubled and fidgety child. Things haven't changed much which is a bit of a concern for my zen meditation, luckily thats only where the problem starts.
It turns out that i am not the only one who doesn't know how to sit. No one really knows how to sit. For most of us sitting is a matter of plopping your ass down on something comfortable, snatching the remote control or a newspaper or a magazine and engaging your brain or its reasonable facsimile in colorful lights or interesting thought. This isn't sitting. Go ahead and try to sit. In all probability you're sitting while you're reading this. But thats exactly the point. Sort of.
You're not sitting. You're reading. If you were to explain what you were doing right now you would probably say 'i'm reading this dumb blog from this messed up guy.' Try just sitting. Turn off the music, the tv, close the computer (this is probably boring stuff to you anyway) and just sit.
Okay. So what. Now i'm sitting. I wonder what that girl i knew in high school is doing these days? How am i going to get out of debt? Will i ever find a job? Why can't i meet any nice people? Is there someone out there for me? Why am i such a loser?
Yep. That's sitting alright.
The purpose of Zen meditation of the school i attended the other day is just sitting. Actually sitting. You don't try to quiet your mind, you don't edit the thoughts - people tend to think that mediatation is a process of cutting out all of the thoughts. You just let them come. Whatever they are, but you don't hold onto them. You just sit. Eventually, i was told, a thought will pop up and you may chase it down and engage it - as we all do with our thoughts and troubles. But you don't have to hold onto it because, well, there isn't anything to hold onto. And i guess thats the interesting thing, to me. There is nothing to hold onto. Ever. And even if there were you will never be able to hold onto it.
Lets put it this way. Years ago i had a good job. At least it was what soe people thought of as a good job. I liked the people, i hated the drive, cursed the commute, wondered why i wasn't a highly paid writer, listened to music, surfed the internet, and occasionally worked hard enough that i was getting paid fairly well by people who should have known better. I felt pretty secure - not where i wanted to be of course - but secure and i probably would have stayed at it longer than i rationally should have because it paid the bills and gave me some pocket change to buy some things for myself. Well one day i went to work, worked the whole day, laughed and joked with my bosses and coworkers, worked my files, made my phone calls etc. Ten minutes before i was to leave work my supervisor called me in and said rather flatly that i was fired. And there you go. We think we have our security but in a blink of an eye it can be gone. Things change. Always. Forever. Nothing has any real reality to it at all.
Zen is a method of internalizing and realizing how beautifully tenuous and nonexistent our connection to this life and everything in it. You may have good things but don't hold on. Just sit. You may have bad things. Just sit. You may have fear, worry, heartache, pain, love, beauty, happiness, joy, fulfillment. Just sit.
Anyway. It was a short meeting. Then i went for coffee and wrote in my journal. It was a nice place named Brewed, terrific if strong coffee. In fact, the coffee was more than just a little strong. In n o time at all i realized i had drank myself straight into an anxiety attack. After the meditation - the anxiety. And then I realized (as the coffee was passing through as it always does) that my fly had been open all morning. Quite the loveliest introduction to zen you could possibly have, really. Enlightenment and then the inevitable crashing into my own humanity. It was as though the world was saying, 'Yep. There you are.' I thanked the world for that, laughed and zipped up my fly.
The first thing i need to say is that i don't know how to sit. I'm a pretty tall guy, one might say - lanky and the whole cross legged thing has always been a bit of a problem with me resulting in detentions and other repercussions from a wee age when teachers were a bit more strict and believed that a young lad in a great deal of pain could easily be confused with a troubled and fidgety child. Things haven't changed much which is a bit of a concern for my zen meditation, luckily thats only where the problem starts.
It turns out that i am not the only one who doesn't know how to sit. No one really knows how to sit. For most of us sitting is a matter of plopping your ass down on something comfortable, snatching the remote control or a newspaper or a magazine and engaging your brain or its reasonable facsimile in colorful lights or interesting thought. This isn't sitting. Go ahead and try to sit. In all probability you're sitting while you're reading this. But thats exactly the point. Sort of.
You're not sitting. You're reading. If you were to explain what you were doing right now you would probably say 'i'm reading this dumb blog from this messed up guy.' Try just sitting. Turn off the music, the tv, close the computer (this is probably boring stuff to you anyway) and just sit.
Okay. So what. Now i'm sitting. I wonder what that girl i knew in high school is doing these days? How am i going to get out of debt? Will i ever find a job? Why can't i meet any nice people? Is there someone out there for me? Why am i such a loser?
Yep. That's sitting alright.
The purpose of Zen meditation of the school i attended the other day is just sitting. Actually sitting. You don't try to quiet your mind, you don't edit the thoughts - people tend to think that mediatation is a process of cutting out all of the thoughts. You just let them come. Whatever they are, but you don't hold onto them. You just sit. Eventually, i was told, a thought will pop up and you may chase it down and engage it - as we all do with our thoughts and troubles. But you don't have to hold onto it because, well, there isn't anything to hold onto. And i guess thats the interesting thing, to me. There is nothing to hold onto. Ever. And even if there were you will never be able to hold onto it.
Lets put it this way. Years ago i had a good job. At least it was what soe people thought of as a good job. I liked the people, i hated the drive, cursed the commute, wondered why i wasn't a highly paid writer, listened to music, surfed the internet, and occasionally worked hard enough that i was getting paid fairly well by people who should have known better. I felt pretty secure - not where i wanted to be of course - but secure and i probably would have stayed at it longer than i rationally should have because it paid the bills and gave me some pocket change to buy some things for myself. Well one day i went to work, worked the whole day, laughed and joked with my bosses and coworkers, worked my files, made my phone calls etc. Ten minutes before i was to leave work my supervisor called me in and said rather flatly that i was fired. And there you go. We think we have our security but in a blink of an eye it can be gone. Things change. Always. Forever. Nothing has any real reality to it at all.
Zen is a method of internalizing and realizing how beautifully tenuous and nonexistent our connection to this life and everything in it. You may have good things but don't hold on. Just sit. You may have bad things. Just sit. You may have fear, worry, heartache, pain, love, beauty, happiness, joy, fulfillment. Just sit.
Anyway. It was a short meeting. Then i went for coffee and wrote in my journal. It was a nice place named Brewed, terrific if strong coffee. In fact, the coffee was more than just a little strong. In n o time at all i realized i had drank myself straight into an anxiety attack. After the meditation - the anxiety. And then I realized (as the coffee was passing through as it always does) that my fly had been open all morning. Quite the loveliest introduction to zen you could possibly have, really. Enlightenment and then the inevitable crashing into my own humanity. It was as though the world was saying, 'Yep. There you are.' I thanked the world for that, laughed and zipped up my fly.
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Oh the tangled webs we weave and other unsavory things
I should start off by saying i was a tad inaccurate in my last post. The girlfriend i spoke of...well. There are (obviously) a few difficulties on that score. At this point we are not Boyfriend/Girlfriend, as tough as that is to admit to myself. But then that's what this is all about isn't it? Admitting tough things, being honest with myself and everyone else who reads this. We are - or rather i am - struggling mightily to just remain friends. I hope, i want there to be a continued relationship ending with a pastoral life of green things growing and little pink people growing and all that comes with a wonderful open life. However, i have a lot of growing up to do before that is possible - as she so eloquently put in an email to me yesterday. Which brings me around to the subject at hand:
My mostly dismally low self esteem.
For many years i thought my low self esteem was fodder for my own self deprecating jokes. I thought it was something that made my character interesting and pathetic in a way that was mostly innocuous. It harmed no one but myself, and hell - when you have low self esteem hurting yourself isn't such a big deal at all. It's like breathing and eating and sleeping. Of course you never realize that a dismally low self esteem kind of jams up every attempt at planning a fruitful life. Like pushing a cart uphill but where you are the guy pushing and the doofus on the side of the road laughing and throwing sticks in the way constantly. Eventually, if you have half a brain in your head, you will take greatly to the notion of tackling that doofus like a 250 pound strong saftey in an open field tackle. You no longer want to just put him down - you want to hurt that little bastard.
The little doofus, i am afraid, has been complicating my life (and hers) in the extreme. It's been years now, of sitting at the bottom of this hill with this cart listening to the little doofus snickering like a mind monkey in the bushes, hoping someone will come along and put an axe in this idiots head. Well. My friend has tried. But its a tricky thing. No one else can tackle that schmuck. Just me. She's been doing her best to point him out and get me off of my rock to go and get him but at times it just seems too damned hard. In the meantime life goes on without me participating.
And that sucks.
Alot.
So that and many other things are why i have decided to start this here Blog. Don't worry, gentle readers, ye shall not be regaled with tales of my failures nor a lingering, sighing chronicle of melancholia. It is time i move from this here vacation spot on the purple lake of desolation. Rather, i shall move on to greener pastures where i will munch yummy grass like a hindu cow. Not really.
So what am i up to to get moving? Good question. For starters i have started this blog. It's not much but its something. I figure i have to look inside of me for those things i have always thought about doing, for all of those dreams i've delayed, and all the other shit that makes life worth living and start doing them. One of them is publishing. Sure, this is hardly real publishing but it's something and it's mine and i made the choice to throw my voice into the ring even if no one wants to hear it sing. (Really you don't want to hear me sing. Seriously. It's not pretty. Just pull up next to my truck in the summer time and you'll know what i'm talking about.)
I've started a page on Facebook. Yeah yeah everybody has a page on facebook. So what. (Listen closely and ye shall hear the mating call of the mind monkey doofus) I have not had a page on facebook. It's pretty nice to see the connections and nothing beats throwing metaphorical sheep at people. I mean, sheep!!! All i wish for facebook is that they would let me launch llamas at my friends. Also i have decided to go in for some Zazen - actual instruction in sitting meditation. (Yeah, yeah. You and your wannabe enlightenment nonsense. You KNOW it will never work and you're stupid for even trying.)
Anyway. That starts tomorrow morning, bright and oh so very early. I'm sure i will be in at some point to let you all know how it goes. As though i am already prefiguring some result from it. Thats a bit ignorant too when you get right down to it. The point of doing things, ladies and gentlemen, is not so much for the result as for the doing of something itself. The next time your self esteem perks up with its nonsense and tries to nag you with its fears and so forth, just remember that. Stay in the present and just do it (as the unfortunate Nike ad so eloquently puts it)
Your Mind Monkey is stronger than you give it credit for. It's only through serious effort (and alot of genuine fun at yourself) that you can get a handle on it. Not that you ever will because it also just happens to be that faculty of us that prevents us from sticking our hands on the kitchen burner. Interesting that something that is in our brains to prevent us from being harmed quite frequently causes its own fair share of harm.
Adios till tomorrow
My mostly dismally low self esteem.
For many years i thought my low self esteem was fodder for my own self deprecating jokes. I thought it was something that made my character interesting and pathetic in a way that was mostly innocuous. It harmed no one but myself, and hell - when you have low self esteem hurting yourself isn't such a big deal at all. It's like breathing and eating and sleeping. Of course you never realize that a dismally low self esteem kind of jams up every attempt at planning a fruitful life. Like pushing a cart uphill but where you are the guy pushing and the doofus on the side of the road laughing and throwing sticks in the way constantly. Eventually, if you have half a brain in your head, you will take greatly to the notion of tackling that doofus like a 250 pound strong saftey in an open field tackle. You no longer want to just put him down - you want to hurt that little bastard.
The little doofus, i am afraid, has been complicating my life (and hers) in the extreme. It's been years now, of sitting at the bottom of this hill with this cart listening to the little doofus snickering like a mind monkey in the bushes, hoping someone will come along and put an axe in this idiots head. Well. My friend has tried. But its a tricky thing. No one else can tackle that schmuck. Just me. She's been doing her best to point him out and get me off of my rock to go and get him but at times it just seems too damned hard. In the meantime life goes on without me participating.
And that sucks.
Alot.
So that and many other things are why i have decided to start this here Blog. Don't worry, gentle readers, ye shall not be regaled with tales of my failures nor a lingering, sighing chronicle of melancholia. It is time i move from this here vacation spot on the purple lake of desolation. Rather, i shall move on to greener pastures where i will munch yummy grass like a hindu cow. Not really.
So what am i up to to get moving? Good question. For starters i have started this blog. It's not much but its something. I figure i have to look inside of me for those things i have always thought about doing, for all of those dreams i've delayed, and all the other shit that makes life worth living and start doing them. One of them is publishing. Sure, this is hardly real publishing but it's something and it's mine and i made the choice to throw my voice into the ring even if no one wants to hear it sing. (Really you don't want to hear me sing. Seriously. It's not pretty. Just pull up next to my truck in the summer time and you'll know what i'm talking about.)
I've started a page on Facebook. Yeah yeah everybody has a page on facebook. So what. (Listen closely and ye shall hear the mating call of the mind monkey doofus) I have not had a page on facebook. It's pretty nice to see the connections and nothing beats throwing metaphorical sheep at people. I mean, sheep!!! All i wish for facebook is that they would let me launch llamas at my friends. Also i have decided to go in for some Zazen - actual instruction in sitting meditation. (Yeah, yeah. You and your wannabe enlightenment nonsense. You KNOW it will never work and you're stupid for even trying.)
Anyway. That starts tomorrow morning, bright and oh so very early. I'm sure i will be in at some point to let you all know how it goes. As though i am already prefiguring some result from it. Thats a bit ignorant too when you get right down to it. The point of doing things, ladies and gentlemen, is not so much for the result as for the doing of something itself. The next time your self esteem perks up with its nonsense and tries to nag you with its fears and so forth, just remember that. Stay in the present and just do it (as the unfortunate Nike ad so eloquently puts it)
Your Mind Monkey is stronger than you give it credit for. It's only through serious effort (and alot of genuine fun at yourself) that you can get a handle on it. Not that you ever will because it also just happens to be that faculty of us that prevents us from sticking our hands on the kitchen burner. Interesting that something that is in our brains to prevent us from being harmed quite frequently causes its own fair share of harm.
Adios till tomorrow
Wednesday, January 23, 2008
Speak from your heart and other frustrating things
So. This here being the first blog post i have ever done i figured i would tackle the first issue that comes to mind which is the phrase 'speak from your heart'. Is it just me or is this a hell of a lot more difficult than it sounds, particularly when your heart does not have lips or ears or a voicebox or any of the other necessary things that might make its speech a little easier? How does one speak from the heart? In one way or another aren't we all just speaking from the heart whenever we speak whats inside us? Is this a speech of hearts and dreams and deep inner secrets of our souls or are our hearts capable of laughing, joking, having some fun with us, being quiet, being tired, whatnot?
Obviously there is a reason that i'm mulling this over in my brain. Last night, after a fairly involved conversation with my girlfriend where i was brought up (again) on charges of being a defensive turd (guilty as charged, i might add) i was asked to 'speak from my heart.' Which sent my fuzzy little brain into a complete tailspin, eventually crashing it to earth somewhere in nebraska. If you live in nebraska and find a little brain wandering the roadways trying to stick out its nonexistent thumb, please let me know on this site.
So what is my heart saying? uhhh....Idunno. My heart is saying that it really is enjoying the music of Uncle Tupelo right now and wants to get up and dance happily, like snoopy. My heart is saying it wants to do something interesting, like climb a wall or go snoeshowing (not that i've ever used snoeshoes but hey - its my heart and it wants what it wants dontchknow.) My heart is really enjoying Chicamauga right now. Unlike that little brain out there somewhere my heart is almost always happy and optimistic about things. I know it really wouldn't mind getting lost in nebraska (indiana maybe but not nebraska) It would figure out a way to stick out a ventricle and take a ride somewhere over the plains and enjoy every last minute of it.
Other frustrating things:
I hate data entry jobs. What kind of slovenly mindless nonsense is it? How do you stay in the present when your brain is always wandering off on its own, creating blogs and the like. But hey, somebodies got to do them, right? And its us listless, unskilled writing types without the stones to force our noses into the publishing world that end up with them. Middle management types should praise the gods of commerce for the English degree! Without it they would have no power to create themselves as the minor dieties in the corporate pantheon.
I don't want to hear any more about politics ever. Too much bad to say about this topic and not enough good....
Anyway. Till next time.
Obviously there is a reason that i'm mulling this over in my brain. Last night, after a fairly involved conversation with my girlfriend where i was brought up (again) on charges of being a defensive turd (guilty as charged, i might add) i was asked to 'speak from my heart.' Which sent my fuzzy little brain into a complete tailspin, eventually crashing it to earth somewhere in nebraska. If you live in nebraska and find a little brain wandering the roadways trying to stick out its nonexistent thumb, please let me know on this site.
So what is my heart saying? uhhh....Idunno. My heart is saying that it really is enjoying the music of Uncle Tupelo right now and wants to get up and dance happily, like snoopy. My heart is saying it wants to do something interesting, like climb a wall or go snoeshowing (not that i've ever used snoeshoes but hey - its my heart and it wants what it wants dontchknow.) My heart is really enjoying Chicamauga right now. Unlike that little brain out there somewhere my heart is almost always happy and optimistic about things. I know it really wouldn't mind getting lost in nebraska (indiana maybe but not nebraska) It would figure out a way to stick out a ventricle and take a ride somewhere over the plains and enjoy every last minute of it.
Other frustrating things:
I hate data entry jobs. What kind of slovenly mindless nonsense is it? How do you stay in the present when your brain is always wandering off on its own, creating blogs and the like. But hey, somebodies got to do them, right? And its us listless, unskilled writing types without the stones to force our noses into the publishing world that end up with them. Middle management types should praise the gods of commerce for the English degree! Without it they would have no power to create themselves as the minor dieties in the corporate pantheon.
I don't want to hear any more about politics ever. Too much bad to say about this topic and not enough good....
Anyway. Till next time.
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