Plan B

The new nominee for the Supreme Court is Judge Samuel Alito. He is a conservative Federal judge from the third Curcuit U. S. Court of Appeals. He is on record as being anti-privacy rights in relation to abortion, via a vote of dissent in PA on allowing women to chose abortion without husband consent.

I am not a conservative, and as soon as the word is mentioned, my back goes up. Conservative politics means to me: big business, no social services or very limited social services, limited individual rights for women, prisoners, and minorities, and liberal individual rights regarding guns and entrepreneurs.

Conservative politics to me means low taxes and high defense costs. It means bail-outs of big business, but no welfare for individuals. It means limited rights for the worker and bilking the American public any way business can - capitalism, after all, is the real government of America.

Where I get hung up is on trying to live within the confines of the clearly defined liberal/conservative stances. I am anti-abortion. I am anti-death penalty. I am anti-war as anything more than the last resort. I believe America should ban all assault weapons for public consumption and that obtaining and keeping a gun should be as difficult and as long a process as applying for and being granted Social Security Disability (approx. 2 years). I believe American business is nothing without its workers and consumers. Therefore, big business has a responsibility to its workers, to treat them with respect and to honor commitments for health care and pensions. It has an obligation to its consumers to be diligent in product quality, fair pricing, and safety for individuals and the environment. Actually, I’m liberal on everything except abortion, and yet I don’t find my stance on abortion to be a contradiction to my other views.

TV’s talking heads are speculating that nominee Alito is going to provoke a vigorous debate between democrats and republicans. I don’t think it’s going to be a debate, I think it’s going to be a brawl. A real debate, with informed, civil discussion would be empowering and refreshing. Instead I think it’s going to be a show of posturing, huffing and puffing of threats of filibuster, maneuvering, manipulation, whining and exhortations of righteousness and Godliness.

Whether Alito is confirmed or not, changes nothing. It will not make right the inadequacies and limitations of the person and president W, nor will it make his administration an honest one with the best interest of all Americans as its motivation. It will not make W a thoughtful, caring man who has made America and the world a better place. It won’t change anything for the better. Nor will a non-confirmation vote.

What Is My Ultimate Concern?

My immediate response to the question used to be, "survival." That response was a knee jerk reaction to a harrowing childhood in which my survival was threatened. That feeling, or conscious concern, had been with me through most of my adult life. The response was a habit. Along with having lived in fear as a child, I lived in fear for most of my adult life, as well. Prior to 10 years ago, my attempts at living alone were painful and exhausting. Fear was the only feeling I felt from sundown to sunrise. My daily life was shaped around what I perceived as safety. If I were out in public places, a restaurant, a movie, with friends, or even walking on the street, I felt much safer than I did alone in my home.

About twenty-five years ago I began to really examine what I believed about life. Not just religious issues, or God, but what I believed about violence, murder, war, cruelty, etc. I grew up in such violence that it colored my feelings about everything. My repulsion of violence and child abuse was so packed with aggression that I believed I could kill if provoked. I woke up daily to a rage that felt like it could bubble over into violence at any time. The hatred of violence, my parents, and anyone else who had ever slighted me, filled me up to the point that I was just internalized hatred and violence. And yet, somewhere in that churning inferno I knew that was not all I was.

Through much therapy, self- reflection, lots of very healing friends, art work, and a willingness to continue on, I was able to let go of my anger for my parents. I remember talking about them to a friend one day. I was explaining the situation I was born into, the circumstances of my parents life during my childhood. I was struck by the fact that had they not been my parents I was talking about, I would have been loving and sympathetic and compassionate toward those people. They were adolescents struggling against convention and their own survival. They were uneducated, unsupported, and ill prepared for parenthood and hadn’t had an opportunity for other options or to grow up yet themselves. My anger for them did not disappear at that moment. It took many years. But it was the first time I could recall ever in my life that I had a warm feeling toward them. That was a turning point in my life.

One of the many realizations I have come to in my life is that I don’t fear death as I once did; and I don’t fear life as much either. What I appreciate more and more is the vulnerability and fragility of life, and yet so many of us can be so resilient as to make it to adulthood. When I think now of the most horrifying thing I could imagine, it would be to be responsible for having ended another’s life. My primary concern today is not what harm will come to me, but what harm will come from me.

When I was 44 years old a long term relationship I had been in ended. I chose at that time to live alone. It was a very different experience for me. I felt safe in my home. I was comfortable regardless of the time of day, I enjoyed having a colorful shower curtain (previous ones had always been clear) and I enjoyed the peace and serenity of my own company. I looked forward to being alone and in my own home. It was a great source of joy to me to realize that I had changed; really changed some very core feelings and fears. My focus had finally changed from what others might do to me to consciousness of the potential harm I may do to others. Yet, I still do hurt others. Not intentionally, but I still can be insensitive, arrogant, clueless, and not realize it until the hurt is done.

To Those Who Have Been Given Much, Much Is Expected

It struck me that what most people want is to live their lives and love their families. That’s what we want to do. We don’t want power, we don’t want to conquer, we don’t want to annihilate. We want to earn enough money to live clean and satisfying lives with our spouses, our children, our extended families and friends. We want heat when it’s cold, food when we’re hungry, quiet when we’re sleepy, a cool swim when it’s hot, a hug when we’re lonely, work that contributes to society and doesn’t demoralize us or anyone else.

Most of us agree that we should pay our taxes so we have good schools for our children, roads and public services, and help for the sick, elderly and less fortunate. We want to pay our fair share, not Ross Perot’s or Leona Helmsley's share too. We know we all have to contribute to make the world work.

I once heard a Buddhist monk say that with all the horror in the world he’s still so hopeful because so few of the six billion people on the planet are responsible for the horrors of war, large scale famine and mass genocide. He said that most of the horror is generated by a few despots. In that he’s right.

Here’s where it gets sticky. Am I responsible too because I have electronics that absorb lots of energy? Because I have a two-car, two-person family? Am I responsible because I willingly pay my fair share of taxes so we Americans (me and mine) can have a good quality of life and yet a good portion of those taxes are used to support armaments and military? Am I responsible because I vote for the candidate of my choice but do nothing else to get candidates who are ecologists and doves on the ballot to begin with? Am I responsible because, though I preach peace and non-war, I am quietly and secretly relieved at night that we are the big guys on the planet and I am not living in a Palestinian ghetto subject to the pogrom of the Israelis?

It’s a dilemma having so much. "To those who have been given much, much is expected." I have always applied that to the wealthy, the royalty of the world, the power-brokers and born-rich. But it applies to us non-wealthy Americans too. We have been given so much. Even the poor in America, their pain and suffering not-withstanding, are wealthy in comparison to the poor of the Sudan or Calcutta. We have so much, and we work hard for it, and we feel entitled to it. We are generous in sharing our "extra" with those in need or crisis. But we are not willing to give-up anything that really effects the quality of our lives or what we feel we are entitled to. As long as the poor of Sudan are not on our doorstep when we leave for work in the morning, we can believe that the quality of our lives cost others nothing.

Yesterday's Mail

I received an envelope in the mail yesterday from my mother. I am accustomed to sending mail to my mother as she requests that I print out recipes from the foodtv website several times a week. I don't usually get mail from her unless it's a birthday or xmas card. It was a small envelope and seemed to have a small piece of paper in it. I slowly opened the envelope not knowing what I would find inside.

The enveloped contained a photograph of a young woman leaning against a wall. Attached to the photo was a post-it note with the following message:

"Cyn, Do you know who this girl is? Doesn't she look familiar? I seem to remember this face and figure, back about 30 - 32 years ago. Love You, Mom"

I looked at the picture and agreed that there was something familiar about this woman. She looked like a younger me. I kept looking at her thinking that perhaps it was a picture of me when I was younger. But it wasn't. I knew it wasn't me.

I could find no other identifying info about the clipping so I called my mother and asked her why she had sent it to me. She told me that she had seen this woman's photo in the newspaper and then she met her in the local mall. She said the woman was named Lena. Apparently they had talked a while, my mother pumping her for historical info. What she found out was that the woman was born in the north, adopted, and raised in Virginia. She went to college in Virginia and was an abstract artist with an exhibit in the mall in Boca Raton. My mother kept mentioning how much this woman looked like me and that she thought the woman was in her early thirties.

Then my mother said, "she could be your daughter." I said nothing, waiting for her to continue. Then she said that if I had deprived her of a grandchild that she's not sure if she could ever forgive me. I was shocked. I asked her if she were asking if I had given birth to a child? She avoided the question and said that she had never thought that I was a mother. Not until she met this young woman. I told her that I would never have aborted, nor given up, a child. I told her that I never had a child and had never been pregnant. She sighed a great relief and said, "thank God."

This conversation has stayed with me since last night. Not so much that my mother would think that I would withhold information like that from her and everyone else in my family, but because, to her, there are long periods of my life when she didn't know where I was or what I was up to. There were years when I didn't see her, and she had no idea if I could have been pregnant and given the baby up. Periods of my life are part of her imagination, because she doesn't know. I can't imagine what it would be like to have a child and have years of their life unknown to me. I know there are families for whom that is par for the course, but not for my family. Not for my mother. And not for me.

In the past, my mother has asked about periods of my life, trying to prompt me to tell her what went on at certain times when we were not in touch. I've joked with her that she was too young to hear my war stories. She's never happy with that answer, but I can't imagine that I would ever tell her about those "missing" years. I never want her to have those images in her mind when she thinks of her eldest daughter. For now, she's content to know that I have not deprived her of a grandchild.

Lonely

According to the Merriam-Webster Dictionary, lonely means:

being without company; cut off from others; SOLITARY; not frequented by human beings; DESOLATE; sad from being alone; LONESOME; producing a feeling of bleakness or desolation

I'm not without company. I'm not cut off from others. I'm rarely alone. I am not sad to be alone, when I am alone. I'm not desolate, nor do I feel bleakness or desolation. Yet loneliness is the word that comes to mind when I try to express the feeling that has permeated my life, throughout the span of my life.

Most times it is a hum like the sound of tires moving at 75 mph on the interstate. Ever present, but in the background, allowing sounds of music, conversation and life to stand in the foreground. At other times it is a deafening cacophony that makes me feel like I am in a deep well aware of my own breathing and heart beat, my own thoughts. The sound of it echoes so loudly that I feel the vibration of it in my bones. Each cell of my body vibrates to the wail of this deep ache.

When I was younger I acted upon this feeling without understanding that it was even there. I ran. I was always going, going, going. Doing something, talking, listening, working, engaging people in any way I could. I was driven to keep on the move. I thought I didn't feel much of anything. If it wasn't trauma, I didn't feel it. I felt, or thought, that I was numb.

As I've aged I've slowed down and have stopped running and pushing. And as I slowed down I began to identify that I was feeling something. Sometimes powerful, sometimes subtle and whiny, but always there. Just there. It's just there all the time.

Is this a feeling common to all humans? Is it the sound of living in a body that separates my mind from other minds? Is this part of the human condition that philosophers have mused about for millennia?

It doesn't matter what the answer is. It doesn't matter because regardless of what the answer is, it will still be there. Sometimes whispering, sometimes screaming -- it will be there. It always has been.

Addendum: My friend, Christi, sent me this url after reading this blog: An Existential View Of Loneliness.

Post Weekend

I had a wonderful weekend in St. Augustine at the Thangka Painting Workshop led by Wendy Harding. There were 5 participants, each of us having participated in the workshop last October as well.

The workshop was very rewarding on many levels. The first was the experience of sharing the time and space with fellow artists. We are all 40+ women (except Wendy, who may be a bit younger than that), involved in the dharma, and part of the Sangha of northeast Florida. We all share an awe of, love of, respect of, and reverence for Tibetan Thangka painting.

We began the weekend by working on a new tigsa (the traditional grid used to proportionately draw the image of Buddha or deities) of a 3/4 face of Chenrezig (Tibetan Buddha of Compassion). I've included a scan of the one I started. The original is 14" x 17".

Wendy also prepared a painting exercise of lotus blossoms amid a tray of offerings. She taught us how to transfer our drawings on to a painting surface and how to prepare the fabric and allowed us tostitch it to the stretcher frame. She reviewed and demo'd the traditional Thangka palette and worked with us as we learned how how to mix the colors (gouache). She also demonstrated the stipling process for coloring lotus blossoms.

The weekend went by so fast -- too fast. I enjoyed two lovely lunches, one on the outdoor deck of the Conch House Restaurant with my friend, Laura, and the other with the whole group on the outdoor, second-story terrace of AIA Restaurant in Old Town St. Augustine. I would love the opportunity to spend a week with these women working on our Thangkas, enjoying meals together, meditating and practicing together. I feel so alive when I am doing this work. It is a process that is meditative and self nourishing.

Our closing activity was a pizza party hosted by the very hospitable Tom and Nancy, in their St. Augustine home. Wendy brought with her a video called Lost Treasures of Tibet. The film chronicles the efforts of a restoration team working on 15th century murals damaged and deteriorating in a dilapidated monastery in the kingdom of Mustang. It's a wonderful film and shows some of the most beautiful 15th century Buddhist murals in existence. The restorers are European and have a very western, archeological view of how the murals should be restored. The locals do not see the murals as art, but rather as living deities, if they can be restored to their original wholeness. It was interesting viewing the murals from both points of view.

I look forward to opportunities in the future to meet with these women and work on our Thangka art together.

One of the largest collections of Tibetan Thangka paintings, as well as other Buddhist art, on the web can be found at Himalaya Art Resources .

Miscellany

Yesterday I spent the day in St. Augustine at a Thangka Painting Workshop led by Wendy Harding. It's really good. Wendy's a good teacher, patient, faithful to the tradition, supportive. It's very detailed work and requires intense focus, but I love doing it. It's a very meditative process. The time went so fast that it was surprising. I'm attending the workshop with a friend. I know everyone in the workshop on an acquaintance basis, they are all part of the sangha here in northeast Florida. I'm looking forward to day two of the workshop.

There's an essay posted on CNN.com today, written by Anderson Cooper about the suicide of his brother Carter in 1988. It's worth reading.

A Reflection

My friend Christi wrote a good blog this morning about tolerance on her blogsite, Piece of Mind. It's a thoughtful essay that encompasses her politics, her ethics, her sense of justice, and her way of dealing with the world and the differences she finds in it. I share many of her views in all the areas she mentioned.

One thing that came to mind after thinking about her post was how hard it is for me to learn tolerance of myself for my failures, weaknesses, foibles, and warts.

I was at a teaching a couple of years ago given by my Tibetan Buddhist Teacher, Bardor Tulku Rinpoche. He mentioned that in Tibetan there is no word for self-loathing. He said that self-hatred is a western concept and something that is learned. He also said, that of all the negative emotions, shame was the most debilitating emotion.

I have spent a good deal of my life being intolerant of myself. Most of my psychic pain has been caused by the belief that I was not good enough or was somehow too damaged. I always measure myself against an ideal. The ideal being the smartest, most enlightened, purest, honest, and loving individual. I've never known anyone like that in my everyday life. Bardor Tulku Rinpoche may well be that person, and I certainly experience him, as his student, as if he were. But aside from him residing in my mind and heart on a daily basis he is not part of my daily life in person.

There's a cliche that says you can't love others until you love yourself. You can change the word love to respect, forgiveness, or tolerance. That has not been my experience. I have learned more love, tolerance, and respect for myself by being able to see others with all their warts, and still find in them the lovable, the noble, the admirable, the respectful. When I can feel such feelings for others even though they are not perfect, even though they have weaknesses and failings, I can then look at myself and give myself a break.

I'm grateful to have a teacher like Bardor Tulku Rinpoche, who, in a few sentences within an hour long talk, gave me something to reflect on for a couple of years. I'm also grateful to have friends who engage in self reflection and share their reflections with myself and others.

To Go Before

This past Sunday I started a new practice. It's a Tibetan Buddhist practice called ngondro. The Tibetan word ngondro means to go before. I took Refuge vows (the act of actual conversion to Buddhism) five years ago, and last year I took Bodhisattva vows. Now it is time to do ngondro, which is a cleansing practice that requires repetition of 4 different practices 111,111 times each. You start ngondro with the first practice and complete it before you go on to the next practice. I do not expect to complete all four practices in this lifetime. I hope to be able to complete at least the first one and maybe the 2nd one. But it's hard for this undisciplined, wild-minded person to make any headway on a daily basis. Before I can move further along the path, I must complete these 4 practices. My only hope is to have a good birth next time, maybe into a Buddhist family, where I will have an opportunity to begin practice earlier than 49 years of age.

Buddhism is a path for me. I have been on a path for a long time. I first began to explore eastern religions and philosophy in 1979-80. While I did practice some of the rituals of Hinduism, I was never able to fully commit myself to it. I had too many doubts, too many questions, too many issues that required me to not consider my experience or perceptions. While I thought long and hard about taking initiation (the ritual of converting to Hinduism) I was never able to do so in an honest way and so I refrained.

I was raised Roman Catholic and, like Hinduism, that religion required me to suspend reason. The more I explored Catholicism, the more I saw it as a pagan practice and a system of rules and proclamations designed to maintain order and obedience in the masses.

Today's Catholicism and most Christian denominations bare little resemblance to the teachings of Christ. Christ was, by Buddhist standards, a bodhisattva. A bodhisattva is a being who postpones his/her own entry into Buddhahood (Nirvana) to help all other sentient beings attain it first. If Jesus did live, and if he was crucified, and if he used his crucifixion to teach about forgiveness and compassion, then he was a bodhisattva. The rest of it was all developed after him, and for reasons of keeping like minded people together.

This coming weekend I will be attending a weekend workshop on Tibetan thangka painting. It's the second thangka workshop I will be attending. The teacher is Wendy Harding. She is an exquisite thangka painter and a patient teacher. You can view a few of her works by clicking on her name. The small Buddha head on the sidebar I did in her class last year. Thangka painting is another endeavor that requires years of training to master. Again, I will not achieve that in this lifetime. Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to the class.

Addendum

"The word imbecile comes from the latin imbecillus, which means "not having a stick." An imbecile is someone with no leaning post. Caught in the web of thought’s changing fashions and habits, he has been lost in obscurity. This is just what Buddhism means by samsara, an endless circle spun by our beliefs and opinions, without the slightest attention to what really is.

The basis of Buddhism, like all authentic practices, is the affirmation that it is possible to find a genuine stick to lean on, that a real world does exist beyond the one we build for ourselves and try to adhere to, come what may. "~excerpt from Chogyam Trungpa: His Life and Vision by Fabrice Midal

"I don’t think Buddhism should be regarded as a religion, but as a social realization." ~Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche

The above photo is of a small painting of the seated Buddha figure with a photo of the living Buddha, H.H. the XVII Gyalwa Karmapa, Orgyen Trinley Dorje © C.C. Kessler 2005

Watercolor

A Dialogue

A friend sent me an email today about an article in the NY Times called, In Trafalgar Square, Much Ado About Statuary.

I went to the web page and read the article, saw the photo of the statue, and a photo of the model for the statute. The sculpture is of a naked pregnant woman. But she’s not just any naked pregnant woman. She is a naked, pregnant woman who has no arms and short legs. She herself is an artist and a mother.

I read the article and was impressed by her, Alison Lapper. And then I began what I have spent a lot of time doing lately, I measured me against her.

I wrote a comment back to my friend. Our email dialog went this way:

SHE: Thought this sculpture was grand.

ME: wow, yeah it's a great sculpture. Good for her, that she was there, and commented on not having slain anyone to get there. I'm always amazed by people like her. Her obstacles seem unsurmountable and yet she manages to have a full life. I, on the other hand....

SHE: You, on the other hand, what? I find your life admirable, you seem pretty fulfilled, surrounded by friends, in a good place...from the outside. Am I mistaken?

ME: Well, there's always room for improvement. I would like to have been, and still be, more courageous in my choices. I'd like to travel, to India, and other places. I'd like to not own a house, or things, or animals, or have any of the ties that bind me to one place. I'd like to be a free spirit. I think. Then there's the loneliness that's such a part of my life, and always has been. And I know that there is no way to eliminate it. It is the loneliness of being one. Relationships don't eliminate that. I don't think it's eliminatable. Aside from that, my life is a wonder!

SHE: Travel is always possible............the yen to not own or be responsible is not. And I think it is good to own, to be responsible, to relate to animals, to be tied down in some ways. It teaches us patience, allows us to reduce self-centeredness, gives us lessons that are invaluable on the dreary road to emotional maturation. LOL Furthermore, I think choosing to not be attached in any way is not a courageous choice, just a fantasy that would likely end in disaster.

Do we suffer from terminal "glass is half empty"-tude? One wonders.....

It was at that point that I stopped flipping back emails. Ahhh, touched a sore spot. I fancy myself an optimist. I’m the positive one! But, I think more often than not, I do look at the glass as half empty.

I want to be free of stuff and yet once upon a time I was free of stuff. Everything I owned I could carry in a backpack. I don’t remember feeling free. I remember feeling afraid and alone (which is different than lonely). Over the years I’ve worked hard to become a responsible person and to fill my life with people and things I love and give me comfort and companionship. It should be enough. It is enough. Why am I so dissatisfied? Something to ponder. (Thanks, Lin!)


Photo © Stephen Hird/Reuters
"Alison Lapper Pregnant," Marc Quinn's sculpture of his friend who was born with shortened legs and without arms, is to remain in Trafalgar Square until 2007.

Remembering J.O.L.

John Lennon was born 65 years ago today! Where is the time going?
To honor him, some of my favorite lyrics of his:

I Don't Want To Face It
Say you're looking for some peace and love
Leader of a big old band
You wanna save humanity
But it's people that you just can't stand

Well now you're lookin' for a world of truth
Trying to find a better way
The time has come to see yourself
You always look the other way

Nobody Told Me
Everybody's runnin' and no one makes a move
Everyone's a winner and nothing left to lose
There's a little yellow idol to the north of Katmandu
Everybody's flying and no one leaves the ground
Everybody's crying and no one makes a sound
There's a place for us in the movies you just gotta lay around

God
God is a Concept
by which
we measure our pain

I Found Out
Now that I showed you just what I've been through
Don't take nobody's word what you can do
There ain't no Jesus don't come from the sky
now that I found out I know I can cry

Crippled Inside
you can go to church
and sing a hymn
judge me by the color
of my skinyou can
live a lie until you die
one thing you can't hide
is when you're crippled inside

Nowhere Man
Doesn't have a point of view
Knows not where he's going to
Isn't he a bit like you and me?


I Don't Want To Face It & Nobody Told Me © John Lennon, Lenono Music
God, I Found Out & Crippled Inside © John Lennon
Nowhere Man © Lennon/McCartney, Northern Songs, LTD

Reflections

"An idea that is developed and put into action is more important than an idea that exists only as an idea. " ~Buddha

"Your work is to discover your work--and then with all your heart to give yourself to it." ~Buddha

It is hypocrisy to say that all religions are the same. Different religions have different views and fundamental differences. But it does not matter, as all religions are meant to help in bringing about a better world with better and happier human beings. On this level, I think that through different philosophical explanations and approaches, all religions have the same goal and the same potential. Take the concept[s] of the creator and self-creation for instance. There are big differences between the two, but I feel they have the same purpose. To some people, the concept of the creator is very powerful in inspiring the development of self-discipline, becoming a good person with a sense of love, forgiveness and devotion to the ultimate truth - the Creator or God.

The other concept is self-creation: if one wants to be good, then it is one's own responsibility to be so. Without one's own efforts one cannot expect something good to come about. One's future is entirely dependent on oneself: it is self-created. This concept is very powerful in encouraging an individual to be a good and honest person. So you see, the two are different approaches but have the same goal. ~by H.H. the XIV Dalai Lama

"All that we are is the result of what we have thought. If a man speaks or acts with an evil thought, pain follows him. If a man speaks or acts with a pure thought, happiness follows him, like a shadow that never leaves him. " ~Buddha

"Believe nothing, no matter where you read it, or who said it, no matter if I have said it, unless it agrees with your own reason and your own common sense. " ~Buddha

"Happiness is not something ready made. It comes from your own actions. " ~XIV Dalai Lama

"In the practice of tolerance, one's enemy is the best teacher. " ~XIV Dalai Lama

"A religion that takes no account of practical affairs and does not help to solve them is no religion. " ~Mohandas K. Gandhi

"Action expresses priorities. " ~Mohandas K. Gandhi

"All the religions of the world, while they may differ in other respects, unitedly proclaim that nothing lives in this world but Truth. " ~Mohandas K. Gandhi

Looking Forward

Last night Christi came over and we shared dinner, tv watching and making plans for our joint vacation. The four of us will be traveling to Cashiers, NC the first weekend in November. We'll be staying for a week at a big, wonderful house Christi and Sue have rented. I'll be spending my 54th birthday there.

I love North Carolina and have vacationed there at least 2 times a year for the past 5 years. There's something about the mountains, the air, and the casual pace that I love. The landscape is so different from Florida. Jacksonville's landscape is more varied than that of south and west Florida, but it is still Florida. I miss mountains and vast varieties of trees and plants. I miss dirt that looks like dirt and not blonde sand.

The first week in November the weather should be cool, with brisk evenings. We may see some fall foliage, although it'll be a little early in the year for NC. The house has an out door hot tub and a fireplace. A little chill will be great motivation to enjoy both.

For the past several years Frankye and I have taken art classes in North Carolina. We are scheduled for another week of classes in March 2006. The trip next month will be the first time in a long while that we haven't taken some kind of classes while in NC. We'll have an open schedule and can just enjoy and roam as we desire.

Some of the art classes we've taken have been in Boone, NC, called high country. Elevation 5000 ft. The two watercolors I've posted were painted during a plein aire class we took in Boone with Don Getz in Sept. 2003. I really enjoyed the class, demos, and painting outdoors. We had wonderful weather on that trip and everywhere we looked there were paintable scenes. There are farms, falling down barns, streams, picturesque valleys, lush woods, cabins and lots of art galleries and antique shops. It's a pretty place.

I'm really looking forward to this coming vacation and will probably write more about my anticipation as the time to leave nears.

Rambling Thoughts

I had an unpleasant experience yesterday. Not really unpleasant, just sort of, well, unpleasant. I was talking with a co-worker, a woman in her early 30's, someone I like very much. We were talking about exciting performers and I mentioned Janis Joplin. She said, "who's that?" I told her to shut up and go away.

My day often finds me surrounded by 3 and 4 year olds. Another generation. But there's another one ahead of them, the one in between me and the 3 and 4 year olds. There are 5 generations alive. I'm already in the 3rd tier.

My thoughts and writings lately have focused on aging and passing time. I am surrounded by images and sounds that fill me with nostalgia and memories of the "old days." When I was a child, and my parents and grandparents talked about the old days, I would see images in my mind and they were all in sepia. When I think of my old days they are in bright vivid day-glo colors.

In " The Sixties: The years that shaped a generation," a PBS documentary, Charlie Kaiser, historian/writer (and aquaintance from NY) says, "It was absolutely exhilerating, it was the greatest time to be alive, ever, for sure." I feel that way too, as do many of my generation, but with it comes the sadness that the reality of today is the proof of my generations failure to change the world for the better.

Capitalism and all its evils is stronger than it was in the sixties. Nixon, a republican, was more of a liberal in his domestic policies than Clinton was. Government is bigger because defense and national security looms larger than social services. We still have too many children growing up poor and poorly educated. Institutionalized racism has made a snail's progress. America still engages in war in foreign lands with no visible "national threat" as the cause. America still sends poor and uneducated minorities in disproportionate-to-the-population amounts to fight these wars. Big, and bigger than ever, business still rules.

So while it may have been the most exhilerating and idealistic time to be alive, never has a generation aspired to so much and accomplished so little. Maybe that's why the memories of the culture are so important. We had the Beatles, and they changed everything, musically, at least.

Contributions

I've often thought about what my life contributes to the world. I know it is a grandeose thought, egocentric, but still, what contribution could an ordinary person, with ordinary talents, bring to this world.

Is it simply enough to be, as Gandhi said, "the change you want to see?" Is it enough to be part of the solution and not part of the problem by working in social services a good part of my work life? Is it enough to donate money to helping causes? Is it enough to have loved some people? Is it enough to have loved some deeply and specially?

I don't have an answer. Which is the answer, I guess. If I can't answer those questions with a yes, then I am saying no, it's not enough. I've asked my self this question throughtout my life, beginning as a teenager. It was a different question then, more like, "what will I contribute to this world," or "what do I have to contribute to this world." Now, its, what HAVE I contributed to the world?

I'm also not sure what "enough" is? Did Gandhi do enough by being the change he wanted to see? Did Martin Luther King, Jr. do enough by sacrificing his life for equality of black people? Did Konas Salk do enough by finding a vaccine against polio and saving many lives? What is enough? Did Paul McCartney do enough by having at least half the people on this planet knowing at least one of his songs?

I guess all this was provoked by the viewing of the documentary "Born into Brothels." My friend Christi brought it over this weekend and we watched it. It's a very moving film about a group of children, all of whom are the children of sex workers, living in the red light district of Calcutta, India. Zana Briskie, founder of Kids With Cameras, brought cameras to this small group of children, taught them how to take photographs, gave them opportunities to explore photography as art, learn about it, do it, and market it. The money raised has been spent on their education. She made a profound difference in the life of a group of children that had very limited options for their future.

Zana Briskie is not Gandhi, King, Salk or McCartney. Her contribution is far more intimate in scope than theirs. Yet, her contribution is undeniable and "enough." And that is the yardstick by which I am measuring my life today.

Flashback

I miss the 60's. Or, maybe it's who I was in the 60's that I miss. While there was much wrong with my life, decisions I made, and feelings I carried about myself, I also had an energy and idealism that made each day an exciting adventure. I loved the "summer of love" 1967, the music, the clothes, the passion for politics. I was 16 and felt in the middle of it culturally and on the fringes intellectually and politically.

My home, at the time, was a war-zone. It was the last 2 years of my father's drinking and life in the house was far more chaotic and violent than life outside the house. When I walked out the door each day I walked into freedom. Freedom to think, freedom to listen to the music I loved, freedom to go where I wanted to go, freedom to be who I was. I was more afraid for my life at home than I was in the streets. The sense of safety I felt outside my home gave me the confidence to wander and roam and put myself in positions that were not the smartest or safest places to be, but were exciting and stimulating and creative. Yet, as I look back, I was never beaten out in the world, I was never manipulated as much out on the streets as I was at home. I wasn't lied to as much on the streets as I was at home. Outside was a safer place to be even in this unsafe world.

There was a soundtrack to this period of my life. It was alive, vibrant music that had a driving energy and a salve for the pain and rage that plagued me. Sgt. Pepper was released in 1967 and was the first music I heard that had a spiritual element to it that wasn't Judeo-Christian in nature and message. There were snippets of philosophy in Within you, Without you and A Day in the Life, hope in With a Little Help From My Friends, Fixing a Hole and Getting Better, empathy in She's Leaving Home. It was rich in sound and instruments I had never heard in rock and roll and it all just expanded my mind. There was more than just the Beatles that powered me on. I loved the anti-war music of Country Joe and the Fish, the flower power music coming out of San Franciso, Flowers in Your Hair, Grace Slick and the Jefferson Airplane, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix, Bob Dylan, Phil Ochs. I could go on and on. Music was all I had at that time. Music and books. Without them I think I would have died of loneliness.

The 60's were the most painful and most joyous time of my life. It was the last time in my life I felt free from the need for "security," that illusory dream we Americans engage in. Buying into that dream is enslaving. It has enslaved me. But that's another essay on another day. For now, I will always feel warmth and comfort when I listen to the music of the 60's or have memories of the 60's.