Relic Photos

I went to the Relics exhibit again on Saturday. It's so impressive to be in that environment. We took Shannon with us and she was quite moved. Christi's grandmother became quite emotional while viewing the relics. While we were there F did her Medicine Buddha sadhana, her primary practice.

This photo is the Relic display table with the statue of Maitreya in the center. That is F, Shannon and Christie on the right viewing the relics.

This is a picture of the Milarepa
and Marpa relic display. It is truly moving to be in the presence of such things.

There seems to have been a very good response to the tour in Jacksonville. The FL Times-Union published an article in the Sunday newspaper along with two color photos of the relics.


This is a photo of F and her daughter, Shannon, in the Shrine Room of the Cambodian Buddhist Center. Sunday evening Shannon brought her son, Julian, to the exhibit. Julian is a ballet dancer, and is dancing the lead this season in the FL Ballet Company's performance of The Nutcracker. He, too, made it into yesterday's Times Union. Way to go, Jules!

And if all that wasn't enough, the Jaguars beat the Miami Dolphins yesterday 24-10.

Heart Shrine Relics Tour

Last night we went to the opening ceremony of the Heart Shrine Relics Tour visit to Jacksonville. What an incredible gift to have here in our city!

The shrine has been set up at the Cambodian Buddhist Center of Jacksonville. The building is beautiful. There were 5 Cambodian monks in attendance and they did an opening ceremony in Cambodian. Our KTC chanted the Tashi prayer in Tibetan and then the women who bring the shrine to cities all over the world did an opening ceremony in English. It was very moving - all of it. There were well over 100 people in attendance, many of whom were Asian.

The shrine itself is beautifully set up. Everything is done with the highest respect and homage to the relics. There are relics from the historical Buddha, Shakyamuni. Twenty-five hundred years old, preserved and revered all that time. The majority of the relics are from Tibetan Buddhist lineage Masters of the past including Marpa and Milarepa, Yeshe Tsogyal, the First Karmapa, and many others. The relics that moved me the most were from H.H. Karmapa XVI. I'm not sure why, except that he was the first Karmapa to come to America, and without his efforts here, I would not have become Buddhist, nor would I have met my teacher, Bardor Tulku Rinpoche.

We are going to see the shrine again today and we will probably go at least one other time while it is here. This is a once in a lifetime event as the relics will be enshrined in India at some point.

I'm enjoying my Saturday morning. I slept until 7:15, when F's clock radio went off. She has the radio tuned to a CW station and the radio came on blasting a song about Osama bin Laden, or all things. I don't get CW music at all.

fry-day

I am often fried by the time Friday comes. I'm not particularly fried today. But I'm still glad it's Friday.

I slept late again. After 7 a.m. This is troubling me because I generally don't require as much sleep as I am getting lately. For the longest time I got up between 5 and 6 every morning regardless of what day it was. I'm glad I still don't need to set an alarm clock but I miss having more time to myself in the morning.

This weekend we have loose plans. F is working tomorrow so I will have quiet time in the morning. Then we will go to the Buddha exhibit. Not sure what time, but sometime tomorrow. Nothing planned for Sunday -- and not sure if I will be doing a shift at the Buddhist Relics that day. I'm looking forward to the exhibit, and of seeing the Cambodian Buddhist Center. I was a little disappointed that there was nothing about it in today's Times Union paper. There was something in this week's Folio, and that's good.

I am still feeling a sense of sluggishness. I can't tell if it's emotional or physical or a combo of both. All I know is that I don't feel any adrenalin flowing through my body. Funny how an absence of adrenalin is something I notice. Most people notice when they have a spurt of adrenalin. That's the difference between people who grow up in crisis as a way of life and those who grow up with ocassional crisis to deal with.

I was thinking about my therapist last night. This is the most different therapeutic relationship I've ever had. There is no transference. Just me and her, 2 women roughly the same age, both obese, me white, she black, both professionals. I talk freely to her. No hesitation. She knows I'm not in crises and I think sometimes she's not sure why I come there. Right now I want to go. She is a good sounding board. She is not critical and I can talk to her and she will be supportive, not critical. If I express criticism of myself she helps me explore it. I've really needed someone in my life like her for a long time. I find the therapy helpful and also enjoyable. I can't say that I've ever "enjoyed" therapy before. I have always found it helpful to some degree or another but never enjoyable. But I do now and that's a good thing! Indeed.

some quotes I came across today....

"Rather than thinking up ways to escape from suffering, the approach in Buddhism is much more to understand suffering and what it means to be discontent.." – Jamgon Kongtrul Rinpoche from The Buddha Nature

"The moment one says one is happy one no longer is." (2-12-1939)
"It is better to be bored on one's own than with others." (9-4-1940)
"He who sings is not always happy." (1-17-1944)
~~~~Pierre Bonnard

A Post from the weblog of Ramesh Gandhi:

Former Pakistani cricket captain and current politician Imran Khan was being interviewed on NDTV. He was asked, "Do you think President Bush is a terrorist?" He replied, "President Bush is not smart enough to be a terrorist."

same day same flavor

One of my favorite movies to catch on tv is "Same Time Next Year." In homage I named today's entry same day same flavor.

The above posted picture is a wc I did in my sketchbook this morning before coming to work. I like the colors. It's obvious that I've been influenced by the new I-95 flyover here in JAX, and by the time I've been spending looking at the abstract drawings of Richard Diebenkorn. He is one of the abstract painters I am very attracted to. I am stilled when I see his work. I feel the same with Brice Marden, Mark Rothko, and early Susan Rothenberg.

Today is Thursday and that's a good thing. I enjoy getting near the end of the work week. The closer to my private time, the better I feel. I slept again until 7. I've been waking up between 5 and 6 each morning and deciding to sleep in for another quarter hour or so and before I realize it an hour or more have passed.

Coming up tomorrow is the opening ceremony for the Buddha Relics Tour. I'm looking forward to seeing the exhibit. There will be a relic from H.H. Karmapa I in addition to the relics of the Buddha Shakyamuni. The whole event is very exciting and I'm grateful to Mike for all his hard work on this project.

There are many reasons for being grateful I am no longer a teenager. There are even more reasons than that for being grateful for not being a teenager in this technological world. It's hard to be an active teenager today, interested in and involved with the technology you will need to succeed economically in life. It's hard to have a secret life -- and all teenagers have a secret life. It's hard to have one and use technology. That's all I can say about that.

I may add more comments later.

2/25/43 - 11/29/01

Remembering George Harrison who died 5 years ago today from cancer. The new Beatles compilation "LOVE" has a wonderful, sweet version of "While My Guitar Gently Weeps." His voice is so clear and lovely on that track. A huge talent and influence.

WEDnesDAY

Had an appointment with my shrink today. Talked about the vacation and holiday and family. I talked about my childhood and my parents and how I thought I was the kind of child who would have responded well to 30 seconds of explanation about why some behaviors were unreasonable coupled with appropriate behavior modeling. Instead I had the sledge hammer approach to child rearing. I talked about going deep within myself to find quiet and solace. I talked about the importance of books and theatre and art in helping me explore a life worth living.

We also talked about aging and no longer being excited by or attached to holiday rituals. I've been feeling particularly annoyed by the over emphasis on commercial aspects of the holiday. In some ways it has had a positive effect on me. I have no xmas list. There is nothing I want or need. The only thing I look forward to for the holidays is having more free time to spend with F, my pups, my friends, time home, quiet, relaxed.

My friend, Josh, found me a website for cheap air tix and I will be able to fly to Atlanta to see Clio in January. She's been doing a lot of jewelry making and is hoping to ship some to her sister to sell in Denmark. I'm going to bring my camera and photograph some of it. I am very excited about the coming trip to see Clio. I can't remember how long it's been since she and I had time to just hang out together. However long it's been, it's been too long.

My mother is annoying me with her concern for my niece. My mother is overly involved in the lives of her grown grandchildren -- especially my brother's children. She keeps pressuring me to call her. When I tell her I haven't had the time she cries and tells me how worried she is about her and she can't sleep for her worry. Oy. Such drama. I guess that's what happens when you don't have books and art and intellectually interesting and fun friends in your life. You get theatre where you can.

The above b & w photo was taken in November 2005 on the back porch of the house C & S rented in No. Carolina last year. They generously shared it with us for a week and we had a fabulous time.

some quotes

"The purpose of art is to lay bare the questions which have been hidden by the answers."
- James Baldwin







"Art is not what you see, but what you make others see."
- Georgia O'Keeffe

Tis the Season

A Rant: ...to be jolly, or tired, or just plain unamused. Things are not always so wonderful this time of year. So much pressure to spend, spend, spend. I am so over it. It has absolutely nothing to do with the amount of money I can afford to spend. I'm just over the commercialization of this capitalist holiday and how big business has hijacked a time friends and family show affection to one another. So I will not participate in the usual manner, but I will give and let my people know I love them.

The Immediate Past: I had a wonderful 4-day Thanksgiving weekend. So laid back. I feel like I caught up to myself after the hustle and bustle of vacation (which is supposed to be restful but wasn't physically -- though it was mentally and emotionally) and returning to work. We had a wonderful holiday at C & S' house. Lots of laughs. I realized after that day that I don't laugh enough. It's one of the reasons I enjoy my time with C & S so much. We always laugh so much. Fri, Sat and Sun was relaxing and restful. F has a cold so she wasn't into doing much and that always suits me.

We went to Borders with C & S on Saturday and I got the new Beatles remix album, "LOVE." I really like it. It's a collection of songs from their catalogue that have been remixed by George and Giles Martin from the original Beatle tapes. They sound so good. The remix of "Strawberry Fields" is wonderful as is the stark a capella of "Because." Glad I got it. I bought it with leftover birthday money. I went away with $168 in birthday gift cash. I gave F $60 because she had no personal spending $$ for vacation. I bought a banner for our shrine and some Nepalese mala bead bags at the Himalayan shop, 2 used art books, and a gift for F at an art gallery in Berkeley Springs, WV. I came home with $58. I've used some for gas and groceries but I still have some left.

Coming Events: This weekend coming up is the Buddhist Relics Tour coming to Jacksonville. As a KTC Board member I will be spending some time there as a volunteer. I am very excited about our group co-sponsoring this event with the Cambodian Buddhist Center. I also had absolutely nothing to do with it. Our Asst. Director Mike did all the work on this one.

I am looking forward to the holidays - coming and going - and I'm looking forward to visiting Clio in January. I will be going up to Atlanta for the Jan 12-15th MLK bday weekend. I hope to find cheap air tickets ($100 or less) or I will drive. I am going alone, will stay at her place, and just hang with someone I love very much and hardly ever see or spend time with it. I'm very excited about it.

Time Flies When You're Looking At Art

I’m astounded to sit here and write that Thanksgiving is only two days away. My mind FLOODS with cliché’s. “Where did the time go?” “The older you get the faster life goes.” “Feels like we just finished 2005, where did 2006 go?” And on and on.

But I don’t know where this year has gone. I guess its just gone the way of all the other years I’ve been alive. Not sure if time goes faster because I move slower now, or if it seems faster because I do less. It could be that I actually do more and spend less time pondering and resisting what I need to do. Yes, that could be it. NOT!

While my life is much more settled than ever before one search has not ended yet. That is the search for deeper meaning – in everything. I search for more meaningful art – mine and others. I search for writing and philosophy that will be so deep as to permeate my bone marrow. I search for words and facial expressions that will tell me that another human knows, truly knows, the depth of my feeling, and I, theirs. I think when I let go of this desire life will be pointless and I will fade away. Or maybe it be its most real.

I got the a new art book , “Plane Image: A Brice Marden Retrospective” in the mail yesterday. Frankye had ordered it for my birthday. I believe Brice Marden is the greatest living artist, not just the greatest American living artist. There is something about his work that moves me deeply. It has a depth and stillness to it that grabs hold of something within me. Something indefinable but palpable. I can only aspire to reach that in a picture I make. I’d like to be able to do that at least once before I die. I don’t care if it is only a 2” x 2” sketch on a scrap of paper. I will know it when I see it.

So another Thanksgiving coming. Delicious food served up by and enjoyed with close friends, chosen family. There will be less excitement about the holiday and the food. After all, I've done this 55 times. It's not new. So while the anticipation is no longer there, the satisfaction and enjoyment of it is more.

RFK on the Campaign Trail 

RFK at the Ambassador Hotel, June 5, 1968 minutes before he was shot 

Bobby

I haven’t seen this film yet but look forward to it. I think it will be sad to watch. I know it will bring me back to that time in my life. 1968 was a difficult year for me. My life was in turmoil. I was suffering the throes of adolescent angst and engulfed in household filled with the same rage and unpredictability that the country was in. 1968 began the last year of my father’s active alcoholism. I was immersed in my own addiction to drugs and drinking. My sexuality was blooming and not in an acceptable way. I was trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity in a very insane and out of control environment. I was fighting to survive on many levels.

This all culminated by a physical breakdown in late May 1968. I had mononucleosis and was put to bed for the summer. I spent the first few weeks too sick to know where I was. I remember sleeping around the clock. I remember high fevers. I remember my grandmother coming to stay everyday with me while my parents went to work. I had never been so sick in my life, nor have I been since then.

I was in this state on June 5th, lying in bed my clock radio near my head on the night stand. The radio came on at the preset time and the voice of the commentator gradually permeated my consciousness. He was talking about the Kennedy assassination. It had occurred 4 ½ years ago. As I listened I wondered why they were talking about it now. Then I heard him say that Kennedy was in a coma. The commentator mentioned Robert Kennedy by name and the coming 1968 presidential election. I understood then it was not JFK they were talking about. I was shocked. I was a supporter, though too young to vote, of an RFK presidency. He was smart, well read, unafraid to express flowery idealism. I had recently seen him up close and personal as Marshall of the St. Patrick’s Day Parade on March 17th, 1968. I took a photo of him waving at us on the sidelines. He was smiling, his long hair falling in his face, his right hand pushing it back to the side.

This movie is supposed to be a snapshot of that day. Not just his assassination, but the people in the hotel that day. It’s a snapshot of their hope for the future and how hope died that day. That was my feeling too. Hope in leaders and in America did die for me that day. Not just because of Bobby Kennedy’s assassination, but because it was the last in a string of assassinations of people who were making a difference. I remember clearly the assassinations of JFK, Medgar Evers, Malcolm X, Martin Luther King, Jr. and RFK. They were heroes, each of them, to me and my generation. They had a vision of the world and America that included peace, acceptance, and harmony. They were brave and put themselves on the line for their beliefs and paid the ultimate price for it. The lesson was clear. Don’t take the risk. Don’t care too much. As Dylan said, "Don’t follow leaders, watch your parking meters." Care too much about a leader and they will be killed. They will be taken away from you.

After RFK’s assassination there was a discernable shift in the attitude of my generation. There was an anger and bitterness there that eventually turned inward on itself. There was a war in Viet Nam that most of us disagreed with. In November 1968 Richard Nixon was elected president and the war Bobby would have ended escalated into a larger, more destructive war. There was no hope in sight for it’s ending, and in fact it went on for another 7 years.

The peace and love generation became a pissed off, hopeless mass of shiftlessness that took more and more drugs and dropped out in ever increasing numbers. Hope died and we became the cynics who money mongered in the 80's and who lead this nation now down a dangerous path. Never before had so many, dreamt so large and accomplished so little.

"We've had difficult times in the past. We will have difficult times in the future. It is not the end of violence; it is not the end of lawlessness; it is not the end of disorder."
~~Robert F. Kennedy, April 3rd 1968

RFK lying on the floor of the Ambassador Hotel pantry, shot but alive

Talking

I was talking to my therapist today, recounting all that has occurred in the past two weeks. I was amazed at how much had happened: I'd been out of town for 3 1/2 days visiting my parents, was told that my parents wouldn't be moving here, accompanied Frankye to the hospital for surgical removal of questionable skin lesions on her body, had lunch with Lori - first time since May, visited my ex and was amazed a how differently we now live, was moved out of the private office I had at work and into a cubicle, and endured the relentless media blitz of the 5th anniversary of 9/11/2001.

It wasn't until I discussed all the other stuff that I was able to talk about 9/11, the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, and the grieving I am still doing about the destruction of the trade towers and the massive loss of life - then and now. Part of my grieving included Hurricane Katrina and the lack of response to citizens in dire circumstances and life threatening conditions. We talked about it being cummulative and not just in the past five years or so. But in the course of my life, the history I have witnessed or participated in that has left scars that silently sunk into the texture of who I am now at age 54.

I talked about remembering a time when I believed that survival at all costs was the most important thing. I talked about what it felt like to have given that up - to instead consciously wanting to not survive a horrific attack or devastating natural occurrance. I asked if she thought I was depressed. She said no. She said she thinks that cumulative grief layers on top of one another. She said no one can grieve 9/11 because we went to war so quickly afterward and there has been so much death and violence since then. That coupled with the horror of the tsunami, followed by Katrina, has created layer upon layer of grief and sadness that can't be healed. The times we live in are so volatile that there is no time in between horrors to grieve and heal and adjust. That sounds right to me.

What I am left with is simple joy at the simplicity in my life. I like the quiet dirt road I live on. I enjoy being around the animals that live with us. I enjoy Frankye and the routine we have settled into. I like my job. I like my friends and the laughter we always enjoy together. I like the 9 year old car I drive, the dirt around the house, the high trees that house many birds, squirrels and raccoons and the quiet at night when wildlife is settling in. I enjoy painting and drawing in my sketchbooks in the evening while listening to the television or talking with Frankye. When I pass out of this life someday I will go with no regrets and missing nothing. I am already holding on to it all less tightly.

Thomas Merton On War

I listened to our illustrious president last night. His speech to the nation on the 5th anniversary of 9/11 was an infomercial for the Iraq war. Nothing he said justifies this war. Nothing he said convinced me that the threat of Saddam and terrorism is taken seriously in Washington. The actions and the way the war is being carried out is testament to that. The war exists to fulfill other priorities (nameless and unknown) and other agendas. The cynic in me believes that to be solely monetary. It is probably more true than not. I have long believed that America's goal is not to spread democracy, but to spread capitalism, with America as the chief producer of goods for sale.

But again, I am a cynic when it comes to this administration and capitalism and big business.

I include a quote from Thomas Merton on the morality of war, and the motives for going to war. Am I cynical, or is this just the way it is?

“Hence it becomes more and more difficult to estimate the morality of an act leading to war because it is more and more difficult to know precisely what is going on. Not only is war increasingly a matter for pure specialists operating with fantastically complex machinery, but above all there is the question of absolute secrecy regarding everything that seriously affects defense policy. We may amuse ourselves by reading the reports in mass media and imagine that these “facts” provide sufficient basis for moral judgments for and against war. But in reality, we are simply elaborating moral fantasies in a vacuum. Whatever we may decide, we remain completely at the mercy of the governmental power, or rather the anonymous power of managers and generals who stand behind the facade of government. We have no way of directly influencing the decisions and policies taken by these people. In practice, we must fall back on a blinder and blinder faith which more and more resigns itself to trusting the “legitimately constituted authority” without having the vaguest notion what that authority is liable to do next. This condition of irresponsibility and passivity is extremely dangerous. It is hardly conducive to genuine morality.”

~~From Passion for Peace: The Social Essays of Thomas Merton, edited by William H. Shannon (The Crossroad Publishing Company, New York, NY, 1995) pages 113-114.

Avoiding September 11th

I'm avoiding writing about the 5th anniversary of 9/11 by publishing this meme (ripped off from Mad Organica.)

1. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 18, find line 4. Write down what it says: "When his group finished boot training, Rauschenberg told the"

2. Stretch your left arm out as far as you can...what do you touch first? 8 auspicious symbols banner

3. What is the last thing you watched on TV? JAG

4. WITHOUT LOOKING, what time is it? 5:30 pm

5. Now look at the clock, what is the actual time? 5:32 pm

6. With the exception of the computer, what can you hear? NPR, women in my office talking

7. When did you last step outside? 2:05 pm

8. What are you wearing? a tie-dye company t-shirt, black pants, black shoes

9. When did you last laugh? Earlier in the afternoon when Cameshea told me Hazel can spell 2 words, her own name and the word pool

10. Seen anything weird lately? the remembrances of 9/11 - just because it is 5 years

11. What did you dream last night? Who knows?

12. What's on the walls of the room you're in? I'm in my cubicle at work and there is maroon fabric on the walls. I have some photos, a painting of mine, a pic of the Buddha, a metal sun, a pic of XVII Karmapa's caligraphy...

14. What do you think of this survey? It beats writing about 9/11

15. What's the last film you saw? Silverado

16. If you became a multi-millionaire overnight, what would you buy first? Lots of free-time - no more working for a living.

17. Tell me something about you that I don't know. I don't know who you are so how would I know what you know?

18. If you could change one thing about the world, what would you change? I would change humans to be evolved beyond violence of any kind

19. Do you like to dance? Yup

20. Imagine your first child is a girl, what do you call her? Sarah

21. Boy? not sure, but not Joseph

22. Would you ever consider living abroad? If the USA became unliveable

I'm outta here............

A Stack of Journals

 

The Road Less Traveled

There was an airplane crash in Lexington Kentucky Sunday. The press is reporting the cause of the crash was pilot error. The pilot took off from the wrong runway, one half the size of the runway assigned, and as a result the plane was not able to reach the speed necessary for successful liftoff. Forty-nine of the fifty people aboard died.

I often feel like I have taken the wrong road. Sometimes I can't find the road. Sometimes I don't know a road is ending and that I need to turn off onto another road. Sometimes I don't even know I am moving, what to speak of whether I am on the right road or any road.

The spiritual practice I follow is called a path. Movement again. Movement in a direction. Like a road, a path insinuates a direction prevously traveled. In the case of a path, it is a less frequently traveled narrow direction...a road conjures images of a wider, faster, more traveled and established direction.

The road is often used as a metaphor. The internet is called the "information super highway." Practicing eastern philosophies is referred to as "being on the path," and regret is often depicted as "the road not taken." No wonder we get tired by the time we reach our 50's and 60's. We've been in motion physically, mentally and spiritually, from the time we were born. It's exhausting.

Meditation is a good way to stand still and be still long enough to rest the spirit and the mind. But if you do it right your meditation will gradually move you deeper into yourself. Again, movement, regardless of how slow.

We live in constant motion on an orb that turns in place one full rotation every twenty-four hours. We move so constantly we don't even realize we're moving. Our heart beats, and our lungs expand. If we are alive we are moving. When we stop moving, we stop being alive, and then the living move us out of the way.

I'd rather be on a path than a road. Roads are too crowded and move too fast. It's too easy to get caught up in the direction of the traffic. It's too easy to miss your exit ramp. It's much better to be on a less traveled path so you can stop and rest along the way, enjoy the sights and see who is on the path with you. It's also much easier to ask for directions when you get lost.

Remembering Crow

Last night our friends Christy and Sue took us out to dinner. As usual, we had a wonderful time. Laughing, talking, more laughing, enjoying food together. The laughter always feels so good. In the course of the conversation Sue told a story of her daughter, Andrea's, puppy getting out of the fence and running down the block. It was a funny story, but also a scary one.

While listening to how the dog ran away from and then chased Andrea, I was reminded of Crow and how she loved to bolt out doors or fences and run. I learned early that if Crow could see me she would keep running. As long as she could hear my voice or see me she felt safe enough to keep going. One time she got away from a friend of mine who let her out the door and watched in horror as she ran down the street. My friend ran after her, and ran after her and ran after her. By the time I got in the car and searched the neighborhood for them they were 1/2 a mile away and both exhausted.
I adored Crow. She was sweet, sleek, beautiful. She was, even at almost aged 10, playful as a puppy. I always felt safe with Crow. I felt safe with her and how she felt toward me and I felt safe in the world with her by my side. She was a good friend, a good pet.

A month before Crow's 10th birthday she got out of our fence and went through a hole in another fence onto a very busy street where I live. She was killed on that road on February 17th, 2004. I still miss her so much.

I have other little buddies now. Noodles, a/k/a dachshunds. Frankye and I have 3 of them. An old girl named Alice, and 2 young boys named Ben and Yeshe. They are the cutest little dogs. They're playful and loving and fun to watch. They can be maddeningly stubborn if you're stuck on having it your own way. In that way they are an exercise in patience and live and let live. I love them. Different than I loved Crow, but I love them all the same.

Toosday

This past week I feel like I'm walking through life in a dream or a fog. I'm there, but nothing is clear. While that's happening I'm also very busy at work, making art in my journal, reading two books, doing a crossword puzzle daily, watching TV, playing with the dogs, talking with Frankye, cooking, spending time with friends and family, web surfing, meditating, listening to NPR, and feeling sad for the state of the world.

At work I've planned out my major projects for the next 9 months, with stop and start dates for each leg of the project. I do this every year at this time since a few of my projects are step intensive and need to occur several times throughout the school year. Aside from a trip to my parents for Labor Day and a vacation in West Virginia in November with Frankye's brothers and sister, my personal life is not that planned or specific. I know I will be going to work most days.

There are some things up in the air. Our cat Dolly is really winding down. She is old and frail and slow. She's hanging in there, and doesn't seem to be uncomfortable at all, just not energetic. There's a possibility of our best friends moving away. If Christi gets a job she has applied for they may be out of Jax by December. Their good fortune would be our loss and sadness. Of course, there are no guarantees that I will even survive long enough to complete this post, what to speak of living to experience anything on my calendar to date.

The other day I was listening to NPR and Wolf Blitzer was talking with people to get their opinions about the terrorist plot the British discovered and prevented. People kept saying, "this is a different world now," or "the world is no longer safe." The only thing different is that Americans are now experiencing the same fear the majority of people in the world have experienced for a very long time. We now live like the third world. Not economically, but in terms of the rule of law, the unpredictability of mass violence and horror or catostrophe being perpetrated against us. All this is how several billion people on the planet have lived for a long time. It's an oxymoron, but we are less free because we are in less control.

I have started an adjunct page to this blog called, My Sketchbook, which will feature doodles and drawings from my journals. It's only for visuals. I'll continue using this blog for writing.

So that's Tuesday in my world here in Jacksonville.

Hooked - again

I was thinking about the Pema Chodron interview again. It's not been far from my mind since the first time I saw it. That's something I do often when I hear something that either makes sense or seems as though it will with some effort on my part. Pema Chodron mentioned an article she read by Chogyam Trungpa Rinpoche called, "Working with Negativity," as being instrumental in her journey to becoming a Buddhist nun. Here is the first paragraph:

We all experience negativity -- the basic aggression of wanting things to be different than they are. We cling, we defend, we attack, and throughout there is a sense of one's own wretchedness, and so we blame the world for our pain. This is negativity. We experience it as terribly unpleasant, foul-smelling, something we want to get rid of. but if we look into it more deeply, it has a very juicy smell and is very alive. Negativity is not bad per se, but something living and precise, connected with reality.

The article (actually a chapter in the book: The Myth of Freedom) "hooks" you right away. It's very good. Trungpa Rinpoche was a very advanced Lama, well versed in western culture and so his writings are filled with metaphors and parables relevent to a western audience. I have read a few of his books, but there are many more available. Sometimes I need to catch up to what I consider my lagging teachability. I am often exposed to more than I can understand at the time I am introduced to it and need to grow into being able to learn from it. Trungpa is often that way for me. All of Buddhism is very often that way for me. It takes a while for each morsel of information to trickle down into my inner core.

NEWS Hooked

The news is just about the same - different but the same. The Israel-Lebanon war proceeds, more civilian deaths than military deaths (not that that should matter), a large portion of which are children (that does matter!). It's such madness. The war on Canal View Drive seems to be subsiding, but as pride dies slowly, so does the rift between the married siblings.

I watched Bill Moyer on Faith and Reason on PBS Sunday afternoon. Pema Chodron was the sole guest. I've watched it 3 times so far and will probably watch it 10 times before we erase it.

At one point during the conversation Pema Chodron talked about Shenpa aka "being hooked, as in addictions". She said you can see it physically happening in people. You can see the escalating anger and how the eyes glaze over. You can see that on TV when Bush talks, or the Israeli P.M., or Hezbollah leaders. They are hooked into what they are doing. They are hooked into their anger, into being right. They are so hooked they are killing children and somehow seeing it as worth it. Israel is allowing how many of their citizens to be killed by bombs because they are angry about 2 abducted soldiers? That is not clear thinking. That is emotion driven shenpa.

It is so easy to see shenpa in the world and in others. So difficult to see it in myself when I am in process. When I am in full blown hooked behavior I am at my stupidist. I am oblivious to the most obvious and as ignorant as can be. It is blinding.

Given my own blindness I can understand how leaders with armies can cause so much destruction and death when fully engaged in their escalating anger. They can't see the hundreds of dead children lying in front of them, they only see the 2 soldiers who were kidnapped 3 1/2 weeks ago. They can't see the pain and suffering their bombs cause, they only see that they are justified in causing the pain. It's really quite sick, and frightening. Frightening because that anger can erupt anywhere at anytime in the world. I can only wonder when and how the tide can turn or be turned.

One of Pema's points was that we can only unhook ourselves. So if I unhook myself and no longer allow my anger to escalate, will that make the world a safer place? I think the answer is yes and no. The world as a whole? No. But my world, my little local world can be made safer for me and others known and unknown if I learn to not be hooked in my addictions.

No Words

Watching

The War, The War

Searching for the Middle Way

Buddha taught the middle way. From today's Buddhist Beliefnet:

Let me tell you about the middle path. Dressing in rough and dirty garments, letting your hair grow matted, abstaining from eating any meat or fish, does not cleanse the one who is deluded. Mortifying the flesh through excessive hardship does not lead to a triumph over the senses. All self-inflicted suffering is useless as long as the feeling of self is dominant.

You should lose your involvement with yourself and then eat and drink naturally, according to the needs of your body. Attachment to your appetites--whether you deprive or indulge them--can lead to slavery, but satisfying the needs of daily life is not wrong. Indeed, to keep a body in good health is a duty, for otherwise the mind will not stay strong and clear.

This is the middle path.

-Discourse II, From "The Pocket Buddha Reader," edited by Anne Bancroft, 2000.

I don't think the Buddha would have spent a good deal of his life teaching the middle way if it was something most people around him were doing. In that way, I am not different. I am also not different in that I need to be told over and over again, reminded, told in different ways, different parables, within different contexts.

My impulse is toward extremism. I have often thought, and feared, that I would probably have been ripe for the Nazi youth movement had I grown up in Germany in the 30's. I fear that I would have been susceptible to that kind of extremism. Not because I am anti-semitic, but because I would let myself get caught up in the intensity, drama, and energy of the extremism of nazism. I hope not, but it has passed my mind on occassion.

In the current climate of violence that we live in, there are all kinds of extreme ideas going around. Last night on CNN there was a report on how conservative Christians are believing that we are on the verge of armageddon. There are millions in this country who believe in the rapture, in armageddon, in a 1000 years of peace after Jesus returns. That's a pretty extreme thought. There a extreme Muslims who believe that if they commit suicide by killing infidels they will go to heaven and be gifted with 37 virgins. That's a pretty extreme idea, too.

My own sense of facination with the morbid is related to extemism. I'm facinated by stories of serial killers. I've watched countless films and news footage of the holocaust. I watched videos on the internet of 4 Al Qaeda beheadings. If it is fiction, Stephen King, horror movies, I won't watch it or read it. It has to be real.

I remember when the movie Gremlins came out. I went to see it with friends. It was a completely fantasy based film and it frightened me so much that I kept having to leave the theatre and walk out into the lobby. There I was, me and a group of 4 year olds, waiting for the scary parts to end so we could go back into the theatre. Yet I watched the beheadings, with sound, and while cringing, watched every second of the video. That's pretty extreme and my own impulse to see humans at their worst, whether it be executioner, serial killers, or genocidal dictators, is also extreme.

I'm not sure why I have this impulse. Perhaps it is my way of seeing my own life as the middle way, between psychopath and saint. But if I need to go to those extremes to see the middle way I don't think I will make much progress on the eightfold path. So I search on to find the middle way.

Time

A nonspatial continuum in which events occur in apparently irreversible succession; an interval separting two points in this continuum; duration.
~~American Heritage Dictionary, 3rd Edition

Time is one of the most difficult concepts and yet we all learn it. We learn how to read a clock. We learn how to read and keep a calendar. We learn to accept "leap year" and other anomolies to our time keeping system. We mark time. We change time annually. We document it, follow it, wait for it to pass, use it to remember milestones in our lives, and mourn its passing or not passing, depending on our preference at the time.

In Buddhism, there is no time. There is only now. There is a now which is over and exists only in a memory and future nows which exist only in hopes or dread.

I've been thinking of time a lot in the past two weeks because every once in a while I am reminded that I have a lot of past nows and less future nows. It has nothing to do with grey hair, of which I have much. It has nothing to do with wrinkles, or not being up on the latest crazes, or not liking loud music or raucus movies. It has to do with physical limitations that didn't exist 2 years ago, or 6 months ago. It has nothing to do with being fit or not. It has to do with wear and tear, aging body parts, warn out joints, thinning skin, tired muscles.

I fell recently. Not once, but twice in 3 days. I was able to surmise how the first fall happened. The second fall I can't confidently piece together in my mind. It's been almost 2 weeks and I'm still not fully recovered. My body is healing more slowly than in the past. Bruises are still in evidence, faded but still there. The psychic pain and sense of vulnerability has healed even more slowly. I think for the first time I can imagine dying from an accident and I won't know why it took place.

There is something about the suddeness of an accident that is like no other way of dying, except maybe war or murder. I think of Todd and how suddenly he was gone. I think of John Lennon's lyric, *"Life is what happens to you while you're busy making other plans," which turned from philosophic to prophetic after his murder. I think I should make my life small. I think I should get all my papers together, throw away the garbage and destroy or get rid of everything I don't want others to have to do or see. I think I want to reduce my life to the size of a shoebox so when it is time a dumpster isn't needed to clean up my mess.

After a deep sigh I realize that I may not have the energy to do that and live my life at the same time. Time. There's that word, that concept again.

* Beautiful Boy, music and lyrics by John Lennon, all rights Lenono Music

Politics & News

Try as I might, I can't seem to turn my eye and concentration away from the world of politics. Sometimes I long to live in a world (again) where it takes weeks to find out who was elected president, or that there was a war or disaster somewhere. Television and 24 hour a day news stations have brought now from remote places in the world into my now. I try not to look. I try to turn away. It's so hard for me to do. It's as if I were looking away while it was happening right in front of me. I can't do it. Yet.

It's not just that I have to keep looking that troubles me. It's what I think and feel while I'm looking. Yes, I know I am being manipulated by the media. I know they show us only the most terrible, inflammatory news. Knowing this doesn't prevent me from getting frightened, angry, overwhelmed or disillusioned. Disillusioned is the feeling that I feel most frequently, especially in regards to Iraq, Iran, N. Korea and the Bush Administration. Frightened? Yes, very. Angry? yes, very. Overwhelmed? Yes, very. Disillusioned? Completely.

Then, today, in my emailbox appears a quote from Thomas Merton that is just what I needed to hear:

“It is true, political problems are not solved by love and mercy. But the world of politics is not the only world, and unless political decisions rest on a foundation of something better and higher than politics, they can never do any real good for men. When a country has to be rebuilt after war, the passions and energies of war are no longer enough. There must be a new force, the power of love, the power of understanding and human compassion, the strength of selflessness and cooperation, and the creative dynamism of the will to live and to build, and the will to forgive. The will for reconciliation.”

From Introductions East & West. The Foreign Prefaces of Thomas Merton (Unicorn Press, Inc. Greensboro, NC 1981) Page 105

It often looks as though our country is gearing up for another war - a war with Iran. The pre-war buzz words are out there again, just like they were before the U.S. invaded Iraq. I can pray with love and compassion for the players to make the right decisions. That's all I can do.

I remember listening to a teaching by Bardor Tulku Rinpoche once and he was answering a question about why the world was so awful. He said that the majority of crime, whether one on one, or mass genocide, was perpetrated by a very small number of people. He explained that the large majority of people live peaceful, kind lives. That is the heartening truth o the world. That is the news that isn't told.

Ya Gotta Have Friends

One of my favorite Bette Midler songs is "Friends." It's a bitter sweet song but hopeful. I always prefer hopeful.

And I am all alone.
There is no one here beside me.
And my problems have all gone.
There is no one to deride me.

But you got to have friends.
The feeling's oh so strong.
You got to have friends
to make that day last long.

I had some firends but they're gone,
somethin' came and took them away.
And from the dusk 'til the dawn
here is where I'll stay.

Standing at the end of the road, boys,
waiting for my new friends to come.
I don't care if I'm hungry or poor,
I'm gonna get me some of them.

'Cause you got to have friends.
Da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, da, friends.
That's right you, oh you, yeah you,
I said you gotta have some friends,
I'm talkin' about friends, that's right, friends.
Friends, friends, friends.

I had some firends, oh, but they're all gone, gone,
someone came and snatched them away.
And from the dusk until the very dawn, you know,
here is where I gotta stay, here is where I gotta stay.

And I'm standing at the end of a real long road
and I'm waiting for my new friends to come.
I don't care if I'm hungry or freezin' cold,
I'm gonna get me some of them.

'Cause you gotta have friends,
that's right, friends, friends.
I gotta me my, I gotta me my, I gotta me my,
look around and see all of my friends.
Oh, friends, that's right, friends, friends,
friends, friends, friends, friends, oh,
friends, you gotta have friends . . .

I am often preoccupied with figuring out how I'm going to get enough "alone time." There are times when it's a mantra. I find that when I get time to be alone I am usually quickly sated and happy to back among my friends and family. While I would love to be the kind of person who could go to the Himalayas and live in a cave for the rest of my life, I am not that person. The dharma tells us, too, to seek friends:

Find a friend to be with and stay in that relationship, avoiding the dangers of hurting others. Stay with your friend and become mindful and joyful. If you can find no friend, then go on by yourself. Better to carry on alone than live with the foolish. Journey on alone, unconcerned, working no evil, like the bull elephant in the jungle. -Sunnata Vagga

I'm a person who needs people in life. Quality always above quantity. When I was younger quantity was far more important. It hasn't been for a long time now. I have a handful of good friends now. The quality of these friendships is rich and deep. In many ways, far deeper for me than ever before.

I find myself being more open and honest about my life and feelings. It's always been hard for me to share the little thoughts, the little things that occupy my time and mind. For some reason it has always seemed to me that the little things reveal who you really are. As they say, the devil is in the details. But I'm, (YIKES!!!!), allowing people to know more about the little things about me and it's getting less scary all the time.

Wisely Selfish

From His Holiness, The XIVth Dalai Lama:

...it is extremely important to look inward and try to promote the right kind of attitude, which is based on awareness of reality. A sense of caring for others is crucial. And it is actually the best way of caring for oneself. ...the moment you think of others, this automatically opens our inner door--you can communicate with other people easily, without any difficulties. The moment you think just of yourself and disregard others, then because of your own attitude, you also get the feeling that other people also have a similar attitude toward you. That brings suspicion, fear. Result? You yourself lose inner calmness. Therefore, I usually say that although a certain kind of selfishness is basically right--self and the happiness of that self are our original right, and we have every right to overcome suffering--but selfishness that leads to no hesitation to harm another, to exploit another, that kind of selfishness is blind. Therefore, I sometimes jokingly describe it this way: if we are going to be selfish, we should be wisely selfish rather than foolishly selfish.

I feel that the moment you adopt a sense of caring for others, that brings inner strength. Inner strength brings us inner tranquility, more self-confidence. Through these attitudes, even though your surroundings may not be friendly or may not be positive, still you can sustain peace of mind.

The Art of Peace: Nobel Peace Laureates Discuss Human Rights, Conflict and Reconciliation by the Dalai Lama and other Nobel Laureates, edited by Jeffrey Hopkins, published by Snow Lion Publications

Surrender

A while back I wrote a blog on being stuck on stupid. I admitted in that blog that I sometimes get stuck on stupid. I think recently I have been stuck on stupid again.

I don't always want to deal with things. Especially difficult feelings. I think that if I hold them in they will go away, or I will feel differently or they will matter less. None of that is true. It never goes away, my feelings don't change and until I let go of it, it won't go away.

I'm trying to walk a path in my life. A Buddhist path that is lit by compassion and patience. Compassion and patience go hand in hand. I don't think they can be separated; you can't have one without the other. It's a most difficult path for me. Perhaps the most difficult path I could have chosen.

I am not compassionate or patient by habit. I'm the opposite and must frequently remind myself to be patient or compassionate. I often fail in this. I keep trying to get up after each fall. Sometimes I'm just too tired. I'm tired from walking around with lots of difficult stuff I don't want to deal with. Too tired to be patient. Too tired to work toward compassion. Too tired of me.

That's where stuck on stupid comes in. I keep this circle going. I keep doing it over and over again. Sometimes the circle is wider, sometimes it's narrower, but it's always a circle.

I'd like to give up. I won't give up plodding along this path. I want to give up holding on so tight to things that prevent me from achieving the patience and compassion I want to live. It's about surrender. So hard for me to do. No matter how many times in my life I've had to do it, and I've been brought to my knees on a number of occassions, it doesn't get easier.

Don't Watch

I was watching a program on the origins of the archaelogical phenomena created by the ancients. The speculation was that these monumental structures and land maps were built by and/or for extra terrestials.

A few days later I watched a program on asteroids hitting the earth. The focus of this show was that an asteroid was responsible for the annihilation of dinosaurs and other prehistoric beings. The show also speculated on a future asteroid hitting the coast of southern California and its horrific aftermath. The bet was that the human species would survive because we are resilient and plentiful.

As I sat there I just kept thinking about what the purpose of life is. Not just life, but my life. Why am I here? Why am I here now? Have I been here before? Am I doing what I'm supposed to be doing? Is there such a thing as "supposed to"?

I thought about the civilization our society has developed. I thought about the way we have structured our values and how we spend our time on earth. I thought about how ludicrous the way we live is. I thought about how long I'd been asking these questions and how long I've not had definitive answers.

While the questions are valid, they are mostly rhetorical. No one has the answer. Some people believe they do, but those answers are based soley on faith. That would be easy to buy into if there weren't so many faiths, with so many different answers. The most common information given by religions is how to live on this earth, not why we live on this earth.

While I am not a believer in creationism, I'm not sure that Darwinism is the only other viable option. Not that I have any theories myself, I'm not that smart. But there are many smart people now and there have been many more in the past yet the only two theories that are still standing are creationism and evolution.

If there's a purpose to this blog it may be an advisory not to watch pseudo-documentaries that remind me that no one has the answers.


Above artwork by Kelli Bickman: blue buddha
30x66 acrylic on paper
blessed by H.H. the XVIIth Karmapa

"It Was 39 Years Ago Today...

...Sgt. Pepper taught the band to play."

It's hard for me to believe it is 39 years ago since I first heard this album. But it is, Blanche. Oy, I'm getting old!

I love this album, still. And I loved it when it came out. In a word, what distinguished this music from other music was that it was deep. The songs were creative, not just boy/girl I love you.

There was Within You, Without You, a thoughtful and philosophical song with Indian instuments and influence; Lovely Rita, a love song about adults; A Day In The Life, almost epic in it's length and the stories told; She's Leaving Home, a teenage lament thought to be about an abortion; and the title song, a real catchy rocking tune.

I loved all the songs. They were so original, so different than anything else being done at the time. It was a work of art, not just a product.

I couldn't let the day go by without recounting a fond joyous memory of my youth.

Memorial Day

I think the state of our nation this Memorial Day is like the flag in this image. I did the collage not long after 9/11/01. The country was bruised, a bit tattered, and angry. This was before the retaliation wars. Before Afghanistan, and before Iraq.

Four and a half years later, it is the middle and working class citizens of this country who are feeling battered, bruised and angry. What are we so pissed off about? We're pissed off about being lied to, used to make others rich, and for making us ashamed to be American in the eyes of our fellow citizens in the world. I'm pissed off about those things and I know many others who are as well.

A war wages, people - Americans, Brits, Iraqis - are being killed for something that never happened, while people like Dick Chaney, the Bushes, and some others get rich off a war with no purpose and no end. CEOs, arrogant and priveledged, are stealing hard earned pensions from the working class, and they may or may not go to jail for their crimes. Lobbyists buy off our elected representives, who scramble to maximize their income from a job that pays $100,000 a year, selling America to the highest bidder and selling out their constituents.

So this Memorial Day, while I mentally honor and pray for those individuals who sacrificed their time, energy, innocense, youth, and in some cases, their lives to defend this country, I also honor those Americans who get up everyday and try to live decent, quiet, caring lives. I honor those Americans who wade through knee deep corruption and despair to go to work, pay their taxes, and try to find a moment in their day when they can love their families and friends. I honor those Americans who will wake up on November 6, 2006 and make arrangements to get to a polling place to cast a vote for a politician they hope won't sell them out. I honor those Americans who say "screw the big guys, real life happens down here in the trenches" and get on with their lives anyway.

Rhythm

Everyday is a new day, even when they feel like the same old day. Work, home, sleep, work, home, sleep.... Stuff in between, but those three things are primarily what my life is about. Every once in a while something happens to change the rhythm of the day.

This week my nephew and his wife are visiting from NY, and my parents are visiting from S.FL. Neither couple is staying at my house, as we no longer have a guest room. Both visits are joyous occassions I don't have the energy for. Like a long drive on a highway, I'm accustomed to and comforted by the steady sound of the tires on the seams of the road. This week is like driving off on a different road with a different seam pattern. Louder and coming more frequently, I long for the quiet steady thud of my usual highway noise.

I know some people would find this a mere existence or a death knell. I don't. I like it quiet and steady. There is so much unpredictable about life. There are storms, and wars, and threats of mass annihilation, global warming, Russians selling nukes to the highest bidder, the next Al Qaida attack on the US pending, people who disppear from your life, death by car accidents and heart attacks on golf courses. There is so much that can't be predicted or planned for. I like the steady rhythm of my usual drive. Sometimes it's the only way I know everything is ok. Sometimes the changing rhythm is the only time I know something is not ok. I can be that way.

The next few work days begin the rhythm of the summer. School is out as of tomorrow, our teachers off, 10 weeks before the start of the new school year. Some of the work I do will change, the pace in which it has to be done will change, the number of people I will interact with will change. Just as I get used to it the change to the pace of the school year will be here. So you see? Just when you're getting used to something and feeling comfortable in it, it changes. The older I get the older it gets. I can be that way.

P.S. A Quote

If you want to know the past, to know what has caused you, look at yourself in the present, for that is the past’s effect. If you want to know your future, then look at yourself in the present, for that is the cause of the future.

-Majjhima Nikaya

The Big Sacrifice

Today is Monday. Or is it? If we never adjusted the calendar by incorporating leap year what day of the week would it really be? I get weird on Mondays and so I don't like them. Monday is the start of the big sacrifice. The big sacrifice is time, my time, hours lived doing something for money. I like my work and my co-workers but if I didn't need to work for money I would not work. I would not work anywhere. I would do what I loved.

I've often envied ball players. Not just because I love to watch and play baseball, but because major league ball players get to play and make money at it. Football too. Grown men, making serious money, playing. Yes, they work hard. Yes, they are disciplined and do a lot of things to stay in shape so they can play at their best. But no matter how they feel about it or how well they do it, it's called play.

Frankye is fond of reminding her friends that Native Americans have no word for time. She says this anytime we get on her about being late or not paying attention to time. As a Nanticoke Indian she believes she has a genetic excuse for her lack of adherance to a clock. She's right. I wish there were no word for time in my culture as well.

I was talking to a friend today about visiting restoration communities. My favorite period of American history is the colonial through the revolutionay war period. One of my favorite places is Colonial Williamsburg and I also enjoyed a long ago visit to Old Sturbridge Village in MA. I would have loved to live in America in that time period. As a believer in reincarnation I'm sure I lived somewhere, if not on this earth than at least in the Bardo. Alas, I don't remember any of it. And since menopause there is much of this life I don't remember either.

Not remembering allows me to engage in fantasies when I am reading about that time period. Of course, my fantasies don't include bathing in ice water, or not bathing, toileting in a hole in the ground, or working longer days for survival plowing and harvesting food, making my own clothes from sacks, etc. What I find attractive is the solitariness of the day. The privacy from phones, neighbors on top of you, traffic, constant electronic input and news. I'd like a society that doesn't adhere to a clock but instead responds to the rising and setting sun.

I think about how I can make my life simpler. I could lose the phones, the television, and radio. It would make me more oblivious to what's going on around me, not necessarily a bad thing, but not a guarantee that my life would be simpler. I could never buy anything again unless it contributed to my survival, food, clothes as needed, etc. I could spend my non-working time reading, meditating and sleeping more. I could live in a one - or two-room house. I could not travel more than 10 - 15 miles away and be content to spend more time at home. Somehow I don't think these things would make my life simpler in the way I long for. I think simpler to me means less regimented. Adhereing to a clock is regimentation. Mondays, and what they represent, is regimentation. Maybe I just need to ignore Mondays.

Hurricane as Metaphor

Life is about as predictable as a hurricane. Through modern technology, satelites, doppler, infrared imaging, etc. we know it's coming, but until it actually arrives we don't know where it will land or how destructive it will be. Life is like that.

We know from a very early age that life comes and goes. As small children we witness the loss of pets - turtles, goldfish, dogs. Sometimes children lose parents or witness their own parents losing a parent or another family member. We always know death is there, we just don't know when or how close it's going to hit us.

Not all hurricanes cause death and destruction. Not all deaths cause loss of life. Sometimes dreams die, or opportunities, or relationships. Sometimes it's easier to pick up and move on after that kind of death. Sometimes it's harder. It depends on how attached we are to what we have lost and how willing we are to let it blow away.

Picasso said, "Reality is to be found in lightness and darkness." So are hurricanes and so is life. The transitions are tough sometimes, the calm before the storm, the loud, violent winds and rain, the return of the calm, even after the most horrible of hurricanes, even after the most devastating deaths and losses. If you stay, and it doesn't kill you, it will pass. That's the cycle of life.

No Words Today

Home Again

We are home again. Home from South Carolina. Home from the awful news and experience of Todd's death and burial. We arrived to a clean home, a refrigerator and pantry full of food, chores that had been done and cats that had been lovingly cared for. An hour after our arrival our closest friends, the givers of the above, came by with our dogs and prepared and served dinner. They stayed several hours, way past their usual departure time, and were loving and caring, and sympathetic. They are the best.

When they left it was Frankye and I here, with our animals. We are both tired, emotionally drained, and sad. There is almost an echo here in the house. Todd was not my son, not my brother or nephew, and I hadn't spent a lot of time with him. But when I did, it was most often in this house. He installed all the ceramic flooring in this home and did several other jobs around the house for us.

Whenever Todd Lynn were going to be near the Jacksonville area they'd stop in and see us or we'd meet up with them at the Cracker Barrell near I-95 and have a quick breakfast as they made their way home. Todd and Lynn came for Frankye's 60th birthday weekend and it was wonderful for everyone to have the whole family there and a great gift for Frankye.

The hard part is going to be the days and years ahead for Frankye. Coming home, leaving Todd's home, seemed to reinforce the loss of him. There is no seeing him anymore. Or hearing his voice on the phone. Or listening to Shannon retell her latest communication with Todd.

We have a beautiful 8 x 12 professional photo of Todd and Lynn that's been on our dining room credenza since he gave it to us this past Christmas. It was a recent photo and is exactly how he was the last time we saw him. That's where it will stay. Todd will remain forever 42 and strong and funny, and amazingly gifted and capable. He was happy when he died. He was excited about life, about his future and he loved living in Pelzer, South Carolina. That's where he died and that's how he would have wanted it.

Sorrow Transcends

Frankye and her family had a most difficult day yesterday. They were confronted with the undeniable evidence of their loss. Knowing something is true and then seeing it's true are two different things.

Frankye, her daughter, and I went to a private viewing of her son's body. We went a little later in the day allowing his wife and children to have time together there. Without planning it we arrived at the same time as Frankye's ex-husband and his wife. Frankye and Bryant were married for 15 years and had two children together. There was a lot of pain in their break-up, as there often is, and their lives went separate ways, living in differenct regions of the country.

Yesterday those two lives converged again at a funeral home in South Carolina. Upon seeing each other in the parking lot they embraced. It was as if seeing each other there at the same time made it even more real. Something neither of them wanted to believe.

We all entered the funeral home and made our way to where Todd was laid-out. Bryant couldn't go in at first. Frankye sat and talked with him and assured him that it was ok if he didn't go in. Frankye and Shannon and I went in. They were devastated by the evidence of the awful truth about Todd. Their pain just over flowed. I watched as Frankye, with trembling hands, stroked Todd's face and hair. She spoke to him and wept deeply. She read scriptures that he loved and wept some more.

After a short time Bryant came in and was also overwhelmed with his grief. Then Bryant and Frankye, apart so many decades, sat side-by-side a foot from Todd's casket and holding hands wept their pain in front of the man they made together. Sorrow transcended into love and into forgiveness.

Today is the funeral and there are more people coming. Frankye's siblings will arrive, her ex, Kerry, and her son, Jack, who grew up with Todd arrived late last night. All the grand children, but one, will be there. A large community of friends, many of whom wept openly at Todd's casket last night, will come for the funeral. We'll all be there to say goodbye to Todd one last time.

It's been an emotional and draining time for everyone, including me. Watching people you love in so much pain is difficult. Not being able to do anything but offer slight comfort is also difficult. Frankye said it was the second hardest day of her life. The first hardest day was Tuesday, the day she found out Todd had died. I can't make any of this un-happen. I can only hold her hand while it is happening.

On the Front Lines

Living on the front lines means dying on the front lines. Everyone who is alive lives on some kind of a front line somewhere. Thoreau said "most men lead lives of quiet desperation." Quiet desperation is a front line, as is a battle field, as is an operating room, a pulpit, or a receptionist's desk. Each of us has our own front line, no matter how hard we try to avoid the rawness of life, it is there, either in quiet desperation or in living, bloody color.

Tuesday afternoon, Frankye's son, Todd Windsor White was killed in a car accident not 10 miles from his home. He had just left his home, his wife recovering from surgery, and he on his way to a part-time job. He was killed when a vehicle went through a stop sign and collided with his SVU causing it to roll. He was ejected from the vehicle and died instantly. He was 42 years old. Father of 2, stepfather of 2, husband, son, brother, uncle, nephew, friend of many.

Todd was good looking and funny. He was an intense man who loved the things he loved with a passion. He loved his wife that way, and his family. He loved the woods, and bow hunting and fishing. The walls of his home are adorned with stuffed trophy kills, each one with a story he recounted with pride. He ate what he killed, and he cooked it well and shared it with others. He was a skilled craftsman and took pride in a job painstakingly done well. Our home has a ceramic tile floor carefully and beautifully installed by Todd.

Todd loved his church and the South Carolina community he had recently moved to. He had friends there, some old friends, many new friends. He had recently incorporated his new construction business and was looking forward to his brother-in-law, his new partner's, arrival from Massachussettes. He had plans for the future and had simultaneously made amends with his past. While opening new doors Todd had closed old doors. He made right old errors, bridged gaps too long gaping, and let those he loved know he loved them.

That was the front line Todd Windsor White lived and died on. He will be mourned, and loved and remembered by those who knew and loved him. We've gathered here in this small town of Pelzer, South Carolina, from different states, FL, VT, MD, NC, MA, and TX to his front line to remember him and let him touch our lives one more time.

Watching

I spent time with my sangha yesterday, Chenrezig, Amitabha, chanting, listening, thinking. Our sangha is studying The Essence of Buddhism by The Venerable 9th Traleg Kyabgon Rinpoche. It's taken our sangha 2 months to get through 21 pages. Yesterday we began chapter 3, Meditation. The book is so good, each paragraph worthy of contemplation. Often it's the discussion after the reading that opens so many doors and prompts so much more contemplation on my part.

Yesterday we read a brief description of shamatha meditation. Shamatha is silent sitting meditation where you try to focus the mind on your breath. When thoughts arise, as they will, you just label them "thinking" and let go of them. It's not always easy to do. There are times I find myself deep into a fantasy before I remember to shut it down and focus again on the breath.

When I can focus on my breath and not engage in daydreams I become aware of my thoughts as thoughts. They flow freely, unsolicited. I let them pass. It's almost like sitting on a train and looking out the window. The train is moving rapidly and you're not allowing your eye to focus on anything in particular. Just watching the essence of the scenery go by. You can notice when there are trees, or mountains, or dessert, but not individual trees or mountains. After meditation I'm often struck by the degree to which my thoughts center on me, my importance in the world, or my lack of importance. My self centeredness becomes apparent, my paranoia and greed embarrass me.

Post meditation is often a humbling experience. Having spent 10 - 20 minutes alone with my own mind watching the seeds of insanity that have driven my behavior throughout the 54 years of my time here, I'm amazed that I have managed to survive this lifetime this long. Insanity is not too harsh a word. The thought that I am the most important person on this planet is an insane one. And yet, I, and billions of others, do just that. Everyday. My earlier post about the state of the country and my distress about that is the end product of such ego centricity. Even in deploring the results, it is my own distress of it that is most important to me. It is the endless circle: I think this, I feel this, I do this, which makes me think this, feel this, do this, which makes me think this, feel this, do this...

Better to sit quietly and watch my breathing and label my mental halucinations as thinking. Better to just sit and not think (read dwell), not feel (read wallow), not act (read react). Better to just watch.

Scrap IT

I haven't written in several weeks. I have a variety of excuses and reasons. I've been busy at work, zapping my energy, I've been busy in my life, zapping my energy, I've been focusing on artwork, completing 9 pieces in 2 weeks, thereby zapping my energy.

Aside from being stressed and busy and then exhausted, I think I am also numb with disbelief, anger, and a sense of overwhelm by the news of the day, every day. The level of dishonesty and incompetence by our government is frightening and enough to drive me into a severe case of apathy. There is no way of getting away from it. It effects our lives everyday.

There are some things the government does that we can't always see in detail. Farm subsidies to large food corporations, pork spending projects, undefined defense spending. Then there are the things we can see clearly: Gas prices that effect every one, rich or poor; men and women dying, daily, in foreign lands for confusing, unclear reasons; tax breaks for oil companies that bilk the American people and earn billions quarterly in profits; elected officials and political appointees that commit crimes and bend and bastardize laws to fit their own agendas and personal greed; a President who is so over his head and beyond his skill level that after 6 six years in office his ineptitude is reflected in every aspect of American life.

Today the Senate panel reviewing FEMA has recommended scrapping the agency:

"Our first and most important recommendation is to abolish FEMA," said Maine Republican Sen. Susan Collins, chairwoman of the Senate Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee. "FEMA is discredited, demoralized, and dysfunctional. It is beyond repair. Just tweaking the organizational chart will not solve the problem."

Well, that's festive, on the eve of hurricane season. No FEMA or a useless, dysfunctional FEMA. Never before in the history of the USA has FEMA been more needed. Scientists have recently reported that global warming is indeed a problem in the here and now, not the future, and as a result the tumultuous and extreme weather of the past will continue and worsen. We will see more Katrinas. We will see more cities destroyed. We will see more Americans suffer and die with no reliable relief or protection.

That brings up the issue of apathy. Apathy, as defined by the American Heritage Dictionary means:

"1. Lack of interest or concern, esp. in important matters. 2. Lack of emotion; impassiveness."

I'm not apathetic as I am greatly concerned. I'm not without emotion as despair is clearly an emotional state. But I am overwhelmed with a sense of hopelessness not unlike the hopelessness expressed by the Homeland Security and Governmental Affairs Committee today. I'm trying to put it aside. Not let it effect me. Not let it drain my energy or my enthusiasm for living. Trying to put it on the back burner -- until Tuesday, November 7, 2006.

Loving Kindness

I had a very interesting experience yesterday. That's an understatement. What I actually had was the privilege of witnessing a moving, loving, and very emotional interaction that took place between two families.

Frankye and I were invited by our neighbors, Wayne and Roxanne, to attend a ceremony at the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints here in Jacksonville. The occasion was the turning over of a newborn infant from the birth mother, their mentally impaired daughter Kerri, to the adopting parents.

Kerri, who is mentally impaired due to a childhood illness, is extremely child like. She lives alone in a little cottage within walking distance of her parents. She comes to visit them daily and still does chores and errands for them. She also has the "job" of wheeling our garbage cans down the dirt road lane the night before garbage pick-up and then returning them to our house after they are emptied. Kerry is loving, kind, and a very gentle soul. She got pregnant as a result of an encounter she had with a co-worker of her father's, who was a trusted family friend. She gave birth last Thursday, 5 weeks prematurely, while visiting an older Mormon friend. She had the baby on the woman's couch.

Just to say a little about Wayne and Roxanne. They are our neighbors, people we would probably not encounter in any other way. They are quiet, mind their own business, friendly, helpful and a bit outside the mainstream. Wayne has 4 children, 3 of whom are mentally impaired. His eldest son is married and has 2 lovely children. They are Mormons. They have never proselytized. For 4 of the 6 years we have known him Wayne kept his red hair in a long, thick ponytail. A robust, barrel chested man, he looked like a biker, sans tattoos.

Frankye and I had no idea what to expect yesterday. Neither of us had ever been to a Mormon Temple. Neither of us knew whether or not this ceremony was a Mormon practice or something unusual. All we knew was that Wayne had made it a point to come over and invite us to attend, and he never comes over unless it's something important. We decided that if it was important enough to Wayne for him to extend the invitation then we would go. And we did. And we were so happy we went.

We went into the Temple and were directed to a small conference room. There were seats set up in an arc around a podium. There was a table set to the side with a variety of cakes and pastries and beverages. There were about 30 people there. Wayne opened the ceremony by introducing an older woman who said an opening prayer. It turns out that she was the older woman whom Kerri was visiting when she gave birth. Then Wayne spoke.

Wayne is a reserved man. I use that word because he does not wear his emotions openly and is not very animated. It was clear he was very emotional. He read a statement he had written, because, as he said, he didn't think he could successfully get through it without notes.

Wayne proceeded to welcome guests, singling out the adopting family and then began to talk about the circumstances under which Kerri had become pregnant. While clearly hurt and angered by the actions of his friend, the most vile thing he said about this man was that he visited Kerri's cottage late one evening "like a thief in the night." Whether Kerri consented to his advances or not, is not known, but this man was knowledgeable about Kerri's limitations and clearly took advantage of her. By any measure, Kerri's baby was conceived through rape.

In a moving and often emotionally halting speech Wayne told the story of how Kerri made the decision to give up her child for adoption. He talked about the pain his family has gone through during this period, he talked about the comfort of supportive friends and about the gift that this child is to both his family and to the adoptive family. The love and compassion he expressed extended not only to his daughter, granddaughter, friends and the adopting family, but to the "perpetrator of the events bringing forth the activities today." He fought back tears throughout his eloquent statement and I wept openly while I listened.

I was so moved by the gentle, loving way this family was handling this difficult, painful experience. Wayne explained that he didn't care if this was an usual way of dealing with this event. He felt that the birth of this baby, and the gift of her to a new family, desperate to have another child, was to be celebrated, not hidden, not secretly transacted and never spoken of again. He was so right.

After Wayne spoke, a friend of his spoke about the friendship between his and Wayne's family. The adopting father got up and spoke and barely was able to get through speaking of his gratitude to Kerri and her family. He wept openly and appreciatively. Then Kerri got up and spoke briefly, and in her simple manner told how she knew the adopting family could be far better parents to this infant then she could. She said it was a hard decision to make and she made it after seeing a movie on television about a young girl growing up without a father. She presented the adopting parents with a white baby blanket she had purchased for them that was embroidered in white satin with the words "God's Gift of Love." A Mormon elder said a closing prayer and then refreshments were served.

Needless to say I was exhausted at the end of it. I was also surprised to learn as we were introduced to people that many of them knew of Frankye and I being neighbors of Wayne and Roxanne and that many knew that Kerri "worked" for us taking our garbage down the lane. Mostly, I felt very grateful to have been included in this extemely personal, but very open interaction between strangers that concerned the most important thing in the world, the future of a 2 day old child. I know that sounds corny as hell, but witnessing such raw emotions handled in the most loving way I have ever experienced was a true gift.

Home From the Hills

Back home and adjusting to the flatlands of Florida after a week in the mountains of North Carolina. Frankye and I spent a lovely week at the Kanuga Conference Center with the Kanuga Watercolor Workshop. I took a class in acrylic painting with an accomplished artist by the name of Rick McDiarmid. Rick is a sweet man and an encouraging and knowledgable teacher. I enjoyed being in his class.

This is the 3rd year we went to Kanuga. I enjoy it so much but do not come home rested. I am rested mentally and emotionally, but not physically. Physically I am challenged in a way I am rarely challenged in my usual life. I walk up and down stairs and up and down hills, and across dirt and plod along rocky paths. Actually I did much better than I thought I would and better than I did last year. I did better this year with no phone and no tv also.

I love making pictures and doing art but my life does not afford me the opportunity to make art 6 - 8 hours a day 5 days a week. When I go to a weeklong workshop I am both exhausted by the focus on art making and exhilerated by it. I ended each day tired and excited. I brought my laptop with me and each evening Frankye and I watched an episode of "Prime Suspect" on DVD that I borrowed from the library. It was just enough entertainment to chill out the creative exhaustion I felt each night.

So now it is Monday and I am back at work. I was ready to come back. Well, that's a lie. I could have used a few more days, then I would have been ready. But it's ok. I like my work and I love the agency I work for and so coming to work is a feel good thing, not a stress thing.