20Jan08
Today I went dancing. In a sweaty whirlwind, I jumped and jived, swung my arms and spun, hurling myself this way and that. There is a place down the road where every Sunday, people gather at “ecstatic dance.” There is no speaking, only movement and music.
I needed to get out of my head and to just move. Even while moving, I caught myself thinking about how I looked. Or maybe there was someone across the room that I wanted to tangle with but was too shy and briefly berated myself for this shortcoming. Nevertheless, the music pumped on and I found myself, for the most part, completely wrapped up in sound. It felt beyond good to reconnect with a part of myself that has been calling for my attention. It’s the more animalistic part, the sensual, artistic, wild part. I recently read my horoscope and felt that it was particularly poignant. I’m not one to read horoscopes for any reason other than inspiration. This one went:
“A few months ago I went to a costume party on the Cruise Ship Ecstatic, which was docked in San Francisco Bay. The theme was ‘The Ecstatic Muse: What is the future of your own turn-on?’ I recommend you make that your meditation in the coming weeks, Libra. According to my analysis of the astrological omens, you’re overdue for a rigorous inventory of your approach to creating rapture, bliss and joy. If in the course of your investigations you find you’ve been neglecting this essential aspect of your physical and mental health, take dramatic steps to upgrade your zeal. It’s time to get more aggressive about feeling excited.”
May this message speak to anyone who feels they need a good dose of ecstasy in their lives in whatever form. For me, I crave closeness with kindred spirits. Today was a good beginning. I reconnected with some people who I haven’t seen in awhile and who I really like. More than that, I reconnected with a very soulful part of myself. I hope to continue nurturing this relationship. It’s one that’s gone untended for a long while now – too long. I intend to be my own lover now since I’m in need of rediscovering myself and all those hidden passages that have grown over with weeds. It’s time to start some metaphorical gardens.
Living ecstatically, I have much to say on the subject. To be pursued next time.
Monday, January 21, 2008
The Green-ness of things
19Jan08
Today, Joe will dig holes and I will fill those holes with soil in preparation for tree planting. This is an ongoing project as we have many holes to dig and fill.
There’s something magical about planting something and watching it grow. Perhaps it’s the witnessing of life that is so awe-inspiring. Or maybe it’s because we’ve had some role in this perpetuation of life. Or maybe it’s just the satisfaction that comes after a long day of blood, sweat and tears. In any case, no matter how many self-doubts and questions I may have at the start of a good work day, once I tend to the soil, all doubts seem to fade into the background.
Yesterday we visited Volcanoes National Park and hiked down into what was once a crater brimming with lava. The fresh lava has long since dried up and blackened over but still, plumes of steam erupt from the many cracks and fissures. We sat for awhile by one of the bigger plumes of steam and had quite a steam bath. I can’t help but compare the steam with the breath of some wild animal. The way it ebbs and flows from the fissures and the slightly musky aroma makes me wonder if there isn’t some giant dragon curled deep within the earth sleeping soundly and breathing heavily, bathing us all in its heady breath.
Before heading to the park yesterday, we stopped at a place which was once known as Steam Vent Inn, a rather innocuous name. It has since been sold and bought by someone else who has given it an absurdly long name which I care not to remember. In a recent local newspaper, this “spa” was written up as having natural warm ponds and steam rooms, all heated by geothermal activity. Sounded too interesting to pass up. At the door of the main house, we were greeted by a woman who then led us to the owner. He had a very pleasant face, thick eyebrows and a kind smile. We got talking and it turns out that his place is home to a ministry of sorts. Without going into too much detail over the exact content of his ministry, I felt my heart sink the more he spoke. This man had a beautiful place, no doubt, and put quite a bit of work into making it wonderful. But speaking with him reminded me of how much we all live in our own fantasy worlds, some more than others. He spoke of prophecy from the bible and how he is planning on building a temple in honor of King David and that by fulfilling this prophecy, the world will be set straight. He talked of water and nature and seeing fetuses and umbilical cords in the water. And that, wow, space is not a void after all but filled with water. I found myself wondering why it is that people such as himself find it so necessary to make up such elaborate stories rather than enjoying nature as it is? Nature, itself, is enough, isn’t it? Nature is filled with magic and wonder and its own stories. There’s no need for elaboration.
I left feeling sad. Maybe I was being too self-righteous. Maybe he wasn’t missing the point, as I saw it. But I don’t think so. It’s as if this life and these moments aren’t enough for some of us. We have to make up these grand stories about ourselves and our purpose here on this planet. I do it too. We all do it in some way or another. But nature reminds us all the time that while we are intimately connected to everything, our individual lives really don’t matter all that much in the end. This is not a morbid thought, in my mind. If anything, this thought frees us from our ego-driven realities and allows us to really explore and wonder as well as wander – to live a life filled with insight. Or maybe to live a life of absurdity since the world is so chaotic anyway. While walking along a forest path in the park, Joe and I were stopped by fellow visitors and they asked us to take their picture with the steam vents in the background. Later, I mused, “Wouldn’t it have been funny if we had asked them if they would take a picture of us with their camera?” Aren’t we part of the backdrop as well? To do something just because it’s absurdly funny is somehow so liberating. It shakes things up – reorganizes the way we think and the way we do things. Maybe life shouldn’t be so ordered. Maybe that’s how we get stuck. We follow the same routine day after day – the same route to work, the same lunchtime meal, the same people, everything the same.
Routine is comfortable, I admit it. I find comfort in knowing what to expect. Nevertheless, I am finding more and more that too much comfort equals a kind of death. Stagnation sets in. I want to be more like the hot breath of the earth, ebbing and flowing, moving when I want, pooling when something entices me. It’s to nature I look when I need help since nature is neutral and dances round and round with the cycle of life and death. It doesn’t care. It does its thing and knows what it is and why its here. The humpback whales know when it’s time to leave Alaska and make their way to these islands to give birth. Somehow we’ve snuck out the back door and taken ourselves out of this intelligent loop. I’d like to somehow find my way back to this knowing.
Today, Joe will dig holes and I will fill those holes with soil in preparation for tree planting. This is an ongoing project as we have many holes to dig and fill.
There’s something magical about planting something and watching it grow. Perhaps it’s the witnessing of life that is so awe-inspiring. Or maybe it’s because we’ve had some role in this perpetuation of life. Or maybe it’s just the satisfaction that comes after a long day of blood, sweat and tears. In any case, no matter how many self-doubts and questions I may have at the start of a good work day, once I tend to the soil, all doubts seem to fade into the background.
Yesterday we visited Volcanoes National Park and hiked down into what was once a crater brimming with lava. The fresh lava has long since dried up and blackened over but still, plumes of steam erupt from the many cracks and fissures. We sat for awhile by one of the bigger plumes of steam and had quite a steam bath. I can’t help but compare the steam with the breath of some wild animal. The way it ebbs and flows from the fissures and the slightly musky aroma makes me wonder if there isn’t some giant dragon curled deep within the earth sleeping soundly and breathing heavily, bathing us all in its heady breath.
Before heading to the park yesterday, we stopped at a place which was once known as Steam Vent Inn, a rather innocuous name. It has since been sold and bought by someone else who has given it an absurdly long name which I care not to remember. In a recent local newspaper, this “spa” was written up as having natural warm ponds and steam rooms, all heated by geothermal activity. Sounded too interesting to pass up. At the door of the main house, we were greeted by a woman who then led us to the owner. He had a very pleasant face, thick eyebrows and a kind smile. We got talking and it turns out that his place is home to a ministry of sorts. Without going into too much detail over the exact content of his ministry, I felt my heart sink the more he spoke. This man had a beautiful place, no doubt, and put quite a bit of work into making it wonderful. But speaking with him reminded me of how much we all live in our own fantasy worlds, some more than others. He spoke of prophecy from the bible and how he is planning on building a temple in honor of King David and that by fulfilling this prophecy, the world will be set straight. He talked of water and nature and seeing fetuses and umbilical cords in the water. And that, wow, space is not a void after all but filled with water. I found myself wondering why it is that people such as himself find it so necessary to make up such elaborate stories rather than enjoying nature as it is? Nature, itself, is enough, isn’t it? Nature is filled with magic and wonder and its own stories. There’s no need for elaboration.
I left feeling sad. Maybe I was being too self-righteous. Maybe he wasn’t missing the point, as I saw it. But I don’t think so. It’s as if this life and these moments aren’t enough for some of us. We have to make up these grand stories about ourselves and our purpose here on this planet. I do it too. We all do it in some way or another. But nature reminds us all the time that while we are intimately connected to everything, our individual lives really don’t matter all that much in the end. This is not a morbid thought, in my mind. If anything, this thought frees us from our ego-driven realities and allows us to really explore and wonder as well as wander – to live a life filled with insight. Or maybe to live a life of absurdity since the world is so chaotic anyway. While walking along a forest path in the park, Joe and I were stopped by fellow visitors and they asked us to take their picture with the steam vents in the background. Later, I mused, “Wouldn’t it have been funny if we had asked them if they would take a picture of us with their camera?” Aren’t we part of the backdrop as well? To do something just because it’s absurdly funny is somehow so liberating. It shakes things up – reorganizes the way we think and the way we do things. Maybe life shouldn’t be so ordered. Maybe that’s how we get stuck. We follow the same routine day after day – the same route to work, the same lunchtime meal, the same people, everything the same.
Routine is comfortable, I admit it. I find comfort in knowing what to expect. Nevertheless, I am finding more and more that too much comfort equals a kind of death. Stagnation sets in. I want to be more like the hot breath of the earth, ebbing and flowing, moving when I want, pooling when something entices me. It’s to nature I look when I need help since nature is neutral and dances round and round with the cycle of life and death. It doesn’t care. It does its thing and knows what it is and why its here. The humpback whales know when it’s time to leave Alaska and make their way to these islands to give birth. Somehow we’ve snuck out the back door and taken ourselves out of this intelligent loop. I’d like to somehow find my way back to this knowing.
Insight
Krishnamurti once said, “…a mind that has insight and acts from that without drawing a conclusion is in the movement of continuous, constant insight…this constant insight without a formula, a conclusion that puts an end to that insight, is creative action…” Imagine living from a place of constant insight and creative action, never concluding anything and therefore, never setting limitations on one’s life. Sounds impossible, right? How do we live without making a conclusion about anything? We are constantly making conclusions about things. “I am making this much money, therefore, I am able to do this…” End of the sentence. Period. No further thought required. We base our lives on conclusions about ourselves and those around us. But, imagine for a moment if we stopped doing this. What would that even look like? What is a life filled with creative action based on endless insight?
Thought is not the same as insight. Insight is like breath: inspiring, clear, fluid, limitless and timeless. Thought has ramifications and goes round and around yet goes nowhere sometimes. “I’m stuck in my head.” But insight is like a glimmer of gold, a sudden ray of clarity from which the potential of new life may spring up. It is fresh and green, like the fragile unfurling of a new fern. It can be so easily lost or trampled down amongst the myriad of thought. Or it can simply not be taken seriously.
How do we make the transition from thought to pure insight? I leave you this question since I have not yet answered it myself…
Thought is not the same as insight. Insight is like breath: inspiring, clear, fluid, limitless and timeless. Thought has ramifications and goes round and around yet goes nowhere sometimes. “I’m stuck in my head.” But insight is like a glimmer of gold, a sudden ray of clarity from which the potential of new life may spring up. It is fresh and green, like the fragile unfurling of a new fern. It can be so easily lost or trampled down amongst the myriad of thought. Or it can simply not be taken seriously.
How do we make the transition from thought to pure insight? I leave you this question since I have not yet answered it myself…
Thursday, January 17, 2008
I don't want to grow up
It's an overcast day here on the Big Island, the kind that's got me thinking about growing up for some reason. I decided long ago that I don't want to officially grow up though I know that some growing up is necessary. Today, I felt way too grown up because today I dealt with that big, bad entity otherwise known as the IRS. Filling out and poring over form after stupid redundant form made me wonder many things.
First and foremost, I wonder how to navigate through the mundaneness of life without losing our sense of magic. Life is magical, no doubt. But it's also quite ordinary. And today, well, was very ordinary and filled with downright drudgery. Even now, as I write, my head feels filled with the fog that comes with thinking too much. Thinking, thinking, I'm always thinking. I'm obsessed lately with the fact that I'm single and not enjoying it one bit. I thought I would. I really did. But I'm not. I don't like waking up and being the only one in bed. I find myself singing the lines of "Nothing Compares." "Since you've been gone I can do whatever I want...I can put my arms around every boy I see....They only remind me of you." And it's all true in a way. Life doesn't seem to matter so much when there's no one there to share it, to share just in the mundaneness of it all. When I am with someone, the mundaneness somehow doesn't seem so bad. But being single, it turns to mere drudgery. And it doesn't matter that I can do whatever I want since without someone I love to consult with, I can't seem to come to a decision about anything.
And so, my head swims with way too much thinking of late. The same old questions, the same tired worn-out responses. What does it take to re-wire our brains so that we can create new pathways of thought? I want to make a new map, I want to trek out into new territory, someplace fresh and that smells green. And I want to do it with someone. I don't think we're meant to be alone in this life. I think we're meant to be tribal. We're meant to snuggle in big groups and to wrap ourselves around one another when life is just too damn tough.
I remember hearing once that when you leave home, you can never go back. This feels more true to me now than ever. The problem is that the yearning for home never goes away. For me, it only increases with the passing of each year. The problem is that while home for me now is more of a metaphor, I still long for the physical place. In my mind, I imagine a place where everyone I love is gathered. Unfortunately, in such a fragmented world, we only have fragmented tribes. Friends and family are scattered across the globe. I am in the middle of a damn ocean, separated by thousands of miles of water from people I love.
How do I close the gap? On this cloudy, leaf-blown day, I wonder how to find home if it is, indeed, a metaphor. Maybe I hope to find it in one person. I have felt it in the past, wrapped up safe in a lover's arms. The feeling never lasts long enough and the relationships have ended.
Now, I feel like a big toad in a big puddle, sitting like a big lump. Or a car with a flat tire stuck in a muddy rut in the rain, or a sailboat with ripped sails sitting in the doldrums. I have the ability to move but I can't. And time just keeps pressing on. I admit it. I'm stuck. There, I said it. "Just like a rolling stone...no direction home..."
First and foremost, I wonder how to navigate through the mundaneness of life without losing our sense of magic. Life is magical, no doubt. But it's also quite ordinary. And today, well, was very ordinary and filled with downright drudgery. Even now, as I write, my head feels filled with the fog that comes with thinking too much. Thinking, thinking, I'm always thinking. I'm obsessed lately with the fact that I'm single and not enjoying it one bit. I thought I would. I really did. But I'm not. I don't like waking up and being the only one in bed. I find myself singing the lines of "Nothing Compares." "Since you've been gone I can do whatever I want...I can put my arms around every boy I see....They only remind me of you." And it's all true in a way. Life doesn't seem to matter so much when there's no one there to share it, to share just in the mundaneness of it all. When I am with someone, the mundaneness somehow doesn't seem so bad. But being single, it turns to mere drudgery. And it doesn't matter that I can do whatever I want since without someone I love to consult with, I can't seem to come to a decision about anything.
And so, my head swims with way too much thinking of late. The same old questions, the same tired worn-out responses. What does it take to re-wire our brains so that we can create new pathways of thought? I want to make a new map, I want to trek out into new territory, someplace fresh and that smells green. And I want to do it with someone. I don't think we're meant to be alone in this life. I think we're meant to be tribal. We're meant to snuggle in big groups and to wrap ourselves around one another when life is just too damn tough.
I remember hearing once that when you leave home, you can never go back. This feels more true to me now than ever. The problem is that the yearning for home never goes away. For me, it only increases with the passing of each year. The problem is that while home for me now is more of a metaphor, I still long for the physical place. In my mind, I imagine a place where everyone I love is gathered. Unfortunately, in such a fragmented world, we only have fragmented tribes. Friends and family are scattered across the globe. I am in the middle of a damn ocean, separated by thousands of miles of water from people I love.
How do I close the gap? On this cloudy, leaf-blown day, I wonder how to find home if it is, indeed, a metaphor. Maybe I hope to find it in one person. I have felt it in the past, wrapped up safe in a lover's arms. The feeling never lasts long enough and the relationships have ended.
Now, I feel like a big toad in a big puddle, sitting like a big lump. Or a car with a flat tire stuck in a muddy rut in the rain, or a sailboat with ripped sails sitting in the doldrums. I have the ability to move but I can't. And time just keeps pressing on. I admit it. I'm stuck. There, I said it. "Just like a rolling stone...no direction home..."
Thursday, January 10, 2008
A Poem
On this day
An adventure is born
From the depths
You could say
It breathes in the night
And when you are asleep
It breathes you, in fact
From those recesses of your being
You try to forget
It rages through your belly
Like a wildfire
In a desert storm
This morning
There was a dead bird at my window
Its chirping sibling was close by
And the mother too
The one pushed from the nest perhaps
So the other could live
We all must leave something behind in this world
A little piece of ourselves here and there
The question is what to do
With the remains
Is it fate or our own hands
That guides us through the night?
I used to believe in the mystery
Seems my hands are so small
As beautiful as they are
But I am old now
The spark lies shallowly buried
Under the soot and ash
Of lost love
It will take all the breath in my body
And more
To clear away
The debris
I am counting
On something bigger now
To lead me through
These hours of doubt
It is the intersection of heaven and earth
That I seek
On this journey,
Though many have traveled the path
I am alone
An adventure is born
From the depths
You could say
It breathes in the night
And when you are asleep
It breathes you, in fact
From those recesses of your being
You try to forget
It rages through your belly
Like a wildfire
In a desert storm
This morning
There was a dead bird at my window
Its chirping sibling was close by
And the mother too
The one pushed from the nest perhaps
So the other could live
We all must leave something behind in this world
A little piece of ourselves here and there
The question is what to do
With the remains
Is it fate or our own hands
That guides us through the night?
I used to believe in the mystery
Seems my hands are so small
As beautiful as they are
But I am old now
The spark lies shallowly buried
Under the soot and ash
Of lost love
It will take all the breath in my body
And more
To clear away
The debris
I am counting
On something bigger now
To lead me through
These hours of doubt
It is the intersection of heaven and earth
That I seek
On this journey,
Though many have traveled the path
I am alone
And the phoenix rises...
This is my very first blog posting. Sharing my writing is something I've wanted to do for a long time. There seems to be no better time than the beginnings of a new year to do just that...begin.
I've been thinking a lot about beginnings lately and how they are so connected to endings, deaths, loss. At the tail end of all of these things is new life. I'm thinking for some reason now about the dendrites of neurons and how they look so much like roots. It is in the dendrites where magic happens - information dances electrically from one neuron to another through these dendritic passages. This must happen millions of times over throughout the day. We are constantly given new information to process. What if, like actual roots, we could be nourished by this information, washed clean each time, and with that, we would re-invent ourselves over and over again?
I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this. Maybe I don't need to go anywhere with any of it. Maybe it's for you to think about, mull over, swish around in your mouth, tasting the sweetness of new thought. Pondering the possibilities of this life...
And what about the question of freedom? I've been thinking about that a lot lately too. What does it mean exactly to be free? Recently, I watched a movie called "Random Lunacy." It's about a man who calls himself Poppa Neutrino and his family. He's decided that the 9-5 life isn't for him so he travels with his family and plays music, joins a circus, builds a raft from trash and sails it across the Atlantic Ocean. He is vigilant about being free. His life is one grand adventure. He shirks the ordinary and embraces extremism. It got me thinking about my own life and what freedom looks like for me. What does it look like for you? What's the taste, sound and feel?
I'm a little concerned these days that people aren't thinking enough about personal freedom. And I'm not talking about the freedom to buy, to consume, to ravage everything in our path which humans seem to have gotten a little too good at. I'm talking about freedom of the mind and freedom of the body, though I don't think the two are as separate as we think. I think they are one and the same, really. But that's a different conversation.
I was walking to my studio office and saw a Hummer in the parking lot. I wanted to kick it and yell at the person for being such a moron and driving something that, in my mind, epitomizes human stupidity. It's amazing that one car could elicit so much hatred in my heart. Freedom seems to have gotten warped, perverted. Car companies advertise freedom as being able to drive this monstrosity across wild lands, taking it wherever one's little heart desires. But at what cost? And isn't the cost greater than the benefit? It's as if it's not until we all have a pile of shit sitting in our own living rooms that we will actually slap our hands to our foreheads and declare, "Wow, we're really making a mess of things! Maybe we should reconsider our ways..."
And what about me? I'm talking a lot about other people, I know. I tend to do that sometimes. I'd like to live a little more like Poppa Neutrino. I like his idea that we can't possess anything. Nothing is really "ours." And yet, we seem to really like the idea of ownership. I, myself, "own" some land and a little cabin and some clothes and various other things. I like to think it's all mine for keeps until I decide otherwise. But, really, that's not the case. I did own two dogs. They're both dead. Things die and fall away. Death is mostly beyond our control. Maybe we can prolong it but we can't stop it. Relationships die too, even if we struggle over and over in endless ways to breathe life into them. I tried that too. It didn't work. "My lover is gone now..." That must be some sad song somewhere. Ella, maybe?
And so, after life comes death comes life again. Round and round, the story goes...what is your story?
I've been thinking a lot about beginnings lately and how they are so connected to endings, deaths, loss. At the tail end of all of these things is new life. I'm thinking for some reason now about the dendrites of neurons and how they look so much like roots. It is in the dendrites where magic happens - information dances electrically from one neuron to another through these dendritic passages. This must happen millions of times over throughout the day. We are constantly given new information to process. What if, like actual roots, we could be nourished by this information, washed clean each time, and with that, we would re-invent ourselves over and over again?
I'm not sure where I'm going with all of this. Maybe I don't need to go anywhere with any of it. Maybe it's for you to think about, mull over, swish around in your mouth, tasting the sweetness of new thought. Pondering the possibilities of this life...
And what about the question of freedom? I've been thinking about that a lot lately too. What does it mean exactly to be free? Recently, I watched a movie called "Random Lunacy." It's about a man who calls himself Poppa Neutrino and his family. He's decided that the 9-5 life isn't for him so he travels with his family and plays music, joins a circus, builds a raft from trash and sails it across the Atlantic Ocean. He is vigilant about being free. His life is one grand adventure. He shirks the ordinary and embraces extremism. It got me thinking about my own life and what freedom looks like for me. What does it look like for you? What's the taste, sound and feel?
I'm a little concerned these days that people aren't thinking enough about personal freedom. And I'm not talking about the freedom to buy, to consume, to ravage everything in our path which humans seem to have gotten a little too good at. I'm talking about freedom of the mind and freedom of the body, though I don't think the two are as separate as we think. I think they are one and the same, really. But that's a different conversation.
I was walking to my studio office and saw a Hummer in the parking lot. I wanted to kick it and yell at the person for being such a moron and driving something that, in my mind, epitomizes human stupidity. It's amazing that one car could elicit so much hatred in my heart. Freedom seems to have gotten warped, perverted. Car companies advertise freedom as being able to drive this monstrosity across wild lands, taking it wherever one's little heart desires. But at what cost? And isn't the cost greater than the benefit? It's as if it's not until we all have a pile of shit sitting in our own living rooms that we will actually slap our hands to our foreheads and declare, "Wow, we're really making a mess of things! Maybe we should reconsider our ways..."
And what about me? I'm talking a lot about other people, I know. I tend to do that sometimes. I'd like to live a little more like Poppa Neutrino. I like his idea that we can't possess anything. Nothing is really "ours." And yet, we seem to really like the idea of ownership. I, myself, "own" some land and a little cabin and some clothes and various other things. I like to think it's all mine for keeps until I decide otherwise. But, really, that's not the case. I did own two dogs. They're both dead. Things die and fall away. Death is mostly beyond our control. Maybe we can prolong it but we can't stop it. Relationships die too, even if we struggle over and over in endless ways to breathe life into them. I tried that too. It didn't work. "My lover is gone now..." That must be some sad song somewhere. Ella, maybe?
And so, after life comes death comes life again. Round and round, the story goes...what is your story?
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