Attention

Hey, readers.

I'm moving to wordpress. I've found I like the layout there a lot and I like the general feel of using the dashboard a lot more. Hope to see you there! http://biteyourownteeth.wordpress.com/

I'll still be using Blogspot for my artwork, so I won't be gone completely.

Opinions Are Truth

One of the cool things about what I do here is that I don't have to back anything up. This site is just an emotional and philosophical dumping ground where I get to feel smart for ten minutes before I get back to feeling unbalanced and out of sync with reality. I don't have to answer to anybody and there are few consequences if I do or do not decide to defend what I'm saying. I get to say stuff without getting history, medical journals, textbooks or great thinkers to agree with me. In some ways a philosopher (which I am not) might be the only type of intellectual who is allowed to use anecdotal evidence to support their views, as it's often a matter of whether or not what they say resonates with you. In such cases experience is not only acceptable evidence in the spectrum of reasoning out what is and is not so, but it is deadly to dismiss it's value.

There have been many times where a medical or scientific study reaches a substantial and seemingly decisive discovery, yet one group will say that the philosophical implications of said study are the opposite of what conclusions a different group has reached. Failing that, one group will claim that it was a biased study and should be ignored. This is naturally not always the case, or people would never lose their faith ideals, nor would anybody ever be converted. However, when our views are challenged, we get our backs up almost without fail.

Most times it would seem opinions are still driven by emotions. We cling to principles first and justify them with reasons second, no matter how much we convince ourselves otherwise. We all believe we are correct, that's what an opinion is, but we must always enter discussions willing to be convinced that our opinion is false or else truth will never be ours. When a Christian begins to talk to me about atheism, I enter into the conversation with the mindset that they are trying to trap me and I put up a defence. I am already unwilling to listen before they even start talking. Likewise, when an atheist speaks to a Christian they will often feel that the atheist thinks they are stupid for believing what they believe, resulting in the conversation swiftly deteriorating into both people trying to prove their own intelligence without any mutual respect and nothing interesting or important happens. No new opinions are formed, old ones are reinforced. All that happens is that there are now two people who are a little bit more pissed at each other.

If I could just get past my own insecurity, if all of us could, I think we would understand each other much better. This particular type of insecurity makes us have long conversations without listening, and then we try to negate other people's experiences. We observe the world and make decisions based on our knowledge of it, but we also observe ourselves and reach conclusions from our feelings and experiences. To shut yourself out from the wealth of knowledge that is other people's experience or to say that yours are somehow more valid than somebody else's is to become ignorant to an integral part of nearly all aspects of the humanities.

He's Talking to Himself Again

We are on a constant lookout for ways to ease our suffering. Sometimes people manage to find ways to cope with their problems, others change their lives for the better, most just find a way to deal with things in the immediate moment. Even the most prudent person has lived day-to-day for a large part of their life. At least, that's what it seems to me; prudence was never one of my strengths.

A popular and mostly healthy way of dealing with stressful issues is thinking in terms of two possibilities:

a) There is something I can do about it so I will and therefore I won't worry.

b) There is nothing I can do about it so I might as well not worry about it.

I try to keep these things in mind, although it's one of those things that's easy to understand intellectually without really feeling that it's true. It's easy to know that you can't do anything about your terminal illness but it's hard not to worry about it just the same. So, why do we tell ourselves that? It's been my experience that we say this to ourselves because if we think that we can't do anything about it then that will somehow change the outcome; that things will work out for the best somehow. Like a misguided hope, we can fool ourselves into justifying aloofness and irresponsibility (I speak from experience). We all know, intellectually and experientially, this is not always the case.

We say that we can do something about it, so we WILL, doggonit. However, we don't always pick up the guitar and write a hit song or study hard and win a Nobel Prize because frankly, we can't always be bothered. It almost never works out that way and there are far too many outside forces to truly take into account.

Still, reality has a way of running ahead of you, whether you are determined to move ahead or surrender yourself to happenstance. You can't do anything about and you can't not do anything about it; reality just runs at a steady pace and you are powerless to stop it or slow it down. In both cases I think there's a possibility that the thinker has separated themselves from Happening. I think that's why people should practice deep meditation.

Meditation isn't just a relaxation technique. If it were then it would just be called "sitting relaxation". I've heard a few people tell me that it's great that I've started meditation, but that it's not for them. How many people reading this think that they can't sit still for that long or that they simply just can't quiet their minds for any period of time? Anybody who knows me should be aware that I'm a fidgeting ball of thoughts that jumps from topic to topic. It's especially that type of person that should be slowing down and letting their intellectual and emotional dust settle. It's not easy at first; there's a reason I call it my "practice". The reasons behind it aren't to stop thinking about your problems, or let your muscles relax; those are happy side-effects. I'm beginning to realize that the real reason is to stop thinking in words for a little bit of the day.

Let me be clear. I love words and language, the most beautiful of inventions.

HOWEVER
Words bring clarity but also confusion. They compartmentalize but also obfuscate.
To those that think I'm just spewing new-age piffle: well, I kind of am. I'm kind of stating the obvious, but it's been a revelation to me. To think of things not as letters on a page or as a sound from one's mouth to my ear but as real things and experiences, is to look at the same thing and see something else and it's kind of humbling in a weird way. Shit, I'm getting tangential again.

The great modern Hindu sage, Sri Ramana Maharshi, once said, "Meditation depends upon the strength of mind. It must be unceasing even when one is engaged in work. Particular time for it is meant for novices." He describes meditation as, "Sticking to one thought. That single thought keeps away other thoughts; distraction of mind is a sign of its weakness; by constant meditation it gains strength."

What I take away from that, is to stop thinking in terms of what you can and cannot do about your daily troubles but to live as a part of Happening; as a part of Now. Dividing your issues into things you can and can't fix is a good way of looking at it as long as it's not a trick to make you feel better, but a cessation of distracting and unnecessary worries. After all, if something's going wrong it can be painful even if you have no other option. It's not as easy as just putting it out of your mind. That's why I have been meditating for nearly a year, and why I won't stop until I am not.

Everybody and I mean everybody, is at war with themselves. I believe that pain comes from distraction by the past and future and is not escaped from, but overcome by constant participation in the Now. I do mean constant participation. You will never have "made it," you will never be "done," but it's going to be ok.

How Santa Ruined Religion

One of the problems with trying to describe yourself is that one word attributes just don't cut it. So sometimes it's better just to give examples.

I think one of my defining characteristics is best illustrated by my reaction to being told there was and then later wasn't a Santa Claus. I never thought he existed, at least I can't remember ever believing. However, there was always this terrible feeling that there was something going on and that there could actually be a Santa Claus. I like to call it optimistic pessimism. Besides, my parents told me he was real and that was the story they were sticking to, so that was good enough for me.

So good, in fact, that I would defend his existence to the more skeptical kids in the neighbourhood. As a point of honour, I would fiercely defend something I wasn't sure I believed but wanted to so badly. I got made fun of and roughed up a bit over it, but it was so worth it at the time.

Time passed and my suspicions were confirmed when one of my parents broke the news to me in passing (I was old enough that it would be safe to assume I had outgrown these things) in a very, "but of course, you already knew that," type of manner. This was fine, of course. I did already know that. I'd known that for a long time but now; now I could feel it. Sometimes, confirming what you already knew can still make your heart sink.

Fast forward a decade and a half and I'm frying much bigger proverbial fish. I have had life changes a-plenty mostly revolving around my moral structure and beliefs. Not an easy thing to adjust, kids. Yet, it still seems like I'm wresting with the same issue under a different name.

Say you wade through the treacherous muck of trying to reason through whether there is or isn't a God. Say you make it through to a totally solid, unwavering conclusion with your sanity still intact. Say that conclusion is that there is, indeed a higher power and Creator. What now? So all of creation is too wondrous and magical to have been the product of circumstance. So God made it. Who's God? Your God? The Christian God (among which there are many different versions)? The Druidic gods? Allah? Yahweh? Shiva? Amaterasu? How do you know it's yours?

I don't mean to be challenging anybody or their beliefs, although in essence that's probably what I'm doing anyway. It's more that I don't get how anybody can be certain of their God. I don't have a distaste for organized religion from a belief that it's inherently wrong/unethical/evil (although I do find it a little unnerving); I have a problem with it because I don't see how any rational person could pick one. I honestly, truly do not understand. Not because I think I'm any better, more clever, or more insightful than the next person. I just don't know how anybody could think their way through it without a suffocating amount of doubt.

Some might say something like, "oh, you haven't felt His love," or, "open yourself to His word and you'll understand," or something equally presumptuous and insulting to my own religious experiences. Too many times have I been told that if I could only feel Him like they do, it would all suddenly make sense. I have felt it. I feel it every fucking day. You know what I haven't felt? The need to go to Mass. The need to find a mosque. The need to visit a stupa. (These are all very cool places and a neat experience but I haven't personally found any spiritual significance in any of them.) They are places where Santa Claus lives. They're places for me to go for me to feed that part of me that wants an easy explanation to why Santa (God) exists even though I don't trust a single one of them, mainly because there's way too freaking many of them.

I mean, seriously. It's hard enough already trying to figure out whether or not God is a real thing. Now I have to sift through the umpteen trillion versions and find out which one makes the most sense? God's not a "Him," by the way.

UGH

Every religion, at some point in it's doctrine or mythology, says something an outsider would consider pretty outlandish. Transubstantiation? Nirvana? Heaven and Hell? Slow down, buddy, we have a lot of ground to cover. Also, many religions like to look at other religious institutions and point out how silly and far-fetched they are while totally ignoring the part where they say the can make things change form without changing physical attributes.

And that the form is human blood and flesh.

And that the blood and flesh is to be consumed.

But look at those Yoga freaks with their Chakra! Silly hippies!

Another thing is that, with a couple of exceptions, each religion bases it's beliefs on it's God(s). Whether the philosophy came first or the God did, the teachings mainly boil down to, "because God said so." Most of them have some common ground: don't kill (but we have special cases when it's allowed), don't steal, don't be dishonest. However, some start to differ in drastic ways ranging from diet to worship techniques, prayers, attitudes, relationships and philosophies. The differences seem to be inextricably tied into who and where the people were at the birth of the belief.

Some might claim their religion simply follows the law of nature and that's proof enough that it's the right path. From Taoism to the Tridentine Rite, but rarely do they actually explain what that means outside of their own terms. Natural law is still the religious law. What do you mean by "natural"? Do you mean the way things are or the way they are supposed to be? Lots of people believe in Fallen Nature, and heck, I'm inclined to believe it. People are capable of nasty things but how is our refusal to give into our inclination towards nastiness following the law of nature? I mean in nature, animals shag all the time and don't even call the next day, all the while never feeling the slightest twinge of guilt. It's natural. So why do believers of natural law believe that marriage is so important and sacred?

I don't not believe in marriage and I am not by any stretch of the mind promiscuous or polyamorous (full respects extended to rationally promiscuous people and polygamists), but I can't get it to make sense in my head. I don't want to dwell on the marriage thing too long, as it's only an example and not my real point. It just all reeks of design by committee. Several committees. Over several hundred years. Not by God; I guess that's my point.

Bleh. I'm running on too long with this. My point is, you can't just say, "My God makes the most sense," and give me endless, convoluted reasons why. Well you can, but they had damn well better be good, different reasons.

C.S. Lewis once said this:

"Christianity, if false, is of no importance, and if true, of infinite importance. The only thing it cannot be is moderately important."

Which is totally awesome and astute and everything, but that doesn't just go for Christianity. It goes for just about everything except nihilism. It's true for every single bloody religion on this planet. If any one of them is true then it's very important that we all try and figure that out. Which kind of makes the quote not mean anything at all. I mean, come on!

DAMN.

Belief is Scary

So something I've kind of fibbed about is my comfort in my beliefs. I guess it's more of a fib of omission. You see, I'd been worried for a long time that despite my honesty with myself and what it is that I fundamentally believe in (the "what" at least; I'm still working on the "why"), there has been a terrifying thought in the back of my head that this is all a form of escapism. I worry that I have retreated from God and Society under a false pretense of enlightenment or a phoney spiritual pride that makes it OK to ignore the responsibilities of adulthood.

It's occurred to me that these fears are not unfounded. I believe that I am quite guilty of escapism in a few ways, but maybe not the ones I expected.

It hit me when I spotted something I disagreed with from one of my favourite philosophers, and was very distraught. Trying to justify it or figure out what it was he meant, because I must have been misunderstanding him. I was scared that I hadn't found the answer after all, after having come so far. I had also begun to worry about money yet again. After all that mental conditioning I've put myself through, after telling myself that it's all going to be OK, I still freak out and have panic attacks. All that work for nothing, it would seem.

Of course, the very same philosopher (once again, Alan MF-ing Watts makes another appearance in my ramblings) said, "To have faith is to trust yourself to the water. When you swim you don't grab hold of the water, because if you do you will sink and drown. Instead you relax, and float."

Herein lies the answer to those that accuse the "take the path of least resistance" approach as escapism. The mistake that is usually made is the misinterpretation that it means to give up, or be lazy. It is, in fact, escapism to not take that approach because to open yourself up to possibilities, to the harshness of life, and to the fact that no matter how much you learn, to matter how much you deliberate and contemplate, there is always the possibility that you are mistaken; it requires a commendable about of courage. What a terrifying beast doubt can be, and yet it's so fundamentally important to the search for truth. It is when doubt instead becomes this kind of faith that peace can be found, I think. Of course, that's something I still violently struggle with and it's a source of great frustration for me. It's hard to hold on to faith. Everybody knows that.

I had nearly forgotten that this faith is what pulled me out of that self-destructive mindset in the first place. How hilarious is it that it's the same thing that is now a new source of anxiety? The excitement of thinking about things from a new angle has worn off, meditation has become a routine (which I guess it's supposed to be) rather than a new and exciting exercise, and my beliefs are becoming just that: beliefs. Faith brings liberation, but beliefs become ingrained into your very being and eventually confusion when confronted by that faith you had at the beginning.

So, doubt became faith, which became belief, which became doubt again, and now I guess after this self-revelation I'm at the faith stage again. So how does one stop this strangling cycle and stay at the faith part? I wish I could be like the axle of a wheel; fixed in place and part of a whole, but unstuck to the machinations around it.

Then There's THIS Guy

I didn't really get to know my Dad's Dad (something I sincerely regret to this day) nor did I ever get the chance to meet his Mother. My fondest memory of my Grandad was perhaps the only chance I got to really see what part he played in turning Dad into who he is today (I don't claim to know what did it for sure, I wasn't around then but I'm hazarding a few guesses here); it was when he came to visit us on Kelly Island, shortly after we had moved to Southern Ontario. He sat down at our little electric organ and played Barnacle Bill the Sailor, singing in a deep bass voice. Suddenly this serious, ex-military, and as far as I was concerned phenomenally old man was a weird, bouncy thing. There was a spring in his rhythm and a spark in his eyes, and I remember thinking, "This is where my father came from."

My Dad is a poet, although I had no idea until I was a teenager.

My Dad is an artist, although I had no idea how much of it he had put aside for his family.

My Dad is a man of nature, although I had a difficult time understanding what that meant.

My Dad is inquisitive, and by God I'm glad he passed that on to his children.

You see, we all used to poke fun at him for reading every plaque he crossed, or sometimes we would be on vacation and he'd be struck by a certain type of tree and he would ask the locals what it was called. This sometimes embarrassed us, but it was usually just an "Oh, Daaaaad," moment. Now that I'm grown (more or less), I find myself walking through the Mount Pleasant park/graveyard, struck dumb by the Red Japanese Maple trees there, and being driven to find other interesting things and find out what they are. It suddenly dawned on me that were it not for my father, I might not be experiencing the joy of nature and discovery. My Dad taught me many things, but the biggest, most important thing was how to look (and I'm not just talking about nature anymore). How to really see things. How to let myself be mystified.

After having studied Zen for a while, I've been getting obsessed with trying to spot people's true selves (counter-productive if you know anything about Zen, but shut up, it's interesting), and whenever I see my Father laugh it is, without a doubt, Who He Really Is. It's one, loud guffaw. A "HAH!" followed by several, much quieter guffaws. Whenever he laughs I have to restrain myself from saying "There you are!" When I come home to visit, no matter what troubles he is having, his face will always light up. I believe he sees something in his family that few others can see.This photo is a picture of eyes that, whether they know it or not, see God in everything.

Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thank you.

I'm Not a Doctor, But...

I'm here today to talk about something I know nothing about so that I can draw a parallel to the rest of life and come to my own conclusions. So, this entry is really just like any other. Except I'll be talking about ADD/ADHD. No, no, put down your medical journals and baseball bats, I'll try not to make any sweeping generalizations. At least, none that I don't think aren't true.

There's kind of a split of opinions on the topic. Some people think it's a serious condition that needs special care and attention and some others think it's imaginary or a way to excuse medication that makes your kids shut the hell up and sit down. Most of the people of the former opinion are doctors and scientists so I, for one, am inclined to agree with them for the most part. However, there is one other school of thought on the subject: it's both. I came across that article while trying to look up studies and symptoms of ADHD for an online conversation I was having on the subject. It struck a chord with me because it kind of touched on a few undeveloped, abstract thoughts I've had on mental "disorders." Let me make it clear that I'm not talking about severe mental illnesses or psychosis here. I'm talking mainly about ADD/ADHD, and to a lesser extent, things like dysthymia, Aspergers, and high-function autism.

First off, I've never been diagnosed with ADD or ADHD but it has been suggested by a professional that I get checked out for adult ADHD. (I never bothered, I kept forgetting. What's that tell you?) I have, however, met several people with it and with similar problems. Conditions that don't stop them from living, communicating and interacting with other people like any normal person, but every once in a while you see a little bit of the anguish they're in bubble up when they're trying to concentrate, or when they have a seeming inability to empathize with people, or even doing something simple, like packing a box of stuff when they are moving to another apartment. There are some things they just can't do. That's fine, right? Nobody can do everything. Well, what if these are things necessary to living properly in modern life? Well, I'm beginning to think that a huge reason, if not the only reason, that these people are in so much pain is because we haven't made any room for them.

There's one thing I've noticed about people with ADHD: they're often way more interesting than other people. Sorry if I seem to be trivialising it, but it's almost more of a charming personality quirk than a damaging mental illness to me. Dampening the penchant for energy and jumping from subject to subject is almost tragic to me. Of course, there are extreme cases where the person can't function. I obviously understand the necessity of curbing and strengthening the attention span; but what about a bit of change in our world as well? Wouldn't it make more sense to meet half-way and figure out what it is these kids are good at, rather than label their personalities as handicaps and fill them with ritalin (which has fantastic uses, I know) and call it a day? I can say with both anecdotal and scientific-ish evidence that kids with ADHD are good at and enjoy sports and games and that they can even help treat the condition, even if they suffer academically.

Unfortunately, in most schools you have to do well academically to stay on the sports team or in the chess club. You fail history, you're off the football team. Well, what if football is your life's dream and you think history is bullshit? You shouldn't be required to give a damn about every single subject just so you can do what you love. In the first article I mentioned, in a hunter-gatherer society, ADHD would be an actual advantage, which is why it would have been preserved in evolution. Yet, now that things have changed, it's a burden on your shoulders and there's no place for you unless you play by our rules.

What I'm ultimately trying to say is, in the words of Bruce Banner when he had to deliberately turn into the Hulk to save the day, "We can't control it, but maybe we can sort of aim it."

Stop calling it a problem and start working with it. Even the greats had their issues to tangle with, but it's what made them great. I knew one artist who had ADD and instead of taking medication, he used his art as therapy and eventually became an incredible cartoonist and one of my biggest influences. Because of his short attention span, he'd draw fast, flowing but twisted and anarchic sketches. In fact, he inspired me to deal with my own lack of an attention span in a similar way. You see? We can even learn how to deal with our own, non-diagnosed problems in the same way.

I acknowledge that sometimes medication is necessary or at least preferable, but the ruling thought behind it is not always admirable. I'd love for people to stop trying to help these people fit into a world where there's no room for them by changing or fixing their problems. Rather, it would bring me great joy to see people turn their "problems" into something that changes and fixes the world.

That's what life's all about, after all; taking what you've been given and carving something out for yourself.

Can't Go to Bed; My Brain Will Eat Me

As far back as I can remember, I've needed a long routine to get to sleep. Even now, simply plopping down on the bed and shutting my eyes doesn't cut it. I could stay awake for hours on end. As a child, it was because I was aware that there were things I was missing; I think that's a common reason why children don't want to go to bed. There are still things happening, things to do. Bed is boring, and thinking is difficult and frightening. When we're left alone in the dark as children we begin to imagine creatures in the closet, or see shadows on the wall. I think that this combination of not wanting to miss out on what's happening in your absence, with the fear and stress of what your mind does when it's left to it's own devices is fascinating. Like so many things, we keep the same habits we had when we were children just in a more grown-up way.

Don't let the word "grown-up" fool you. It's just as absurd, if not more so.

When at a pub or a bar with friends I am usually the last to leave and I encourage everybody to stay late with me, despite whatever it is we all have to do in the morning. If some people are going out, I must be there and I have to be there for everything. I don't want to miss a damned thing. If I leave early, I become slightly depressed and start thinking about going back out. This is, of course, very unhealthy physically, emotionally and financially. Nobody can be there for everything and trying to do so will ruin you.

Just recently I opted out of a trip out of town with my brother to visit my sister. Earlier today, I decided not to go out with a bunch of friends to the pub (mostly because I'm broke, but let's pretend it's because I'm being responsible.) Both things would have been very enjoyable and I'm sure everybody had a good time, but I felt I should have sit it out this time around. There would be other times to see sis, and there's a weekly trip to the pub. However, as soon as I was left alone I began to worry that I was missing out on something fun or that I was letting somebody down. Naturally, we all want fun. It seems, though, that I can't handle not-fun. I'm not speaking of misery or even boredom, just a certain lack of excitement or social interaction. It scares me in a very unique and very weird way. It ties my guts in knots and I feel like something about my identity is threatened.

You see, when left alone I begin creating new monsters and they are just as bogus as the ones I dreamed up as a child. As cliche as this sounds, I'm beginning to realize that my worries are not based so much on what people think of me (certainly a large part of how everybody behaves,) but much more so on what I think of myself. I am not saying that I hate myself, far from it, but that for all the meditation I engage in; for all my exhortation to others, I still worry about other people's perception of me. I still get anxious about expectations. When I am with people, I can keep these problems at bay, but only for a short while. Eventually one has to face these issues and you can either face them and realize that they aren't even real (which is easy to understand intellectually, but not quite as easy psychologically,) or collapse in defeat and failure.

I feel like I'm making small strides, but as it stands right now, I am still truly afraid of turning off my music, going home and turning my attention inward.

Happy, Open Stubbornness

It's been nearly three weeks since I've written anything, mainly because I didn't have anything to write about, and even if I did, I'm often getting ahead of myself in my views. This blog is a great way to sort myself out and feel things out a little better, especially because of the conversations in the comments section (further solidifying this as mainly being read by family and friends, but that's cool. Knowing me probably gives some good context.) Seriously, I could just copy/paste the conversations in the comments sections and have three new posts, but that would of course be lazy.

So I get all these ideas and run away with them immediately without contemplating them. To paraphrase Lao-tzu: "Standing on your tip-toes can help you see over a wall, but in doing so you sacrifice your footing and are set to fall." But, of course, where would any of us be if we didn't take risks? My problem lately has been that I am too interested in my footing, but I'm also trying to stand on my toes. I want to expand myself but I don't want to take the risks involved.

I should clarify, by "sacrificing your footing," I don't mean throwing yourself into the world and constantly forming and reforming your opinions with reckless abandon. Just as open mindedness is not the same as being gullible, these risks I am talking about are not the same as being flaky with your philosophy. There are some very stubborn people out there with very intelligent views, willing to listen and consider what other people have to say. Likewise there are some open, accepting people who are wishy-washy and foolish.

Take, for example, the Dalai Lama. His message of compassion, peace and detachment from wealth hasn't changed in many, many years. He is actually quite a stubborn person (not that I've met him, personally,) but not stubborn like a brick wall, rather he stubborn like a river. He doesn't shut people up or antagonize opposing views, but he takes them and moves around them.

In many ways I am a brick wall that thinks he's a river. Many of us are like that. How often do you meet somebody who claims to be progressive, compassionate and open-minded. Then as soon as you challenge their ideals they start to get fired up and angry. I'm not talking about conversations that get excited and escalated (those are often fun.) I'm talking about claiming to not be easily offended, and it turns out that the mechanism for that is deflection and rigidity.

Throw a pebble at a wall and it will bounce off, but still chip the surface.
Throw a pebble at a river and it disappears, seemingly to never be seen again. However, it may be brought to shore in time, rounded and smooth.

I Feel Beautiful in the Head Today

Took a walk in the woods today. Nothing helps me think better. Of course, the clarity with which I'm thinking while I'm out there, like a high or dream, quickly fades when I come back home. I keep thinking that maybe I should seriously consider being a hermit for a little while, just to see what happens. In any case, here's the general gist of what I was thinking about today. Or at least, it's the best I can do with what I remember.

---

I kept thinking that I need to organize my life. Then I sat down by a stream and saw the rocks and pebbles strewn in random places, while the water flowed around them. It dawned on me that people say things like "get real," or "welcome to the real world." Their "real world" is full of grid patterns, straight lines, files, structures and numbers. We need these things to function, and yet the real real world is random, spontaneous and messy. Yet life, like the water, finds a way around everything with great ease. The real world can function, indeed it thrives, without the organization that we seem to need. So perhaps we're actually quite stupid in comparison with the world. I find that quite uplifting and encouraging.

---

I think some ideas and feelings are self explanatory, and can't be otherwise defined. Love, anger, hatred, happiness etc. These things require no explanation because they are experienced at a very young age and the adults say to you, "that is anger," or "that is love."

We can give these things characteristics and descriptors, but we cannot truly get at the core definition. However, that sits fine with me. I would rather revel in their magnificence than try to say what they are or what they are for. I'm sure people might be getting tired of my Alan Watts references, but he describes a real philosopher as something of an, "intellectual yokel." Somebody who can't stop gawking at things and at the grandeur of life itself.

Props to the philosopher's who deal with that by defining things, and deciding whether or not that sentence makes sense, or whether or not this concept is logically valid. It's not for me, though. I am content in simply being.

---

Existence is playful.

The sight of a bathing bird or a squirrel eating a seed brings delight to my soul. Everything bounces and jitters and makes funny sounds. It all seems so light. The flora around us blooms and explodes. It dangles and sways. It spins and unfolds. It runs on and on in it's own messy, wiggly way.

If you asked me, "What is the nature of our existence?" I might answer by humming a song.

Man, maybe I am going crazy.

Imagine There's No Heaven

I feel like I'm seeking in the same manner that somebody looks around for their glasses when they are right on the person's face.

I've spent a long time trying to expand upon my last entry and it has been exhausting. I've been trying to explain why I am not one thing and why I think another thing, revising opinions and scrapping entire entries and starting over. I feel like my mind is settled and that I can sit down and write, but then the dust just gets kicked up again.

I think this is mostly because, although I believe in the importance of spontaneity especially in cases of philosophy and spirituality, I never took the time to sit and lay down some basic groundwork in my own mind (for example: I am not a Catholic but I still wear a scapular). After I left the church, I wandered pretty aimlessly until I finally landed on a few ideas that have recently evolved. The problem is that I skipped over or didn't think much about the basic things and leaped right into the big ideas, using terms and concepts that I'm not sure I understand or at least haven't really taken the time to make a decision about. So a created a list of four questions that I had never genuinely asked myself.

Do I believe in God(s)?

Not as such. I do not believe in an extra/omnidimensional or omnipotent existence. It has taken me a long time to come to admit that. I held onto that concept like a child that won't give up it's security blanket. I do, however, hold existence itself in similar sort of mystical esteem. I accept the idea that there are very strange forces at work that we cannot yet hope to understand. For example, magick might actually be a thing. I don't really buy into it but it does make a certain amount of sense to me if I think of it from a sort of... psychodramatic point of view.

Do I believe in an afterlife?

No, but I do not believe that it strips us of our responsibilities and consequences of our actions.

What is the purpose of existence?

The purpose of existence is, in my mind, that there is no purpose. That existence is for existing, and every second I spend thinking about what I want from it or where it is going is a second spent not actually doing things and figuring things out. Even what I am doing right this very second is kind of weird, because while it is the exact opposite of what I have been talking about (learning and being instead of knowing and dissecting) I get enjoyment out of blathering about nothing and putting it out there for people to see. I like to entertain. I would like to see if people out there can enjoy a point of view that I quite like, and that has helped me a great deal.

So my answer to "Why are we here?" would be, to be happy and find a sense of worth in some fashion or another. Sometimes being happy means living for the moment, in a perpetual now; sometimes it means planning and doing something productive and getting that sense of worth.

I don't think it's weird to say that and turn around and say that I don't think there is a God or an afterlife. I don't believe the removal of a cosmic judge and watcher from the picture turns the idea of ethics on it's head. Which leads me to my next question.

What is good and evil?

No afterlife and God is not, in a stricter sense, a single being with a single will of it's own? No great entity comprised of pure goodness, or even goodness itself? Well then, how can we possibly make a clear, concise decision of what is good and evil? How can I claim that we ought to be compassionate when I have no basis, no creator to compare it to? I'm really tempted to just say "I don't know," and move on, but let's at least try.

For a long time I tried to distance myself from dualistic views of good and evil, mainly because of the sense that good is stronger was so heavily ingrained in me. Also because of a concept that was explained to me through the works of C.S. Lewis. He talked about how dualism doesn't work in this case because evil has to borrow free will, a good trait, to be evil. Evil has to actively decide to be so, and yet good can be good of itself or through free will.

There are ideas in there that I like and that I don't like. I like his distinction that good is not only a choice, but also that when things are the way they ought to be, it is a good thing. What I don't agree with is his assertion that free will is not a neutral thing. I certainly enjoy having free will (most of the time) and try to make the best use of it, but it can be used to perform acts on either side of the ethical fence. Saying free will is good because you don't need it to be good doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me. So, to bring it back around, I can't help but have this nagging inclination that, while the "forces of good and evil" (whatever that means to you) might not be exactly equal in strength or will or power or whatever, that it's difficult to imagine one without the other. Good things are called good, I think, because they can be compared to evil.

If a person doesn't go around stabbing people, helps friends when he sees they are in distress and tries to be decent but generally minds his own business, we would say that is a good person.

If a person, say, becomes a doctor and goes overseas to help impoverished countries, donates regularly to homeless shelters and generally dedicates their life to helping others, we would say that is a very good person.

Killing people, taking their things, hurting people physically or emotionally, hatred. These are evil things, n'est-ce pas?

So if we remove the heavens from the picture we see right away that good things are things that help or at the very least don't hinder each other's lives and that, comparatively, evil things are things that create obstacles for each other. We know when something is good if it is not evil, and conversely we know something is probably bad if we can't find anything good about it. Both things will perpetuate forever or as long as humans are still around to make that distinction. So it is hard to not see it from a dualistic perspective.

So now I think I can knuckle down. Those are, to my knowledge, the questions I had really been shying away from. Just when I thought I had landed on something profound, the only thing holding me back was fear of letting go of a few things I really didn't find worthwhile in the first place. I couldn't really think about God or the afterlife because it's what my life was based around for so long, and I couldn't let go of it. I could be wrong, obviously. Everybody could be wrong. However, even if I were to return to Christianity, I'd feel good about admitting to myself that, for a while, I didn't believe in God.

I'm feeling better already.

Sorry about the J Lennon quote in the title, I couldn't resist. I used to dislike that song.

It's starting to grow on me.

From Christianity to Mysticism

I've been having a serious inner debate on whether or not to talk about a few things up here. Mainly because they are very personal, and partially because I'm not really done thinking about them yet. I haven't really put my thoughts together on this one (but what else is new?). This is actually a very sensitive subject, not just for myself but for some of my friends and family (some of whom actually read this thing).

This Easter season has made be start to think about a few things. Such as the fact that it occurs to me that I never have explained to anybody, myself included, the reasons behind what makes me so uncomfortable with Christianity, Catholicism in particular. So let me start out with talking about that for a bit, then segue into something completely different without really finishing any of my thoughts. Cool? Alright, let's begin.

For lack of a better description, I sort of drifted away from it in my mid-teen years without putting a hell of a lot of effort into it. That's not to say that I didn't think about it at all, far from it. Rather I just didn't have that sudden rebellion to it that most people do when they leave. The main reasons were the basic doctrines that I couldn't accept on blind faith. Contrary to popular belief, Catholicism makes complete logical sense after you accept a few things as truth without any proof. Some people call it "faith," others, "gullibility." I think it's probably somewhere in between (and also that neither is necessarily a bad thing), but that's not the point.

The point is I never had that feeling. I was never able to take that leap of faith. These days, I feel like I have a much better grasp on "spiritual" concepts than I have before, but even if I could grasp these basics of the faith it's now the things that are supposed to make sense that bother me.

There are several facets of the religion with which I take issue, but the one I would like to talk about is the belief that we are born flawed. Not just original sin, which can be overcome through Baptism, but the idea that no matter what is done we are doomed to never achieve wholeness in this life. There seems to be a concept that this life is, if not a test, a mere precursor to what we were created for. I find this disturbing. I don't understand the point of this life if we were flawed at square one because of something we didn't do. Do we have to prove our goodness to achieve peace?

Do I think we are perfect? I believe that the whole notion of "perfection" is insane. I don't think it means anything except as a descriptor for something that can't ever exist. If you asked me to point out the perfect person I would point at the nearest person (after slapping you), just like a perfect rock would be a rock that does what a rock does (which is the nearest rock). There is no Great Rock that is the rockiest rock that ever rocked.

Now, I also believe that a rock or tree cannot behave in a fashion that betrays it's nature. This is where people are different. I think it's possible for people to forget how to go about people-ing (to borrow yet another word from Alan Watts). I don't claim to know exactly how somebody persons perfectly but I know, in a similar leap of faith that the Christians make, that I can find out how and that I can find it in this life. I also can't claim to know why or how we got to the point of so many of us forgetting what it means to be a person, but I still can't shake the feeling that many people are pretending, or buying into a hoax, and admitting that is the first step.

Isn't it funny that the word "mystic," when used as an adjective means "mysterious, strange, enigmatic, obscure," and yet as a noun, a mystic is somebody who, regardless of religion, dedicates their lives to making sense out of life, most commonly the nature of the self? From yogis and gurus to the Saints, they search more for an answer to a person's nature than obscure rituals and hokey philosophies. Yet, if you were to call somebody a mystic it strips them of credibility in the eyes of most modern thought. They come to us and tell us that what matters the most to us isn't what really matters. They almost unanimously say that we are buying into the game, and they try to warn us that it's only going to bring anxiety. No superstition, no sacrificial goats, no hemp shirts, no psychedelic drugs (debatable), no homeopathy, nothing. Just a simple message.

To quote the ever immortal Bill Hicks, "They say 'Don't worry. Don't be afraid. Ever. Because... it's just a ride.'"

"and we kill those people."

Things Make Me Feel Cool, But Probably Make Me Look Like an Idiot

When I'm listening to a cool song and I'm going up/down an escalator, I like to pretend I'm in the opening credits for a really cool movie about me.

When I go to the beach and I'm coming back to land from the water, I stay horizontal in the shallow water and pull myself to shore and pretend I'm an alligator.

When somebody is driving a car through the snow at night, if I'm in the passenger's seat I pretend I'm on a space ship and the snowflakes flitting past the windshield are stars flying by at warp speed.

When I'm in the shower sometimes I sit down and close my eyes and pretend I'm in an alley in the rain and I'm the Maxx from that comic. Then the shower curtain sticks to my leg and the illusion is shattered.

When I'm listening to really exciting music I do the crazy dance and pretend I'm Andrew WK. Sometimes when I'm walking downtown.

When I'm running and I have my black coat on, I push my elbows inside the coat so that it billows out a bit and looks like Max Payne.

When I read I like to pull my glasses down to the end of my nose and pretend I'm a wizard.

When I was a kid I used to bite off bits of my toast until it was shaped like a gun. I still do sometimes.

When I think about things, I put them online and pretend I'm a writer.

Here is a picture of a somebody very cool

The Cosmic To-Do List

A little bit of a supplementary for the last entry. I had a comment from my sister and I was going to quickly answer in the comments section, but I feel as though this warrants some more careful consideration. So, Sarah's original quote was as follows:

"Not out of virtue or duty, but because this is another one of those contradictions. If one accepts and reaches out to people and remain unconcerned about having the same be given back to them, they will begin to feel a welling of happiness within them."

Do you suppose that this feeling of well-being springs from nowhere? Could it be possible that virtue and duty are in our nature and therefore give us feelings of well-being? A thing is best itself when it complies with its own nature. I think the virtue part is necessary, as it saves this magnanimity you speak of from being condescending and self righteous and prideful.
I love that prayer of Francis too (being a Franciscan)... Have you read his Canticle of the Sun? The language or ideas may first offend you but I am sure as you contemplate it you will love it!

Sarah:

I absolutely agree with you. Virtue and duty are very real and important things, but in being virtuous for the purpose of being a virtuous person I believe there is a danger of not just, as you say, being self-righteous but also of forgetting our nature. Similarly, doing things merely because they are your duty can lead to grudges and dissatisfaction. Putting names on positive qualities gives them a strict definition, which is good in many ways, but also makes them easier to corrupt and even easier to lose sight of what they really are. It's difficult for me to make sense of all this, because defining the attributes is a tricky and dangerous thing.

Virtue is close to the idea I'm trying to convey, but I feel like this nature is sort of inexplicable and even if I could explain it, then I would end up trying to pursue this explanation instead of the real thing. The closest thing I can say is that there are just Things You Do and Ways You Think that are either a part of your nature and therefore good for you (producing nice things like peace, happiness, satisfaction etc.) or they are contrary to it and will twist you in bad ways. It is my conviction that it is in our nature to be kind.

However, now arises the argument that we are all different emotionally, physically and even spiritually. Why on earth would our natures all be the same?

While it's true that there are no two people exactly the same, we all (typically) have bodies that function in the same. Our hearts pump blood through our bodies, our lungs take in oxygen, our livers cleanse our bodies of toxins. When one of these things stops working, we get sick and die.

I believe we are all different and that being different from each other is (sometimes) what makes this an interesting and beautiful world to live in (RAINBOWSBUNNIESSUNSHINELOVEPEACEHAPPINESS whew, I had to get that out of my system). However, much like the human body and it's organs I think we all have an underlying nature or "spiritual organs" if you will.

So there it is. I think.
I wrestled for a long time over how to end this entry but came up with nothing. Be well.

Premature Pontification

This thing deserves a little preamble. Before I had decided to write a blog and was still wrestling with contradictory ideas and emotions, I decided to start jotting things down without thinking about them. Just getting some thoughts on paper. I then put it up on Facebook to see what people thought. The result was heavily inspired by, nigh ripping off (except poorly and more about being confused and less about being a lesbian, although perhaps I could write an entry about that as well), a chapter in Bear Bergman's book "Butch is a Noun". So there's that disclaimer right there, which means you're not allowed to yell at me if you've read the book, and if you haven't then go buy it and read it.

The response was pretty good (see: nobody shouted, anyways), and so then came the blog (something that, combined with the not-so-hardcore veganism, mild activism, meditation and adherence to ancient eastern philosophies, further solidified me as a dirty hippie and somebody I would have hated not three years ago. Seriously, as I am typing I am surrounded by candles and listening to droning Egyptian meditation music). I will include commentary afterwards, and I may have tweaked a few parts of the note to make it sound better (although it's still a bit awkward to read), without touching the ideas therein. So if you're still with me, I give you my first voluntary stab at writing from the heart, as it were:

Who I am speaks loudly, but thinks quietly.

Who I am is a genius. Except for when I’m not a genius. Which is never. Except when I’m being thick, which is most of the time. Especially when I’m thinking or speaking. Except when I’m thinking or saying clever things.

Who I am never cares what people think about me. Except for when I’m trying to impress them. Which is never, really, unless I like them. But then, if any fruitful friendship is to be had, then they should be equally impressed by me as I of them. So I should be impressive. Except not too much. I want to be myself. Except more impressive. But I still don’t care what people think.

Who I am is in complete control of myself at all times. So much in control, in fact, that I quit a bunch of things because I was out of control.

Laughter is an important part of who I am. I will do anything to make you laugh. Unless it makes me look stupid. I’ll never, ever attempt to look thick. Unless that will make you laugh.

Who I am speaks slowly, but thinks rapidly.

Who I am resents nothing in people. Nothing except resentment, that is. Also, I never gossip, except for when it’s out of concern; then I can say whatever I want.

Who I am is the kind of person that will always stand up for a woman. But only if they need it, and I’m not acting out of a false sense of chivalry. After all, they are strong and can stand up for themselves. Except of course, in the case that a woman wants somebody to stand up for them. Except of course, if, in certain situations I would only be serving to reinforce the stereotype of the damsel in distress. Except for when it is a damsel in distress. But that’s an outdated paradigm and who are you to presume what a woman is thinking anyways you insensitive prick. Except if you are a woman, and have a problem with any of what I just said, in which case I owe you an apology and I’m sorry.

Who I am can’t seem to learn enough. I can’t understand, and yet I interpret. I read about a billion things a day, but only little chunks of information on a plethora of different subjects. I misquote and misread to suit my own means and explanations. Except for when I’m sure of the meaning of something. Which is all the time. OK, I’m really sure of this one. I’m positive that I mean what I say unless it’s something I only sort of believe, so that I can get away with a certain philosophy or lifestyle. Except I’m really sure about my core beliefs, so a little skewing of the smaller details is totally fine, right? Also, I hate it when people don’t realize that not having strong knowledge on things makes their argument crumble.

Most importantly.

The truest, greatest thing about who I am.

I haven’t contradicted myself once.

So there it is. I rather liked it at the time, and still do to a certain extent. However, it would have been useless to me had it not been for a friend's comment. This friend of mine and I, we don't always see eye to eye, but there is a mutual respect for each others thinking. At least I think there is. I suppose I shouldn't speak on his behalf. The point is he's a very intelligent person, and after he had finished telling me I should write more, he said, "Now that you know all this about yourself, what comes next?"

I dismissed it, at first. Saying it was just a silly note and mostly a joke. However, he pressed.

"I agree that this isn't only about you, there are many ways of thinking that apply to all of us, however there are many expressions here that are deeply personal. After writing this and externalizing some of these ideas you probably have gained a deeper awareness of your own self. Do you make a conscious effort to become less contradictory, do you attempt to reconcile your own opposing nature, or do you do nothing and return to status quo?"

Goddammit, man. Then I had to think, and was since branded with a thought that wouldn't leave. A playful skepticism of some of the illusions in life. After all, most of what I wrote is about worrying what people think of you, or what kind of person you want to appear as. Since everybody has completely different preferences and opinions, this becomes an impossible balancing act. So I suppose the first step is to go back to the first point, and have a genuine lack of concern for how you are perceived; but then that depends on how you measure yourself as a person. Do you see your own worth through the acceptance of others?

Or, you could see none of these things as contradictory; that every thought process hinges on the conditions of your situation. Sometimes, it's impossible to see the correct way to behave/think, if there even IS a correct way.

I have since come to the tentative conclusion that, while I value friendship immensely, there are few instances where there is a definitive "correct" way to behave and that the only dependable thing in life is, in a sense, the intangible self. The self that is not concerned with being impressive, nor with finding love or acceptance. I also have found it is better to be accepting then to be accepted. Not out of virtue or duty, but because this is another one of those contradictions. If one accepts and reaches out to people and remain unconcerned about having the same be given back to them, they will begin to feel a welling of happiness within them.

Although I think we may have had something to say to each other with regards to terminology (I'm pretty sure we would have disagreed with what "Divine Master" and "Eternal Life" are), Saint Francis of Assisi said exactly what I am trying to say, only way better and hundreds of years ago:

Divine Master,

grant that I may not so much seek to be consoled, as to console;

to be understood, as to understand;

to be loved, as to love.

For it is in giving that we receive.

It is in pardoning that we are pardoned,

and it is in dying that we are born to Eternal Life.

"Truth?", Directionless Pondering, Veganism and Angerless Fury

During my routine-ish swim today I was beginning to slip into the old, "what's going to happen in the future?" train of thought, yet it was unsettling for me in a completely different way than it usually is. You see, many things have happened recently. I have moved and entered into something of a new phase of things, income is happening but not exactly stable, my spiritual beliefs are on the fritz, there is an election campaign going on in my country that I am perhaps more anxious about than I should be, I have not yet heard back from the schools I applied to, and there are other, more private matters that make my future uncertain. However, it's different this time because it feels less like I'm not acting properly or taking things seriously enough and more like it's all an enormous hoax.

I have lived my life until recently under the notion that there is no such thing as subjective truth. I don't know what caused the change, but I can tell you that I was resistant to it because I considered subjective thinking to be wishful, fantastical thinking. It was simply not being realistic. Now I'm even struggling with the definition of the words, "realistic" and, "reality."

It feels as though every time I think about very basic things my mind strips it down. Every time that happens I end up with more questions and don't get anywhere. Yet at times I see a dog shit on the sidewalk and reach an astonishing conclusion. It's as though I'm trying to shoot at a target that can read my mind and moves out of the way every time I change my shooting angle. Then when I throw down the weapon in exasperation, it misfires and hits the target.

These moments come as a great relief, usually, but I can't tell you how infuriating it is to not be able to just sit and deliberately reach conclusions; to only be able to make a point accidentally. I couldn't even succinctly tell you why, exactly, I decided to become a vegan. It wasn't a thought out decision, or any one particular principle reason. I have vague ideas of how I can't justify it ethically, although I can't say it's unethical to not be vegan, either. While I know there are health benefits (and I feel fantastic), I also know that I have to take B12 supplements and more carefully monitor that I get what I need because I know we are built to eat animal products (although far less than we typically consume). Not to mention that meat is far more delicious than it has any right to be. It just seemed like a reasonable thing to do. It wasn't for bragging rights or to make me feel better about myself. It's kind of embarrassing, actually. I can't even remember what made me come to this conclusion, but I can't say it was an uninformed desicion either. I only know that I can't imagine going back to the old diet.

I can't look at anything the same way. It's like having a traumatizing or scarring image burned into your brain, changing the way you see things. Only it's not hurtful, just a little unnerving. I'm not exactly afraid or frustrated, just kind of off-balance. This new(ish) way of seeing things gives me intermittent intervals of complete fearlessness and seemingly unending compassion. Between those intervals, though, it feels like limbo. Not frightening, not paralyzing, certainly not nothing, just sort of... not.

It makes me want to find any school, bank, church, temple, office, political rally (even ones I support), day care center, box store, apartment complex, mall or gas station and shout at them.

"IT'S NOT TRUE! IT'S NOT FUCKING TRUE!"

A Rookie Who Warns Other Rookies

Meditation over articulation.

Seek to contemplate and further your own understanding, rather than make your own viewpoint understood. It is my belief that when you truly understand something you will not need to argue your point, rather you will be able to explain it definitively and succinctly with no room to question. Beware the desire to understand in order to sound intelligent or sound like you understand better than others. This defeats the purpose of contemplation and meditation, and will lead you to make distinctions that are untrue and unreal. It's possible that just by saying that I have overstepped the bounds of my own understanding. I've never been very good at following my own advice. One step at a time.

Acceptance over achievement.

While one must certainly work towards whatever goals make them happy, too often they become distressed or overloaded trying to achieve them. Somebody who reaches the goals they have set for themselves is commendable indeed, but the importance of patient acceptance of your situation at all times is paramount. If you do not accept this as truth, your happiness will be fragile at best while trying to reach your goal, and indeed possibly well after the fact. What happens if you reach your finish line and it is not at all what you expected? Will you try to bend it into something you did expect? Enforcing your will on your surroundings will not work and it will merely bring frustration rather than results.

Always be entering, never exiting.

This is kind of silly, but I've always had this rolling around in my head and wanted to get it down. When you go through a door, you are not exiting the room, rather you are entering the hallway, or the bathroom, or your bedroom. When you walk outside your house, you aren't leaving your house but entering the outdoors. Furthermore, when you go from one room to another, you are still in your house. Whether you are in your house or not, you are still on the same ground. So yes, as insipid as it sounds; never leave, always arrive.

Be sure that you keep your humor.

I mean good humor. Contrary to what many comedians (some of them my among my favorites) will tell you, I believe there are things that are not funny. Not to me, not to you, not your friend with slightly bad taste. While many things are a matter of perspective, I believe things cease to be funny when they harm another person. Whether you are laughing at somebody's pain or a joke you told serves to perpetuate a harmful misapprehension or spread unkindness to a person or group of people. Gossip is poison.

However, not to finger-wag the whole point away. I don't mean that a well-timed verbal jab or playfully making fun of something/somebody is always evil. Laughter is part of how to overcome adversity. For example, when I came out, my family was understandably nervous and didn't know how to approach the subject. They attempted to be respectful but the air around the place was usually uncomfortable. Then one day my sister made a joke about it; a small, innocent, queer joke and at that moment the awkwardness was completely shattered. All I wanted from my family was not for them to be completely ok about everything, but ok enough to have a laugh about it. The point is that the intent wasn't malicious, and led to happiness and understanding.

It's possible that I hold humor above all else as the most important aspect of my life.
The fact that I'm so serious about it is funny in itself.

The Worst, Funniest Day of My Life

Diverting from my usual herpderps, I'm going to tell a little story about the worst moving experience I have ever had in my many years of moving from house to house, city to city. I have had some bad moving experiences, but this one takes the cake. Fortunately, it was SO bad, so unbelievably and unlucky, that it managed to push past the point of awfulness into the realm of hysterics and hilarity. I just didn't realize it at the time. My friend, brother, and fellow blogger has already posted his perspective of the ordeal (I moved in with him and his girlfriend) over at Duke's Buzz (check the sidebar, I haven't read it yet so as to make sure I'm not ripping him off), so allow me to share mine.

And so we begin.

A compadre of mine, Ean, had come up the night before to help me move stuff from my room in the basement to the main floor of my apartment so that we could load it into the truck right off the get go in the morning. Everything was ready to go, we were fired up, plans had been made and things were going to go just swimmingly. We watched Date Night and Being John Malkovich, had a few philosophical discussions and called it a night, not even slightly expecting the shitstorm that awaited us.

The plan was that a friend of Duke's was to go meet them at their apartment at 8AM, go pick up the truck, get to my place no later than 9AM, load up, get back to Duke's, load up there, unload at the new place, and finally laugh, eat pizza and drink beer.

This is not what happened.

8AM and still no word from our truck driver. This is because Rogers had decided to cut the phone earlier than agreed upon, so the driver couldn't call up to the apartment to get buzzed in. It seems the day has already begun in a tizzy. So Duke's gf heads downstairs to see if she can get access to the internet or something to try and contact him (I'm not sure of exact circumstances, as I was not with them yet), and there he was, trying to figure out what to do. Well the answer is now to go get the truck. Quickly. Another of their friends goes off to my place to help get ready, and the rest go to get the truck.

This turns out to be problematic since the good people at the rental place have decided that they didn't feel like having the truck ready at the agreed time. By the way, we aren't late by our own standards. We have the service elevator reserved from 10 until noon, so we really needed to mosey.

Meanwhile, my friend, former flatmate, the dude from Duke's, and myself decide to pack the more delicate things (computer, guitar, etc.) into his car so as to not be rocked around in a potentially jostling moving truck. After that, we wait. They finally show up at about 9 30AM and we are ready to load up as fast as humanly possible. Except that the construction on my street now has the curb blocked off almost completely, so they have to go around the corner, and we have to haul all my stuff, including a sofa, massive CRT television, and computer desk so dilapidated it's only held together by hope, half way down the block and around the corner. Bummer. However, it gets done, I say goodbye to my old roomies, and we're on our not-so-merry way.

At that point, it was a little after 10AM. Our elevator time has started, and we have to drive through downtown Toronto to get to the next destination. Once we get there, we realize we have barely over an hour left to move an entire two bedroom apartment. Tensions are mounting and we begin to feel a little pain in our arms and legs but we are strong, moving as quickly as possible (sometimes I moved a little less quickly than the others, as I am young and able-bodied but also an asthmatic ex-smoker) to get all our shit downstairs before our time runs out. Unfortunately, we fail in that endeavor, but the people who were supposed to use the elevator after us were very kind and understanding, and let us continue without raising much of a fuss. At one point, I believe we were moving their stuff up then filling the elevator with our stuff on the way down.

The truck is finally loaded by 1 45PM. Our reserved elevator time at the new place is from 1 - 2 30PM. We are realizing just how boned we seemed to be, but not even close to realizing how boned we were about to become.

Since we had packed my stuff into the car, we couldn't quite get all of the rest of the delicate stuff into it, so Duke, Ean and myself grabbed a few bags of stuff that probably wasn't very heavy but definitely seemed like it at the time, and walked over to the new place. We are all very near death at this point. Duke has barely eaten and is feeling faint, and we are all broken husks of human beings.

Once arriving at the shiny new place, it became apparent that there was no back entrance to park a gigantic moving truck and unload. Rather, they preferred that we parked it right in front of the main doors and unloaded there. The problem being that the driveway for said entrance is a tiny, one-car width, half circle.

After hitting a guardpost, we figure out just how we're going to get this truck in. That's when we took out the side of an SUV (miraculously, the truck suffered no damage, but the same could not be said for the SUV it had just clobbered). After I was finished having a little panic attack and Duke had eaten something, we decided to proceed as planned while keeping a lookout for the driver of the vehicle we had damaged in order to explain the situation. Honesty and all that. Of course, it didn't go over well, but it went over even less well than expected. I could tell straight away when I saw the driver. A lovely young lady, clad in expensive looking clothes with a chin that didn't seem to move down past a 90 degree angle from her neck.

After a while of information exchanges and attempted diffusion, the lady seemed less interested with getting compensation for the damages, and more from whom it came from. At least, that's the gist of what I got out of it; I was involved very little in the argument. In any case, rather than accept compensation from whom I guess she thought was the inappropriate person, she decided that the best, most rational solution to the issue was to call the police.

The cop that showed up was very reasonable, but since he had to lay a charge, he issued a comparatively small charge on the driver and we were all free to get things moving again.
Miraculously, we had everything in the new place just before the sun had gone down. We all took off our shoes, ordered pizza, cracked a few beers and let out a great sigh of relief.

Then the fire alarm went off.

Beginning to realize how unlikely horrible our luck had been so far, things began to seem less shitty and more funny to me. It was just silly at this point. Hilarious. We all congregated outside, said hello to our new neighbours, and waited for the fire trucks. Once the firefighters had shown up, we saw them being led down by two people who seemed to know the cause of the alarm. I thought I recognized one of them and took a good look (it was dark now).

It was SUV lady. She likely a neighbour of ours.

At this point I begin to laugh, as we hear more sirens, likely the police showing up just to make sure they aren't needed. One lone cruiser pulls up to the building, and who should it be but the same cop that settled our earlier dispute.

We were stuck in an episode of a sadistic sit-com. I erupted in laughter stomping my feet on the ground like a giddy child, many of us did.

Life certainly is stranger than fiction.

Wealth Woes

The last few days have not been fun for me.

Nothing has been particularly different than the days preceding, but despite my best efforts, I have been feeling a lot of anxiety. Most of my discomfort comes from money, as it has been a big problem for me in the past. I think I've come to the conclusion that I hate money, or perhaps more accurately, I'm afraid of it (apparently, that's called Chrometophobia).

Not a deep or extreme fear or dislike, but enough to ruin my day. I know what you're thinking, "people without enough money tend to hate it," or possibly, "afraid of money? You're just afraid of making money."

Maybe you're not thinking that, but if you know me well enough, that's probably what you're thinking.

I've been doing my best to stay positive and keep my head above the water and by and large, I'm doing a decent job of it. I will probably have enough money to squeak by another month or two. This stuff tends to work out for me, either by luck or maybe just where my expectations are at. However, whenever I think I might not have enough to get by I start to panic. Worse still, when I DO get a lot of money, I fret over it. How I'm supposed to budget it? What I should use it for? Since there's a surplus maybe I should pay some people back? How can I make it last a long time? How long can I last on it? Things people think about every day. Paycheck to paycheck. So I guess I'm just a little (or a lot) unequipped to deal with money. Whether I have it or not, I'm always freaking out about it.

For a while I was doing pretty well with dealing with the anxiety. So well, in fact, that I'd nearly forgotten what it felt like. I was doing what I could, slowly figuring out how do change the more difficult things, and accepting and letting go of the things I had no control over. Suddenly, I looked at my overdraft credit card, phone bill, I had some runarounds and confusion with the bureaucracy (I realize it's important, but my tiny brain does not deal well with it) and it all came crashing back and I realized how fragile my mood is right now. I dealt with it a LOT better than I would have last year, but it was still a harsh reminder of the fact that I have a long, long way to go. The good part is, this time I'm willing to try and get there.

It's all reminding me that, while happiness has to come from within and can't possibly be found elsewhere, that means doing things outside of myself to fix my life, and that requires a tremendous amount of organization and effort on my part.

Story Time Boys and Girls!

As he walked down the path, thinking about this and that, he came across a lizard.

"Hello, there." He said, "Who are you?"

"A lizard, obviously." It replied, sounding offended.

Flummoxed by this answer, he asked, "What, then, is it that makes you a lizard?"

"I do!" It shouted, then skittered away under a rock.

He continued to walk until he found he had become tired and came across a magnificent tree. A great weeping willow. The curtain of tiny leaves created a canopy for him as he rested under the tree.

"Hullo!" said one of the tiny leaves.

"Hello, there. Who are you?"

The leaf replied with warmth and energetic kindness, "I am this tree!"

Hearing that, he laughed himself to sleep.

It's Actually a Joke

A voice came crashing into his mind as sudden as a gunshot, but gentle as moonlight. His own voice, he was certain, but he could not say where his thoughts were coming from if he was indeed thinking at all.

"Look at the wall," he said, "and through."

He stared intently, but did not understand what he meant, and felt he was failing at his own instructions. The lights in his bedroom caused two shadows to be cast on either side of him, staring back at the starer from the walls they were draped across. Confused and sitting at the head of his bed, he spoke again without thinking

"Close my eyes. Put my hands against the wall."

Again, he obeyed himself, gently reaching out his hands.

"I know what the world looks like outside this room. I have seen it. I can see it without leaving my room. Just look."

With a sharp gasp, he felt the wall ripple and slide in different directions. In a few moments, he could guide it could in any direction he wanted without having to move his hands.

Weightlessness ensued.

While he was not off balance, he had no idea which direction was which. It was bliss.

The wall felt weaker. Malleable, like wet paper.

He felt his hands begin to fall through. His forearms. Elbows.

Not able to wait any longer, he was ready to leap through, feeling as though he would take flight. He pushed hard.

A strong wall. Sore arms.

"I'll try again tomorrow."

He laughed. There is understanding in laughter.

And Now For Something Completely the Same

Zen master Basho once explained, "When the pupil is ready, the teacher will appear."

I believe this is also found in the Upanishads, but I'm not sure about it. It's not really important who said it or whether it's Zen or Hindu, the point is it was said (probably by somebody old, beardy, and funny) and it's true.

Not being an expert in these sorts of things, I could easily be wrong, but I can draw from personal experience to explain what it's all about. It is true on the interpersonal level of literally finding a teacher (mentor, author, philosopher etc.), or on the much more complicated, yet in a way easier, level of assimilating things on your own, using the world as your teacher.

A person who "doesn't get it" isn't necessarily a fool, they may simply not be ready to understand. Many things have to fall in place for somebody to come to an understanding, enlightenment, Nirvana or whatever. One cannot force himself into understanding something just as he cannot force himself into reading a sign on the other side of the ocean until he takes the trip to get there. Something has to catch on his mind. Something has to click.

I remember deciding one day, a few years back, that I was going to be a philosopher. As if it were a decision to be made. The very thought of it is laughable. I went through book after book without really understanding any of it. Each philosopher's work seemed to be a construction of deliberate complexities and webs on top of webs on top of webs. One day, in the middle of the reading, I quietly closed the book and threw it in the garbage. I don't endorse the mistreating of books in any way but at the time it was an act of frustration. "PHILOSOPHY IS STUPID," I screamed, internally and decided that either I was a fool or these authors were. Little did I know, that action had planted a seed in my brain that would blossom years down the road.

The problem was, I had no need for understanding what life was all about at the time. When you have no need for something, it's hard to have an appetite for it. When you have no appetite for something, it's hard to consume it.

It often takes reaching the breaking point to gain a need to understand just what the hell your head is all about (of course it can tragically go the opposite way, as well). Why do you think self-destructive celebrities, and suicidal rock stars often suddenly take seemingly drastic u-turns into new philosophies or religions? You'll never find anything if you don't feel like looking. Once you do find yourself needing to understand, well, the closer I feel I come to it, the more joy I feel.

Things started to fall into place: discipline, happiness, energy, practice and a sense of self-respect not felt ever before. A person who practices the piano and hates it until the day she dies will never become truly great, no matter who is teaching her. A person who experiences pure bliss whenever she plays will find herself becoming better and better, regardless of teachers.

However, now I am making it sound like being ready to learn is the same as desiring to learn, which is still not the case. Sure, you can hammer the multiplication tables and "amo, amas, amat" into a person's skull and have them memorize it perfectly, but the great mathematicians and linguists understood something beyond the simple structure of their respective fields. They were able to absorb, recreate and revolutionize because perhaps something just happened in their minds through a combination of education and experience.

The aforementioned teacher is, in a way, the self. True genius, I think, comes entirely from within and is merely augmented by education and cannot blossom without the self being ready; and once it is, there is a trust in oneself that must be present.

Even Einstein, one of the most prominent figures in physics (among many other things), once said, "If the facts don't fit the theory, change the facts."

Amazing thing, I thought at first, to hear one of the greatest examples of the scientific genius in the last century would think of facts, of reality, as being so flexible. Until you realize that he did indeed disprove widely accepted facts of physics and replaced them with his own. I find it hilariously appropriate that his most well known achievement is called the theory of "relativity."

So I believe this is the nature of understanding, learning and subsequently, genius: observation, desired education, experience, unselfish confidence, and humor.

You are the first real teacher you will ever have.

F*cking Arts? How Do They Work?

The credits to the fabulous documentary "My Kid Could Paint That" are rolling and I really want to get my thoughts down while they are still fresh. In a way I suppose this is a bit of a mini-review of sorts.

Since I've been doing such a good job of getting on the internet and feeling ways about stuff, I might as well say that I was genuinely and deeply touched by the film. I never thought I'd really say this about somebody I saw on television (and will jam screwdrivers through my temples before I ever say it again) but the first thing I noticed is what a gorgeous family the Olmsteads are. I even nearly got all teary over it, not just when things got dramatic. There, since that is now out of the way I'll stop being an old lady about it and start getting serious.

Art. Let's talk about art.

I started watching this thing thinking that it was going to be about how insane and absurd the modern art world is. With a title like that, who can blame me? I believed it would be a condescending look at abstract art as childish and the people who buy it as dupes. Well, it wasn't about that. The focus was merely on the paintings and the dispute of where they really came from, and whether or not that mattered. Did a child paint them? Does that matter?

The thing is, I expected to scoff at the paintings themselves and pompously think, "Yeah, that looks like a kid's painting alright. Stupid stuffy, pretentious, cheese-eating boobs can't see the sewers for the shit." Yet, this is not what happened. I found myself awestruck by most of these paintings, particularly "Zane Dancing". I was not willing myself to like them and yet something stirred in me when I saw them. Why is that?

"Zane Dancing"

It is said that nobody can perfectly emulate a child's paintings, because to unlearn all skill as an adult is nigh impossible. A child can grow into a great painter, but a great painter cannot become a child. These paintings evoked a sense of joy, exuberance, innocence, frivolity and other fun words that make me sound either smart or sissy, depending who you are. The point is, these are childlike qualities; ones that we tend to lose and long to have again. Is it possible that it's just as difficult to find that childlike joy, as it is to paint like one? Modern art is chalk full of cynicism and oppressively pessimistic imagery, and when it isn't I personally find it to be beige and boring.

Yet, with the same style of Pollock, little Marla poked at parts of my heart I had forgotten were there.

"Heart"

I wonder if it's because of where it comes from. I wonder if the very fact that a 4 year-old girl painted them is a part of the whole draw. Despite my jaded approach to the movie and modern art in general, maybe the sense of wonder was merely because of aforementioned wistful feelings of missing my childhood.

Now I find myself wondering, "Does that make it less of a work of art?"

Or more?