I lost a Charm

Charms and Talismans are empowered by our investment in them.  We choose to, in turn, try to possess both the object and the empowerment we attribute to them.

I lost a Charm.  It seems like a week ago, maybe longer.  The power that I had given the charm was a small portion of my Joy.  The little piece of Joy that I lost was akin to the feeling of surprise and elation that a small child has seeing "magic" for the first time.  Two weeks earlier or so I lost a Talisman.  I had empowered it as a symbol, a vessel that would hold the record of personal times.  I thought of it as a snapshot of my personal history, just a few frames.  Yet it was a physical symbol.  And it was mine.

I had just gone through a sufficient amount of "Acceptance" - the last level of grief - to even consider writing the obituary for Thelonious "Chip" Munk.  I would, of course, focus on the circle of life.  The inevitability of death, following birth.  I would also reminisce about being a small boy at the grand parent's cottage hand feeding peanuts to a chipmunk.

Knowing that small rodent-like creatures do not fare well in areas frequented by predators, it was easier to accept the loss of Thelonious.  Losing, or perhaps just misplacing, the small black notebook that contained recipes, old Gin Rummy scores, future dreams, and a High School Nerd had-to-have; a circular slide rule in its own pocket protector.  Even though I have not seen it longer than Thelonious I still insist on carrying it around with me.  I am ever watchful out of the corner of my eye to spot the worn plastic seams the tiny 6-ring binder.

In each case I am still trying to possess the Charm and the Talisman.  

So I didn't expect how wonderful ... and how very bittersweet ... it would be, after more than a week, to see Thelonious perched on the porch railing waiting for the peanut pile to be replenished.  It was very enjoyable to see her/him alive. But it was contrary to my Acceptance (rationale) of my loss.

When I saw Thelonious on the rail I recognized my desire to possess my Charm.

I do not need to invest in Thelonious.  I do not need to empower Thelonious.  She/He is discreetly perfect  in their own right.

When I saw Thelonious on the rail I recognized my desire to possess my Talisman.  Then I recognized that my Talisman was possessing my desire.  Why do I invest in any object that possesses me?  Why do I empower any object?   I recognize my desire to possess my little black notebook.  I recognize my little black notebook is possessing my desire.

let things be lost

let things be

things be

be

peace

Buoyed by the river of life

 Ancient wisdom: Stand on the banks of a river and watch the bodies of your enemies float by.

For Your Consideration

Buoyed by the river of life, celebrate each bank as it passes.

 This is not a panacea.  This is the work of living.  This is the living of life.

Swimming in any river, however buoyant, is still a great deal of orientation.  We have to find out where we are now.  Then decide where we are headed.  In what direction will our Journey, Walk, Steam, Retreat, et al take us.  

We quickly realize the importance of active navigation.  If we rely only on Life's river we will be not so gently tumbled through rapids. We could easily be thrown against boulders.  Yes, there are rapids and boulders in everyone's life yet we are empowered to make healthy and wise decisions. 

Making and then acting on our good decisions takes discipline.  My working definition is: Personal Accountability demonstrated over a significant amount of time.  We cannot just dip our big toe into the river and expect to have an epiphany.  A second takes a second, a minute takes 60 seconds, etcetera.  Time takes time.  A significant amount of time takes a significant amount of time.

In order to maintain a Stay-The-Course attitude it requires stamina.  For me this means prolonged physical as well as mental/intellectual activity.  The work I am doing right now, writing this.  This is the work that each of us does everyday.  This is the day-to-day living of our everyday lives.  This is the ability to endure, to get up in the morning, make my bed and then move on with ... the work of everyday life.

I told you, 'This is not a panacea.'  That was just the Buoyed by the river of life part.  Now let's look at the celebrate each bank as it passes part ...

The wandering mendicant and his young acolyte.

In their journey the old man and the young man came to a river crossing.  There they found a young girl standing patiently, looking at the far shore.  Without hesitation the old man approached the girl and asked, "Do you wish to cross the river?"

The girl said that she did.  At once the old man picked her up and carried her across the river.  Reaching the far shore he set the girl down gently and waited for the young man.  The acolyte hastened to cross.

After the men had traveled on some distance the younger man became vexed.  He pointedly asked, "I thought we were not supposed to hold members of the opposite sex, particularly children?"

The elder countered gently, "Are you still carrying her?"  He let out a long slow breath and continued, "I let go of her at the river bank."

 Even if the moment of the bank seems harsh we are called to celebrate its passing.  We are asked to recognize the transient nature of events, on the bank, and then let go of them as we pass by ... Buoyed by the river of life.

MEN, You are no longer allowed...

 

Bucket List #...1

 View of the night sky from a no-ambient light setting.

I remember as a kid, yeah yeah, so it's true I was a kid - Thanks Rad Bradbury, staring up from a lush hay field and seeing only the night sky.  The Milky Way was clear and distinct.  Even the smallest items moving across the night sky flashed like diamonds.

All science was ...

All science was once magic. 

- Anonymous

... slaunters in *HIC* ...

 Slaunters in *HIC* ... stumbles over in the corner shadows ... unfolds, refolds a flurry of the New York Times ,,, muttering where's the darn crossword section ... jugglinging paper cat kites ... patting himself down like a nico-addict lookin for that last ... gotta have something to write with somewhere abouts here.

Shattered Hearts

sorrow sleeps beside me
tossing and turning
stealing the comfort of my
dreams

shattered hearts strewn
across the kitchen floor

a clear, unified vision

With the guidance of accomplished scholars Jay Garfield and Guy Newland, you’ll come away with a clear, unified vision of Buddhist doctrine and a greater understanding of the texts, scholars, and practices that make up this expansive tradition.

Would that I might open my eyes on any given morning
and see in first light the individual leaves of the maple.

Might I sense the sparrow's flight first to catch the outstretched
limb of the Norwegian Spruce with its bottle brush needles.

From the corner of my eye the glimpse of a 5-lined Skink
skittering from a spot of sunlight to the harbor of the woodpile.

America and I are breaking up.

After a nearly 65 year love affair America and I are breaking up.

Sure, we've had our squabbles and tiffs.  Many's the time we have not seen eye-to-eye.  I have even  taken to the street a time or two to express my contempt of America.  But America always held out the promise.  The promise of a better day.  The promise of ...

That was then.  Now the proffered promises are like moldy bread.  Sure, in the most dire of times even spoiled food will offer some small measure of nutrition.  Echoing the old quote from Joseph de Maistre: Toute nation a le gouvernement qu’elle mérite—“every nation gets the government it deserves.”.   So we are to stomach the rotting banquet before us.  Hold our collective nose and let slide the ripe oyster of the day.

If these are the promises of MAGA then I want a divorce.

Stupidity Pride

FULL DISCLOSURE:  I too am proud of my stupidity.

Without reservation I insist that my views are absolutely, unconditionally correct.  Which in turn establishes a Me-vs.-The Rest of Y'all dynamic.  It also legitimizes the inverse, "without reservation y'all's views are absolutely, unconditionally correct."

There was a time when we, collectively, knew and understood that there was us and then there were really, really smart people.  Yes, we made it through high school.  Some of us even got that 2-year degree at the community college.  A few went on to get that 4-year degree from university.  And then there was the one or two people who were truly smart enough to continue in higher education to become Doctors or Lawyers or Engineers.

Then came the New Egalitarian Society.  Egalitarian was originally defined as, "relating to or believing in the principle that all people are equal and deserve equal rights and opportunities. (Google)  The equality cited here is the reason that the high school graduate's opinions and values are just as legitimate and valid as those of a Doctor or Lawyer.  After all, we are all equal.  Aren't we?

So when everyone's opinions and values are equal then by the further equality of one-person-one-vote then the largest group of like-minded people get to make the decisions.

Well, heck fire, everyone knows that book-learning is just a liberal conspiracy to subjugate folks that don't have enough money to go to college.  I learnt everythin' I ever needed to know when I was in the third grade.  'Sides, what was good enough fer my Pa is good enough fer my kids.  All's they need to know is how to work hard.

Makin' 'Merica Great Again is exactly what its all about.  Don't need no Constitutional scholar to tell us no different.  Just wish all them other folks weren't so danged stoopid.

Wastin' away again in...a conch shell...with my ass in a lawn chair.

Gawd how I loved Jimmy Buffett.    I sank neck deep in the hot-tub of lost salt shakers and pirate dreams.  I savored the literary lines of Quixotic adventures.  I went to Paris, wearing a pencil thin moustache, ran in to a chum and ended up with one more tattoo.

Then I heard Kenny. You might have hear of him, Kenny Chesney.

Then...

Then I heard Zac Brown.

Then...

Then it dawned on me.

I had slipped into a dream.  Having been to one of the "Rocks" in the Caribbean I knew a little about fast cars and tiki bars, bartenders kissed by the sun, clear blue ocean waters.  I had experienced first hand the lure of white sand beaches and tall icy-fruity-rum drinks with little umbrellas.  So I knew exactly how this dream would end.

Yet the songs persisted.  They demanded.  They commanded ... me.  They insisted that my entire existence wouldn't be worth an ol' pickup-dawg-ex-wife song if I didn't sell everything and buy a boat.

Today is Monday.  I was able to steal an extra 10 minutes to sit on the porch this morning before resuming my real world responsibilities.  I suppose the dream is ok for celebrities who can afford to slink off to some tropical get away after a season of stadium shows.  But those extra 10 minutes are worth more than any dream.

Throw back Thursday

Throw Back Post: Quick Sherman, to the WayBack machine...

Specialists and knowledgeable folks agree that olfactory stimulation can promote the most evocative memories. I am here to tell ya...

I opened a package of Archer Farms Apricot 100% real fruit strip (Target house brand) ... took a bite... and was transported to my grandmother's apricot orchard outside Hollister California.

There is nothing closer to God, nothing more dear, than walking down through the orchard early in the morning and picking a ripe plump apricot from the tree. God points out the one you should choose by highlighting it with a glistening drop of dew. Turning it gently, breaking it along the seam, laying open the halves. Then that first glorious bite into the soft succulent flesh. Ah, ambrosia!

When the fruit is just-so ripe, as only Grampa Ray can tell then it is harvest time. He will go off to Tres Pinas and hire a crew of migrant workers to come in and pick. Then the cutters begin to drift in. One older couple have come down every season for the last 12 years to cut apricots. They say it is good retirement money and besides it is a chance to get out and do something they love.

So we stand around 3'x10' foot wooden trays with a lug of fresh picked apricots at our side and we cut. And we chat. And we cut. Grandma always gets a couple boxes of those fruit knives. Some with the small pointy blades, some with the longer squarish ends. Just depends on which one you favor.

And you cut. Starting at the stem hole, following the seam down one side and back up the other side. Gently split the apricot apart, flick the pit loose into a coffee can and then lay the halves face up on the drying tray. Repeat. Again...and again...and again.

But it is all good.

After 7 or 8 feet of stacked trays of cut fruit are assembled they are wheeled into the sulfur house. Grampa Ray carefully sets the the measured pile of sulfur alight and then seals up the tar paper 'house'. The next morning the house is opened and the trays are taken out. All of the fruit is still round and wobbly. Grampa drives them slowly to the lower end of the orchard and lays them out on the ground in the direct sunlight. When I peak there are trays covering every open patch of ground as far as the eye can see.

Good bye Stephen W. Hawking

Stephen W. Hawking died today.

The cosmos will be a little smaller today.

Our lives are so much greater today.

No matter what you thought, saw or believed Stephen W. Hawking challenged you.  Whether it was the very simple acknowledgement of a brilliant mind held in the antithesis of the David male form.  Or the multidimensional perspectives that Mr. Hawking saw so clearly.  His vision of our reality brought us to new frontiers.

The cosmos has lost a true pioneer.

Good bye Stephen W. Hawking.

55 Hours of Shakespeare - Open Culture

Open Culture is one of the most engaging sites of our times.

Here is a great example: 55 Hours of Shakespeare

Note: I used to post these links on Fazebook - time to wean myself off digital crack.

The Quieting of America

It is paradoxical that I should suggest that America becomes quiet while writing a blog posting.

Thoughtful, conscientious, concerned, caring Americans need to pause.  Take a slow deep breath and promote silence.  In their thinking, in their hearts and most importantly in their voices.

Corruption, deceit and deception flourishes in the reverberating echo chamber of our collective psyche.  Our "leaders" rely on this audio earthquake to keep us in a constant state of reactivity.

In our quiet, non-reactive state, we can clearly see the manipulation.  In our quiet we can begin to center on the real values of our lives. 

Trump, Guns and Money = More Prison/Schools

My initial response to learning that Donnie was going to speak at Parkland; it must be on the way to the golf course.

Schools are not the sacred hallowed halls that they should be because... parents have failed to raise their children with a sense of personal self worth, compassion, imagination, intellect, curiosity, understanding, and most lacking, a desire to learn.

Instead they have shirked that responsibility.  "Oh, its too hard, let's leave it to the professionals."

America's teachers are among the lowest paid (in our economy).  They are poorly resourced - what other job has employees bringing supplies from home at their own expense?  Teachers are expected to manage and control large groups of unruly young people without any recourse but to take the forthcoming abuse.  Abuse that the un-parented students know they can impart with impunity.  (Reads: They know they can get away with sh*tty behavior and not be punished.)

So what are America's answers?  Let's start by turning already minimum security prisons Schools into medium security prisons Schools.  Let's add more prison School guards.  Let's make sure the guards are equipped armed to "manage" any perceived threat circumstances.  Let's borrow from the existing penal system and practice "Lockdowns" as a way to "protect" our precious children.

Let's take all the same precautions that as a society we take to protect ourselves from criminals.

Why does this resonate so completely with today's horrific news?

Because we, as parents, have allowed our children to behave like the criminals we insist on putting in prisons.

My apologies to

Warren Zevon - Lawyers, Guns and Money - YouTube

Unfortunately the premise of this song is exactly why we face out current problem.

An Open Perspective: Folk Theosophy

God.

This one word is a complete sentence in the English language.  "God" is both a noun and a verb.  As a noun the word "God" requires no modifier or descriptor.  There is no way to embellish or add to the meaning of the word "God".  In the same way the verb "God" requires no conditional reference.  God is unconditional.  God is incontrovertible.

As reverently as I utter the word "God" I have done God a disservice.  The fault stems from my desire to communicate something that I can know of but cannot fully quantify, truly understand or in the vernacular, "really know".  I cannot say how big God is.  I cannot say what gender God is.  Even my use of the word "God" limits my ability to express the concept of God.

Faith.

In the same way that God is, faith is.  Faith in an unconditional God is unconditional.  Faith in a God that I can know of but not "really know" is faith that cannot be defined or limited.  Faith is simply the belief that God is.  To have faith is to accept everything about an unconditional, unknowable God.

... an orphan left at the doorstep of the universe.

The Blank Page

I knew it would be here waiting patiently for me.  Virginal, white in its vast emptiness.  The mirror that offers no reflection.  I have felt its allure now for days.  Its siren calling.  I've caught glimpses of it, out of the corner of my eye, when I was daydreaming about something else.  I've felt its pull.

Perhaps it is a painter's canvas, drawn tight, gesso'ed white.  I am told the picture paints itself, the artist merely holds the brush.  Colors call out to be stroked, chiseled, fanned and blurred.

Cord Cutting - so 15 min. ago.

Yeah, I know, cord cutting is sooooo 15 minutes ago.  OMG!

Here is a subtle little American-ism slithering through the rank&file psyche - without regularly scheduled social "TV" events to stand as milestone or markers - the cord cutter's days are bereft of "what did you do" moments".

The other Saturday I found myself in the middle of the afternoon wondering just what it was that I should be doing.  Upon reflection I realized that I didn't have "The Game" to tune into.  I didn't have the pivotal match-up to reference so that I would have the appropriate Watercoolr ® highlights.

In fact I began to realize that I didn't have any of the "media markers" to matrix my life around.  I don't have the "Morning Shows" (Mourning?), I don't have the midday talk/gossip programs, I don't have the "Evening News".  Hell, I don't even have the late shows.

I have managed to shipwreck myself on this barren media-less island.  All I have to look forward to are the birds, at the feeders, outside in the snow, through the kitchen window.