When I was younger, I promised myself I would not end up some eccentric old man living alone in a house full of animals. But I made that promise because even as far back as the seventies, I could see the direction I was headed.
The die, I now realize, was already cast then. The opportunity for a 'normal' life presented itself a few times in the intervening years, and I always passed.
And what if I hadn't? I try to visualize myself with a soccer mom wife and two kids, in church on Sunday, going to college football and NBA games, eating at Applebee's or TGIFriday's, still wearing a coat and tie to the cubicle. I'd be in the suburbs with a house whose mortgage I could barely afford, a pickup truck and small SUV in the driveway. We'd have cable TV, and it would be on all the time. Plus a Wii and an Xbox and Blu-ray and god knows what else.
That would be, in a word, hell.
I'm very fond of my cats, somewhat less fond of my crazy dog, and happy to come and go as I please. No TV, no video games, no SUV. I can't tell you the last time I ate in a chain restaurant or even a trendy local place. No coat and tie. No football, no basketball. I like sleeping on the porch.
I'm an eccentric old man living alone in a house full of animals. And that has mostly turned out OK.
Friday, December 31, 2010
But Seriously, Folks
Getting back to the meditation thing:
There are days when I literally do nothing except eat, sleep and web surf. I have a huge amount of free time. There's no reason I can't make 20 minutes available for meditation. I think 20 minutes is a good place to start.
There are days when I literally do nothing except eat, sleep and web surf. I have a huge amount of free time. There's no reason I can't make 20 minutes available for meditation. I think 20 minutes is a good place to start.
Wednesday, December 29, 2010
Meditation Supplies
Loori Roshi makes it sound so easy in that YouTube video that I'm going to take another shot at establishing a meditation practice. I'm going to start by buying some cool Buddhist meditation stuff from this website: Still Sitting Meditation Cushions and Meditation Supplies.
I still have the space age Tibetan meditation cushion I bought back in '06. But it seems so... so unenlightened now.
I still have the space age Tibetan meditation cushion I bought back in '06. But it seems so... so unenlightened now.
Tuesday, December 28, 2010
A Cloud of Nothingness/Not Nothingness
At the very center — the core, the foundation, whatever you want to call it — there's nothing. Even that's not quite right, because there's not even nothingness. Sometimes I can actually get that in focus for a few minutes. At one point I held it in focus for most of every day over a period of about two months.
When that's in focus, everything else vanishes. It's as if none of it ever existed. All the random crap I write about is gone, never was. No broken bed. No farting dog. No willowy, no ethereal. No mind. Nothing moving.
Eventually, I have to 'zoom the lens' back out, and things, sensations, concepts and other stuff reappear. From where do they come? From what are they made? At the baseline, there is nothing from which they can be formed, so how do they get here? You could say I just imagine them, but then where do I come from? Do I just imagine myself?
From a certain perspective, yes, I do. It's the Buddhist 'thoughts without a thinker' concept. But if the thoughts I perceive are not mine, from where do they come? How do they spring from the nothingness/absence of nothingness which can make no thing?
Once you've gotten a glimpse of that nothingness/not nothingness, it's hard to attach importance to much of anything. It's all a blank, except that even a blank is something, representing an absence of something else.
I was getting ready to go out for the morning, and I stopped to browse the web. When I sat down, the cat jumped in my lap and went to sleep. I realized that's what I wanted to do myself. So now I'm back in bed. Or rather, the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'me' is back on the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'the bed.'
When that's in focus, everything else vanishes. It's as if none of it ever existed. All the random crap I write about is gone, never was. No broken bed. No farting dog. No willowy, no ethereal. No mind. Nothing moving.
Eventually, I have to 'zoom the lens' back out, and things, sensations, concepts and other stuff reappear. From where do they come? From what are they made? At the baseline, there is nothing from which they can be formed, so how do they get here? You could say I just imagine them, but then where do I come from? Do I just imagine myself?
From a certain perspective, yes, I do. It's the Buddhist 'thoughts without a thinker' concept. But if the thoughts I perceive are not mine, from where do they come? How do they spring from the nothingness/absence of nothingness which can make no thing?
Once you've gotten a glimpse of that nothingness/not nothingness, it's hard to attach importance to much of anything. It's all a blank, except that even a blank is something, representing an absence of something else.
I was getting ready to go out for the morning, and I stopped to browse the web. When I sat down, the cat jumped in my lap and went to sleep. I realized that's what I wanted to do myself. So now I'm back in bed. Or rather, the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'me' is back on the cloud of nothingness/not nothingness perceived as 'the bed.'
Sunday, December 26, 2010
So, Zazen.
The late John Daido Loori Roshi was the abbot of Zen Mountain Monastery in New York.
Here is his very clear explanation of zazen, the zen meditation practice which I rarely do because I'm lazy and stiff and fat and I don't like discomfort.
The word 'zen', as he points out, literally means 'meditation.' So, if you say you're doing zen but you don't have a meditation practice, it's like saying you're a swimmer but you don't get in the water.
I don't have a meditation practice, so I don't know what I am. Not zen, certainly.
I'm not sure what I would get from a meditation practice. I don't feel like I'm lacking much in that regard. Zen has an answer for this, which goes along the line of, "You don't do it to 'get something from it', you do it because you do it."
Well, that doesn't help me much. Sorry. I could say the same thing about biting my nails or scratching my ass.
Here is his very clear explanation of zazen, the zen meditation practice which I rarely do because I'm lazy and stiff and fat and I don't like discomfort.
The word 'zen', as he points out, literally means 'meditation.' So, if you say you're doing zen but you don't have a meditation practice, it's like saying you're a swimmer but you don't get in the water.
I don't have a meditation practice, so I don't know what I am. Not zen, certainly.
I'm not sure what I would get from a meditation practice. I don't feel like I'm lacking much in that regard. Zen has an answer for this, which goes along the line of, "You don't do it to 'get something from it', you do it because you do it."
Well, that doesn't help me much. Sorry. I could say the same thing about biting my nails or scratching my ass.
My Hands
Happy day after Christmas.
I have kind of a weird thing going on with my hands. It doesn't happen every day, but when it does happen, it seems to be in the evening, just as I'm going to bed. Or maybe I don't notice it until then.
What happens is that the joints in my fingers kind of stiffen up, most noticeably the second joints down from the fingertips. It makes it difficult for me to close my hands into a fist. It feels almost as if there were an invisible pencil lying across my fingers, preventing me from closing them.
The first time I noticed it, I just squeezed really hard until I closed my fingers. That worked for my right hand, but it made my left hand hurt like hell all night and into the next morning. I finally took some acetaminophen (a word I am only now learning how to spell – on my first try, I got every vowel wrong except the first 'a'), and that cleared up the pain.
So what is it? Arthritis? Some kind of repetitive stress injury? Carpal tunnel?
I have kind of a weird thing going on with my hands. It doesn't happen every day, but when it does happen, it seems to be in the evening, just as I'm going to bed. Or maybe I don't notice it until then.
What happens is that the joints in my fingers kind of stiffen up, most noticeably the second joints down from the fingertips. It makes it difficult for me to close my hands into a fist. It feels almost as if there were an invisible pencil lying across my fingers, preventing me from closing them.
The first time I noticed it, I just squeezed really hard until I closed my fingers. That worked for my right hand, but it made my left hand hurt like hell all night and into the next morning. I finally took some acetaminophen (a word I am only now learning how to spell – on my first try, I got every vowel wrong except the first 'a'), and that cleared up the pain.
So what is it? Arthritis? Some kind of repetitive stress injury? Carpal tunnel?
Saturday, December 25, 2010
Well, now the heat's on.
It's 11:15 am here, but the temperature is still dropping. Now 29 degrees. Decided I need to turn the heat on, set at 60 degrees, which is pretty comfortable for me.
Plus, the air's gotten extremely dry. My heater has a built-in humidifier, but the air has to be warmer to hold the moisture.
Plus, the air's gotten extremely dry. My heater has a built-in humidifier, but the air has to be warmer to hold the moisture.
The Enlightened Master
Read another story today about a Zen priest whose life has sort of devolved into a wreck. I always wonder what's up when these enlightened masters have lives that are 'way more fucked up than mine.
Sometimes I wonder if what we call 'enlightenment' these days isn't just some sort of racket, like televangelists, motivational seminars or multi-level marketing.
Sometimes I wonder if what we call 'enlightenment' these days isn't just some sort of racket, like televangelists, motivational seminars or multi-level marketing.
The Heat Is Still Off
I've had the heat on in the house only two days this fall and winter and then I did it mostly for the dog and cat. It's cold in here right now, and I'm in the coldest room in the house, but I'm under two acrylic fleece blankets and I'm quite comfortable.
When we had the big ice storm in 2002, I lived here for 11 days with no electricity, no heat and overnight lows in the teens and twenties. I slept under a couple of blankets and I was fine.
It seems foolish to try to heat the whole house with gas when all I need to heat is the actual space I occupy, and I can do that by just retaining my own body heat. I've got a furnace that runs at 98.6 degrees 24 hours a day. It's not very efficient, but it's free.
It's 30 outside right now and the wind chill is 18. All my critters are inside safe and warm, but I worry about all the other strays who have no place to stay warm.
When we had the big ice storm in 2002, I lived here for 11 days with no electricity, no heat and overnight lows in the teens and twenties. I slept under a couple of blankets and I was fine.
It seems foolish to try to heat the whole house with gas when all I need to heat is the actual space I occupy, and I can do that by just retaining my own body heat. I've got a furnace that runs at 98.6 degrees 24 hours a day. It's not very efficient, but it's free.
It's 30 outside right now and the wind chill is 18. All my critters are inside safe and warm, but I worry about all the other strays who have no place to stay warm.
Pee-noh Nwah
I have been drinking a little more than I usually do. I'm not getting falling-down slobbery maudlin drunk or anything even near that. But I have been getting a little more relaxed, a little more self-disclosing, a little more chatty than usual.
I don't keep many secrets on this blog, but I try not to barrage people face-to-face with all my baggage. But the wine (A to Z Pinot Noir, which currently seems nearly ubiquitous in local restaurants) loosens my tongue. In vino veritas, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily interesting or entertaining veritas.
It's interesting to me, of course — I used to say, in all sincerity, that I was the most interesting person I knew — but I know not everyone is riveted by my compelling first-person accounts.
And the sage says next to nothing, anyway. As Robert Thurman says, if you're not enlightened, at least try to act like you are. For me, that means, among other things, saying less and listening more.
I don't keep many secrets on this blog, but I try not to barrage people face-to-face with all my baggage. But the wine (A to Z Pinot Noir, which currently seems nearly ubiquitous in local restaurants) loosens my tongue. In vino veritas, but that doesn't mean it's necessarily interesting or entertaining veritas.
It's interesting to me, of course — I used to say, in all sincerity, that I was the most interesting person I knew — but I know not everyone is riveted by my compelling first-person accounts.
And the sage says next to nothing, anyway. As Robert Thurman says, if you're not enlightened, at least try to act like you are. For me, that means, among other things, saying less and listening more.
Friday, December 24, 2010
Disappearing Blog
The author of the Clear Mind Zen blog has closed it to all but invited readers. I'll delete it from the permanent links when I get around to it.
Austerity
This is a little bleak for Christmas Eve, but I thought it was important to share anyway: The Three-Phase Austerity Plan for America
And, found via Digby, a related interview with journalist William Greider.
I take some issue with Greider's contention that journalists are over-educated or not doing enough to report what 'ordinary people' are thinking. This is how crazy tea party 'wisdom' finds its way into mainstream news narrative. Just because the 'common folk' are saying it doesn't mean it's right.
At the same time, it's obvious that the reporters and pundits whom Digby first named 'The Villagers' (after the isolated characters in M. Night Shyamalan's movie) report a set of locally-held assumptions as fact, and have become part of the political establishment, rather than watchdogs of it.
I personally don't see how this austerity program can survive without the government disenfranchising about a fourth of the electorate. I wonder how they plan to do it.
And, found via Digby, a related interview with journalist William Greider.
I take some issue with Greider's contention that journalists are over-educated or not doing enough to report what 'ordinary people' are thinking. This is how crazy tea party 'wisdom' finds its way into mainstream news narrative. Just because the 'common folk' are saying it doesn't mean it's right.
At the same time, it's obvious that the reporters and pundits whom Digby first named 'The Villagers' (after the isolated characters in M. Night Shyamalan's movie) report a set of locally-held assumptions as fact, and have become part of the political establishment, rather than watchdogs of it.
I personally don't see how this austerity program can survive without the government disenfranchising about a fourth of the electorate. I wonder how they plan to do it.
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Cynicism and Negativity — Right Here
If you've been reading this blog for awhile, you may have detected a certain underlying stratum of negativity and cynicism.
I am, in fact, a fundamentally negative and cynical person. I suppose that is the result of my upbringing. I remember being criticized for my negativity as far back as high school, and I think there were instances of it before that whose specifics I've forgotten.
I have always been on the outside looking in, and mostly a loner. I have seldom been completely friendless, though. There are enough of us out here on the fringe because of our looks, religions, clothes, accents, values or family backgrounds that we can easily find each other.
I live in a city eager to pattern itself after the regional capital of shameless superficiality, Dallas. Even so, I have found an enclave of people who are on the fringe as I am, and I have a broad support group.
But I try to avoid being around people who share my negativity and cynicism. You'd think I would seek those people out, and for a long time I did, but now I find my own dreary personality is enough. When others are as negative as I am, it weighs me down. I need some cautiously optimistic people around me to keep me from sinking into utter black despair.
I have a certain admiration for people who can remain cheerful and motivated in the face of the bleak, utter pointlessness of the whole of human activity and existence.
But my reliance on these people to boost my own mood makes me, as I mentioned to Blogblah! on the phone the other night, an enthusiasm vampire. I draw enthusiasm out of other people because I have none of my own. And sometimes they back away from me because they sense the life force being drained from them.
Cynicism and negativity are the way my mind moves. My samsara. I am not seeking to be more cheerful — that would be just as errant as my current state — but I am trying to be more attitude-free.
I am, in fact, a fundamentally negative and cynical person. I suppose that is the result of my upbringing. I remember being criticized for my negativity as far back as high school, and I think there were instances of it before that whose specifics I've forgotten.
I have always been on the outside looking in, and mostly a loner. I have seldom been completely friendless, though. There are enough of us out here on the fringe because of our looks, religions, clothes, accents, values or family backgrounds that we can easily find each other.
I live in a city eager to pattern itself after the regional capital of shameless superficiality, Dallas. Even so, I have found an enclave of people who are on the fringe as I am, and I have a broad support group.
But I try to avoid being around people who share my negativity and cynicism. You'd think I would seek those people out, and for a long time I did, but now I find my own dreary personality is enough. When others are as negative as I am, it weighs me down. I need some cautiously optimistic people around me to keep me from sinking into utter black despair.
I have a certain admiration for people who can remain cheerful and motivated in the face of the bleak, utter pointlessness of the whole of human activity and existence.
But my reliance on these people to boost my own mood makes me, as I mentioned to Blogblah! on the phone the other night, an enthusiasm vampire. I draw enthusiasm out of other people because I have none of my own. And sometimes they back away from me because they sense the life force being drained from them.
Cynicism and negativity are the way my mind moves. My samsara. I am not seeking to be more cheerful — that would be just as errant as my current state — but I am trying to be more attitude-free.
Tuesday, December 21, 2010
Monday, December 20, 2010
A Christmas Message From Bill Maher
No way to embed this Facebook video. I hope you'll watch it, anyway.
A Christmas Message From Bill Maher
A Christmas Message From Bill Maher
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Sleep
Due to the untimely collapse of my bed (as described in a previous post), I am now back to sleeping on my old futon. This was in the living room or dining room for about eight years, and for four or five years, I slept on it regularly, because my 'real' bed was always covered in laundry and other detritus. (There was also a time it was literally covered wih cat shit, but that's a story for another time.)
During Ms. HRP's abortive remodel of the house, we cleared out the junk-filled back room, and I moved the futon back there. I actually considered ridding myself of it entirely, and now I'm glad I didn't.
While I'm waiting for a new bed frame to arrive, I've been sleeping on the futon here in the back bedroom. There is no stereo back here, and no 24/7 music of Tibetan bowls, sitar music, Japanese flute, etc. I also never allow the pets in here, so there's no cat or dog hair, and no covertly dropped turds behind the furniture.
I notice I am sleeping better. I have had a couple of actually pleasant dreams, as opposed to my usual overnight fare of tornados bearing down on me or TV newsrooms exploding in my face. I am guessing that the quiet, animal-free environment is helping with this.
In addition, I've been drinking two or more cups of rooibos tea in the evening before I retire, and I think that's helping as well.
During Ms. HRP's abortive remodel of the house, we cleared out the junk-filled back room, and I moved the futon back there. I actually considered ridding myself of it entirely, and now I'm glad I didn't.
While I'm waiting for a new bed frame to arrive, I've been sleeping on the futon here in the back bedroom. There is no stereo back here, and no 24/7 music of Tibetan bowls, sitar music, Japanese flute, etc. I also never allow the pets in here, so there's no cat or dog hair, and no covertly dropped turds behind the furniture.
I notice I am sleeping better. I have had a couple of actually pleasant dreams, as opposed to my usual overnight fare of tornados bearing down on me or TV newsrooms exploding in my face. I am guessing that the quiet, animal-free environment is helping with this.
In addition, I've been drinking two or more cups of rooibos tea in the evening before I retire, and I think that's helping as well.
It Is Your Mind That (Still) Moves
Two monks were arguing about the temple flag waving in the wind. "The flag moves," said one. The other said, "The wind moves." Hui-neng, the Sixth Ancestor, said, "Gentlemen! It is not the flag that moves, nor the wind that moves. It is your mind that moves."
It is your mind that moves.
It is your mind that moves.
Saturday, December 18, 2010
"Oh, My. It's As Superficial As I Feared"
That's what my friend said when I showed her the pictures of what a relationship should be like. This is the same friend with whom I was discussing relationshiponal phenomena a couple of days ago.
"Well," I explained, "I'm not saying I literally want to date a twenty-something Stevie Nicks. I'm just saying she's sort of an archetype."
"Oh," my friend said. "I bet Joseph Campbell would love to hear that. Even if you did date someone like that, where would she wave all that stuff around? There's no room in your house for it."
"In the back yard, maybe. I don't know. We can work that out when the time comes."
Look, I know this is just fantasy. The time is never going to come. But I don't want or need a relationship that's just plodding along, going to the mall, unclogging the dishwasher, wandering around Lowe's, whatever. I can do that by myself. I would rather be alone.
Also:
Laraine Newman!
Just an archetype, of course.
"Well," I explained, "I'm not saying I literally want to date a twenty-something Stevie Nicks. I'm just saying she's sort of an archetype."
"Oh," my friend said. "I bet Joseph Campbell would love to hear that. Even if you did date someone like that, where would she wave all that stuff around? There's no room in your house for it."
"In the back yard, maybe. I don't know. We can work that out when the time comes."
Look, I know this is just fantasy. The time is never going to come. But I don't want or need a relationship that's just plodding along, going to the mall, unclogging the dishwasher, wandering around Lowe's, whatever. I can do that by myself. I would rather be alone.
Also:
Laraine Newman!
Just an archetype, of course.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Bailey
One thing I've learned about basset hounds after having had one for a year is that they are not particularly good indoor dogs. Still, I've grown very attached to Bailey. It seems like she's been here forever.
Relationshiponal Phenomena
I had this germ of an idea for a post earlier in the week about relationship concepts. I decided against writing it, mainly because I've already said far more than I needed to say on the subject. Then, out of the clear blue, a friend brought up the very thing I decided not to write about.
I was talking about the whole willowy and ethereal thing, and she said, "Well, if you had a relationship with someone like you describe, what would it be like?"
"I guess I would stretch out on the wicker sofa on the porch, and she would just kind of float around me," I replied. "She'd be wearing long, floaty, gauzy stuff — you know, like Stevie Nicks used to wear — and the wind would be gently blowing her hair, like a shampoo commercial. And she'd be chanting mantras or something. 'Om mani padme hum,' or something like that."
"And then what?" my friend asked, laughing.
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't thought through all the details."
I understand that in real life, relationships don't work like that. In real life, you argue about money and whose turn it is to take out the trash. And some people want that, or they've been convinced by peer pressure that they're supposed to want it.
I still think about relationship stuff occasionally, but not as often as I used to. Not nearly as often. I can take out my own trash.
I was talking about the whole willowy and ethereal thing, and she said, "Well, if you had a relationship with someone like you describe, what would it be like?"
"I guess I would stretch out on the wicker sofa on the porch, and she would just kind of float around me," I replied. "She'd be wearing long, floaty, gauzy stuff — you know, like Stevie Nicks used to wear — and the wind would be gently blowing her hair, like a shampoo commercial. And she'd be chanting mantras or something. 'Om mani padme hum,' or something like that."
"And then what?" my friend asked, laughing.
"I don't know," I said. "I haven't thought through all the details."
I understand that in real life, relationships don't work like that. In real life, you argue about money and whose turn it is to take out the trash. And some people want that, or they've been convinced by peer pressure that they're supposed to want it.
I still think about relationship stuff occasionally, but not as often as I used to. Not nearly as often. I can take out my own trash.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
Las Cruces, NM
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night with a half-formed, and occasionally half-assed, idea. A couple of nights ago I decided that I could throw a few things in a bag and go to Las Cruces, NM to study Zen with a priest I've read about there. I would stay perhaps three or four months. I'd rent an efficiency apartment, sleep on the floor (which I did as a matter of practice for about ten years) and spend my days learning from this priest.
After all, I've got the time. There's no place else I need to be.
But, on the other hand, I'm not all that into Zen as an 'official' daily practice. I appreciate the concepts, but I don't care much for the process. Days of sitting, staring at the wall, don't appeal to me. (As I think about it, I don't care much for any process. Process bores the shit out of me.)
I asked some Facebook friends if they'd ever been to Las Cruces. It turned out several of them had. Opinions of the place were mixed. One said it was more 'authentic' than Santa Fe, but another — a Santa Fe resident — thought I would enjoy Santa Fe more. Of course, I wasn't looking for a tourist or recreation experience; I was hoping to get a better idea of what it's like to belong to a Zen community and have a flesh-and-blood Zen teacher.
Now that I've had a couple of days to think about it, I am probably not going to go to Las Cruces. I won't be cutting off my arm, like Bodhidharma's student Hui-Ko, to get the attention of a teacher.
But maybe I will go to Santa Fe. I have never met my Facebook friend, Joan, who lives there, and I would like to.
After all, I've got the time. There's no place else I need to be.
But, on the other hand, I'm not all that into Zen as an 'official' daily practice. I appreciate the concepts, but I don't care much for the process. Days of sitting, staring at the wall, don't appeal to me. (As I think about it, I don't care much for any process. Process bores the shit out of me.)
I asked some Facebook friends if they'd ever been to Las Cruces. It turned out several of them had. Opinions of the place were mixed. One said it was more 'authentic' than Santa Fe, but another — a Santa Fe resident — thought I would enjoy Santa Fe more. Of course, I wasn't looking for a tourist or recreation experience; I was hoping to get a better idea of what it's like to belong to a Zen community and have a flesh-and-blood Zen teacher.
Now that I've had a couple of days to think about it, I am probably not going to go to Las Cruces. I won't be cutting off my arm, like Bodhidharma's student Hui-Ko, to get the attention of a teacher.
But maybe I will go to Santa Fe. I have never met my Facebook friend, Joan, who lives there, and I would like to.
Google Friend Connect
I've added Google Friend Connect because — well, I don't know why. Just because I like gadgets, I guess.
This is not something you want to try with the limited web navigation features of an iPad. I'll clean it up later, when I'm at a real computer.
Proof, by the way, that the iPad is not a substitute for a laptop.
This is not something you want to try with the limited web navigation features of an iPad. I'll clean it up later, when I'm at a real computer.
Proof, by the way, that the iPad is not a substitute for a laptop.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
No passion, no story
A friend asked me this evening what my passion was as a child. I told her. (I'm not going to detail it here. It's not weird or especially unusual. I don't want to go off on that tangent, though.)
"Well," she asked, "what is your passion now?"
"I don't have one," I said.
She smiled. "You have to have a passion." She said it as if I were breaking some sort of rule by not having one.
"No, no passion."
"If you don't have a passion, what will be your story from this point on?"
"No story. No passion, no story."
I have learned not to talk much about my empty, passionless life. It tends to upset people.
In fact, I wonder why I keep getting asked about it. My impression is that most people rarely discuss this, if at all.
But: no passion, no story. Unless you count this blog.
"Well," she asked, "what is your passion now?"
"I don't have one," I said.
She smiled. "You have to have a passion." She said it as if I were breaking some sort of rule by not having one.
"No, no passion."
"If you don't have a passion, what will be your story from this point on?"
"No story. No passion, no story."
I have learned not to talk much about my empty, passionless life. It tends to upset people.
In fact, I wonder why I keep getting asked about it. My impression is that most people rarely discuss this, if at all.
But: no passion, no story. Unless you count this blog.
Saturday, December 11, 2010
Eek the cat bugs out
That was quick. She went back to the house down the street. What a strange cat.
The cat leaving is zen. Me deciding she's strange is samsara.
The cat leaving is zen. Me deciding she's strange is samsara.
Eek Comes Home
Eek the cat has come home — if this house can be said to be her home. The last time she was here was in March or April, I think. She had been living at a house about four doors east of here.
I had the doors open Wednesday afternoon, and I assume she crept in then.
I can't tell by looking at her, but I'd guess Eek is pregnant again.
I had the doors open Wednesday afternoon, and I assume she crept in then.
I can't tell by looking at her, but I'd guess Eek is pregnant again.
Collapsing Bed Update
The splintered side rail isn't fixable. I looked at some new bed frames online and at Dillard's and saw nothing that really appealed to me. I ended up buying a simple metal frame from Amazon. I may be able to attach the existing headboard and foot board to it.
Wednesday, December 08, 2010
Collapsing Bed
My wooden bed frame collapsed tonight. I bought this bed about 25 years ago. About three years later, the plank on one side split and the head end of the box spring and mattress fell to the floor. I was able to fix it, but the same plank has just split again, and I'm not sure it's fixable this time. I'll give it a shot with Gorilla Glue and see what happens.
I'm attached to this bed. It's the first piece of furniture I ever bought. As I recall, it cost a lot of money, although I don't remember what I spent. Beyond the sentimental attachment, I'm also averse to buying a new frame. I don't want to buy any more big stuff.
I'm attached to this bed. It's the first piece of furniture I ever bought. As I recall, it cost a lot of money, although I don't remember what I spent. Beyond the sentimental attachment, I'm also averse to buying a new frame. I don't want to buy any more big stuff.
The Zen of the Farting Dog
When the dog farts, that is zen. When I form an opinion of the odor, that is not zen.
Diary of a Daoist Hermit
I have found a blog that I need to put in my permanent links list. (But not right now, OK?)
It's called "Diary of a Daoist Hermit." The author calls himself the Cloudwalking Owl. He writes from the Canadian city of Guelph.
A segment from a recent post:
It's called "Diary of a Daoist Hermit." The author calls himself the Cloudwalking Owl. He writes from the Canadian city of Guelph.
A segment from a recent post:
Being frugal is a constant theme in Daoism. In a sense, Daoists were the first proponents of what we now call "voluntary simplicity". Their stories are full of anecdotes about fellows who were once wealthy and powerful who chucked it all away so they could move to the countryside to live in the equivalent of tar paper shacks and subsist on food from their garden and what they could gather from the forest.
The point wasn't the same as that of St. Francis of Assissi, who saw poverty as being intriniscally groovy and something you "offer up" to God. Instead, it was simply an attempt to cut out all the stuff that makes life annoying in order to hold onto the stuff that makes life worth living. So a Daoist wouldn't take any pleasure in being cold, dirty or hungry---like some Christian saints. But he would be happy to wear straw shoes he wove himself because the hassle involved in doing what you have to do in order to afford expensive leather boots wasn't worth the effort.
'You're a very strange man'
A few weeks ago I was trying to explain something to a friend about freeing oneself from concepts, and experiencing directly without labels, thoughts or opinions. Or maybe I was complaining about the cat shitting behind the furniture — I don't remember. She looked at me and said, "You know, you're a very strange man."
Well, I did know, but it's good to have some independent confirmation.
Well, I did know, but it's good to have some independent confirmation.
Tuesday, December 07, 2010
Melancholy music
I am prone to being depressed by certain pieces of music. This is different from the depression I usually experience. In fact, it may be wrong to call it depression. It comes very quickly, is often much more severe, but lifts quickly — usually in an hour or two.
I recently bought an album by a popular singer of mantras. One of the songs induces this sudden melancholy I'm talking about. That song came up in the iTunes rotation this afternoon, and it hit me this time like a freight train. The lyrics are in Sanskrit or Pali; I have no idea what they mean. It is the melody alone that evokes the reaction. I could have slashed my wrists right then and there, and that's only a mild exaggeration.
I decided to go for a walk to shake off the feeling. It was cloudy, chilly and windy. The walk didn't help much.
Later, I called a friend who sat with me for ninety minutes or so until I recovered.
I have taken the song off my iTunes playlist. I won't listen to it again.
I recently bought an album by a popular singer of mantras. One of the songs induces this sudden melancholy I'm talking about. That song came up in the iTunes rotation this afternoon, and it hit me this time like a freight train. The lyrics are in Sanskrit or Pali; I have no idea what they mean. It is the melody alone that evokes the reaction. I could have slashed my wrists right then and there, and that's only a mild exaggeration.
I decided to go for a walk to shake off the feeling. It was cloudy, chilly and windy. The walk didn't help much.
Later, I called a friend who sat with me for ninety minutes or so until I recovered.
I have taken the song off my iTunes playlist. I won't listen to it again.
Saturday, December 04, 2010
Stuff I quit reading
Stuff I quit reading:
Americablog
Regretsy
Lamebook
People of Wal-Mart
Damn Interesting
Look at this Fucking Hipster
Gizmodo
Engadget
Stuff I'm reading less of:
Firedoglake
Crooks and Liars
BoingBoing
I've just gotten to where I can't take any more.
I'm still reading io9, Slashfilm and Talking Points Memo. I look briefly at HuffPo, picking out news items from amidst all the gossip about 'celebrities' I've never heard of. And, though I'm ashamed to admit it, I read Gawker pretty regularly now.
I am listening to a lot more dharma talk podcasts from iTunes. There are hundreds available. They don't boost my cynicism or my blood pressure. And I feel like I'm getting something with some substance to it, instead of the daily outrage.
Americablog
Regretsy
Lamebook
People of Wal-Mart
Damn Interesting
Look at this Fucking Hipster
Gizmodo
Engadget
Stuff I'm reading less of:
Firedoglake
Crooks and Liars
BoingBoing
I've just gotten to where I can't take any more.
I'm still reading io9, Slashfilm and Talking Points Memo. I look briefly at HuffPo, picking out news items from amidst all the gossip about 'celebrities' I've never heard of. And, though I'm ashamed to admit it, I read Gawker pretty regularly now.
I am listening to a lot more dharma talk podcasts from iTunes. There are hundreds available. They don't boost my cynicism or my blood pressure. And I feel like I'm getting something with some substance to it, instead of the daily outrage.
Friday, December 03, 2010
How Will It Happen?
I wonder from time to time how I will die. Car wreck? Stroke? Slow, wasting disease? With my history of high blood pressure, stroke is a likely candidate.
Being alive isn't a bad thing. But, as I've written before, it's an exercise in pointlessness. We pop into this world, stir up some shit that doesn't last, maybe do some good that doesn't last, and if we're really important, leave behind a monument that perhaps becomes a tourist attraction, but ultimately doesn't last. The whole history of mankind is nothing but the blink of an eye.
Enjoy it while you can, I guess, but it's no big deal. As I've said before, I feel like I'm stuck in an airline terminal, wandering around between flights. Yawn.
Being alive isn't a bad thing. But, as I've written before, it's an exercise in pointlessness. We pop into this world, stir up some shit that doesn't last, maybe do some good that doesn't last, and if we're really important, leave behind a monument that perhaps becomes a tourist attraction, but ultimately doesn't last. The whole history of mankind is nothing but the blink of an eye.
Enjoy it while you can, I guess, but it's no big deal. As I've said before, I feel like I'm stuck in an airline terminal, wandering around between flights. Yawn.
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