4:06 am

Awakened by another dream about my past life. I had not had one of these in weeks, and I thought maybe I was over them.

2:09 am

$%#@! dog.

Responses

To me, the danger of thinking one's own life meaningless is that it tends to make one believe that MY life is also meaningless. That may be, but I'm attached to it in a very un-Buddha-like way.

That definitely is a form of attachment from my point of view. But within Buddhism, there are some 'meanings' or 'purposes' which one may seek. Buddhist teachers warn against becoming attached, for example, to enlightenment as a purpose. There is also the Bodhisattva Oath, in which one pledges to devote one's life and future lives to seeking the enlightenment of all sentient beings. That also become a purpose or meaning.

The question that arises in my own mind about doing good or evil within the framework of a life without meaning is how do we know that what we do is either one. I may mean to be evil but do something that comes out well for other people and I may intend to do a kindness but cause much distress. As you say, do-gooders have brought their share of sadness into the world. We must nevertheless do something, else entropy kills us quickly -- pretty fast if we find it meaningless to get a drink of water every few days.

I deliberately used 'good' and 'evil' in a superficial way in my previous post. From a taoist perspective, and I think this is true in some other eastern value systems, good cannot exist without evil. It's considered an exercise in futility to try to eliminate evil. As for entropy, it's gonna get us one way or another. But I don't think finding life meaningless requires one to ignore basic health and safety.

One last question: why did you confine yourself to a single meaning? Might you have many meanings, the consequences of your acts unknowable by you? OK, that was two questions, but they're asking the same thing.

'Meaning' or 'meanings' - the difference is moot to me. One times zero or twenty times zero - the product is still zero. I could view myself as having a hundred meanings or a hundred purposes, and we'll still get hit by an asteroid.

however... it only makes sense when one chooses..to be alone... chooses unhappiness and has no connect with the past...or future... for mike this is it... nothing more... no love... no family... nothing... i suppose... it would be easier...and more comforting to think...that all life is meaninless...if i felt i was meaningless...
the funny thing is... mike lives life...meaningful.. compassionately... loving and kind... go figure...!!!

My view on this may be formed by my upbringing, but I can't say that for a certainty. Thank you for saying I live life compassionately and with love and kindness. I believe it is possible and even desirable to have those qualities. But a person can live life with love and compassion without saying, 'compassion is my purpose,' or, 'love is the meaning of my life.' These are elements of my life, and I hope I'm succeeding at them, but in the big, big picture, it doesn't matter whether I'm successful or not.

Seems to me that the whole meaning of your life is to convince others that it has no meaning.
I get it! Your life has no meaning. So stop blogging, stop facebooking, stop twittering, and stop telling others that their lives have no meaning because that would mean that you think your life is so meaningful that you have the right to tell someone else how meaningless their life is.
If your life has no meaning, by what authority do you tell others about theirs?

No authority whatsoever. It's just my opinion.

But something I want to make clear is that I don't think that believing life has no meaning requires one to sit absolutely still, doing nothing at all. If a person wants to do that, fine - the end will still come, whether we're active or quiet. But that means it's just as okay to be active as it is to be quiet. For the short term, I think it's better to be a good person than a bad one. We still have to live, however momentarily, with the consequences of our own actions as well as the actions of those around us. But again, in the big, big, picture, the point is moot.


PS: As I read my own writing, I feel like I'm usually expressing about nine-tenths of an idea, and there's always something missing. I don't know if that's because I can't articulate my thoughts clearly, or if I've just gotten so intellectually lazy in my advancing age that I can't or don't think things all the way through.

4:18 am

I want to respond to some of the previous comments when I'm back at the computer. Right now I'm in bed with the iPhone, and I just want to mention how much I'm enjoying the dark and the quiet. I'm not sure what's on iTunes, and I can't check without losing this post, but it's a raga played entirely on different sized tabla that play different notes.

Many people rely on drugs to escape reality. My drug is this dark, secluded environment I've created, with the music that removes me from my 'real' surroundings.

That tabla piece has ended and now I've got some classical Chinese erhi piece going.

How are things out in the world?

Life has no meaning

I've covered this ground before, but I've been asked about it lately, so let me mention it again: life has no 'meaning.'

Humanity came into existence however many millennia ago on this dirt spaceship, and will probably cease to exist without having ventured very far beyond it. We've been to the moon, and maybe we'll leave footprints on Mars, and we've lobbed a couple of tin cans out past the edge of out own solar system. But for all intents and purposes, we will live and die as a species on this same rock. And when we're gone, the galaxies will continue to spin and drift as they have for billions of years. A week after the last human has died, it will be like we were never here. Hell, it's like we were never here right now.

We talk casually about billion of years, but in fact, we can't begin to conceptualize how much time that is. Nor can we begin to conceptualize how big this universe is, and how small we are in comparison.

I believe in what Alan Watts called the 'theory of the automatic universe.' "If this is what you believe," he said in one of his talks, "you may as well kill yourself right now."

Well, this is what I believe, but I don't understand why it necessarily follows that I should kill myself. I considered it a relief, not a soul-crushing realization, when I finally came to believe that I had no 'higher purpose.'

I have also been asked, "Well, if life has no purpose or meaning, why not just be an asshole? Why not just steal and kill and rape and plunder?" To which I can only respond, "Huh? If life has no meaning, why not help other people and do good? In the big picture, it won't make a dime's worth of difference, but it's just as easy to do good as it is do harm."

In fact, if you look at history, you'll see that some of the worst shit ever done on this planet was done by people who thought their lives had a purpose and a meaning.

No, my life has no meaning. Please don't think one up for me.

iTunes: Schubert: String Quartet #13, "Rosamunde" - The Brandis Quartet

I'll be inside my own head, if anyone needs to contact me.

iTunes: Boccherini: Cello Concerto in G, Yo-Yo Ma, Ton Koopman and the Amsterdam Baroque Orchestra

Garage update

Work commenced at 7:30 am Saturday... and by 4 pm Saturday it looked like this:

and by 1 pm Sunday, it looked like this:

There's a small bathroom, connections for the washer and dryer and lots of windows. The windows are not just to let light into the garage. I also wanted to break up the space on the west wall so there wouldn't be a big blank wall sort of looming over the back yard.
If you remember pictures of the old garage, it was actually just a shed. I couldn't even get a car into it - it was too shallow from front to back. A VW would have fit, but my minivan - not a large vehicle - stuck out the door when the front bumper was against the back wall. It had no electricity - well, it sort of had electricity, but it was an accident waiting to happen, pulling power from an extension cord run to the back porch.
This garage will have outlets everywhere. All my battery chargers, rechargeable power tools and other similar stuff will go out here, freeing up outlets in the house for appliances. With the washer and dryer out here, I'll be able to use the back porch as a porch again, instead of using it as a cramped utility room.

Lumber arrives

Here's the lumber for the new garage arriving.

Framers start work in the morning.

PS...

iTunes: Weiss: Lute Sonata #27, performed by Robert Barto.

Before I got the queen size bed, I slept on a mattress on the floor for almost ten years.

In a way, I miss my futon.

As mentioned previously, I am back in my bedroom, sleeping on the queen size bed I bought in 1984. I paid a lot of money for it, but it was well-spent: twenty-five years later, the mattress and springs are like new.

But in a way, I miss the ratty futon upon which I had slept for two or three years before abandoning it a few days ago. It was in awful shape, with a torn and shredded cover partially covered by a torn and shredded bedsheet. It was frequently littered with crumbs, used tissues and paperback books. It looked like something you'd expect to find in a Symbionese Liberation Army safe house forty or so years ago.

And it was in the dining room, separated from the living room by a wooden folding screen. I'd wrap up in a blanket, unless it was very very warm. Beasley and Smudge would sleep there with me, when they were still here. (And I think about them every day.)

Now I'm back in my very nice queen-sized bed, in my newly-plastered and freshly-painted bedroom. And there's plenty of room here for Rollo and Bailey.

But part of me misses the futon. Part of me likes the clutter, the crumbs, the worn and ripped fabric. I've had some amateur therapists tell me I surround myself with clutter to keep other people away. I suppose that could be true.

How am I supposed to get any sleep...

...when this dog keeps squirming all the time?

Living arrangements

Basically, I don't need a lot of space in which to live. I need a lot of storage space for the junk I've accumulated, but for me personally, a couple of rooms are adequate.

I've been living, for all intents and purposes, in my den and dining room for two or three years. That's been plenty of space.

But the changes Ms. HRP is making will shift my daily living to the den, front bedroom and back bedroom. I will still rarely, if ever, use the living room.

We've talked about changes to the other, lesser-used rooms. The dining room especially needs work, and she's suggested changes to the living room as well.

But for what I've spent on this house over the past year, including the work outside, I could have almost bought a new house. Nothing I've done is extravagant, but none of it has been done on the cheap, either.

I have to think about costs for the rest of these projects, and I'm not sure if I can afford to do much more.

Ms. HRP has raised the issue of me hosting social gatherings at my home. I have done that twice in my entire life - once in 1998 and once in about 1979. I have no need to plan for an active social life, because I would still be mostly a recluse even if I were a billionaire living in the Nichols mansion.

iTunes: Raga Alahya Bilaval, G S Sachdev

What I want and need is a home that supports one adult male, one cat and one basset hound, with some room for a few hangaround cats. It needs to facilitate some semi-artistic doodling, plus reading, sleep and some not very disciplined meditation.

You are not what society says you are (or must become)

"The rules of communication are not necessarily the rules of the universe, and man is not the role or identity which society thrusts upon him. For when a man no longer confuses himself with the definition of himself that others have given him, he is at once universal and unique."

- Alan Watts, 'Psychotherapy East & West.'

iTunes: Year Tone - OM, Rainer Tillman performing with Tibetan bowls

Another great thing about dogs...

...is that if they pee in the house, they pee right in the middle of the floor, where you can get to it. Cats always pee back in a closet or behind furniture.

iTunes: Jimbo Sanya - Stan Richardson, shakuhachi flute

Saturday morning

I had the notion that I was going to get out and do something last night - either dinner with the Galileo group, or the Amber Wind Society/Skip Largent event at Sauced - but by the time five pm arrived, I was no longer up to it. I had driven around all day buying stuff for the house. I had a mild headache. All I wanted to do was go home, read some, and listen to classical music. And that's what I did. I guess I was in bed by 9:30.

This dog is spoiled rotten, but I enjoy her company.

iTunes: Shostakovich: Symphony #15, Mariss Jansons & The London Philharmonic Orchestra

Friday

Another day in paradise.

An idea

I guess one way to take care of cat pee odor in the laundry would be to smear my clothes with dog shit - which is also in ample supply now.

Random stuff

First, to respond to Sweeney's comment on the previous post: I've been using the enzyme stuff on the floors for awhile and yes, it works. I'm going to try the vinegar in laundry.

Item two: concrete will be poured for the floor of my garage tomorrow-a big step forward in this project that began last October.

Item three: I continue to withdraw from society. I'm eating three-fourths of my meals alone now, and conduct most of my communication via facebook. I'm spending a lot more time at home. Again, this is actually a return to the norm for me, not a new development.

Item four: I'm sleeping in the master bedroom again. Ms. HRP has started work on the back bedroom, which we're turning into a kind of study/meditation room.

There is still too much stuff in this house, even after all the stuff that's been given away and thrown away. I need to cut the remaining possessions by at least half.

Item five: Bailey is up here on the bed with me, sound asleep. When she sleeps, she really sleeps. Rollo will probably be along later. Bailey is whiny and stubborn, but lovable nonetheless. I'm glad she's here.

Item six: I am nowhere near the fires you may have seen on TV. Everything's fine where I am.

The Search for Truth

...has taken me here.

I hope this works.

Wednesday afternoon

I'm a laugh riot.

The 'real' bed

I slept in my 'real' bed overnight (as opposed to the futon in the dining room) for the first time in two or three years. Bailey slept with me, and even Rollo came and got on the bed. Now there's plenty of room for both of them.

The bedroom is in better shape than it's ever been: newly-refinished floor, retextured and repainted walls and ceiling, all provided by Ms. HRP.

There's no furniture in the room except the bed and a small table, and I think I want to keep it that way. I have plenty of art to hang on the walls, but I think I prefer them blank. It's pleasant having a room with almost no visual clutter or stimulus. It's almost like being in a hotel.

Now that I think about it, I realize what I liked about hotel rooms was the absence of clutter.

Sunday evening

What is there?

Sunday morning

I love my dog.

Compassion and crazymakers

Mindovermary reports she has ejected her friend from her home after only four days, rather than the agreed-upon two weeks.

A smart move, I think.

Buddhism exhorts us to be compassionate toward others. I mentioned previously that my idealized, unrealistic perfect female companion would be someone possessing the qualities of Guan Yin, the Chinese representation of the Bodhisattva of Compassion.

Compassion is necessary. But we still have to take care of ourselves - especially, I think, those of us who live alone and who have a limited support network.

Some readers will recognize the story of the fellow who eventually moved out of his own house because a friend he let move in 'temporarily' brought friends and family members to live there, too. That's right... the guy moved out of his own house to get away from the people who took advantage of his considerable compassion.

There are people who are constant psychological and emotional drains. The first time I encountered the term 'crazymakers' was in Julia Cameron's book The Artist's Way. There's a blog dedicated to that book's principles and concepts, with a page about crazymakers here.

Crazymakers are those personalities that scream storm centers. They are often charismatic, frequently charming, highly inventive, and powerfully persuasive.
Crazymakers break deals and destroy schedules.
Crazymakers expect special treatment.
Crazymakers discount your reality.
Crazymakers spend your time and money.
Crazymakers triangulate those they deal with.
Crazymakers are expert blamers.
Crazymakers create dramas but seldom where they belong.
Crazymakers hate schedules except their own.
Crazymakers hate order.

(I notice, of course, that I fit some of those descriptions. I'm adept at discounting other people's realities, and while I wouldn't say I hate order, I don't exactly embrace it, either.)

I personally am big on avoiding crazymakers. I can usually just get up and walk away. Maybe if I were big 'E' Enlightened, I could deal with people like this and raise them to some higher level of awareness. But I am a flawed vessel living in a house full of junk and pet hair; it's too much of a struggle to keep my own sanity without trying to 'fix' crazymakers as well.

As Melvin Udall said in As Good As It Gets, "Go sell crazy someplace else – we're all stocked up here."

(And here's the official web site for The Artist's Way. I think this book and its companion books stay in print pretty much continuously; you could probably find it in any major bookstore, if you're interested.)